#give them a ‘is there anything so undoing as a daughter?’ moment!!!

[quietwingsinthesky]

Rewatching Arcane again and I think I’ve said this before but society if Jack & Lucifer’s vibes were like Jinx & Silco…

[starogeorgina]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.01

“His heart beats for blood. Blood and fire.”

Jacaerys stares at his betrothed from across the room, watching as she mumbles to herself while flicking through the same book he’s seen her read many times, her heavy-looking eyes often fixated on the same page for a long period of time. He was informed the library and Sept were the only places she would visit outside her private chambers since Aemond killed his brother.

The last time Jace’s family were all together, in King’s landing, King Viserys declared his youngest daughter and eldest grandson were to be wed, with the intention of mending the rift between House Targaryen once and for all.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His betrothed was visibly happy and very vocal about how excited she was to start planning the wedding with his mother. Then his grandsire died, his mother’s throne was usurped, and his unborn sister died. Since returning from Winterfell Jacaerys, the princess hasn’t even glanced in his direction; she was avoiding him, which stung. Jace had never felt so alone; he always had Lucerys by his side before. Perhaps the princess was hiding herself away out of fear of being treated badly for what her brothers, mother, and grandsire had done to his family.

Not that he thought of her any differently; if anything, the young prince pitted her.

Jacaerys watches her for a few moments longer then decides it’s best to leave the princess be; no point in disturbing someone who is seeking isolation.

—

You stop making alterations to the tunic you were embroidering when you hear the door to the chambers you were currently occupying being opened; without looking back, you know who it is. When the footsteps don’t go any further than the doorway, you start threading the needle again.

Every corner you turn, you feel dark eyes burning a hole into you. Nothing that you could say would undo the pain inflicted already. Your mind begins to wonder again, and you don’t notice Jace moving until he’s sitting next to you at the wooden desk. He was looking directly at you, but you avoided meeting his gaze.

“My Prince.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, “I hold no ill will towards you.”

The funeral for Lucerys was held earlier that day, just before the sun began to set. You watched from afar as Rhaenyra crumpled to pieces, and the rest of her family sobbed, mourning the loss of such a sweet boy. It would have been wrong for you to join them when someone you cared for dearly caused them so much pain.

“How can you not? My twin is the reason you won’t get to see Luke again.”

Jacaerys says nothing to your response. What could he say? You sit in silence, watching Jace’s finger trace over the outline of a dragon on the tunic. “It’s unfinished; it was meant to be a gift for after the wedding.”

A small smile pulls on his lips. “It’s Vermax.”

Regardless of the awful things that had happened, you wanted to remain on Dragonstone but doubted you’d be able to stay long. You were nothing but a reminder of what Aemond had done.

“What’s on your mind?”

You finally looked up and met his eyes, which are glossy from holding back tears. In comparison, your own issues seem minuscule, but you share what’s bothering you anyway. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m afraid.”

Giving you a sympathetic look, Jace uses the pad of his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand. Comforting touches weren’t something you were familiar with, but you liked the warmth coming from his hand.

“You’re safe inside these walls. I won’t let anybody come in here and hurt you.”

“I’m afraid of Dae—”

You’re cut off when there’s a knock at the door and Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Elinda, walks into the room. You expected Jace to remove his thumb, but instead he squeezed your hand.

Elinda greets you both, “Princess, the queen wishes to speak with you.”

—

Staring into Rhaenyra's eyes was like staring down a dragon. Her fury was evident the moment you entered her quarters; you had seen Daemon storming in the opposite direction and presumed he had something to do with the queen's foul mood. You were thankful when she went to stand by the window.

“I believe my son was in your bedchamber when I sent for you. Is that correct?”

“No, I mean—“ you begin to stumble over your words. “Yes, he was there, Prince Jacaerys came to speak with me.”

“Nothing that could have waited until the morrow, I’m sure.”

Her expression was hard to read. Although she didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to explain further. “I told him I didn’t want to go back to King's Landing, and he told me this was my home. He said, I'm safe here.”

“Why would you believe any differently?”

“Nowhere is safe.”

Rhaenyra uncrosses her arms, her expression softening. “Nobody under my rule will harm you, but I must share this with you.”

Elinda hands you a scroll. Confused, you take it from her, “I don’t understand why someone would write to me.”

You open it nervously and read it. Your lips parted slightly; Rhaenyra asks what it says, but you’re unable to answer her. Elinda looks at it and lets out a small gasp, “It’s from Aegon. He’s demanding the princess return to King’s Landing at once.”

You take the scroll and toss it into the fireplace. “It may have my brother’s signature, but that is my grandsire and mother talking.”

“Elinda, leave us for a moment.” Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated sigh. When it’s just the two of you, she asks, “Do you wish to stay here, on Dragonstone?”

“Yes,” you say, taking a step towards her. “I understand if you want me to leave, but please don’t make me go back to them.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, she nods. “We may not be close, but you are my youngest sister. I know you are innocent.”

“I miss Helaena and her sweet children.” You begin to sob, “I was so quick to leave with you for Dragonstone that I never went and saw father before I left. I never said goodbye to him.”

“Neither of us knew what would happen.” Rhaenyra caresses your cheek in a motherly manner. “Jacaerys is right, you are safe here.”

—

Dragonstone was much darker and colder than what you were used to; your hair always feels damp even when it’s dry. You found the sounds of waves crashing around the island comforting.

But not as comforting as being held by Jacaerys.

You expected the prince to have returned to his own quarters, but he was waiting on you to return. You were sitting on the edge of the table with your legs dangling over the edge, Jacaerys forehead pressed against your own while he held you close.

The both of you were lonely, hurt, and scared.

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here so late?”

“We will be married soon,” Jacaerys says, stepping back. “Will we share a room when we are married?”

“I was told that women only lay with their husbands for a couple of nights a month, but everyone who I know who does it seems unhappy. Would you want us to always share a bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, you peck him on the lips. “Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“It’s okay.” He closes his eyes. “I hope the war ends soon so my mother can sit on her throne, and you can be my wife.”

You chuckle slightly. “As happy as I am to be your wife, I’m scared for our wedding night. My mother told me sex is painful for a woman.”

“It’s not always.”

“Wait, have you...” You don’t finish the question; the thought of him bedding someone else made you feel sick.

“No, but my stepfather is Daemon Targaryen,” he chuckles. “He always told me it was important for everyone involved to feel pleasure.”

“I was just told to grip the sheets while waiting for it to be over and that only men feel good.”

Jace’s lips ghost your own, his breath warm on your face. “Have you ever felt pleasure before?”

“Yes… kind of, have you.”

Jacaerys cheeks flush red as he nods.

“I touched myself once, but I didn’t put my fingers inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sin for a woman to touch themselves for desire. I went to the sept immediately afterwards and didn’t do it again.”

“Sweet girl,” Jace kisses your cheek. “I’ll never touch you anymore than you want me to.”

You hug again, but this time Jace’s head is pressed against the side of your neck. You still like that in a comfortable silence until you feel him lightly kissing your neck. He pauses waiting for your reaction; a moan slips from your mouth, and you tighten your grip, going around Jace’s back, encouraging him. “Do it again, please.”

Jacaerys starts kissing up your neck until he reaches your jawline. Lifting his head, your noses brush together, “Can I make you feel good now?”

You take Jacaerys hand and guide it underneath your skirts, helping him find the sensitive spot that brings you such pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

Jace shushes you with a kiss, “We need to be quiet.”

You hold onto his shoulders tightly as he rubs circles on your clit until you climax.

Smiling Jacaerys kisses you again, “It’s late; we should get some rest; the morrow will come soon enough.”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

He takes your hand and helps you off the table. “Yes, but I’ll need to go before the handmaidens come in the morning.”

[sempersirens]

DAUGHTER LESSONS | a joel miller oneshot

masterlist

summary: would it kill joel to just touch you?

warnings: established relationship, infidelity, jackson-era, no mention of age, angst

author's note: so... i have been disgustingly obsessed with COWBOY CARTER (duh! i have taste) and have fixated on the duality of daddy lessons and DAUGHTER, which thereby produced this lovechild of the two. you guys know i love me some religious imagery and angst...

Nothing could’ve confined you to a pew in your youth.

Your knees had breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of a blood-red kneeler when you were granted Sunday morning autonomy. Only your grandmother’s morbid prophecies of watching mass from above this time next year herded you between the rows of wooden benches at Easter and Christmas.

Maybe it was her you were trying to reach; chin tipped to the ceiling as if you would be overcome with the smell of potpourri and Irish coffee, heart flooded with all the right answers.

Still, nothing good came. 

“Didn’t expect t’find you in here.” His familiar drawl pricks at the hairs on your neck. 

“I was trying out solitude.” 

Joel had always moved with surprising stealth for someone of his build, but nothing he did these days surprised you anymore.

You had given him everything since meeting shortly after his and Ellie’s arrival in Jackson. It hadn’t taken long for you to witness his undoing. 

But this time, Joel doesn’t move. 

Rather, he stands in the middle of the aisle taking in the sight of you on your knees four rows ahead and to his left. Your hands are clasped so tightly together he can see the whites of your knuckles from this far back. 

Joel knows the back of your head more intimately than he probably should.

You have a habit of turning away from him in bed at night the second you were overcome by the smallest amount of fatigue.

Too damn hot you would mumble from your tenure of the mattress. And he can’t say he minded too much.

Often, he would reach a hand to your hair spilling across the pillow onto his side before regaining sense and propping the hand underneath his head instead.

During your waking hours, languidly reciting the steps of your morning routine around his small kitchen, he feels the want to touch you.

He wants to smooth down the hair that always bobbled around the raised birthmark on your scalp. He wants to feel your cheek against the knuckle of his right index finger. He wants to take the coffee cup from your hands and engulf them in the warmth of his instead. 

“She’s not here.” You mumble, so quietly that he’s not sure if that’s what you’ve actually said.

“Who?” He braves, wiping his sweating palms on the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

You respond with a scoff, confirming his hypothesis. 

Of course she isn’t here. You both know very well that she isn’t here. 

When Tommy had first introduced the two of you, he’d cornered Joel at the bar while ordering their third, or maybe fourth, round of drinks.

“She’s a good woman, Joel.” 

“I’m figuring that out just fine.” He’d smirked, taking a preliminary sip of his beer before glancing back at you. Your elbows were perched on the wooden table, chin resting on your palms as you exchanged low-looks and snickers with Maria sat across from you. 

“No, you don’t get it. She’s good. She’s kind. Her daddy’s the pastor here.”

“Not settin’ me up with a Bible basher are you, little brother? She gon’ make me wait until I give her a ring?” 

He’d felt like an ass as soon as he’d opened his mouth, which was made worse by Tommy’s unchanging expression. He didn’t look irate or tired of Joel’s age-old shit – the face behind his warning was unwaveringly sincere.

“Just don’t hurt her.” 

And in that moment, Joel couldn’t fathom anything as desacrating as hurting you. He had returned Tommy’s solemnity with a nod and carried your drinks back to your table; the remainder of the night blurring into the rest of his life.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you that night. Joel is stubborn in love, and it took months of langorous warmth to thaw his roughness. 

You didn’t make him wait for a ring.

Nights spent in symphony with one another were the only moments Joel could bring himself to touch you. There, he knew how to work his hands, his tongue, his hips. Not once would he hesitate in reaching out to smooth a thumb across your forehead. He moved like a river, flowing into your body in desperation to meet the ocean. 

And you wondered if he did it on purpose, or if he knew that he was doing it at all. Passing him in the intimacy of his home or the vastness of the food hall, you were only ever hungry for his skin against yours. 

Slowly, you crept into his skin through his pores. You made his days sweeter and smoother wherever and however you could, hoping perhaps one evening his fingers would brush yours as you set a plate on the table before him.

But here you rise, swallowed in the rosy light of dawn with damp cheeks and all faith robbed from your chest.

“I can’t do this here, Joel.” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and attempt to put as much distance between the two of you as you pass him in the aisle.

“Then don’t. Come home.”

For a second he debates reaching out to you, wrapping you in his arms and letting you beat against his chest as your body racks with sobs. But the moment soon escapes him and he’s following you into the morning air.

“I buried my home a week ago.” You spoke flatly, bones void of any remnants of anger or fight. “You know what my daddy told me before he died?” 

He thinks he does. Moreso, he can hazard a guess. 

Nevertheless, he can’t quite seem to find his voice as you bring yourself to a halt. The morning sun peeks between the buildings behind you.

“Told me one day you’d play me for a fool. And look at me now.” You shook with breathy laughter. “He’s in the ground and there’s another woman keeping the man I love’s bed warm.”

Jackson would soon be rising with the sun. It had almost been a full day since you’d come home from patrol an hour earlier than Joel expected.

In truth, it hadn’t been the clothes strewn over kitchen chairs and draped over the bannisters. Not even the warm smell of salt and latex that hit you before you’d opened the bedroom door.

Joel’s fingers grazed the small of her back, tracing lazy shapes up and down her spine. Your stomach tightened into a small fist, losing all composure you had truly tried to maintain in your ascent up to the bedroom.

You had never even really been one to fight. Your father had taught you to handle yourself, and you’d learnt what was necessary to survive in the new world. 

Really, you wanted to pollute the skin beneath Joel’s touch. You wanted for him to never touch anything beautiful again; to never grasp at cold cotton sheets in the middle of the night; to never feel the slow threat of rain tapping against his skin.

Life began to creep in around the two of you. Ellie and Tommy would soon come looking for Joel to set off on morning patrol.

“One day, Joel, someone is going to give you exactly what you deserve. And I pray to God that I’m there to see it.”

You turn on your heel, leaving Joel to watch as your hair sways from side-to-side down your back. He swallows the lump formed in his throat and tilts his chin to the sky, blinking away the threat of tears moistening his lower lashes. 

He wipes his hands against his jeans and straightens his torso, forcing a low cough to clear his throat. 

Peaches, he thinks. Tonight he will bring you peaches, and he will watch as the juice spills from the side of your mouth. He will reach a thumb to wipe it away, and he will hold you. For as long as you let him; as long as he breathes.

[benevolentcalamity]

Dragon (Maythyr) x Female!Reader [3/3]

Now, I do believe Maythyr may be the husbando I wanted him to be, which makes me very happy. So as a special treat, you guys get the special third part! Now you can fuck him. :D

My special, loving regards to my dear friend Chelsea, without whom this would’ve never been remembered.

Enjoy!

Warning: This fic contains smut, pregnancy, and references to parental alcoholism.

CURTAINS!

You remember it well, even moreso than the day you discovered him for the first time.

Maythyr had earned your father's respect and your mother's gentlehearted approval. Not just because of him clearly being a seasoned warrior, but his accolades through his time - some of them more ambiguous due to him being a dragon in disguise - as well as the good words of praise in the letters he brought. Those were surely just to stroke his own ego, but he had the knowledge of human societal customs to know he could walk the walk and provide proof of his footprints.

Now to be honest, your father is indeed the 'what you do to my daughter, I do to you' kind, which may also be why you would have men lined out the door for you if not for him. Then again that's likely so that anybody that can get past him is worthy of even breathing your air... Which is a fair improvement when he's been drinking.

After a hearty dinner with them, during which Maythyr spoke - rather happily in fact - of his recent campaign in the north. Luckily for him his armor implied what his words did not: he was from the northern kingdoms, defending them. He would go on to whisper to you that he was actually just usurping them, but he didn't have it in him to displease your parents in such a way or give them cause for concern.

Once all was said and done, he knelt before your parents - something he himself said he'd only ever do for you - and asked for your hand in marriage. After a bombarding of questions that would make the most patient of sages enraged, he received their blessing.

At first, you have admitted it confused you. By all rights, Maythyr didn't have to - he could've just swooped you up and gotten you the easy way. But in his words, the easy way was doing it 'properly' to minimize the amount of people that would be upset with him down to the boys that would chase your hips if you weren't careful. And besides, to just do that would undo all the hard work he put in to ‘appear’... well, human.

So to the village itself, he is a living legend. To you, he’s the Dragon God of War.

Now that the recap is just about over, the little extra pages that don’t mean anything will be flipped to this current moment.

