#with only the vaguest of ideas where she was going with this

[lotus-ignis]

The worst part is that this fic is for someone that I would like to consider my friend (not that it takes much for me to consider someone my friend) and I don't want to accidentally massacre their favourite characters!

[isaacathom]

my friend pondered a highschool au for their ttrpg ocs, and then i went 'hmm. interesting. what if my ocs?' and then, well,

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 延禧攻略/Story of Yanxi Palace.

Story of Yanxi Palace is a high-budget 2018 Chinese harem drama about the historical-accuracy-adjacent antics of an extremely baller young woman who gets a job working in the Forbidden City in an attempt to discover the reasons behind her sister's death.

Imagine Nirvana in Fire, but only the scenes that take place inside the Inner Palace. So there's still schemes aplenty, but now these schemes are happening among a cast that's 90% women, all locked inside a walled city with rigid rules, excruciatingly strict hierarchies, and a very limited number of ways of getting out alive.

This show was huge in China. The English-language fandom is almost nonexistent. I'm betting most of you reading this have never even heard of it, and if you have, you have only the vaguest idea of what this 70-episode palace drama is about.

I enjoyed this show a whole hell of a lot. I also had some major issues with the show, to the point where I very nearly did not write this rec. But I'm doing it because I think the good parts of the show are worth seeing, and because I think the problem parts of the show are worth thinking about. Interested? Then follow me through these five reasons (and a few anti-reasons) I think you should watch it.

1. The Real Housewives of the Forbidden City

Tired of c-drama sausage fests? Want to see a bunch of incredibly talented ladies act their faces off? Then this is the show for you.

The vast majority of characters in the show are absolute bitches to one another. They are locked in a cutthroat game of power and manners where the stakes are literally life and death, so they spend their whole lives either plotting to take someone else down or counterplotting so the person trying to take them down gets taken down instead. They all know they can't trust one another, but they also sometimes can't not trust one another. They keep their friends close, and their enemies closer.

Unlike most other schemes-based shows, which are all about one big mystery, Story of Yanxi Palace has several smaller arcs. Remember the sister-murder I mentioned at the start? I was prepared for that to take the whole runtime of the show to solve; it actually gets (mostly) concluded around episode twenty-something. Antagonists arise and fall. Situations happen and resolve. Think of it less like a movie's single narrative, and more like a video game's multiple levels. Hooray, we finished Garden World! Now we get to go back to Palace World, but with way more EXP and powerups than we had before!

I know that looks like a bunch of lovely, high-class ladies in that shot, but it's not. It's a pit of vipers. Any woman in that lineup would straight-up shank pretty much any other woman in that lineup without hesitation or remorse. Every woman there knows exactly where she fits in the hierarchy and has a detailed plan for how to take out every woman above her to get to the top -- except for the one in black, who already did take out every woman above her to get to the top, and that's why everyone has to ostentatiously defer to her now.

If you are a fan of TV shows where folk scheme their way to success, this is really a can't-miss property for you.

This is also a show about how smart women have to become to survive being at the mercy of stupid men. Not only are the women being vicious to one another, they're doing so while simultaneousy having to pretend that they are pretty, delicate, vapid ornaments whose only thoughts are how they want the best for their precious emperor and his beloved mommy. It's all about the exercise of soft power, how to hide your knives behind silk sleeves and a sweet smile.

So okay, it's not quite as trashy as reality TV, but it's still bitchy as hell and incredibly fun to watch.

2. You love to hate her (and her, and him, and her)

Now if you've read pretty much any one of my previous recs, you know I like a good baddie, and this is a show with some good baddies. As I said in the last point, this is a show about bad people doing bad things entertainingly.

However, I am not going to tell you who most of the show's love-to-hate characters are, because the vast majority of them do not start out hateable. If the show introduces a female character and you like her, or a eunuch character and you like him, there is like an 85% chance they're going to do a heel turn. (And then sometimes do a face turn after? Look, schemes are complicated.)

But I will tell you about one bitch who's rotten from her first moment to her last: Noble Consort Gao.

Noble Consort Gao is the scenery-chewing, shit-stirring, absolute meanest mean girl in the palace, and it is so fucking entertaining. She's your major antagonist for the first half of the show. She's strategically mean, but she's also recreationally mean. She does the anime villainess laugh for real. Her actor, Tan Zhuo, has set her bitch dial to 11 and isn't even bothering to chew the scenery -- she's shredding it with those incredible metal claw-nails she wears.

Noble Consort Gao is a good starting antagonist because she's so blatantly evil -- and yet somehow still unstoppable. She's a good example of how you can get away with being pretty much openly sinister if you also manage to mind your manners. The reason she gets away with being so damn awful to everyone else is that she's still playing by all the rules. She's managed to weaponize every convention about propriety to lord her power over everyone else. She's like a fucking HOA.

And you'll notice I'm speaking about her with such fondness because she's delightfully awful. In fact, pretty much everyone in this show is delightfully awful. There are exceptions, but on the whole, you want to see them go down, yet you're also going to be a little sad when they go. Even Noble Consort, by the end, you get where she's coming from, and you feel a little bad for her on the way out.

Do you like vengeance? Because we've got some vengeance for you here. Many, many people in this show have been wronged, often by the people they trusted most. And of course they all respond to this in a healthy manner, seeking justice for themselves and for their loved ones through proper channels and reasonable means.

Ha ha, just kidding, everybody here is completely unhinged! The primary difference between a good guy and a bad guy in this show is how many innocent people they wind up taking down with the guilty party. It's messy as hell and we are making popcorn about it.

This is a show full of villains. In fact, this cast is pretty much entirely bad guys, semi-bad guys, potential bad guys, and good people who had to do bad things to survive. There are maybe two non-child characters who are Just Plain Good that don't get nuked almost immediately. Everyone else is some shade of grey. Even our hero (and we'll get to her in a minute) is pretty yikes-inducing cruel when she needs to be.

Going to say this as clearly as I can: This is not a show for people who cannot tolerate moral ambiguity. This is a show for people who love to watch clever bastards work. And pretty much nobody's more of a bastard than Noble Consort Gao.

Ladies and gentlemen, the cunt is served.

3. No, seriously, this is actually what it all looked like

If you are at all interested in this actual time period, you owe it to yourself to see this dedicated work of historical recreation.

The amount of research and detail that went into this production is honestly mind-blowing. Because this show is set in the 18th century, we actually have some pretty great documentation about the places, objects, and people involved in this story -- including some (slightly later, obviously) photographs! The production went all out in its attempts to replicate the setting, including using period-appropriate techniques to create various accessories and objects.

The outfits are amazing -- and excruciatingly accurate in several aspects. I've seen more than a couple people say that their first reaction to the costumes was, ho hum, kind of boring. Well, yeah, compared to some of the absolutely bugfuck-complicated wearable works of art from earlier periods, these are a little understated. But then you start paying attention to the million little details: the embroidery, the hair ornaments, the layers, the fabrics. A whole team of people clearly put a huge amount of work into these outfits.

Nearly every royal character in the show is a real person. You could spoil yourself for several major plot beats just by going to Wikipedia. In fact, I accidentally did this, because I was reading the show's DramaWiki page and thought, oh, that's interesting; I understand why the actor names are links (because it takes you to the actors' pages), but why are so many of the character names also links? Turns out: Wikipedia! So, uh, careful where you click.

One of the great things about the show is how utterly claustrophobic it is. Most of it takes place within the heavily guarded walls of the Forbidden Palace; on the very few occasion it goes somewhere else, you're just traveling to other walled manors and villas. There's one brief scene in a forest, and the psychological difference is enormous. You see a few trees and you're immediately like, oh, so that's why these women are going crazy in their gilded cages.

The drama even shows how some of the least glamorous parts of the Forbidden Palace work: the chamber pots, the coal for furnaces, the mopping, the weeding, the laundry, the fire brigades. It's an enormous production, keeping what is basically a 178-acre city-state running to imperial standards. It's nice to see a drama that acknowledges that while rich people may want to see only clean walkways and fresh sheets, those things don't happen by magic.

If anything, knowing about all this detailed research makes the unintentionally funniest scene in the entire show -- the one with the eunuchs playing Western instruments -- ten times funnier. You had artisans spending months doing exact recreations of historical hairpins, and you couldn't spend thirty seconds asking the internet "when were saxophones invented?" or "does an accordion make noises like a string quartet?" Perfect. No notes.

Trust me when I say you'll get used to the queue haircuts on the dudes. It helps that most of the time, they're facing the camera so they just look like they've got their heads fully shaved, and most of them have heads that look very good shaved! ...Most.

4. The kind of girl who'd make Mei Changsu say damn

The show has a strong ensemble cast, but the woman at the core of all the action is the tough-as-nails protagonist, Wei Yingluo.

The details we have on the actual Lady Wei are sparse. She doesn't really exist as a person in the historical record, to the point where we don't even know her given name (if she even had one) or when she showed up to the palace. We mostly know when she got given her titles, how many kids she gave birth to, some of what she did later in life, and when she died. The show takes these historical gaps and just runs with them, weaving into the silences a narrative that, while implausible, could have happened!

The show starts when Wei Yingluo enters the Forbidden City, not as a royal lady concubine, but as a regular little maid. She's got an agenda, though -- as mentioned earlier, her sister has died tragically, and she wants to figure out why. The stakes get higher as it becomes clear just how much people don't want this question answered, for their sakes as much as for hers.

She very quickly realizes that she can't just live a quiet life and snoop around casually. Too many people are out to get her, and if she's going to survive, she's got to fuck with them before they fuck with her. And they are wholly unprepared for the self-destructive lengths to which she will go to to fuck with them.

Wu Jinyan deserves all the accolades for turning in a great performance. She has to be completely all over the board emotionally and energy-wise for seventy whole episodes, and she brings it. She's very funny and physical when the show calls for her to be! She's willing to flail around and stuff her face and ugly-cry. Then she turns on the don't-mess-with-me stare and the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Did she get some award for this? [checks her DramaWiki page] Okay, she got several awards for this, good. Even in a huge cast this talented, she's an absolute standout. I can't wait to see her in the Double, which is definitely on my to-watch list.

I'm not going to call Wei Yingluo a Mary Sue, because that's not accurate, but this girl does have some serious plot armor on. You never get the sense that she hasn't earned it, though. She's smart, capable, and more than a little completely fucking crazy. The show makes you believe that the reason she survives most of the shit she pulls off is that everyone is just so baffled that anyone would try it at all that they don't even know how to respond.

I thought about starting out this rec post with Wei Yingluo -- putting her above the cut, in fact, because she really is that compelling. She's back here, though, because it's with Wei Yingluo that we start to slide into my points of critique. Too often, female protagonists are here to solve the problem with their cuteness and quirkiness and extra-special perfectness that shows up all the other girls and captures the heart of whatever boy she needs to save the day. And no matter how this show starts off wanting to make her something different, it ultimately can't conceive of a female lead who isn't at her core just like that.

The writers can never decide how much Wei Yingluo's Manic Pixie Dream Girl act is an act, and how much she means it. The show introduces her as a stone-cold psychopath who is capable of feigning being a carefree brainless uwu smol bean. Later it decides, actually, she's really at her core a spunky, soft-hearted creature who likes to goof off and is just capable of switching on Scheming Bitch Mode when she needs it! And it's like, are you kidding? You just spent like forty episodes telling me that it's all a big trick when she does this, and now you're saying it's not anymore?

It's like they made a character capable of decieving men, and then got decieved by her, which you have to respect. Any fictional character can fool another fictional character; only true legends fool their creators.

sidebar: fuck that dude

The show can never fully commit to this bit, because he's supposed to be our big heroic love interest, but the emperor fucking sucks.

Hands-down the show's biggest moral is that All Emperors Are Bastards -- yes, even the ones in relationships we're supposed to find cute; yes, even the ones whose lifestyles we're supposed to envy; yes, even the ones played superbly by the devastatingly handsome Nie Yuan. While watching we repeatedly invoked this tweet:

Being a billionaire must be insane. You can buy new teeth, new skin. All your chairs cost 20,000 dollars and weigh 2,000 pounds. Your life is just a series of your own preferences. In terms of cognitive impairment it's probably like being kicked in the head by a horse every day

He is the dumbest, most easily played motherfucker in China. Getting horny makes him stupid, and he's horny all the time. He has absolute power over the lives of everyone in the empire, and you can distract him with the mere suggestion of a vagina. He has taken a full You Girls Fight It Out Amongst Yourselves stance toward his scheming harem. This will not go well for anyone.

And speaking of those wives, no matter how many times they loudly profess their undying devotion to him, I have a rough time imagining these women feel anything for the Emperor beyond exhausted contempt. Well, okay, maybe the Empress who married him before he took the throne, since she had a chance to get to know him before he was in full Emperor Mode. But none of the other women should ever stop dunking on this guy like the gullible shitbag he is. If you (like me!) are already skeptical about any given heterosexual romance in fiction, be prepared to roll your eyes through the Big True Love Story this one tries to sell you.

5. Right on the cusp of a fascinating feminist conclusion!

I may be on this one for a while; skip ahead if you like.

Okay, so: What little English-language buzz I've seen about this show has used the word "feminist" about it -- mostly in conjunction with how the show's popularity made the CCP sour on its failure to portray appropriate communist values (???). So I went into it expecting feminism! And I got a show with a whole bunch of female characters in it! And hoo boy, are those two things not necessarily the same!

This show is a great example of how merely passing the Bechdel-Wallace Test doesn't make something feminist. Sure, it's mostly about a single woman who, through her plucky nature, rises in the ranks of power. But that is feminist only by the shallowest, most girlboss, Lean-In-ass definition of the word.

At the beginning, you can kinda tell this was written, produced, and directed by men. By the time you get to the end, you can absolutely tell that the production team was dudes from top to bottom. This, to me, is the big tell: that the show cannot conceive that anything these women are doing could be interesting unless it's trying to stab another woman in the back. There is a time jump very near the end, where the few female characters still standing agree to stop being shitty to one another -- and then fast-forward a decade, because why would we care about seeing what their lives are like when they're not being shitty to one another?

The show is incredibly constrained by Actual History. At the end of the day, it's a Cinderella story, and as such, we have to cheer for the social and legal mechanisms that make it possible -- even when they're grotesquely misogynistic. The show lets its female characters pay lip service to how awful it is that women are little more than breeding stock, but it doesn't let them do anything about it. Mothers can be obliquely sad that their daughters are being fed to the same patriarchy machine that fucked them up, but talking is the most they can accomplish ... because those daughters were real people who were actually fed into the patriarchy machine. We know this. We have documentation. China is very good at keeping receipts.

Wei Yingluo starts out as a servant, and throughout the first half of the show, she moves up and down in the servant ranks -- and all the while it makes the point that being a servant fucking sucks. Maybe it's better when you get to work directly under someone you really like, but the actual job sucks shit and puts you at the mercy of everyone above you in the palace hierarchy. Your life is not your own. You're barely a person. You can easily get executed for merely working in the same household as someone who broke the rules.

The feminist answer to this dilemma is to notice that the system is bad and either a) refuse to participate in it, or b) use your power to mitigate its badness. The show, however, clearly thinks that the real problem with this whole setup is that the people we like aren't at the top of it. Somebody has to take the abuse; you just don't want that somebody to be you. Once Wei Yingluo gets to a place of real power in the palace hierarchy, she starts behaving very much like the people who used to be shitty to her and takes no steps to prevent the early-show damage she suffered from happening to other people.

Now: You can make the argument that if she'd done all those radical things, she would've been dead meat -- and I think you'd be correct! But the show never indicates that it gives a second thought to how abusive and unfair this all is. Survival in this system means exploiting the people below you. There's not a neutral option. And this show expects you to cheer for exploiting the "right" people.

The show never quite seems to internalize what the stakes are -- at least, not for more than a moment or two at a time. I made the Real Housewives joke because the show more or less treats the consort-on-consort schemes as fun catfights by mean girls wanting to be the prom queen. It almost gets to the point of realizing that a woman's place in the harem is literal life-and-death shit for her, and that if she can't produce a son and work him into a powerful position, she's fucked. It always bunts when it gets there, though, choosing to play up vanity and petty grievances instead of the absolute desperation these women must be feeling.

It gets so close with Consort Shun to a real discussion about how awful it is that the men in their lives see them as pretty objects to be bartered for favor and power with other men. But it can't fully go there, because that would undermine the structures propping up this Cinderella story, and then we couldn't feel good about the Cinderella story. And we want to feel good about the Cinderella story. We will burn every other female character in the show if we get to feel good about the Cinderella story.

I've made a lot of jokes about lesbians in this show, but the truth is, it is chronically deficient in lesbianism. Lesbian sex would have improved the lives of at least half the characters here, if not more. Unlike a lot of other historical c-drama shows, Yanxi Palace acknowledges the reality and possibility both male and female same-sex sexual desire -- but it does so in order to say that both are bad. (I legitimately cannot tell if the production is doing this to show how regrettably anti-gay the past was or to play on the audience's expected homophobic disgust. I suspect the latter, but I genuinely don't know.) While it does the fascinating thing of showing desire and coupled relationships between women and eunuchs, it has no idea how queer those setups are, nor does it acknowledge the possibility for same-sex pairings to fill that same positive dynamic.

So why on earth would I list this whole mess of problematic attitudes as a reason for, and not against, watching the show?

Because it is fascinating to think about. Look, I've burned a lot of time and brainpower here writing several paragraphs that no one is ever going to read about how interesting the show's moves are. It has the weird problem where it understands what happens when you lock a bunch of women together in a high-pressure situation keyed to a brutal hierarchy -- but it doesn't ever appear to quite get why. At least, not beyond the sense that people will claw their way to the top of any hierarchy they have access to, just because it's there. (Watch how it treats the few exceptions to this, the rare nonambitious characters. See how long they stay nonambitious.)

As I said when I labeled this point, the show is just on the edge of a smart conclusion, and that smart conclusion has to do with how awful it is that women are both the people who suffer most under heteropatriarchy and the people who work the hardest to uphold it.

