#And like it would be unnerving but also get over it right. I would survive if my baby had a cousin with the same unusual name. I think

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.

[teddypickrwritings]

The Beautiful Moonlight - Night Watch x Reader

A/N: Mainly inspired by Ithaqua’s 6th anniversary quote! I referenced some of his other quotes too. This can be platonic or romantic!

Oletus Manor was no stranger to big and lavish events. This party was no exception—everyone who had visited or stayed at the manor in the past had been invited to celebrate its 6th anniversary of hosting daring survival games.

The impostor syndrome was kicking in for you. You had only been a guest at the manor for about a month and participated in a fairly small amount of games. There were so many people you still had yet to make acquaintances with.

Simply put, you felt like you shouldn’t be here.

A whirlwind of chatter was enveloping your mind. Combined with the symphony of clattering and clanking dishes, it was all getting to be too much for you to handle. You slipped out of the dining hall without anybody noticing or caring to stop you.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips. A sandbag had been lifted off your chest. Maybe you should go outside and-

“(Y/N)?”

A soft voice made you jump. You turned to come face-to-face with the Night Watch, or Ithaqua as you had heard some people call him. It was slightly comforting to see a familiar face—er, mask—but maybe ‘comforting’ was pushing it. You had had only one match against him and his eerily playful giggles had unnerved you greatly.

“That is your name, right?” Ithaqua asked.

“That’s right,” you said slowly as your heartbeat settled back to normal.

He looked at the set of doors that you came out of. Everyone’s voices were still loud enough to be heard, but were thankfully muffled. “Why aren’t you in there?”

“I could ask you the same,” you said with a polite smile.

Ithaqua tilted his head, and you hoped that you hadn’t made a mistake with your little quip. “I don’t like socializing very much,” he said plainly.

You nodded, relieved. “It can be overwhelming at times. That’s why I stepped out,” you explained.

“I think it’s also such a waste to hold a party in here,” Ithaqua said with a sigh. “The moon is so beautiful tonight. We should all be basking in its light.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m guessing you prefer nighttime?”

Ithaqua let out one of those soft chuckles of his. But in this setting, it didn’t creep you out nearly as much. “Would you like to come along with me to see it?”

His request caught you off-guard. But this was a chance for you to become acquainted with him; after all, you should “keep your enemies close” as the saying goes. So you nodded after a bit of hesitation and followed him out to the gardens.

It didn’t occur to you once you both stepped in the darkness that he could kill you. A sense of dread overtook you as you realized this was the perfect time for him to strike. Everyone was inside.

Nobody would hear you.

But Ithaqua made no indication that he was going to strike. His stilts did not impede his smooth gait in the slightest despite the terrain changing from hard floor to soft grass. He crossed over to a smooth marble bench and sat down, staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed your fear and joined him in looking up at the night sky. Ithaqua was right—the moon was beautiful. A shining pearl in a sea of stars. No clouds in sight to ruin the breathtaking view.

A strange instinct overtook you, and you stretched your arm upwards. Your hand barely fit inside the moon.

Ithaqua’s soft giggles reminded you that you had company. You quickly lowered your arm as heat spread across your face.

“I am glad that you appreciate the moon like I do,” Ithaqua laughed. But there was no malice in his voice. “It was one of the few bright things in my forest…”

You smiled. “Thank you for asking me to join you. I was, um…looking forward to meeting you since our match together.”

Ithaqua stared at you intensely again. “What exactly were you looking forward to meeting…?”

Your embarrassment became greater. “I’m…not sure. But I want to have a friend,” you confessed. “I barely know anyone…”

The masked man hummed as he considered your words. “Ah, I see…I understand how you feel.”

His answer surprised you. “Really?”

Ithaqua looked back up at the moon. “I said earlier that I didn’t like socializing. But you…I remember you very well from our match. And that is why I sought you out.”

It had been strange for him to approach you, but you were glad to hear his reasoning. You took a deep breath and turned your body slightly so you were facing him more directly. “If that’s the case, then how about we be friends?” you asked boldly.

The ears of Ithaqua’s hood swayed a bit with how fast he turned his gaze back onto you. Your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in; in that moment, you were the piece of prey that the hunter was pondering whether to pounce on or not.

“How about I make it so you can never say you want to meet anyone ever again?” he asked with a menacingly playful lilt.

He’s definitely going to kill me now, you thought as a clawed hand emerged from his cloak. You couldn’t help but scoot away from him out of fear.

But instead of striking, his hand raised to his mask and pulled it off. It surprised you how…normal he looked. Granted, his eyes were pitch-black with almost ghostly-looking blue irises. But aside from that, he looked like a normal young man with messy pale hair falling into his face.

His small grin widened a bit when you said nothing. “Did you think I was going to kill you just now?”

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly. What else were you supposed to think?

Ithaqua laughed. “Just because I am a hunter? I would not do something like that unless you gave me a reason to, (Y/N)” he said. His smile became a bit eerie as ne leaned closer to you. “Something like…telling everyone you saw my face…?”

Your eyes widened. “I would never!”

“Good, good…friends have secrets, yes? So this will be ours,” he mused. He straightened back up and returned his gaze to the moon yet again, closing his eyes as the moonlight made his alabaster skin almost luminescent.

Ithaqua was definitely a force to be reckoned with. And it would probably be some time before your heart would stop racing with fear around him.

But in that moment, as you watched his face become peaceful and his smile become content, you knew that you could trust him.

[mikanotes]

COMEBACK/APOCALYPSE

eunhyuk x gn!reader — 577 words.

genre: angst/comfort, (probably) established relationship

warnings: mentions of death, grief, and swearing. nothing else i think!

synopsis: Eunhyuk returns. You don’t know how to deal with it.

author’s note: i miss him so have this. also me when you’re coming back and it’s the end of the world and we’re starting over and i love you darling and i am done

“You’re dead.” you say, “I’ve finally made peace with that. You should not be here.”

Steady as your voice may be, you’re unsure how much of your carefully crafted detached exterior manages to hold up in the face of Lee Eunhyuk’s apparent return to life. He looks as calm as usual. The way he stares at you feels somewhat unnerving— A gaze that refuses to let go, one that pierces right through you.

You feel the walls around you crumbling before you can do anything about it. You never stood a chance. “Eunhyuk.” you sigh, tone almost pleading. Please tell me you’re real. Please tell me you’re alive. Even if it makes no sense, say it, please. You hold his gaze as he takes a few short steps towards you.

“I’m sorry.” he says. Your throat feels tight and your eyes sting. “That you grieved for something that wasn’t gone.”

This is so much worse. But there isn’t a good way this situation could’ve gone.

This is one year and some months of sinking into a void of growing despair, with nothing to grab onto to stop it. It’s one year and some months that really feel like a decade of your very heart withering away. It’s one year and some months of surviving a monster apocalypse, and somehow having the sight of the person you craved to see the most be the thing that truly breaks you. The floor feels like it’s disappearing under your feet. You’re falling again, and it feels ten times worse and more instant. Like death. You’re dying and he’s saying sorry for not ever truly leaving.

“No, I,” you pause, forcing yourself to actually breathe, “I grieved over someone that was gone. You were gone. This was over a whole year without a single sign from you. An entire year of forcing myself to believe everyone’s words. ‘He’s dead’, ‘He’s gone and under the crumbled building’, ‘You’ll never see him again’, that was real.”

Eunhyuk doesn’t say a word.

“I didn’t want to believe it. I was so sure of it— That you weren’t really gone. You wouldn’t leave so easily. I didn’t believe it at all.” you shake your head, gaze moving aimlessly, “I eventually had to stop believing, and I’m sorry that I did. But you can’t just come back this way.”

“Should I leave?”

He’s dead serious, the fool. Polite and conscious of the boundaries he might’ve pushed by simply making himself known to you again.

“No. Are you kidding me?” you take a step forward, but it’s awfully hesitant. Like if you get too close you’ll see his skin is translucent and he was never really there and you’d been yelling at the wall. “You can’t leave. Not again.”

What are you supposed to do with all these feelings? It’s terrifying. He really is here.

“What can I do?” he asks, tone as steady as you’d hoped yours would come out. Every moment you practiced that false image of calm, your reference had subconsciously been Eunhyuk. Calm and level-headed, mature, the perfect leading figure. You’d never see Lee Eunhyuk slip up over his own emotions. That’s what you strived for.

But as it turns out, it’s not easy to be like this.

So out of touch. You need to make sure.

“Take my hand.” you say, ask, “Please.”

He looks down at your hand, then back up at you when he shortens the distance between the two of you. His hand is careful when it takes yours, slowly bringing it up between both of your chests. His skin is just as cold as it was, as cold as you remembered. Rough, contrasting how gentle his movements are. You stare at him and he stares at your hand.

“Now?”

“Now you promise not to die without me.”

That’s not something he can promise, you know it already. His expression tenses for a moment, like he’s in pain, but it’s gone just as fast. “I can’t promise you that.” he says, looking up at you, “You know that.”

“You’re the worst person I know.” you say, lying through your teeth. Eunhyuk carefully reaches his free hand towards your face, pressing his palm to your jaw.

“I am, aren’t I?” he says quietly, expression unchanging. “I’d usually call bullshit, but I admit I sort of believe you, all things considered.”

You scoff but it’s hard for it not to turn into a laugh. It’s light and not the definition of happy but it feels somewhat comforting. Your heart feels painfully tight. There’s something inordinately scary about allowing yourself to hope again.

“You know, once it actually clicks in my head that you’re really here, I’m going to cry like I never have before?”

“Don’t waste your energy on that.” he hums, “Still, I’ll be here through all of it, if it happens. I’ll be there. I won’t leave again. Not like last time.”

You lean down until your forehead hits his shoulder. He moves his hand to the back of your head, and the other just tightens around your own. There’s no need for more than that to say I love you, silently, in your own way.

“You will?”

“I can promise you that much.”

[withahappyrefrain]

Summary: The pain medication given to Bob after a training accident has some interesting, albeit endearing, side effects.

As you weave your way through the people, desperate to make it to the front desk, the words kept playing over and over in your mind.

Training accident. Had to eject.

The strong possibility always hung over in your mind, taunting you whenever he went to work. That one day you would receive that dreaded phone call.

And while you didn't get that phone call today the fact you came close was unnerving.

Hurt pretty bad. Needed surgery.

Your throat felt thick, as though you were almost choking on air. It was a surprise you could audibly tell the nurse at the front desk your name.

"He's still in surgery, Mrs. Floyd. You can wait in the lobby and we'll alert you when he's done."

Nodding because of your fear that if you spoke, the tears would spill out, you sat down in the uncomfortable chair.

You tried to people watch, see if you could spot someone you knew, who Bob knew. Tell you what happened.

But did you really want those horrible details?

No. You wanted to know that your husband was okay. That he would recover. That he would be back in your arms, where he belonged.

You could call his mom and sister, let them know what was happening. It could be comforting to hear their voices.

But it would also remind you that your husband was hurt and you didn't know if he was okay.

So instead, your fingers fiddled with his wedding ring that hung on the silver chain around your neck. He always gave it to you when he had missions.

That way you had a piece of him if anything happened.

"Mrs. Floyd?" You looked up to see a nurse standing near you.

"Your husband is all done with his surgery, he's-"

"Is he okay? How did his surgery go? Can I go see him?" The nurse took a step back at your numerous questions.

"His surgery went well. He's currently hopped on a lot of medication to reduce the pain, so he may be out of it. Once the doctor is done, you can go see him."

The next ten minutes were somehow even worse. Knowing Bob was so close, but not able to see him was absolute torture.

You practically ran when the nurse said he was ready for visitors.

The sight of Bob, eyes closed as he laid in the hospital bed, bandages covering his arms, hooked up to an IV bag was heartbreaking. Despite his tall, broad frame, he looked so small in that bed.

Maybe you should sit by the bed and wait for him to wake up. What even are the standard protocols when your husband has to eject from his plane and gets injured in the process?

Your feet had a mind of their own, bringing you to the bed. Then your hands had their own idea, reaching up to card your fingers through his ruffled dark blonde locks.

His shifted towards your touch, those beautiful blue eyes still closed.

"Hey love," you whispered before pressing your lips to his forehead. Seeing the rise of his chest with each breath brought you comfort; he was here, he came back to you, just like he promised.

A confused, drowsy hum left his lips as his eyes slowly opened.

"Robby?" You should take a step break. Should give him space.

But how could you, when those eyes deeper than the ocean looked up at you?

"Robby!" You all but threw yourself at him, burying your head into his neck, the comforting scent of sage filling your nostrils, "I'm so glad you're safe, I was beside myself when they called."

"I-huh?" His voice was drowsy and full of confusion. Makes sense, considering when he was last conscious, he was in a fighter jet, thousands of feet up in the air.

"Doctors say if you keep up your current trajectory, you'll be able to go home tomorrow. Gives me time to get your favorite meal ready."

"Beef Goulash?" Bob mumbled, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Of course! Your mom's recipe." You pressed your lips against one of his red cheeks before capturing his lips with yours. You couldn't help it. Your husband had survived, he was right there. How could you not kiss him?

"Am I in heaven?"

You couldn't help but laugh at Bob's question, shaking your head as you kissed him again.

"No Robby, you're at the Miramar Hospital."

Bob pulled away, confusion written all over his face, "But....you're an angel?"

You shook your head again, but without laughing this time, "Robby. You okay?"

"I.....I was in the air and Phoenix, she kept telling me to eject and I think I did? Then I woke up and you're....you're here and wow. You're stunning."

Your stomach fluttered at his compliment, "Of course I'm here," you grabbed the hand that wasn't hooked up to an IV bag, "What kind of wife would I be if I wasn't?"

Bob's nearly widened, "Wife? Did you say wife?"

Oh boy.

"Yes, I'm your wife. We got the rings and everything." You held up your hand, showing the gold wedding band, which matched the one Bob wore.

"We're married?" His eyes were as wide as saucers, hope and confusion dancing along those oceanic irises.

"We are. Have been for five years now."

"Five years?!" Bob put his hand over his heart, as if he were afraid of it jumping out of his chest, "Wow. I bet those five years have been wonderful."

"They have! And I will tell you all about them, after I get the nurse!"

You began moving to get up when a large hand grabbed yours.

"Wait!" You stopped to look at Bob, "Are you.....are you sure you're my wife? Not that I'm complaining it's just you're so beautiful and lovely and I....I'm....just Bob."

So the pain medication could make him temporarily forget you, but not his insecurities? Go figure.

"No, you are not just Bob. You are the smartest, sweetest, kindest, most amazing man I have ever met. You're a wonderful husband and father, and every day I'm thankful I get to wake up next to you."

A small albeit sweet lopsided smile appeared on Bob's face, before his eyes widened once again, "Wait....did you did you say father?"

You couldn't help but giggle, "Yes. You are the father to three cats, two dogs, a rabbit, and three amazing kids."

"I am? With you?" His body was practically buzzing with excitement. His eyes were shining so brightly as he looked at you in pure amazement.

"You are. In fact, we were working on our fourth kid before all this," You smiled slyly as your fingers reached over his forearms.

"We-oh. Oh. We were-we did-um, I'm just wow I'm just going to lie down, oh look there's a bed."

The nurses rushed in upon hearing the heart rate monitor increase.

One even asked, "What did you do?!"

"Told him he was married with children."

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

The next day, the nurses alerted you that after the pain medication had worn off, Bob did remember you as his wife.