The ceremony was planned admittedly quickly, as Maythyr agreed to marry you in the village. Not to say he had plans of taking you elsewhere far away - he did, you know, he just doesn’t mention it - but it wouldn’t be fair for him to have received their blessing and not witnessed the two of you together. It’s the sort of thing that kills a dragon inside, but according to him it stopped being the sort of thing that bothers him centuries ago. Actually he said decades, but you humor him.

So you’re standing here, in a white gown, as your mother gives the final touches on your hair.

“And not to worry, sweetheart,” She softly assures, tucking some stray strands back into your ‘do. “I’ll make sure [dad’s name] doesn’t drink too much.”

“I am concerned, mom, that he’s been drinking too much lately,” You frown. “It’s one thing to have some ale to take the anxious edge off, but to drink almost a full pint every couple days...”

“Believe me, it worries me as well.” She sweetly kisses your cheek. “But not to worry, Malcolm-” the village elder- “and the others will be watching him carefully.”

It is true. Your dad’s a very cheery drunk, it’s true, but he’s long forgotten what it’s like to be clearheaded and sober. When last you asked when he’d been sober, he simply pulled you into a hug and said you had beautiful eyes. Either he had no idea what you asked him, or he did know and just decided not to burden you with the truth. Whatever it is, it’ll eventually tear this family apart.

But for now, you’ll be assured everyone will make sure he’s not as drunk. Though you are brought back from those concerns when she softly nudges your arm.

“You just concentrate on Maythyr. Today is the day for both of you - nothing else matters, alright?” She finishes straightening everything out. “I’m so proud right now... My baby’s found someone!” Now it’s your turn to prevent the waterworks. “No, no... Sorry, I lost myself for a moment. Are you ready?”

You smile.

“Let’s do this.”

___

Now, considering this is a mountain village, it would be forgiven - expected, even - to not have a simple chapel. However, you lot are lucky, considering a few clergymen became a congregation, and finally with the help of donations one was erected. A huge one was unwanted, unnecessary, and so it’s a quaint building with the stained glass and angelic statues to signify the love you all poured into it. The presence of God is strong there.

Once you’re at the doors, that’s when dad hurries over. You sigh in admitted relief upon seeing his skin crystal clear and not a stagger in his step.

“Thanks, dad,” You say softly as he loops your hand into his arm, to which he gives a squeeze.

“I’m not missing a day like this,” He replies, kissing the side of your head - and undoing some of your mom’s handiwork. “Oops.”

“He won’t notice some stray hairs,” You chuckle. “... Alright, let’s do this.”

As if on cue, the doors open with a resounding, somewhat elegant ‘creak’. Rows of people dressed to the nines stand up, making a perfect aisle. Swallowing, you walk in perfect tandem with your father, nodding at some of the happy faces so that your frayed nerves will begin to calm down.

Once you look up again, there’s a breathtaking sight.

Maythyr’s abandoned his armor. Instead some deep black and white flowing robes teasing his chest a bit - you would swoon if he wasn’t wearing pants - blow in the faint breezes. His hair pouring down his back as the mountain streams, he looks right out of a fantasy novel from once upon a time. Sharply lined sapphire eyes crinkle in unfiltered happiness at the sight of you.

Wordlessly dad kisses your cheek, passing your hand to Maythyr’s awaiting one, and you stand opposite your dragon. With his touch, cradling your hands with utter delicacy, your troubles and anxieties melt to the wind, and for a moment you don’t even register anymore the music being played at the far side.

“I bid you all welcome,” The pastor greets. “We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, which shall unite [Name] [Last Name] and Knight Maythyr-” Oh, that’s right, Maythyr neglected a last name- “in matrimony.”

Blinking, you note some figures outside each window, and lean in, which Maythyr reciprocates as the pastor continues. “Maythyr, do you know them?” You whisper.

He nods, keeping his voice down. “They are my fellows.” A wink; they’re dragons too. “I gathered them during my campaign, and about commanded them to bear witness and protect us.”

“Us, you mean... well, myself,” You chortle, and it only gets worse when he chuckles in affirmation. “You do think of everything.”

“To be expected from a god of war such as I, my dear.” He sneaks a tap to your nose. “I’m more marvelous than you think.”

“Try me,” You smile, earning a suggestive smirk before you straighten your backs in unison, continuing to listen to the sermon.

“-And who choose to spend the rest of their lives together.” The pastor looks between you two with a playful scolding look. “This ceremony does not birth a new relationship between the pair of you, nor are old ties forgotten and cast into nothingness. Rather, it is the binding of your two hearts, two souls, that your love may become whole, overcoming every trial and obstacle life shall bring, and join you as one in the eyes of the gods.”

“Alvis!” A hushed voice from the dark corners by the door perks up your ears. “You idiot! That’s your cue!”

Chortling, you watch as a scarlet haired man, clearly a bit boggled, elegantly steps through the aisle, a pillow in his hands. For a moment he gives Maythyr an annoyed glance completely ignored, long ears twitching as he hands the pillow to the pastor, whom unfolds the fabric atop it. Once his work is done he retreats behind Maythyr, folding his hands before his stomach.

... Ah?

Maythyr taps your one hand in reply - a message that he will explain later - before having to break from you to receive one of the rings. It’s a fine iron, as opposed to the traditional gold. To you it means more, for reasons you’ll find words for soon, and to Maythyr it’s a symbolism of your silent, pure, and true acceptance of his being a dragon. It melts his prideful countenance, if for a moment, and clearly he’s having to restrain himself from kissing you right there.

Not yet.

“Maythyr, if you would put this ring on [Name]’s finger and repeat after me.” Maythyr follows the pastor’s instructions, slipping your ring on and clasping that hand in both of his. “I, Maythyr, do eternally swear.”

“I, Maythyr, do eternally swear.”

“That I shall take thee as my wife.”

“That I shall take thee as my wife.”

“To have and to hold.”

“To have and to hold.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“Through sickness and in health.” His adam’s apple bounces with a restrained chortle of irony, which you respond to with narrowing your eyes playfully.

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“T’il death do us part.”

“T’il death do us part.”

You hear mom choking up beside you in the front, but then you’re taken from the sound by the pastor handing you the other ring.

“[Name], if you would put this ring on Maythyr’s finger and repeat after me.”

You nod, slipping the ring onto his finger, clasping his hand in both of yours this time. Man, you feel so small.

“I, [Name], do eternally swear.”

“I, [Name], do eternally swear.”

“That I shall take thee as my husband.”

“That I shall take thee as my husband.”

“To have and to hold.”

“To have and to hold.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“T’il death do us part.”

“T’il death do us part.”

Turning pink, you allow Maythyr to return your hands into comfortably resting inside his, and the sun slowly lights up the room more and more.

“If anyone has just cause for these two not to be joined in union...” The pastor’s voice turns a bit low. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Nervously, you turn your eyes to the congregation. Your blood runs cold, if for a moment, when dad’s hands twitch ever so slightly. As if noticing your worries, he meets your eyes, giving you a reassuring smile. Simpering, you return your attention to Maythyr, and he gives your hands a soft squeeze.

“Well, then.” The pastor’s voice is jovial once more. “By the power vested in me, I declare [Name] and Maythyr husband and wife.” He then smiles. “Kiss your bride, Maythyr.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Maythyr reaches up to cup your face, pulling you into a deep kiss. There’s cheering, there’s clapping, even some whistling going on, but you don’t care. Deep inside, there’s a stirring feeling, perhaps even a liberating one; like your soul is being warmed by a gentle fire. There’s also a sensation like something kind of poking you, but you choose to ignore that one.

At last... at long last, you’ll be together now.

__

Now this is you we’re talking about - there is no way you, a beloved part of this village, aren’t getting an absolute party  for your wedding. Matter of fact, Maythyr too was all about it, and so before you knew it there were lanterns, song, and dance lighting up the fading dusk. Not to mention the delicious food lining every corner of the venue - even the not-that-hidden dragons Maythyr invited are digging it.

One leg a bit sore from your one dance with your dad, you watch from the punch line - Grizelda’s secret - as he downs his first drink, in the general view of the village elders as promised. Well, at least he’ll be supervised...

A pair of arms loops around your waist, and you smile, reassured, leaning back into Maythyr’s chest.

“I’ll say one thing,” He murmurs, sending chills down your back. “You humans very much know how to throw a party.”

You chortle. “What, dragons don’t dance?” You tease, nudging his arm.

“Our only ‘dance’ is in combat, love.” He gives your ear a nip. “... Elsewhere, too.” The connotations aren’t unnoticed.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back to meet his eyes properly, him softly toying with the stray strands of hair. “Maythyr.”

“Mmm?” He nuzzles the side of your head.

“My parents must be allowed to see us,” You mention. “I know you don’t like visitors, but... I don’t want to lose my family.”

“... Very well.” He’s a bit begrudging - the generic nature of a dragon being possessive - but his voice doesn’t express it that well. You can detect it all the same. “You are my treasure, but more importantly you are my mate; consider your wishes mine as well.”

You flutter inside, smiling a bit. “And our children, too... How many kids do you want, Maythyr?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, by the gods-!” You playfully smack his forearm, to which he pulls your cheek, the two of you erupting in fits of laughter as his other hand goes and tickles your belly for a moment.

“Come, now.” He starts leading you back towards the party. “If you’re not at all spent, I think it’s time they learned how to dip.”

“Maythyyyyyr!”

The both of you look, and your dad is stumbling over, tanker in hand, giving your new husband some kind of eye. A stinkeye? Can he even give those when he’s almost drunk as all fuck?

At the flick of a wrist, Maythyr readopts the cordial nature he greeted him with when he came back to get you when he promised to. With a smile, the natural growl in his voice is turned way low, and he again appears human even to you for a moment.

“Hello, father,” He greets. “Ah, it is okay to call you father, right?”

“Yes...” Dad drawls. “But you better understand one thing.”

Maythyr crosses his arms, tilting his head feigning an innocent stare.

“What you do to my daughter...” As he swigs his tanker, you notice people keeping their eyes on him. “I do to you.”

Worriedly, you look towards Maythyr, and-

Oh.

Flip-flopping from his innocent expression, his lips stretch into a smile too big for his face, narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows before wiggling them. A provocative, suggestive expression, indeed. One that double dog dares your dad to live up to it. An amused snort-hum leaves him, almost leaking fire, but dad’s already so drunk he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Realizing how Maythyr had silently twisted his words, a cold sweat perspires from dad’s face, and he starts stammering in an attempt to backtrack so his new son will stop looking at him like that. He’s drowned out, promptly, by the howling laughter of whoever could understand what was going on. Leaving the kids attending in the dark, the lot of you seemingly reignite the party, and the dancing continues as old Malcom leads dad away to sober up or throw up - one of the two.

“And just so you know,” You remember Maythyr whispering once it’s time for the lanterns to go out, having slipped you into the shadows to steal a kiss. “There’s only one thing dragons are better at than fighting. Do you dare to hazard a guess?”

You grinned.

“You’re on.

___

“A-aah!”

The palace in Arktikania, where the snow masks rotting kills and the howling wind carries song but mutes screams and moans. Dragons under Maythyr’s command as their god of war fly to and fro, fresh from reconnaissance or campaigning. But none dare disturb the palace’s uppermost rooms apart from the throne at the apex.

Why? Well...

“Hnnhhh...” Maythyr purrs, massaging the soft skin of your breasts. “Such a good girl...” Pulling one into his mouth, he sucks hungrily, watching your reactions as you struggle to keep balanced.

The proper answer to Maythyr’s question is on full display. After some non-permanent goodbyes, he took you up here to give you a proper wedding consummation. At least, that was kind of his words - his actual words were a whoooole lot hungrier. Not that they bear repeating, mostly because it’s the sort of thing he rather stay with you.

Both hands tangling into his hair, you arch your back a bit, feeling his other hand slipping down between your legs. Your naked body is protected from the climate by the insulating fabrics that curtain the bed. It’s by no means a small one, considering he also likes sleeping as his dragon self still, so there’s plenty of room for these little games. And being a creature known for being able to rage on for years if they must, well... you’ll be feeling this one when it ends. If you even want it to.

“Maythyr... Ah...” You moan, your head lolling back a bit as you feel his fingers slip into your folds. Wasting no time ‘hooking’ you in with one, his hips grind up into your legs, his lips curling into a smile whilst sucking.

All too soon he breaks from you, lifting you up and plopping you onto your back with ease. Just as you think to complain he lifts your hips, looping his arms around your thighs and pressing them against his ears. An uneven gasp rips from you as his forked tongue laps up your wetness.

“Gh-ah! M-Maythyr-!” You squeak, hands flying back towards his hair.

Like an answer to your prayers, he fully presses his face into your arousal, tongue sliding inside you with ease. Arching into him, your grip on his hair tightens, only seeming to egg him on. As though wanting to see how far you can go his pace quickens, and outside you he nips and sucks where he is able. Every nook and vein is licked and sucked with ravenous greed, and only when he opens his eyes once more and meets your pleading stare do you realize he intends to do more than just absolutely nail you.

An almost devilish grin cements this, before he plasters himself to you once more, going full-force inside you. The tips of his tongue about wrap around your sweet spot, wriggling it until a pulsing inferno bubbles in your hips. Your vision is flooding with the very stars, and your breath is wrenched from you as your heat begins to clamp down and pulsate around him.

“A... Aahh... Ah...!” You let out, before finally your orgasm takes hold. “Aaaaahhh!”

His tongue pulls out, but like a drunkard he’s gulping down all the ambrosia seeping from your trembling pussy, savoring it like a fine wine. Once you’ve given all you’re able right now, he lowers your hips once more,  moving upwards so he can kiss you. Not caring that you can taste yourself on him, you allow your tongue to be wrapped up and played with, his hands holding your head and hips grinding into yours.

Eventually, he pulls away, moving down and nipping at your neck. “I just can’t get enough of you, treasure...” He purrs, both hands caressing your breasts. “Mmm... You’re so warm, my dear... And wet.” He chuckles. “You’re so eager to be this dragon’s prize, aren’t you?”

Sitting up, he spreads your legs widely, nipping at your ankles. Unrestrained, he stares hungrily at the visible clenching.

Finally, you can bear it no longer. “P-please...” You whimper.

He snickers, nibbling at your shins. “Please what, lovely?”

Unsure if you can even hang onto your dignity at this rate, you plead, “Please, Maythyr-! Fuck me!”

His smile doesn’t falter, instead dripping with a beast no longer to be restrained. “Good girl.” Leaning forward, he pushes your knees up to your chest, hovering  so his cock teases your heat. Biting his lip in concentration - by the gods if that isn’t the sexiest thing he does - he loops his arms through your shoulders, parting his thighs to better split your legs.

Wanting to savor this, he nips your lips as he pushes inside, rumbling deep in his chest as his cock effortlessly melds into you. Moving one hand to your belly he rubs the resulting bulge with a chuckle. Once the discomfort fades, you nod, and almost abandoning restraint he’s pumping in and out of you, as if intending to mold you into his cock’s shape.

“Ahhh... Ahh... Aaaah!” You moan, arching up into him as your hands claw at his back. “M-Maythyr-! Aaah!” Stars only begin glittering your vision when he pulls your legs up into his arms, pushing your hips up so he can get even deeper. With each thrust pounding every good spot you’re left mewling, crying out, thankful for every protection around you two. He won’t care about you screaming his name into the arctic winds - matter of fact he’d aim for it. But right now, he’d rather just have this.

“Nngh...” He grunts. “Heh, if I knew you were this good, I’d have figured out a human form the first time you came to me in the mountain.”

You can’t even answer him; any attempt at words just comes out as a squeal or a moan - which he is definitely doing on purpose. After all, he did promise you the night of your life... And it’s hardly past midnight-!

“A-ah?” Something feels different.

Opening your eyes, you watch as Maythyr... shifts, kind of. His black scales become more prominent on his neck and cheeks, eyes more serpentine like his full dragon form. Inside you his cock grows larger, even seeming to change its shape a bit, and you squeak, walls clamping down and pulsing around it. The base of his shapeshifted cock swells, like a bubble, squeezing against your pussy hungrily.

Swallowing, you dare look down, and-

“Oh, by the gods...” You swoon. “M-Maythyr, you’re knotted-!”

“I know...” He groans, pushing it against you impatiently. “... Can you take it all?”

