#I'll probably put this on ao3

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[erinwantstowrite]

Hihi! Will Itsy-Bitsy be on Ao3?? Please say yes I’m out here BAWLING over the small crumbs you gave us

hopefully at some point! i have to actually get around to finishing it so I don't leave everyone hanging when i do post it

[lxvi-gloria]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[thatartiststudios]

01.

Ficlet requested by @tategaminu! Yes, I'm well aware this is probably longer than a ficlet. Don't ask where all the extra words came from, even I don't know

The night was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the sheets as Callum shifted slightly to get comfortable. Rayla lay beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips as his fingers gently traced circles on her stomach. She was sitting up slightly, the glow of the moon filtering through the window, casting a gentle light on them.

Little Rian, their unborn son, was being quite active that night. Rayla could feel the tiny movements, the little kicks and nudges that made her smile. Callum’s hand followed each movement, his touch soothing and tender.

“He’s really active tonight,” Callum murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

Rayla smiled, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxed into his embrace. “Yeah, he’s giving me quite the workout,” she teased softly, her words laced with warmth.

Callum chuckled, his gaze fixed on her stomach, watching in awe as Rian moved. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Rayla opened her eyes, tilting her head to look up at him. “It is,” she assured him gently, her hand covering his, pressing his palm more firmly against her. “He’s our son, Callum. And he’s perfect.”

Callum’s eyes softened as he looked down at her, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. “You’re perfect, too,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Rayla laughed softly, her breath tickling his neck. “You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was filled with affection.

Callum grinned, his lips brushing against her temple. “Only for you,” he murmured, his voice full of love.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the quiet moments, the warmth of each other’s presence, and the tiny, miraculous life growing between them. Callum’s fingers continued their gentle dance on Rayla’s stomach, soothing both her and their little one until the movements slowed and Rian settled down.

“Thank you,” Rayla whispered after a while, her voice barely audible.

“For what?” Callum asked, his thumb brushing over her skin in slow, comforting strokes.

“For this,” she said, her hand still resting on his. “For being here. For loving me.”

Callum’s heart filled with the depth of his feelings for her. “I’ll always be here, Rayla,” he promised, his voice unwavering. “Always.”

—

The dim light of the nursery cast a soft glow as Rayla sat on the edge of Rian’s bed, her fingers gently brushing through his white hair, which was already showing signs of the tiny blue horns that would someday match hers. Stella, ever the loyal cuddlemonkey, was already curled up beside the little halfling, her eyes drooping as she nestled closer.

Rayla smiled down at the two of them, her heart full as she began to sing a lullaby, her voice soft and soothing. It was the same lullaby she had sung to Stella many times, the same one her parents had sung to her when she was little. But tonight, she sang in Elvish, the ancient language of her people, the words flowing from her lips like a gentle breeze.

“Ged tha ‘n t-adhar dorch’ an nochd,

Tha mi ‘n soills’ air do shon, a ghràidh.

Tha a’ ghealach nas motha na a solas,

tha mi faisg; tha mo ghaol an seo.”

The melody was soft and lilting, each note carrying a promise of comfort and love. As Rayla sang, she watched Rian’s eyelids grow heavy, his little hand clutching Stella’s fur as he drifted closer to sleep. Stella, too, was lulled by the gentle song, her small body relaxing fully against Rian’s side.

Unbeknownst to Rayla, Callum had quietly finished his task of blowing out the candles downstairs and had come to the nursery, drawn by the sound of her voice. He leaned against the doorway, his heart swelling with love as he watched her. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with her, Rayla always managed to surprise him.

Rayla’s song tapered off into a soft hum, and when she was sure both Rian and Stella were asleep, she carefully laid them down, pulling the blanket up to their chins. She pressed a gentle kiss to Rian’s forehead, then to Stella’s, before standing up.

Callum moved towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice a soft murmur in her ear. “You sound like an angel, love.”

A coy smile tugged at Rayla’s lips as she leaned into his embrace. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

Callum just chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. “It’s true,” he said softly, tightening his hold on her.

Rayla sighed contentedly, letting herself relax fully in his arms. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she teased, tilting her head back to look up at him.

He met her gaze with a playful smile, his eyes twinkling with affection. “And I don’t mind one bit,” he added, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Rayla rolled her eyes, but her smile never wavered. “You’re impossible.”

“Only because I love you so much,” Callum replied, his tone sincere as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Rayla’s expression softened, her heart swelling with love for the man she had chosen to spend her life with. “I love you too, Callum,” she whispered, turning in his arms so she could face him fully.

Callum’s hands slid to rest on her hips as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love, all the gratitude he felt for the life they had built together. When they finally pulled apart, they stood there for a moment, foreheads touching, just breathing in each other’s presence.

“We’re so lucky,” Callum said softly, his voice full of emotion.

Rayla nodded, her eyes shining as she looked into his. “Yeah, we are.”

[nyoomerr]

i love your alpha bingge fic so much! it's great to see an exploration of how to him, shen yuan is the same thing that binghe is for shen yuan in svsss where because they're "from a different world," with different rules, it makes it okay to let go of some of their preconceived expectations of a relationship. truly a perfect fit for each other. excited to maybe see it on ao3!!! <3

thank you! alpha bingge who either exhibits stereotypically omegan traits or who would just outright prefer being an omega is so important to me... alpha/omega is a genre that sits practically parallel to stallion novels so it's another way to just very loudly yell about how miserable bingge is as a stallion protagonist and how he'll never reach his happy ending by upholding to the conventions of his genre and - /gets shot for trying to seriously analyze an omegaverse AU

[loquaciousquark]

From @maybethings and @blackestnight: wallflower

From @compels and anonymous: daffodil-flavored spider flower

Wallflower: fidelity in misfortune or adversity

Daffodil: new beginnings

Spider flower: elope with me

And you thought the last fill was indulgent. Have some utterly unrelenting sap, and then an argument, and then more sap. 5800 words.

--

Gradually, over the course of several minutes, Tav became aware of the fact that she was happy.

Only a handful of times in her memory had she recognized the contentment as it happened. Mostly the realization had come only with idle retrospection—tendays, months, years later—and with a bitter nostalgia that it had all slipped by so easily, without her noticing.

Not this time, though. This time, with Astarion’s cool arms twined around her shoulders, her head tucked firmly against his chest, and their limbs tangled up in both luxurious satin sheets and afterglow, Tav was happy and she knew it.

Gods. Lliira herself would struggle to match this joy, surely. Tav trailed her fingers idly up Astarion’s arm, then cupped his cheek as she kissed the underside of his chin. He gave a drowsy, questioning hum, tightened his arms around her, and buried his nose in her hair with a frank fondness that nearly finished her off altogether.

Tav grappled with her own instinct to succumb, to lay her head back down against his chest and let his shallow, steady breathing carry her off to sleep. The question won, but barely. “Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

Even his voice was relaxed. She felt like she’d chucked a rock at a window to watch it shatter. “Never mind. I’ll go to sleep.”

Astarion’s laugh was a quiet rumble in his throat. “It’s rude to tease if you don’t mean to follow through, darling. Out with it.”

“Oh, hells.”

Tav sat up beside him. The loss of contact was almost painful, but the curiosity was stronger still, and he didn’t seem to mind when she ran her fingers through his hair and tucked a curl behind his ear, only hummed and leaned into the touch. Such a simple affection. Such an honest, simple—

“I enjoyed today,” she said instead, ruthlessly crushing the sentiment. “From start to finish. I had a wonderful time with you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. I wasn’t sure this morning, when—well, you know—”

“When the door to the bath gave way?” His red eyes flashed with amusement, and Tav groaned. Even now heat rushed to her throat at the memory. A perfectly innocent morning tryst in their room’s private adjoining bath, dawnlight spilling over them both amid the smell of cardamom and jasmine—and the room’s very locked door yielding to a housemaid’s key, followed immediately by the housemaid herself with a stack of laundered towels. Tav didn’t know which of them had been more shocked, though the fact that Tav had nearly drowned herself out of humiliation put the betting odds firmly in her corner. Astarion, of course, had found the whole thing hilarious, even sitting naked in a soapy copper tub.

“Yes, you bastard,” Tav said, covering his eyes with her fingers. “You horrible man. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’ll laugh at you whenever I like,” Astarion said archly, pulling her hand from his eyes, but his mouth as he kissed her fingertips was gentle. “Besides, you had your little revenge, didn’t you? Your own private prayer to Helm, right in the middle of that lovely expensive market.”