According to them, he wouldn't stop talking about you.

"My wife! There she is!" You smiled at hearing Bob's cheerful voice, knowing he was there, safe and sound.

"Hey hot stuff, you ready to go home? Mack has been asking when you'll show the Wizard of Oz," you paused, "You know Mack? Our daughter?"

Bob chuckles while shaking his head, "Yes. I remember all my children, as well as my amazing wife."

"Good, though I was looking forward to you recreating our first date. Was hoping you would kiss me this time."

Bob pulled you into his lap, his hands cupping your face, "Guess I'll just have to kiss you for the rest of my life to make up for it."

His lips pressed against yours briefly before moving to your cheeks, then your forehead, then to your nose.

"I think I can deal with that," you giggled as he continued to pepper your face with light kisses.

"Me too darlin. Me too."

[drakoneve]

The Wolf Amongst Dragons

request: Can you pretty please do a daemon X reader where it's his niece who teases him about being super smitten with the reader BC she is a headstrong stark and makes a fool out of the court because she can. Perhaps she gets quite hurt in a battle that the king sends her and others out to fix. Basically it just ends up being fluffy where the reader knows his feelings and just soaks up the complete love he has. Like this boy has been knocked off his feet and he hates to admit it hehe 

pairing: daemon targaryen x y/n stark 

word count: 1k

warnings: canon typical violence, injured reader, blood

a/n: i tweaked this a little, hope you don’t mind!

You made a promise to yourself the day your older brother, Cregan, loaded you and your belongings into a carriage headed for the capital. Until this point you’d never stepped foot out of Winterfell, let alone were you prepared to move to the other side of the continent. Yet you had no choice. When the King of the Seven Kingdoms requests a Northern representative for the royal court, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to send his little sister.

When you finally arrived at the Red Keep you were meet with by King Viserys, his wife Queen Aemma, their daughter Princess Rhaenyra, and the king’s brother Prince Daemon. The Kingsguard stood tall in gleaming armor in full force surrounding the royal family, who was also accompanied by their personal staff.

“Lady Stark!” King Viserys cheers as he opens his arms in greeting. “We are honored to welcome you to the Red Keep! I hope your travels went smoothly?”

“Thank you, your Grace,” you answered as you bowed respectively. “The Kingsroad is fine, your Grace. It’s more the climate that’s concerning me. i’m not yet used to such... conditions, to say the least.”

Queen Aemma steps forward, “I’m sure you’ll adjust before you know it. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers.”

The queen was gracious enough to accompany you not only to your chambers, but she then took you on a tour of the palace. She began with the throne room, then took you out to the royal gardens where she took you to the Godswood. Having a weirwood tree right here in the Red Keep made you breath easier. At least this place had some trace of the North. Being so far from home unnerved you deeply, but in this place you could feel a connection to home.

Over the next few days you attended Small Council meetings where you watched from the sidelines. King Viserys assured you would have a seat on the council soon enough, but others suggested you have an ‘adjustment period’ of sorts. You scoffed at the idea but still took your seat outside the council table.

Being separated from the council, however, was not enough to restrain you from calling Otto Hightower a ‘spoiled southern cunt’ for suggesting Daemon send members of the City Watch into Flea Bottom to reprimand those who are already fighting to survive. During these meetings you happened to catch the violet eyes of the rogue prince, who had yet to make your acquaintance. 

Not long after your arrival in Winterfell, King Viserys announced that Queen Aemma is with child once more, and the palace went into a mode of celebrations. A feast had been prepared and the throne room transformed into a dining hall with room for dancing. 

Most everyone had finished their meals and began mingling and dancing their way around the room, but your attention focused mainly on the many molten swords of the Iron Throne. You had to admit the sight of the royal seat of Westeros was quite an intimidating sight.

Something inside told you to take a step towards the throne, and so you did. You stopped when you approached the first line of molten swords and reached out to trail your fingers lightly across the hilt. 

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Daemon advised teasingly as he came up on your right side. “My brother does not take kindly to those who yearn for his precious throne.”

“I merely grazed the hilt of one measly sword,” you refuted. “I did not sit my arse upon it and call myself the queen. Nor do I want to.”

“Truthfully?” he inquires, a look of curiosity upon his face. You take the moment to take in the sight of him, and you cannot deny he’s an incredibly handsome  man. Like the rest of his Targaryen ancestors, Daemon is beautifully crafted by the Gods of Old Valyria— blessed with silver blond hair and lilac eyes. 

You nod and look back up to the throne. “I could think of nothing worse,” you admit. “To live my life upon this ghastly thing and have to sit through endless bore-me-to-death Small Council meetings? Sounds miserable to me.”

With that you excuse yourself respectively to retire for the evening. You make quick rounds to the other members of the royal family to excuse yourself for the night totally unaware of how Daemon’s eyes are following you the whole time. He watches as you begin with his brother and sister in law, before finding Rhaenyra (who’s in the middle of the dancefloor with Alicent) and saying goodnight to her, too.

He laughs to himself when Rhaenyra and Alicent each take one of your hands and pulls you around in circles with them, as if trying to convince you to stay with them just a bit longer. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but his heart beats harder at the sight of your dark gray satin skirts flow around you while you twirl, at the smile on your face as you laugh with his niece and her friend.

Eventually you pull away from the girls before officially making your way out of the throne room and away from the chaos. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

Several months had passed since the death of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon, and war had begun in the Stepstones just as Corlys Velaryon warned King Viserys and the eternity of the Small Council. Still Viserys refused to step in as king and help the Lord of Driftmark defeat the Triarchy once and for all. After the king rejected Corlys’ offer of Laena’s hand in marriage and instead married Alicent Hightower, the seasnake took off to fight in the Stepstones. It wasn’t long after that that Daemon joined Corlys in his war efforts.

You stayed in the Keep for awhile, trying to convince Viserys to aid Corlys and Daemon in their efforts of holding the Stepstones to no avail. Viserys had allowed you to take a seat on the council while Corlys and Daemon were gone, and each time you tried to plead with the king to see reason Otto Hightower would weasel his way in the king’s ear against you. 

So you decided to go to the Stepstones yourself, naturally. You recruited Ser Harwin Strong to accompany you once he swore on his honor he would not say a word of your plan to anyone until his safe return to King’s Landing. 

You and Harwin arrived on the shores of the Stepstones in time to rush to Daemon’s side as he was overrun by members of the Triarchy. You wore the armor your father had gifted you after many years of insisting on joining your brother Cregan on the battlefield with the Stark bannermen. 

Vaemond Velaryon scoffed at your arrival and insisted Corlys send you away. Daemon stepped forward, piercing Vaemond with his furious lilac gaze. 

“Put your cocks away, boys,” you tease, unimpressed. “We’ve a war to win, do we not?”

You joined the war torn men around the large table set up with the maps of the battlefields. Conversation continued back and forth as the lot of you tried to come up with a plan to take down the Crab Feeder and Triarchy. Laenor’s plan of sending Daemon to the Crab Feeder as a scapegoat of false hope only for both Caraxes and Seasmoke to burn the Triarchy men alive. 

For the most part everything went as planned, until you jained Daemon’s side as he was ambushed, unarmed, by a circle of the enemy. You’d jumped into the fight, effectively taking out several Triarchy soldiers before tossing a sword Daemon’s way. He showed his thanks by slaying the rest of the men with you, but not before one of them slashed you in the side, leaving a bloody gash on the side of your thigh.

“Fuck!” you yell as you clutch your leg, losing your balance and hitting the ground. Blood streamed down your leg in a slow, but steady, flow. Daemon joined your side in a flash, ripping the white flag he’d had to feign surrenderance to tie the cloth as tight as he could above the gash in your thigh.

The battle continued around you though for the most part Caraxes’ and Seasmoke’s flame had discouraged most of what was left of the Triarchy. With Daemon’s aid you were able to safely make it back to the shore where you’d first arrived to be treated by the healers available.

Daemon stayed by your side through the stitching and even went as far as to hold your hand and offer sweet words as comfort. You were grateful for him, this way you had something else to focus on other than the pain. And if you needed an alternative to keep your mind busy, there was no better pick than Daemon.

His silvery white hair fell around his face perfectly despite being slightly matted with sweat and blood. He’d always been handsome, that you couldn’t deny, but seeing this softer side to him made him even more so in your eyes. It’s no secret Daemon is a troublemaker, and you should probably keep your distance, but after this how could you?

Long after the battle was over Daemon was crowned King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. He’d cut his infamous long hair short, and it suited him. Sometimes little wisps of silver hair would fall down into his face and you had to remind yourself to breathe at the sight.

Your relationship with Daemon changed after the war in the Stepstones. Whereas before the war you would avoid Daemon in court, you now sought him out. Not that you had too, because he often would join your side in Small Council meetings or invite you out to the training yards.

Tonight however, you opted to stay in your chambers.

You’d already stripped down to your nightclothes when a knock came from the other side of your chamber doors.

“Come in.” you called.

The doors open and Daemon entered, dismissing your guards. They looked to you before leaving once they had your reassurance.

Daemon didn’t hesitate to step right up to you. “Forgive me for the hour, my lady, but I’ve found myself in a situation I am quite unfamiliar with and it seems you are the only one who can help me.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, trying to ignore the fluttering of your heart. “How am I supposed to be of aid?”

“Be mine,” he responds quickly with confidence. “I must confess from the day you arrived here in the Keep I’ve been quite taken with you. And the day you rode onto the shores of the Stepstones, I knew I could not live without you by my side—”

You reached your hands out to cup either side of his face. “Daemon, do not jest. I’m afraid my heart could not take it.”

A genuine smile breaks out across his lips. “I would never,” Daemon insists. “I’ve felt this way for a long time, my little wolf.”

Daemon’s hands fall to your waist as he pulls you into his body, leaning down to kiss you firmly. You pulled away and kissed his forehead before resting your own against his. 

“Come to bed, Daemon,” you purr and pull away towards the bed.

He laughs and smiles down at you. “As you wish, little wolf.”

[trev0rc0re]

Dad! Trevor would be so adorable.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Like OK LISTEN we saw the way he was with Tracey, who isn’t even his OWN BLOOD in story mode. You know, when he literally went full on attack mode after finding out she was gonna exploit herself on Fame or Shame. Bro went actually BALLISTIC, grabbed a guy by the neck, publicly embarrassed an asshole producer after chasing his ass in a car for miles, and it was all for someone he considered his niece, whom he had not seen in 10+ years. Not even Michael seemed that upset or angry at the guy, and she's his kid. Trevor though…? Good lord, imagine him with his own kids.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Would most definitely be the type of guy to say:“Fuck that, I don’t ever want kids,” then literally be the best with them. The people around him are literally shocked to see a usually rude, crass, violent man transform into a huge softy the minute a child skips into the room, instantly pulling cash out of his pocket so they can go get themselves candy, or giving out fist bumps and bear hugs at the drop of a hat. He’s so naturally good with kids that it’s scary and unnerving to those who know him. “Seriously, how is that the same guy that has massacred multiple people?”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Girl dad, obviously. She would take after him completely; huge, light amber eyes with flecks of yellowish gold, dark wavy hair, mischievous toothy grin… I can totally see him allowing his daughter to paint his nails in shades of bright pink, wearing the polish with pride despite his rugged appearance. God forbid anyone say anything about it, or attempt to make fun of it. Doing so would be an instant death wish— nobody is gonna make his daughter feel bad for her “craftsmanship.” She would probably try to style his thinning hair too, attempting to tie the surviving strands into a ponytail/braid and he would just let her LOLLLL. No matter how hard she pulled, or how much she kept brushing his forehead instead of his actual hair.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Or he would take her to ballet class in his beat-up truck, but not before a detour to McDonald’s. “Better not tell mommy how you pregame for ballet, kiddo. She’ll kill the both of us,” as they’re literally both fucking up a McDouble and large fries, smearing ketchup all over her leotard LOLL. He’s such a rule breaker when it comes to his kid. Skipping half the school day to hang out at the park together? he’s down. Ice cream for breakfast? Sounds good. Driving an hour in traffic into Los Santos to see whatever pop-star she’s obsessed with at the moment? He’ll hate every second of it, but he’ll do it. He would do anything for her.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ For someone who used to care for nothing, for nobody, not even himself, he’s so involved in every aspect of her life. He cares so much about her in a way he never knew he could.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆+++ I headcannon that he would be a girl dad, but he would only have one girl. One child. He remembers what it was like to have a sibling—how he was constantly overshadowed in his youth, competing for his mother’s already-sparse attention. He would never want his kid to feel the way he did growing up, ever.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆definitely taught her how to shoot a gun, use a switchblade, drive, and swing a bat/throw a punch properly. Young too. Needs her to be able to defend herself in any situation just in case, especially with his criminal involvement. Probably bought her a mini pink switchblade for one of her birthdays, much to his s/o’s dismay. She loved it though. Also taught her how to swear, accidentally. Her first word was probably fuck.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Looooooooves showing his kid off. Would probably wear one of those huge baby slings around Sandy Shores when she’s young, proudly displaying her any chance he gets. Bouncing her on his bony hip as he parades around the bar, a beer sloshing around in his offhand as the local drunks and crackheads look up from their own. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I made this! fuck you!” Got a tattoo of her name too.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Would Trevor be the perfect dad? With his history, probably not. Would constantly question if he’s doing enough for his child, teaching her the right values, keeping her safe from his dangerous criminal lifestyle… the thought alone of her ever getting hurt because of his work leaves his throat dry, palms sweaty with terror. Would definitely struggle with drinking or his meth addiction as an escape, attempting to cope with the thoughts of being the reason she gets hurt. Some unresolved stuff from his own shitty childhood would probably come up at some point as well, but again, he would try his absolute hardest to give her the best, safest childhood he possibly could despite his negative thoughts. He’d get clean and push through for her. He has to.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆She definitely has “my dad will kick your ass” privileges at school. Nobody ever dares to mess with her, bully her, or so much as look at her the wrong way, cuz they know he actually will LMAOOO. OR WORSE.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆…And when she gets old enough to date? Good luck. I can totally see his daughter being picked up for her first date, already nervous enough without Trevor shadowing her when her poor boyfriend knocks on their door. “Accidentally” leaves his blood-splattered bat visible in the kitchen, pistol tucked obviously in his front pocket as he rests a heavy hand on his daughter’s shoulder, staring daggers into the poor guy. “I uhh… trust that you’ll have her back on this doorstep before 8, right bud?”

Her poor date looks petrified, sweat beading on his forehead, and not from the desert heat. “Y-y-yes sir, I can even have her home before then, sir. Anything you want.”

“Perfect. Anything happens to her, or you’re even a minute late, I’ll hang you by your tiny, freshly dropped balls, got it?”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - deleted scene #1

you know you never stood a chance series

deleted scene #1: you don't have to go home

series masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 3.5k

Summary: set after the finale (like a few hours later lol) but before the epilogue. Joel catches a moderate but not life-threatening illness that forces you to tackle a subject you'd rather avoid.

Warnings: established relationship, angst, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, poor communication, p in v, illness, anxiety, avoidance of feelings, major life decisions

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you see Tommy’s smug face at dinner, you turn on the heel of your boot to leave.

“Where’re you going?” Ellie says, coming up behind you. “You eating outside?”

“Sure, yup, that’s it,” you say, clutching your tray with both hands.