Not even hesitating, you have your legs in a higher position, ready and willing without taking anything else into account. You don’t care how sore you get or how your body has to contort; you need all of his cock. Right now.

“Give  it to me...” You quiver as he begins thrusting again. “Please...”

He leans down, licking up your neck to your jaw. “Very well... My sweet, good girl, I’ll pump you so full you won’t be able to walk for until our babies are born.”

And without a shadow of hesitation he does just that. Every thrust of his cock, his knot squeezes ever so much more, wanting to be inside you. The way your nails scratch the hardened skin of his back eggs him on, perspiration shining his face as his cock nails you until you’re seeing stars. Only occasionally does he swallow your screams with his tongue, which you respond to by desperately clutching his head.

Fuuuck... You moan as your own tongue is subdued and wrapped up, feeling the bubbling heat in your hips once again...

“I-I’m going to...” You breathe, and- “A-AAAAH!”

Almost unceremoniously, the knot pops right inside you, and that’s when Maythyr is at last at the apex. Much like he would as his fully shifted self, he throws his head back, roaring a mighty roar, and before you know it he’s cumming once; twice; a whopping six times with a driving thrust. Even then there’s still more coming out of him, the knot emptying shamelessly into your womb.

Arching, your orgasm has the combined fluids flooding down your skin and to the bed, hanging onto Maythyr as though you’ll die if you let go of him. When at last the tremors of orgasm cease, and the knot is emptied, the both of you collapse.

Falling down behind you, he wraps you up in his arms as his body is once again fully human. Nuzzling into your back, he’s too fatigued for a witty comment or even some risque implication of the morning’s activities. Instead, he’s silent for a moment, caressing your body delicately and embracing you, peppering your skin with kisses.

Nudging you so you open your eyes, he hovers over you a bit, both hands interlocked under your back. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Barely mustering the strength, you nod, reaching up with trembling fingers and caressing the apple of his mocha cheek. Snorting with palpable adoration, he catches your hand in his, kissing the heel and nipping a bit at your wrist.

That’s when you see the same expression he gave on your wedding. A gentle, endearing smile meant only for you, the only proof of his softness.

“... I love you,” He murmurs, lowering down to kiss your lips. “Ah... By the gods, I love you...”

The blizzard outside is silent once more.

___

Beyond thankful that you still are able to, you’re whiling away the quiet hours with your lyre. You’ve gotten so big you can hardly move, what with the babies seeming to multiply in your belly. Nevermind a bowl or a plate, an entire banquet could fit on it, which is a joke you’ve made many a time every meal you share with your husband.

Speaking of him, he yawns, readjusting so his wing continues to shield you as his tail locks it in place. Chortling, you crane your neck to look at him properly, his one eye peeking open once he senses your gaze.

“How are you feeling, love?” He asks, to which you smile.

“I feel like I could pop any day now, honestly, but even I know it won’t be for a time... As much as it looks like it.” Your fingers don’t even miss a string; you suppose you’re still as adept as ever.

“And that is why I’ve sent Alvis to the west in my stead.” The redhead from the wedding; one of his most trusted war generals. “I do not care the severity of matters overseas - t’is my duty as a husband and a father to be here.”

Your smile only grows. “You’ll be a good one, I’m sure.”

“Yes, I will be. And with a treasure like you as my wife and their mother... Hah, they will be this world’s greatest beings.” And there is that classic Maythyr confidence, along with a puff of his soft chest.

“Speaking of, what names should we give them?” You tilt your head. “You haven’t forgotten about that, right?”

“Of course not. Hmmm... Why not a girl’s name, first? Make that a few. I think... Valka, Lymeria, Rosarion... Yorshka?”

“Those are lovely, Maythyr. And for a boy... Hmmm... Tyr, Egil, Ragarruss?”

“Wonderful.” He moves his head so he can nuzzle you, only slightly obstructing your music. “We’ll revisit the storybooks you love so much when next you feel like walking, we’ll have an entire list then. For now, is there anything you need, or you would like? Are you hungry?”

Simpering, you lean back into his belly, the warmth helping you to relax your back. “Hmmm... I have missed mama’s chocolate cake these days.”

His head snaps back with a laugh, and along a warm snort he nuzzles you once more. “Very well.”

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Hi :)

I really love your story "Late Night Visitor". Would you like to write a second part? Maybe something about how John and Reader try to find more and more opportunities to "spend time together", they are getting more passionate and brave and one time they are almost caught by Winston. Sorry for my English (this is not my 1st language). Your works are great,

Best Wishes,

Late Night Visitor (PT 2) - John Wick x Fem!Reader

Summary: As requested, I wrote a second part to my Late Night Visitor fic. And yes, I know this took me a lifetime. I wrote multiple different variations but I was never happy with the outcome and scrapped them. I'm considering a third part as well!

Contents: Oral smut (m receiving), moments of dominance, soft!John, minimal swearing and dirty talk, implied violence.

Wordcount: 1035

Read part one -> here

Enjoy!

In the back of your mind, you thought the incident with Mr. Wick would be a one-time thing. A man nearing fifty with a young woman barely in her twenties yet. Society would have a rampage. But then it happened again. John couldn't keep his hands off you, and you couldn't resist. And now you were there again in Johns’ reserved room, pressed against the wall while being touched and teased in just the right places.

“Missed you,” he whispers simply as his hand runs along the curve of your bum, giving it a squeeze as his mouth sucks hot welts onto your neck. You whine as all the blood comes to the surface. “Me too…” you whisper, a whine begging to escape your mouth as you spoke. You feel John’s husky breath against your neck as he prepares to speak. “Did you miss my cock?” you whimper at his words and force his knee deeper between your legs. 

John impatiently awaits your answer. “Did you?” he repeats. “Yes,” you spit out. “Missed it so much.” You attempted to pleasure yourself while thinking of John, but it wasn't the same. You couldn't give yourself an orgasm as strong as John knew how to.

John smirks at your answer. “Why don't you show me how much you missed it?” he says, forcing you to your knees as you promptly undo his dress pants, pull down his underwear and take out his half-erect cock. You pump his length in your hand, running your thumb over the tip which rewarded you with a low groan from John. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he hums, running his bruised fingers through your hair. You take one of his hands, inspecting the bruises before giving each knuckle the gentlest of kisses. He had forgotten how it felt like to be cared for. 

John rubs his thumb against your cheek, and before he could say anything else, you licked his tip, causing his hips to buck. “Baby, fuck. Gotta warn me,” he laughs. This was the real John. He may seem like he has a hard exterior, which is true from all the years of training, but inside he just wanted to love somebody, and to be loved.

You let out a soft giggle. “Sorry,” you smile. John was now fully erect in your hand and was silently begging for more. You wrap your lips around the tip, gentle suckling as John's breath gets heavier with every second. “Youre so good at this, baby. Just like that…” he whispers to you. He always loved to talk you through it. This was the third time you two were really alone together. You had your little stolen kisses in the hallways after John studied the corridors for blindspots in the security cameras, and of course that unforgettably embarrassing dinner your father just had to arrange. 

Your father arranged a dinner with a couple of his well-known business partners, and that included John. As his young daughter in law school, you were also invited to socialize with people in your field of study. You felt John's eyes on you the entire night. You tell his blood pressure was rising every time one of the younger male associates gave you more than thirty seconds of attention. 

After one too many awkward conversations, if one could even call them that, you excused yourself to the ladies' room. You grab a paper towel, letting some water moisten it slightly before gently patting your forehead and neck with the cool water. Your panties were soaked and you were immersed in hot flashes from how badly you needed John. He looked so good in a three-piece suit. 

As you leave the restroom you are met with John standing right in front of you. He pulls you into a corner hidden from the main view of the restaurant and kisses you passionately. His hands grab needily at your waist and buttock. You couldn't help but kiss him back but are forced away once reality kicks in.

“John, John!” you quickly push him away. He lets out a sigh and a wash of disappointment splashes on his face. “I’m sorry. It's just hard to keep my hands off you,” he whispers, moving his hands to a respectful area on your upper waist. “Don’t be sorry. I just don't want you to get in trouble, that's all,” you explain, and he nods. “When can I see you again? You know, alone,” he asks as he plays with the hem of your dress. “Soon,” you say. “I’ll come by your room later tonight if it's clear.” That’s how vague the planning had to be. It was all about luck. You had to pray that your father wasn't looking for you, nor that he or Charon was on the same floor as John's room. 

You return to the dinner table, and John returns shortly after. His excuse being that he went out for a smoke break, but everybody at the table couldn't help but notice my faded lipstick and the transferred pigment on John. 

Back at the hotel, you were escorted back to your room by your father, which you though was strange. “Did you have a nice time at the restaurant?” he asks. You ponder. “It was nice. There was a bit of tension, I think. At least on my end,” you explain. “Like what?” your father asks. “Please, do tell.” you sigh. “Well, I feel like your business partners don’t see me as an adult. They don't take me seriously, even if they pretend to,” you say. “I guess the only associate of yours I get along with is John. Mr. Wick,” you say, quickly but ineffectively correcting yourself at the end.

“You like Johnathan. Don’t you?” You swallow thickly. “Define ‘like’,” you say. “You get along with him. He respects you and you respect him,” your father states. “But who am I to say anything about your relationship with him,” he says humbly as you reach your bedroom. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late,” he hums, giving you a kiss on the forehead before leaving to attend to some business. 

Did your father know about your relations with John? You used to be afraid of abandonment and death, but now this was your biggest fear.

[mixterglacia]

CONTENT WARNING

VIVZIEPOP CRITICAL/STOLITZ CRITICAL BELOW THE CUT

You have been warned.

I wanna clear some things up before I get to the episode. (Yes I will clarify when I get into the ep itself.)

Stolitz in and of itself isn't the issue. Them being toxic, or messy isn't actually a problem. In fact, that can make for very interesting characters.

If you actually put in the effort to do so.

Currently as it stands, they're just a lukewarm, half-thought out, sad microwaved piece of steak. They were once a very satisfying meal. They could POTENTIALLY get back to that point. But you have to treat them right.

My biggest issue with these two is how easy they are to fix. Or rather, how easy they could be. I actually don't hate the idea of them together, I just hate how they're executed.

Here's a few things I would have done, and the problems I have with the current state of things.

One, make it like an addiction. I often jab at Stolas being the architect of his own undoing, but...the biggest risk he's taken has already happened. He's gone through with the divorce. As the child of one, they suck but to put it bluntly, Stolas has lost practically nothing.

If he were risking being disowned, that would be one thing. But you've given no indication that he's dealing with anything short of normal problems. Royalty has to deal with assassination attempts already, so Stella trying to take him out is just a Tuesday for him. (In fact, that would be a very funny potential running gag. "Ugh, Stella you really think I would fall for this? You know I have royal bomb sniffers. Try harder, you witch!")

Instead, make it so he and Blitz never had any real reason to keep getting together. Make it so SO easy for them to get over each other. No matter how many 'last times' they have. It's never going to be enough.

Their motives can be different, sure that's great. Blitz started it in a very shallow way, and Stolas craves the relationship he's always wanted. I agree with you, that's an interesting start.

But the book bribery just makes anything in this whole deal lack a punch. Blitz CAN'T get out of this. He has an entire team, one of which is his daughter to support. He literally couldn't get out of this if he wanted to. He likely still thinks the gem is some sort of trick. Like it's a test.

Instead of what it should be. A deep, unavoidable NEED. Something so addicting that they can't stop. They keep falling together, Blitz clearly struggling with his burgeoning desire to stay. Stolas with his clear understanding that he's going to destroy his daughters life.

Because as it stands, it's painfully boring. We've seen plenty of royals hooking up with servants. And that's what Blitz is/was for the grand majority of this. He was that vision he had. A man on a chain, unable to get away from this rich bastard because he NEEDED his magic.

Give me substance. Give me two deeply flawed men finding comfort in their own ruination. Give Stolas more stake in the game. Make his life well and truly fall apart because he just can't stay away, even though it's as easy as breathing.

Because at the end of the day, Viv and Co can't decide what they want. Do they want us to believe that Blitz wants this too? Because I sincerely haven't seen evidence of it.

There is a difference between showing and telling.

You're SHOWING us that Blitz is desperate to keep what little he has afloat. You're SHOWING us a struggling father who's grasping at every little moment to keep his adopted daughter and two employees fed. You're SHOWING us a man so driven to carve out a niche for himself that he'll subject himself to being a prince's dick for hire.

You're TELLING us that he's growing feelings for Stolas. You're TELLING us he's just as wrong as Stolas is.

Blitz is wrong about MANY things, but this isn't one of them.

You're SHOWING us Stolas is constantly demeaning Blitz. You're SHOWING us he's just moping around his big fuck off castle, not putting in more than the bare minimum for his daughter. You're SHOWING us that he's a petulant toddler in a grown man's body. You're SHOWING us that Stolas has allowed Blitz and his daughter to live in abject poverty this whole time.

You TRIED to show us that he's actually got some level of feelings below all that, but you keep throwing the sincerity of that into question.

You're TELLING us that he's always held him in such high regard/value. You're TELLING us to feel bad when he's arguably worse of an asshole than Blitz.

Give us real character development. Not rushed one-liners that are often so hard to tell if they're genuine or not.

My big issue with the Helluverse in general, but ESPECIALLY Boss, is that the team is so obsessed with getting to the juicy bits that they DON'T PUT IN THE EFFORT TO GET THERE. This isn't a telenovela. This is a early 2000's drabble fic pretending to be a plot.

Your work lacks any true substance. It's EMBARRASSING. You're letting your fans do all the work for you and hardly putting forth any quality writing yourself.

You need to stop CONSTANTLY contradicting yourself.

They're both often in the wrong, that much is true. I won't ever argue that. But I am dreading how this episode is going to shit on Blitz when he was ABSOLUTELY JUSTIFIED FOR WHAT HE SAID TO STOLAS.

Okay, let's get into this crap.

Let me start by saying this. Viv and Co? If you're going to try and gaslight me, at least make it fun. Or less obvious.

Why is it bad when Blitz says he wants to earn his ticket to earth? He so SO clearly thinks this is just a test by Stolas. It's so plainly obvious that they never communicate, and why are we pretending Blitz has no right to be mad here? Sure Stolas got hurt, but how is that anything other than his own fault?

Blitz has NEVER pretended he was anything other than a booty call for Stolas. It really REALLY isn't his problem that he didn't recognize that.

"We don't do words. We do sex." There we have it folks.

You can't make me feel bad for Stolas over this. He made a deal with a man who NEEDED him to keep his company running. Why should Blitz have to grow feelings for a man that never wanted more than his body?

“Everyone just hates me for shitty reasons.” This is the line that makes Stolas look like a total dickwad. EVERYONE else (from what we know) has genuine, valid problems with Blitz. Stolas just misunderstood him and is mad that he couldn’t coerce this man into being in a relationship. Why should I feel bad that Blitz ripped into him?

You’re SHOWING me Stolas is throwing a tantrum. Then you’re TELLING me to be mad at Blitz? Fucking why? He’s RIGHT.

“I don’t look down on you!” FUCKING PROVE IT. You’ve made literally no effort outside of some throw away lines to show that he actually cares. Everything he’s after from Blitz is sex. He never gives any hints that he wants more until he explodes. He’s always baby talking him and treating him like a toy. You are SHOWING us something totally at odds with what you’re TELLING us.

Why is Stolas acting like Blitz didn’t send M’n’M to save him? Why is he acting like Blitz wasn’t literally in another ring of Hell during this? Blitz was literally doing all he could in that moment, because NEWS FLASH YOU IDIOT! He was being a good dad and taking care of his daughter! Take notes!

I’m getting very concerned that there’s no continuity editor. Because this was either an intentional misrepresentation of the truth on Stolas’ part, (which if that was the case, he’s even more of a prick.) or they just forgot their own show!

Stolas is crying about showing Blitz so much attention and time and care. WHERE? Is it between the sex and hired jobs? When are they spending quality time together? Sex. Is not. A relationship. Blitz was never putting up signals that he wanted anything more, he is not in the wrong here.

I know damn well Stolas isn’t out here asking Blitz if he feels remorse. DO YOU? I refuse to be gaslit into thinking that Stolas isn’t the problem here. Blitz is totally justified when he shouts that he doesn’t owe Stolas anything. He doesn’t. He never signed up to be in a relationship. He’s functionally just doing his job.