“Hoar, you blaspheming tosser.”

“I don’t care in the slightest.” He pushed up on one elbow to kiss her, very brief and very light, just as her own fingers had been as they’d dipped into his pockets that morning, exchanging every gem and jewel he’d lifted from the shop’s cases for pebbles and bits of broken shell. His face as they’d left the shop—preening pride replaced in an instant with utter indignance—had made her laugh hard enough she’d cried. “I’ll have my own revenge, you know,” he purred. “Try and stop me.”

“Never,” she said against his mouth. He laughed again, then flopped back to the tasseled pillow, one arm thrown carelessly above his head.

Gods, how beautiful he was like this. Happy, sated, boneless as a sack of meal. She could drink in the sight of him for a thousand years and still be thirsty at the end of it.

“You’re staring, darling.”

“I love you,” she said, as if in explanation, and felt him give the little shiver he always did when she said she loved him and meant it. “You were the most handsome man in the room tonight, you know. Not that you need me to tell you.”

“I think I’d like you to tell me anyway.”

The words were breezy, but she could hear the faint, tremulous thread of uncertainty beneath. Even Sune’s woven sash couldn’t contain how much she loved him. She wanted to curl over him like a bird, wings spread wide as she could to keep him from all harm. Not that he’d tolerate that sort of glossy protection; he’d just as soon take a hissing, clawed swipe at her himself if she tried. Instead Tav kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and pushed up from the bed.

His voice was outraged. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Just give me a minute, would you?” Tav stretched, took brief advantage of the silver ewer on the bedside table to clean herself off, and strode over to the quietly crackling hearth.

The fireplace was beautiful, the mantle ornate and elegant, as was the rest of their rented room. The finest suite of the finest lodging-house in the glittering city of Athkatla, decked crown to baseboard in brass and cloth-of-gold and carved oak polished to a mirror shine. Three servants had spirited away their belongings into drawers and wardrobes within minutes of their arrival; two more waited below-stairs, ready for the whim of the bellpull beside the bed. The great window on the west wall, heavy curtains drawn now with night, overlooked the shining bay, which had teemed in the sun this afternoon with merchant-ships flying flags dyed rich as gemstones.

And here, thrown with thoughtless grace over the back of the damask armchair set before the fire, was Astarion’s suit from their evening gala. It was one of her favorites: black worsted wool with gold peacocks stitched over the breast and back, gold piping on the sleeves and belt, more black and gold stitchwork accenting the long, lean cut of his trousers. He’d worn the sapphires she’d given him at his throat and on his fingers, alongside the ring from Avernus which he never removed, and when she’d seen him come from the bathing room fully dressed, idly adjusting a cufflink just so, her mouth had gone dry as the Skyfire Wastes.

Gods, she was flushing now at the memory alone. Tav plucked the trousers from the chair and folded them, along with the starched, ruffled white shirt he’d worn beneath the coat, and set them both atop the gilt table nearby. The jacket itself she slipped over her own shoulders in a moment of fancy. The sleeves were long enough to drown her hands past the fingertips; the hem landed halfway down her thighs. The brass toggles glanced coolly against her bare chest and stomach, like stones skipping down a stream. She turned to Astarion, arms spread. “I don’t think it has the same effect, do you?”

“No, my sweet,” Astarion said slowly, but his eyes had sharpened to a piercing, avid stare, dangerous and hungry as a blade. “I can’t say it’s the same at all.”

Her stomach lurched wonderfully, and a frisson of that same desire from only an hour ago began to coil again in her blood. But she had a point, gods damn, and instead Tav scooped up her own forgotten dress from the floor beside the chair, busying herself with brushing away the dust from the deep cerulean silk, straightening the beautiful lace netting at the wide collar, at the cuffs of the long sleeves. A thousand pearl buttons down the back, and Astarion’s elegant fingers trembling, trembling, as he feverishly worked them open before the fireplace…

“The silk’s already crushed, darling. No need to maim it further.”

Tav laughed, the reverie broken, and eased her grip on the gown. “I told you I didn’t know how to care for such expensive things. I should have hung it up right away.”

The fire in his eyes had tempered, the lust banked to something more patient and smoldering. He propped his head on his hand as he watched her. “And deprive the laundresses of their sole joy and purpose? No, pet, I think your time was much better spent.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “Perhaps I could remind you again. Right now.”

“Do you remember that woman from the party?” Tav said instead, returning the dress to its padded hanger, shutting it away in a wardrobe carved with foxes and hunting dogs. “The one with the silver feathers in her hair, and the necklace made of ropes of rubies?”

His look flickered with surprise, but he only raised a brow. “I suppose she left a vague impression. Painted nails, a very tacky sort of fur stole. A general air of grasping desperation. This is whom you’ve been pondering so acutely all evening?”

“Yes. No. Not all evening.” Tav rolled up her too-long sleeves and went to the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of burgundy wine from a crystal decanter, took a sip, and leaned against the back of the armchair. “She was the richest woman in the room. Did you know that? She could buy every gem in the Diamond Dragon twice over without denting her fortune in the slightest. She practically holds court at the Shadowgates House, even though her mother was only a minor marchioness from the Lathkule family.”

“How suddenly you’ve acquired all this information.”

“The duke from Tarm was very drunk and very eager to share.” She took another sip of wine, considering him. “She fell in love with you the moment you walked through the door.”

“Did she?” Ah, there was the badly hidden triumph. He ran his fingers through his curls with absent flair. “Well! Perhaps her taste isn’t beyond redemption.”

“You didn’t notice? She stared at you all night, along with her little flock of gauzy geese. They might have had fishing lines hooked to their noses for how they followed you the whole evening.”

“No, my dear, I can’t say I did.” His expression was at once gloating and aggrieved. “This delightful little tidbit came to you from your Tarmian duke as well, I suppose?”

“No.” Tav was now hiding behind her wineglass like a coward, and she knew it. “She told me that part herself. Right before she offered me fifteen thousand gold danters to leave you and never show my face in Athkatla again.”

All the mirth drained from his expression like she’d opened a tap. He fell carefully, precisely still; his tone went sharp as flint. “Oh? Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what did you say, my love?”

“I said that I’d sooner drink from a Luskan gutter than consider something so despicable. I said if she ever spoke to either of us again I’d have her face plastered on every public placard from here to the Gate with her direct address and a golden promise to the first person to pinch her jewel-case.” Tav gave a crooked smile. “I wanted to tell her that she was now banned from our duchy, only I couldn’t remember where we’d said we were from.”

“Selgaunt, darling. Sembia.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “And then?”

“And then I stole two of her ruby chains and hid them in the pudding, and I slit the lacings of her gown so that it would all come loose the next time she danced.”

“That explains the flurry of organza during the second gavotte. I did wonder. Come here.”

Her heart in her throat, Tav set down the wineglass and went. Astarion pushed aside the satin sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed as she approached, and as soon as she was within reach he grasped the collar of her borrowed jacket and pulled her down into a kiss.

It was a searching kiss, a question she didn’t know quite how to answer. She tried anyway, cupping his face in both hands, curling her shoulders into him, lingering as long as she could in every touch. His hands gentled on her collar, then slid beneath it to twine around the back of her neck.

Eventually, slowly, he pulled away. Tav blinked dazedly, trying to force the world back into focus, and when she found Astarion’s face again she was surprised to see only a thoughtful appraisal there. His thumb stroked up the line of her throat, bumping over the small divots left among her freckles from many quiet evenings, then down again.

“Astarion? What is it?”

“Fifteen thousand gold danters,” he said slowly, that eyebrow rising once more.

“By all the pride of Memnor,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be smug.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t I be?” He laughed and slid his hands down to loop around her waist beneath the jacket. “To think, the greediest little wretch I’ve ever known still manages to prize my heart above enough coin to buy a small nation. Darling, it’s gratifying, truly.”

“Oh,” she said, momentarily disarmed. She’d expected him to be pleased the woman had offered the sum in the first place, not that Tav had loved him enough to reject it. “Astarion, did you—you can’t have thought for a single moment I’d have taken the money.”

“Of course not. I’m worth at least twice that.”

By all the living gods. He was lying.

Her vision went white, and she yanked away from him like he’d burst into flame. “You bastard. You utter wanker. How dare you think I’d have considered fifteen thousand—thirty thousand—a million gold danters! She could have offered me the keys to all the vaults of Evereska and I would have laughed in her face.”