“Cool! Joel, I’m going to eat outside too,” she calls over her shoulder.

You risk a glance to see Joel looking at the two of you, brows wrinkled. He shrugs, and Tommy shakes his head at you.

“Chicken,” he mouthes.

You flip him off and go find a patch of grass to picnic on.

Ellie talks while she eats, food occasionally spraying out of her rapid-fire mouth. You’re more than happy to sit quietly and listen, to hear about the other kids she’s met and the neat things she’s found in her new room.

Your fortune doesn’t last. Tommy comes out of the hall with his hands in his pockets, still smirking.

“Ellie, why don’t you go grab some dessert?” he says as he helps himself to a seat on the ground.

“No thanks,” she says, looking between you.

“It’s pie,” he says.

“No thanks,” she says again. She puts on a very unnerving fake smile made worse by her widened eyes.

“He’s trying to get you to leave—“ you start.

She interrupts. “I know. I wanna hear whatever it is.”

“He’s trying to get you to leave so he can ask me about grownup stuff.”

Her nose crinkles as she catches on. “Ugh,” she groans and hauls herself to her feet before going inside. She takes both of your empty trays with her, and you feel a little sting of pride, however misplaced.

“So,” Tommy grins. “Nothin’ between you ‘n my brother, huh?”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “Shut up.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You look up, and the smugness is gone. “What all did he tell you?”

“Just that y’all had ‘some kinda situation’ back in Boston. And that you stayed over there last night.”

You snort and shake your head. “I guess ‘some kinda situation’ is about right. I didn’t want to tell you I was fuckin’ him for rent.”

His eyes widen. “Shit.”

“Yeah. And for food, before that. Didn’t want you to think I was a whore, I guess.” You’re sitting with your legs crossed, but it doesn’t stop your knee from bouncing as you look anywhere but Tommy.

“Hey, no,” he says, leaning forward. “Look, ain’t nothin’ wrong with surviving however you got to.”

You feel a wretched sting at the corner of your eyes. He was always so goddamn genuine, but it was still hard to accept his words at their value.

He scoots over and grabs your hand. “I mean it. I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“That why you don’t wanna move into their place?”

“What?”

“I was gonna offer to help move your stuff, but Joel said you told Ellie you were stayin’ put.”

“Do you need me to? To make room for someone?”

“No! No, you can stay. I just figured you’d want the company. And well, Joel said—“

You wait, but he pretends to be distracted by a honey bee.

“Joel said what?”

“Just, he thought you would. Since y’all lived together before, and you talked about it.”

You snort. “We talked about it? Is that what he calls our conversation from this morning?”

“I dunno. It’s Joel. You think he gave me all the details?”

“Fair. Nah, I’d like to stay on my own. Not that anyone asked me to do anything different.”

It’s then that Maria wanders out with Alé, setting her down to explore. She screws up her little face, ready to rage about being placed on her tummy before she realizes she’s somewhere fun.

Joel and Ellie come out a few moments later to find the three of you watching Alé intently. She’s given up on trying to eat the grass after several unsuccessful attempts. Her little fist would open and close, only to find herself empty-handed when she brought it to her mouth.

Now, however, she’s returned to frustration and is attempting to roll herself onto her back.

It’s not going well, but you’re all watching and encouraging her.

Ellie squats to peer down at her. “You’re like a big potato,” she says.

Joel wipes a hand down his face. “Ellie,” he warns.

“What?”

“Is that any way to talk to your cousin?”

She looks up at him, startled. “Uhh. I don’t know. I’ve never had a cousin before.” She regards Alé again. “You’re a strong potato. You can do it.”

Alé responds with a loud yell as she pushes again and then falls quiet as she finds herself flat on her back looking up at Ellie.

Her little audience cheers and claps, unfortunately startling her. Maria and Tommy shower her in praise, and you stand up, stepping back by Joel.

“You comin’ back to ours?” he says, not looking at you.

“No, not tonight.” You need the space. You’ve grown accustomed to being alone, found peace in it even, and the last two days have been a new kind of exhausting.

But you see the way his lips twitch into a scowl before he schools his face back to neutral.

“Mind walking me home?” you offer.

The tension falls just a fraction from his shoulders. “Course not,” he says. “You gotta lead the way, though.”

Tommy shoots you a look you don’t know how to interpret when you say goodnight.

“Are you going to be gross? Do I need to stay out of the house?” Ellie says far too loudly.

“Nah, you’re safe,” Joel says, shaking his head.

It’s weird. You hold hands on the walk back. It’s a quiet intimacy you’d never even considered to share with him before.

The warmth of his palm and cradle of his fingers are undeniably nice.

It’s also undeniably awkward. You stand on your porch, stiffly holding hands like he hasn’t been inside you a hundred times over.

You look up at him and appreciate the way the sunset falls across his back.

He brings his free hand up to cup the back of your head and gives you maybe the chastest kiss you’ve ever had. Certainly more than you ever thought him capable of. It kind of hurts your feelings, actually.

“What the hell was that?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You kissed me like I’m your grandma!”

He rolls his eyes to high heaven. “I was tryin’ to be respectful.”

“Gross. You know what? That was disrespectful. Kiss me proper, Miller.”

He’s more than happy to oblige, even though it results in the boner he was trying to avoid in the first place. He gets you pressed up against your front door with a handful of ass and your soft moans against his lips.

You break away when you hear a voice down the road and put your hand against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Guess I should get goin’,” he says. He doesn’t move, though.

You’re all too aware of the way his cock is straining against his jeans and you almost invite him in. How you manage to find the self-control not to, you’ll never know. But it feels important, somehow, that you sleep alone tonight.

“You wanna meet up for breakfast in the morning?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says. His hands rest on your hips as he steals one last kiss. “I’ll see ya then, sweetheart.”

You can’t seem to stomach the idea of watching him walk away, so you go inside.

He waits until he hears the deadbolt click before he heads for home.

Summer withers, and autumn sees you spending the night together a couple of times a week. Always you at theirs—you never ask him over to your place. It’s a silly line you’ve drawn, and even though you know you’re the one who put it there, you feel bitter on the cold nights alone.

Worse yet, you know you’re only doing it out of stubbornness. You made a big fucking deal out of it, and now you have to stick with it so it doesn’t look like you’re weak. Like you can’t be alone. Like you need him.

And also, no one has fucking asked you to do any differently, so. Whatever.

But it’s not like you don’t know that he wants to.

No, he hasn’t asked, but he may as well have. His clothes are kept to one side of the closet. There are three empty drawers in his dresser.

His books are crammed on the top half of the shelves in the living room, stacked askew in a way you knew had to drive him crazy. The fuck you quilt hangs over the back of the sofa, though it’s more often found wrapped around Ellie.

By the first snowfall, he keeps a toothbrush for you in the medicine cabinet beside his own. There’s a Joel-shaped indent in the left side of the mattress, betraying how the right stays vacant when you’re gone.

The list goes on. The coffee mug. The little tin of vaseline for your chapped lips on the nightstand. All the spaces where nothing sits, waiting.

But he doesn’t ask.

You haven’t seen Joel for two days. It’s weird. You’re not sure how to feel about it—you’re the one who wanted space, after all. But so far, you’ve at least met at the mess hall for a meal each day.

You’re walking home after working the breakfast shift on the third day when Ellie catches up with you. You’ve seen her around but haven’t wanted to ask after Joel, not wanting her to think you only talked to her for him.

She looks nervous, though. She’s fiddling with her sleeves and won’t look at you, so you come to a stop.

“What’s going on, kiddo?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Sure, that’s not suspicious or anything.” You’re trying not to be anxious, but her energy is rubbing off.

“Look, don’t get mad; I only agreed not to because it didn’t seem like a big deal, but now it seems like a big deal—”

“Are you in trouble? Is somebody making you uncomfortable?” A thousand bad scenarios have come to life in your mind, each increasingly ridiculous but horrifying. Maybe that’s why Joel’s missing. Maybe someone laid a hand on Ellie, and he killed them. You hope he did.

“What? No,” her scoff cuts through your panic. “Joel’s sick. He didn’t want you to come by and get sick, so he made me promise not to say anything. But he’s being stupid, and now he can barely walk to the bathroom without hacking up a lu—wait, where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going? I’m going to give your idiot father a piece of my mind,” you growl.

She jogs to catch up with you, but her face is red, and she won’t look at you again.

Your brain catches up with your tongue, and you pause. “Hey, I didn’t mean to be weird—”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Let’s go. I wanna watch you yell at him.”

You don’t. Not right away, at least. He’s asleep when you get there, and honestly, it’s a little upsetting how unwell he looks. It kind of shakes the anger right out of you.

You promise Ellie you’ll wait for her to come home to yell at him.

The idea of climbing into bed with him is extremely tempting. Instead, you start to draw warm water for a bath and tidy up the things left behind in the wake of his deteriorating condition.

It’s not much. Even sick, Joel is relatively neat. Also, it’s pretty obvious that he’s been living in the same sweats and tee for the last three days. You make sure to set a clean outfit and warm socks on the bathroom counter.

With Ellie bringing dinner from the mess later, you don’t have much to do other than brew tea. The kettle’s on when you hear a groan from upstairs.

He’s heaved himself to sitting when you crack the door open.

“Ellie, I told you to stay out. I don’t want to get you sick.” His voice is crackling and raspy.

You push it open, scowling. “Well, you didn’t tell me shit, so.”

The glower is there immediately. “I’m tellin’ you now, then. Get out.”

“Nope. You lost that chance. Now you’re gonna suck it up and get taken care of.” You start stripping the sweaty sheets off his bed while he’s still sitting on it. “Go on and get in the bath.”

“I’m just gonna lay back down for a bit,” he mumbles.

You press the back of your hand against his forehead, followed by your lips. “You’re burning up. Get in the tub.”

But when you stand, his head follows, and you let him rest against your stomach for a minute, carding your hand through his damp hair.

“C’mon,” you urge, tugging at his hand. He lets you lead him into the bathroom, a marker of how sick he really must be.

The kettle hollers while he’s stripping down, and he’s settled once you return with the tea.

“I don’t want any shitty leaf water right now,” he grumps.

“Too bad! It has honey and lemon, and your throat’s seen better days.”

He accepts the cup, but he’s scowling.

“Y’know, you’re not very scary, butt ass naked in a tub with an owl on your mug,” you remark, sitting on the floor and leaning against the cabinet so you can see him.

“You shouldn’t be here. You’re going to get sick. Did Ellie squeal?”

“Joel, I haven’t seen you in three days. Did you think I wasn’t going to get worried?”

His scowl pouts. “I didn’t mean to worry ya.”

“Yeah, well, you did. So. Don’t do that again.” You purse your lips and look at your tea.

“Hey,” he says, water sloshing as he shifts to get a better look at you. “You don’t gotta do… all this,” he says, gesturing to the mug and the bedroom, where you’ve tucked clean sheets onto his mattress.

“I know.”

He’s loathe to admit it, but the bath did help. Worse yet, the tea helped. He feels a little more human in clean clothes, but you still refuse his help cleaning up.

When you’re done, however, you peel back the blanket and crawl into bed with him. So maybe it’s not all bad, he thinks.

At least, until Ellie gets home and you properly scold him.

He’s asleep more than he’s awake, so you stay. You toss and turn and check on him about a hundred times. If the fever would break, you’d feel better. Except no, you wouldn’t, because that cough that’s settled in his chest scares you far more than you’d like to admit.

You’re not privy to the medical stock in Jackson, but you have a bad feeling that an old man with pneumonia wouldn’t be high on the list for antibiotics.

Not that you think he’d accept them, anyway. He’d be too worried about using up something a kid might need. Or anyone else. He doesn’t seem to realize anyone would put him first.

You and Ellie just might let the town burn for him. (But when you think of Alé, you kind of get it.)

Anyway. When he’s awake, he’s groggy, but you manage to convince him to eat. Never much at once, so you make sure it’s soup or oatmeal. Something soft and packed with nutrients.

On the third day of your stay, he starts to come ‘round the mend. The fever breaks. He starts to stay awake for longer than a couple of hours.

You set him up with what you can and return to your life, but you can’t make yourself go home at night. It’s just because of the damn cough, you tell yourself. You just need to keep an eye on it.

A couple of nights later, he’s awake when you peel the covers back and slide in behind him, arm curling around his waist. You press a kiss to the nape of his neck, nestling in as he rewards you with a contented hum. He lets you hold him for a minute, basking in the embrace before he rolls onto his back.

You’re clinging to him a little too tight.

“Rough patrol?” He says.

You shake your head where it’s buried in his tee. “Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.”

“Don’t like you havin’ to handle anything,” he grumbles. He knows, both because he’s been told repeatedly and because he’s seen you handle the weapon, that you can protect yourself now.

It doesn’t mean he likes it.

“I was with Tommy. We were fine.” You yawn. It has to be past two now, what with shift change come midnight and then all the cleanup after.

He slips his arm under you so he can tug you closer, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. You press a kiss in the thicket of hair at the center of his chest, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to this. He hopes not—he doesn’t ever want to take it for granted.

You yawn again, eyes watering, but your exhaustion is betrayed by the way your hips press against his thigh.

“What do you need, darlin’? Want me to lick your pussy until you fall asleep?”

“Can I ride you?” you counteroffer.

He groans, cock twitching to attention. “Of course, pretty girl.”

He helps you straddle him and reaches to peel the old t-shirt off your body so he can admire your tits in the moonlight. And the way your face goes soft when you see how he’s looking at you.

You waste no time, shifting around until you’ve got his cock in your hand and are settling atop it. You moan in tandem as he spreads you, the broad tip of him easily pressing through the slick.

“Needy tonight, huh? What’s got you all worked up?” he teases.

“Just you,” you say through a gasp as you grind down all the way.

He reaches up, maybe for your breasts, but you don’t find out. Instead, you intercept them and entwine your fingers.

He gets the idea and holds firm, ever your unwavering foundation. You use his support to gyrate, hips grinding as your thighs push around his to slide up and down on his cock.

Your palms are sweaty, but his grip is tight and desperate. His head tilts back, exposing the long column of his neck.

“Fuck,” you whimper as you get the angle just right. It makes you jerk a little, bumping that sweet spot again. He grunts, teeth gritted as you clamp down around him. When he looks back up at you, he’s positively ravenous.

“No,” you say before he opens his mouth with some bullshit.

“C’mon,” he whines.

“You’re still sick. I’m not lettin’ you cough up a lung. You’re gonna lay there and take what I give ya.”

His eyes narrow at the over the top Texan accent you saved for the last bit. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“You think I’m funny. You love all my jokes.”

“Damned if I don’t,” he grumbles, but it’s betrayed by the look in his eyes. “You, too, y’know.”

You almost freeze up but decide to play obtuse. “You’re right; I do love all my jokes.”

He opens his mouth again, so you change pace a little to throw him off.

It works.

Whatever he was about to say, which you know damn well but aren’t prepared to handle right now, comes out as a broken moan.

In the end, it slips out of you a few days later. It’s not triggered by anything; he doesn’t do anything charming, there’s no intense moment of intimacy or heroism that inspires it.

You don’t mean to say it, but you do mean it.

You’re sitting side by side on his porch, steaming mugs of tea in hand. The pale winter sun has barely broken the horizon, but you had still agreed to come out in the cold with him. Agreed it might be good for him to get some fresh air.