The mini-apology tour was actually quite fun. Especially the humans. Good job.

I’m also somewhat confused why the party was held on Earth. At first I thought it was because the others didn’t know Blitz had the crystal, so they did it in a place he couldn’t go. That would have been a pretty decent stroke of writing on their part. But then they said it was the one night any of them could go through? Why bother with Earth? It just seems kinda pointless? If I’m missing some narrative reason, feel free to let me know.

Honestly the one shining star of this episode is Verosika. She was BRILLIANT. I wasn’t anticipating how much I was going to enjoy her writing. She’s going out of her way to basically give these folks a night to let their hurt out once a year, at her own expense. She’s functionally holding a group therapy session. I really adored that nuance.

Unfortunately, it all just makes Stolas look so much worse. These people were wronged by Blitz. Deeply, truly wronged. (Though how he can cause this much damage in what, like thirty, thirty five years is a lil…weird. Unless she’s just inviting everyone he’s slept with.) Compared to them, Stolas looks like a petty ass.

I’m really not that mad at the song, but more so how she’s trying to make us feel about it. Everything Stolas is saying is more or less true. He’s the one that misinterpreted what they had. He’s the one trying to get this man who never showed any actual interest. He’s the problem. But every time you give us a moment of introspection, you then use it as fuel to try and force us to feel bad for Stolas. For once in this show’s life, can we actually let someone be mad at Stolas and not use it for a future pity party?

He is not the victim in all of this.

While Blitz is an undeniable asshole, he’s not the one that asked for this. He made a desperate deal to try and survive. Never once did he pretend to be anything outside of that. Do you seriously expect me to believe this song is what would make him go “oh no i hurt him im a meanie”?

This would GALVANIZE him. “Fuck this royal bird for pretending I’m such a bad person. Like he wasn’t playing with me like a toy.”

Why should we pretend that this apology/confession isn’t totally out of left field? The only one I wanted to say sorry to was you? He wouldn’t fucking say that! He had what, an afternoon of fake sorries and this is the one he actually wants to give? No!

It feels cheap and rushed. While the sequence is decently written (and very well acted, kudos Brandon) out of contex, it feels stupid when you look at the show as a whole. Especially when you follow it up with Stolas directly stating he just wants SOMEONE to be with. He doesn’t want Blitz. He just wants someone that isn’t obligated to be with him. So why does that have to be Blitz? Why are you forcing this relationship when you directly clarify that Stolas isn’t even after Blitz in particular?

I’m sorry but you all have ship-blinders on.

When you take them off and look at everything in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t work. And that’s okay! It’s honestly fine to let a relationship end! They can be a step on each other’s journeys and there’s nothing wrong with that. I truly don’t get why they’re pushing for this to be the end goal when there’s far more weight in letting them move on. Honestly it’d be refreshing to see them tackle it in such a way!

But that’s the problem I mentioned with Viv and Co’s writing before. They excel in drabbles. But when you try to make a show out of drabbles, it falls apart eventually. The narrative doesn’t flow. The characters are all over the place. It makes it all the more infuriating when you get moments like the balcony sequence.

Gods that started so strong. It was so SO well done.

Then you shoot it in the foot by once again trying to force this boring, broken ship down our throats. You know what Blitz needs?

SOMEONE THAT WANTS HIM FOR WHO HE IS. NOT SOMEONE THAT’S JUST LONELY AND WANTS ANYONE THAT LOOKS HIS WAY.

He deserves Fizz. Or hell, he deserves to grow as a person and learn to love himself outside of the lens of others. He shouldn’t have to keep chasing a guy he didn’t like in the first because he thinks no one else will have him.

That’s pathetic and sad. Why should we be rooting for these two? Just because Stolas felt bad that he was using Blitz’s desperation as a tool to keep fucking him? I DON’T FEEL BAD WHEN HE CLEARLY WAS EXPECTING BLITZ TO ROLL OVER AND THANK HIM FOR COMMON DECENCY. You don’t do good deeds to expect anything. Despite them TELLING us he was willing to give Blitz the crystal, come what may, that’s not what they SHOWED us.

Stolas is a total creep and I won’t be gaslit into wanting them back together. Until they actually prove to us that he can value Blitz as a PERSON and not a toy? Hard pass.

Learn how to actually write a good toxic ship and get back to me. Because for how interesting these two can be, you had the unmitigated gall to make them BORING. Christ on a bike, let Blitz be interesting in his own fucking show challenge. You can’t just write the fun bits. You gotta work for it.

[silverstonesainz-archive]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

MASTERLIST

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; and the days keep rolling forward 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 9.2k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; explicit language

tuesday

It’s been about a week since Pierre has seen Ellie. Sophie has done her best to try and go back to her normal routines, to pretend like it didn’t happen and that it hasn’t bothered her. 

But it’s hard. 

Sophie sighs softly to herself, making her way down to the shop just before eight, with Ellie on her hip. She twists the key, unlocking the shop and flicking on the lights of the small room. She sets her daughter down in her playpen before doing the morning procedures.

There’s something therapeutic about the first hour of business, the quiet of the store hugging her as she moves expertly around her shop. The feeling of watching the chaos of the day before being wound back up, the colors lining up perfectly and scraps of thread and fabric disappearing. She thinks back to when she was pregnant, the early mornings spent in the empty shop with her daughter keeping her company. What used to be kicks in her swollen belly, are now soft babbles echoing softly in the room. Elise has always kept her company in these quiet mornings, and she wouldn’t change a thing about it. 

The hour goes by quietly. Teddy arrives only two minutes past nine, drink carrier with two coffees in one hand, and her ipad in the other. Her hair is tied up and out of her face, glasses sitting at the edge of her nose. Sophie offers her a smile, and Teddy mumbles a good morning. She sets her stuff down by her table before walking over to Sophie to give her her tea. 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Better.”

“Anything new?”

Sophie shakes her head and Teddy nods. The young girl turns on her heel and returns to her work station, slowly undoing the work her boss did not too long ago. Sophie moves behind the counter, plopping onto the chair to watch her daughter play with a block in her playpen. There’s a brief moment of what she can only describe as ease. It only lasts a couple of seconds, but it’s nice. Ellie looks up at her mom, a grin on her face as she holds up the block to hand to her. She mumbles a thanks, taking the block from the little girl and setting it on her lap. They play this quiet game of Ellie handing her blocks in exchange for one she handed Sophie earlier for a couple of minutes before the door chimes jingle and she has to turn away.

The day goes by in a blur. Sophie goes through the motions of the life she’s lived the last two years. Stitch after stitch, different colors of fabric and thread, the pile of buttons she still had yet to sort through, it all whips past her. She doesn’t register the two customers that did eventually stop by, letting Teddy deal with them as she continues to push the material through the machine. The only moments of clarity in her day is when she looks at her daughter, when she picks her up and sits her on her lap. Ellie is her anchor, the only reason why she’s seemed to hold onto reality for as long as she has. 

Sophie watches the sun set from the balcony of her apartment later that day, she watches as the sun begins to kiss the skyline, disappearing behind buildings and greenery. There’s a piece of her that wishes to go with the sun, to sink further and further beyond the horizon and to light a new place. 

Ellie babbles behind her, and when she turns her head she sees her daughter pulling herself up onto her feet with the help of her crib. She wobbles, knees giving out and then she’s right back on her bum. She looks up at her mother for reassurance, and Sophie smiles. 

“You got it baby,” She coos softly, walking back into the room. She plops by her daughter, rubbing her back softly, “Want mama to help?”

Her daughter shakes her head up and down, and Sophie smiles. She helps her daughter up onto her feet again, guiding her hands to grasp the bars of her crib. Slowly, she retracts her hold, palms still facing her daughter’s body in case she needs to break her fall. Ellie wobbles ever so slightly, but she finds her balance. Sophie cheers softly, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek before showering her in praise. 

It’s another moment of clarity. Watching her daughter pull herself up onto her feet is enough to make her heart feel warm and forget the turmoil of her reality beyond the confines of her little studio apartment in Kamari. She likes this version of her story, the one where it’s just her and Ellie. No worry about who dad is, and what would happen if dad did see her. 

She soaks in the moment, just her and her daughter in a little apartment outside of the city. She thinks about the dream she is living, and that she gets to live it with another piece of her. She’s proving to herself that she’s more than her mother made her out to be, that she is leading a happier life– even with baby daddies all in the mix. Sophie smiles to herself, watching as her daughter bounces herself up and down, soft uh uh uh’s all while she does so.

She wonders how long this quiet will last. If she’ll ever feel this way again, the sense of true serenity, even with all the noise. Because that’s what the rest of the world is. Noise. 

There was a time when she loved the noise. She loved the chaos, the messiness, the feeling of falling and not worrying about where she might land. It was a false sense of security, a bit of naivety even, on her part. Always looking at all the good, ignoring the bad lurking in the corner. She’s always been one to focus on the sunshine and rainbows, nevermind the dark cloud that looms. 

Ellie falls back onto her bum, tired from standing. Sophie hums softly as she turns her daughter and hands her a stuffed giraffe. She watches quietly, watches the way Ellie holds the stuffed animal close to her chest. It’s reminiscent of the way her mother would clutch her against her chest, full of love and relief. Sophie leans down to press a kiss against her daughter’s messy curls. 

The door knob jiggles and opens, Mick sticking his head through the cracked open door before fully stepping in and smiling. He holds out a plastic bag with styrofoam takeout containers. It smells heavily of garlic and basil, it fills the small space of the studio apartment quickly. Sophie inhales deeply, exhaling with a content sigh. 

“Mick Schumacher, you know how to make my day.”

wednesday

Pierre sits in the plush seat of the hotel cafe, anxiously bouncing his leg up and down as he nibbles on the cuticle of his thumb. He stares at his phone, waiting for a call or text that might never come. It’s been this way for a week. He wakes up, hoping that there would be an unknown number on his screen, maybe a text with Sophie’s name attached to it, something to give him a bit of hope that he’d have a chance at… at anything. He knows he’s fucked up a good thing, that he’s soiled any kind of relationship he could have with Sophie, but there’s a part of him that holds on to the possibility of having a relationship with his daughter. 

And the possibility that that little girl is his daughter.

Charles had worked long and hard to talk him off that ledge, reminding him that he truly knows nothing. But there’s a nagging feeling that sits in his chest. It squeezes his heart, tugs on it. Maybe it’s blind hope like Charles said, but Pierre likes to think it’s more than that. The feeling is much like someone clutching a magnet just above a metal surface. There’s a pull, tension between the two elements, begging to be stuck to the other, if not for the vice grip that holds it back. Pierre wants to think that it’s more than hopeless hope. It has to be. 

He doesn’t notice the waitress setting his hot drink down, or the way the top buttons of her uniform are now undone. She stands there for a second more, hoping the gentleman would spare her a glance, flash her those pretty blue eyes. But nothing. Pierre is too focused on his screen, thumb still between his front teeth. The waitress huffs, turning on her heel and stomping back to her place behind the counter. 

Pierre only looks up at the sound of a deep chuckle, index finger immediately pressing down on the power button to lock his screen. 

“The barista has the hots for you mate.” 

Pierre furrows his brow, “Sorry?”

The man flicks his chin over at the girl who is now taking another order, a slightly disgruntled look on her face as she punches the order into the register. He lets a short breath out of his nose, sitting up in his chair and putting his phone down on the table, screen up. 

“Not my type.” He holds his hand out, “Pierre Gasly, Chief Investment Officer of Alpine Corporations.”

“It’s a pleasure Mr. Gasly. I’m Max Verstappen, senior engineer at RBR Engineering. But please, call me Max.”

“Please, Pierre is fine.”

They share a firm handshake before they sit opposite of each other. Pierre lets Max take the lead, allowing him to show him facts and figures, and sketches and ideas he clearly worked hard on. Had it been any other day, under any other circumstance, he would’ve given more to the conversation. He’d be giving input, asking for changes and talking about a vision of grandeur. But his mind was far from hotel renovations. They sit with Sophie and her baby girl in their little apartment, pondering over what they were doing at that moment. He tries to imagine the baby smiling, trying to imagine what her laugh might sound like.

“Pierre?” 

The sound of his name pulls him from his thoughts. “Sorry, could you repeat?”

Max nods, pulling out a sheet of paper he had just put away. He points to the graphic again, re-explaining the point he was trying to make. Pierre nods, hands rubbing his beard roughly as he tries to comprehend what is being explained to him for the sake of saving face and not asking the man to repeat for the third time. 

“I see…” Pierre hums, pulling the paper closer to him, “I mean, it’s a good idea but I just don’t think it’s cohesive with what our company wants to do. I’ll show it to my boss though, maybe we can come to a compromise.” 

Max smiles, “Sounds good. You can keep that copy, I have another in my room.” 

Pierre mumbles a thanks, slipping the sheet of paper into his folder. He huffs, picking up his phone in hopes that her name would magically appear on his screen. But nothing has changed, his screen is still void of her. He sighs softly, slamming the phone back down on the table. He doesn’t catch the way Max raises his brow up at him, a questioning look on his face. Pierre bites down on the joint of his index finger, leg bouncing even quicker. His self-pity begins to churn in his stomach. 

“You good man?”

He looks up at Max, releasing his finger from between his teeth. “Sorry. This isn’t very professional of me, I just have a lot on my mind as of late.” 

“I get it… girl problems?”

“Family problems.”

Max’s eyes grow wide, lips puckered slightly at the revelation. “Oh, I see. Got a…?”

Pierre feels a twinge of guilt for claiming the little girl as his, but he runs with it anyway. “Daughter. Baby girl.” 

He licks his lips, cheeks puffing in a small smile at the words that fall from his lips. His daughter, his baby girl. He looks down at his phone again, praying that the screen would light up. Max’s eyes flicker up from the man across him and the phone on the table. 

“They’ll call soon mate… and it’ll all work out.”

Pierre chuckles softly, nodding as he mumbles a thanks. Max isn’t even fully completely aware of the situation, and if he were he’d probably think he’s a fucked up person. He looks at the dirty blonde ahead of him, eyes scanning his features, and there’s a wave of familiarity that runs over him. He leans forward, elbows on the table, and the tip of his nose between opposite index fingers. 

“Have we met before?” Pierre asks, folding his hands in front of him. 

Max tilts his head, brows furrowed and bottom lip jutted out in thought. He’s about to shake his head but that’s when it hits him. Pierre sees recognition fill his blue eyes, and the way his skin slowly begins to turn pink. The man’s shoulders turn rigid while he shifts in his chair. His nose flairs ever so slightly and he clears his throat. 

“You were in Sophie’s shop.” Pierre confirms. “That day we were arguing.” 

Max parts his lips, index finger pointed, but a new presence appears at the table. The man’s smile is wide, unknowing of the growing tension between the two men seated at the table. Max doesn’t even bother to look up, instead turning the opposite way to hide the clear look of irritation and damn near anger that is written all over his face. 

“Sorry guys, I had some things to deal with but I’m here now. What’d I miss?”

Neither of them speak for a moment, both reeling over the memory of their first encounter. Sophie begging him to leave, and this…. Whoever this is, coming in and coming to her rescue. It looms over them, and they both don’t know how to move forward with each other. Pierre finds himself wondering if it’s even worth pursuing business anymore, all things considered. But he’d be stupid if he passed up on an opportunity like this. His boss would have his ass. 

The man clears his throat, hoping to gain the attention of the two men. Max still doesn’t turn, so Pierre speaks up instead.

“Sorry I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Pierre Gasly of Alpine Corporations. You must be the Manager of Hotel Operations?” 

The man smiles, nodding and sticking his hand out. “That’s me. I’m Daniel Ricciardo, but please call me Daniel.”

thursday

daniel r. 4:29 PM hey, how bout that greek lesson?

daniel r. 9:33 AM sophie rae, when can i see you again?

daniel r. 10:58 PM is everything okay?

Daniel stares at the three unanswered texts under Sophie’s name. The desperate cries for attention, with no response from her. He leans back in his chair, twirling a pen between his index and middle finger as sets his phone back down on his desk, screen down. He hums to himself, gaze shifting over to the painting he finished not too long ago. It leans against his wall, still needing a place. It feels a little too much to hang up a painting of her in his office. No one would know that it’s her except for himself, but still. There’s a sense of discomfort, like he needs to ask her first before even considering hanging it up. 