“For suggesting you needed keys, I’d have laughed right along with you.”

“Shut up. How dare you think there might ever be a price to be put on what we—what we’ve managed, against all odds—” Tav whirled away, arms crossed tight over her chest, gaze darting blindly over the settee, the crystal decanter, the plush hand-dyed rug. She ran out of things to look at and spun back to Astarion, livid. “You bloody—horrible man. Oh, you awful—not even she made me this angry when she asked. I wanted to laugh when she said it. Because the moment she did I looked over at you, and you smiled at me, and I could tell just from looking that you were—that you were happy to see me—really, honestly happy, and I thought—”

“Tavish—”

“Don’t speak. Don’t you dare say a word.” He looked seriously alarmed now, half-risen from the bed, but Tav was too angry to stop. “She asked me how much it would take for me to leave my husband. And in all the confusion of what she wanted I didn’t even question it—didn’t even consider it wasn’t really true. I forgot how much was the party mask and how much was real. She didn’t know the marriage was pretense and for a few minutes, neither did I.”

“Tav, darling—”

“And then when I did realize—when I remembered it was all a farce and that you weren’t really—” She raked her fingers through her hair, dislodging the knot she’d tied, and wound it back up in a frenzy. “Today was so wonderful, Astarion. All of it. The stupid incident in the bath and walking with you through the market district and stealing your lifts and every single second of that awful party. Not because of what we did—but because it was all with you. She asked me to leave my husband and my first thought wasn’t ‘I haven’t got one,’ it was ‘nothing could make me leave him.’ And then when I remembered it wasn’t real, I was shocked by how much I felt—how much I wanted—”

Ilmater’s rack, what she wouldn’t give for the ceiling to crash down around her. Astarion was watching her with wide eyes, lips parted enough she could see the tips of his fangs; his hands were clenched in the sheets. Oh, gods, what a fool she was making of herself, but the words refused to be still. “I love you, you stupid berk. I love you. Every moment I spend with you makes me happy. Even right now, when I’d like to throw you right out the window into the bay—there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. Not for any number of danters, not for every diamond in Amn. I don’t want to be your wife as a lie to get into a ball; I want to be your wife so that the next time someone tries to buy you away from me, I can introduce his teeth to the back of his skull.”

Astarion gave a sudden, hollow sigh. She’d heard it before. It was the sound he made in battle when someone struck the air from his lungs without warning, when he’d failed to anticipate a blow.

Damn and damn and damn. What was she doing? Astarion stared at her as if she’d lost every last part of her mind, his shoulders stone-stiff against her wrath, blank shock painted across his features. His eyebrows had climbed so high they’d nearly disappeared behind the white curls.

Tav’s courage failed like a withered spell. She went back to the sideboard and refilled her wineglass with shaking hands—for the price they were charging a nonexistent duchess, she supposed it had to be excellent—and threw it back in two gulps. Perhaps she had lost her mind. She’d certainly lost her tongue, a lifetime of professional silence capsizing wholesale against some hurt feelings and a little annoyance.

At last she heard him rise, then a whispering shift of silk as he pulled on the ornate dressing gown the servants had laid out for him. She filled her wineglass a third time, but his pale, graceful fingers plucked it from her hand before she could drink. She didn’t fight the theft, but neither was she strong enough to face him; she took a few aimless steps towards the fire instead, her toes sinking into the rich carpet, and wrapped Astarion’s jacket more tightly around her.

The sound of the water lapping against the seawall below them roared like thunder; the fire in the hearth snapped like a whip. She clenched her jaw, trying desperately to keep the waver from her voice. “Astarion. Do you really think I’m that craven?”

“Oh? Is the penitent finally permitted to address the bench?”

He was closer than she’d thought. “You’ve never been penitent in your life.”

“It’s exhausting to always be right. One occasionally must try something new.” He came around the chair to stand between her and the fire, the dressing gown’s quilted lapels pulled snug to his throat, his face carefully blank. His shoulders were thrown back, Tav realized, as if steeling himself for a fight. “I don’t think it’s unfair to suggest you have a particular relationship with the common coin. An avaricious one, I mean, and one that occasionally borders on gluttony.”

She wanted to drink something very badly, but he was still holding her wineglass. “Ouch.”

“Don’t misunderstand me; it’s part of your charm. I’m certainly familiar with insatiable appetites, and if nothing else, it makes holiday shopping for you quite simple.” He hesitated. “But to suggest you would permit your—hunger, shall we say—to overpower the affection I know you hold for me—well. It was an unworthy thought. Unkind of me, and certainly unfair to you.”

“More than affection,” Tav mumbled. She pressed her lips together until the prickling behind her eyes faded. “Astarion, I would never.”

“I know,” he said, and if she didn’t know better she would think he was flustered. “But the doubt does creep in every now and then, even for someone this magnificent. So you can imagine that when a perfectly straightforward scolding transfigures itself into one’s lover suggesting a very unexpected—a rather—not necessarily unwelcome—ah.”

He was flustered. And tongue-tied as a schoolboy, that awful impassive mask fracturing under the weight of consternation.

She swallowed. “You think I’m mad.”

“Only in some ways.”

“I suppose it does sound insane when I say it out loud. I don’t know if you—I mean, I’d never once thought about it before—before you. Ever. It always seemed like a thing that only happened to people who owned houses and went out to work every morning and complained about the cost of bread always going up. But then you came along and changed everything about what I thought could be real—” A humiliated laugh slipped out. “Listen, just—just forget the whole thing, all right? I won’t bring it up again. I won’t—”

He took a quick, irritated step forward. “My love, would you kindly shut up? I don’t have marriage proposed to me every day. I’d like to seriously consider it.”

He’d like to—oh.

Oh.

Tav took a stunned, shaky breath. “Well, think out loud then. I don’t propose it very often myself.”

“One hopes not.” He drained the wineglass and set it aside. His voice was pensive, unsteady; he hadn’t fed in almost a day, but his high cheekbones were flushed pink. “I do wonder, though—why now?”

Heart of the Firehair, he meant it. He wasn’t shutting her out; he wasn’t taking flight into the nearest alley. The words tumbled out like a dam had shattered. “Because—gods! Because that awful woman came after you tonight and I wanted to throttle her for trying, no matter how much money she had or how many nobles were watching. Because we’ve been traveling together for months at this point, and if I haven’t stopped loving you by now, I never will. You complain incessantly. You steal my scents. You take all the bedcovers every night and I have to fight you to get them back. You don’t even sleep.”

“Darling, I had no idea you held me in such esteem.”

She batted away his sarcasm. “I wouldn’t change a moment of it, Astarion. Not a single moment. Every gripe, every time I wake up with cold feet, every time I have to steal back something of mine from your pack—it’s all—they’re like jewels to me. Every one of them. I keep—I’ve been hoarding them up like treasures, and it’s not enough, it’s never—I only ever want more. More of the memories. More of you, no matter how much I have already. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.”

Astarion had gone very still. The firelight caught in his red eyes and flickered there; she thought he had stopped breathing. Hesitantly, she closed the distance and took his hands, and she was relieved when his grip instantly tightened.

“Every time I think I’ve begun to understand you,” Astarion started, then trailed off. He looked down, and Tav watched him run his thumb over the ring she had brought him from Avernus, the ring that shielded him from the blinding sun. “My dear, you amaze me. And you tolerate the worst of me, which is rather more impressive.”

“Your worst is still miles better than some people’s best.”

“Let’s not exaggerate for the sake of adoration,” he said, but there was a warmth there that sparked a painful, fragile hope. “You know, I never considered holy matrimony for myself. Not seriously. Oh, I had it offered a few times over the decades, and I suggested it myself here and there as part of a lure, but it only takes a few dozen lovers disappearing into Cazador’s dungeons for the idea to become simply part of the stage dressing.”

Her instinct was to deflect, to retract the idea altogether, but his expression—curious, thoughtful, no fear at all—silenced her. “I’m afraid to admit, darling, that was true even for you. My first friend in two centuries; the first lover in my memory I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying more than once. It simply never crossed my mind.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. His eyes softened considerably, and she realized he was breathing again. “I’m beginning to believe that may have been a mistake on my part,” he continued. “In fact, the lapse may have been unforgiveable.”

