#also me??? doing shadow??? unheard of

[charlotte-family-apologist]

Kenshi and bitty Takeda because they’re the father son dynamic ever please (LOVE UR ART SM BTW!!! Obsessed. With the way your draw faces and expressions💕)

He's trying so hard not to smile

Also thank youuuuu 😭😭💕💕 your artstyle is amazing it's so pleasing on the eyes- also sorry if you expected a text post I just really wanted to draw them!

[teencopandthesourwolf]

He freezes. Doesn't know what the hell else to do. 

He can't picture it: Derek can't remember the last time somebody put their arms around him. 

Was it Laura?

Of course it was Laura. How could he forget that? Derek has gotten pretty good at blocking things out—a little too good, it seems.

She didn't tell him anything before leaving New York. Didn't say a fucking word, just up and vanished. Derek had woken up one morning and she was gone, because she'd known without a shadow of a doubt that Derek would've only followed her if she'd have said a single word to him.

Nobody ever granted Derek’s wishes, no matter who he prayed to. Those desperate pleas where he asked to go back and get a chance to fix things, they all went unheard.

Laura left to go back to the place they both wished still existed just as it had; a place they were wanted alive, not dead. It wasn't fair that it was the very same place they would be hunted down if they did return, like the rabid animals the Argent's presumed they were.

Leaving the way they did meant they hadn't gotten the chance to see if anything was left at the house. They couldn't even mark graves, and grieve properly. 

That same place also happened to be the place they'd been born, the place they'd grown up and called home.

Derek had never wanted Laura to face all of that alone.

The burnt down house. The nothing where there was once everything.

The thought still haunts him. One of so many. 

Beacon Hills is home—but it's the home Derek had helped raze to the ground with his selfishness and stupidity. Everything he and Laura had ever known, everyone they'd ever loved, it was all gone, now. Derek had taken those things away from his sister and hadn't even had the guts to tell her. Tell Laura they were all gone because of him, tell her that everything that had happened to their family, to them, was all his fault.

In the aftermath of the fire Laura hugged Derek, and had kept hugging him, over and over in those weeks and months and years that followed. She would pull him into her arms hold him tight, whenever she could sense it was all getting to be too much for him again.

Alpha.

Big sister.

But Laura only knew about some of the reasons why it sometimes felt like too much effort for Derek to keep on breathing.

He never told her about Kate.

And Derek, the fucking coward, he'd allowed Laura to hold him, feeling the flames of shame on his cheeks every time, hot as those that took the lives of his parents. His family. His pack. 

Now, he remembers that last time. 

“I'm going out.” 

Laura stood up, walked around the two mismatched armchairs and stopped him by throwing both her arms around his neck, pulling him into her and hugging him, scenting him. 

It always took him a moment to respond these days, but Derek hugged her back. 

“What's this for?”

“You. Because I know whomever's bed you end up in tonight, you won't be asking for one of these.”

Oh, fuck no. Derek couldn't handle that. Did she think he was out sleeping with people? Never again, not after…

He pushed his sister off him, gently; a stark contrast to the harsh words that followed. 

“Don't fucking coddle me. And fuck you, Laura—I don't sleep in anybody's bed but my own.” A single mattress on the floor of the lounge of their shitty one bedroom apartment. Derek had so many shameful memories, and crawling into his sister's bed every night for the first year after the fire was one of them. “Just—leave me alone.”

Laura was the one—the only—person Derek had left in the entire world, yet his guilt was constantly pushing her away. 

“Where do you go to, little brother? You might not be clinging to me anymore, night after night, nightmare after nightmare, but you're rarely in your own bed most mornings.”

She hadn't meant it as a dig. Derek knew that. She was his sister, and she loved him.

Maybe she thought he was making progress? Seeing people. Moving on.

Derek spent his nights waiting outside of dive bars, and hanging around in back alleys and dark places, desperate to find scumbags to taunt who were big enough and hard enough to at least attempt to kick the living shit out of him.

Derek hated being a werewolf, now. He wanted to get hurt and stay hurt.

“Just—out.”

Then Derek turned his back on Laura, leaving her to stand there and watch him walk away as he left her to go out looking for a fight, without looking back. 

That was the last time somebody put their arms around Derek—and the last time he saw his sister alive.

It was two years ago. Derek doesn’t think he has taken a full breath, since. 