He picks up his phone, typing up his fourth attempt at a conversation before holding the backspace button until all the letters disappear. The clock shifts from 12:59 to 1:00. Work is done, at least for Daniel. He gathers his belongings, stuffing them into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder and clocking out. He waves to his coworkers, to the people who were just coming in and the ones who were on their way out. He hums softly as he climbs into his truck, staring at the empty text thread with Sophie. He nibbles on the peeling skin of his bottom lip, picking up his phone for a brief second before dropping it back down onto his lap. There isn’t much else he can say, because if Sophie won’t reply, then she won’t. She’s not much of a texter, he recalls.

“So no chance I can get your number?” Daniel asked as he walked her up to the station. Sophie smiled, shaking her head before moving on her tiptoes to press a slow kiss against his lips. 

“Mmm, I’m not much of a texter Danny.” She mumbled against his lips. 

He chuckled, smiling against her lips as he pulled her flush against him by her hips. He kissed her slowly, hoping that the next couple of moments he had left with her would last longer. Sophie's hands wrapped around him, hands resting at the nape of his neck. He could feel the way her finger would twirl around the curls there, before holding them in her fist. He could feel her smile, trying to pull away from him. But Daniel chased after her, leaning forward to catch her lips one more time. He’d never forget the way she laughed against him, the way it made him smile and finally let her pull away. But his hands never left her, he’d hold her for as long as she’d let him. 

“And there’s no way I can convince you to stay one more day?” He whispered, clasping his fingers on the small of her back. 

She shook her head, but her smile was sad. “Clean break… remember?” 

Daniel smiled, nodding as he leaned in to kiss her one more time. He understood, because he knew that staying one more day might also mean staying another after that, and another after that. He wanted to keep her with him, but didn’t want to be the reason she was held back from doing what she dreamed of. Though there was a bit of sorrow that began to grow in his chest. They had talked about this the night before, that what they shared wouldn’t go further. They couldn’t be on more different paths, with Sophie chasing more and Daniel trying to find a bit of satisfaction where he was at. He wished that he could follow her, or that she’d let him, but here they stood outside the train station, holding onto the other because it’d be the last time they would. 

“I have to go.” Sophie whispered.

“I know.” 

Neither of them move, neither make the attempt to let go. They find comfort in the arms of the other, even though it’s temporary. Time meant nothing in that moment, just that Sophie was still standing there with him even if the clock was screaming at her to leave. The clock was ticking, the train moving closer. It was time for Sophie to be whisked away from him, to find a life she dreamed of and forget all about him. 

Daniel pulls out of the parking lot, driving familiar roads to his favorite coffee shop. The cafe is slower than usual, a couple of patrons seated inside and one other person waiting in the pick up area for their drink. The barista smiles when he sees Daniel walking through the front doors, and the staff greets him in. Daniel smiles at everyone, waving and asking how they’re doing before he is ordering two of his usual order. He is teased left and right about a potential date, if the friend he was seeing is really just a friend. He can feel his cheeks heat up at the exchange, waving everyone off as he walks over to the area under a sign that reads “pick up here.” 

He pays before standing around the pick up area. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, hoping to see something new. But nothing has changed. There’s no text, no response. Daniel almost second guesses whether or not he should even show up. And yet here he is, coffee in either hand, standing short of the entrance to the shop. His heart is beating out of his chest. It’s loud, daunting. There’s a large lump in his throat, his anxieties beginning to get the better of him. 

He shouldn’t be here, Sophie gave him no indication that he was even welcomed. And yet he walks through the door anyway, pushing it open with his shoulder. 

The shop is busy. Several customers sit on the couch in the corner, too distracted by whatever it may be to notice Daniel walk into the shop. On the opposite side, Sophie and another girl run around, back and forth, each time with a new item before returning to their work stations. Daniel hangs back for a moment, the cold coffee making the skin of his palms ache. Sophie doesn’t even notice him yet, busy attaching a zipper to what he can only assume to be a dress.

“Sorry, I’ll be right with you.” 

Daniel chuckles, stepping to his left and leaning against the wall. “Take your time, I’ll be here.”

That’s when she finally looks up from her work. The buzzing stops, her movements slowed. The anxiety returns in the beats of silence as they share a quiet moment. There is a sense of uncertainty as Daniel waits for Sophie’s reaction, waits for some sort of confirmation that he made a big mistake even showing up. 

Sophie smiles. It’s small, cheeks rounding ever so slightly. It’s void of any kind of warmth, but isn’t cold either. It’s a smile to acknowledge him, a smile that asks him to wait patiently and a thank you in advance. Daniel nods over at her, raising his right hand and pointing at her cup of coffee with a tilt of his head. Her smile grows before she returns her attention to the dress in front of her with a shake of her head. 

Daniel stands in that spot patiently, sipping his cup of coffee, for all of the twenty minutes Sophie spent working on whatever it was she was doing. He finally makes his way over to the counter after she hands the dress over to the lady who had been sitting on the couch. He sets the cup down on the counter in front of her, a forced, toothy grin on his face. 

“I didn’t know what you like to order, so I got you what I usually get.” 

Sophie nods, picking up the cup before turning it around to read the order sticker. She shrugs before taking a sip, smacking her lips subtly as she pulls the cup away from her lips. It takes a second before she goes back for another drink, and Daniel finally lets out a breath. 

“How was your morning Soph?” 

She sets the cup back down on the counter, fiddling with whatever it is beyond Daniel’s view. It clinks together as she shifts them around. 

“Busy, I’m honestly kind of beat. Just waiting for Teddy to finish her project then we’re gonna close up…”

Daniel nods, “Up for a walk?”

She looks around her little shop, a little hesitant at his proposition. Before she can respond, the girl– Teddy– waves her off. 

“I got it. It’s gonna be another thirty minutes before I finish anyway. Go ahead, I’ll be fine.” 

Sophie smiles gratefully, fingers wrapping around her cup of coffee as she steps around the counter. Daniel takes a couple of steps towards the door while Sophie exchanges some words with the younger girl at her station before taking quick steps to catch up with him. 

It’s just the sound of feet crunching gravel beneath them for a minute or so. Neither of them say anything, attempt at making small talk. There’s a soft breeze that blows as they walk in step with the other, passing by small businesses and the townspeople who offer them a smile. Daniel wonders if it looks as awkward as it feels. 

“Soph-” “Daniel-”

They pause, looking at each other with shy smiles. Daniel mumbles a go ahead, encouraging Sophie to speak first. Her lips part, but no words come out. Their steps slow to a stop, just shy of stairs that would take them down to another cross street. Daniel leans against the ledge, cup to his lips as he watches Sophie nibble on her bottom lip and furrow her brow in contemplation. Her lips part again.

“Syngnómi.” 

“Pardon?” 

She offers him a tight-lipped smile, “It means I’m sorry in Greek.” 

Daniel pats the spot next to him, and Sophie moves over to stand there. She faces the world behind him, the quiet street below, save the few people who were walking to and from one building to the next. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Daniel finally responds. He turns to look at her, but Sophie keeps her gaze trained ahead of her. His honey brown eyes trace her features, from the top of her head, down to the curve of her lips. She looks as beautiful as he remembers, but there’s a certain kind of dullness to her. He can’t place it, can’t pinpoint what might be but there’s something different about her. 

“I’m not trying to… to avoid you. I’ve just been so busy with the shop and trying to keep everything together I-”

“Sophie,” He rests his hand on her shoulder. They ignore the warmth brewing inside of them, ignore the way she leans into his touch ever so slightly, ignore the way her breathing seemed to slow. “It’s life. You’re a busy woman, running a business. Coffee can happen when you have a bit of downtime.”

“Or when you surprise me in the shop.” Sophie turns to lean on the ledge next to him, smiling as she sips her coffee. 

“Something was telling me you needed a cup of coffee.” 

He smiles at the sound of her soft giggles, bumping his shoulder against hers gently. Sophie stares down at her hands, twisting the half empty cup in the palm of her other hand. It’s quiet again, but much more comfortable this time around. Daniel finishes off the rest of his coffee before tossing it into the bin a couple feet away. 

“How do you like your coffee?” Daniel asks, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

She smiles, sipping her drink before answering. “Not much of a coffee person really.” Daniel makes a face, eyebrows tense with surprise. She laughs at his reaction, setting her cup down next to her. “If I get coffee, I get iced espresso– three shots specifically– with cold foam, toffee syrup and mocha sauce.  But I normally just get a chai. It just depends what kind of day I'm having.” 

“So an all or nothing then?”

Sophie smiles sheepishly, “Yeah.”

“And what kind of day are you having today? Iced espresso or Chai??”

Daniel walks back up to her, a foot of space between them. He rocks on his heel and toes, back and forth, all while Sophie hums and thinks of her answer. The wind blows her hair back over shoulder, away from her face. It takes Daniel back to Florence, the memory of when she first approached his humble little art stand. 

He watches as she pushes herself up onto the ledge, sitting and swinging her legs as she picks up her drink, taking another sip. “It’s a ‘Daniel’s favorite coffee order’ kind of day.” 

He grins widely, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Sophie’s smile is just as wide, that warmth it lacked earlier returning. They stand a foot apart, smiling at the other, hearts beating quickly and unknowingly in sync. It’s a little easier to move forward in conversation, Daniel finding his place next to her as they dive into lighthearted joking. Slowly, he sees her tired exterior crack, a bit of sunshine coming out of her.

“I like this Sophie,” Daniel hums.

“What do you mean?” 

He shrugs, “I feel like everytime I see you, you seem panicked.”

“Daniel I ran once-”

“No Soph, I wasn’t talking about that. I meant in general. Even when Max introduced us, there was this look on your face. It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. There’s always this flicker of worry that washes over you before you smile.” 

Sophie nods, looking down at her lap. “You ever feel like the universe is going to pull the rug from under you?”

Daniel tilts his head to the left, looking up thoughtfully before breaking into a soft chuckle. “Sometimes? Maybe not lately, but I think I know the feeling.”

“Well that’s how I feel. I just… I never thought I’d see you again.” Any of you for that matter, she thinks to herself. “Clean break, remember?”

Daniel pushes himself off his place, moving over to stand in front of her. He rubs the stubble on his chin, smiling at the memory, at the sound of her saying the exact same words two years ago. 

“I never liked that.”

“I know, but we would’ve never worked.” 

“I would’ve followed you.” He takes a step forward. 

Sophie shakes her head, “You barely knew me.” 

“And?” Another step forward.

“Daniel.”

“Sophie.” 

Another step, and their knees are brushing against each other. “What about now?”

She raises a brow, arms crossed over her chest. Daniel shrugs, eyebrows raised and lips curved with a smile. 

“What about now, Daniel?”

“I mean…” Another step forward, her legs spreading ever so slightly to make room for him. “I mean what about now? You think we’ll work now?” 

He sees the way she fights a smile, turning her head to avoid his gaze. His heart thumps loudly in his head, soft thuds.  He cranes his neck, trying to move into her view but she playfully pressed her palm on his face, pushing him back. Sophie giggles softly, shaking her head. The wind blows locks of hair over her face. Another mental snapshot, another quiet moment that takes him back. There’s a bit of twisted nostalgia that looms in the air, with the close proximity and the quiet atmosphere. Daniel reaches out, fingers gently dragging the locks of hair away from her face and behind her ear. He feels the way she presses herself into his touch ever so lightly, the soft pink blush on the apples of her cheeks. 

She doesn’t answer the question, nor does she attempt to move away from him. Reluctantly, Daniel drops his hand back to his side, eyes studying every inch of her face. He counts the freckles that are sprinkled over her nose, the darkness under her eyes. There’s an urge that festers in his chest, one that grows into desire. The skin of his palm tingle, itching, burning to hold more of her. 

But he settles for the way his knees brush against hers. 

“I wanna take you out Soph.” Daniel says softly. She smiles up at him, it makes his heart feel warm. “I want to take you out to dinner, show you a good time. Maybe we can get pasta, for old times sake.” 

She giggles softly, bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

“Promise we won’t have to make the pasta this time.” 

“You know, I’ve gotten pretty good at it actually.” Sophie scoots closer to the edge of the ledge, closer to Daniel, “I’ve been practicing.”

He gulps. She stares up at him, eyes wide and innocent. He can’t tell if it’s real, if she moved closer intentionally to mess with his head. Intentional or not, he can already feel the blood rushing to his head and his cheeks heating up. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he lets his head fall back for a second. The air is cold as it runs through his nostrils, chest puffing outwards as he takes another breath. 

“Well… then maybe I can invite you over and show me how good you’ve gotten.” 

Sophie rolls her eyes playfully, hand planted firmly on his chest as she pushes him back gently. Daniel takes a couple steps back, giving her room to jump off the ledge. 

“C’mon, walk me back.” 

She gets a head start, dropping her nearly empty coffee cup in a bin she passes by. Daniel watches awestruck, the way her wavy hair sways with every step she takes. He watches her walk away for a second longer before he jogs over to catch up with her.

The walk back to the shop is quiet, but much more comfortable. Daniel would step off to the side every now and again, purposely bumping shoulders with her. It’s a poor excuse to be near her, to make her giggle and hear her whine his name as she pushes him off her. He wishes the walk was much longer than it was, but soon the shop comes into view and it’s time to say goodbye. His early morning is finally catching up to him, the coffee doing absolutely nothing to keep him awake. They stop just by Daniel’s truck, Sophie turning on her heel to look up at Daniel. 

“What about dinner on Sunday?” 

Daniel hums, “I work on Sunday unfortunately. Monday?”

“I do have some work to catch up on… but I can work on it on Sunday instead.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Daniel grins.

“It’s a date then.”

“A date.” 

A pink tongue peeks through, wetting her lips as Sophie bites back a smile. Daniel feels it again, hands begging to grab her face and smash his lips on hers. The closeness, her sweet smell teases him, whispers in his ear, daring him to do it. She stares at him through her lashes, lighting a fire in the pit of Daniel’s gut, going straight to his groin. 

All in due time Ricciardo, he thinks to himself. 

The sky shifts to gray above them, water beginning to drop from angry dark clouds that loom above them. A thick droplet falls at the top of her cheekbones, quick to slide down her golden skin. And then another, almost in the same spot. This time Daniel catches it, hand coming up without much of a thought, cupping her cheek as his thumb swipes the droplet away. Sophie blushes in his hold, and once again she absentmindedly leans into his touch. He can’t help but smile, soaking in the brief moment of serenity he had standing there with her right in the palm of his hand. Just like Florence, just like that day in the train station.

The feeling of water falling quicker against his skin (specifically on his nose) pulls him back. 

“I’ll let you go now.” 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence, of unmoving. And another.

“See you Monday?” Sophie whispers. 

Daniel nods, smiling. His hand still holds her face, thumb stroking the skin softly before he finally lets her go. Sophie’s smile is shy as she nods back, mumbling a goodbye and drive safe, before taking slow steps backwards. The rain falls faster, harder, and the two burst into a fit of giggles. Sophie runs for cover in the shop and Daniel finds refuge in his beat up truck. He sits in his seat, hands clutching the wheel with a grin so wide his cheeks ached. 

He pulls away from her building, taking familiar roads back to his tiny apartment. Heavy rain drops beat against his windshield, obscuring his view of the glass door of Sophie’s shop. His heart beats sporadically in his chest, almost matching the quick pitter patter of the rain outside. It’s like kindergarten all over again, the giddiness and excitement over a simple touch with a girl. But it wasn’t just a touch, and she’s not just a girl. It triggers a small ounce of fear, just a drop in a puddle of his adoration for her. The way his heart shakes his ribs reminds him of what was and what could’ve been– it both excites and mocks him.

The feelings swirling inside of him, the same ones that pluck his heartstrings and fog up his mind are that of something he’s never felt before. No one before or after could ever compare to the way Sophie makes him feel. And that alone, scares him. 

Sophie has always remained in the back of his mind, even in the two years of no contact. Through failed dates and relationships, Daniel always comes back to the young woman who asked about his artwork. And maybe it seems rash, damn near impossible for him to have such heavy feelings for a woman he spent no more than twenty-four hours with.