A thrill jolted through her. “Astarion…”

“It’s only very recently that I’ve permitted myself to imagine a future, you know. Any future at all, much less one with you in it.” His fingers slid along her wrist beneath the jacket’s overlong sleeves, and she realized he was searching for the old, faded marks of his own teeth. “But now that you’ve raised the possibility, I must confess the thought of a little formal acknowledgement of our arrangement—well, it might not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Her hands were shaking. She felt like she was about to race into some great battle, her pulse thundering beneath her skin. “Oh, hells. Just say it straight out, would you?”

Astarion laughed. “I’m already terribly fond of the world knowing you’re mine,” he said, and then he smiled. It was a sweet, sincere smile, without any artifice at all, and his voice grew husky and tender. “And frankly, my love, when it comes down to it, I think I quite like the idea of being yours.”

The entire room seemed to dip underwater. All sound grew abruptly muffled—the hearth, the bay, even Astarion’s voice—and she clung to his cool hands as the only real thing in the world. Gradually, her own heartbeat began to thud again in her ears—very fast, very loud—and from the growing satisfaction on his face, Astarion could hear it too.

Tav forced herself to clear her throat. “You—you don’t have to decide right away. You could take some time, think it over.”

“My dear, I’m the first to admit I’m guilty of a great many things, but excessive planning is not one of them.” He draped her hands over his own shoulders, and Tav leaned into the embrace with a shudder of relief. The quilted lapels of his dressing gown were silky as sin against her cheek. “After two centuries of slavery, I hadn’t thought there were any surprises in the world left for me. I knew exactly what eternity looked like, and I couldn’t say I was excited at the prospect.”

His chin came to rest atop her head. “But you changed all that. You came and shattered every lock holding me down, even when the doors had been rusted shut so long I’d forgotten they were there. You didn’t just show me the possibility of a new world, you walked right into it beside me, and you refused to let me bring any of my chains with me on the way.”

Goldheart’s grace. He held her lightly, but Tav felt weightless as a bird, as if one strong breeze might carry her wholly off her feet. Her voice hardly sounded like her own. “You’re giving me a lot of credit for things you did yourself.”

“Don’t interrupt. You told me once that I was part of every future you could dream up for yourself. I’m trying to say that for some months now, I’ve had precisely the same notion about you.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes, and Tav realized with a shock that he was nervous. “You’re it, my darling. For better or worse.”

“Astarion,” Tav sighed, dizzy with joy, and she traced her thumbs over his beautiful cheekbones. “I love you so much more than fifteen thousand gold danters.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh, you louse. I wouldn’t give you up if Selûne herself spread the heavens at my feet.”

He laughed, but his arms tightened around her. “I rather like hearing that.”

“I mean it. If you ever again think for a single second that I’d simply trade you away, I’ll shave off every pomaded hair on your head. Eyebrows included.”

He made a noise of disgust, but when she twined her arms back around his neck, his smile squeezed Tav’s heart like a vise. She’d done that. She’d made him so happy he couldn’t hide it, had put that look of unvarnished, shining elation in his eyes. And if she had her way—if Tymora could spare them a single scrap of luck—she’d put it there again, and again and again, beyond counting, for the rest of her life.

His voice was low, rich. “Kiss me, darling.”

“Yes,” Tav gasped, and she surged up to his mouth.

Of course. Of course. Now she understood what he’d been searching for earlier, what her heart had fumbled to say. I’m here for good. Forever, for as long as you’ll have me. I’d have thrown her in the punchbowl if I’d thought we could get away after.

The kiss grew hot, her urgency flooding through every touch. He cradled her face like he was afraid to break her, but his fangs were sharp and pricking carelessly, and she didn’t care, she didn’t care. She loved his fangs and his temper and his complaints and every part of his bruised, scarred heart. He’d let her take it from him despite the pain, let her cup it in the cage of her fingers and hold it close, let her learn to keep it safe from all the world.

It will always be you. I will always, always, always choose you.

Astarion broke away, breathing hard. His palm rested along her throat, pressed to the hammer of her heartbeat. Tav laid her hand over his and couldn’t tell who trembled more.

“How lucky I am. The handsomest man I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person in the room.” She hesitated, then blazed forward. “Mine for good.”

“For good, for bad, and for all the fun parts between.” He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. “My lovely, foolish, perfect idiot. Impossible fortune may have finally found one of us, but I promise it wasn’t you.”

Her heart brimmed full enough to burst. She kissed him again instead, as tender as she knew how to make it. He made a soft, fervent, wanting noise as he pressed eagerly back against her, and she felt the moment settle itself like stained glass, beautiful and enduring, in the deepest part of her heart.

Yes. She’d make sure this moment stayed. This one would never slip away.

“I don’t have a ring yet,” she said at last against his mouth. “I’ll get one soon. Perhaps I’ll even pay for it.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Between your Reithwin scavenging and your little field trip to Avernus, it is decidedly my turn. Besides,” he added with faint uncertainty, “I think I’d rather like to do this properly. To have something made for you—only for you. Something that’s as beautiful as you are.”

“Astarion!”

“Oh, I quite mean it. If I failed to notice that covetous harpy at the gala tonight, it was because my attention was wholly absorbed by you. You were as brilliant as the sun, my dear, and lovelier than a waterfall of roses. I could hardly bear to look away.”

“Sune’s holy laurels,” Tav gasped, and she clutched at her chest. “You can’t just say things like that. You’ll kill me stone dead.”

His smile was smug and perfect. “You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid. You have a lifetime to try. And if you’re still not acclimated by the end of it—well! You’ll simply have to live forever.”

Tav brushed a wayward curl from his eyes. He let her, and she lingered, running her fingers through his velvet-soft hair. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“And I ought not have doubted. I sincerely apologize.” He turned his head and kissed her fingertips. “There. Such a sturdy foundation for our future laid already.”

“You idiot,” Tav sighed, but his hands were playing now at the hem of her borrowed jacket, and his crimson eyes had taken on an unmistakable glint. All the ornate luxury of their suite seemed to vanish at once, save the enormous crown-canopy bed and its tousled satin sheets. His hands climbed further, his mouth dipping to her throat, and she gave a breathless laugh. “We’ll have to watch the time.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I overheard the house staff after dinner tonight. They’re bringing the bill first thing in the morning.”

“Darling, I can’t say I care in the slightest.” His fangs scraped over her pulse-point, and she shuddered. “Perhaps we’ll sneak out before they arrive. Perhaps we won’t. Perhaps you’ll talk them down with that silver tongue of yours—or perhaps we’ll simply pay what they ask, hm? It might be a novel experience.”

The happiness was so bright she could hardly speak. How stupid that she had thought the day wonderful before, when it had only been the palest candle. His voice was fiercely warm, blatantly affectionate, and his hands sliding the black jacket from her shoulders were gentle enough to give her goosebumps.

Astarion, who could kill a man with a knife at sixty paces and complain about a chipped nail after; Astarion, who’d fought with her and for her from the moment they’d met, who loved her and would make a ring for her and marry her. Who trusted her, enough to kill the doubt for good.

She took his face in her hands. “I’ll never pay full price,” she breathed.

He laughed, delighted, and kissed her. His strong, graceful fingers slid between hers, taking her hand as surely as he’d stolen her heart, as surely as he’d given her his own in its place: the most perfect treasure she could imagine, no matter its cold stillness. Like a dream, the question that had started all this—the question she’d never actually asked—floated back through her mind. I had a wonderful time with you today. And you, Astarion? Did you, with me?

He tugged her down to the bed in a cloud of satin sheets. The answer burst through every stroke of his fingers, every careful brush of his lips. Yes, he said, yes, yes, and she gave herself up to the joy.

—

end.

[leathfaic]

"So what do ye eat then, when ye get the choice?" Soap is opening two bottles of beer handing one over to Ghost. He's clueless about what to cook for dinner, might as well ask Simon for some input.

"Chicken and rice. Or I order something." Ghost's tone is nonchalant as he studies the label of the beer he was just handed and Soap decides immediately that he's not gonna follow the plain suggestion actually. He's on leave and deserves some flavour in his food, thank you very much.

"Single malt whisky cask matured?" Ghost' sounds slightly disbelieving. "That is very Scottish.", or disapproving, who knew with the English.

So Soap just snorts, "Had to get ye some of the local stuff, eh? If ye behave ah'll make sure we get some of the beer with tea in for ye." 

At that Simon, who was sniffing his beer, looks up, pure horror in his eyes and Soap's snort evolves into a full-on cackle. 