Yes, the world into which these women have been thrust is awful. But they make it ten times more awful because they're all semi-voluntarily engaged in a vicious, Highlander-esque zero-sum competition. They could cut one another some slack, but they're more invested in continuing the cycle of abuse to maintain an intense, repressive order. The ones that try to be kind about it get repeatedly fucked by the ones who have no interest in kindness. They all have to engage in performative rituals that mimic sincerity without actually producing a single genuine emotion toward one another. It's horrifying and paranoia-inducing in the extreme. And they're doing most of it to themselves.

If it were really feminist, the moral of the Story of Yanxi Palace would be it does't have to be like this. This dynamic is not inevitable; this is a choice perpetuated by generations of people who benefit from it just enough not to question its correctness.

Sadly, there's still enough promise in patriarchy that being a Good Girl will save you from the shit we put the Bad Girls through -- so don't you want to be a Good Girl? All we need you to do is throw all those icky Bad Girls under the bus. It's their fault for being Bad Girls anyway. But you? You don't have to be afraid. We're not going to hurt you. You deserve all the good things we're giving you. You're not like all the other girls. You're different. You're special.

Just don't forget to watch your back.

If anything, I think the CCP is terribly wrong: This show is an excellent demonstration of communist values, in that if these women had just joined together in solidarity, all their lives would have been so much better! The Emperor should have been posting helplessly on Reddit like "My (55M) consorts (40F, 36F, 31F, 28F, 22F, 19F) have unionized" so the entire internet could come for his ass.

Care to watch?

This is another of those shows you can find in a whole bunch of places! Here's the ones I know about:

YouTube

TVBAnywhere

Viki

Tubi

iQiyi

I know seventy episodes is a commitment. I know eighteenth-century palace drama is a lot. I know that last selling point of mine seemed to go on for-fucking-ever and you probably didn't read any of it. But this show is a beautiful work that I think more people should see, warts and all. Besides, if all we ever consume is ideologically "pure" media, how do we learn to think critically about anything?

True story: My Chinese colleague, knowing I was watching this show, taught me slang for "lesbian." It's 拉拉 (lala). Very useful.

[sun-stricken]

Some ideas for you! Take your pick!

Gray frequents the infirmary the most. In one of my ideas lately, after thinking about iced shell, maybe ice make makes the body a bit more…prone to cracking? Maybe he bruises easy and gets a lot of head wounds. It’s why he’s always in bandages longer. I like the idea of Porlyusica getting sick of him.

Team Natsu/the guild/slayers taking care of him, even when he doesn’t realise it. (Against pervs, against himself, maybe people are a bit racist (with him being not from Fiore).

Gray gets sad sometimes and dissociates.

Gray has night terrors so he has sleeping pills, but on missions he also has caffeine tablets to keep him awake so he doesn’t have terrors around them. Safe to say, they aren’t happy when they find this.

Lucy asks Gray about where he’s from, traditions etc, and the guild realises he might be homesick so they secretly try to learn things for him. (Over the years they’ve picked up swear words (Gray doesn’t realise he’s doing it and they’ve never told him))

Gray’s actually quite touch starved. His body temperature is cold so most people stay away/ don’t touch him (but don’t realise they’re doing it). The only one who can stand is Natsu because of his magic. Maybe it gets worse after becoming a slayer.

…also do you take spicy requests?

you cant just give me all these amazing concepts and tell me to pick☹️ i will do a little for all of them if it kills me

Also yes! i absolutely do take nsfw requests! feel free to ask me anything! im surprised it took so long to ask me that tbh

there is a lot here so vv

1.

* Hes the single reason why the guild infirmary is always having to restock

* Due to Grays multiple usages of iced shell some of his body did turn to ice, most sections of his bones, it looks like a normal bones but it acts like ice, which means hes more likely to break a bone

* unfortunately, its not like a normal broken bone for obvious reasons. itll splinter and have hairline cracks all over the bones before it breaks.

* It takes less time to heal than a normal break, he just has to get it wrapped and limit his usage of his magic so it can ‘heal’ (as in, ice it over again) the breaks and cracks. It takes less time to heal and also less pressure to break, win lose situation tbh

* Which is also why head wounds are especially dangerous for him, skull fractures are more common for him than anyone would like, which is to say any at all

* His external body temperature is low and causes him to bruise like a peach, getting a friendly slap on the back can cause him to bruise for weeks, especially from Erza

* bro hasnt gone a day without a bruise in like ten years

* Hes been dragged to Porlyusica so many times now that anytime she sees him (on the field, in her office, even completely out of context and hes not visibly injured) its like second nature to check him out first

* if she could go a month, or even just two weeks! without seeing him she might consider changing her views on humanity (probably not but its the thought that counts)

* Also Gray has small sections of what people think is frostbite on his hands and feet. It doesnt hurt or limit him at all but theyre there, showed up some time post devil slayer magic

* ALSO! His blood runs slower and is darker due to his low body temperature, causes him only the vaguest of problems but its a thing (this is common in most powerful ice wizards)

2.

* Gray likes to pretend hes good at taking care of himself, but hes not hes really not

* Luckily he has a lot of nosy and protective friends thatll do it for him (in their own ways)

* Natsu literally temperature exploding some guys glass at a bar when he got wayyyy too friendly and handsy with Gray

* they were kicked out but he was really proud of himself

* Rogue drawing shadows towards Gray if he needs to sleep and its too bright, or Sting creating a warm light beam when its dark out and Gray wants to embrace his inner cat and sleep in a sunbeam

* Wendy checking him over first bc she knows hes one of the people who wouldnt ask for help if he was injured

* hes had multiple people physically remove him from fights/training sessions because he was visibly pushing himself way too hard

* Part of the reason Gray learned Fioren so fast was because he was sick of people looking at him like he was stupid for not speaking ‘right’

* he mentioned this to the little slayer group they got goin on and from then on out they were like, hella hyper vigilant with anything that could make him insecure like that again

3.

* It really scared him the first couple times he did it, it still does. He hates losing time

* It started happening during his time with Ur, he cant remember a lot of it, training, blink, fighting, blink, training, blink, training, you get the idea

* It doesnt happen often, and he tried not to think of it past the point of trying to get it to stop

* Its happens often when hes highly stressed but theres no immediate physical threat, his brain doesnt understand whats going on or why its so stressed but knows he doesnt need to physically protect himself yet so it mentally protects him (if that makes sense), usually when hes alone, or when a threat is gone

* he confided in Erza about this once, and now more times than not when he ‘wakes up’ shes there talking to him

* only part he feels is good about it is that it makes him exhausted and lets him sleep easier

* He doesn’t usually dissociate often, not that he has much of a choice, if he did it wouldnt happen at all, but it was a lot worse when he was younger, his memories of early fairy tail are all blurry and he felt like he was on autopilot even when he was ‘awake’

* he hates it

4.

* After his team found out abt his vast array of pharmaceuticals they were so confused and concerned and probably borderline paranoid, because who needs that many medications for one person??

* Gray had been taking sleeping pills at a high enough dose to let him have a dreamless sleep for so long that most over the counter brands dont actually work on him

* but he kept all the old bottle that didnt work just in case he got desperate to sleep and they suddenly magically worked again

* The caffeine tablets were self explanatory after seeing all the sleeping meds, but he also (unwillingly) admitted he takes them on missions so he wouldnt wake them if he had a nightmare, and also for days when they were especially bad so he could go long enough without sleep hed just crash and sleep with no issues. Canr have a nightmare if you dont sleep

* His team was also extremely unimpressed by these explanations

* Erza and Natsu (and also Happy) strong armed him into going to Porlyusica for actual helpful solutions since he refused to go to his actual doctor

* While Lucy and Wendy disposed of the full fucking pharmacy (seriously, he coulda started a business or smth) he had in his bedroom

* For some odd reason he felt lighter and less moody when he was on actual helpful medication and was getting genuine rest

* how strange

* and if his team checks his house for another pharmacy in the making thats nobodies business but theirs

* Also Erza tried to ban Gray from caffeine while on a quest , or at least limit it, but he looked at her like she was absolutely batshit crazy to the point she got embarrassed and had to retract the ban

* But she will tie him to the bed to make him sleep on quests if she has to

5.

* The first time Lucy asked where Gray was from was before Galuna, he ended up giving her a shady answer and redirecting the question to her (reminder, before galuna, before phantom lord) which she ended up also being a bit cagey about so she let it go

* But Lucy is nosy (endearing) by nature, so she asked if he had any different holiday type traditions sometime after Galuna, and to the surprise of, well, literally everyone, he did and gave examples

* which lead down a rabbit hole of the guild fretting a bit abt how to make him comfortable (even though hed been with them for a decade) bc he mentioned he used to be really homesick the first couple years, and sometimes still is

* Most the guild still had no clue where he was from so they were really just running in circles for awhile

* Levy tried to figure it out from the time he accidentally dropped, what she assumed to be colorful curse words, random foreign language bits

* didnt really work but she tried

* so for months he was bombarded with ‘subtle’ questions about his hometown and its culture, which got shut down most the time

* Thats not to say he didnt give them anything, he gave them enough that they were incorporated into existing traditions and holidays they already celebrated

* it was a very sweet gesture that Gray absolutely did not tear up at, so shut up—

6.

* Gray is the most touch starved fool on the planet. ive always loved the idea of him liking touch a lot

* He grew up in a pretty affectionate family, his parents were always around to ruffle his hair, or hug, or hold his hand, or carry him, they were just very physically affectionate and he enjoyed it

* With it made him nauseous, guilty really, because Ur and Lyon were also physically affectionate but it wasnt them, it wasnt his family

* Also it was plain uncomfortable at times, part of learning ice magic was to almost numb himself to cold, but in the beginning numbed him to everything and it became uncomfortable to be touched because it was tingly and it hurt

* Early Fairy Tail he was completely closed off, couldnt stand being touched, didnt want to get cozy and make friends because he planned to leave anyways.

* Ice mages (Fire mages also) temperatures can fluctuate depending on how they feel, for example, if they’re experiencing negative emotions their temperature and the space around them will get colder

* and Gray used to be so angry and upset all the time, and hed just beginning to learn magic so he didnt know how to fix it yet, which caused a lot of discomfort for people.

* People didnt stay around him long because the discomfort of being too cold, and what was he gonna do about it? ask them to come back?? hell no

* So he gained a reputation and people didnt want to disrespect a volatile childs apparent boundaries so they didnt question it

* He was fine with fighting being the only real prolonged touch hed get, totally

* But Natsus got this thing about him that makes him think he can do the impossible, which includes shaking Grays world view and comfort levels

* At some point in their teens Natsu would not let go of the alleged fact that Grays didnt like being touched for some reason, so he did what he does best and pressed the issue

* it ended with Gray being a puddle in his lap while he had a crisis about everything he thought he knew about himself while Natsu celebrated his victory against him

* Its not completely public knowledge but the guild most definitely knows at least a little about how much Gray is touch starved

* he doesnt openly welcome it with open arms but if its happening and he trusts the person hes not gonna say no

* he probably gets a euphoria high from a head pat or smth

* After getting his devil slayer magic is absolutely got worse, having two powerful ice magics, one of which he was still struggling to get the hang of, in one body made it difficult to control the temperature around him, and after long enough people would start shivering if he wasnt careful

* it sucked, totally and completely sucked

* Natsu still remained unbothered and would increase his own temperature to counterbalance Grays, which helped a lot

* he still gets all up in Grays space no matter how much Gray tell him to fuck off, he knows he needs it

[illumiera]

thinking about Miraak in Apocrypha, realising after a while—weeks? months? years, maybe?—that Mora's promises were lies and that he was never going to set him free. thinking of how Mora intentionally undid the healing he'd performed on the wounds Miraak had sustained in his battle with Vahlok, how he would only agree to save him in return for some of Miraak's memories—trivial things, things you'll never miss.

thinking of how Mora never had any intention of taking just "trivial things", but in actuality, took everything besides the harshest memories of the dragons, the cult, Miraak's own cruelty. thinking of how he took his new champion's memories of his Atmoran homeland, his memories of Nirn as a whole, his memories of the mysterious horned-and-winged woman he'd loved in his dreams, his memories of his own face and the name he'd had before he was Miraak.

thinking of how Miraak was a worshipper of Kyne and Dibella, left without even the vaguest impression of how wind felt between his fingers, how soft grass and snow were beneath his feet, how many colours there were in a sunset. thinking of how he had no idea that he'd worshipped his most beloved gods at all.

thinking of how he was put in a situation where his only choices were, effectively, two different kinds of deaths.

thinking of Elentari, horned and winged in Dragon Aspect, and how her last-ditch attempt to stop their fight ended with her using Bend Will to literally will his memories back to him.

thinking of how, ultimately, she resurrected him twice, first in mind and then in body and soul.

[snowalwayslandsontop]

"I'm sorry, but did you just say that I should marry Felix." Coriolanus was certain that he had not heard Doctor Gaul correctly. It was late, nearly midnight and she had been working him at all hours in the lead up to the next Games. They were months away but he knew she was scrambling to make these the best, yet again. "Yes. I've been giving this some thought recently and it makes sense. You need a political alliance if you aren't planning on remaining a Game Maker forever. The Plinth dollar will only take you so far and they're still District, regardless of where they reside." Doctor Gaul was hovering in his office doorway, her bag in hand as she was clearly preparing to leave for the evening. "I'm certain there are more suitable candidates for a marriage of convenience." Coriolanus had never once considered Felix as a prospective partner. They were friends in the vaguest sense. He was closer to Festus than he was to Felix but they had spent enough time together over the years. "Who exactly did you have in mind? Miss Dovecote has made it clear that she wants to marry for love, not convenience which is why she still remains unattached. Livia Cardew? Her only saving grace is her mothers connection to the Bank of Panem. A pretty thing but she will bring you nothing but trouble." Gaul offered him a pointed look. This was not the first time they had discussed his prospective marriage. He had no interest in marrying for love. It was an entanglement he didn't need. No one would ever be allowed to touch his heart again. Lucy Gray. Sejanus. They were both in the past now and he would only look forward to the future. He liked Clemensia and he had floated the idea of marriage but she had turned him down, knowing they would never find that type of love with one another. Besides, she had never quite forgiven him for working with Gaul after what she had done to her. "I don't think Felix Ravinstill is interested in forming a relationship with me, let alone a marriage for convenience." Coriolanus remained unconvinced about Gauls supposed plan. Had she already discussed this with President Ravinstill? Just what she was hoping to get out of this? She hadn't come up with this plan out of the goodness of her heart. He knew Gaul viewed him as a pawn in her own little game and if she wanted this, it was because she was going to get something out of it. "The good news is that Felix doesn't know exactly what he wants. He's quite malleable in the right hands and I'm certain it would not be that difficult to lead him whatever direction you want." Gaul moved further into the room, coming to stand in front of his desk. "A marriage of convenience and a closer relationship with the President than you have right now. He likes you. He sees great potential within you and if you were to marry Felix, you'd be a Ravinstill for all intents and purposes. A powerful position, especially if you intend to take the Presidency one day." Coriolanus sat back in his chair, realising that this was far from a flight of fancy by Doctor Gaul. No, she had given this some deep consideration. She must have been keeping this thought to herself for some time, weeks if not months before she had approached him.

A marriage to Felix wasn't something he had considered before and yet, with Doctors Gauls words, the idea seemed to be taking shape. He would indeed become a Ravinstill, even if he knew he would never willingly give up the Snow name. But it would give him closeness to the family he hadn't had before. Being a family of the 'Old Guard' of Panem alongside the Plinths money could only take him so far and he needed more. The connection was a valuable one that he couldn't use by simply being friends with Felix as he was. But there were more complications than Gaul had considered certainly. "Felix and Festus have been an off and on again couple for some time." Coriolanus mused, more to himself than Doctor Gaul but she was already waving her hand at that concern. "Mr Creed is not going to marry Felix. We both know that he continues to have his eyes set on Persephone Price for marriage and besides, even if he didn't, I'm certain you could turn Felixs head. As I said, he's quite malleable in the right hands." Coriolanus shook his head at that. Could he seduce Felix? Probably. Under the guise of friendship and a marriage that would suit them both. Would that be enough or would Felix need a feeling of love from him too? "And steal him from Festus? The man will never forgive me for it, whether he intends to walk Felix down the aisle or not." "Losing Festus Creed would not be a tragic loss. He might be from old money but he is not powerful enough to cause a problem for you. Besides, if he has genuine feelings for Felix, it could earn you his loyalty." Gaul gave him a pointed look. "He wouldn't want to cause problems for your new husband now, would he?"

Coriolanus supposed not and if Felix did go onto marry Persephone, it could earn him her loyalty too at the insistence of her husband. The Ravinstills, Creeds and Prices support together would be invaluable when the time came to run for President, or anything where he might need the support of some of the more powerful families in the Capitol. He had the Plinths too, who while they were still seen as District, had moved on and up in the world once they had declared him their heir. "Let me sit with this for a few days." Coriolanus needed sometime to wrap his head around with this idea. "Don't sit with it too long. Next Friday evening, you will attend Pluribus' night club and I'll see if I can pull a few strings to ensure Felix is there too." Gaul was turning to leave once more. Coriolanus wondered if he should concerned that Doctor Gaul knew his schedule even when he was off the clock. "It's a casual enough evening, where the drinks can flow freely." "I certainly hope you're not insinuating that I need to get someone drunk to even consider being with me." Coriolanus was only half kidding, although he wondered if there was an insult in her comment. Apparently there wasn't, because she laughed at his words. An off-putting sound that still made his stomach churn despite how many times he had heard it. She paused in the doorway to turn back and face him. "No need to play coy, Mr Snow. We both know that you can be quite persuasive when you choose to be. You're learning. As I said, Felix is quite suggestible and I'm certain you'll able to persuade him without him even realising you're doing it." Gaul gave him a pointed look. There was a hint of smile and amusement across her features but he was also aware that this wasn't a suggestion. She expected him to do this, whether he wanted to or not. "Yes, Doctor Gaul. I'll be there on Friday evening." Coriolanus gave her a nod and Doctor Gaul recognised that he understood that her suggestions weren't really optional. "Very good." Doctor Gaul nodded, a hint of a genuine smile in his direction. "Go home, Mr Snow. It's late." Clearly she was pleased with his response, since she rarely told him it was time to take his leave for the evening. "Yes, Doctor Gaul. Good night." Coriolanus watched her leave the office, feeling relief in her absence. Once he was certain she was gone, he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands.