But no matter how rash, how impossible, it was the only thing that’s ever truly felt right for Daniel. 

He’s gone through most of his life cruising. He’s gone with the flow, rolled with the punches. Faced rejection and hardships with a smile and optimism. But even with all of that, he’s never been sure about the life he’s led thus far. There’s always been a looming presence of what if in every decision he’s made. What if he listened to his father and went to school? What if he had chosen a more secure career instead of running away to Italy to pursue arts. Always what if. But not with Sophie. 

All the mistakes he’s made, of all decisions that could’ve gone a different way, Sophie has been the only thing he’s ever been sure of. 

thursday

Max sits in the conference room, smiling at corporate suits and investors begin to fill up the space. He shuffles through a couple of documents, reviewing the information on the paper for the n-th time in hopes to calm his nerves. It was only a presentation on what he’d been working on for the last month or so and could determine if he was going to stay in Kamari or not. 

And god did he want to stay.

The numbers and sketches blur into the other, nothing seems to make sense anymore. He sets the papers back down, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket to look at the time one more time. Max takes it a step further, unlocking it and quickly typing out Sophie in the contact search bar. He stares at her number and contact photo, one from that one night in London. He smiles to himself at the story behind the blurry photo.

“What are you doing?!” Sophie shrieked, ducking out of Max’s phone camera’s frame.

“It’s very important to me that you see what you look like.” He laughed.

She’s a sight for sore eyes, with her feet dangling off the ground after adjusting her barstool to the highest possible setting. It was the only stool that even had that option, and the very drunk girl in front of him made sure to take advantage of it. Her knees are just under the bartop, and she towered over Max while taking a sip of her drink. 

“Do I look silly?” She asked, grinning with the black straw between her teeth. 

Max snaps a photo before she can react, and he flips his phone to show her. She giggles loudly. There were a few patrons left in the bar, all of whom had already shot them dirty looks for being a little too loud for the quiet hours of the morning. He didn’t mind though, he was too enthralled by the girl in front of him and her lame attempt to lower the stool back down. She pouted, wiggling the handle to and fro in an attempt to move the stool, but it didn't give. It clicks back and forth, but not enough to allow the seat to move lower. 

Sophie’s eyes grew wide in a panic. She began to move the handle rapidly, the clicking pulling the attention of an old woman who furrowed her brows over at them. She almost wanted to ask them if everything was alright, but she decided against it for the sake of her own peace of mind.

“Max,” Sophie whispered. “It’s stuck.”

“Maybe you’re not pulling the lever in the right direction.” 

“Okay genius, you try.” She scowled. 

Max leaned over, pushing the lever down and in turn Sophie sank down quickly. She yelped at the sudden movement, hands moving to hold onto his shoulders to steady herself. Her face was beet red, even more so when Max looked up with a cheeky grin and their noses bumped. He didn’t even register how close they would be when he did that, and for a moment his breath was caught in his throat. They’re frozen for a moment, both too afraid to make a move. The old woman had a smirk on her face at the sight, and she was sure that would be the moment they would kiss.

But they eventually moved, Max being the first as he muttered an apology and leaned back into his seat. Sophie tucked her hair behind her ear, turning her head to grab her drink and take another sip. 

Max kept the photo for safe keeping, the only remembrance he had of her, save the lame goodbye note she messily scribbled onto hotel stationary. He kept it– the pen too. 

He sighs softly, putting his phone back into the pocket inside his suit jacket just as Daniel comes up to him. The man has a smile on his face, warm and reassuring. He pats Max’s back, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “How you feeling mate?”

Max gives him a tight lipped smile, “Feeling alright. Just ready to get this over with.” 

Daniel laughs softly, nodding as he gives the Dutch boy another reassuring squeeze before returning to his seat. The movement in the room has begun to slow down, most of the seats already filled, save a couple towards the back. He pulls his phone out of his pocket one more time, a last look at the time before he would start. 

There’s a silent hope for a new text, maybe her name flashing on the screen, a small miracle before he’d surely make a fool of himself in front of important people. But nothing, his prayer is left unanswered. He turns his phone off before he turns back around to face the crowd of expectant business people.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. I’m Max Verstappen, senior engineer at R.B.R Engineering.”

He blacks out for all of his presentation. If you asked him what he said, what might’ve been asked, the reactions over what he said, he would have no answer. But from the smile on Daniel’s face, the influx of people approaching him in hopes to schedule a meeting to talk details, he would assume it went well. 

People shuffle out of the conference hall after filling up his schedule for the next week or so. It isn’t long until it’s him, Daniel, and one other guy left in the space– Pierre, actually. Max pays no mind to them, tossing his phone onto the table as he shuffles through his papers, putting them back in their respective places in his binder. But there's tension in the room, and he wonders if he’s the only one that feels it. Another quick glance around the room and he sees Daniel busy typing away on his phone, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. The Aussie doesn’t feel the Dutchman’s stare, too focused on whatever is on the screen. 

When he tries to steal a look at Pierre, he is making his way over to the front of the room. Max sucks in a breath, trying to tame the clear distaste he has for the man. But he does a poor job, and Pierre smirks over at him when he notices the slight frown on his features. Pierre sets his briefcase onto the table that separates them, clicking the latches undone to open it. Max waits, index finger tapping the hardwood impatiently. The man lays a stapled set of papers down, fingertips pressing down on the documents to slide it across the table and over to Max.

“My boss, Mr. Szafnauer, wants in on this deal. Whatever the clients offer you over the next couple of days, we’ll offer more.” 

Max chuckles at the cockiness and Daniel even looks up from his phone when he hears the bold statement. “You sound sure.” 

“Because I am.” 

Max can feel his cheeks begin to grow hot, and he’s sure that his face was a shade of pink. This was some sick ego thing for him, he thinks to himself. Pierre’s stature doesn’t falter under the icy gaze of the man opposite him, instead his chest is puffed outwards and he wears an unmistakable smirk on his face. Even without the events that unraveled in Sophie’s little shop, Max could wholeheartedly say he is not a fan of the man before him.

“Listen mate,” The word tastes bitter falling from his lips, “We’re looking for more quality of services rather than the….. Quantity you and your boss can offer.”

“Well who says we can’t have both.” Pierre chuckles, “Listen, this is what the company and I have to offer. Read it, sit on it, and-”

Soft buzzing interrupts him. The room comes to a stand still, and both men look down at Max’s phone, screen lit up with Sophie Adams all in bold at the top of his screen. No one breathes, not even Daniel– who doesn’t have a single clue who was even calling. Max swipes his phone up, but Pierre has already seen the name. He clenches his jaw, gaze turning dark as he watches Max stare at his screen for a second longer. 

Envy is a weed, and it begins to grow rapidly within the Frenchman. He hates the way Max lets it ring, takes his sweet time, while he’d been waiting for weeks for Sophie to reach out to him. And here is Max, staring at his phone like he’d never seen one before. Had it been him, he’d be jumping to answer the phone.

“Well don’t let me stop you.” Pierre mutters.

Max can feel Pierre’s gaze on him, and if it weren’t for the fact he was in complete and utter shock over the call, he’d probably return the same smirk Pierre was giving him earlier. But his heart was beating far too fast for him to even fully comprehend the way the man stared him down. 

He only waits a second more before he presses down on the green button on his screen and presses the phone to his ear. 

“Hey Sophie.” 

Max turns his back to the two other men in the room, completely missing the way Pierre rolls his eyes and the knowing smile on Daniel’s face. 

“Hi.” Her voice is small, almost a whisper, “I owe you an apology.” 

His tongue digs into his left cheek, pushing outwards as he lets out a breath through his nose. “Is everything okay?”

It’s quiet again, neither party sure of what could be said considering his last voicemail. On one end Sophie is slightly guilt ridden while he stands slightly relieved. Though he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the slightest bit worried that Sophie was calling to ask him to leave her alone or something along those lines. 

“Yes. I was dealing with some personal stuff and… everything is okay now. I’m sorry for disappearing.”

Her voice is soft, almost meek. He can’t help the light hearted, breathy chuckle he lets out. He smiles to himself, stuffing his hand into his pocket. “It’s okay. As long as you’re okay.” 

There is shuffling behind him, and when he looks over his shoulder he sees Daniel walking out of the room and Pierre flipping through the document he was just handing him a minute ago. He scowls to himself, turning back around and sighing into the mic. 

“I wanna see you, Soph.” 

“I know Max. Soon.” 

“I’m starting to hate that word,” Max teases. He hears Pierre cough behind him, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. He balls his hands in the pocket of his pants, eyes squeezed shut in frustration. Sophie giggles on the other end, and Pierre ruffles through more papers loudly. 

“Sophie I-“

“Are you busy?” 

“Not exactly, there’s just this bug in my room and it’s really bothering me. Can I call you back?”

“Oh… uh yeah. Yeah, call me when you can.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Talk to you soon.” 

They mumble goodbyes before Max pulls his phone from his ear and ends the call. When he turns, Pierre is half sitting on the table, flipping back and forth between pages without sparing him a glance. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Max scowls. Pierre smiles at the pages, flipping it back to the cover before setting it down. 

“No actually. Just wanted to make sure that you got these.” The Frenchman holds the stack of papers out to Max, who pulls it from his grasp. 

“I got them.” Max says monotonously, a slight glare on his face. “Anything else you need to say?”

“Yeah.” Pierre stands from his place, “One more thing. I suggest you leave Sophie alone.”

“Excuse me?” He feels his blood boil under his skin, fist clenched tighter as he pulls it out of his pocket. 

“She’s got a lot of… personal issues going on.” Pierre rubs his chin, biting down on his lip. 

“What do you know about those personal issues?”

The Frenchman had half a mind to tell him. But he knows that it would only aggravate the situation further, and it wouldn’t help his case with Sophie anyhow. So instead he shakes his head, shutting his briefcase and pulling off the table and to his side. 

“Not my place mate. I’m just saying… man to man, I’m just trying to save you the trouble.” He begins to walk away, but stops in his stride, “And I’m trying to save her too.” 

Pierre stands in the middle of the room, inhaling deeply as he stares at the double doors ahead of him. Max stares at him, stuck between telling him off and wondering what he could possibly mean. What does he know? Who is he to Sophie? What does he mean to her?

“Pierre-”

“Call me when you’re ready to make a deal. I’ll be here.” 

The man pushes past the doors, leaving Max alone in the empty room. Out of frustration, he tosses the papers back down on the table with a loud smack. He paces back and forth, three steps one way and three the other. His mind races, fingers shaking as he types Sophie’s number into his phone. The dial tone drones like it always does, and it isn’t long until he is met with the familiar sound of Sophie’s voicemail. He pushes down on end call hard, slamming his phone screen down the table all while resting his weight on it. His chest heaves, anger and confusion bubbling over. 

He calls one more time, but is met with her voicemail once more.

“Hey, it's Sophie. Sorry I missed your call, but just leave a message and I’ll get back to ya!”

“Sophie. Call me.” 

friday

It had been raining on and off, for the last couple of days. And while the weather report promised it would be better by Thursday, it wasn't. Thursday night is spent in thunder, lightning, and Ellie’s incessant cries. The poor baby would jump and shake at the loud booms of thunder, clutching onto her mother for dear life. And so now she sits in the pitch black living room, power out, clutching onto her daughter as she tries to rock her to sleep slowly. She’d only sleep in thirty minute intervals, the thunder waking her and pulling her back into a crying fit. 

It’s just past midnight now, Ellie has just gone back to sleep in her mother’s arms. Sophie leans back into the couch, daughter asleep on her chest, as she dials Mick’s number. She fans her daughter with an empty folder, already feeling a sheen of sweat forming between her and her daughter. Once again, the line is dead and she is met with a generic message from her carrier. She groans, hoping that Mick had read her last text and would try to come by. 

Another thirty minutes go by, and Ellie is stirring against her mom at the sound of thunder booming. Sophie sits up, rocking her and rubbing her back in hopes of coaxing her back to sleep. But the wind shakes their door and thunder sounds again. Ellie wails loudly, fussing in her mom’s arms and forcing her to stand to bounce her. Sophie feels her eyes burn, muscles aching, as she hums and tries to coax her daughter back to sleep. From switching positions in her arms to even trying to lay her down on the couch next to her, nothing seems to calm Elise down. The baby kicks and screams, reaching out for comfort from her mother. 

Hot tears sting Sophie’s eyes, a sense of helplessness in her as she picks her daughter up and holds her tightly, praying to whoever was watching them in that moment to help her. She sits alone on the couch, with her daughter whom she can’t console, frustrated over her inability to help her little girl. 

There’s a feeling of failure that brews in her gut, tears falling onto her cheeks as she lets out shaky shhhhs to quiet her daughter. But thunder booms and she cries harder. Sophie mumbles apologies against the top of her baby’s head, begging softly to go back to sleep. Elise clutches onto Sophie’s shirt for dear life, coughing as she tries to catch her breath. She tries to give her some water but the girl pushes it out of her mom’s grasp and down onto the floor. More tears, more frustration. There’s nowhere to go, no quiet space for the two of them. 

“What can I do baby?” Sophie asks softly, wiping the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that won’t seem to stop. 

She offers Ellie a toy, but she shakes her head and pushes her mom’s hand away. She tries water again, but again the baby begins to whine. So Sophie hugs her daughter close, bouncing slightly while walking around the living room, humming along as she tries to distract her baby from the storm outside. 

The wind picks up, she hears it whistle beyond the doors in her apartment. Lightning flickers through the curtains, and Sophie holds her now quiet daughter closer to her in an attempt to shield her from the inevitable boom.

But instead there’s three consecutive knocks. It’s clear, loud enough to shake Elise and make her begin to cry softly. There’s a wave of relief that washes over Sophie. She lets out a breath, thanking the gods that Mick was there. 

More knocks, more of Ellie’s cries. 

Sophie yanks open the door, the wind blowing loudly and into her home. There’s a ringing in her ears as she stares up at the man at her front door. Her heart climbs up her throat, breathing shallow. The world around them moves in chaos, blowing and shouting loudly. It’s noisy. But they’re quiet, unmoving, unsure of what to do at that very moment. 

“H-hi. Can I come in?”

NOTE: finally, chapter 7. i hope you guys like this one! i proofread as much as i could, so hopefully this all makes sense. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

& thank you to my wife @absolutelynotmate for beta reading for me <3

TAGLIST HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED if you want to be notified for updates, follow @carlosjpg and turn on notifications.

[watermelinoe]

i think totk improved on botw in a lot of ways but i also still had the same issues w it that i did w botw and it had new issues as well (the inventory was a nightmare, armor upgrade reqs were ridiculous, too many collectible-based quests esp the fucking hudson signs)

but my biggest complaint was that even with a storyline that i personally found more interesting, there is just zero connection to it at all. botw and totk feel like revenge for skyward sword being so emotional, linear, and story-driven (iirc miyamoto was not happy with its direction and he and aonuma (?) were just undoing each other's work which is partly why the game suffers from repetition)

so now we get zero emotional attachment to anything that's going on except in cutscenes that aren't even required and have no visible impact on link in any way. hardly any of the sidequests feel meaningful, and the ones that could have been always seemed to fall short. the npcs seem weirdly chipper about the gloom spreading, the ground splitting open, and the earth levitating into the sky. many of them that should remember you just... don't, for some reason, like there's so little development in any of link's relationships with any of these people, zelda included, as if he hasn't even existed for the past eight years between games, like what was with the hateno village retconning

my personal favorite quests were awakening the fairy fountains (felt like classic zelda and i liked that it made a permanent impact on the world, even rewarding you with a permanent new rendition of epona's song at every stable), giving all the bubbul gems to koltin (you have to go out of your way to talk to his brother kilton to get the full kinda bittersweet ending and it's a rare touching moment imo), and the balloon thing with rhondson and hudson's daughter (i liked that it actually expanded on a questline from botw and it was also bittersweet), also i liked penn and the newspaper questline

the biggest improvement imo was the shrines, the puzzles were so much more interesting with so many possible solutions, and the temples/bosses were so much better than the divine beasts and stupid scourges

but idk i just... feel like i wanted more from it. to me the story is just as important as the gameplay and tbh in both games link feels so detached from the plot, like it's just happening around him, not to him. and you can argue that in the older games they didn't explore his emotional state or w/e but the narratives were tight enough that you felt immersed anyway, and could project your own feelings onto him. these games actively thwart your attempts to humanize the silent protagonist bc he's more emotional about fucking cooking than about being manipulated by a creepy puppet of the woman he's been with for 8+ years at this point (should've made puppet zelda a boss again smh) or seeing memories of people dying horribly

all of which is too far spaced out between, idk, grinding for lionel parts

with the world as big as it is, nothing in it is allowed to be too big and i'm concerned that this is just what zelda games are going to be like from now on. i hope the next project announced will be something completely different.