He catches himself a moment later, inspecting the almost pouting look behind the mask and decides to drop the topic for now. Instead, he raises his bottle at Simon, "To leave, aye?".

Ghost does the same, their bottles clinking. 

"Cheers."

"Slàinte Mhath." 

Crisp and cold. Fuck he'd missed beer. Missed a lot of things during that last OP. Food that tasted like actual food was one, bringing him back to his original line of questioning. It shouldn't be surprising that Ghost is not into cooking. He's the only person Soap has ever seen eating anything from the mess with true enthusiasm. Sorts his MREs by how much he likes them too when he thinks no one is looking. Always eating the best first.

"Not much of a cook then?" he keeps his tone light and innocent while sipping his beer. Trying to observe Simon's reactions without making him feel watched.

"I can handle meat," There's a stupid smirk traded between them and Soap would roll his eyes if he didn't have to reign himself in, immediately set ablaze by the stupid joke.

"Learned at a butchers before I joined." Ghost offers up by way of explanation, sounding almost sad. Something must've happened there, something that had Simon ending up in the force. Something that led to him becoming Ghost.

"Well perfect, I'm not terrible but I do handle meat way better in the bedroom." Soap winks at him and this time, to make sure the innuendo lands painfully enough to pull Ghost out of his head. 

It does and earns him an exasperated look. Might have convinced him if those brown eyes weren't full of fondness. 

He's gonna leave Ghost with the belief that he's not learning to see behind the mask for a little longer: Wants him to feel comfortable. No need to divulge that his tone clearly betrayed that he's got no idea how to cook apart from putting some meat into a pan and put all his hope into some cook in bags. Lots of people couldn't cook, it wasn't a big deal.

Only that it is not just that. From the few things he's told Soap about himself, it makes sense, in a sad way.

Simon, who confronts being gay like being in battle, all hyper-masculine energy focused on fighting through all the hurtful stereotypes and insults his father planted in his head, probably never got to do a lot of things that weren't 'manly'. Makes him wonder where the needle skills come from but only for a split second before he decides he's gonna do something about this then.

"So what is yer favourite food then?" 

"Don't really 'ave one." the stoic bastard answers and Soap has to think about the MREs but also has no trouble believing that that is a luxury the other man doesn't allow himself to ponder. Thinks he doesn't deserve it.

Not that'll stop him. Quite the opposite, now he's motivated.

"Alright, anythin ye could be doin with right now?" 

He watches Ghost's eyes dart through the kitchen seemingly looking for a clue. Bouncing of cabinets and shelves before he takes a swig of his beer.

"No." he finally answers, sounding like he's withdrawing into himself again. For fucks sake.

Soap smiles at him hiding his exasperation away before it can reach his face, doesn't need his emotions to make this harder on both of them. 

"Well too bad, yer at ma mercy." He lets his smile dip into something devilish and revels in the note of alarm in Simon's lovely eyes. It's quickly replaced with confusion as Soap presses a knife into his hands. He stands there, looking for all accounts like a very misplaced ghoul. Very deadly but also kinda endearing.

"Ye can cut the onion, garlic, are chilis fine with ye? If so, cut two of those too and make sure ye wash yer hands after tha'. 

They work in silence for a moment, Ghost's dutifully following Soap's command without any complaints. When Soap begins to sear the meat he explains what he's doing and asks for input from Ghost. He's rewarded with warm surprise on the mostly masked features before Ghost starts talking, softer than his usual tone when he's guiding Soap through something job-related, becoming almost reverent when he sees Soap adjust to what he just said. And Soap tries to be careful with his usual ribbing jokes, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium that is Ghost relaxing in his flat.

When the other ingredients are added he takes over again. Talking the lieutenant through the process. Explaining his steps when he knows why they're important and freely admitting defeat when he doesn't. 

They drink their beers and cook, Ghost once more following every step that Soap lays out for him and Soap silently trying to impress him. Not that he was gonna admit that to either himself or anyone else.

"Who taught you all tha'?", they're just waiting for the pasta now, the sauce down and bubbling away on low heat, leaning against each other, Soaps head resting on Ghost's shoulder. Outright domestic. 

"Ma grannie," Soap smiles fondly at the memory of the tiny woman with her sincere blue eyes. "Told me being a lad was no excuse and Ah'd better know ma way around a kitchen for ma future burd." he winks at Ghost who goes surprisingly red surprisingly fast clearly visible even behind the mask. "When Ah told her Ah'm a buftie she doubled down. Ian she said, refused to call me John ye see forever angry tha' ma da went with the anglicised version, anyways, Ian she said if ye're bringing home another man one of ye will need to know how to cook or for all yer gay love ye'll focking starve." he can almost hear hear as his accent gets thicker and something between wild joy and bottomless sorrow tears through his chest at the memory.

There's a beat of silence before a weird noise breaks it. It's a rough quick sound and it takes Soap a second to realise that Simon just snorted. 

"Well thank fuck for grandma MacTavish and her foresight!" he pulls his almost empty beer bottle into the air dramatically and they toast again. 

Soap's smile is wide, imagining what his nan's reaction to Ghost would've been. 

They might have gotten on entirely too well. 

[kyouka-supremacy]

I fucked up

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Delightful Distraction

A genderswapped FluffyNight drabble to celebrate reaching 300 followers! This was briefly looked over & written in two sittings! Happy reading!

Ccino hums quietly to the music that's playing in the otherwise quiet café & picks up the dirty dishes of the table that had just left, leaving the building free of customers for the time being.

Carrying the plates carefully with both hands, she walks into the back where the kitchen is & deposits the dirty dishes into the sink, already filled with plates from earlier in the day.

Ccino debates with herself for a moment before grabbing a pair of dish washing gloves from nearby & slipping them on. She might as well take advantage of the lack of customers & get a head start on washing up.

Scrubbing away at a dirty cup, Ccino's unaware of a presence approaching her from behind until there are suddenly arms wrapped around her waist, causing her to jump & tighten her grip on the mug in her hand in surprise.

Looking over her shoulder, Ccino glares at the grinning face behind her, huffing in annoyance. "Was that really necessary?" Nightmare lets out a quiet chuckle as she tightens her hold around Ccino, resting her head on the other's shoulder.

"No, but it was funny." She mumbles softly in response to the question, pressing a soft kiss against Ccino's neck in apology. "Will you ever find it in yourself to forgive me?"

Ccino rolls her eyelights & sighs with a shake of her skull, unable to keep the smile off of her face as she turns back to face the sink. "I don't know, what will you do to make it up to me?"

Nightmare hums as she thinks, grin softening into a smile as she tries to come up with a satisfying reply. "I could always make dinner for us tonight?"

Ccino stands straight & pulls away from Nightmare's hold slightly to look at her, a look of panic on her face as she frantically tries to backtrack. "N-No, it's fine! No further apology needed, I'm good!"

Nightmare huffs with a pout, reluctantly pulling away & taking a step back from the other. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Ccino pauses to take off the gloves she's wearing before turning to face Nightmare fully. "Honey, you know I love you," she takes the other's hands into hers, squeezing them softly as she meets Nightmare's gaze & continues speaking, "but your cooking could use some work."

Nightmare frowns as if she's upset, but shrugs after a moment as a smile forms on her face again. "Yeah, that's fair." She squeezes Ccino's hands in return, leaning in & pressing a chaste kiss against the other's teeth.

Ccino hums as she goes to kiss Nightmare again, unsatisfied with how short the last one was, only to jump at the sound of the bell hanging in front of the door ringing & signaling the presence of a customer.

She pulls away in a panic, adjusting her apron with a light blush on her face as she walks away from Nightmare & back out to the actual café area, calling out to the customer. "Just a moment!"

Nightmare watches as Ccino walks away with a pout, tentacles drooping in disappointment as she hears her begin to take the customer's order. She had hoped to have Ccino's attention for longer, but that clearly wasn't going to happen.

Nightmare looks over at the dirty dishes that she had distracted Ccino from, sighing & grabbing the gloves that the other had been using. She may as well help her darling out a little since she had distracted her.

[casdeans-pie]

"Close Your Eyes, Dean."

The field he’d chosen was empty and wide open, with grass swaying lazily in a calm breeze, lit up brightly by the roundness of a large full moon. Almost too perfect – as all nights in Jack’s Heaven were.

But it was a great spot for what he wanted, Dean thought.