The fuck you quilt is draped over both your shoulders. Joel had grabbed it on the way out the door while you balanced the tea and put your boots on. It cocoons you, but there’s still a little space between you, knees knocking together but bodies apart.

You watch his breath curl out into the dawn, and it just happens.

“I love you, Joel,” you say. It’s quiet, softer than the creak of the swing. It takes you by surprise, as your tongue so often does, but you don’t try to reel it back or brace for disaster.

You don’t need to. You know.

But he freezes. Pauses.

He didn’t know, you realize, he wasn’t sure. All this time, he wasn’t saying it but still making sure you knew.

But you haven’t done the same for him.

He didn’t know.

He wraps his free arm around your shoulder and tucks you into him, chin resting on your head. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

The peace lasts for about a minute.

“Now will you stop being so goddamn stubborn and move in?”

*title from "Closing Time" by Semisonic

[constant-and-immovable]

Please tell me your serious thoughts on the Peter Pan crocodile!!

OH BOY. Alright. Okay. Hmmm

So there's a whole lot that I really can't disclose onto what I'm doing with it in The Novel because it plays a significant role in the prequel or sequel I'll tell my publisher I'm willing to write when they inevitably demand another installment, HOWEVER for the function of it as it exists within the story itself....

if I was directing a film or movie of it, I would want to keep it within semi-plausible parameters, but not make it a prehistoric croc.

It's a solid choice! To go with a living fossil like Sarcosuchus or Deinosuchus, because it's "real," but honestly...it's somehow less plausible than one that has simply managed to get to a fuck-off-big size.

Because yeah! I wouldn't want to be ANYWHERE near this thing!!! But I also don't think a kid chucking a hand in the water is going to be enough to bait one this size unless there's already blood/gore/bodies in the water that he's snapping at. True, this is not a story where logic prevails (hi, the acids in the guts of even a modern croc tend to destroy metals: jewelry, pieces of traps, animal tags, etc have all been found in them but VERY damaged/worn down. A clock is nothing, forget how you would hear it tick, it's just. anyway), however I'm not personally a fan of the "Somehow This Dinosaur Survived" genre of beasties, not when there are more things in heaven and in the earth.

SO.

Beyond the clock and the size, there is ...really nothing abnormal about it. The crocodile exhibits pretty standard behavior for a saltwater crocodile, the largest modern species (12-16ft is most common but some absolute monsters have measured in at nearly 20ft, and stories are everywhere about a mythic 25 ft)

If you grew up in the 1990s, you probably remember this guy wrangling them for tracking purposes. You can also see here what I was saying earlier: yes, they have an INSANE bite force, but their jaws aren't that tough otherwise--some rope, even around a big guy, is plenty to make the teeth less a concern. Then you just have to worry about their tails: solid muscle, which can propel them out of water like so:

Maybe he would have some more sympathy for the captain, given that he's also missing his right arm. If you've ever seen pictures of salties before, you've probably seen this one, or other pictures of him. This here is Brutus. He was, as of this image, estimated to be over 60 years old (!!!) and one of the largest living wild crocs. He's thought to have lost his arm to a bull shark when he was younger.

Bull sharks and salties do semi-frequently prey on each other: they both cross territories, though the sharks are primarily oceanic, and satlies (despite their names) are more common in rivers and brackish water. The reason they're called salties is that unlike most crocs, they CAN survive in saltwater. Again, we have a check in the box for old Tick-Tock, given that it seems to go inland on the island with some frequency.

If you've never seen a croc come out of the water before, it's Unnerving as hell. Watch any doc on the Nile, and you've seen a Nile croc (we'll get back to these) seemingly come out of nowhere and chomp onto a gazelle, but with salties it's somehow worse. The water just goes...still when they're gone. Like they were never there to start with.

Going off the book/play, a saltwater crocodile seems to be the most obvious, but again, we're running into size limitations. Reptiles never stop growing, and they certainly don't age the same way a mammal would, but they still do seem to have a lifespan under 100, and rarely break that 20ft limitation (with males typically getting larger than females of similar ages). It wouldn't be genetic impossibility to have one that had something going on in its DNA that made it BIG, at least not as unlikely as seeing a survivor from millions of years ago.

Plus, I do not care for the fact that the croc in the 2023 version seemed to eat anything that moved. It kind of defeats the purpose that this thing is after Hook specifically. And guess what? That's not impossible.

My only thing is...salties are my favorite, they're not related to dinosaurs but you look at this thing and the awe...

Look at him. He's a fucking dinosaur. The croc in the play/book/a film adaptation should, much like the ship, make you immediatley go "CROCODILE!" ...sleek, dangerous, fast, green, with fang like teeth. My brain always makes a crocodile green, and they're really not. None of them are. American alligators, the ones most prevalent in zoos when I was growing up in the US, are more often dark grey or even black looking in the water.

So that brings me back to this guy:

(that's a fish in its mouth, this individual is of a sane size)

The Nile crocodile. Confirmed man-eaters as well (I don't think I mentioned that, but salties are known man-eaters, there are some gnarly, tragic stories out there to complete with the grosses of shark attacks. Do not recommend research in this area), they're more known for this than their salty cousins. How much more well known?

Well. This guy is the responsible for more human deaths than we can even keep track of due to the remote locales they live. While I hate the idea of any wild animal being held up as villain, it's bonkers to me that we fear sharks as society rather than crocs since...Niles alone take down hundreds of people per year, instead of the 5-25 by all shark species combined.

True, they're freshwater beasties, but they can live in MILDLY brackish water. Its not something an animal can readily adapt to within its own life, but give a few generations to the ones that are currently invasive in Florida may eventually be able to cross to the Caribbean Islands.

They also have, and you can kind of see this in the skull structure, even weaker muscles for opening the jaws than salties.

You can put your hands around this thing's jaws (DO NOT. RECOMMEND.) and hold them shut.

More points in his box: Nile crocs had a uniquely nasty reputation in England following the Battle of the Nile in 1798, where crocs came rushing towards the violence and were picking off drowning and injured soldiers and eating bodies as they hit the water.

It was such a horrific sight that Nelson was presented with a gift sword that had one of the coolest design I've ever seen, though wildly impractical:

fabulous. look at that smile.

Anyway, the Nile Crocodile was the 'Jaws' of the mental menagerie of the Victorians. Barrie would have, when picturing a crocodile, very likely have been imagining one of these simply from how they became the stand-in for crocodilia in public consciousness.

Now it does lose some points not just for the saltwater issues, but because they only hit get around 15 ft, and Barrie's monster was big enough to eat a man whole even with some difficulty. In his notes for a silent film, he intended this be be shown on camera and it was frankly more traumatic than the 2003 film ending, of a mere snap of the jaws.

Side note: the 2003 crocodile is still under 30 ft, as is the 1953 one, it's just the skull/mouth proportions that make them seem MUCH bigger. Just like with sharks, the jaws of even a 20ft individual are going to be a LOT smaller than most people imagine.

The 2003 one works well enough, despite not seeing it very much (I have a WHOLE other essay on that--most of the set/props of the film we only get in small glimpses, giving it a dream/memory like quality where you fill in the blanks of a lot of what you think you're seeing. the croc included) but I kind of hate it's cartoony face:

Genuinely, what the fuck is this thing even supposed to be. I appreciate that it looks almost demonic, an exaggeration of a crocodile--just as the ship was an exaggeration of a pirate ship, everything on the 2003 Neverland was taken to story-book extremes, making it seem all the more like a dream/tied to the imaginations of the kids.

MEANWHILE...Their concept art was better; this thing at least looks more like a croc than...whatever that thing was.

And of course the 1953 one is goofy, the entire movie was...well. Cartoony. The SyFy crocodiles fail to really drive home the scariest part of them, that they're intelligent enough to stalk an individual to the death, same as the 2023 one did: despite the whole "no one is safe from this thing" element that should raise the stakes, its just...not the same. [Though I HAVE seen an adaptation where the crocodile was after everyone but Peter and his friends, since it was HIS PET...the whole adaptation kept trying to keep the show from being too scary but ended up being one of the most disturbing Peters I'd ever seen].

All in all, despite the fact that I firmly believe a monster-sized Nile was the original vision, I'd be going with a salty, but the first time we see it, it would be covered in a slick of algae or weeds, giving it the green look everyone always pictures/draws/designs:

this isn't Brutus, but the guy on the left has a damaged right paw too--it's actually a fairly common sight on larger crocs, to see missing paws/damaged limbs from their various encounters with other predators, trespassing crocs, or boats/traps.

I had also put some thought into the possibility of a Cuban crocodile, American crocodile, and the Orinoco crocodile--the last of which may have once had expanded territory into the Caribbean, and historically had sailors claiming to see 20ft ones, although they typically measure smaller (and lighter) than salties today, under 15 ft.

Still, all this is irrelevant because peak character design for Tick Tock has already been reached:

I still haven't seen the movie, and I don't give a damn that this stupid thing was designed to sell toys, I have one that lives on my work desk and my evidence for why he's the superior Tick Tock is simply that he is the Bestest Boy.

(concept art by Sona Sargsyan, I didn't see a credit anywhere for the concept art/promo image of the 2003 one)

Look at him. If this thing gave me those eyes and asked for a snack I'd start cutting off pieces of the captain myself. I mean not really, that's a bit bloody but you get the idea.

[nethhiri]

Siren Charms: Chapter 7

Zoro x Siren!Reader

Warnings: sexual themes, blood

Pantyless

Luffy requested that you let Chopper tend your wound before you did anything else. You waited impatiently on the little cot you had woken up in. There were hushed voice outside the door. Yet your ultra-sharp senses could still hear.

A high pitched voice that sounded scared started, "C-can you come in with me? I saw her teeth when I examined her and they're s-so sharp. What if she decides to e-eat me?" 

"Luffy said she won't." Your ears perked up at the second voice, which you recognized as your green snack.

"Please, Zoro."

"If Luffy says she won't, she won't." He sighed. "But I'll be right outside the door, okay?"

There was a sharp knock before Chopper entered the room. Curiously, the doctor was a little deer. You consciously made your teeth and eyes as close to human as possible. People were very unnerved when they saw your yellow irises and slitted pupils. And they were very uneasy if they caught sight of your elongated canines. Your eyebrow quirked up. This was the one that smelled like an animal but also somewhat human, and of devil fruit. His hooves made soft clopping noises as he walked over to stand in front of you.

"Hi, I'm Ch-chopper and I've been taking care of you."

"Hi, Chopper. You're a deer? But you smell human, too?" Your head tilted with curiosity. 

He visibly brightened. "No one ever calls me a deer on the first try." He blushed, "I always get mistaken for a raccoon."

"That's stupid. You're clearly a deer."

He looked closely at your wound before running off to get a salve from the counter. "I smell human because I ate the Human-Human fruit." He handed it to you. "Just keep putting this on it and you'll be fine." 

That explained both smells. "Thank you." You did your best to smile at him without showing too much of your teeth. "I'm not gonna eat you."

Chopper rubbed his antlers. "Oh? You heard that? I'm sorry."

You nodded. "Devil fruit users don't taste good. And animals don't do enough for me." 

Somehow that was not fully reassuring. To him, maybe, but in general, not really. "You're all done here."

You dipped your head and left. As soon as you stepped over the threshold, his smell hit you, the green one, Zoro. You froze. He was leaning near the doorway, seemingly asleep, though his heart rate told you he was still awake. The instincts within you were screaming at you to pounce on him and rip his throat out. Bloodlust creeped in. It was apparent that you needed to feed soon or it would completely overtake you. Every fiber in your body wanted you to pin Zoro down and sink your teeth deep in his flesh. No! You shook your head. It was forbidden. The namegiver assigned you 2 rules: Do not feed from the crew (unless they agree) and do not use The Voice on them. You would not disobey him. 

In your culture, it was your mentor who gave you a name. As soon as you were old enough to form attachments, you were handed over from your parent to a different siren, and they would become your mentor, to teach you how to hunt and survive. They gave you a new name, reflective of your skills or personality, to replace the temporary one given by your parent and when you were deemed ready, they released you to the world. This name giving served to sever any bonds between you and your parent. As for bonds with your mentor, they always treated you coldly enough that they never developed in the first place. You obeyed them without question or you would face harsh consequences. Sirens, though lonesome, were protected this way. They were spread so far and wide, save for the times they gathered to swap offspring, that no single event could wipe them out. 

It wasn't quite the same, but by naming you, Luffy inadvertently sealed your loyalty to him. It didn't sever your bond with your siren identity, yet you felt like this was your pod now. Namegivers were to be respected and obeyed, which is the only reason you could restrain yourself in this moment. You had been conditioned this way. So as much as you wanted to devour the man two feet away from you, you would have to convince him instead to offer himself up to you to get a taste. You pulled yourself from the trance, looking for somewhere to sit alone until you could dispel the hunger. 

Zoro sensed the bloodlust rolling off you. He didn't miss the way your hands balled into fists and how you had to swallow more frequently because of how much you were salivating. He didn't know what you were or what kind of devil fruit you had, but he knew you were dangerous. The trust of the crew, him especially, was not bought cheaply. He watched you shake your head and walk away, seemingly overcoming your animalistic urges. 

You sat near the bow on top of a crate, letting the salty sea air clear your senses. Being upwind, you didn't smell his approach, though you could tell someone was behind you. You turned, letting out a breath. It was the skeleton. No flesh to entice you. 

"Excuse me, Miss. I don't believe we've met. I'm Brook." He held out his hand for you to shake. You shook it, at least you knew some human customs. 

"I'm of the ether. I mean Ether." 

"Nice to meet you Ether of the ether." He paused, getting serious. "Now I have an extremely important question for you. This could make or break our friendship. May I please see your panties?" 

"Oh." You frowned, looking a little sad. Does this mean he wasn't going to be your friend? You didn't wear panties. They would be destroyed every time you formed a tail. "I'm sorry." Brook looked forlorn. "I don't wear any." You lifted the fabric of your skirt enough to see there was a lack of fabric underneath, but your knees were together so there wasn't much else to see.

The skeleton's face lit up. "Oh my. We're going to be best friends, indeed!" 

At about the same time, you could smell blood suddenly. You looked to see a pair of legs in black pants splayed on the ground behind a nearby barrel. You rushed over to investigate, and, more importantly, maybe get a little sample. It was the blond one, passed out with a nosebleed. If the blood is outside the body already it doesn't count as feeding. With your thumb, you wiped the blood from his face and licked it from your hand. If you were allowed to use your voice, you could make him wake up. You leaned over him and slapped his face. "Hey." He opened his eyes, but almost immediately gushed blood again and passed out. Your barely hidden breasts happened to be dangling quite close to him. You swiped that blood away, too, and licked it. You looked around for help, "Your friend is leaking! Someone!" 

The dark haired woman approached, "I can see why." Robin saw how close you were to him and offered you a hand. "Come with me. He'll be fine." 

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's got a brain-eating amoeba and every time it eats, blood leaks from his nose!" The long-nosed one piped up as he came to investigate. 

"Poor thing." You mused. So that was why he was so easy to manipulate. Robin laughed at your comment but didn't elaborate. 

"Brain-eating amoeba called lust maybe," Name muttered under her breath. 

[mewpathy]

FINALLY. THE REASON WHY I MADE THIS SIDE BLOG. HER.