He had certainly not been expected this when he had come into the office this morning. A potential marriage of Felix Ravinstill? The nuptials would be a long way off yet. They'd need to date first, see if they were compatible in any way because Coriolanus did not want to be miserable or have problems made for him by a difficult spouse. However, Doctor Gaul was correct in that Felix could be easily persuaded, quite malleable under the right guidance. He could be that right guidance. Use Felix to whatever end he needed and discard him if he came too troublesome. His minds eye wandered to Felix. He was a pretty thing certainly. But he was spoiled and he had squandered away his destiny as a Ravinstill. The name and family privilege was wasted on him but it could be salvaged by Coriolanus himself. He could use the name and money and power to take what he wanted, with Felix at his side for as long as he was useful. A fine idea indeed. Coriolanus smiled as he stood, starting to pack up his paperwork for the evening. The idea was growing upon him and he wondered if Friday evening went well, if Felix would attend the Polo match with him on Saturday afternoon. They'd need to take things slow enough, make their romance believable and perhaps give Felix himself a chance to fall in love with him. It would make this arrangement easier. Love clouded ones judgement. He was only too painfully aware of that himself. He wouldn't be foolish enough to put himself in that position again but it could certainly work in his favour if Felix did develop feelings for him. Once his desk was clean and organised, he clicked off the desk lamp and plunged his office into darkness. He picked up his briefcase, closing the door behind him before heading for the elevator, a slight spring in his step as he focused on his next task. Seducing Felix Ravinstill. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: This idea would not leave me alone once I had seen your response to the ask about Felix and Coriolanus in a marriage of convenience. @felixravinstills So this is dedicated to you and your splendid takes. I couldn't resist having Gaul have a hand in all of this because she really is the absolute worst and her mentorship with Coriolanus is so deliciously messed up. But I do think once they start dating, Coriolanus develops some obsession with Felix and perhaps passion ignites between them after all.

[laufire]

You’re so right about Jason being way too into a cat and mouse with Oracle. There would be so much picking and prodding at her to get her to come out and play until she finally catches him. If you were writing them would you include her past relationship with Grayson? Would she be older than Jason or would you retcon her age? Would they know who the other was or is their identity a secret to each other until it is revealed?

if I go with my idea of setting it during the last year or so of the lost days era, barbara is still dating dick, albeit seemingly in the last throes of their relationship which. is definitely an interesting set-up lol. also barbara as oracle can get really flirty with whoever she's communicating with; it often doesn't mean anything buuuuuut. with her relationship falling apart... aldskafsjdf xD

I definitely would keep her older than jason. I'm less fixated on her age than I am with other characters, especially since she apparently graduates early and that gives her life experience above her other partners, but I usually like her to be at least a few years older than dick. around talia's age, ironically lol. like, if we go with a dick that's, say, 4 years older than jason, barbara is at least 6, maybe 8 years older. so during that time I picture jason as 19-20, and barbara as 26-28.

I only have the vaguest details of an idea, but what I have could significantly alter the last issue of lost days, in terms of changing and even cancelling any plans jason could have about returning to gotham and confronting bruce. among other things this might translate to jason NOT having A Persona, not like does in the comics, albeit barbara would have no idea about who he is (because why would that be the conclusion where she immediately jumps? eventually she'd figure it out, but at first she wouldn't know there's something to figure out beyond "guy must have a name" and jason's identity, fingerprints etc. was completely scrubbed by the bats). at first jason would have no clue about hers either, though I kind of like the idea of jason finding out first, maybe due to some comment that reminds him of something barbara said in the past? it's a complete accident and a shock to his system.

I think this would happen circa/before lost days #6 (and precipitate those alterations regarding it), and he'd need to completely disengage for at least a few months, maybe up to a year. I'm talking full radio silence while barbara is chasing after hints of this anti-hero frenemy of hers because she needs to know what he's up to, like she needs to know what everyone's up to lol. AFTER jason has dealt with some of his shit (not all, he's full of it <3), the cat and mouse games can continue, and here, knowing who's at the other side, he would up his jerry-ness (it's just how he flirts).

[veliseraptor]

The first steps stumbling forward (mcu) sound intriguing. I'm apologising for the blast from the past!

hey I put stuff on there as an invitation for a blast from the past, so!!! this one is the post-ragnarok steve/loki fic, or at least that's ostensibly the premise of it but i'm five chapters and a hundred pages in and the steve/loki is but a glimmer in the eye. but i guess that's pretty par for the course.

the premise here was basically "thor and loki and company end up on earth as refugees, loki's presence a carefully kept secret, fugitive steve ends up hanging out with them also, developments occur" and i'd gotten as far as "developments occurring" before i got distracted and then fell off the mcu train near entirely. but I still like what I have here! it's 100 pages of pretty good writing, if I do say so myself! but I also (again) don't have an outline and only the vaguest impression of where it was going after the point I reached, so that's probably part of my issue. technically a lot of it is also just about loki figuring his shit out post-ragnarok, as he should've had the chance to do and I'm never not going to be bitter about that particular missed opportunity.

you might be noting a pattern here with my unfinished works and it is me going 'what's an outline, I don't know her' and then running into trouble with that.

“There’s a spy in the camp,” Loki informed Thor when he came back from yet another meeting. He was in a toweringly bad mood, and Loki’d considered waiting to tell him anything, but it seemed like the kind of thing that shouldn’t be deferred.  “A spy,” Thor said, eye narrowing. “Whose spy?”  “I don’t know,” Loki said. “We only spoke briefly.”  Thor stiffened. “You spoke to him? Loki-” “Not as myself, Thor, don’t panic,” he said. “And it’s her, actually. She’s posing as one of the relief workers. I pretended to be a mother who had lost her husband looking for extra blankets for a newborn. We struck up a conversation. I did not ascertain her employer. Admittedly, I am a bit behind the times on the various spy organizations of Midgard.”  Thor stared at him. “When weren’t you?” He asked. Loki raised his eyebrows.  “I asked Clint Barton a lot of questions,” he said neutrally. “He was a veritable fount of information. SHIELD likes - liked? - to keep track of their competitors.” Thor did not look pleased. Whether at the reminder of what Loki had done, the fact that he had done it, the fact that Thor was clearly tempted to ask for more information and thus profit from Loki’s misdeeds, or all of the above, was unclear. Loki waited.  “So,” Thor said. “We have a spy.”  “Probably more than one.”  “What do you suggest we do with her?”  “Public hanging,” Loki said. “Or there’s always something more dramatic. Give me a bit and I’ll come up with a few ideas.”  “Loki,” Thor said.

[navree]

I saw your post from a while ago were you rewrote hotd using the vague outline of the show can i ask what your ideal hotd season 1 would be like keeping the same episode count but ignoring everything else???

So, I'm gonna assume that by HOTD you do still mean the vaguest "it's about the Dance of Dragons" plot because honestly my ideal HOTD show would have been a Conquest show because those are my babies and I have a LOT of thoughts and it's a crying shame that HBO did not hire me for it (which I can get into in how I'd make that show if you want, lol). But, assuming we're doing the Dance, then I'll explain how season 1 would go from my perspective.

(also apologies, I just got back from a sushi restaurant with my mother and I'm two cocktails deep so there may be some grammatical errors)

Episode One - I'll just link back to what I wrote in this response, because that's still the same. I actually really like the bones of the show, especially changing the Rhaenicent relationship to make it what it is, I think that is more interesting for a longform narrative like a TV show. But basically, the pilot is entirely the same except for the fact that 1) Daemon and Mysaria get an introduction that's just them observing one of Mysaria's customers behind a curtain, being voyeuristic and conniving but not engaging themselves and 2) there is no prophecy. Verbatim from my first response: "I'm not against the idea that Aegon might have had ulterior motives beyond simple Conquest, and we know that Targaryens are capable of having prophetic abilities, but no this should not have been a secret passed down through generations for some fucking reason because that's stupid. And most importantly, considering that HOTD needed to succeed in spite of Game of Thrones, not because of it, because of how awful the last season was and how immediately it faded from the public consciousness and stopped being relevant as a result, the show should honestly not be so frequently be calling back to a disappointing aspect of the show. "A Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne" ok but she wasn't and the Long Night ended because some rando had a good ten yard jump according to D&D cuz they wanted to "subvert expectations" stop reminding me of that if I want to be enjoying this new show." Not to mention that it doesn't make sense because the succession was shot to Hell almost immediately for the Targaryens, Aenys likely would have passed that secret down to Aegon the Uncrowned, who died before he could tell anyone anything, Jaehaerys was an unlikely heir, he didn't know about any prophecy, God this was dumb. Also, again, Rhaenys would get her own introduction, I imagine maybe visiting her cousin Aemma as she nears labor when Viserys comes in, ranting about something that happened at the Small Council, where Rhaenys gets an opportunity to show better political acumen and make it clear that Viserys was the wrong choice for the crown.

Episode Two - This is the first episode where we hear Otto talk to Alicent about going to the king for comfort, that would be nixed from the first episode. As with the show, we see that Alicent is deeply uncomfortable with this, and there's gonna be a lot more emphasis on Viserys's own manipulation and how it parallels modern ways men groom young girls, talking about not telling anyone cuz they wouldn't understand, pointing out Alicent's maturity especially when compared to Rhaenyra (who is her age), etc. Meanwhile, the plot on Dragonstone is one that Daemon and Mysaria hatch together, albeit for different reasons (Daemon to get Viserys's attention, Mysaria because she can see that tensions might be starting to boil over and wants to protect herself as best she can). The pregnancy is a fake, but the only one who really starts to think that is the Velaryons, particularly Rhaenys. She would get a scene at Driftmark with Corlys, to showcase again that she's really in touch with politics, where she believes that this is both a ploy to shore up power and get Viserys's attention, while both Corlys and her children listen in (this will be important later). Rhaenyra, meanwhile, is clearly struggling with her role as heir, and we'd get scenes showcasing that no one really takes her seriously and even Viserys still just sees her as a cupbearer rather than an heir. The only person, ironically, who really seems to want to help her and who she leans on for support in learning how to do things, like appointing Kingsguard knights (which happens same as the show), is Otto. She really leans on Otto, as not just the Hand of the King but her friend's father, who she believes has her best interests at heart. The episode still ends the same though, with Viserys announcing in Council, in front of Rhaenyra (though he's never consulted her this time) that he will marry Alicent, to her shock and horror.

Episode Three - Not to be self-indulgent, but the bulk of this episode is going to be like my fic Spring's End, because I was correct in everything I wrote here so go read that also because I wrote it in like two days and it somehow turned out semi-coherent. That's the main crux of the episode, focusing on Alicent's reaction and really hammering home things like Viserys's inappropriate behavior, Otto's love in conflict with his ambition, and the tension between her increasingly important but isolated status at court, as well as starting the sort of Lancelot and Guinevere relationship she will have with Criston. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra is spiraling, hard, about the fact that her father is marrying her friend and still not taking her seriously, along with feeling like she was duped by Otto in that he allowed her to depend on him while seemingly scheming to get someone else on the throne in her place. And it's in this mindset that Rhaenyra decides to go to Dragonstone to confront Daemon herself, without any backup. The two have a heated verbal confrontation about Daemon's antics, and Viserys naming Rhaenyra heir, and even the fact that it doesn't matter, because he's marrying Alicent Hightower, and Rhaenyra has a moment where she tells him that Alicent will likely have sons, and Daemon will never be heir. This clearly cuts to Daemon, and he just decides to give up the dragon eggs and turns away. Rhaenyra has scored a victory, and she feels triumphant, but also hollow (foreshadowing). Daemon meanwhile decides to send Mysaria away, and it's left debatable how much is just because his plan failed and also because he does feel he's put her in danger for nothing, and decides to go to Driftmark. Back at King's Landing, Viserys learns of what Rhaenyra has done during dinner, and summons her to lambast her about it, before Alicent cuts in and points out that Rhaenyra diffusing the situation, while careless, did avoid a conflict that could hurt innocent civilians (this would precipitate the semi-reconciliation that shows up later). Viserys here is clearly torn between a sort of pride in his daughter, but also feeling that she behaved badly, and Rhaenyra is still angry at him but wants his approval. On Driftmark, Daemon and Corlys disparage Viserys and make plans to at least go deal with the Triarchy, which, while not hyped up nearly as much in the show, has at least been mentioned. Daemon also has a moment with Laena Velaryon, who here is the same age as Alicent and Rhaenyra. They notice Vhagar in the distance, talk about dragons and freedom, and Laena makes plain that she intends to claim a dragon for herself, as her mother's daughter, even dropping names like the Cannibal, which certainly piques Daemon's interest. The wedding between Viserys and Alicent goes off, though we are getting that deleted scene where Rhaenyra helps Alicent get ready, because I really wish we could have seen that or at least been told it happened before I wrote Spring's End.

Episode Four - Queen Alicent is pregnant, near term, and the court is alight with speculation as to whether it will be a princess or a prince. Rhaenyra is unsure of how to feel about it, and is trying to navigate the friendship, uncertain though it is, with the fact that Alicent is now the queen. She's gotten closer to Criston Cole, who seems to be primarily on bodyguard duty for the queen or the princess depending on the day, as well as Laena Velaryon, who is at court with her mother, who has informally taken Corlys's place on the Small Council now that he's in the Stepstones with Daemon; this is another way to show that Rhaenys is better at this than Viserys, and there are even moments where the Council is more in agreement with her than him. Meanwhile, the Stepstones aren't gonna be touched on much beyond maybe the final battle and some occasional references, except to show Daemon's military prowess and also Corlys's brilliance in strategy, as well as Corlys's frequent correspondences with Rhaenys, to highlight their cohesion. Meanwhile, in King's Landing, the Strongs have also arrived at the capital. Rhaenyra sees Harwin doing, idk, horse stuff or something medieval and masculine, and is quite taken with him, and they strike up some conversations. Larys, with his disability, finds himself interacting with the ladies of court most, especially Alicent, and the two form a sort of friendship surrounding engaging each other's minds, and they both enjoy that they're the only ones who seem to treat the other as an actual person, rather than the pregnant wife or the disabled second son. Rhaenyra's frank and open conversations with Harwin, on the other hand, embolden her, and we get that scene where she seduces Criston, and there's a lot more play with the fact that Criston is interested and does want it, but is held back by vows before giving in to desire (also, we're just going to put a lot more emphasis on Criston's religious convictions in this version of the show, especially during his convocation in episode two when he joins the Kingsguard). Towards the end of the episode, Alicent goes into labor. Viserys and Rhaenyra share a bonding moment about their worries for Alicent's safety and the reminders of Aemma and what happened to her, and for a moment it looks as though Viserys is goign to tell Rhaenyra what he did to her mother. Rhaenyra also gets a moment where she holds Alicent's hand during labor, and we see her simultaneous love for Alicent in that as well as her clear discomfort with the concept of this being her own fate. And then Alicent delivers a son, a direct challenge to Rhaenyra's claim.

Episode Five - A big thing that's going to happen in this episode is that this is where Laena claims Vhagar. She's at Driftmark for it (foreshadowing) and, given that we've seen her in episodes three and four, it becomes clear that Vhagar is following Laena specifically. So we get to see the claiming, and Laena's own power in that. That's something that, as Daemon returns to Driftmark with Corlys, he's going to learn about, and he's going to be very intrigued by that, and taken with Laena. Another thing we're going to see is Corlys's negotiations with allies he made in Essos during his time away, arranging a betrothal between Laena and the son of the Sealord of Braavos. Rhaenyra's plotline, on the other hand, is going to be about her asserting her own power, especially now that her father has a trueborn son named Aegon Targaryen, which is a direct threat. She has a moment with her father where she directly tells him that, as his heir, she's not just going to be his cupbearer, but deserves a seat at his Small Council. He acquiesces, and Rhaenyra butts heads with Otto a lot, and pushes hard for Harwin Strong to be made captain of the Gold Cloaks, and succeeds. This is coincides with Otto hearing rumors that Rhaenyra has been behaving inappropriately with men, especially Harwin and Criston Cole. He discusses these with Alicent, who refuses to believe that of both Criston and Rhaenyra, given that Criston is spending more time with her as her bodyguard as he struggles with his "sin". She does have that scene in the godswood with Rhaenyra, but instead of issues with Daemon, it's just saying that there are rumors spreading about her behavior and that Rhaenyra must have care with her reputation. Rhaenyra figures out it's Otto who's informing Alicent, and the mood here is complex; Alicent does want to look out for Rhaenyra but also wants to ascertain the truth, and Rhaenyra both sees and feels emotional about Alicent's care but also isn't sure if she can trust Alicent. Rhaenyra keeps that moment where she swears on the memory of her mother that nothing untoward happened, but this time it's an out and out lie, to showcase the way she handles issues that might harm her and her position, lie and deny (foreshadowing). There's also gonna be a scene, before the godswood, where Rhaenyra and Alicent talk about motherhood, and we see more of Rhaenyra's complex feelings on the topic, and she does admit she was worried Alicent would die in childbirth like Aemma.