Now here he is—standing in his stupid big loft that he bought for his betas, yet another pack he managed to destroy—having given away more than he should, with skinny yet strong arms wrapping as far around his shoulders as they'll reach. 

Stiles.

“You don't have to hug back. But you can, if you want to. I won't tell,” the kid jokes. It's his way to connect, his connection to the world. A coping mechanism, Derek thinks.

He knows all about those.

“I…” he doesn't have the first fucking clue of how to handle this. Or how to admit he needs it—to himself, let alone somebody else. He doesn't know how to admit that he wants it. 

But this is Stiles. The one person in Derek's life who seems, for some unfathomable reason, to give a fuck about Derek. To care about him.

Slowly, very slowly, Derek lifts an arm and awkwardly rests a hand on Stiles's upper back, feels the muscles jump slightly under the kid's baggy clothes as he tentatively spreads his fingers and finds the back of Stiles's neck. 

Stiles's voice hitches just a touch as he says, ��These can be on tap, you know. If you want them. Stilinski hugs are the best hugs, dude. Believe.”

And Derek finds he does believe. For the first time in forever, Derek believes there could be something good in his life again.

More confidently, now, he brings his other arm up to wrap around Stiles's waist and hugs Stiles tighter, properly, and allows himself to be hugged back.

Derek wonders how he has gone so long without this kind of closeness. Lived without this kindness.

He decides to let the 'dude' pass. Because maybe—maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, to be somebody's dude? 

Stiles's dude.

It's a fucking ridiculous moniker and yet Derek suddenly couldn't care less. 

“I think I'd like that,” he whispers into the forbidden place where Stiles's jaw meets long, pale neck. "Dude."

Derek can feel Stiles's smile as the kid squeezes him harder. And, ironically, Derek feels as if he can breathe again. 

.

for @greyhavenisback bc i want to hug you in person and can't <3 (unedited, forgive me!)

[astroa3h]

Lilith Through the Signs ✨

Let’s talk about Lilith, because she’s that dark, seductive part of your chart that you’re probably a little afraid to look at, but trust me—you need to. In astrology, Lilith shows us the hidden, raw parts of our psyche, the things we suppress or even deny. She’s our wild side, our deepest desires, and sometimes, our untapped rage. Wherever Lilith is in your chart, she brings out this primal energy that cannot be tamed. And let me tell you, she doesn't play nice. You’re going to feel it. If you don’t confront her, she’ll push until you have no choice. 

If Lilith is in Aries, then honey, you’re all about raw, impulsive energy. Lilith in Aries doesn’t ask permission. You fight for independence at any cost, and sometimes, that can mean bulldozing through life without thinking about the consequences. People might call you selfish, but really, you’re just unapologetically you. You struggle with authority and anyone telling you what to do. In relationships, this placement is about the constant power struggle. You want freedom, but you also crave someone who can handle your intensity. Here’s the thing: you have to learn how to channel that fire without burning everything down. Maybe take up martial arts or something that lets you express your aggression in a healthy way.

With Lilith in Taurus, you are drawn to the pleasures of life, the sensual side of things. It’s about indulging—whether that’s in food, sex, or luxury. But here’s the shadow side: you can become possessive, even obsessive, about holding onto what you have. You want security so badly that you might cling to things (and people) that are no longer good for you. This placement craves comfort, but you can get stuck in your comfort zone, unwilling to let go even when it’s time. In your love life, you’ll likely attract relationships that push you to confront your fear of losing what you hold dear. Learn to trust that true security comes from within. You don’t need to hoard it; it’s already yours.

Lilith in Gemini? Oh boy, you are a master of words, and you know exactly how to twist them to get what you want. But watch out, because this placement can make you feel like you’re always wearing a mask. You can say all the right things, but inside, there’s a part of you that feels unseen and unheard. You’ll attract people who are intrigued by your mind, but they might not get the real you. In relationships, it’s all about mental connection, but sometimes you use communication as a weapon. You can be manipulative when you want to be, and if you’re not careful, you’ll push people away with your mind games. The key here? Be honest. Be vulnerable. You’re smart enough to know when someone isn’t on your level, but that doesn’t mean you have to hide behind cleverness.