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

If Aemond and Aerys’ daughter were in love, Aemond would absolutely recognize his feelings before she does. But Aemond is ever driven by duty. He may love her. But he thinks she needs him more as support alone. As her confidant and comrade. As her dear uncle. Nothing more

He doesn’t realize his feelings would be returned. The princess however doesn’t know that’s what it is. She’s always been close with him. She just files it away as leftover worry for his safety. There’s too much in the realm right now to think about anything else. She can’t lose focus. Or he’ll end up hurt again

Aemond does see how she desires a love like her parents. And no, Aerys and him approve of no one. He thinks himself a hypocrite for in some way wishing he could give her that.

Ironically ending up in the very position Aerys was in with his niece. Never saying the words. For her sake just enjoying the small things a little longer. Oh and Aerys and his niece noticed. The niece first. She’s not a fool. But she didn’t have to tell her husband, he picked up not long after. They share glances and some words, their own way of communicating that they’re aware

Aerys does think no one worthy of his daughter. He doesn’t feel the need to lock her away to keep it like that, she was trained well enough. Doesn’t mean he’d approve just anyone she brought around though. Or that THEY would be safe from him. But he knows Aemond well. Arguably the sibling he’s closest with

He knows Aemond’s devotion to duty above all else. No feelings are enough for Aemond to betray what he believes is his duty. To be there for the princess. Aerys may know his brother. And out of everyone he would trust his daughter with, Aemond may come closer than others

However in his eyes, there is one large difference. Aemond’s devotion to duty. Aerys did have a lust for power, and he wanted the throne. But he wanted his niece more. Every moment, he chose her above all else. Her hands are the only ones he finds peace in. Her gaze is one of the only that matters. The thing he knows keeps Aemond from making a first move is also the thing that causes him worry. His daughter wants devotion. He does not know if Aemond would be more devoted to her than his duty. He trusts and loves his brother. But a small part of him worries for the heart of his daughter. She is strong. She’s no fool. But like her mother, she feels deeply. He thinks it one of her greatest strengths. He does not wish the qualities he admires so much in his brother and daughter to be their undoing.

Him and his wife quietly agree to leave it alone. The choice is ultimately in their daughter’s hands. If she falls for Aemond, he would return it. If she wants him and chooses him, they will not stop her. They’d almost be hypocrites themselves in a way if they tried. And if she chooses to move on and not return it…. That is her choice and hers alone

It’s something all three of them understand

But for now, Aemond takes simple joy in the small moments of kindness they share. The books they exchange. The small gestures to check for each other’s safety during battle

And the quiet moment Aemond and the princess share. When they sit together in the light of the small fire they built after fleeing the battlefield. Both too tired to move for now. With only each other. For now Aemond lets himself indulge in that softness at least

For even if she is not his, and never will be, at least he can’t say he was never happy to be by her side

Imagine the princess's dragon is injured and can't really carry her. Imagine she and Aemond riding Vahgar. Her leaning against his chest, and his hands on her waist. She just loves flying and it was almost therapeutic. And Aemond just can't stop watching her.

Imagine there is a feast and the princess is dancing with someone who is desperately trying to win her heart. Aemond interrupts them and has a dance with her. Telling her no man in the hall is worth her time. And she is like "I hope you are not counting yourself, uncle. Otherwise you would be so wrong, and I know you hate being wrong."

Remember that look Aemond gives Haelena when he enters the room and sees her? That the look he gives the princess when he sees her after a day or two.

Imagine Aemond gifting her a dainty necklace with a blue sapphire one that she can wear everyday. Usually it's daggers or a sword, but the necklace symbolizes something different. And for the princess it's worth more than every jewel in the palace. Imagine the moment he puts the necklace around her neck. His touch not leaving her. The princess starting to breathe a little heavily as she can feel something shifting between them

[horizon-verizon]

Rhaenyra was never actually properly trained to rule Westeros. There’s no indication in the text that she received the rigorous education of a male heir, was taught statecraft, how to manage the economy, budgeting, taxes, commerce, trade, agriculture, building infrastructure, or resource scarcity, how to write and pass laws, or anything else that would denote the education of the next ruling monarch. Sure, she was a cupbearer for her father and likely learned through observation, but for god’s sake, this is hardly enough. 

And it’s not Rhaenyra’s fault. Viserys is the one to blame. He didn’t treated her the way Tywin and Doran treat their eldest daughters, but he still failed to give Rhaenyra a strong education, failed to solidify and secure her claim, and failed to protect her against Alicent, and when Rhaenyra objected to the notion of marrying a gay man, the only way Viserys could cow her was by threatening to undo this change in succession, under the rationale of “What a king can make, a king can unmake.”

*EDITED POST* (4/13/24)

I argue this is this post here. Somewhat. And in other posts, but yes I don't think he actually trained her to have the equivalent level of skills as men in earlier generations: Baelon, Aemon, Aenys I, even Viserys himself (by Baelon maybe).

Show!version says he loved Aemma and orig!version obviously loved Aemma. But they both pedestalizes Aemma to the degree that Rhaenrya could never be Baelon, her siblings can never be her, and all to never really give us a real picture of who Aemma was so he does not have to divulge how some of his actions have ruined Aemma's life. Helaena not having kids or at least stop having them before Rhaenrya becomes Queen/he dies would have even helped Rhaenyra...smh. He doesn't ever think to not let his daughter Helaena marry at 13 & have TWINS not long after (as Aemma died in part bc she started having children WAY too early after they consummated their marriage); he forces his daughter to marry Laenor to fix a problem he created instead of actually thinking about what would be better for her claim and position--which is not to marry a gay man!, esp when everyone knows he is gay; I mention Alicent already...this is the same guy who marries a 15 year old but gets angry with Daemon for seducing his 19 year old daughter and saying she is just a "girl"...bro...Add on the fact he allowed a faction against his heir and be lead by his second obviously hostile Hand & wife exist in court instead of properly intervening and diminishing Otto and Alicent's influence over Rhaenrya so she wouldn't have to escape to Dragonstone...no self reflection, just constant deflection, ignoring, placating the wrong people, putting his foot down at the wrong moments, not pursuing certain avenues or voids of information like in the Vhagar claim incident AND allowed the same thing that happens to his first wife happen to his next wife and his two daughters...ugh.

He just wanted his cake and eat it, too. To be seen and perceived as a good king, maintain the leftover wealth & picture of generosity/prosperity and "wisdom" Jaehaerys basically left for him, while he really didn't know what to do with his own family and emotions half the time because he never accepted and took responsibility for how he contributed to Aemma's death by continuing to impregnate her (book & show) AND then cutting her open without her consent or informing to extract the son he put above all logic or sense. By doing too much appeasing to get people to like him or feel they have an "in" with him (which people like him can mistake as "liking" or respect) while isolating those who could have only made him stronger through honest loyalty and candor, telling him like it is while keeping that measure of observation (talking about not just Rhaenyra but Dameon here). But Viserys never wanted honesty! He wanted the fantasy of power because he's conflated a lack of accountability or political supremacy with being strong and unflappable. Performing kingship then becomes being a real king, to him.

And really, the system encourages him to be so dishonest bc it asks its nobles and royals to perform pre-conceived and already extant models of behavior and ways of thinking to fulfill their respective roles.

However, it is problematic to put all the blame for Rhaenyra's inability to mentally confront her problems because there is little one can do other than not tax people for money that was stolen from you/the royal treasury, which was a calculated move.

Simultaneously, she is still accountable for her actions against the dragon seeds, particularly Nettles (if she had won, she would have lessened (not necessarily eliminated) the ability for women across the realm to validate their own claims and rights to rule autonomously). She decided that for her to retain one of the only people who has before maintained their loyalties to her, she must kill an innocent that was told to her of being not so innocent. We shouldn't reduce her accountability there, she still absorbed and internalized ideologies that other characters have not in the ASoIaF series despite having classist privileges (Arya & Brienne).

As we saw with Aenys, even training can be useless when the person doesn't observe when they should use violence or other means or see the writing on the wall or inspire actual awe and/or loyalty as Daenerys and Rhaegar and Aegon I, V, Daeron I did. In their own ways, but they got it. For all her faults, Rhaenyra definitely has loyalty and wasn't as horrible as alternative persons to not be named in this post. I don't think she was helplessly stupid so much as mentally and economically debilitated, very aware of her own class and heritage as most nobles are, plus being that heritage of dragonriding--thus her actions against the two Rosby and Stokeworth girls as well as against Nettles. Though her actions against Nettles really turned me off of her, simultaneously, I also do not want anything like the greens to sit that throne and there would have been more systematic benefits from her reign over theirs.

And I do still admire her "confusing" womanhood going against the grain of aesthetically-conscious, nondragonriding (a woman not militaristically useful and overpowering an Andal man), and politically/sexually submissive and chaste noblewoman.

All assertions against her right to rule came from her gender and refusal to conform perfectly to her gender role and behaviors before the Dance and even when Viserya names her, he doesn't let her fully perform heir stuff or give her a chance.

The point is that she didn't deserve to be stifled, treated differently, kept from certain duties, all without her own input or looking for where she was strongest at (which seems to be persuasion and could have been encouraged and cultivated, but no.

Btw NEITHER WAS AEGON, AEMOND, HELAENA OR DAERON!

*EDIT* (8/21/23):

THIS is a great post by mononijikayu about medieval queens, female rulers, the history of how women in leadership positions were made and seen as threats to the very structure of social “order”, and contextualizing Rhaenyra thru Empress Matilda. I didn’t even know about Matilda’s husband being comparable to Rhaneyra’s Daemon! PLZ READ!!!!

Excerpt:

just as much, along with these fictitious portrayals, more lies are depicted. these women are considered vixens that cause havoc to men by shifting them into desires and danger. through the written word, we see how women are cast in roles of villains in men’s lives. it is because by their conclusive thoughts, women are the only creatures that are able to turn ‘good honorable men’ into despicable creatures who do shameful, deplorable acts for the sake of women’s pleasures.    [...] itis within this narrative that ancient chroniclers declare that women were in fact the doom of men. if they were not able to control the dangers posed by the wiles of women, then the foundations of the mighty society they had built would be up in flames.  [...] as i mentioned, these factors of community are written down and preserved. and with that, the example of the ancients were the foundations by which medieval society built itself. the same concepts continued to cause the same issue within society and that was the exclusion of women from participating in the bigger picture of community and state, much so with governing states in their own right—without judgment or disapproval.

[fallenrepublick]

I had a thought if you’re willing to entertain it…

So, in two sides there’s this pretty explicit guilt thrass feels for unintentionally missing a lot of his daughters life, right?

And that makes him try as hard as he can to make up for it now that he’s back in themis’s life.

Eventually, they build up the bond they would have had had the accident not occurred and this givens thrass’s spouse the chance to see that he’s genuinely a really great father and would have been the entire time.

And baby fever sets in again.

Do you think thrass would go for having a second kid? Or would he still be so torn up about all he missed in themis’s life?

If they do go for having a second kid, how does Themis feel and react?

Oh my god!!! The COMPLICATION!!! The EMOTION!!!! The STRUGGLE!!!! IT'S SIMPLY 🤌🤌🤌

God... because Thrass loves his baby girl. He loves her more than anything in this universe, and he would have given up anything and everything to experience her baby years. He's still grateful that he has this time with her, that he was given the opportunity to be there when she's still young. But it's common for him to still worry, to feel that guilt and despair that he lost so much time with her, that there's a time she still remembers when he wasn't her father.

That baby fever is a strong thing. He longs to hold his baby, to hear them babble and squeal and even cry. He yearns to watch them grow, learn to turn over onto their belly, learn to crawl, to unsteadily walk into his arms. He wants to teach them his language, as well as yours. All the names for father, the ways that young children mix up words and sentence structures and grammar when they're bilingual.

Maybe, one day, he even mentions it to you. He laments about everything he missed with Themis, everything about starting a family with you that he never got. You listen quietly and intently. You aren't sure it's the right idea. Neither is he.

He asks Themis, sitting with her at the piano. She sits in silence for a while, staring down at the keys. Her eyebrow is furrowed. But she isn't like Thrass, who would likely have nodded and agreed to anything just to make the family happy. For a moment, Thrass wondered if she would. But he forgot about the man who raised her.

"Am I not good enough?" she asks eventually.

How can he promise that it isn't true? That she is so perfect? Perfect enough that he wants to have her all over again? That she was all he could ever ask for? How could he say that all he thought about in his absence was you and her? That he fought death itself to return, praying that he wasn't too late to be there for her?

And then... that's just it, isn't it? Having another wouldn't solve a thing. It wouldn't give his time back. It wouldn't offer him her baby years, it would only give him a different baby. What would be the point, when she is already the perfect child?

"Am I not good enough, Thrass?" Themis asks again, bitterly.

She doesn't wait for an answer. She spins off the bench, leaving the room to return to her bedroom, ignoring Thrass's calls and pleas. He will have to work harder to undo this damage. Trust that he had only recently built with her will once more have to be earned.

So I suppose it goes without saying... no, he wouldn't want another child. Not a child that isn't Themis. He will prove that to her every single day forward.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 11 THEON I (pages 149-169)

Theon returns to his childhood home to find some things familiar but more which are not. His uncle and father prove to be not part of a safe and healthy family life, and Theon's plans come crashing down around his ears in the face of his father's own.

-

There was no safe anchorage at Pyke, but Theon Greyjoy wished to look on his father's castle from the sea, to see it as he had seen it last, ten years before, when Robert Baratheon's war galley had borne him away to be a ward of Eddard Stark. ... Obedient to his wishes, the Myraham beat her way past the point with her sails snapping ans her captain cursing the wind and his crew and the follies of highborn lordlings. Theon drew the hood of his cloak up against the spray, and looked for home.

My second thought on this is "my gosh Theon, don't endanger the crew for nostalgia" but also I get it, to see the island return the way he saw it taken, part of him, subconsciously, is probably thinking it will somehow undo what happened, give it back somehow. Like yes, he's back home, but there's still those ten years that he won't ever get back, but to see a loss in reverse might make you think it could be.

My first thought is: Oh hey, remember how Theon was taken from his family and not in a 'someone called social services way' but in a 'this child is a political hostage' kind of way.

She looked rather stupid when she smiled, if truth be told, but he had never required a woman to be clever.

Real classy Theon. (Sarcasm.)

Her mouth was as wet and sweet as her cunt, -

"Cunt" = 🥛 (This makes 2 so far in the series, if I've counted correctly. We're almost catching up to a single conversation in the show!)

The captain's daughter had not been turned over for his use, but she had come to his bed willingly enough all the same. A cup of wine, a few whispers, and there she was. ... "I can't stay here now." He laced up his breeches. "Why not?" "My father," she told him. "Once you're gone, he'll punish me, milord. He'll call me names and hit me." Theon swept his cloak off its peg and over his shoulders. "Fathers are like that," he admitted, as he pinned the folds with a silver clasp.

First of all, fathers shouldn't be 'like that,' second of all: I'm not convince 'willingly enough' means 'she chose on her own initiative.' POV bias means we don't know for sure, but it sounds like Theon got her tipsy and coerced her into it while her reasoning was impaired, and she only went back to his bed because she knew being any kind of bride or concubine for Theon was now safer for her than facing her father's wrath. Theon even comments that she's weirdly old for a virgin. Of course it is possible that she deliberately seduced him hoping for a way off her father's boat, but between the vagaries and Theon's attitude toward her, he's on thin ice at the moment.

He saw the castle first, the stronghold of the Botleys. When he was a boy it had been timber and wattle, but Robert Baratheon had razed the structure to the ground.