Episode Six - It's Aegon's name day, and we can clearly see that Alicent is pregnant again, not as far along as she is in the show during episode three but at least starting to have a bump. And it's here that Daemon decides to make his return to court, and dramatically offer Viserys his crown and say that any title about the Narrow Sea means nothing to him, because Viserys is his true king. I'd add a lot more scenes of Viserys and Daemon in this episode, because remember, we haven't seen them interact since the first episode, and also to really highlight how there is a genuine affection here, especially on Daemon's part. Daemon and Rhaenyra also reconnect, and have a lot of conversations in the vein we see in the original episode 4, talking about how they can do whatever they want because they're Targaryens. It's heavily flirtatious, and we do get that scene of Daemon taking Rhaenyra into the city. Here, there is more an emphasis on Daemon really just wanting Rhaenyra to enjoy herself, since we'd have another scene between him and Laena at court, though more stilted because her intended, the son of the Sealord, is here too. But after that scene where the commons show more enthusiasm for baby Aegon than her, Rhaenyra and Daemon return, and Rhaenyra has a blunt moment about her struggles to be taken seriously. It gets pretty hot and heavy, and it's not in a private room, but one of the corridors. And lo and behold, who hears about it, but Otto. And this time, he takes his issues to the king, who does summon Rhaenyra to discuss it. Rhaenyra turns it around on Viserys, accusing him of abandoning her now that he has a son, and mentions that Otto has been spreading rumors not just about her and Daemon, but her and Harwin and her and Criston, and that she feels that Otto is no friend to the crown if he's going to impugn her own honor this way. Viserys discusses these allegations with Alicent as she's taking care of him, in earshot of Criston, who is horrified about being found out. But we get that moment from the show, where Alicent goes to bat for Rhaenyra, and points out that maybe Daemon was spreading some rumors himself. An emotionally exhausted Rhaenyra also gets a scene with Rhaenys, and they discuss the concept of being allowed to inherit, of inhabiting a man's position even though they are not men and cannot act like it, and the nature of Targaryens vs other Westerosi. Also there's a scene this ep in reference to a deleted scene from the original show where Rhaenyra is playing with toddler Aegon and getting him to say her name, a sweet moment between a brother and sister.

Episode Seven - Helaena has been born and is a few months old, and Rhaenyra and Otto are butting heads on the Small Council more and more, and as Daemon and Rhaenyra continue to spend time together, Otto continues to bring his concerns to the king. Eventually, Viserys fires Otto as the Hand, at Rhaenyra's insistence, and we do get that scene from the show between Otto and Alicent where he stresses that he doesn't think Rhaenyra could ever ascend, and that whole bit Rhys Ifans was talking about with how Otto wants to say "I love you and I'm scared for you" but doesn't know how. Alicent, feeling vexed that there are rumors about Daemon's behavior but nothing is happening, strongly urges Viserys to also send Daemon back to the Vale with Rhea Royce, saying that his habits endanger the Targaryens by engendering enmity in the smallfolk who feel that he's just allowed to act with impunity. Viserys also agrees to this, which Rhaenyra is not happy about, since it feels like Alicent removed an ally to her for no reason. Criston, meanwhile, we see continue to spiral about his tryst to Rhaenyra and the fallout of the lies involved, and goes to Alicent to ask if he can be in her service, and not have to spend time with Rhaenyra anymore. Alicent, who can see that he's upset about something, readily agrees, which drives a further wedge between her and Alicent. Rhaenyra turns to Laena Velaryon, who isn't particularly enthused about her betrothal to the son of the Sealord, and also to Harwin Strong just as a companion. After dinner with Laena and Rhaenys, Rhaenyra decides that she needs to take a husband to solidify her claim, especially with gossip at court that the king still summons the queen to his bedchamber in spite of having two children, which Rhaenyra does remain disgusted by. She goes to Viserys with the proposal that she tour the realm to find a suitable husband for the heir to the Iron Throne, and Viserys says nothing about her using that title, but agrees.

Episode Eight - Rhaenyra has been touring the Kingdoms, trying to find a husband, and it's not going well. She does go to the Vale, under the auspices of looking for a husband from that area, but mostly still to talk with Daemon. Laena also frequents the Vale, and the three of them tend to race their dragons, and Rhaenyra does notice that there's a simmering attraction between Laena and Daemon, which she calls Daemon out on, saying that, as Princess, she has no interest in playing second fiddle before she eventually departs the Vale. This leaves Daemon to confront what he does actually want out of a potential alliance with the Velaryons and the longstanding attraction with Laena (and maybe this leads him to killing Rhea? i'm conflicted on that one honestly but she does die in this episode, either accidentally like in the book or in a murkier version of what Daemon did in the show, maybe him just spooking her horse without bashing her head in with a rock). In King's Landing, Viserys grows increasingly infirm due to his various Iron Throne issues (yes I'm keeping that), and as such, Alicent has started accompanying him to Small Council meetings, which a lot of people are conflicted about. At first, we see her not doing much, but she eventually starts speaking out more and more. And at one point in the episode, Viserys is going to have an amputation, one that lays him up in bed for a bit, and Alicent still attends the Small Council in his place to speak for him. When someone points out that it is the Hand who speaks for the king, Alicent retorts that who knows the king better, and can thus speak for him best, than his own wife and, crucially (and the first time she ever flexes like this) the mother of his only son. At Driftmark, Rhaenys is back to ruling there, given that Corlys is back on the Small Council, and is definitely bitter about it. That's when Rhaenyra arrives, and offers a proposal: that she marry Laenor, and their first son be a Targaryen heir, while the others would stand to inherit Driftmark and other Velaryon properties as Velaryons. Rhaenys agrees to this, only writing a letter of the proposal to Corlys after she's done so to inform him that it's happening. Rhaenyra also gets more moments with Harwin in this episode, to build up to their relationship, and an important moment comes when she confides her issues with childbirth and childrearing after watching what it did to her mother.

Episode Nine - Rhaenyra arrives and is a bit weirded out to learn that Alicent is now on the Small Council too. The first meeting they have, where Rhaenyra discusses her marriage to Laenor, is a bit tense between them, and definitely awkward, but there's still an attempt at politeness. Rhaenyra has her talk with Laenor about different tastes, but she does also stress the importance that she does need an heir, so there will need to be duties performed on occasion to create one. Laena, meanwhile, is very not happy about Laenor's marriage and the bargain it includes, talking to her mother about how, if Rhaenyra can be the heir to the Iron Throne regardless of gender, then she, as Laenor's older sister, should be the one to inherit Driftmark and be the Lady of the Tides, and so should her own children. Rhaenys says that it's not going to happen, that Rhaenyra is only a solitary exception due to Targaryen nature, and Laena bluntly puts that it's a ridiculous thing to have it only be Rhaenyra, and that what would be the point of it at all if it didn't lead to larger change, otherwise the entire enterprise is doomed to failure (foreshadowing). Back in King's Landing, Criston Cole, whose arc this season has been about his religious convictions and how it feels to have betrayed those and seen the fallout, eventually cracks and confesses to Alicent, doing that whole "it's my sin but as a clement queen give me a quick death" moment. And Alicent is again betrayed at the fact that Rhaenyra lied, and the fallout from that lie for her and what that means about Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, has a late night talk with Harwin about having to choose a husband when there wouldn't be an expectation of her to choose a wife if she were a man, and Harwin is genuinely sympathetic, leading to a spontaneous kiss. When the rehearsal dinner happens later, Rhaenyra is dressed in her house colors, dramatic Targaryen red and black, but Alicent arrives in a dazzling green dress, the colors of Oldtown at war. She gives a smile to Hightower relatives, yes, but the conversation about how she's grown into queenship is actually had with Tyland Lannister, who we'd have seen her interact with on occasion at the Small Council. Rhaenyra clocks Alicent's coolness towards her, and the two have a private moment when left alone on the dais while Viserys does, idk, something, and Alicent makes a cold callback to Rhaenyra swearing on Aemma's memory, letting her know that she knows of the lies and she's angry.

Episode Ten - It is the wedding day of Rhaenyra and Laenor, and everyone is here, the Velaryons and the son of the Sealord and all the Strongs and all the retinues of the Houses and even Otto is here as a guest, given that he is the father of the queen. Before a tourney to celebrate the impending nuptials, Rhaenyra and Harwin have a talk about their feelings, and Rhaenyra does stress that she wants him but it has to be discreet because of her position, but she does have an understanding with Laenor, and the two share another kiss. Meanwhile, Alicent, just to be petty, tells Viserys she feels that she's pregnant again, and that it's another boy, and Viserys, because he's a moron, actually announces this before the tourney. This is the tourney where, in the mélee, Criston Cole kills Laenor's lover Joffrey, to Laenor's shock and horror. Laenor and Rhaenyra are both immediately calling for consequences, but Alicent comes in for Criston, saying that it's an armed mélee and thus there's a natural acceptance of risk, which Joffrey knew, and Viserys lets the whole thing slide. This casts a pall over the wedding ceremony, and during the feast that night, Laenor is still dejected, which is why Rhaenyra goes to dance with others, like Harwin, and Daemon, who has been invited, and the two have another sexually charged moment. Daemon also dances with Laena, and bluntly asks her whether she wants to be married to the son of the Sealord, and she says no, and makes a comment about wanting Vhagar to eat him. The Sealord gets a bit uppity about someone else dancing with his bride to be, words are exchanged between him and Daemon, and it eventually breaks out into an actual fight. Alicent impulsively calls out for Rhaenyra, and Harwin does go to remove her, and Rhaenyra does have a moment where the first thing she does is check if Alicent herself is unharmed, showing that even with the worsening relationship that we've seen crack apart, there's still love there. Daemon eventually kills the son of the Sealord as Viserys, who again has been having those health problems all season like in the original show, passes out. This allows both Daemon and Criston Cole to sneak out unnoticed, and Criston, like in the show, is going to kill himself. Again, we've seen him kinda spiral all season, and after now killing someone too, not in combat but in a game, he feels at his lowest. And like in the show, Alicent stops him, though we do seem her kneel in the grass and take the knife from his hands. Alicent and Rhaenyra both then go to stay by Viserys, and we see them arrive at the same time before they sit on opposite sides of his bed. And here I will ape myself and my original answer again: "Episode ends with Daemon saddling Caraxes, ready to ride away before someone thinks "hey maybe we should imprison the guy who killed a foreign ally's leader", and then suddenly a great shadow blocks out the sun. Suddenly Vhagar lands in front of him, Laena atop her, and Daemon thinks, oh shit is she gonna try and fight me for killing her betrothed? He's still on the ground, and suddenly Laena climbs down from Vhagar to join him there. She doesn't say anything, but she smiles at him, and Daemon bends to kiss her hand." Meanwhile, at Viserys's sickbed, you have Rhaenyra, the Velaryons (minus Laena), and Harwin on one side, and Alicent, Larys, Otto, the Lannisters, Criston, and two attendants holding Aegon and Helaena on another. It's interspersed with a shot of Caraxes and Vhagar taking flight, almost dancing in the air, and their calls intermingle with baby Aegon beginning to cry. The dragons are dancing, the Targaryens are choosing side, and children are already weeping; th war may not have started yet, but it is already here. As Vhagar's wing eclipses the camera as she flies away, episode ends.

So this is uhhhhh not my best work as I'm making it up on the fly as I write this, but here ya go, HOTD season 1 if I were allowed to be showrunner. I'm not sure how coherent this all is, or if I got across all I wanted to. TL;DR here is that I would put a lot more focus on Alicent and Rhaenyra's relationship and its slow, gradual disintegration, as well as establishing the burgeoning sides that are going to be taken, along with adding more complexity to characters that were left by the wayside in the original show. But hope you liked it!

[holly-fixation]

Seraphic and Sinister: Ch4

Summary: Sephiroth learns that he has a child, a lab made specimen existing under the same terrible conditions he was raised in. In a moment of pure rage, he rescues his child. However, his fate has long been sealed, but the child’s fate is unknown. 

Never did he expect the cadet that killed him to take responsibility for the heir of His planet. 

...

It couldn't be more than a few minutes before Sephiroth's eyes opened again. He sprung to his feet, immediately grabbing his daughter and lifting her off the mako crystal she apparently climbed in his sleep. 

...

Inspired by various asks to @rottenpumpkin13

Chapter 4: Hiraeth

He had so much to learn. His daughter slept in a bundle on the scattered grass, and the Lifespring around them offered decent shelter for the night, an issue he assumed he would concern himself with at sunset. A few hours ahead of schedule meant days ahead of Shinra.

Still, he sat along the side of the entrance to the cave, carefully out of sight and at the ready for intruders who dared follow Shinra orders, the parenting book in his right hand and his sword in his left. He scanned the area before him and the skies above before skimming one page at a time, running his finger down the center of each sheet to follow. He started at the chapter regarding six month olds. Apparently, babies were categorized by month, not year. Hopefully his ‘half a year’ comment at the bookstore didn't cause any subtle alarm. 

Six months is where things start getting interesting. The little rebel can start identifying and recognizing faces. 

He was only a few sentences in when he paused and glanced at the sleeping babe. She recognized him when they met, but she also stared at a photo of him long before. If she did not have the mental capacity, how did she manage that? 

They can start grabbing things so watch out! No sharp objects nearby! 

Your baby should be able to roll over soon: from stomach to back and vice versa. This means be careful- VERY CAREFUL- on the changing table as they have not learned what a fall is yet. 

The little angle will push themselves up into a crawling position, but don't worry, you still have a little time before they start crawling around. They might also start standing, but don't get too excited for that first step. 

His daughter crawled out of the bundle, rubbing her eyes before standing. She grabbed the hoodie and scrunched up the sleeves, pulling them through one at a time before flipping the entire article inside out.  

This is the age, the dreaded age of legend, the reason so many toys have so many warnings: this is the age your baby will start observing objects, feeling them, and putting them in their mouth. Make sure nothing they can reach is small enough to get stuck in their throat. 

They still have no object permanence so peekaboo is totally fair game. 

Your little angel will finally start to interact with you in ways beyond crying (we are as excited as you are). They'll start learning simple words like “bath” and responding to their own names!

They begin to recognize tone around this age, so be mindful if you're speaking softly or harshly. 

Your baby will start playing “language games”. No matter what nonsense they say, make sure you respond and make direct eye contact. They're having fun and are going to start speaking simple words soon (though never soon enough, we're well aware).

Of the information that popped out to him, this was all…useless. But how? Hojo always complained he wasn't really ‘useful’ until he was three years old. How was it Seraphina could hold a blade, walk on her own legs, speak childish but simple words, recognize where she was, recognize her own name, and even show a semblance of potty training?

What did Hojo do to her? With advancement this fast, why was she nearly deemed a failure at three months old?

What could they possibly want from her?

Even the vaguest of ideas had his fists clenching. She was a baby. Why did she have a sense of responsibility? Why did she know how to follow orders? Why did she act like she knew what he was saying, even beyond instruction? How was she even potty trained if the book before him informed the truth of average development? 

What did Hojo-

He felt something press against his leg and he glanced down. 

Seraphina had walked over to him, dragging the various makeshift blankets like capes behind her. 

“What is it, Seraphina?”

She crawled into his lap and curled into a ball, the fabrics landing perfectly on top of her. She reminded him of a cat claiming a new perch, making even the roughest of surfaces seem like perfect bedding. 

His instincts battled in his mind. He wanted her to feel love, comfort, joy. But he also needed to protect her, and if he had to jump up without notice, she could be in more danger than safety. 

He supposed he could allow this until the sun went down. Maybe he could risk some rest as well?

Just a few minutes. He knew he would wake up if anyone approached. The only question was if he'd move fast enough. 

If they tried to touch her, he wasn't sure how he'd react. They couldn't take her back. They would never take her back. 

* * * 

Sephiroth felt some soft adjustment, the weight on his legs. Before even waking he tried to grab the clothes on his lap.

A set of small hands grabbed his. Okay, alright, it was just Seraphina adjusting. Perhaps he could get a bit more rest if she felt safe enough to move around. 

He opened his eyes just to check. Sure enough, his daughter nodded, standing at his side. 

“Don't go far.” He wanted to mumble from his own exhaustion, but he spoke clearly as wasn't sure if she'd understand yet.

She nodded again. 

He dared to take extra rest. He only needed one hour to be back at full capacity. He couldn't risk sleeping at night, a mistake like that would cost them this escape. 

It couldn't be more than a few minutes before his eyes opened again. He sprung to his feet, immediately grabbing his daughter and lifting her off the mako crystal she apparently climbed in his sleep. 

“Are you okay?”

She seemed confused but nodded anyway. 

“What were you doing up there? Do you know what could've happened if you slipped?”

“Hurt?”

Sephiroth nodded. “Yes. You could’ve been hurt.”

She scrunched her face as if searching for something. She did this when they first met. It was almost like she knew what she wanted to say but not how to say it. 

“Take your time,” He tried to encourage. 

“...Dada…” she pointed at him. 

“Me?”

She nodded. 

“What do I have to do with being hurt?” 

This time she actually poked him. “Dada…” 

He took a breath, bringing his daughter to his chest. “I promise, whatever Hojo drilled into you isn't true. I don't want to see you hurt. Please.” 

She tilted her head at the final word. 

“Please. It's a way of asking politely. Sometimes you say it when you know only the other person can do something that you want done.” 

Seraphina still didn't understand, not responding at all. That book mentioned language play with random sounds but she rarely opened her mouth without having a real word to say. 

“It's okay. You don't have to say things the right way all the time. You're still learning. It's okay to make mistakes.” 

She flinched and hid against him. Mistakes. 

“Let's get you down. Can you show me what you can do?” He placed her on the ground and she immediately attempted to climb the mako crystal again. He had to stop his instinct to scold her. 

He did say to show him what she could do. 

Stubby baby arms reached and hooked the pointed shards of crystal. Unnaturally small, sausage like fingers tested each landing before wrapping around them. Once again she stood at the top, looking at him. Staring. Waiting. 

He held out his arms. He wasn't sure what else to do. 

The baby jumped from the crystal into his arms. It wasn't a far jump, but she jumped. She shouldn't be able to walk. 

He held her close and pet her softly. “That was really impressive, but please don't do that again.”

Of course she didn't understand his actual request. Her eyes just got a little bit bigger at the words of praise.

“What about magic? Do you know magic yet?” He handed her a newly born fire materia he picked off a monster's corpse. 

She held the green orb with both hands and placed it against her forehead. Her eyes were entrapped by the marble before her.

It took him a moment to realize she did not know what it was, but she liked it. 

She turned it slowly with her fingers, watching the light bounce off of imperfect patterns. 

“Here,” he took a blue one out of his pocket, and her eyes glowed brighter.

Seraphina's tiny hands gripped the new orb so tightly. She clicked them together and he saw her mouth tighten. She suddenly stopped and looked away.

“Why did you stop?”

He saw fear and confusion in her eyes.

“Let's try this.” Sephiroth carried her to a safe corner of the cavern, placing her on a patch of grass before summoning more materia. Cure, esuna, elemental, materia growth boosters, increased magic, increased strength. Greens, blues, and violets surrounded her as she attempted to grab every single one. 