“C’mon man, I’m already dead, this body in heaven isn’t even real. What’s seeing your true form gonna do? Burn out my non-existent eyes?”

“It might,” Cas rumbled. A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw.

 “You’re such a shitty liar, you know that right?”

Cas sighed and his broad shoulders slumped down into a slouch that made his trench coat look baggy and crumpled on him. His eyebrows downturned as he looked up at Dean from under his lashes and sad, sad hooded eyes. “I don’t…” he started, swallowed, and tried again, “I don’t want you to see me any differently. This is more me than anything else now.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth, guilt twisting in his gut – unable to resist the power of that expression. “Dammit Cas, I won’t pressure you, but you know nothin’ like that is gonna bother me. So what if you’ve got tentacles or a hundred eyes or whatever-”

“-I don’t have tentacles,” Cas interjected.

“-Point is, you’ll always be this dorky little guy to me no matter what you’ve got stuffed inside,” Dean said.

Cas squinted his eyes and straightened up. “That feels like a backhanded compliment.”

Dean laughed with enough force that his head threw backwards. He shook his head with amusement and felt himself mirroring the smile he’d finally coaxed out of Cas.

Dean reached over and patted his shoulder fondly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep working on being sincere.”

Green eyes met blue, and Dean’s chest warmed with the intensity of his affection.

Cas was still looking at him with a sad tilt to his eyes, but the pain had gone out of his expression. Moonlight highlighted strands of his dark hair, ruffling slightly in the breeze, and picked out the blue colour of his tie against his white shirt. It was just Cas. No matter what.

Dean took a breath and looked up at Heaven’s stars, shining in a pattern that he wondered if Jack had designed himself. Probably. The kid loved stuff like that.

“I mean it though Cas. Nothing you show me’s gonna change how I feel,” Dean said. Exactly what those feelings were, he wasn’t exactly sure… but that was a train of thought for another day. One life changing event at a time. Dean brought his gaze back down, though he swore he could still see the stars reflected in the blue of Cas’ eyes. “You’ve seen me at some of my worst, man. You literally met me in Hell.”

Cas stared with such dedicated focus, like Dean was the only thing that was worth paying attention to in the whole world, and it made pleasant sparks skitter through his veins.

But Cas said nothing in reply, he simply waited for Dean to continue, as if he was always enraptured by anything he had to say.

It was an intensity that Dean had so much affection for. So much. So freaking much-

“You saw me as a Demon,” Dean said quickly, drowning out his thoughts before he could go to a place that he knew was coming but wasn’t quite ready for tonight. “And you still… You still saved me. You still stayed with me. You still said… Shit, what did I even look like as a Demon? Like, my ‘true face’ or whatever?” Dean tripped over his words as he struggled to push down his feelings. “Actually, y’know what, I don’t wanna know- doesn’t matter-”

“You were beautiful,” Cas said in a warm, quiet rumble, even though his gaze was still just as intense. “You’ve always been beautiful. Even then. You’re still just Dean Winchester, no matter what. The most beautiful soul I’ve ever encountered and ever will.”

“Cas…” Dean sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, while those skittering pleasant tingles across his skin increased. There was a warmth at the back of his neck and a heat blazing in his chest. He swallowed thickly, past the lump growing in his throat. “Then you know I feel about seeing Angel-You,” he eventually managed, keeping the eye contact.

Cas finally blinked and looked down at his feet. He shuffled them a little and it was such a nervous human gesture that it made Dean smile.

“Close your eyes,” Cas commanded, in a voice that reminded Dean of when they first met.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in excitement. “Seriously? You’re doing it?” Cas gave him a flat look and Dean held up his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, I just- I mean, this is gonna be awesome.”

“Close your eyes, Dean.”

The commanding tone coupled with Cas saying his name certainly did something to him, but again, not the time to examine that. Dean cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Everything went dark. “This the part where you tell me, ‘Be not afraid’?”

A bright blue light shined past his eyelids and Dean shielded them with his arm, while he became aware of a shrill noise that rose higher and higher until he had to abandon his eyes for pressing his hands flat over his ears. He scrunched his face tight at the assault to his senses.

Finally, the light faded and there was silence.

“Cas? You, uh- you okay there, buddy?” Dean asked, with his eyes still closed, guilt and concern churning in his gut.

-It is safe to open your eyes-

Dean winced again at the high-pitched whining that accompanied the voice, like bad feedback from a busted stereo.

-Apologies… It has been… a while since I’ve used this frequency-

The whining noise stopped mid-sentence and Dean could finally just hear the voice. Cas’ voice. His true voice. It sounded like a mixture of twinkling wind chimes and a single, long, resonant note plucked on the string of a harp.

Dean flung his eyes wide open and felt his whole body lock up at the sight. “Cas?” he croaked, almost unable to believe what he was looking at.

Gone was the man in the trench coat and tie, and in his place stood what looked like a giant crow – easily the size of a house. The huge crow was covered in gleaming black feathers, giving off a sparkle of blue that shimmered and glowed in the air around it, and Dean noticed that the feathers themselves, seemingly black at first, shined with an iridescent spectrum whenever they moved slightly and caught the moonlight. Its black, almost scaly legs ended in silver talons that looked like they were made from the same material as an Angel Blade, the same silver that its sharply curved beak seemed to be made of. It flashed wickedly as the crow leaned down to preen its chest feathers suddenly, like a nervous habit. When it straightened back up Dean’s attention shifted to the long, thin ring above its head – spinning slowly and blazing with a fiercely bright blue fire that cracked and popped blue embers into the night. They floated up and disappeared, past the faint outlines of many blue eyes that were suspended above the halo, blinking in and out of focus.

Finally, Dean looked at the crow’s face. Straight into two glowing blue eyes.

Not a crow.

Castiel.

Cas.

-Uh... Be not afraid?-

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

Continued in part 2 soon

[f-imaginings]

hai!!!!

i know you've already confirmed doing minor what ifs, but have you ever planned or thought of doing a longer one for a happy ending?

(im sorry for asking but these two make me mentally ill in the best way posible. )

The what ifs will be pretty well sized so hopefully they'll scratch the itch for y'all. My goal with the ending is also to make it kind of optimistic to empower other folks who want to write fanfic to give it a shot and make their own content too. I just love the idea of being able to make a positive impact with this story and to embolden others to let their own creativity run free. Plus I'd be cheering if there was a list of "works inspired by" that could sit at the end of the story when it's finished. That way the story (that a lot of people seem to really dig) can live on in everyone's interpretations of it!

[janeway-lover]

The castle is such a striking sight on the horizon, with its many towers and distinctive black stone. It is visible for many miles, and is often used as a landmark for travelers, who spread tales about the evil king who rules over the land. (The Demon King is a common antagonist in children's bedtime stories, often eating up heroes who didn't clean their rooms or listen to their parents.)

The King was neither evil nor a demon, but rather a ruthless and brilliant tactician with a skilled army. His court was, admittedly, filled with conmen and schemers, but people can not be judged on their occupations alone. A loyal spy is rather hard to come by, after all, and Lucifer Moringstar was not going to get rid of them just because they engaged in some...unsavory business practices.

In addition to the members of his court, Lucifer had the most skilled generals in all the lands to lead his army. The kingdom of Hell had never lost a war, which only added to the rumors that the king had made a deal with a demon, or perhaps was one himself. And the most skilled fighters would be handpicked and knighted to guard his castle.

But arguably more important than his nobles and his knights were his children. Lucifer has several children (to the point that a common joke among the nobles was that a new one popped up every week) and all of them are adored. All of his children were brought up the same, their lives filled with love and knowledge. Visitors to the castle often remarked that there were smiling children around every corner.

And that was true. For the most part, at least.

But every so often, the Crown Princess, the heir to the throne of Hell, would look down from her window and sigh.

Oh, sure, she had everything she could ever want. But the Morningstar children were expressly forbidden from leaving the castle. They were all taught history and culture by the greatest teachers, but knew nothing truly of the people of their kingdom.

The closest she had ever gotten to leaving the castle was when she had bribed one of the knights to allow her to cross the drawbridge when her father had been away to the frontlines (Sir Aziraphale had a known sweet tooth, but was still a fierce and devoted fighter).

"Abby? Abby!"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"My apologies, I was...distracted. Could you repeat that, Dagon?"

"What could possibly be more important than the latest court gossip?" Dagon teased, leaning over to see what she could've been looking at. "Oh, I see. You're watching the knights."