Been having a TON of brainrot from TOH again and my old mlp next gen habits kicked in sooooo... yeag

More ab her under the cut bc WOOOO BOY i have SO MANY THOUGHTS ON HER

So! I think I should begin with just the fact that she is, for lack of a better term, a anomaly. Grimwalkers have never been recorded to reproduce- on top of her being a weird mixture of not really human and not really witch... Uncanny valley for both species yk?

Hunter and Luz were in their mid-20s when Luz got pregnant with Lunala,, which was a shock for both. More Hunter than Luz lmao she was cruising. At the time the two had just started up a cultural exchange of sorts with the human realm so on top of the stress of new baby... yeah it was a time.. Doesn't help that halfway through Luz's body was like- smth,, smth aint right and so while not on bedrest, she did have to tone down her activities and now, with medicine advancing, many theorize that the left over Titan magic in her is the only reason she survived.

Then out popped Lunala! Lil freak of a girl. Hunter cussed out the fact hes a clone bc bby girl gots her wack goofy ahh cousin(?)s blue eyes- Phillips last F u lol- the yellow from Mama only started coming out when she turned 4-ish. On top of that, she got the staple four digits with pawpads all Grimwalkers have and EXTREMELY horrible equilibrium and thermoregulating ability. She is bundled up 24/7 and cant walk without her cane. Messed up gal.

Due to the irregularities of magic during her formation her bile sac cannot filter magic properly- some days she'll be equal to a fully grown witch and others she'll be bedbound due to her own bile sac essentially leaking the excess out of her when a usual one would get rid of the "used up" magic via normal ways- another reason why she uses her cane. On top of this, the excess magic (if she hasn't used any in a while) starts to drip out of her mouth, being almost acidic. A fine line she has to walk between literally spewing acid and being poisoned by her own body. She survives tho! Also her teeth too big for her gotdamn mouth,, queen of braces

BUT OH HO HO. THIS DOES NOT STOP HER FROM BEING A LIL CREECHER. A GOOFBALL. A MENACE. She looks /TERRIFYING/ when happy/scheming but genuinely means well- taking her Mama's words to heart- "It becomes bullying when no one but yourself is having fun" and essentially tries to make others laugh/be in a good mood,, unfortunately a lot of people find her to be unnerving- only really finding a few good friends in Ophelia- Willow and Amity's adopted daughter-, King, Collector, and a school friend Ricardo- a human on the Boiling Isles via the cultural exchange program.

Outside of other's around her age, she gets along with her parents and family wonderfully! Lunala can be very quiet when she wants too and has found a particular gift for essentially reading people and being able to help them- magical therapist if you will. On top of exploring the human realm with her Auntie Vee (Who has become a cross country explorer and nature conservationist), she has a hell of a time helping her Dad practice for his games or his most recent pailsman carving, or helping her Mama document the entirety of the Boiling Isles or be a proof reader for her Mama's books. Fun stuff!

Her pailsman- Manny- is named after Luz's dad, after seeing pictures her Abuela left out. Manny and Lunala are two peas in a pod- with both being seen as unnerving. On top of that, Manny being a King Cobra gives a slight hint to Lunala's... less than spectacular anger. She doesn't get angry often but when she does her bile sac works overtime with the amount of adrenaline she gets from her anger, which, of course, leads to the acidic overspill and very... unsightly view.

As she gets older, and learns to control her anger more, she'll become a terrifying politician both in the Boiling Isles and in the human realm and hobbyist child psychologist.

ANYWAY ITS MIDNIGHT AND I GOTS SCHOOL BYE HOPW YALL ENJOY THIS RANT

[twst-drabbles]

Scarabia 6

Summary: Jamil was cleaning the dinner table and you had to pick him up by his shirt to get him to stop. That’s your job. And also because you wanted to vent and mess around with him a little bit. Grudges are not easy to get rid of.

(Hehehehehe Janitor is bullying Jamil this time.)

“Buddy,” you quite literally picked Jamil up by the back of his collar, forcing him to drop the dinner plate back on the table, “I’m being paid to clean up this mess. Just leave it there. I’ll get it done.”

You didn’t have to pick him up like a wet cat but there’s just something about Kalim’s buddy that makes you want to egg him. His expression was always on the solid side, but wasn’t quite as true a stone as he wanted it to be. It reminded you of cracked clay plates on the ground, or layers of paints that were wrinkled and aged by time. Just made you want to dig your fingers in there and see what lays deep beneath.

You’ve seen the amount of times Jamil hissed under his breath and strained out a smile towards the oblivious crowds. That fake and poorly done vision of innocence that he gives to the bright Kalim. It’s different to Jade’s, as he was never one to pass up an opportunity to unnerve others. Jamil and Jade may both be calm, but one of them was certainly not composed.

You don’t like to butt into people’s business unless it affected your salary or health in any way. You generally leave stuff well enough alone since it always brings about trouble, however…

However, you have a certain amount of pride, a confidence in your mind and senses if you will. Those were the things that you had to use to survive without much injury. The few things you had, you kept a grip tighter than anyone, making sure they were always at full peak so that no one can push you around without you winning in the end.

You suppose the reason why you liked messing with Jamil as much as you do was because he violated one of those things that you took great pride in. That Snake’s Charmer of his, making you say things you never want to, having your head be filled with a dream-like fog until he was done with you. You have an ironclad grip on your sense, so much so that you never confused your dreams for memories. Of course you would notice this unique magic.

And you hated it.

You hated it, because how dare he wrangle you into something you don’t want to do. How dare he treat you like a puppet to say what he wants to hear. How dare he be the same scum that has festered in this college, so engorged on their own magic and pride that he thinks nothing of taking control over your words and actions.

So you couldn’t help the sneer on your face when Jamil said with a smile, “Oh there’s no need. It’s my duty to do at least this much. I’ve been doing this for so long that I get uncomfortable if I don’t this.”

“Ah, but Jamil,” dear, dear Kalim leaned from around the corner, wet rag at hand to assist in drying the forks and spoons, “I’ve noticed you’ve been stressed out lately, so you have to take a break.”

Courtesy of you, of course. Compared to the regular campus, cleaning Scarabia was absolutely heavenly and left Jamil with little to nothing to do. He’s not lying about being stressed when he’s not doing everything.

“Kalim, what did I say about being in the kitchen?” Jamil sighs as he reaches for your fingers, trying to pry them off but to no avail.

“It’s okay! I’m not cooking. I’m just drying like the Janitor told me to,” you cast Kalim a glance complete with a raised eyebrow, “Oh right! Jamil! You need to sleep! And that’s an order!”

Good boy. Now will Jamil follow suit in being a good boy as well?

The force of Jamil’s turning head had him swinging from your grip, “What? Kalim, uh, wait a moment!”

“Go to bed!”

“I’m taking you to bed,” you set Jamil straight with a shake of your hand, gripping Jamil’s chin to force his eyes forward, “And close those eyes and mouth of yours. Wouldn’t want to strain them now, would you?”

You can feel the way his jaw tightened, forced to swallow his pride to continue seeming innocent in front of the other students you’re passing by.

Honestly he could just kick you out at any time. Sure you have connections with the faeries and the staff members, but you can’t be worth it by this point. Is he hoping to find a way to break you down? To taste a victory that he constantly holds himself back from with that act of his?

It's almost cute really, like a school boy trying to beat his rival because he has a crush on them.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 9

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger"

A/N: dividers by @cafekitsune

series masterlist

Sol’s apartment was too big. In recent years, he had repeatedly tried for something approaching minimalism. Every time the empty beige walls would echo harshly at any disruption in the silence, his sentimentality would creep back in. Like kudzu, functionality and aesthetic would become choked by nostalgia. News clippings, photographs, pressed flowers, and sometimes even torn pages from books.

Sol’s house was also too quiet. All that space made the silence seem like another being was in the room, unspeaking but observing. It unnerved Osha at first. After the accident, she wasn’t released from the hospital for a week. Mae had already been living with Sol, and by the time Osha got there, it felt like there had been no room left for her to exist.

Just Sol, Mae, and the silence.

It was the opposite of her stranger’s apartment.

Right now, she wished she was there and not here.

A dark raincloud hung over the dinner table. It was full of everything that had happened over the last week: the issues with her job, her access to gym classes, not to mention the entirely new person in her life. The drama with the junior trainer job seemed like a goddamn lifetime ago. It made the buildup of this family dinner feel fraught with tension: any topic could be on the table, and with how long it had been, Osha wasn’t confident which secrets were off the table or not. 

She was thinking about her first training session with the stranger that evening—good motivation to survive the meal. She had been looking forward to it all day, resting just like he’d told her to. She even admitted she felt relaxed for the first time, and then—

“Are we not going to talk about it?”

Osha stabbed her food a bit violently in response to Sol’s question.

Mae said nothing.

“Why aren’t we talking about it?” he tried again.

“Because we don’t want to talk about it,” Osha said with forced lightness.

“Oshie, come on…”

“Whaaat?” Osha groaned. “I’m fucking over it. Take the job, I don’t care anymore.”

“That’s not what we’re talking about,” Sol said. He set down his utensils, abandoning any pretense that this was to be their usual scripted dinner conversation. 

She sighed and did the same. “If you want to do an intervention, you’re a few days late. I’ve already gone cold turkey from the gym.”

“So you did quit?” Mae said softly.

“It was more that I was quit on. For fucking boxing classes.”

“Vernestra’s request wasn’t unreasonable, Osha,” Sol sighed. 

Very well. They were talking about it.

“Vernestra didn’t request shit from me. Is that what she told you? She restricted my membership to the fuckin Groupon level for no reason! No upper-level classes, no more than twice a week? Those classes literally happen during my shifts. I’d have to come in on my three remaining days off to take any classes. Why, what did she fuckin’ tell you, Sol? What did the fuckin’ group chats tell you, Mae?”

“Language, please,” he said in a pained voice, rubbing at his eyes. “You were obviously upset in my class the last time I saw you. Is training at the Temple really somewhere you want to be four days a week if you are so upset?”

“Have you asked yourself why I was upset yesterday? I was upset when I walked in. Ask Mae about it.”

Osha got up from the table despite protests from her sister and her dad. She ignored them and went to the bathroom in the hall, frustrated to all hell. Her phone was back in her bag, so she couldn’t just waste time until she could leave. Still, she managed to fuck around doing nothing for all of ten minutes before Mae came knocking.

“I have to talk to you.”

“Mae, just go away—”

“It’s about—well. You know who.”

Osha opened the door and came out quietly. “Where’s Sol?” she murmured, crossing her arms and leaning on the doorframe.

“He said he had to get something in his car. I think he needs a second to himself.”

“You mean he’s avoiding an uncomfortable situation.”

I didn’t hear from Vernestra or any of the other trainers at the Temple once.

Part of Osha wanted to feel bad for snapping at her dad like that, but the louder part said that she was hurt more. She spoke the truth to her stranger yesterday; she was tired of this shit. Besides, it wasn’t her job to suppress her emotions just for a grown man to feel better about himself.

“What do you want, Mae?”

“I need to ask you if all this, all the lashing out, was done on purpose because you wanted to train with Qimir.”

Huh. What?

“…who the fuck is Qimir?”

Mae looked like Osha had grown another head. “The guy I trained with for two years?” she said slowly.

Qimir.

When Mae said the name, dripping with disdain, it didn’t suit him. Osha’s mind completely rejected it. If it truly was his name, it only suited part of him—a mistranslation of who he actually was. The new information slid off Osha’s impression of the stranger like water on glass.

No, that suited him better—the stranger.

“What about him?” Osha asked, trying to control the shake in her voice.

Mae crossed her arms, matching Osha and leaning on the wall opposite her. Osha didn’t meet her eyes; instead, she looked at the frames behind her shoulder and above her head. Mae’s frustration mounted, and after Osha’s deliberate obtuseness, she huffed, “Did you quit the Temple to train with him?”

Osha’s eye twitched. What right did Mae have to her personal life when she’d been so prohibitive about her own? She matched her sister’s pose but still refused to look at her. “Weren’t you listening? I didn’t quit, I was quit on.”

“You don’t think Vernestra has a point?”

“No.”

Mae stuttered a bit, clearly meaning it as a rhetorical question but getting an honest answer anyway. “I mean, you’re not—” Mae shifted from foot to foot. “It’s been a long time since you, uh.”

“You don’t think I can fight competitively either?” Osha said, finally meeting her eyes with a glare. “What did I do to you to make you lose your faith in me?”

Mae flinched a little, hurt but unable to refute Osha’s claim. “Listen, that’s not what I’m talking about. So are you—”

“It’s what I’m talking about. I’m not telling you anything for a while, Mae. If I want to tell you something, I’ll tell you. And like I told you yesterday, when I ask you something, I want honesty. I don’t think you’ll give me that, so that’s why I haven’t asked you anything at all.”

“Well, if you are training with him—”

“I don’t want your advice about this, Mae. Can you just drop it? For, like, maybe an actual week? You had two years to tell me all about him. Give me a while to process it without being supervised.”

“You know what? Fine. Have it your way, Osha. I just wanted to remedy things and warn you about who you’re getting involved with.”

He hasn’t lied to me yet, she didn’t say. Mae walked away, and Osha watched her for a few seconds before rubbing at her chest and pacing the hallway.

She approached the room they used to share. Sol had converted it into a guest room after they’d moved to their new apartment downstairs, but he never had overnight guests. His social circle was the same as the ‘old guard’ trainers: they kept things within the Temple and didn’t make friends from other gyms on principle.

Still, the baseless hope of having someone stay remained.

Osha sat on the end of the bed, with pretty memories of the past warring against the fucked-up present. The light purple walls of childhood, adorned with ribbons and proud accomplishments, had been replaced by model-home greige and even more photographs. Two beds, now one. Pictures of strangers where there used to be pictures of friends.

It hurt to hold onto the nostalgia for too long. Osha abandoned the bed and looked at the pictures hanging on what was once her side of the room.

Sol had no rhyme or reason for the wall decor in his guest room. His more impressive memories and keepsakes were in the living room—the things here were most likely moments that didn’t fit in, but he couldn’t throw them away for whatever reason. Photos of a younger Sol on his college boxing team sat above another photo of Osha at high school graduation, and next to that one was—

There were many children she didn’t recognize in that photograph. As if in a trance, she approached the small frame. She recognized the Temple, of course, but the marked youth of each person she recognized told her it was from a long time ago. Sol was in the back, beside Vernestra, Kelnacca, Indara, and Torbin—who hadn’t yet lost his eye. The five children standing before the coaches smiled with varying enthusiasm, but her eyes remained focused on the grinning little boy in glasses standing before Vernestra.

He looked older than the other children but seemed the most excited of them all. His eyes almost disappeared under the force of his goofy grin, toothy and familiar—he’d grown up since then. This little boy suited the name Mae had told her. Qimir.

Like the frame at the Temple, she popped open the back. She moved carefully as she removed the newspaper clipping from behind the glass, and held it gently as she unfolded the rest of the article.

TEMPLE GYM OUTREACH PROGRAM SETS CHARITABLE STANDARD

Vernestra Rwoh, 36, has owned and managed Temple Gym for ten years. She has started the Padawan Training Program in collaboration with the Federal District Orphanage to provide community support to the underprivileged. “For most children, their first mentors are their parents. For children without parents, finding that kind of personal guidance to navigate the world is much harder,” Rwoh said in an interview. “Though the initial scope of our program is quite small, the biggest changes start with the smallest of actions. We hope to expand to provide more opportunities to underprivileged children in the city.”