He hoped Shinra wouldn't be able to track the movement of his inventory because the sheer joy on his daughter's face as she clicked the perfect spheres together brought the most hidden smile to his face. 

Sephiroth continued his watch, glancing between the land and his daughter. Her playing was silent beyond the clicks and clatters of the makeshift marbles, the shifting Lifestream patterns within mesmerizing. She did not make a noise. She did not smile or laugh. She just played.

She added another behavior to the list of what he hoped he could reverse.

* * *

The orange beams of sunset had Seraphina in awe, the materia left in a pile of flattened grass as she slowly walked to the entrance of the spring, her eyes anywhere but in front of her. 

“Watch your step, Seraphina.”

She didn't answer, mako blue eyes on the abundant clouds as she moved languidly. Her little jaw dropped. 

He looked at her curiously before grabbing her when she attempted to walk out into the open. “I know you want to watch, but you have to watch from here.”

His daughter didn't answer, simply sitting as she stretched to see more of the multicolored sky. 

“This is sunset.” He figured he should explain if she could understand. “During the day, the light has less air to travel through. But at night that distance increases until it's blocked by our planet.” 

She stared at him for a moment. “Dada.”

“Yes?”

She hesitated, shy and reluctant, before holding her hands up in the air and waiting.

The new father carefully wrapped his hands around her torso, giving her the chance to leave if this is not what she wanted. He lifted her into his arm and gave her the best but safest view he could.

Her mako eyes glittered against the shimmering rays of the sun. He kept his eyes on the planes around them, scanning and listening for any new vehicles.

They watched together in perfect tranquility until the sun dipped below the horizon.

As the light in the sky dimmed, Seraphina's breath audibly increased. She fussed and wriggled in his arms. 

Sephiroth immediately turned her to him. “What is it?”

She pointed up and whined.

“It's just night time. Nothing's wrong-”

Nyctophobia. 

He carried her to the mako crystal, its blue and green glow hopefully serving as a nightlight. “Better?”

A nod, but with knotted brows and wide eyes. 

He kept her close as he grabbed the book but made sure she could see the spring. 

“Dada… Dada…”

“I'm sorry.” He flipped through the pages rapidly, wishing there was an index to speed up his search. “I can't light a fire. It's too dangerous. Too obvious.”

Seraphina's whines were small but present. Tiny hands gripped the straps of his uniform as the sky darkened more and more, reaching nothing but the black void crowned with the green of mako pollution. “Dada… Dada…”

He couldn't find an answer for fear so young. 

If you haven't figured it out already, rocking your baby to sleep will save you so much time. Humans of all ages respond to rocking, that's why boats, trains, and sometimes even cars put fully grown adults to sleep.  

Sephiroth immediately released the book and held his daughter entirely. He rocked back and forth, trying to at least encourage sleep if he couldn't settle her fear. 

Her fearful fussing degraded to whimpers as she hid her face against him. She forced her eyelids closed, the squeezing tangible against his skin.

“I have you. I'll protect you. I'll never let anything hurt you.” Sephiroth did not know if the baby could understand him, but he meant every promise. 

They just needed to survive the night. 

.

.

.

.

To be continued…

Chapter list here!

Note: I needed some comfort so here’s another chapter. I sprained my wrist so every update is taking significantly longer to complete with my off hand and occasional speech to text. I’m better now but not perfect. I can hold a computer mouse without pain now, but typing is taking some time. I hope you understand the pattern now. You didn’t read the wrong fic last chapter.

Thanks for reading!

[partywithoutsmiling]

How was the relationship between thrash and Thorn did they get along?

Pft in the vaguest sense of 'getting along', sure XD

Honestly, it is a norm among the Rock trolls to let themselves to be a bit wild, and the Royal family embodies this even more so. Both Thrash and Thorn were firecrackers in their youth; curiously, not that unsimilar to Barb's fiery temper.

Both of them were raised with the knowledge that Thorn is the future King, and that Thrash is the spare- and there has definitelly been done some teasing on both sides (neither were actually openly jealous of another- in fact, I would go as far as say that Thrash was very comfortable in the idea of not being the King, as being the Spare allowed him more freedoms)

But they were brothers, raised in 'you better toughen up' enviroment, so honestly their relationship, while affectionate and even loving, was more of a constant teasing and prodding and causing the other mischief.

Growing older, they definitelly tussled a lot more, physically fighting each other (to the point of drawing blood and leaving scars) but it was never in a mean spirited way, more like a sport sparring.

It was only when Thorn started to shirk his duties, after meeting Mulberry, that their relationship soured a little, because the bad reputation Thorn started to gather from being so flightly started reflecting onto Thrash, and that definitelly lead to nastier arguments and fights (especially as Thorn kept his reasons for not staying put close to himself for a very long time)

It was only after Clay was hatched that Thorn came clean to Thrash as to why- and honestly, Thrash- who has always been very family oriented- understood.

They agreed that Thorn will teach Thrash everything he needs to know to be a king- essentially skipping the succession- especially as Thorn assured Thrash that he will move his family to Volcano city as soon as he can convince his mate to do so, and that his oldest will be named Thrash's heir for the throne.

That had been the goal- where Thorn was experiencing some semi-success in convincing Mulberry to agree to it- but naturally, Thorn's father's decision to have him under house arrest for a while, and then his unexpected demise at the hands of the Bergens put a stop to that.

However, Thrash never found out that his brother is dead. He helped Thorn escape, was crowned a King, and waited for several years for his brother to return. Even when Barb hatched, he never expected her to take up the mantle of the Queen, so he neglected teaching her her duties for several years more, untill she was almost halfway through teenhood really.

It was only then when he started to question the fate of his brother- especially when any attemps at contacting were failures. He always hold out to the hope Thorn will eventually come home and his oldest will take up the throne, but as we know, his mind and body failed him long before he could see it.

[ignitesthestxrs]

How do.you interpret Show!Alina and show!darkling? They were completely different characters than the book ones (less interesting) so do you think differently about them?

hahaha (less interesting) is correct imo. uuuuh i think the show tried to a) girlbossify alina in a way that skips over any ability or reason for her to grow into that personality, and i think they played too far into the idea of the darkling having a genuine emotional attachment to her in the adaptation of the first book.

obvs people's interpretations will be different, but my read on the darkling has always been that for most of the first book, he's manipulating alina and at best, views her as a pet to indulge and a possession to own. so to have him more....emotionally invested? i guess? in s1, didn't really vibe with me. a part of what i have always enjoyed about the character is his descent into obsession, which only increases as alina continues to defy him - he doesn't really hit that point until the second book, which is also when alina starts gaining power and agency in her own right

one thing that really stuck out to me was her like,,,'taking charge' in the romantic aspect of their relationship. this is supposed to have the effect of giving her more agency, but that ignores the fact that the darkling is? manipulating her? she's not being a badass when she kisses him first, she's falling for his ploy 😭 you aren't increasing your protagonist's control of a situation by having her dive headfirst into the manipulation just because it looks like she's Taking Charge Of This Romance.

ULTIMATELY i think leaning into the ''''romance'''' of the ship makes the ship and both characters involved Worse, because that was like,,,,never the point of the ship (for me). the point was the abusive dynamic that gets turned on its head at alina gains power and control and the darkling slips deeper into obsession and loses sight of his goals in favour of Having Alina. do they love each other? who cares lol their relationship is about power and mutual understanding.

as a surprise bonus, the shwo character that frustrated me the most was mal LOL. i think the actor did a fanTASTIC job with him, truly no notes on the performance, but they started mal at his book 3 characterisation and i think that's silly. the whole point of that character is that he grows into his devotion. like he loves alina from the beginning, but it takes two books of fuck ups to get to the 'i am become a blade' point.

the show in general seemed so afraid of letting its characters be weak or unlikeable, which i think is kind of an outgrowth of the Netflix Uncertainty. like, fandoms are SO reactive + you don't know if you're going to get a second season, so better to start everyone off at the culmination of their character arcs where they're at their most interesting, while discounting the fact that the REASON they're interesting is because we've seen them grow to that point.

i didn't end up watching s2 and have only the vaguest idea of what happened LOL i did not like s1 enough to try and kick my attention span into focusing on a second season

[beesandfigs-abandoned]

You guys, I gotta get something off my chest. I am livid, fucking seething. I HATE living in the states, like y’all have no idea.

I had the scare of my fucking life today. I got a message from my kid’s school saying they were going on lockdown due to a safety threat. Literally, the vaguest fucking statement. Like no details, no nothing. And I’m sure everyone knows the reality here, so my mind instantly goes to “elementary school + safety threat = active shooter” right? So I’m at work trying not to cry, literally having a panic attack, feeling absolutely helpless.

Luckily, my sister picked me up and we left straight to the school to get our kids. She called her ex because he has access to police radio and he told us that someone threatened to bomb the school through an anonymous phone call. Well, they traced the call and it turns out it was phony. Like someone was trying to be “funny” or edgy, idk. But I am so pissed. This is the best case scenario in situations like this and while I’m grateful that I’m not mourning my son and niece right now, the only thing on my mind is packing our shit and leaving to who knows where, as long as it’s not here. I’m still shaking. I hate it here.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 22

im back from hiatus. makoto time

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

still no byakuya pov so we get to hang out with his divorced boyfriend

you might notice some events are out of order compared to the og timeline. this is within my plan...

@digitaldollsworld :]

Content warning tags: implied physical violence, blunt force injuries, more concussions

< previous - from start - next >

“I did warn you.”

Makoto casts a rueful look upwards, looking through his bangs as one hand rubs at the tender lump on the back of his head. Thankfully, it wasn’t too swollen, and he didn’t feel much lingering dizziness, but it’d definitely be hurting for a while. In front of him, Kyoko stares down over her crossed arms, totally unconcerned, if not for the way her fingers were tightened on her elbows, and the slight pinching around her eyes.

“I was being careful,” He mutters back, though even to himself he sounds whiney and petulant. Like a kid that got caught in the act. He looks back down at the floor between his scuffed sneakers, and shifts slightly. It wasn’t exactly comfortable crouching here, leaning against the tiled wall of the boy’s bathroom. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“You didn’t. You charged in here without a care in the world.” She replies bluntly, and he winces a little at that.

“I was just trying to help-”

“I’m well aware.”

He recoils again, feeling the miserable, sinking feeling in his gut threatening to swallow him up. He did what he had to during the trial, despite knowing full well that Byakuya would hate him for it - but this time around, he really fucked up.

He drops his head between his knees, miserable between the throbbing pain and his own guilt. Above him, he hears Kyoko sigh, and then she’s lowering to a crouch in front of him, so that they were eye-level. “What’s done is done.” She still seems displeased, but not angry. “Lift your head. I’m going to check that you’re not concussed.”

“...You know how to do that?” But he lifts his face anyway. And jumps a little, as she places a hand below his jaw, tilting his face upwards. “U-um...”

“Okay, your pupils look fine. And the reaction to light seems normal.” She turns him a little to the left, then the right, her own eyes pale and striking. He can feel a flustered kind of warmth crawling up his cheeks from his neck. “How’s your vision? Blurry? Sensitive?”

“N-no? Um, I can see fine-”

“Any trouble focusing on anything? Pain?”

“No, I-”

“Follow my finger.” She releases his face, and holds up one finger, moving it slowly closer to his nose.

He pushes it away, now thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m fine,” He insists, turning away. He knew pretty well how unnerving Kyoko’s gaze could be, but right now they felt like sun lamps, burning a hole in him. “I- can I just tell you what happened in there?”

That seems to get her attention. She drops her hand, and shuffles closer.

“I’m listening.” She says, voice soft and serious. And he coughs, clears his throat, and begins-

—

He had come up to the second floor with the intention of going to the third, if only to wander around a bit to take his mind off things, but had wanted to stop by the library first, with the vaguest idea of trying to pick out a book to give to Byakuya as a sort of peace offering.

But as he came up into the hallway, and looked at the wall where Chihiro had been pinned - the body gone, the bloodstains cleaned, and even the holes in the drywall patched and expertly plastered over - he felt a deep, bone-chilling feeling in his chest, and couldn’t bring himself to walk past it. He turned around, and then noticed the slight sound coming from the boy’s bathroom as he passed, and remembered what Kyoko had been up to before yesterday’s trial.

It had bothered him then, and even more so now, as he recalled it. Kyoko’s alibi was flimsy, but she’d executed it expertly. Even the person she claimed as her witness, Toko, hadn’t said anything to support it, but by the time Toko was giving her testimony, no one was paying attention to Kyoko anymore anyways. It was like she’d planned it all, and if it hadn’t come out at the very end who the true culprit was…

He frowned, and shook off the unease. Whether he could trust Kyoko for now wasn’t something he could determine from yesterday alone, because it was clear she was doing things on a different level from the rest of them. Even compared to the real Ultimate students, she always seemed to be a step ahead, calculating beyond measure. In the end, the only thing he could do was be grateful that she was on their side.

He stepped into the bathroom. It’s the same as yesterday, old, dusty, the light buzzing with a lemon-yellow glow. He passed the empty stalls to the last one on the end, its door hanging ajar -

A pale figure shot out just as he was about to push the door open wider, and slammed a leather-clad palm against his mouth before he could cry out. He panicked for a moment, one hand grabbing the fingers pressed into his cheeks, the other shoving at the mysterious assailant’s shoulder, before he suddenly recognizes who it is.

“Kh-yo-goh-?!” He managed, voice muffled. Kyoko, with clumps of dust clinging to her sleeves and what looked like a cobweb flying off her hair, glared back at him.

“Let go of my hand,” She gritted out, and he realized he was still squeezing the fingers around his face, and let go quickly, raising his hands in surrender. She released him in turn, cradling her hand gingerly to her chest as she did. There was something wrong with the way her fingers were curled, the way her face paled slightly when she tried to clench it into a fist.

“U-um, are you o-”

“Fine.” She did not sound fine. Her voice was strained. Her posture was as steady as ever, but her eyes kept darting. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” he hesitated. “I was just. Looking around?”

She stopped casting uneasy glances to level him with a stare, eyes narrowed slightly, and even he knows how pathetic that must sound. “I-I’m being serious! And- and anyways, what are you doing here?”

“Investigating.” She said it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and in hindsight, he really could have just guessed.

“I thought you said you were going up to the third floor?”

The corners of her mouth turn downwards. “I said that to throw off anyone who might have been listening in. Including the mastermind.”

“...Oh.”

She looked away from him, and he stood there, unsure, feeling both stupid and, somehow, frustrated. It wasn’t as if he was trying to look for her. And he only ended up coming into the boy’s bathroom on a whim.

The stall behind her is empty. There’s not even a toilet, just an odd collection of cleaning supplies. Totally innocuous at first glance, but he frowned, and squinted. It was hard to tell with the light, but everything in the stall was just as dusty as the rest of the place, except for a perfect rectangle of tiles against the far wall.

“What’s in here?” He asked, and her attention snapped back to him.

“Nothing.”

“You said that really fast…”

Her brows furrowed slightly, a scowl if he ever saw one, though the corner of her mouth twitches slightly. “...Have you ever been told you’re too observant for your own good?”

He smiled sheepishly at that. “Um. Not to my face?”

Kyoko was quiet for a moment, apparently pondering whether or not to tell him, before she sighed, and leaned in, one hand resting on his shoulder to pull him close. “Not now, but later.” Her hurried whisper tickled against his ear, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck, and he inadvertently shuddered. “When I’m not around, and it’s safe to do so. Press against the tiles against that back wall. Don’t spend too much time there, or you’ll draw suspicion.”

And then she left. Suddenly and with barely a sound, leaving him stupefied, standing in the middle of the bathroom, rubbing at his ear. He had the feeling that he had just been trusted with something very important, but he had no idea what, and no idea why.

He should have left as well. And followed her advice later, much later, when the tension had passed and the mastermind was suitably distracted; but the curiosity had been too strong. He was antsy and pent-up, and desperate for some answers.

The room behind the stall wall was a dusty, foreboding place, cobwebs and cracked gray cement and exposed ventilation pipes. Fluorescent lights hum from the ceiling and cast a pale, eerie white glow. A shelf leaning against the far wall, a chipped-up desk and stool in the middle of the room. The shelf was crammed full, files and papers and books - yearbooks, he realizes - and crumpled-up pages litter the floor.

A file room? He stepped in hesitantly. Why such a place would be hidden behind a boys’ bathroom, he didn’t know, but as he approached the desk he found the files that Kyoko had just been looking at. Some things about the school’s founding, a blueprint of the building - and a yearbook, with a scrap of paper sticking out from between the pages.

It must have been a misprint, because the embossed date on the book’s spine made it out that this was meant to be published for this year. His school year. His school year that hasn’t happened yet, because of a killing game.

It was the only explanation he could think of, but he couldn’t help the sense of foreboding prickling up his back as he reached for it, hesitating briefly as he reached for the cover. It flips open to the page just before the freshman class portraits, where the piece of paper that had been sticking out like a flag.

YOU MUST NOT LEAVE.

The words were printed neat and bold, in stark black. Makoto frowned, and picked it up, turning it in his hand as if it was some optical illusion, promising to reveal some deeper meaning. And there must be some deeper meaning, because he couldn’t shake the strange, uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly why this wording was used. ‘You must not leave’, not ‘you can’t leave’.

It makes it sound like we have a choice, he thought, before-

—-

As he finishes, he reaches up to touch the back of his head again, feeling out the tender bump. The pain was still there, just manageable, but insistent. It felt like all the energy in his body was being drained out of that spot, leaving behind a bone-deep, achey tiredness.

Kyoko is still across from him, chin tucked into her hand as she thinks. And then she sighs, and stands up, stretching slowly. He waits, expecting her to get angry, or something, but she doesn’t even seem too disappointed. Or maybe she was just good at hiding it.

“Come on,” She motions for him to stand, and he does, feeling his knees creak. “We should go to the nurse’s office.”

“Huh? No, I’m fine-”

“We don’t know that for sure. And I’m not enough of a medical expert to clear you of a concussion.” She glances to their side, where the door to the hidden room was, perfectly blended in with the rest of the wall. “That door is locked now. I can’t get in.”