"I was - observing their training! As heir, it will one day be my job to oversee them, and I must ensure that I understand what they are doing." Her argument is not helped by the fact that she's bright red.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say, your highness. I totally believe you."

"They're allowed to leave, Dagon, of course I am jealous!"

"It doesn't hurt that they look good while they leave, does it?"

"You are allowed to speak such thoughts freely, my dear Lady Dagon. You're married to Sir Michael." She sighs, and looks out the window once again. "I shall have to marry some dunce of a prince and poison him in his sleep or such."

"Aww, but poison is such fun!"

"And that, my friend, is why you shall be my supplier should such an event arise."

"I'm flattered, truly." They look out the window as well, hoping to see who could have caught their friend's eye. There were four knights in the courtyard below the window; Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Samael. Currently, Michael and Uriel are sparring.

"Good." But her attention is not in her friend, but the knights below.

"Oh, for goodness sakes," Dagon mutters, before throwing open the window and leaning halfway out of it. "Come on, Michael, kick their ass!"

"Dagon!" The princess, as a rule, does not shriek. She gets pretty damn close to it, though. "You're going to fall out, stop that!"

"M'not gonna fall." But they allow her to drag them back inside (after blowing a kiss to their wife, of course).

"What they see in you, I'll never know," Abby says as she shuts the window and turns to Dagon. "Really, what were you thinking, shouting out a window?"

"I was thinking that that'd be a good way to get all the knights to look up here. And now they are."

"What?!" With a start, she turns back to the window, to see that all four knights are indeed looking up at the window. "Oh no."

"Oh no?" Dagon asks with a laugh as she steps away from the window. "Is this not what you wanted?"

"I can order you to be beheaded, you know."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Executed, on the grounds of embarrassing the princess."

Dagon just laughs.

[erinwantstowrite]

Speaking of your new and improved canon: what is the story behind Tony being somewhat chill with Bucky? Is he actually?

started writing LoF when i was being nostalgic for 2012 where the Avengers Tower fics were at its height of writing so in my world there is no divorce arc. I have no idea how to elaborate on that other than Tony having Peter around changed shit up because having a kid changes your world perspective a lot

[crumblingspine]

"Write a 300~600 word vignette" I doubled it and gave it to myself.

[moosethren]

A new Beginning

This is my Nioh/Rise of the Ronin crossover fanfic, about my Hide and his time in Rise of the Ronin.

In my AU, the Sohaya continued to thrive and became guardians of the Spirit Stones, in order to keep them safe. I'd really recommend giving Hide's page on my character carrd a read, as it contains info about him and a summarized timeline. Since I will not go into details about that in the story itself.

***

Hide awoke from his sleep in a manner that would have terrified everyone around him. Rasping for breath, he sat up instantly, clutching at the shirt over his chest. His heart pounded wildly, but was quick to slow down once he realised it was just a nightmare. One of the usual ones, where he was stabbed in the chest by Tokichiro. Even centuries later that one still came around to haunt him. The utter look of hatred in his old friend’s eyes. 

It wasn’t how he wanted to remember him. And most of the time, it wasn’t. He still fondly recalled everything good Tokichiro had brought in his life. A sense of purpose after 25 years of being alone, ever since his mother’s death at Kashin Koji’s hands. A powerful friendship and someone who helped Hide to be able to speak at all again; something he had struggled with ever since childhood. Though, he still found it highly uncomfortable and nearly impossible to talk to strangers still.

Leaning forward enough to rest his wrist on his bent knee, he used his free hand to run it through his short, coarse hair. Then he pressed his index finger and thumb against his temples. A loud sigh escaped him.

Mornings like this were just awful. Because his mind always spiralled about his past. The grief. How much things had changed. How much he was losing of those he used to know. Tokichiro’s voice still carried strongest. He still saw his mother’s face in his dreams. Everyone else was starting to fade with time.

Mumyo still remained, or Minami as was her actual name, though she was still known as Mumyo to everyone within the Sohaya clan. She was still trying to guide the clan along the right path, despite the numerous times the Shogunate had tried to take them out. In ignorant fear. All the clan ever did was keep artefacts and Spirit Stones safe… far away from the hands of those who would misuse them.

Hide knew she was nearing the end of her life though. Ever since 1810 she had decided to no longer extend her life, settling down with her husband and later giving birth to Reyse, a promising member in the Sohaya. Sooner or later, she’d join the faces he’d start to forget as well. 

And Tenshin… the other shiftling he’d found around two decades ago. Now he’d become like a little brother to him and then he’d lost him just like that back on the Black Ships. It was only through Tenshin’s Guardian Spirit that Hide knew he was still alive at all… and why Hide had sought to try and find him. He owed him that much.

Suddenly he wished William was back in Japan. He could have needed his help now and he’d be a familiar face in Yokohama. But the man was busy travelling the world. Something he had done since he’d faked his death centuries ago, in order to protect his family. After all, someone would notice eventually that the man just didn’t age… and it brought uncomfortable questions from dangerous people. 

Hide’s hands had travelled up to nearly tug at his hair by now, trying to focus back to reality. To the current time. Dwelling that deeply wasn’t good. For a shiftling like him, negative emotions were a danger… and too much of it could very well turn him into an aratama. 

A knock on the door made him look up abruptly. That pulled apart the clouds in his mind easily enough. Standing up, he wrapped the blue yukata he had slept in closer against him, before moving over to open the door. He wasn’t too surprised to see Ryoma standing outside. Chipper as ever and fully ready for the morning, it seemed.

 “Hello!” Ryoma started before looking over the man quickly. “Oh, uh… rough night?” Hide’s skin was coated in sweat and his hair looked like a mess despite his previous attempt at correcting it. What stuck out the most was his eyes though. Ryoma was so accustomed to the man’s choice of black eyeliner and eyeshadow, that he could immediately tell when it was off. It was still there but less of it and it somehow looked more natural. As if it was just part of the skin around his eyes. 

Hide noticed where Ryoma’s eyes travelled and turned quickly enough, to allow the man to step inside instead. People finding him like this, before he could get a chance to tidy himself up was a small nuisance normally. It was when they started to notice that his eyes just were dark like that and his hair had an unnatural texture to it, that the shiftling grew nervous.

Those were all signs of his half demon side, physical features he couldn’t do much about beyond hide with properly applied makeup. And he was one of the lucky ones. Tenshin’s grey skin and red eyes had attracted a lot more attention than Hide’s blue eyes or his eye markings. Not to say the few slivers of teal in his hair. 

“Katsura wanted me to fetch you,” Ryoma explained once he paused inside the longhouse, looking around with an interested expression. “Seems he’s got big plans for tonight. So, I figured I’d get you a nice breakfast before he drags you into one of his schemes.”

Hide, who had been milling about with his belongings, stopped long enough to roll his eyes. Using the hairwax he kept in a locked box, Hide dragged it through his hair, in order to straighten it out into the mohawk he usually had. Digging into the bag again, he pulled out another box and applied the eyeshadow and eyeliner with practised movements. He’d been doing this every morning for centuries by now. The man didn’t even need a mirror anymore. 

Ryoma had been politely quiet the whole time, patiently waiting for Hide to get ready. Watching with some fascination at how quickly and easily the other man went about his routines. Something else caught his attention though, and he was unable to comment this time.

“Huh, I thought you painted the blue streaks into your hair but… they’re just there, aren’t they?” Before Hide could react, Ryoma had stepped up to him to inspect his hair closer, tilting his head to the side to see better. Ryoma’s inane curiosity was entertaining… when it wasn’t aimed at Hide himself. Plus, the man had an attention to detail most humans didn’t. 

“Just like your eyes before,” the ronin continued before Hide looked at the very short distance between them. Putting his finger on Ryoma’s chest, he slowly pushed him away from him, his expression a tad uncomfortable. Ryoma let out an awkward laugh suddenly, lifting his hands, palms out.

“Apologies. Curious mind, you know,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest instead. As if to contain his curiosity that way. Hide was an enigma he really wanted to know more about but the man was very secretive. Which just made things worse for the shiftling, because that just made Ryoma even more curious. 

Hide’s unnaturally blue eyes had been intriguing enough the first time he had seen him, but the hair and the dark markings around his eyes? Oh, how his mind chewed at the reasons. 