The rest of the article felt sterile and self-congratulatory, providing little information about the program.  Osha gathered that it was an outreach program training orphaned children to box. She looked back at the photograph. Beneath it, she found his name listed after Torbin’s in the smallest font.

Qimir Loharne (13)

When I was thirteen, the rods were removed, and the doctors at the spine clinic said I should join this… outreach program that was starting at the Temple.

He was thirteen. Imagining the abuse he went through over the next four years made her stomach turn. Osha refolded the news clipping and carefully tucked it under her shirt, against her skin. Her hands shook with barely repressed anger.

Hastily, she covered up where the article had been with a framed photo of herself winning third at the science fair. Looking around the rest of the room, she wondered if he was hiding—being hidden—in any other frames, but she couldn’t find anything.

She didn’t know why she was disappointed.

He was waiting for her when she came down from her apartment a few hours later. Night had fallen in the city, but city nights were never as dark as she wanted. The crescent moon that had walked her and the stranger home the night before had grown into almost a waxing quarter moon—she’d started keeping track of the moon phases as a brand-new member of Unknown Planet.

His car idled as he leaned on the passenger-side door casually. He looked like a cool, dangerous love interest in a romance movie: dressed all in black, with his hair somewhat falling into his eyes above his glasses, arms crossed, one leg bent slightly in front of the other. Osha couldn’t look that cool if she tried. All that remained of the small cut on his face was a small red line on his cheekbone. His attention was on a little device in his hands she couldn’t see, so engrossed in it that he didn’t look up when she stopped at the sidewalk. 

“Hello,” she greeted him. 

He looked up, watching her approach. “Hello.”

Osha felt rooted in place under his gaze, the weight of his name sitting heavily on her mind. “Hi,” she said, cringing inwardly. Would she ever interact with him where she didn’t act like a fool within the first ten minutes?

“Hi…” His head tilted to the side, his eyes flitting over her frozen state. He pocketed the device and approached. “Are you alright?”

The incident at Sol’s had thoroughly fucked up whatever measure of calm she’d gained from the day’s rest and recovery. Her mind was all over the place, unable to focus on one thing for long. The folded-up newspaper weighed heavily against her heart from inside her jacket. She nodded tightly in response to his question.

His smile faded a little. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No! No.” Osha sighed and pressed her cold hands to her face. “I’m so scatterbrained today; it’s not you.” Some of it’s you.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, his voice dropping into that soothing tone he used when she was in pain the other day.

“Maybe,” she said. “Can we get out of the cold first?”

“Of course.”

Before she could protest, he’d taken her gym bag off her shoulder and walked back to his car to open the door for her. She followed him like he had her on a damn leash. Wait, did she like that? She really was a goddamn mess tonight.

Once he loaded her bag into the backseat, he paused before getting in. He reached into his pocket to retrieve the device he’d been playing with, only then getting inside.

“Is that an iPod mini?” Osha guffawed.

“If it ain’t broke…” he said with a grin. “I prefer more analog things, if you couldn’t tell.”

“You use a flip phone and drive a car that could survive a nuclear apocalypse. I don’t know why I’m surprised you have an actual iPod. You probably also have a pocket watch and a VHS collection.”

“I resent that,” he huffed. “I have two pocket watches.”

Their banter set her at ease for the rest of the drive to Unknown Planet. The music on his iPod wasn’t what she usually listened to, but she enjoyed it enough not to speak over it. They passed the bar’s street entrance, and he drove down a side street to a private parking lot. He parked but didn’t move to get out just yet.

It’s your call, the silence said. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.

Osha got out of the car.

Her stranger held the door for her as she walked in and followed behind as she took the stairs. This was the path they’d taken after she watched him fight for the first time, the stairs leading up to the third-floor dressing rooms. He unlocked the black door and ushered her inside with a hand on her lower back.

As they removed their winter jackets and shoes, he told her the plan for the evening: “I need to establish a baseline. I told you I’ve seen you fight, but it was only recorded footage and obviously nothing from after your injury. Seeing you move in person will give me a better idea of where to focus first.”

“How much of tonight involves jumping or running?” she asked, eyeing the rolls of tape in her bag.

“None,” he said, digging through his backpack for a pair of shorts. He tossed his glasses on top of the bag before entering the bathroom to change. Osha scrambled to do the same while he’d given her some measure of privacy, peeling off her jeans and t-shirt.

“There are plenty of ways to do cardio without exacerbating injuries,” he continued. This felt a little like their second meeting: when she changed her shirt behind a wall, and he mopped up at the cafe. “Repetitive exercises like jump rope, running, and machine workouts risk worsening your condition the more you rely on them.”

That was promising.

“Then what are we doing for cardio?” she asked, shimmying into her tank top.

“For now, swimming. Eventually, sparring. Can you swim?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know there’s a pool here.”

“There isn’t. You don’t have to worry about that until tomorrow, but we’ll be using the one at home.”

His wording had her hands nearly slipping on her shorts as she pulled them up her thighs. She corrected the fumble, snapping the waistband around her hips and folding it like usual.

“Swimming is easier on injuries,” he continued. “It uses every muscle group, and adding resistance to workouts is much safer.” He emerged from the bathroom without a shirt, going through his bag while he spoke—as if she wasn’t poleaxed seeing him like this from such a short distance. He had nothing on but low-slung basketball shorts and his socks.

“Cool,” Osha said, mind a million miles away. “Cool.”

He pulled a shirt on, followed by his glasses and a black baseball cap that kept his hair out of his eyes. “Let’s get you ready for me, hm?” He gestured to the chair when she didn’t move in response to him.

“Cool!” She wanted to slap herself. She needed to get it the fuck together. “I’ve got tape in my bag—”

“Have you used KT tape before?” He opened a drawer at the small desk beside her, revealing several thick rolls in various colors.

“Kinesiotherapy tape?”

“What’s with the face?”

Osha tried to quit scowling, but she’d already been called out for it. “Well, isn’t it… not as good as athletic tape?”

He placed several rolls beside him in a neat line, along with scissors. “Each has their benefit,” he said. “Neither is wholly better than the other. I’m guessing you haven’t used it before, then?”

“No.”

“Tell me how you wrap your ankle.”

As she explained her usual methods, she couldn’t help peeking at the colorful tapes he had brought out. Some even had little designs on them—shooting stars, rainbow stripes, and the feral river otter mascot of the college he worked at.

It was definitely much cuter than the standard white athletic tape and flesh tone pre-wrap.

He nodded. “Would you mind trying something new? Just to see if you like it.”

Osha was growing familiar with the urge to perform well for him, and it didn’t irritate her as much as it probably should have. She nodded, and he gave her a brilliant smile. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird taking flight.

He talked her through what he was doing, first measuring out pieces of tape, then cutting them up and applying them to her foot, ankle, knee, and thigh in bands of red and black. Aside from the aesthetic advantage, she appreciated that she didn’t have to loosen up her sneakers the way she did after layers of pre-wrap and athletic tape.

She also appreciated how his hands felt on her bare skin.

“There. Walk around a bit. If you want it off, the adhesive won’t fully set for another fifteen minutes or so.”

The method she’d been taught to use before had been good for reducing swelling and preventing sprains and strains, but sometimes, it felt like her ankle was just being squished, not supported. The KT tape felt like how she wanted her ankle to feel. With so much more freedom of movement, she almost felt like a newborn deer, amazed she could stand and walk like this. Holy fuck.

“That good?”

Shit, she’d said that out loud. He was still on the floor, putting away the rest of the tape and tugging on his shoes.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “This is crazy.” She bounced on her feet a little. She must have looked silly as hell doing lunges around the dressing room, but he only regarded her with a look of fond amusement she was growing accustomed to. He asked for a hand up.

When he got to his feet, they ended up inches apart, their height difference made glaringly obvious. Osha was surprised to find she liked it. His height, his arms, his broad fucking shoulders—they didn’t intimidate her like they probably had done for Mae. She took a breath, settling into a comfortable, calm mindset.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, touching her waist and spinning her toward the door.

The gym above Unknown Planet looked completely different from the last time she saw it. The cage had been dismantled and replaced by a large sparring mat, where pairs of people faced off—wearing anything from singlets to gis to clothes similar to what Osha was wearing. While a few individuals were locked in at the punching bags or machines, many were clustered in small groups, working together or encouraging one another. They were laughing and having fun.

Osha could count on one hand the number of times she heard laughter at the Temple. She’d need no hands to count the number of times she’d had fun in the last six years.

He led them to an empty area. Her nerves were going wild, and the prospect of disappointing him felt terrible and inevitable. But he trucked ahead. “For our warmups, we’re going to…” He showed her a series of stretches and light calisthenics to get her loose and warm. He never spoke down to her or overexplained his choices. When they were finished warming up, he checked in.

Honesty came easier with him.

“I feel like my ankle’s a little weaker. It’s not weak like failing, but not as strong as I thought. The tape helps a lot.”

He nodded, looking her over. “Can you go up on just your right foot? Flat.” He knelt before her to see better, then put her hand on his shoulder so she’d be balanced. “Up on your toes. Flat. Good. Again.”

Osha was going just a little fucking mad. Just a little, though. He seemed to like flustering her. He tended to get himself into situations where she was above him, and he was on her knees beneath her. She followed his instructions, doing a few calf raise holds on her good leg, then her injured one. Her body obeyed his instruction on autopilot, but her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was honed in on two precise places: where his thumb rubbed back and forth against her ankle, and where her hand lay flat against the shifting muscles in his shoulder.

“I see what you mean,” he said, letting go. He adjusted his glasses and tugged down his sock. “There are a few muscle groups attached to the Achilles tendon…”

He explained exactly what she was feeling, even having her put her hand on the back of his calf while he repeated the same moves she had just done. For once, the uncontrollably horny part of her brain remained silent, instead fascinated by his intelligent explanations. It was a mystery how he could even pretend to be a bumbling idiot.

She asked him so many questions, and he patiently answered each one to her satisfaction. Osha had never felt so respected and cared for in a training setting and wondered when that would change.

The rest of their session passed just like that. They hadn’t done much training overall, but by the end of things, she knew more about her ankle and knee. The formless pain now had names, faces, and weaknesses that could be exploited for her benefit—maybe even defeated.

By the time he brought her back to his dressing room, midnight had already passed. She was more worn out than she expected after so uneventful a training session.

“On the mat, Osha.”

Oh, there was her horny brain—back with a vengeance.

She tried her best to look graceful and attractive as she lowered herself to the mat, but her ankle had finally had enough of her, and it ended up being more like a slow-motion ragdoll collapse. She supposed that was what she deserved, trying to be cool in front of him. Shit, she was more tired than she thought.

But still, the yoga mat felt nice. Being flat felt nice. Her body, for once, felt nice. She groaned happily. “Yeah, mat. Great idea.”

He laughed softly and knelt beside her. His hand went to the back of her right calf, pressing his thumbs into her muscles with light pressure at first, then deeper when she didn’t flinch away in pain.

“What are you doing?” she asked, turning her head.

“You might be two and a half years out of practice, but most call this a massage.”

She kicked blindly at him with her other foot. His hand caught her quickly, avoiding any of her injured areas. She calmed down, and he continued his massage.

“Unlike athletic tapes, the KT tape can be worn for up to five days. It’s waterproof, too, so when we go to the pool tomorrow, you’ll still have the same support correcting your ankle and knee to the right tension. You can take it off at any time with a bit of oil, and if you need me, I’m never too busy to help you.”

It was harder to pay attention to him when he had his hands on her, and between the relief he gave her and the soothing tones of his voice saying such lovely things, she almost fell asleep right there. When he finally finished, she felt like her bones had gone al dente. He gave her time to change in the bathroom, and she was surprised to see the silly smile adorning her face.

You are sooo fucked, she mouthed at her reflection.

She only smiled back.

It was a little after one in the morning when they returned to the apartment complex. He parked in front of her building, idling in one of the covered spots he didn’t own. Neither of them spoke, and she didn’t move to get out. Something in the air felt taut with tension, obvious but unacknowledged. He inhaled like he would break the silence, but her anxious mouth got there first.

“I found another picture of you.” She unzipped her jacket to the inside breast pocket, where she’d carefully tucked the news clipping from Sol’s place. She gave it to him, and his jaw flexed as he looked it over.

She expected all manner of responses from him—So now you know my name. Do you believe my story now? What a long time ago—but instead, he asked her, “Why do you give me these?”

She’d been asking herself that same question. Looking at the little boy in the picture, she said, “You told me, before you took me to the bar the first time, that there was a time that you had no evidence you existed besides your pain. You shouldn’t have been—it’s just—” She exhaled harshly, staring out the windshield and fidgeting with her hands. “You do exist beyond what happened to you. And you deserve to have proof of that.”

After her halting explanation, her mind felt clearer. The nervous buzzing of her thoughts had ceased—at least temporarily. When he—when Qimir—no—when her stranger didn’t say anything for a while, she turned to look at him and was immediately caught in the snare of his gaze.

He’d leaned in toward her, lips slightly parted and eyes a little unfocused as they flitted about—eye to eye, then down to her mouth. Osha couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She could only endure the wildfire he ignited in her body, heat licking through every inch of her. His teeth slowly sunk into his lower lip, and he moved forward another inch—

“Osha,” he whispered, soft as a prayer and most likely unintentional. The sound of her name on his tongue made her shudder, and her eyes fell shut. He inhaled quickly, reality and reason coming back to him all at once.

She opened her eyes when she felt him sit back in his seat and found him straight-backed and controlled. “Thank you,” he managed to say after some silent seconds. His voice sounded rougher, full of an emotion she couldn’t place. She hoped it was desire and not regret.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered. “I can, um. I can stop pushing them on you if it makes you—”

“No.”

She blinked. “No?”

“I appreciate you bringing them to me. They… you’re right. They’re signs of a life I had taken from me. It’s more than I had of myself yesterday.”

Osha smiled helplessly, leaning back against the headrest to look at him. For the first time in a long while, she felt proud of herself.

CHAPTER TEN

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper gets a surprise visit from Christian... but are his intentions sincere?

Word Count: 2,800 (short for me, I know enjoy it while you can 😆)

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: I know it's been more than a hot minute since I've updated this series! 😅 This is in part because I got sidetracked by Sleepless in New York also on my list to finish, I know, and then I took most of the summer off from writing. But also in part because I kinda got stuck on how to actually continue with this series... but, I now have a plan! *rubs hands together gleefully* and you ain't gonna like it, sorry, not sorry. So, with this long-awaited installment, I hope to be back in my usual groove and will be posting with some semblance of regularity again. Thanks so much for bearing with me!

A/N2: This is also my submission for @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 25 Prompt - Secret, Surprise I’m only 2 days late

Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Making my way back to my room, I try to push down the conflicting emotions that are roiling inside of me.

On one hand, I get where Drake is coming from, and why he shut the door in my face. We are no longer alone in Applewood and even the faintest whiff of impropriety could implode the carefully strategised work that the royal PR team has put in to try and resuscitate my public image.

And me getting caught outside of the room of a guy who not only is not Christian, but who I have no justifiable reason for seeking out at the butt-crack of dawn in the first place, would definitely scupper the assertion that I'm not a two-timing hussy. Especially since I rushed out of my room earlier wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.

Mitigating factors, they are not.

But while the rational part of my brain knows that Drake is only trying to look out for me, I can't help but feel a pang of dejection at the abruptness with which he — very literally — shut me out, even though he promised yesterday that he wouldn't do something like that to me again.