So I know that GRRM likely (100% certainly) meant the ancient construction material made of woven-wood panels when he says wattle, but every time someone (in any work) uses the word to describe a building, every single time, my brain pictures the tiny little yellow pompom looking flowers native to Australia. Every. Time.

The buildings are never as floraly as I picture them.

Uncle Aeron's a bit... intense. Nice of him to pick Theon up from the port though. Saves him from accidental incest groping.

... hang on, trying to remember the show's timeline, because we already had Osha, did they change Asha to Yara because they thought we'd get confused? Is that also why several Walder Freys were cut from the show?

Theon: *opens his mouth to say literally anything* Aeron: Old news, unimportant, you basic bitch, you're reverse adopted and your parents don't even love you, you're irrelevant, get gud scrub, oh wait I forgot you can't, landlubber.

Mmmm, some great vibes in this place (Sarcasm intensifies.)

This is terrible for Theon's mental health, and is only going to give him issues re: his personal and cultural identity, never mind an inferiority complex (bigger than that one he's already rocking).

"And who are you?" "Helya, who keep sthe castle for your lord father." "Sylas was steward here. They called him Sourmouth." (...) "Dead these five years, m'lord." "And what of Maester Qalen, where is he?" "He sleeps in the sea. Wendamyr keeps the ravens now." It is as if I were a stranger here, Theon thought. Nothing has changed, and yet everything is changed."

"It must be difficult, being in a strange place." "This is my home, it is the people who are strange."

His father slid his fingers under the necklace and gave it a yank so hard it was like to take Theon's head off, had the chain not snapped first. "My daughter has taken an axe for a lover," Lord Balon said. "I will not have my son bedeck himself like a whore."

...maybe Theon should have been taken away from his father in a 'someone call social services' kind of way. Wow, Balon just really wants to be in the running for Worst Father in Westeros.

Theon edged backwards, away from the sudden fury in his father's tone. "Take it then," he spat, cheek still tingling. "Call yourself King of the Iron Islands, no one will care... until the wars are over, and the victor looks about and spies an old fool perched off his shore with an iron crown on his head."

Yeah! You tell him Theon!

"- No. I hunger for a different plum... not so juicy sweet, to be sure, yet it hangs there ripe and undefended." Where? Theon might have asked, but by then he knew.

No, bad Balon. Naughty!

[umbralsound-xiv]

Eir 💛- A memory that makes them feel angry

Central Shroud, 10, Seventh Astral Era

'And... Please, tell her thank you. I despair to think what would have happened to my daughter should she have been found even a bell later...'

Delivering messages was no different for Eir. He'd done it before, in service to Garlemald, and surely it would not be even half as perilous for him to do so again, off and away from the battlefield. He'd found his duties working for Mist to be strangely comfortable, not that he'd have admitted it outright.

Some beckoning familiarity saw him able to adapt to a somewhat normal life with a greater ease, between dancing and all the comforts of his room and everything in it. His friends, too. Sayuri...

This message, however; delivered from one of Mist's many people she'd helped, seemed to sit that much more bitterly in his thoughts.

He knew what would have happened. He'd seen the girl; pale and wide eyed as tears streamed down her cheeks, bruises at her forearms as she made barely a sound.

Eir continues his busy footfalls along the beaten path. Each footstep drove into the dirt harder than the last, kicking the ground as much as running atop it. But it did nothing to dispel the tension that had worked it's way into his frame, setting his jaw into clenched teeth as his thoughts plagued him with words Sayuri herself had spoken to him.

...To think someone would hurt her in such a way.

--To think someone would hurt her at all was enough to set his usually dormant anger aflame, but something about the circumstances set an unruly knot in his stomach.

He could do nothing.

His pace picks up as he races along the treeline, the wind against his face stinging his cheeks. The perpetrator was dead, long dead by her own hand; but even if he was alive, what could he do, then? The damage was done.

Another scar to join the others, numerous though they were. But this one was much less visible. This ran in her mind, taking kinder things and twisting them into cruelty. Even long healed and softened by warmer things, it lingered still.

Thinking about it didn’t help him any. If anything, it made it worse. If his pace could have picked up any faster, it did, and reflexively his hands move to his chakrams, ever present at his hips. Even without the expectation of combat, there was some... Comfort, to their presence, there.

The handle is worn in his grasp; little divets in the woodwork where his fingertips grasped. He’d half expected the wood to splinter with the ferocity he’d squeezed them with; stifled anger bottled up and simmering with no place to go.

His posture is suddenly more at home on a battlefield; rigid and wound with unspent violence. Home was close, but he could not return. Not like this, not with these thoughts in his mind. A diversion is taken, into the thick of the woods, where an unsuspecting tree becomes the target of his aggression; a branch cleaved from where it had grown; he could do little else with his weapons. A sharp kick to the bark so forceful it splintered the edge of it... And a punch to follow that barely left a mark as the wave of emotion settled into something more managable.

Head hung, Eir gives a long sigh through his nose, billowing the locks of loose hair that curled around his cheek.

He could change nothing. Nothing of the circumstances or the happening. He could not undo her pain, and yet...

Another long, deep breath, blown out with a quiet huff. Anger wouldn’t serve him here, on these rare moments it bubbled up. He couldn’t change what had happened, no.

...But he could offer her comfort, when she needed it.

He takes off as quickly as he had arrived, and makes a beeline for the house.

[lovevalley45]

#fictober22 day twenty-five

"You know I'd do anything."

original fiction

word count: 647

Lycanthropy was such a brutal thing.

Bea had been saddled with the worst of it - cursed to live a century and a half, the full moon controlling her life for over two-thirds of that. 

There was the blood on her hands - and claws, and teeth, and chin. There was the pain of transformation. There was the utterly loneliness of watching the people she loved die, or worse, accidentally bringing them to their doom. More than anything else, though, she was tired.

Stuck at the pleasant age of forty-three, Bea hadn’t exactly been satisfied with her life when she turned. She regretted it looking back, she’d still had her kids, her home. But that had been left behind the moment she turned. Her daughter and son were long since dead, she’d watched the world changed and tried to adapt to the times. She tried to form other bonds - found boyfriends, girlfriends, even met one of her grandchildren back in the forties. Now it wasn’t worth it. 

But this might have been. 

Bea had found the witch by accident. It was through Instagram of all things - she wasn’t touting cures for lycanthropy on there, but they’d met in person and she had explained her plight. She told the story of the last time she’d met a witch, how she had made the mistake of asking for something to help her stand up to her husband, and the potion she’d given her had left her changed forever. She had stood up to her husband, but she hadn’t expected that to end with her tearing him to shreds. 

“Wow, that’s some heavy stuff,” the witch said, stirring her coffee. “Well, trust me, witches have changed a lot since the 1910s or whatever.”

“So you’re not going to give me some potion that will give me what I want, but in a devil’s deal kind of way?” Bea asked. 

“No,” the witch said. “But you’re asking like, a lot of me.”

“Okay, I understand that.” She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “What do you need?”

“Depends. What are you willing to do?”

“You know I’d do anything, at this point. I am so tired of having to floss out whatever poor wildlife irked me on the full moon out of my teeth. Do you know what it’s like to pluck deer fur out of your molars?” 

The witch raised her eyebrows. “Of course not.” She took out her tablet. “Okay, so we’re going to need wolfsbane, five lavender - specifically lavender - votive candles, and your birth certificate.”

“That last one might be harder to find,” Bea said. “It’s been a hot second.”

“Yeah, that might involve a little bit of digging through public records,” the witch muttered. “Then, depending on the actual difficulty of the ritual, we’ll discuss actual payment afterwards. Of course, the resources you’re getting will be deducted from my fee. Uh… let’s see. Lunar cycle will of course factor in greatly, but a new moon will perhaps yield the best results? And I can squeeze you in on the next new moon, fantastic.”

Bea nodded along, making note of everything. 

“Great! I’ll send this all to your email and you can collect everything by our appointment. If not, I will have to charge a cancellation fee.” The witch made a sympathetic face. “I know, bummer.”

“This is the closest I’ve gotten to a cure in… forever, probably,” Bea admitted. “So thank you, honestly.”

“Oh, no problem! Breaking a curse like this is a little work, but it seems easy enough to undo.” The witch put her tablet down. “And I have a 100% success rate when it comes to curse-breaking.”

She chuckled. “Wow, the 21st century does have its marvels.”

The witch stood up and held her hand out. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Bea.”

Bea took her hand with a grin. “Same to you.”

[wheretheresaway-theresawilliam]

Chapter 7: Daughters

Word Count: 977

TWs: Murder mentions, smoking mentions, themes of stalking, breaking and entering, creep behaviour

/) /) ( • ༝•)

Vanessa took off the headband Vanita had given her, watching the pretty lights as she held it in her hand. It brought back memories. She didn’t know why she agreed to wear it.

“What’s on your mind?” Vanita asked, hopping up on the counter. The weed had evidently loosened Vanessa’s tongue.

“My dad,” she answered truthfully.

Vanita tilted her head, laser-focused despite her own partaking of the hazy-minded drug. “Why??”

She laughed shortly. “These ears. He loved rabbits. He even made a robot that was a giant rabbit.”

“Wow. Yeah, I’d certainly say that’s ‘love.’” She grinned.

“It didn’t suit him, though. He was… more of a wolf, than anything. But even that doesn’t seem fair, because wolves actually care about each other.” Tears pooled in Vanessa’s eyes and she took another drag of her joint. Vanita’s grin lessened.

“What makes you say that?”

“He was a horrible man,” Vanessa took a shuddering breath. “Had a penchant for hurting the most vulnerable, and driving everyone who loved him away.”

“Was?”

She sniffled. “I suppose he is still alive… I don’t know what he does anymore. They never caught him, and I don’t talk to him… and I’m too scared to say anything, and they’ll never believe me, anyway…”

Vanita could hear her own heartbeat. “What makes you say that?”

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

“Promise.”

“He killed… kids. He killed kids, in the 80s. And he hid the bodies in the suits at Freddy’s…” She dropped her joint in the sink and the ears on the counter before grabbing Vanita’s wrists, begging, “Vanita, ghosts are real.”

“Vanessa, who is your father?” Vanita asked quietly. She needed to hear her say it out loud.

“William Afton,” Vanessa whispered, her eyes wide and glossy. It took all of Vanita’s self-control not to spring up, cheering like she’d won the lottery. As Vanessa broke down sobbing, Vanita pried her hands away from her wrists. She put her lighter and cigarette case away, dropping the joints on the floor to crush them with her sneakers before exiting the bathroom. She briefly heard Vanessa wail at her sudden departure, but then the door closed. She found Ginny and told her where Vanessa was, but that she had to leave due to an “emergency.” Then she found Sawyer.

“We’re leaving, now,” she insisted, dragging him toward the elevator.

“What?? Why?? What about the others??” Sawyer asked, confused.

“They can get a cab, we’re leaving.”

“O-okay…” Reluctantly, Sawyer let Vanita guide him all the way back to his car. They got inside and he began to drive her home. “What happened??”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about, handsome.~”

This flustered him completely, taking his mind off of her odd behaviour for a moment. Vanita placed her hand on his knee, furthering the distraction.

“Wanna make out?” She suggested as he pulled up outside of her flat. He excitedly turned toward her, struggling to undo his seatbelt.

“Y-you mean it??”

“God, you are so cute,” she growled before placing her hands on his shoulders and smashing her lips against his. She felt nothing as they heatedly made out over his console, her hands buried in his hair and his rubbing on her back. She pulled away when he was breathless.

“Goodnight, Sawyer.”

His face was one of bliss and a lack of comprehension. She didn’t give him the chance to form a comeback and got out of his car. He sat there, stunned, while she went inside her house, blinking at his lipstick-smeared reflection in his rearview mirror. “What the Hell???”

The next evening, Vanita began the next phase of her plan. She had been following Vanessa for months, learning everything she could about her, confirming the connections she knew were there. She had gotten the job, come so close to her, and now this. She knew where she lived. Considering the evening before, she also knew Vanessa would probably be sleeping a lot of it off, denying it had ever happened. And, at last, her creation was complete. Donning the costume, Vanita set out into the night, catching a cab to visit Vanessa’s apartment. She quietly ascended the fire escape until she reached the correct balcony, climbed onto it, and placed a gloved hand on the handle of the glass balcony doors, covered by bland curtains.

The doors opened easily, completely unlocked. Of course, no one would expect for someone to break in through the balcony on the fifth floor. She closed the door behind her. With padded footsteps, Vanita entered, breathing heavily behind a mask. She approached the bedroom. Inside, she found Vanessa sleeping, buried in her blankets. She looked terrible. Vanita’s mind was blank as she gently tugged back the blankets, just enough to expose Vanessa’s golden blonde hair. Putting her hands in her pockets, she removed a pair of scissors and a small plastic bag. With steady hands, she cut away a meagre portion of her hair, just enough for what she needed but not enough to be instantly noticeable. She placed the hair in the bag and closed it before placing both items back into her pockets. As she turned to leave, the floorboards creaked beneath her.

She froze, glancing over her shoulder to see if Vanessa had woken. Assured that she hadn’t, Vanita made her way to the front door… also unlocked. She exited through it and descended the stairs, catching another cab to take her home. Back in her room, she removed the costume, then moved on to the bathroom, where she held the bag of hair up to the light. She took a picture of it with her phone, then returned to her room and began researching hair dye. It was then that she began to get excited. Dad, I’ll show you that you were wrong about me. I’ll show you that you did everything right.

[rec-diary]

About time I watched this.

And oh lord, how beautiful it was.

About Time is one of those movies that does not try to be anything more or less than what it exactly is.

Plain. Simple. Nice.

Boring?

No, because while we have time travel, this is not that kind of a time travel story. And while we have love, this is not that kind of a love story either.

This is a story about making the most of your time by finding pleasure in the mundane, the everyday. The things you and I take for granted, only to miss sorely when they have gone.

The male and female leads get married quickly, and we move to the essence of this movie - family connections, and how precious the time you have with your loved ones is. This idea is brought out in Tim’s character development, in how he changes his purpose for traveling back in time as he moves through time. From finding a partner for himself to trying to keep his family together.

It’s also full of the little things, The dad’s Olympic commentary. Tim doing the same with his daughter. Mary walking down the aisle to Tim’s song of choice, which she doesn’t care for, but does it anyways for him, who she cares for deeply. Tim and Roger’s friendship. Strolling along the beach with your father. Kit Kat being overly affectionate.

I was mostly smiling throughout this enjoyable experience (so much that my face hurt, mind you), except for the part when my hyper-imaginative brain theorized there’d be some drastic alteration from all the time traveling that he wouldn’t be able to undo and he’d die a broken, old man, full of regrets and hate for life.

Which begs the question: is it the tailoring of moments to suit the other person that make them perfect, or does the perfection of moments arise from the inherent awkwardness of human interactions? Because both make for fond memories. After their technical ‘first time’, while Tim thinks it could have been better, Mary thought it was lovely, even though it had been clumsy. But she clearly has a better time when Tim redoes it.

So if one could travel back in time but only to the extent of affecting the choices that shape one’s life, would one do it? Would you redo the little moments that defined experiences so that everything fit in this neat little portrait of life you’ve painted for yourself?

"We're all traveling through time together, every day of our lives. All we can do is do our best to relish this remarkable ride."

Every little moment is connected, and changes ripple across timelines. Saving Kit Kat results in Tim’s daughter never being born, but more importantly, it means true change has to come from within.

A tiny nitpick would be that females in the family don’t get the time travel gene. While I understand it’s not supposed to make sense in the sci-fi way, it’s rather unfair to the girls. Wait, is it the presence of a penis that makes one time travel? It would have been hilarious if they traveled through time by imagining where they wanted to go while holding their dicks.

Anyways, I digress.

There’s something a bit iffy though.

In the timeline where Tim helps with the play, he does not meet with Mary organically. He forces their meet-cute and uses information that he should not know but does from the time hopping to get their spark going. While we see how Tim and Mary complement each other remarkably well as the movie goes on, time travel or not, the way he doctored their first meeting to be perfect gives us this slightly tantalizing conclusion: that you really can make someone fall in love with you with enough data of the right kind.

Now how to splice some time travel genes in us, Narcissus?