With Lilith in Cancer, you’re dealing with deep emotional wounds. There’s a part of you that craves nurturing but also resents it at the same time. You might have grown up feeling like you had to be the caretaker, even when you weren’t ready. And now? You have a hard time letting anyone take care of you. You build emotional walls, but inside, you’re yearning for someone to break them down. In relationships, you might sabotage things when they start to feel too safe, because deep down, you’re scared of being abandoned. Your healing comes when you stop looking for that motherly figure in other people and start giving yourself the care you need. You have to learn that vulnerability is not a weakness.

If Lilith is in Leo, girl, you’re the queen—and you know it. You want to be admired, adored, worshipped, but you also fear that you’re never enough. This is a placement where ego and insecurity collide. You want the spotlight, but you’re terrified of what people will see when they look too close. Relationships become about power. You want someone who puts you on a pedestal, but the second they don’t, you’re out. The challenge here is learning that your worth doesn’t depend on external validation. When you own your power without needing applause from the crowd, you’ll find that the right people are drawn to your light.

Lilith in Virgo brings a complicated relationship with control. You strive for perfection in everything, but the more you try to control, the more things slip through your fingers. You might have a tendency to obsess over the details—whether it’s your appearance, your work, or your relationships. But this perfectionism is exhausting. You attract situations where you’re forced to confront the idea that control is an illusion. The real work is in letting go. In love, you might feel like no one is ever good enough for you, or worse, that you’re never good enough. But the truth is, you don’t have to fix anyone, least of all yourself. Your healing comes from accepting the messiness of life.

Lilith in Libra? Oh, this is a tricky one because you want harmony and balance, but deep down, you might feel like you’re constantly at war with yourself. You attract people who reflect your shadow side, and it’s easy to lose yourself in relationships. You want to please others so badly that you forget your own needs, and then you resent them for it. This placement has to learn how to set boundaries and stop giving away power just to keep the peace. In love, you might find yourself drawn to partners who are controlling or manipulative, and it’s because you’re not owning your own power. Stand up for yourself. Relationships are meant to be equal, not a battleground.

If your Lilith is in Scorpio, honey, you’ve got intensity for days. This is one of the most powerful Lilith placements, but it also comes with deep emotional wounds around trust and betrayal. You crave deep, soul-shattering connections, but you’re also terrified of being vulnerable. In love, you attract relationships that push you to confront your darkest fears—jealousy, obsession, control. The challenge for you is to let go of the need to dominate. You’re not going to lose your power by being vulnerable. In fact, true power comes from letting others see the real you, scars and all. The key here is to trust that you won’t be destroyed by love. It’s transformative, not destructive.

Lilith in Sagittarius is about freedom—wild, uncontained freedom. You’re always looking for the next adventure, the next thrill, and you can’t stand to be tied down. But here’s the thing: running from commitment isn’t going to fill that void inside. You attract situations where you feel like your wings are being clipped, but it’s because you’re not allowing yourself to fully engage. You might avoid deep connections because you’re afraid they’ll hold you back. In relationships, you crave freedom, but you also want someone who understands your need for independence. Your journey is about finding a way to commit without feeling caged. Trust that you can have both stability and freedom.

If Lilith is in Capricorn, you’re all about power and control. You crave success, but deep down, you fear failure more than anything. You’ll push yourself to the brink just to prove you’re worthy, but this placement often comes with a deep sense of insecurity. You might feel like no matter how much you achieve, it’s never enough. In relationships, you attract people who challenge your need for control, and it forces you to confront the fact that true success isn’t about power—it’s about vulnerability. Learn to let go of the idea that you have to be the one in control all the time. It’s okay to let someone else take the lead. You’ll find that it makes you stronger, not weaker.

With Lilith in Aquarius, you’re the rebel. You don’t like being told what to do, and you’re always pushing against the grain. But this can also make you feel like an outsider, like you don’t belong. You attract relationships where you feel like you have to sacrifice your individuality, but deep down, you know that’s not the answer. Your challenge is to find a way to be in a relationship without losing yourself. Don’t be afraid to stand out. The world needs your unique vision. In love, you might push people away because you’re afraid of being controlled, but real freedom comes from allowing yourself to be fully seen.