Because God knows that it had been hard enough to get him to open up the first time!

And even though I'm not expecting him to have completely reversed his habitudes overnight, I guess I'd been hoping that our conversation in the barn would've prompted some kind of step in the desired direction.

Because it's clear that the bruises on my neck unnerved him. The turmoil on his face had made that clear. As the marks are not just some haphazard side-effect of our frantic love-making. They are a very real and visible reminder of the tangible strength of his feelings — and the fact that he lost control of them.

And as much as I understand the knee-jerk cause of his reaction, the last thing I want — or need — right now is for Drake to distance himself from me because he's scared of hurting me again.

That, I could not cope with.

"Demoiselle," nods Allard as I arrive back at my room.

I flash him a distracted smile on auto-pilot. He saw and heard what happened. There is no point rehashing anything. Especially since this isn't something he or Schweitzer can help with.

The weight of my Guard's concerned gaze flick over me as I shuffle past, but they both remain silent, no doubt sensing that I'm not in the mood for conversation.

Shutting the door behind me, I close my eyes as I lean back against the solidness of the wood.

Why are things never simple 'round here?

I really wish Drake and I could've taken a moment to talk things through. Because today's Apple Harvest Festival is expected to see hundreds of people descend onto Applewood to not only celebrate this year's bountiful crop of Cordonian Rubies, but to also catch a glimpse of the new King and his future Queen.

And if I thought that cornering Drake at the apple pick had been hard, the chances of being able to do so today are going to be slim to none.

But the rest of the week doesn't offer any better options because tomorrow we're off to Italy, where we'll likely have even less opportunity for privacy given the high-profile and international nature of the coming engagements.

My eyes snap open. I have to talk to him now.

As much as Drake may be concerned about protecting what's left of my image, I'm not going to let him use the inconvenience of our circumstances as an excuse to hide behind his insecurities or erect walls between us. Because the hard truth is that there's never going to be a good time to talk unless we make time.

Which is exactly what I am going to do, possible scandal be damned. I cannot let a tenuous fear borne out of a possible public backlash hold me back. My relationship with Drake is worth infinitely more to me than whatever garbage the paps may decide to print because some aristo decided to tattle on me if I get caught sneaking back into his room.

Because, let's face it. Even if I do end up on the front pages tomorrow (for all the wrong reasons), the fact of the matter is that any photo, any situation — no matter how sordid or innocent — can be spun any which way.

I've learnt that the hard way. So, I may as well use it to my own advantage for once.

Pushing myself away from the door, I march into my walk-in closet with renewed determination. Pulling the t-shirt that I'd slept in over my head, I quickly throw on a bra, some jean shorts and a black tank top.

Slotting my bare feet into my well-worn Sketchers, I make my way over to the French doors that lead out onto balcony so I can try to figure out the best way to scamper over to Drake's room without killing myself, given that I stand a better chance of slipping under the aristo's nosy radar via the balcony than going back through the corridor.

Hopefully, I can—

Tap, tap tap.

I stop mid-stride at the sound of knocking coming from the other side of my door.

Turning around, I contemplate whether I should respond, or pretend that I hadn't heard.

I have precious little time if I want to catch Drake before he disappears on me to do... whatever it is that he does in the mornings before the start of a royal event.

So, if I want to make it to his room, I need to go now before he finishes getting dressed.

But, then again, there is only a very small number of people at court who'd come directly to my room to talk to me. Especially at this time in the morning.

So, it could be important. It could be about Tariq...

...it could be Drake.

The latch clicks open.

I glance anxiously back towards the balcony, trying to decide if I should—

"May I come in?"

I whirl around in surprise at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

He pokes his head 'round the door. "I... I didn't catch you in a state of undress, did I?"

"No! No... I was already dressed," I admit, trying to be as casual as possible as I quickly brush my hair over my shoulders in a haphazard attempt to try and cover up the bruises, given that I hadn't thought to slather any cover-up over myself yet.

Christian definitely doesn’t need to be asking questions about those!

"Ah, good!" he responds, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "You're an early riser, like myself."

"You can thank the Beaumonts," I mutter under my breath, glancing guiltily back toward the balcony.

So much for stealing a much-needed moment with Drake...

"I apologise for the intrusion," Christian continues, crossing the space between us, "especially at such an early hour. But I was hoping to catch you alone before the start of the Apple Harvest Festival."

One word catches my attention. "A-Alone...?"

He comes to a stop in front of me. "Very much so."

Anxiety flares in the pit of my stomach as Drake's words from yesterday swirl through my mind.

...he's trying to win you back.

And it suddenly hits me that I haven't been alone — truly alone — with Christian since the day of the Jamboree. When he took me into the hedge maze and offered me a duchy.

My mind starts to whirl.

Had that been the start of this... crusade? The fact that I turned him down? Does he still think he can change my mind? Is he simply incapable of accepting 'no' as an answer?

I force my gaze up to meet his.

His emerald green eyes behold me calmly, with maybe a hint of excitement. But I cannot read his intention.

"Wh-why?" I finally blurt out.

A smile spreads across his face. "To bestow upon you your letters patent, of course!"

I gape at him. "My letters of what?"

He chuckles good-naturedly at my evident confusion. "Letters patent. Itis a type of royal decree that formally confers some manner of privilege onto the names designee — an office of state, a coat of arms, a commercial monopoly... or, in this case, your new title as Duchess of Valtoria."

With a flourish, he pulls out a small, leather-bound box that he's been hiding behind his back.

I stare at it mutely.

"It won't bite, I promise," he assures me wryly.

Reaching up with a tepid smile, I accept the box, which is a lot heavier than it looks.

Opening it up, I find a medieval-looking document nestled in the lid, complete with densely-packed Chancery script and and a historiated initial C embossed with the stylised image of the Cordonian royal crest.

Peering at the text — which I can only assume is an archaic form of French — I can just about make out the odd word, like my name, Christian's name, and Valtoria. But the rest remains completely incomprehensible.

Presumably some grand declarations about the bestowal...

In the bottom part of the box rests a cream-coloured envelope also bearing the Cordonian royal crest, along with my name, though this time written in delicate cursive lettering.

"What's this?" I ask Christian, lifting the letter up.

"Your papers of naturalisation," he informs me. "Along with your new passport and ID card."

I glance up at him in surprise. "I am now a Cordonian citizen?"

"It would not have been possible to issue the letters patent otherwise," he says. "Even a king must abide by the diktats of the law."

"I... don't need to sign anything?"

"The US Consulate was very accommodating, given the unique nature of the circumstances."

My stomach twists unexpectedly. "Oh..."

Dual citizenship is a good thing, right?

Returning my attention to the box, I see that the envelope has been concealing a large, intricate-looking seal bearing what appears to be the stylised outline of a rampant phoenix, next to which sits a signet ring with the same image.

"Does it meet expectations?" asks Christian.

"I'm not sure I know what I'd been expecting..." I admit, running a finger over the lines of the mythical bird, marvelling at the level of detail that's been put into creating such a realistic rendering, complete with individual licks of flame spouting from the tail feathers.

"Any egregious spelling errors?"

"Not that I can see," I admit, glancing up at him. "But—"

"Excellent!" he declares, reaching over the lid of the box to deftly pluck the signet ring out from its nest of blue silk.

Before I have a chance to react, he's clasped my hand in his to poise the heavy circlet of gold at the tip of my ring finger.

"Wait!" I gasp in the face of the unexpectedly intimate turn of events. "What are you—?"

"It would be remiss of me if I did not verify the correctness of the sizing," he advises, meeting my panicked gaze calmly.

"You don't need t—"

"It would be my pleasure," he insists, slipping the ring onto the digit before I can protest further.

As he withdraws his hand, my eyes fall onto the spot where the cool metal's unfamiliar weight now encircles the base of my finger.

"Perfect," Christian declares with a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb over the phoenix insignia.

I stare at the band with an uneasily mix of feelings swirling in my chest. "Christian, I—"

"Let's celebrate, shall we?" he announces, pulling back to click his fingers with a decisive snap.

On cue, the door behind Christian swings open to admit a veritable procession of servants bearing ice buckets, champagne, crystal flutes and tiny servings of finger food.

"Wait..." I stammer in the face of organised onslaught. "They were waiting outside this whole time?"

"I may have take a page out of your party planning book," he admits with a grin while the industrious staff set about transforming my bedroom into a first-class tea room. "Seeing the success you had with Drake on his birthday, I thought I would try my hand at surprising you on this important day."

"And that's great, but I never agreed—"

"Didn't you?" Christian asks with a level look as he nabs a miniature scone from the tray of a passing server.

I shake my head. "No, I—"

"Because I specifically recall you giving your unambiguous consent at yesterday's apple pick to proceed with finalising your new status," he states, taking a bite out of the pastry.

I open my mouth, but promptly shut it as the conversation from the orchard floats back into my consciousness.

"...having the paperwork squared away before our departure would grant significant boon for your image."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Oh, fuck..." I mutter as the cold hand of hindsight clamps down on the nape of my neck.

Christian had obviously mischaracterised my somewhat dazed reaction as some kind of explicit affirmation.

And since Drake's appearance yesterday had interrupted the conversation at that key moment, I never had a chance to correct the misunderstanding.

But I need to. Because once again, Christian has taken matters into his own hands and acted without my my prior agreement or approval t. Just like he had done when he decided to send me away during the Coronation Ball, only to then bring me back to court as his mistress, not to mention spring an actual duchy on me without any warning.

And while his heart's probably been in the right place each and every time, I'm not sure that I can cope with any more bolts from the blue.

Especially when they so drastically upend my life.

Heaving a breath, I look back up at the King of Cordonia again. "Look, Christian, I really appreciate all of this, but I think there's been a major—"

The loud bang! of the champagne bottle shooting its cork across the room makes me jump.

Turning around, I can see that the gold-coloured liquid is already in the process of being dispensed into a pair of waiting crystal flutes.

"I hope you like this Moët & Chandon Imperial Vintage 1946 that I had picked out," Christian murmurs, brushing a hand over the small of my back. "It is an exceptional cuvée with notes of citrus, apple and pear — an apt combination, I thought, given the occasion."

"Because of the pear trees in Valtoria..." I surmise heavily, watching a footman bring over a pair of freshly-filled champagne flutes with a foreboding note of finality.

"Exactly," confirms Christian, grabbing a glass from the tray. "A beautifully complimentary pairing. One that hope we can both enjoy for many years to come."

"Yes, but—"

"Let's toast, shall we?" prompts Christian, cutting me off yet again as the footman proffers me the other serving of expensive bubbly.

I stare at it like a poison pill.

This is what Drake had warned me about, isn't it? That Christian would seek to manoeuvre me into a corner like a chess piece... By giving with one hand, only to take with the other when the time came for the chips to fall due. Because what better way to create an unimpeachable sense of obligation than by making me into a duchess? A literal vassal to the Crown? Required to do the King's bidding, no matter the cost?

And if that really is his aim, then he has certainly been succeeding.

But at the same time, I am not sure I can trust my assessment. Christian has given no indication, one way or another, as to where his goals lay. And even if the misunderstanding had been genuine, to turn him down now would not only be inexplicably rude, but maybe also dangerous?

Would I be jeopardising Christian's support in the hunt for Tariq and my quest to set the record straight if I offend him by throwing all his heartfelt effort back in his face? Especially when I don't know for certain what Christian's motives are?

Because what if Drake is wrong? What if there is no hidden agenda and I'm just massively overthinking this entire thing because I've been burned once already and now everyone looks suspect... Even — and especially — when I'm being offered help?

"Harper?" queries Christian. "Everything alright?"

I shake myself out of my stupor and grab the crystal flute. "I'm fine. Just... Trying to come to grips with it all."

"There will be plenty of time for that," he assures me with a grin, raising his glass. "To the new Duchess of Valtoria!"

I clink the delicate crystal in my hand against his with a leaden feeling in my stomach.

There's no going back now...

For better or for worse, I have just become an aristo.

The story continues in Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[gyorklady]

So, I did a thing...

This was inspired by the finale of Candela Obscura: Crimson Mirror as well as the references to Tide and Bone made during the chapter courtesy of Mr. Liam "Heartbreak Prince" "Little Shit" O'Brien. Credit also needs to go to my fellow Grimm family/Tide and Bone stan @inconmess and the many conversations we had brainstorming ideas and connections between the members of Crimson Mirror and Tide and Bone.

There may be a second part to this, there may not.

Cosmo Grimm did not like Fourth Pharos. 

He wasn’t alone; there weren’t many Candela agents that could say they liked spending time in Candela’s vault for dangerous magickal items and phenomena, and most tried to avoid going there when they could.  Cosmo was no exception.  Whenever one of his Circles came across an artifact that needed to be locked up or studied, he would leave it to their Lightkeeper or another Circle member to deliver it to the vault.  And he always took care not to risk significant exposure to Bleed, lest he end up in one of Pharos’ isolation rooms.  It wasn’t because of the artifacts or phenomena that Candela kept locked in their vault (though some of those did unnerve Cosmo, truth be told).  It wasn’t even his fear of Oscar being imprisoned in the vault someday. 

It was the gods-be-damned hallway. 

Cosmo stopped for what seemed like the fourth or fifth time as he slowly made his way down the hall, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for his head to stop spinning and his stomach to stop churning.  He had never been motion sick as a child, but since he’d joined Candela the hallway of Fourth Pharos always affected him like this.  The fact that he was one of a handful of Candela agents who were similarly affected was small consolation, as was the fact that their scientists were “looking into” ways of alleviating it.  If it hadn’t been for the summons from Lightkeeper Zora Manning, telling him that the matter was urgent, Cosmo wouldn’t have come at all.   

Taking a deep breath, Cosmo sat back up, only to feel his chair jolt slightly as someone took the handles and began pushing him forward. “It’s only me, Cosmo,” he heard Zora’s voice from behind him. “I’m sorry; my meeting with the council ran late, otherwise I would have been there to meet you.” 

“It’s all right, Zora,” Cosmo assured her, keeping his eyes shut.  The hallway was easier for him to manage if he couldn’t see it.  With a weak chuckle he added, “I do think I’m getting better; I didn’t need to stop as often as I had to the last time I was here.” 

“I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have sent for you if I didn’t think you were needed,” she apologized. 

Dread pooled in Cosmo’s stomach now, instead of nausea.  In all his time with Candela, nothing good had ever followed those words.  He grabbed the wheels of his chair to stop it and, when Zora let go in surprise, turned around to face her. “What happened?” he asked. 

Zora’s face crumpled, as though she was going to burst into tears, but then she took a deep breath to compose herself. “The Circle of the Wyrm perished during their excavation of Calinus’ vault in the ruins of Oldfaire. The Circle of the Crimson Mirror was assigned to check on them after we lost communication; they neutralized the threat that killed Wyrm, but at the cost of two of their own,” she told him. 

“Oh, no.  Oh, Zora, I am so sorry, child.” Cosmo closed his eyes and bowed his head out of grief for the Circle and the Candela agents that were lost.  Looking back up at Zora he asked, “Who survived?” 

“Leo Amicus, and Grimoria,” Zora answered as she resumed pushing Cosmo down the hall, “which is why I called you here.  Leo’s wounds require him to remain in Pharos for a while longer, but Grimoria has been cleared to be released.  I’d rather she not be alone during this time, so I was hoping that you would agree to let her stay at your chapter house for a few days.  At least until Leo is well enough to leave.” 