“What, seriously?!” He tries it himself, stepping past her to push against the tile. But there’s no budge, not even the slightest movement to suggest that a door existed there in the first place. “But the files-”

“Whoever it was that knocked you out was likely the mastermind. They wouldn’t have let that room stay open after they found out that we knew about it.” Kyoko shakes her head. “It’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

He winces at that. “But you hadn’t finished looking through them…”

“No, I didn’t. But I doubt that we’d be able to access those files whether or not we could get back through that door,” She pauses, and glances back at him. “But again. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

She turns to leave. And he grimaces again, still kicking himself for his own stupidity. But he follows her anyways, dogging beside her with feet that feel as heavy as lead.

The nurse’s office is clean when they get there, the waste bin empty, the curtains pushed back. Even the bed is made, and Makoto can’t help the pang in his chest as he remembers seeing Taka there, curled up and silent, unwilling to say anything to anyone. Kyoko is already rummaging through the drawers, and she passes a white bottle to him.

“For the headache.” She says simply. “You can grab an ice pack from the fridge here, too.” And turns to leave.

“Wait, what about you?” He blurts out, before he can think twice about it.

She raises an eyebrow. “What about me?”

He hesitates, but he can’t take the words back now. “Your hand. Your left hand, I mean - it’s hurting, right?”

And as he could have predicted, she freezes, then sighs, a sound that’s half-annoyed, half-amused. “Again. Too observant,” She flexes her hand in front of him, as if to prove him wrong. “It’s fine. It won’t hinder me.”

Now it was his turn to scrutinize her. There are no tells on her face, no outward sign that she was lying at all, but Makoto remembers how she favored her right hand when typing on Alter Ego’s keyboard, and how shaken she had been after he had grabbed her left hand earlier. He knows what he saw, and that seemed to be the one thing he was good at here.

“...I won’t ask you what happened. But you shouldn’t try and pretend like it’s fine if it’s not, or it could make it worse.” He casts a quick look around the nurse’s office. “There’s probably those, uh, those finger splints thingies – like the kind that athletes use – somewhere around here…or we could ask Sakura, maybe? She probably knows about these kinds of things.”

“...It’s fine, Makoto. I don’t need it.”

“You don’t-” He stares at her, incredulous. The strange contrast between her concern for his potential concussion, and yet her own self-neglect was baffling, but he finds it hardly surprising. “...Okay, can you let me see the damage then?”

“No.” She replies instantly, in a voice so flat that it didn’t leave any room for deliberation. And suddenly, he’s worried that she’ll leave again, and makes an aborted attempt to grab for her arm - and hesitates, before pinching onto her sleeve instead.

“Why?” He feels frustrated, the same frustration he felt that night Sayaka died; when Byakuya confronted him about his blindness. “Why hide it? Why…why do you want to deal with this all by yourself?” He can’t help the edge of desperation that’s creeping into his voice. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we could all work with each other?”

Kyoko’s eyes narrow slightly, like she’s the one who doesn’t understand him. “Makoto…don’t be ridiculous.” She shakes him off. “I doubt anyone here has the capabilities to help me.”

“You don’t know that! We’re all students of Hope’s Peak, so- so I’m sure they can all help somehow.” Granted, now that he’s met his fellow freshman class, he’s learned that they were all human, and sometimes, painfully so. But even despite that, they were all still extraordinary when compared to him. “What, is this about- about pride, or something?”

She huffs, a sound that’s almost a snort. “Of course not. Don’t confuse me with-” She pauses for a moment, hesitating. “...No, it’s nothing to do with pride. It’s about my own safety. Surely you can understand that much?”

He winces a little at that. He does understand, unfortunately; several times now, he’s seen some of the most well-meaning, seemingly harmless people of their group become violent and desperate, and resort to the worst possible means. But even so, he can’t give up. “But, if it’s just the ten of us left-”

“Enough, Makoto. Listen.” She turns to face him fully now, giving him her full attention. “We are in a place with no clear exits or entrances. We have been given explicit instruction to kill each other, but not pointlessly injure. And yet, one of us has been disabled, seemingly for no reason, which means that there is nothing here that we can take for granted. Not even our own bodies.” Her injured hand clenches again, though it shakes slightly at her side. “Maintaining distance is the safest option for me. I would suggest you do the same.”

Every word she says is true. He knows this, and he hates it, in much the same way that he hated how Byakuya had spoken so callously about Sayaka after the first trial. What he hates more though, is how hard it is to refute any of it…and how he knows that she was only saying it with good intentions. Out of concern.

She turns to leave the nurse’s office, and this time he lets her go. 

“For what it’s worth, I still trust you.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can even reconsider it. But she stops with one foot past the threshold.

For a moment, it seems that she is about to turn around and say something, but instead, she rounds the corner, and disappears from sight.

< previous - from start - next >

[delopsia]

Don't tell me your secrets (cause I can't imagine what you'll think of mine) | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 8,500  Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes:  18+, Unnamed AU involving undercover cops and the vaguest street gang of all time; I may or may not be considering expanding on this universe 💃Mentions & indications of murder, food, and alcohol. Gun usage; some characters go by callsigns rather than their names, and, as usual, ✨ unprotected sex✨ Title inspired by Secrets, from Monsta X's album, The Dreaming 

"What?" You don't mean for it to come off your tongue as sharp as it does, "think you'd never run into me again?"

"No." Liar. 

Robert Floyd may have had the past eleven years to work on himself, but he's still shit at concealing his emotions. Because while his voice is solid, unwavering, his eyes have gone wide, pale in the face, as if he's seen a ghost. 

"I need just a few more minutes on your order, sweetie," Ms. Garcia has practically disappeared in the sea of men taking up her lobby, but her words cut through the air with perfect clarity. 

You step to the left, straining to get a good look behind the counter, into the kitchen, "is Warlock still out sick?"

"Doc approved him to come back starting Monday!" Finally, you manage to catch glimpse of the little woman emerging from the kitchen with a fury in her step. Disappears right into the sea of idling men, two distinctive, familiar yelps breaking out. Not a word spoken as she drags Mickey and Reuben away from her counter. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Mickey squeaks, pawing at his ear; not even the foot-and-a-half height difference can save him from her iron grasp. 

As soon as she lets them go, they scatter, backing off to the far corner of the restaurant, where they should have been this whole time. You've no idea what that fiery glance entails, but you can feel the blood drain from your face, even though you're not who she's upset with. 

Even after all this time, Bob shrinks under her gaze the exact same way, slinking away like a frightened dog, tail between his legs and all. He no longer trips over his own two feet as he slips behind Jake, that natural clumsiness now filed down into a calculated sharpness that you didn't know he was capable of. 

...strange. 

Actually, now that you glance up at Yale's missing poster...this whole situation is nothing but strange. 

If Bradley or Jake have noticed it, they're pretty damn good at concealing their suspicions. Bradley still offers Bob a beer fresh out of the mini-fridge, laughs it off when he inevitably gets declined. Jake still swoops in with his favorite "looks like 'nother one for me" line. The can open and lifted to his lips before he can finish his sentence. 

Bob showing up out of the blue a week after Yale got caught for being a rat? Yeah, you're not buying it. Shame, you'd hate to see another childhood friend get dragged kicking and screaming to that island just outside of Kennedy Town. 

The dainty bell above the front door rings, its shrill tone jack-knifing through the restaurant. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Bradley emerging into the front, stiff as a board. Expensive cologne greets your nose, carried in on the breeze that floats through the open door. There is only one man in this god-forsaken city who wears cologne that costs as much as your rent. 

Maverick.

He doesn't even see you standing by the counter; eyes fixated on the group that's collected in the back corner. Hondo idles at his side, offers you the briefest smile before he goes back to looking at the menu overhead. 

"Here you are!" Ms. Garcia shatters you from your thoughts, holding out a big, brown paper bag. The top folded over once, stapled in the middle, just like always.

You've almost forgotten why you were here, to begin with. The bag is heavy in your hands, nearly slips from your grasp when you're still chirping your 'thank you.' Even through the thin paper, you can already smell Natasha's order; it's going to torment you the entire drive back.

And it seems there's a line of things waiting to torment you because Maverick doesn't move out of the doorway. The only door leading out of this establishment.

"Mav," Hondo's hiss falls on deaf ears. Doesn't even evoke a twitch. 

"What do you want, Pete?" Bradley croaks, eerily calm. At least he hasn't started the conversation off by yelling this time. 

Maverick's jaw clenches. Never has been thrilled that Bradley refuses to call him by his chosen name. "I just want to talk."

Yeah, the array of cars pulling up outside really screams, 'I want to have a civil conversation with you.' Three cars, four, five, six, all donning the same shade of navy blue, custom painted by the shop down the street. Only the vehicles in Maverick's crew can be painted that color. 

"Maybe I don't want to," you had a feeling Bradley might say that.

"Can you heathens take it out back, for Christ's sake?" Ms. Garcia barks, and all of a sudden, she had might as well be the biggest person in the room. "Good lord," briefly, she delves into unintelligible murmurings, slipping in and out of Spanish, "if you're not here to place an order, get out of my damn restaurant."

Maverick's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. Opens his mouth.

Ms. Garcia isn't done talking, "Robert, will you be decent and walk the lady to her car?" 

You don't remember Bob looking as big as he does when he emerges from behind Mickey and Jake, shoulders impossibly square, stone-cold in expression; that doe-eyed gaze he once carried is nothing more than a memory now. This isn't the same Robert Floyd who boarded a plane eleven years ago and subsequently vanished from your life without notice. 

Maverick's not budging, even as Bob comes to stand directly in front of him. You'd say they're nose to nose, but that wouldn't be fair to Maverick, who has to look straight up in order to meet Bob's eye. Funny, the last time you saw Bob, he was a few inches shorter than Maverick.

From the back, Jake takes two steps forward. 

Maverick cracks. 

Doesn't look happy about moving two feet to the left, but regardless, he's out of your way. 

On a normal day, you'd be bothered by how Bob opens the door for you and lingers on your flank once you've stepped outside. Even now, you're biting back a comment about how you don't need his useless protection; if Maverick decided he wanted you dead, nothing on this Earth would stop someone from executing that order. 

But you don't recognize those men stepping out of their vehicles, your skin prickling as you catch prying eyes raking up and down your form, a pack of starving wolves looking at a fresh piece of meat. 

"D'you still drive that ol' car?" What a way to make small talk, Bob. 

"Nah," you haven't thought about that old car in forever, some beat-up sedan with its peeling paint and barely functioning radio, "the transmission blew the day after you hopped on that plane."

The way he jumps forward to try and match your quicker pace is too familiar for your liking; he's nine inches taller, eleven years older, has had so, so much time to forget those old habits. Yet here he is, struggling to match your pace like he always has. It's as if no time has passed at all. 

You hate it. 

Bob's mouth opens, and you already know what words currently rest on his tongue. "Wish I could've been there to fix—"

"Please don't start with that," you can't even begin to think about those dreamy what-ifs. Not anymore. Not after all of this time.

Your car is parked on the corner, blending in with the sea of vehicles taking up this side of the street. There's no reason for Bob to keep walking with you, he can easily stop here on the sidewalk and wait until you get in the car, but his foot hits the street at the same time yours does. 

Bob's hair bounces as he tries to beat your pace, rounding the side of the car before you do. Ah, right. Balancing the bag of food in one arm, you reach into your pocket, mashing the button to unlock your car.

It's not until a big hand shoots out and opens the door that you realize what you've just done. 

"I'm surprised you haven't started asking me to text you when I get home safe," and you're surprised that your fingers are itching to type that message, too. 

His shoulders shake with his chuckle, deeper than you remember it being, but the sound still dances around your ears like it used to, "I was just thinkin' about that."

The bag is big enough that you have to buckle it into your passenger seat; it's hard to get over ten miles an hour in this city, but you'd rather not have to scrub spilled food off your seat again. There's still a faint stain if you squint, but you're pretending not to see it.

Bob's still holding your door, eyes fixated on his boots; you don't expect for him to look up and catch you staring. His mouth opens, shuts just as quickly, then does it again. Trying to say something that he doesn't know how to phrase. Even now, those thin, pink lips look so soft. You wonder if they'd still meld with—

"I'll uh," blinking rapidly, "I'll see you 'round." In the split second, it takes for him to shut the door for you, his sweatshirt rises up, and something shiny tucked in his jeans catches your eye. 

"I told you he was back!" Gee, how did you guess that Javy would say that? "And you didn't believe me!"

You don't know where Fritz emerged from, but all of a sudden, he's hovering on your left, fumbling with the staple on the bag. "Have you ever considered that they didn't want to believe it?"

"Eleven years is a lot of time to go without talking to somebody," Natasha's appeared on your right. Must have come from the same place as Fritz, "I wonder what drug his sorry ass back to the city."

Deep in your belly, an icy hand reaches up, twisting and clawing at your gut. You know what you saw. That outline was unmistakable, too distinct to be chalked off as anything else.

A hand waves in front of your face; the dainty diamond ring tells you it belongs to Natasha, "you still with us?"

"Yeah," your voice is barely there, "just thinking about some things."

Fritz has already split up the orders, the only one who can be trusted with such a tremendous task. But now that your food is sitting on the bar in front of you, it's anything but appetizing. Your stomach is churning just looking at it.

Natasha bumps your shoulder with hers. "Spit it out." 

"How would someone get a gun in this city?" Dumb question; you already know the answer. 

"I know that smugglers brought a lot in after they outlawed 'em," Javy pauses to shovel another bite of fried rice into his mouth, "but most of the time, they're only carried by cops." 

Ms. Garcia's piled your styrofoam container to the brim with food, to the point that some of it spills out onto the table when you lift the styrofoam lid. Always has been one to sneak in extras, but this is a lot more than usual. The one day you feel nauseous.

"Who had the gun?" A part of you had hoped Natasha wouldn't ask you that question.

Shrugging your shoulders, "one of Mav's guys."

At least, that's what you wish was the case.

Fridays have always been the worst days to work at the Hard Deck Club. 

Especially on the first Friday after the local college has concluded its latest semester, setting loose a sea of exhausted, brain-fried students looking to drown their stresses in alcohol and flashing neon lights. You can't blame them, not when these particular nights bring in enough revenue to pay the bills for the next month, but damn, would it be nice if they quit dropping glass bottles on the floor. 

Now, where the hell did you shove that dustpan?

"I think it may be in the side closet again," Natasha chirps, sliding a shot glass across the bar.

"Who keeps putting it back in the closet?" Groaning, you place the broom against the side of the bar; will Fritz trip over it again? Only God himself knows. But carrying it into that bustling crowd risks it getting snatched up by someone bigger and stronger than you, intoxicated to the point of losing their impulse control. 

Maybe Fritz will see it this time.

Leaving him and Natasha to tend to the seemingly rabid crowd of frat boys that've just stumbled in the front door, you step out into the crowd. The closet is hidden in the farthest corner of the room, next to the emergency exit. Not a long distance during slower hours, but during peak, it might as well be a journey to the end of the Earth.

"Good luck, soldier!" Natasha yells, barely audible over the thumping music. 

Making yourself as small as possible as you duck into every opening you're presented with. Around a giggling group of girls that yell about a guy named Harvard. Behind a monster of a man that's nursing a bubbly can of lemonade seltzer. Between a couple that sounds one wrong word away from a breakup.

Your hand finds the cold knob, surprised to find that the door is already partially ajar. Pulling it open reveals a pair of lithe bodies pressed together as close as physically possible; you don't know who looks more surprised, the girl with her bra on the floor or the guy with his pants halfway down.

"Out!" Is all you have to say before they scramble out of the closet like roaches. You hate that you recognize them; couples like these are the sole reason you're asking Javy to install a proper lock on the door. 

Would it kill them to at least take it to a bathroom stall?

The dustpan sits on the floor, trampled by their inconsiderate, heavy feet. The handle is broken, leaving you with nothing more than a jagged edge to hang onto. 

As you step out of the closet, cool air licks at your heels, blowing in from the now wide-open emergency exit. One of these days, the planets will align, and the alarm will go off for once. Until then, you're stuck closing the door for people who can't even be bothered to shut it themselves.

"Wait!" Is that...?

"Don't shut that door!" You recognize that voice.

It's hard to tell with the rain coming down like it is, sheet upon sheet of water, battering the flurry of figures barreling toward you. Jake is the first one you can identify; he's always run a little strange compared to the others, and chances are, that's Bradley bouncing alongside him.

So who's the third guy?

"Are you too uncivilized to go in through the front?" But you step aside all the same, allowing all three of them to stumble inside. Carrying with them enough rainwater to fill an Olympic swimming pool. 

Ugh, wait, you recognize their tagalong now.

"Cops," is all Bradley can get out in between his desperate gasps for air.

"Came into Ms. Garcia's restaurant lookin' for one of us," the only sign Bob's been running is the pink that's gathered in his cheeks, "slipped out the back before we found out who."

"So you ran the nine blocks to hide out in the Hard Deck?" Your question is met with varying yesses. All Jake can do is nod; Bradley offers a thumbs up; Bob's the only one to offer you a proper yes.

You know why they're here, but that doesn't mean you're happy about it. Outside, Javy has a remote that controls every single LED in this club; if the police are trying to come in, he sets the lights to red. Your fault for letting it slip to Mickey and Reuben; now you're the hotspot for the entire gang's hideouts. So much for creating a system for your safety.  

If Natasha weren't engaged to one of these morons, you'd kick them back out in a heartbeat. 

Alas, you've got no choice but to motion toward the frail coat rack that resides next to the exit door, "do me a favor and leave your wet coats by the door, will ya?"

When their backs are turned, you allow yourself to finally step back and vanish into the bustling crowd. There are more than enough people here for you to brush off your absence as merely being concealed by the multitude of bodies on your main floor. 

Definitely just busy helping customers all night. 

Definitely not avoiding Robert Fucking Floyd. 

"Did you get lost?" Natasha's hands are a blur as she multitasks between filling her orders, moving so methodically that it's mesmerizing. 

Your mouth opens, but it's not your voice that rings out.

"Couple of losers popped in the side door," Bradley's voice washes overtop yours like a tidal wave, drowning you out so completely that you wonder if you even spoke at all.