Ryoma wasn’t ever going to push the man for answers though. Even after four months of knowing him. And it was just the last two weeks that Hide had started to speak back at all. Childhood trouble, as he had explained the first time he had uttered a word and Ryoma had… unfortunately been very shocked but happy about it. 

As well as becoming even more curious, because of course Hide hadn’t expanded on that little tidbit. 

“It looks very nice,” Ryoma continued, trying to save face now after having made Hide uncomfortable. Hide’s eyebrow shot up, in a doubtful manner. There was no need for Ryoma to be socially polite around him.

“No need to lie,” the shiftling shook his head, a little bemused. “I know I look strange.” He cleared his throat, realising how hoarse his voice was after the night’s poor rest.

“Now that right there is a serious accusation,” Ryoma waggled a finger at him, his voice rising in pitch a little as it always did when he sounded indigent. Faking it or not. “I won’t stand for such hearsay. Now I simply must buy you breakfast, so you won’t go around telling others that.” 

Hide had moved away by now, reaching for his clothes. He gave Ryoma a soft look over his shoulder, his usual indication that everything was fine and he should just relax. 

“It does look nice,” Ryoma insisted, his voice a little calmer now. “Even so, I’ll stick to just keeping my clothes in order I think. And hair. Got enough trouble keeping that tame.” He gave a wry smile. “All of it.”

Hide didn’t know how to read the last comment. But he could see why Ryoma’s hair would prove troublesome for him. It currently looked like it wished to escape the hair tie it was trapped in.

Ryoma started to talk about an encounter he had on the street on the way to the longhouse, as he gazed out over the garden while Hide got dressed. At some point Ryoma glanced over his shoulder as he talked, just in time to spot the koi fish tattoo on Hide’s left arm. He’d never seen that before either, he realised. Well, obviously, the man had never taken off his shirt around him. 

The man carried more secrets than a dozen men would, it seemed and it intrigued him more than he cared to admit. As if knowing he was being watched, Hide slowly turned his head to look back at Ryoma who quickly fixed his gaze back out in the garden. Hide shook his head, finishing up with putting on the clothes. 

“What’s with the tattoo?” the ronin asked, unable to really be quiet for too long. The fact he had a tattoo at all was curious. Hide didn’t exactly look like a hardened criminal, which were the usual subjects. 

“Rough childhood,” the shiftling finally shrugged, looking rather unperturbed. The tattoo was his own choice, so the questions regarding that didn’t bother him. Only those referring to things that hadn’t been his choice. Ryoma groaned quietly, smacking himself in the forehead, even as Hide approached him, resting his hand on the hilts of his dual katanas. 

“Today isn’t one of my finest moments, huh?” Ryoma sheepishly asked him now.

“You’ll live,” Hide smiled easily, before gesturing with his hand towards the door. 

Ryoma did keep true to his promise and bought Hide a proper breakfast at a nearby tavern. Here Hide was told everything Ryoma had been up to in the last week since they’d last seen each other. He didn’t have a great need to talk much himself, listening to others was by far more enjoyable. 

It was Ryoma’s turn to surprise him though, when they left the tavern again. The ronin had pocketed some bread from the breakfast and Hide watched his pocket for a few moments afterwards. Searching for the man’s gaze, he furrowed his brow slightly, before pointing to his pocket.

“Oh, that.” Ryoma smiled broadly, as he patted the pocket once. “You’ll see. We’re taking a little detour on the way to Katsura’s.” Hide’s frown grew even more puzzled. 

“If you can have secrets, I can have small, short secrets,” Ryoma pointed out, quickening his walk through the streets. Clouds hung over the city, darkening the grey streets. 

He brought Hide to a quiet spot by the ocean, in Yokohama’s outskirts. More trees grew here, as the city hadn’t quite taken over this corner yet. Something else seemed to roam here in numbers too. Crows. They gathered around them, seemingly recognising Ryoma. They kept a wary eye on Hide however, delivering a few sharp caws his way.

They sat down on a bench there, overlooking the ocean… and the black ships docked in the harbour. Hide’s frown grew deeper at the sight of them, lost in the bad memory of losing Tenshin on one of them. 

“Ah, don’t tell anyone but I quite like crows,” Ryoma chuckled suddenly, almost startling Hide out of his dark thoughts. He was tossing pieces of bread to the birds, who seemed to enjoy the attention. Even if they occasionally bickered with each other about the food. 

“I know, messengers of death and all that but they’re more than that, I think. There’s a keen intelligence behind those eyes.” Ryoma pointed to his eyes while smiling broadly, before tossing out more bread. “I’ve watched them a lot. They bicker just like we do. And they take care of their injured ones. Just like we do.”

Hide’s eyes were wide with intrigue as he watched and listened to Ryoma gush about the birds. Something stirred in his chest, a painful reminder of what once was. Ryoma wasn’t the first man he had encountered with a fondness or even connection to crows in particular. 

The Shiftling felt a physical weight on his shoulder suddenly, turning his head slightly. One of his Guardian Spirits, Yatagarasu, was perched there, as it often did when his thoughts strayed to Shigehide.

It had been such a long time since his death. 100 years, give or take. Hide’s memories of him had grown dimmer over the years, as time had a habit of doing. The sound of his voice was a mere echo now. His scent almost lost to him. His face… only the occasional dream provided a clear picture now. 

Hide withdrew into himself, while Ryoma kept talking about the crows. That awful, heavy feeling had returned to his chest. Not even Yatagarasu pressing his head against Hide’s cheek seemed to help. There was a hollow space in his chest. A space that the demon within him would be more than happy to fill. To let all that sorrow out and lose himself to it. Something Hide could never allow.

That’s why he had entered a strange hibernation for almost a century after Shigehide’s death. As if his body knew and wanted to protect him from falling to corruption. He wasn’t sure if it had actually made the grief easier or not. Now, almost fifty years after waking up again to a new century, he was starting to live with it much easier than before. Or as easily as he ever would. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Ryoma’s voice actually made him jump this time. His hands were almost white from having pressed them so hard together. Looking down at them, he carefully stretched them. He wasn't worried about Ryoma spotting the Spirit on his shoulder. Unless he knew what to look for, he’d never find it. Most people alive in this day and age, didn’t. Not since the Yokai invasions had faded and the spirits had calmed down enough that they were mere whispered stories now.

But the Guardian Spirit moved suddenly. With an elegant swoop, it landed on Ryoma’s other side on the bench. Looking at the crows, it then jumped up on his shoulder instead. Tilting its head towards Hide as it perched comfortably. For a moment, it looked like it belonged on Ryoma’s shoulder. As if it wanted to be there.

Hide’s expression relaxed in a strange understanding. He squinted slightly suddenly, as the sun made its way through the clouds, dispelling them. When he looked back towards the Guardian Spirit, it had disappeared.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ryoma continued, lifting his hands to wave it in front of Hide’s face. Hide let out a quiet grunt, quickly looking back out towards the ocean, which was now glittering in the sun.

“You reminded me of someone I lost a long time ago,” he quietly said, looking down between them instead. “He too liked crows.” Ryoma leaned back a little, lifting his eyebrows.

“Ah, a man of taste then,” he gave a nod, scratching his own beard as he looked back at the crows. Still, the forlorn look on Hide’s face gave him some thought. “A friend of mine used to have a tame crow, you know. Clever little bastard. Mischievous too. Caused a lot of ruckus for my friend. But…” he paused, giving Hide an earnest look, as he shuffled over enough to put his arm over his shoulders and gently jostled him. “Whenever my friend was sad, the crow was the first to be there by his side.”

Hide let out a bemused snort through his nose, before shaking his head. 

“Caw caw,” Ryoma continued then, laughing as Hide shoved him away but it was too late. There was a smile on Hide’s face and that’s all Ryoma needed.

“Ah, see!” Ryoma lightly punched his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s see what Katsura’s up to, shall we?Ryoma was quick on his feet, which did scare away the crows. They landed on the nearby roof with indignant caws. When Hide didn’t immediately move, Ryoma grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, as he set them both into a walk. And the ronin set to talking again, much to Hide’s amusement.

[torao-chan]

saw some really cool koby art and really wanted to do a shiro piece inspired by it (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

ended up doing a shiro and a dax because apparently i'm incapable of NOT thinking of dax at the moment (┬┬﹏┬┬)7

so have a brotherly pair!

also hi sorry i've been only posting queued posts for a lil bit i have been taking an Offline Period to Recover and also Do Some Art aslkdjlskjdgfk