Cosmo looked up, over his shoulder, at Zora. “What about her guardians?” he asked.  As a Candela agent and a dealer in antiquities himself, Cosmo was not a fan of Oliver and Cynthia Fogg.  He knew that the couple had claimed guardianship over Grimoria after she was orphaned just so that they could exploit her gifts.  There had been many times, before she joined to Crimson Mirror, that Grimoria had sought refuge at the Antiquarian when the Foggs’ treatment became too much. Unfortunately, Grimoria’s misplaced sense of loyalty to them made it difficult for her friends to convince her to move out and find lodging elsewhere. 

“They are…otherwise occupied at the moment,” the Lightkeeper replied, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a smile. “When Grimoria hadn’t returned home after several days, the Foggs had no choice but to file a missing person's report with the Periphery.  Unfortunately for them, the officer that came to take their statement happened to be there when a dissatisfied customer showed up, accusing the Foggs of selling counterfeit goods – a customer with ties to the Primacy.  Cynthia and Oliver were taken to the nearest Periphery Station for questioning, and the last I heard they were occupying separate cells while their business was being investigated.” 

“Oh, dear.  What a shame,” Cosmo said without an ounce of sincerity.  There was a stifled chuckle from Zora as she continued to push him along.  Finally, they stopped at one of the many doors that lined the hallway.  Zora reached out and put her hand on the knob, flexed her fingers for a second, waited for another two, then opened the door. 

It was one of Pharos’ standard hospital rooms rather than an isolation room, so there was no antechamber to separate them from the patient inside.  Grimoria sat on the edge of the single bed in the room, her gaze focused on her folded hands in her lap.  Zora knocked on the door as she opened it to announce herself. “Grimoria?” she called. 

Hearing her name, the young medium looked up. “Hello, Zora,” she greeted her Lightkeeper with a wan smile. “How’s Leo doing today?” 

“I’ve been assured that Leo’s recovery is progressing nicely, but Dr. Aguilar isn’t ready to release him yet,” Zora answered. “You, on the other hand, are being released today.  Unfortunately, your guardians have been…detained by the Periphery for the foreseeable future, so you won’t be able to return to them.” 

“Oh.” Grimoria blinked in surprise. “Well, Leo did say that I could stay with him for as long as I wanted to.  I guess I can go back to his apartment.” 

“Yes, well… Be that as it may, I’d rather you not be alone during this time,” said Zora. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at another chapter house, at least until Leo is back on his feet.” 

“Where?” 

Recognizing his cue, Cosmo wheeled himself into the room. “At the Antiquarian, with Oscar and I,” he said.  Grimoria’s eyes widened imperceptibly when she saw him. “Ms. Manning told me a little bit of what happened to your Circle, child, and the loss of Mr. Trills and Dr. Lycoris.  I am so terribly sorry.” Grimoria sniffled, then suddenly the girl flung herself at Cosmo, wrapping her arms around his neck before bursting into tears.  Zora moved to pry her off, but Cosmo held up a hand to stop her. 

Yes, Cosmo Grimm hated Fourth Pharos.  But, for now, he had a reason to stay. 

[writing-rat]

Enid's Changes

Pairing: Wednesday x Enid

Warnings: None

Summary: Enid presents. Wednesday wants to know as what but knows it's rude to ask so she doesn't

It was a week after Nevermore started again after the incident with the hyde, where Bianca and Wednesday killed the pilgrim, where Enid changed into a werewolf and where Weems nearly died. She survived thankfully. It was different this semester however. Enid’s group of friends and herself were more respected, which Wednesday didn’t like. They were still threatened at least.

Wednesday wasn’t concerned about that however. She was more concerned about Enid because she was different. She was acting different and she was definitely taller. That was what lead wednesday to making a new page in a locked book so that Enid didn’t know she was conducting research. The first notes were how tall she had gotten from 5’5 to 5’8. The shorter girl had noticed it because she was looking up at Enid more than usual. That bugged her, but she also found it quite hot. She would never admit it however, that would ruin her reputation. That’s when she went to the library at night and snuck out some werewolf books. 

Enid was asleep when Wendesday came back so Wednesday had time to hide the book. She was thankful for that admittedly as she didn’t want to tell Enid what she was doing due to it involving her. She went to sleep after that. The next night Wednesday would be alone, Yoko and Enid were having a sleepover after all. Currently Wednesday was laid back in her bed with a book. It was ‘Frankenstein’, one of her favourites, when she glanced over at Enid grabbing a shirt out that she had never seen before. “New shirt?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yep! Do you like it?” Enid wondered, a bit self conscious admittedly. It was a pink shirt with a dog playing ball on it after all. 

“I don’t like it personally,” Wednesday responded. Enid looked dejected. “But it suits you,” Wednesday reassured. If Enid had her tail out right at that moment, it would be wagging.

“Really Willa? Thank you!” She exclaimed and jumped before she was starting to change. Wednesday meanwhile continued to read before Enid said bye. Wednesday went to respond but Enid was already gone. Wednesday sighed in relief before she was grabbing the werewolf book and was looking at the sections. She slowly started to read it.

-

Another change that Wednesday noticed was how Enid was with other wolves and even her friends. She seemed to have more control over them, and wasn’t teased as much. This unnerved Wednesday due to how the wolves treated her when she first came. Sure she punished a few wolves, but not enough for everyone to fear her yet. Currently Enid was passing the wolves table when a wolf got up immediately and went over. Wednesday, watching from the fountain, started to make notes quickly as she was knowing she’d remember hat happened already btu she wanted to write it while it was happening. She was wanting to hear but knew she couldn’t, which made her infuriated. She instead watched the body language as that would be deemed good enough. Enid looked uncomfortable. Just as she was about to help, the other wolf looked down and quickly left before Enid was walking to her friends, her confidence rising.

Meanwhile the wolf that had talked to her looked dejected, which made Wednesday curious. She would have to watch more. She soon went over to Enid’s table, and sat down next to her ignoring the others. She was sat there peacefully, staying still and just listening. Bianca then decided to tease her rival, smirking. “So the mighty Addams finally decided to join us,” Bianca teased, flashing her teeth. Wednesday snapped back. “I don’t believe myself to be better than anybody unlike you,” she responded, looking at Bianca deeply. Bianca just glared back, smirking.

“Oh really? Remember when you sa-” Bianca was about to retort when Enid cut in.

“Stop fighting both of you, you can both get along,” Enid growled out. Growling? That’s new. Both of them did shut up immediately, Wednesday looking normal while Bianca was feeling guilty. “Now apologise and make up,” Enid added on. 

“I am sorry Wednesday. I won’t tease Wednesday anymore unless we are fencing,” Bianca apologised immediately. Wednesday just glared, before Enid was looking at Wednesday and quirked an eyebrow. Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Wednesday,” Enid warned out. She heard the danger in Enid’s voice. “I am sorry Bianca. I shall retort to your petty comments while fencing,” Wednesday apologised. 

She saw how everyone was respecting Enid much more. Enid was quick to lighten up, but Wednesday was a flustered mess.

-

Enid had been having voice cracks for a few weeks halfway into the term, and Wednesday couldn’t help be shocked. She kept listening however to Enid whenever she spoke, noticing how her voice would be soft then it would crack and go deeper, sounding more like a growl at times. Wednesday would shiver each time, but then the voice would become soft again. She was also noticing how Enid was quickly becoming more muscly. Enid actually had to get new shirts, to which Wednesday helped pay with. The taller wolf had tried to reject originally until she realised that Wednesday would not budge. 

Wednesday meanwhile had kept notes of how she had to get new shirts and also the voice cracks and how she was growing muscle easily. She looked back at the werewolf book and it kept showing towards alpha. The only problem was that she couldn’t check if she was actually an alpha because she would have to check for a bulge, and she didn’t want to make her best friend turned crush uncomfortable. She also wasn’t wanting Enid to think she was a creep. She was currently at her desk, writing when Thing popped up. ‘I followed Enid around. She went to the shop and got some boxers for some reason. Can I have my hand lotion now?’ Thing tapped out. Sighing, Wednesday handed it over before she was writing down ‘getting boxers’ in her notes. That was enough proof, right? No, it couldn’t be. She knew how Yoko wore boxers because they were more comfortable apparently. She was soon starting to look up when she heard the doorhandle and quickly chucked her notebook under the floor before she was starting to write again.

“Hey Willa,” Enid greeted, yawning as she threw her bag down and flopped on her bed. “Sinclair,” she greeted back with her usual tone. She was blushing red however, her voice fully turning deeper. Enid just smiled as she stared at the back of the smaller girl. Soon, Wednesday stood up and cracked her neck then stretched before she stared back at Enid, jumping once she saw Enid in a shirt and a pair of boxers. “Sorry, I’m just so hot. I swear the AC better be fixed soon,” Enid apologised profusely. What caught Wednesday’s attention however was a bulge. Enid was unaware, before she glanced down and immediately covered it. “You are ok with that right?” she asked.

“You are an alpha,” Wednesday breathed out. Enid blinked in surprise but nodded. “Yeah… Willa, are you ok?” she asked confused. Wednesday nodded.

“I have been watching you since the start of term wondering if you was an alpha. That just proves it,” Wednesday explained. Enid just chuckled.

“No wonder I saw you staring in wonder and awe sometimes,” Enid hummed out before she was looking at the smaller girl. “I thought you just had a crush on me,” Enid teased. Wednesday blinked in shock. “And how would you react?” she asked, hiding her nervousness as much as possible.

“I would accept. You are my mate after all, and I know you like me,” Enid remarked, standing up and going to the short girl. Wednesday looked up, before she was suddenly picked up. Enid had a wolfish smirk. “So, what do you say? Be my mate?” Enid asked. Wednesday nodded, before she leaned in and kissed her gently. Enid was holding her easily as she kissed her, before slowly pulling away. “Want to go on  date in the forest tomorrow night? It is a full moon and I wonder if you want to go on a picnic before it then allow me to study your wolf form,” Wednesday asked. Enid grinned and nodded.

“My little researcher,” Enid teased, kissing Wednesday on the nose. Wednesday blushed hard. She could get used to this.

[theamityelf]

(Takes place after this post. Also, this one's pretty suggestive.)

Makoto woke during the night to the sound of whispers outside his bedroom door.

His heart raced at once. He had been pretty uneasy falling asleep in the first place, after what Nagito had said.

"He's gotten all his nutrition for the day," Nagito was saying. "Have you had yours?"

"Yes, I'm almost full," Izuru replied. It was interesting; in most things, he seemed to plow through Nagito, but he deferred to him in the matter of Makoto. "I don't have room for more than two pints."

"He's pretty small," Nagito reminded.

"I know how much blood he can safely lose. I've rounded down on his end and up on my end, and I'm still certain it will be fine."

"That's wonderful to hear. Because I can't pull you off him if you're dedicated to overdoing it."

Makoto felt the familiar anger, that the vampires were taking such meticulous precautions to preserve his life, while the lives of those whose blood smelled less appetizing were cavalierly drained. Nagito at least drank survivable amounts, since he had never fed on the despair-afflicted and increased his appetite like Izuru had. (Two pints of any one hope-aligned person would satiate him for at least three days.) But he still showed no concern or interest in the many people Izuru drained in preparation for a taste of Makoto. Oh, when Makoto asked, he would say that Izuru did his best to drink survivable amount of those he hunted, lest he get in the habit of overindulging (and even that came back to making sure he didn't over-drain Makoto), but these moments when he questioned Izuru before letting him in proved how persistent he was when he cared about a life.

The swell of silent rage must have done something pleasant to the scent of hope in his blood, because the vampires outside the door both inhaled deeply, and when next Izuru spoke, there was a new quality to his voice that almost sounded like lust.

"Let me through," he said. "Right now. I need to taste him right now."

Makoto's heart raced with apprehension. To the vampires, it must have sounded like a dinner bell.

"You're so lucky," Nagito sighed, audibly licking his lips as he moved aside.

The sound of the door opening didn't reach Makoto's ears before Izuru was fully on top of him, his lips finding his neck instantly, but not yet parting for his fangs. He inhaled deeply again. He exhaled a quiet, "Hello, Makoto."

"And I'll be so lucky if I get to taste him on your lips later," Nagito continued, following Izuru into the room and climbing onto Makoto's bed alongside him (but not before shutting and locking the door).

"You will if I don't kill this one," Izuru replied, and in the moment that Makoto's indignation, his anger, his need to escape, surged at his words, Izuru latched on, his fangs carving a tidy path to the blood he so craved.

The feeling of the bite itself was a pretty big twinge of pain, earning a startled yelp from him, but it was easy to ignore when compared to the unnerving feeling of having one's blood sucked.

Izuru pulled long drags of it into his mouth, and Makoto felt he now knew intimately how a milkshake straw must feel. Between each long draw was an audible gulp and a sigh of ecstasy. Izuru's hands were at his arms, holding him still as if it were second nature to subdue prey. Makoto tried to squirm, but the vain attempts seemed only to improve the taste of his blood. Izuru moaned.

"Hey, shouldn't you be more gentle?" Nagito said mildly.

Izuru, of course, didn't respond.

"So jealous," Nagito breathed. He bent closer, and Makoto thought for a moment that he was going to kiss him on the forehead, but instead his tongue took a swipe of the sweat at his temple. "You're so amazing." His tongue traced the trail of sweat at his hairline.

One of Izuru's legs was between Makoto's, and it created a distracting pressure when he moved. The light-headedness Makoto was beginning to feel didn't help. His heart was pounding.

With the conflicting sensations, his apprehension toward the ravenous vampire dissolved. "Did you kill anyone today?" he asked.

At first Izuru just kept drinking. Makoto tried to shove him off, which he knew wouldn't work, but Izuru still chose to withdraw from his neck, licking at the puncture wounds left by his fangs.

"No," he replied. "I didn't kill anyone today. I've been good. I'm being good." He kissed the bite he'd left, then moved to a new spot on Makoto's neck. Higher. "May I?"

Makoto gave himself a second to catch his breath before asking, "You want my permission now?"

"Yes." He shifted his position slightly, and his leg grazed... "I want you to enjoy it."

"Does it taste better when I do?"

"Your righteous anger tastes the best. Your determination. For you to accept it is...a personal preference."

"What happened to 'If I don't kill this one'?"

Izuru made a small eager noise. "It's just as I said: Your anger tastes better."

Having finished his tour of Makoto's hairline, Nagito lips went next to the region behind Makoto's ear.

"May I?" Izuru asked again, his fangs glinting in the dim light.

"You really didn't kill anyone today? You're not lying?"

"I really didn't. I'm not lying."

"...Go ahead."

Izuru drank gratefully, and more gently than before. Makoto started to feel like he was dreaming. His sighs and the vampires' sighs gave the room an atmosphere of exhilaration that felt bizarre to him. He lost track of time before Izuru detached from his neck again, licking and kissing all the new punctures.

"Let me, please," Nagito said desperately. "Just the small amounts that leak from him after."

Izuru didn't move aside right away, but when Nagito gave him a nudge, he complied, moving back to let the white-haired vampire lap at what remained to be tasted.

"Oh, so lucky," Nagito moaned.

Makoto went in and out of sleep in the minutes that followed. He was aware of his skin being licked and kissed. The last thing he saw before he zonked out for the rest of the night was Izuru and Nagito passionately kissing.

He dizzily wondered how that worked, with fangs.