Natasha's face brightens, eyes a fraction softer, smile just a little bigger. Just like that, you know that you've been booted out of your own conversation. Seems to be a recurring theme with these two, but you haven't the energy to complain.

The broken dustpan disappears from your grasp, plucked away by an unseen face.

"I've got it," Fritz. Off doing side tasks when he should be tending to the bar. The one thing you pay him to do. At least that explains the surge of people waiting on a now semi-distracted Natasha. 

Stepping behind the bar, you head over to Fritz's now unoccupied side. It's been a while since the last time you've done this, but it's easy to fall back into the old rhythm of mindlessly filling orders. Beer. Beer. Draft beer. Cocktail. Beer. Round of shots. Beer. Beer. More Beer. Another round of shots. A lot more beer. 

If you did the math, you're pretty sure that beer would make up for eighty percent of your sales.

You're in the middle of dry-shaking a Whiskey Sour when a new face settles into the seat on the far end of your section. Large hands folded, resting atop the white marble of your bar, patient as ever. Not flagging you down by waving his hands in the air or barking his order at you. Simply waiting. But that's not what initially caught your eye, though.

It's the dragon tattoo that eats up the length of his arm.

It's barely visible in the dark lighting of the bar, washed out by the vivid, neon hues of pink and blue that bathe his pale skin. The dragon's tail rests at the top of his wrist, working its way upward, spanning across a thick, meaty bicep that can give Jake a run for his money. Up, up, up, until it reaches his upper chest, the dragon's head barely concealed by a white tank top. Cut just low enough for you to catch a glimpse of what muscles lie below the thin material.

Had it been cut any lower, your eyes would have never wandered up and realized who this body is attached to.

"I thought you said you'd never drink," it's far too easy to fall into your old teasings, and you don't know why.

But Bob shakes his head, the faintest of smiles gracing his lips as he looks down at his hands, "I don't."

Usually, you try your best to make it a habit of paying attention to only one person at a time; offer a little one-on-one, even if it's for the briefest of moments, but your hand is already wandering toward the cooler. Don't even have to look to know when you've grabbed hold of a water bottle, sliding it towards him without a second thought.

But now that you're planning to overly invest yourself in filling drink orders, it seems nobody wants a drink now. Here you are, in a club full of people, and you're stuck with the one person you don't want to be stuck with.

Even after all the sunshine-filled fantasies of Bob suddenly appearing, having him here feels off. It's the same face, the same old, quiet personality, so familiar that he might as well have left last week.

But...

"You don't seem too thrilled to see me," you don't remember the Bob of your memories being so forward.

"Are you expecting me to jump for joy after you don't contact me for eleven years?" It shoots out of your mouth before you can stop it, "roll out the red carpet and pray you don't turn around and ghost me for a second time?"

"That's not—"

"Not what, Bob?" Slamming your hand on the bar, "huh? Did you think I'd forget that you ran away while I was left here to deal with what happened?"

His jaw tightens, "it wasn't my choice," voice deeper than before, harder, "you know that."

"Was avoiding me for a decade not your choice either?" You can feel heads starting to turn, prying eyes and perking ears scavenging for every ounce of drama they can gather. They can blast this on National news for all you fucking care. "Or was that something mommy and daddy made you do, too?"

"Maybe I avoided you because I knew you'd blow up on me the moment I reached out!" Surging to his feet.

"I wouldn't be blowing up on you if you weren't pretending it never happened!" Noses bump together. What distance this marble countertop is putting between you isn't enough. 

For the briefest of moments, you're fifteen again. 

Drenched by the pouring rain. Sitting on concrete scraped knees. Throat tore apart by hiccuped sobs as familiar hands cup your cheeks. Nose cold as it bumps into that of another, warmed by false promises of, I'll come back for you.

But the hands that settle on your shoulders aren't ones that you recognize; aren't the same hands of the childhood flame that should have burnt out the day he walked away. You aren't sure who they belong to, don't quite care who it is that you jab your elbow into, squirming free of their hold.

You're going home for the night.

"What was that all about?" Bradley.

"Finally, get it out of your system?" Natasha.

You're sure Jake would have some input if he wasn't shotgunning a can of Budweiser.

This is the only night where you wish your apartment wasn't directly above this establishment. Right now sounds like a better time than ever to play heavy music and scream in the privacy of your vehicle. Get it out of your system before you get home.

The damn broom closet door is open again.

You can hardly recall your feet hitting the ground. All you're aware of is that you're suddenly standing in front of the offending door, the knob so cold in your hand that it stuns you out of your stupor. Did you forget to shut this door, or did another couple sneak in here while you weren't looking?

The lights turn red.

"Shit." And it's not just you who says it; it's nearly everyone in the room.

Someone clocks you right in the shoulder in their rush to get to the emergency exit. One, two, three, four, fuck, how many people in here are running from the police? There goes, Jake. And what looks like Fritz right behind him. Nat's yelling something intelligible. Another shoulder nails your side, shoving you in their fight to squeeze through the tiny door. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Pale blue flannels are flooding in through the entrance, four, five, too many for Javy to hold off. Not enough time to scramble upstairs to your apartment. Nor enough to dive into the hidden crawlspace behind the bar. 

"Why's everyone runnin'?" God, fucking—

Reaching out, you snatch Bob's flimsy shirt collar, yanking him into the closet with you, "red lights mean a cop is here, moron."

It's as if the closet shrinks the moment you shut the door. Walls closing in, cramming you up against each other. Not an inch of space left between your bodies. 

"I know why I'm hidin'," Bob whispers. Of all places, why does his mouth have to be next to your ear? "But why are you hidin'?"

If only you had the space to deck him square in the nose. "Now isn't the time." 

There's a noise just outside the door. Your pounding heart tries to crawl right up your throat. It sounds, again, the dull thump of something heavy hitting the wall next to you. Metal clinking together, maybe handcuffs. A voice is protesting, but you don't recognize it.

Bob shifts his weight, unintentionally bumping his chest into you. "Well, it seemed to be a few minutes ago."

"I will kick you out of this closet."

"And what if it's another 'leven years before we see each other?" 

It's so quiet that you could hear a pin drop on the other side of the building. Like the world has completely frozen, not a sound to be heard. You have to turn your head just to make sure you still can.

The only light in this closet comes from the thin slivers of light that squeeze in through the gaps in the doorframe. Tiny streaks of red, barely capable of lighting this dark closet at all. And yet, when you look up, the light is just bright enough to allow you a glimpse of watery eyes. Soft, puppy-like, exactly how you remember them looking. 

"Listen, I—" his head drops, but you've already seen what he's trying to hide, "I'm sorry."

It's a bandaid on a broken bone. Sorry fixes nothing.

"Did you know that I believed you when you said you'd come back?" Your voice wavers, featherlight, "because when you told me that you would come back every Friday night to visit me, I thought you meant it."

He reaches up to remove his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Sniffles but doesn't say anything. So you keep talking. 

"I sat on the corner of Third street and waited for you," too heavy a confession for your tongue to lift, your hushed whisper now nothing but a faint murmur, "every Friday night for three and a half years."

You're not strong enough to confess the rest of the story. How your heart jumped every time you saw a beat-up pickup that resembled his. How you'd convince yourself that this time, this time, he'd be there. Can't admit that you looked for him everywhere you went. Expected him to miraculously appear after your biggest accomplishment. Thought he would surprise you on every holiday and birthday. 

Those words might just die with you. 

Cautious arms wind around your waist, slow, and all of a sudden, you are really, truly back in your fifteen-year-old body. Trembling as he gathers you up into his warm body, squeezing you into his chest, his head dropping down to bury into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," he utters again, but this time, nothing can conceal the break in his voice. There's no attempt to stop you from feeling the drops of water that fall upon the crook of your neck. 

Sorry doesn't fix it. 

But it's a start. 

Looping your arms around his shoulders feels strange; you don't recall them ever being this broad or solid in your grasp, but they only make it easier for you to settle into this impromptu hug. There's so much more of him to fall into, to lose yourself in. 

He squeezes you a little tighter. "Were ya always this tiny?" 

Your sigh is loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. Bob just laughs.

It's been so long that you've forgotten what it sounds like. The one that forces a smile so big that his eyes wrinkle, pearly teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tries to stifle it. His nose is cold as it bumps into your cheek, seems to leave little bits of ice in its wake.

Likewise, it's been a long time since you were face-to-face like this. So close that you can feel his breath against your lips. Neither of you should be this close; you don't know if he's got a partner keeping his bed warm or not. For crying out loud, this is only the second time that you've seen him since he came back. 

His eyes tell you that he's having the same thought. 

But thoughts mean less than actions. Thoughts can't stop the way your lips bump together on their own accord, too timid to move on their own at first. Someone has to make the first move, and someone does, but you can't tell which of you leaned closer and closed the gap.

And you can't be bothered to try and decipher it because you're too busy figuring out why his lips feel like heaven against yours. Unintentionally leaning in the same direction as the other, can't quite figure out how to avoid crushing your noses together, but then you do. 

In your wistful daydreams, you would have described this feeling as stars colliding, a tremendous explosion that dissolves into a plume of sparkling stardust. But this, this doesn't feel like that at all. Kissing him feels like coming home from war; it's been so long since the last time these lips molded with yours that you've forgotten the feeling, but it's so familiar. 

One of his hands still rises to curl around your jaw, bigger than it was when you were teenagers. He still breaks away from you, then noses his way back because he can't have only one kiss. But it's you who hungrily leans up into it, you who twists his short hair between your fingers and pulls him against you, revealing just how starved you truly are. 

He leans forward, and it's hard to tell if the way his thigh forces its way between your legs is intentional or not. This hadn't even remotely been on your mind, but now that his knee is rubbing against your core, it's suddenly everything you want. More, you want more.

A little tug on his hair earns you an equally little gasp, and then, quietly, "we're still in a closet, sweetie."

This time, when your eyes flutter open, it's neon shades of pink and blue that peer into this dingy little hideaway. And this time, you know exactly what you're about to say. "My apartments upstairs"

Walking back out into the club feels like walking directly into the sun; lights too bright for your unprepared eyes, music a touch too loud. But even so, you don't catch glimpse of a single cop as you head around the corner. Bob's coat is the second to last one on the rack; it's grabbed during your blind scramble towards the stairs, leaving Bradley's to dry on its lonesome.

Hidden along the opposite side of the club, next to the bathrooms, there's an employees-only door that opens up to a small hallway. Tucked away on your left is the break room and walk-in cooler, but on your right is another inconspicuous, tiny door. 

"I thought you were kiddin'," Bob breathes, squeezing your hand in his as you type in the code to unlock the door. Nothing but darkness lies ahead. Seems you've forgotten to turn the stair lights on again.

"No point in renting when there's a perfectly good apartment in the building you own," your feet already know exactly where to land on each narrow stair. Bob trips over the first stair, narrowly manages to catch himself on the railing. 

At the very top is your actual door, sitting atop a small landing. City lights pour in through the window on your right, illuminating the room just enough for you to see what you're doing and where you need to slide your house key.

Soft lips find the side of your neck, sucking softly on a vein that's risen. It's barely there, and yet, it makes your vision blur. Your key misses

"Bob," gasping, writhing as hands come to rest on your hips, kneading into your flesh. Blindly, you poke the key around the lock, struggling to get the damn thing into the microscopic slot.

You find it, and the both of you practically fall into your apartment. 

It's dark enough that he can't see the disarray that your living room is currently in. This floor was never originally designed to be a living space at all, but you've turned it into one, and now you're going through the seven stages of grief trying to settle on a decor style. Not Pinterest-level yet, but you're getting there.

You've just barely turned the lock back into place before those damn lips are on your neck again, working their way up, unable to keep away from you for longer than a half second at a time. Only manage to reach the meet of your jaw before you turn and catch those offending lips with your own.

It's different than the ones shared in the broom closet. Proximity no longer forced; your hands are now freely able to crawl up and down his defined back, feet stumbling backward as you clumsily lead your intertwined bodies toward your bedroom. Past the kitchen, past the thrifted dresser littered with picture frames, both new and old. Too many pictures of your and Bob's childhood adventures. 

You manage to kick one shoe off next to the bathroom; the other goes flying down the hallway for you to trip over later. Bob surges forward, pressing you up against the wall of the hallway, does it so easily that it's dizzying. Effortlessly trapping you between his burning hot frame and the cool drywall, short tongue brushing against your bottom lip, asking even though your mouth is already open. 

He must still mindlessly suck on lemon-flavored candies because you can vaguely taste them on him. The artificial citrus a pleasant shock to your senses as your tongues meet for the first time in over a decade, lacing together clumsily. Both trying to go in the same direction, each unfamiliar with the rhythm of the other.

Hands toy with the hem of your shirt; you take the initiative, breaking away just long enough to lift the garment from your body. There's no way Bob can see very well without his glasses on, but you can practically feel him eating up every single detail.

A few more steps and you're standing in your bedroom; a simple thing, the bed faces a big open window, granting you a jaw-dropping view of the city in all of its chaotic glory. The lights never really go together, and yet it somehow manages to look picture-perfect, flaws and all. 

You hadn't noticed that Bob was still carrying his jacket until he's dropping it to the floor. Something metal clattered against your hardwood floor. 

Even in the dark, you know exactly what it is. That shield-shaped hunk of gold-painted metal is unmistakable. 

And even in the dark, you can see Bob go stiff as a board. "I can explain—"

"Don't tell me," your voice wavers, but it's there, "because I don't wanna know."

He steps closer, just enough so that you can take him by the hands and pull him down onto the bed with you. You hardly expect him to comply, but he does so anyway, running his big hands up your sides as your back hits the mattress. Settles between your open legs, leaning down just far enough for you to feel his breath on your skin.

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell you?" Lips bumping against yours as he speaks. Your answer comes in the form of surging up and locking your lips with his once more, arms wrapping around his neck. 

It's hard to imagine Robert Floyd as a cop, likely an undercover one at that. That must be where he's been all this time, on the other side of the law, for once. The gun hiding beneath his sweatshirt flickers through your mind; you don't want to know why it was there. 

All it takes is one needy tug on his shirt, and he's breaking away to tug it off, muscles rippling with the movement, visible even in the dark. His chest gently sculpted, bears years of careful building, all amounting to something worth carving into marble and displaying in a museum. You can't resist running your hands down it, feeling the faint indentations of his rib cage.

A peck on your lips, and then he's working his way down your neck, leaving behind a wet trail of kisses and licks that have you squirming beneath him. It's been so long since the last time someone's paid attention to your body like this, overly sensitive. 

As he reaches your bra, he pauses, darkened eyes flickering up to your face, "why don't you want me to tell you?" 

This mundane conversation doesn't stop him from sliding his hands behind your back, seamlessly unhitching the restrictive elastic. He's seen you like this before, and yet, as he slides the material off of your body, he's transfixed. Unable to look away from what lies beneath him. 

It takes you a moment to find your voice. "Because," words broken by a gasp, brought on by the tongue swirling around your nipple, "I don't want to know your secrets."

Reaching out, you tangle your fingers in the short hair resting at the nape of his neck. You can't imagine what he'd think of yours. 

It's an unfinished conversation, and the unspoken fragment of your sentence hangs in the open air like an off-the-rails train dangling along the edge of a bridge. Glaringly obvious, and yet, Bob doesn't press you any further, preferring to tease your hardening nipple with his teeth. One of his hands massages your neglected breast, thumb swiping over your nipple in tune with his tongue. 

On their own, your hips twitch upward, seeking contact that you can't yet receive. Not in this position. Taking the hint in stride, Bob starts to work his way down even further, licking down your navel as his nails stroke up and down your sensitive sides.

"So pretty," he whispers into your skin, "I didn't think it was possible for you to look any better than you already did."

Thick fingers hook into your waistband, eyes flicker up to gauge your reaction. Timid, you lift your hips; he pulls both your pants and your panties down all in one go, leaving you in nothing but your mismatched socks. 

You hate that you recognize the way his hands trail down your open thighs, that you know exactly what he's going to do when his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. Collapsing onto his forearms, Bob presses a kiss to your left thigh, then another to his right one.

And then he drags his broad, flat tongue right up your slit.

Your hips rise with it, knew it was coming but somehow still surprised by the sensation. That, that, you haven't felt in a while. A fat tongue swirls around your rapidly swelling clit, burning saliva dripping down into you, creating a horrifically wet noise that bounces off the walls.

That scorching muscle works its way back down to trace the delicate rim of your entrance, the tip of his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue experimentally dips inside of you. Once, twice, three times, until it can find a slow, smooth rhythm. Gently fucking you with his short, menacing tongue. 

"Robby," your thighs clamp down around his head, but your hands attempt to push him away, "n-not—"

Even your fragmented statement is enough to have him drawing back, lips shining in the dark room, "not what you were wantin'?"

Shaking your head, "want more than your mouth."

His eyebrows raise, but now that you've said it, he's on the same page as you; zipper absurdly loud as he pulls it down. While he fumbles, you reach up into the bedside drawer, seeking out that barely used bottle of lubricant. Bob's pants land on the floor in a messy heap, right alongside that shining badge, standing proud against your new hardwood. 

"Jesus." You breathe.

Bob blinks, confused by your comment. "What?"

But you don't follow up with a reply. Can't. Either your memory is fooling you, or he's grown a bit in this department too. Cock curved off to the left, menacing as he drizzles himself with the lubricant. A pair of well-intentioned fingers push inside of you, but you don't need it. May or may not have had a little fun with a new toy this morning.

Are you sure you don't want his tongue?

"You alright?" He chirps, smacking his dripping cockhead against your clit; both of you hiss.

"Yeah," you're squirming, but he just keeps paying attention to your poor clit, tiny, wet slaps that send volts of electricity up your spine. "Didn't expect for a monster to be in my bedroom, is all."

It takes him a second, but then, his eyes roll so hard that you hope they get stuck in the back of his head. "Very funny."

Right as he says it, he tilts himself downward, teasing your entrance. The real deal feels nothing like the clearance toy you ordered off the internet; it's not this warm, doesn't require you to reach down and manually work it. 

Slowly, slowly, he presses into you. A faint pressure gradually begins to grow the more he opens you up, muscles stretching to accommodate the intrusion. That's—that's...

"Thick," grumbling under your breath.

His free hand finds your knee, thumb stroking the skin there as he pushes that blunt head into you. It almost seems to pop in, the pressure growing until all of a sudden, it's gone. The rest of the glide inside is easy, overwhelming in the way he manages to fill spaces that you didn't know were there. All you know is that Bob's hips are finally colliding with yours and that he's coming down to press a kiss into your cheek like it's something he's done every day for years, 

"Y'alright?" He murmurs against your skin, and until now, you hadn't realized that you've started panting.

Nodding, "yeah." It's hard to relax when you're so fucking full. "You can move."

A part of you worries he misheard you because he pulls all the way back until you're left with nothing but his thick head. Then, just as slowly as the first time, he pushes back in, cock just big enough to make you feel small. He does it again, ever so slightly quicker this time, working up a slow, deep rhythm that makes you feel every fucking inch of him.

"Fuck," whimpering; something has changed about his angle, because all of a sudden, his cock head is kissing that sensitive bundle of nerves, "there, there."

"Yeah?" You can't see it, but you can feel the way the corner of his lip twitches upward, "is that the spot, baby?" 

All you can do is nod, curling your legs around his hips. Involuntarily fluttering as he targets that poor little spot hidden within those gooey walls that clench and unclench around his cock. Each inward push seems to shove the air from your lungs and never seems to let you catch your breath. Your hands are struggling to find something to hold onto, fleeting between the sheets, his biceps, and his shoulders. Too many places to grab, none of them able to ground you.

This. This is a story you've never heard before. A story told with your bodies rather than your words. The way he holds you tells you that he's afraid to hurt you and treats you like glass even now. Your incessant need to touch him whispers your well-kept secrets, the fears that if you let go, he'll fade away into nothing. It's familiar, and it's unsure; both hurt a thousand times over the course of this past decade.

But maybe, maybe, this can be different. 

"Feel so good 'round me," Bob purrs directly into your ear, teeth nipping your lobe, "can feel ya clenchin', Princess."

Then, he's leaning back onto his haunches, broad chest on display as he greedily drinks in the sight of you beneath him. Split open around his cock, clinging to him like a vice; the moment his eyes catch a glimpse of the sinful sight between your legs, he can't look away. 

What a sight this is; Robert Floyd, muscles swelling as he fucks you, biceps bulging. Once perfectly combed hair now a mess atop his head, the longest strands curling into his pale face. Through the window behind him, the city melds into the perfect backdrop, their vibrant lights dancing across his perfect skin. Your daydreams have never even come close to creating such a picture-perfect sight.

"God," the closest he'll get to swearing, "clenchin' 'round me like a damn vice."

Surely, there has to be a way to get him to swear. It's only fair because here you are, sprawled out on your mattress as his dick plows into your poor, stretched pussy, swearing to high heaven beneath your whimpered breaths. His shuttered breaths are growing louder, hips moving a little quicker, striking your sensitive g-spot over and over and over.

What if you...

Digging your heels into the mattress, you focus on your muscles. How they clench and unclench in perfect tune with his thrusts, how if you really, really think about it, you can gather control over them. One experimental clench of muscles earns you a surprised grunt, Bob's eyes fluttering open. Too wrapped in the moment to be suspicious.

One.

Two.

Before you can internally count to three, you clench down around him the best you can. 

His hips screech to such a sudden halt that you can almost hear the metaphorical tires squealing, "fuck!" 

Heat pools inside of you, his cock twitching inside of you, over and over. But that heat just keeps on coming, and it hits you what's just happened. 

"Proud of yourself?" He grumbles, prying one eye open. 

Giggling, you nod. Two birds with one stone. But now he's sliding all the way out of you, and your proud grin is vanishing within the blink of an eye.

His hands find your hips, seemingly effortlessly flipping your body around. One second, you're looking up at him; the next, you're face down in the mattress as he guides you up to your knees. A hand between your shoulder blades keeps your upper body down, pinning you against the bed as he pushes his cock back inside. Cum sloshes around as he slides home once more; you can feel some of it squishing out of you. 

"I'm trying to be sweet with you," leaning down, his mouth against your ear once more, "and meanwhile, you're trying to get a rise out of me."

"I wanted to see if you'd swear," it's hard to be smug when he pulls out, only to plow right back into you, "you cumming was just collateral damage."

Bob has no comeback, doesn't need one. Because all of a sudden, he's working up a rhythm that puts the former one to shame, hard thrusts that you've got no choice but to shiver and take. Heavy balls slapping against your cunt with every fucking motion. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's reaching down to toy with your clit, too, using his cum as a lubricant to stimulate the poor little bud.

You can't keep your mouth shut, whimpering into the sheets as you squirm, "should've—ah!" The bastard hits you with a particularly hard plunge and holds it there, grinding into your drooling pussy, "maybe I should've done that sooner."

Nothing can conceal his laugh, amused. 

Too soon, it's dissolving into overstimulated little whines of his own, swearing under his breath. Oversensitive head bullying your swollen sweet spots as he works your clit a bit faster. Makes you futter around him like a butterfly, involuntarily spasming as a familiar heat begins to build between your legs and in your lower belly. You can't tell if it's you or him who is whispering expletives into the cool bedroom air.

"Is that what you wanted, sweetie?" There's no malice as he coos into your ear, only something warm that you cannot yet name, "just wanted to hear me cuss like a goddamn sailor while I fuck your dainty lil' pussy?" 

The room is beginning to spin, your lungs starving for a proper breath as that coil in your belly grows tighter and tighter. Wound up more and more by his every thrust, by every spiral of his thick fingers on your pulsating clit.

"C'mon, beautiful," those teeth graze your shoulder, "cum on my cock like a good girl."

And that is it. 

With a strangled squeal, you bite down into your comforter and cum around his still-moving cock. One, two, three more motions before his hips once again stall, spasming inside of you as your head practically floats off your shoulders. You can't fucking breathe; spots cloud your vision as involuntary shocks ripple through your exhausted body. 

"Y'still with me?" 

You hardly recall closing your eyes, but all of a sudden, you're opening them. And there's Bob, resting next to you as he strokes his hand up and down your naked body, doing nothing more than map out your form. Your eyes meet, and he smiles.

Nodding, you release the breath you were holding, "I think so."

Dully, you can feel something warm leaking out of your puffy entrance, dripping all over your poor thighs. It's going to get on the comforter and leave a stain, but you haven't the energy to move, never mind clean up.

"I'll carry you to the shower," kissing your nose, Bob continues, "if you tell me where it is."

That you can do.

Bob is still the same quiet sleeper you remember him being. Curled around your back like he belongs there, nose buried into the space between your shoulder blades. Being wrapped in his arms feels like being wrapped up in the very definition of home. There isn't a doubt in your exhausted mind that, here, right now, he'd take on the entire world if it meant keeping you safe.

Isn't a doubt in your mind that he's done some things he's not proud of, probably doesn't have the strength to voice it. But then again, so have you.

Maybe you should leave these thoughts here, just for the night. Overthinking will only lead you to more problems, problems that you can't solve at two in the morning. Peering over your shoulder, you wait to see if Bob's eyes open. Flutter, even.

They don't.

Slow, you reach over into a drawer in the bedside table, feeling blindly for the cold metal you know you will find. It's hidden beneath a coverless book and inside a felt pouch, but it's there, solid as ever. Pulling it out reveals its faint but unmistakable shape.

The vibrant city lights illuminate a shield-shaped hunk of gold-painted metal. On the bottom, inscribed in tiny little letters, is your full name.

[comfy-whumpee]

Flightless 2

Following on from Flightless 1. This took ages for some reason so thank you if you still care about Boo backstory!

BBU, dehumanisation with 'it' pronouns, the vaguest of vague noncon references.

@neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump, @noirineverysense, and a special thanks to @sowhumpful.

The pet had been nicknamed Amithyste, which Tara thought was abominable, so she referred to it only as its number: 180559. Designation: Romantic. Status: absconded thirteen hours ago while at dinner in a restaurant.

The owner was willing to pay through the nose for her property returned, with a bonus for a lack of damage. Tara packed her tools and her hunter-pet, and took them off to the town of 180559’s last sighting.

It was the hunter’s first time outside of its quarters, and it stared at the passing world around her van as if expecting to see it as changed as it had been. She was unspeaking on the drive, except to brief them as they pulled in beside the restaurant in question. “We are securing a Romantic, 180559. Take the picture from the glove box. With me, silent. Listen and learn.”

It didn’t outwardly react, as she had trained it not to. If it showed any emotion or made any sound while out today, there would be consequences.

Locking the van behind her, she led the way into the restaurant. It was a mid-range family place, not somewhere you’d expect a Romantic to be. Perhaps the owner had a family they wanted to impress. Perhaps they were living on a tighter budget than their extravagance suggested. Tara didn’t care what the reason was. She was only irked by the stupidity of taking a pet somewhere people didn’t mind their own business. Around children.

The manager was quickly located. Tara spoke matter-of-factly, but with concern instead of her usual force. “Thank you for your time. I’m trying to find a young woman who was here yesterday at dinner. I understand she is at risk and we need to get her safe.”

At her look, without need to speak an order, the hunter showed the photo. The manager considered it, then shook his head.

“She was here from 7pm. Was anyone here working at that time?”

She as prepared to pay for the privilege of information, but it proved unneeded. The manager smiled, pleased to be able to help. “Matt was on shift yesterday, and he’s here this morning. Let me send him over.”

She smiled, feeling how it stretched her cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

Matt had seen, and remembered, the beautiful blonde from last night. “She was with a friend, I think, another woman. They left separately, but her friend paid the bill.”

“When did she leave? Before or after her friend?”

“Before. We thought she was sick or something, one of the others saw her come out of the toilets and go straight for the door.”

Tara looked at the hunter. “It must be this friend that she was trying to get away from,” she said, for the waiter’s benefit. She turned back. “Thank you. Did you happen to see where she went, once she was out of the building?”

The waiter looked thoughtful. He was young and naïve, with a throat pale over his shirt collar and acne on his chin. He was bought into the idea he was saving a pretty girl. “I didn’t see. But there’s only the road both ways from here, you can’t walk anywhere.”

She nodded sharply. It seemed like even odds that the escapee would go towards people or run further. She dismissed the waiter with thanks.

“Judgement?” she told the hunter.

It dispensed its pet perspective in a whisper-soft voice, designed to be for her ears only. “If she went out of town, she would have to return. She can’t survive alone.”

The logic was sound. “We estimate her route. She likely kept to straight lines and main roads. We look out for a stopping point.”

It took an hour of walking before the hunter-pet stopped at the corner of a park, looking out over the grass. Tara was ready to slap it and move them on, but she was confident it wasn’t stopping for pleasure. An instinct had tugged, or a rational voice had piped up, that a park was a good place to hide.

“Go,” she told it. She allowed it to lead, following at a distance as it walked sedately across the path between the flowerbeds.

The hunter suddenly diverted right, and after two minutes of intense rustling in the undergrowth, it emerged with a generic-looking canvas bag.

“Show,” she told it.

It reached inside and produced a hooded jacket, a crumpled bottle of water and a pair of gold and sapphire earrings. The jacket was new. “She’s selling her jewellery,” Tara informed the pet. “You stay here and monitor the area.”

They nodded, returning the bag to its hiding spot and taking up position sitting under a tree within view. They were wearing a loose jumper that hid the upper-arm tracking cuff she had bought to secure them. She could track her property across the country if need be, and if they were close enough, shock them to their knees. In all their other outings, when she had tested their ability to stay and wait, she had never needed to use it.

Confident that she could leave them, she looked up nearby pawn shops and checked for the other pieces of the jewellery 180559 had disappeared while wearing. Victory came quick. At the very nearest, she located the necklace that went with the earrings, and paid a small deposit to have it put in reserve. The client could buy it back, or reclaim it as stolen property.

On her route back to the park, she kept her eyes open, scanning the people around her as she went. 180559 had long legs, black hair, and a distinctive arched brow that made her eyes seem ludicrously large. She would be recognisable.

Nobody matching 180559’s photo came into view. She checked the pet was still present, which it was, and then headed back to the street. She would tour the area around the park, and eventually the girl would show her face. She moved at a brisk pace, but not so fast she would draw attention by seeming rushed. She moved through the local shops, scoured every inch of the local library, and checked the cubicles in the public toilets.

It was an hour before she circled back to the park, where the hunter-pet was still at its post, appearing to be dozing. As she drew closer, she saw it was an act, as they gave her a small shake of their head. They had not seen her either. She must be further away.

Tara walked the perimeter of the park. There were two main entrances, and one smaller one. She looped between them, keeping the smaller one at the centre of her focus. The presence of the water bottle in the bag suggested it was not meant to be left for a long period. She would collect it before nightfall. She may have need of the jacket, if she was going to be sleeping outdoors. She wouldn’t have left the earrings if she wanted to go far, or go home. She would come back.

Despite her confidence, Tara made two more excursions into the wider town through the afternoon, restless with impatience. 180559 had to be holed up somewhere for the daylight hours. Perhaps she was begging for money somewhere busier.

Her strategy was finally rewarded when she returned again to the park after her third scour of the library. Her pet was standing, over by where the bag was hidden, and it was talking to the target. 180559 had her hair half-hiding her face and was hunched as if to hide herself from others, a juvenile attempt at being inconspicuous. She had been spotted instantly, Tara assumed, as she hadn’t picked up her bag.

The hunter-pet was talking to her, voice quiet but movements animated how she had taught it. It didn’t hide its pet mannerisms: eyes wide and trusting, posture perfect, politely smiling. As Tara watched, 180559 grew more relaxed, put at ease by the idea that she had been approached by someone like her.

It was more than enough of a distraction for Tara to approach from behind, grab her by the tattooed wrist, and bark in her ear, “Position One.”

Tension rippled up 180559’s back like a flash freeze. Her hands went to the small of her back, and Tara secured them there with a plastic tie.

The hunter watched, impassive again. It didn’t even flinch when 180559 was collared.

180559 let out a cry of distress at the feeling of leather around her neck again. She struggled, trying to shake loose of Tara’s grip. The feeling of her wriggling was repulsive, and Tara couldn’t mark her, but she could still hurt. She took the bound wrists and twisted them, causing pulls in both shoulders that made 180559 shudder and stop.

“No fighting,” Tara said, grinding the words between her teeth. “You will come quietly and return to your owner.”

“No,” she sobbed, straining futilely against the hold. She had never been allowed strength, only beauty by a narrow standard. She was feeble as a baby, and Tara began to push her along towards the exit. She tried to resist, but she was uncoordinated, and her feet stumbled along.

Tara’s pet followed in perfect silence, ees ahead when she glanced back. It hadn’t intervened by even a twitch. The neutrality was exactly what she expected any diplay of feeling must be for a calculated purpose only. She was not interested in handling a needy creature. It would be emotionless to its core.

-

The hunter thought only one word, over and over again, as they followed Mistress Tara’s footsteps exactly.

180559 had approached at a slow pace, trying to appear nonchalant, but they had known what she was immediately. There was a certain fluidity to her movements that Mistress Tara had pointed out to them before in training. She had shown them many different pets, from owner influencers to official advertising. They knew all the signs.

180559 had paused by the edge of the grass that her bag was buried in. She stretched as a cover for looking around. Then she approached, and they had followed her, closing in as her back was turned. She sensed their presence before she picked up the bag, and straightened suddenly, turning to them with unconscious grace and a nervous smile.

It was awful to be face-to-face with a pet like her, a real one. She was a failure in her own way, having run from her owners, but she was still… fit for purpose. She would be returned and resume her allocated life. She wasn’t a lost cause like they had been, before Mistress Tara.

She said, “Hi. Um, can I help you?”

Her voice was he correct pitch and smoothness. She hadn’t learned to fit in and hide her pet-ness. Not like they had.

They allowed their expression to relax, softening into a trustworthy guilelessness. “Are you new?” they whispered. “How long have you been free?”

Her eyes widened. She drew her hands against her body, twisting them up in the long T-shirt she was wearing. They saw her fear and felt nothing for it, but turned their wrist just enough to show her the remnants of their barcode. Mistress Tara had scarred it beyond use, so it could no longer be scanned, but it was unmistakable. She wanted them to be disconnected from their past life, not hidden from being a pet altogether.

“It’s okay,” they whispered, the lie bitter on their tongue.

For a moment, her breathing only fluttered, but she nodded. “Earlier this week,” she admitted to them. “I, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

That feeling would never go away, they knew. “I know a safe place you can sleep,” they offered her. They only had to keep her talking until Mistress Tara returned. “It’s not a proper shelter, but it’s dry and people don’t ask questions. Have you been sleeping outside?”

She flushed abruptly, breaking eye contact. The question had shaken her out of character.

“It’s okay,” they repeated softly. “Take your time. Look, I’m… I’m Kaye. I named myself.”

Her hands twisted in her shirt, tight and loose, tight and loose. Her eyes stayed on the ground, but she whispered back, “Genevieve.”

Genevieve.

The client had picked a name for her, and she had probably heard only that as her name for her whole living memory. But she had chosen a name, and a pretty one at that. Amithyste seemed insubstantial and meaningless in comparison.

Genevieve.

Even when Mistress Tara returned and dragged her away, and they sat on opposite sides of the van bench as she drove them both back to her facility, they could barely resist whispering the name back again, like a magic word.

Genevieve.

Had she ever told anyone that, her name? Had anyone ever called her by it? Mistress Tara hadn’t talked about names. Pets didn’t get them. Escapees sometimes stole names to pass as normal, a tactic they had used, but such names were never their own. That was why she didn’t name her own pet.

To name herself after only a few hours of freedom… Or had she known her name before then? Had it driven her to run?

Was she afraid of forgetting it? Would she be forced to through her retraining? Or would it remain, something she couldn’t lose now it had been gained, immutably part of her soul?

They internally shook themself, returning their gaze to the view from the car window. The van was silent. The day was over. The lost property would be returned, and that would be the end of it.

The end of Genevieve, whether she survived it or not.

Mistress Tara’s pets never showed what they weren’t supposed to.