Finally, Lilith in Pisces is a placement of deep emotional sensitivity. You feel everything, and sometimes, that can be overwhelming. You might have a tendency to escape through fantasy or avoidance because reality feels too harsh. But this placement also gives you incredible intuition. You attract relationships where you feel like you’re drowning in emotions, and it can be hard to find your footing. The key here is to set boundaries—emotional boundaries. You don’t have to take on other people’s pain as your own. Your healing comes when you learn to stay grounded in reality while still honoring your deeply spiritual side. Embrace your empathy, but don’t let it consume you.

xoxo Ash 💓 Get your own reading at astroash.net

[veloursdor]

the thing about larys strong is that i think he's been lonely his entire life, lonelier than even he realised/admitted to himself. he craves connection, someone to see him for who he is. and that's what's been guiding most of his actions throught the entire time we've known him.

when he saw alicent being unheard and unseen, he tried to form a connection with her as he saw himself in her (through manipulations of course, but his intention there when saying "i could be your ally" were sincere). but she rejected him (by refusing to see him as a man, by being horrified at his true self (the harrenhal fire), etc) and thus he grew to resent her and want to control her/humiliate her like she "humiliated him", probably thinking it was enough because of the power she gave him.

but then viserys died and alicent's power died with him.

spoilers for season 2 of house of the dragon below the cut

i think his "love" for her... changed or was put on the back of his mind after 2x04, especially after he sees the moon tea and she's in pain. when he asks her about criston, his reaction to her words is as if he is confused, as if he's recalculating what he thought of her because he's seeing her in a whole new light.

and maybe he is seeing her truly for the first time ever.

he said "you and i are the same", was always listening in on her conversations to gather information, maybe even convincing himself by doing so that she truly was like him. but, i think that, when larys says "you have not been yourself" is his way of saying "who are you? are you who i've always thought you were or someone i do not know?" and has to change his view of her, of what he convienced himself he saw in her.

maybe he sees that he's been living in a lie made of his own words.

so, when the council scene happens, he pities her and rejects her idea, because it has no ground and she's grasping at straws. (i do think he does feel sorry for rejecting her but he also doesn't have enough solid ground with aemond as regent (his position in the small council is fairly new) and slighting aemond would cost him the power he has, so he stays quiet and looks away).

however, he also manages to drive a nail to alicole's coffin but he walks away without looking back at the mess it left.

they then don't share a scene at all for the rest of the season.

from then on all his scenes are with aegon, and we see a side of larys we haven't seen before.

ageon gave him power (of course larys manipulated aegon with the Hand comment) because of his "loyalty" following blood and cheese (i still believe larys "let it happen") and made him his master of whispers. he placed larys in the small council (when alicent never did in the 6 years she acted as regent) and gave him status outside of the dungeons. he "brought him [larys] out of the shadows" in a way.

the show has made a point to tell us, since episode one of season two, that larys has been looking at aegon the same way he used to look at alicent in season one, staring him down as if he could see what he's made of, constantly analysing and calculating how to best approach him.

he made small attempts at conversations and funny lines ("that castle is more crippled than me") as the whole alicent thing is going on.

and then the battle of rook's rest happened.

with aegon barely holding on, we have a scene where larys is honest, vulnerable, sincere maybe for the first time ever (yes there's manipulation, but also genuine compassion). he sees the struggles aegon will have to face because he lived them himself.

like with alicent in the weirdwood, he tried to form a connection with aegon. but where alicent "rejected" his true self, aegon instead listened to what larys was saying, saw the truth in it and raged, which made larys feel seen and heard, beyond manipulation and twisted words, probably for the first time in his life

larys, for all his talk that love is a downfall, craves connection, the desire to not be alone in the world. he does feel love.

and whereas alicent rejected his love and was disgusted by his true self, aegon welcomed his help, invited his advice, and embraced his aid to become stronger

i think larys will be loyal to him as long as aegon allows his love and it does not fester into resentment, like his love for alicent did

[elvenbeard]

Old and Happy

😭 my feels have been all over the place since I finally finished this! Don't even remember when I started, as I kept working on and off on it over a couple of months. But I think it was after writing something particularly angsty and going "you know what, they will get their happy ending though, so it's all good".

Some details and thoughts below the read more cause it got long hhhh ;A;

This is in about 2087 maybe, roughly "ten years later". Vince changed his hair, ditched the rattail for good (or again xD) for something still colorful but a bit more easy to style. But he might change it up again, he's done so repeatedly and still likes to experiment with his hair.

Not visible, he probably would've added some elements to his back tattoo after surviving all of 2077. Johnny's tattoo he covered up as well, he would've done that first probably before the back piece. Adding some things here and there over time, with colors and patterns and wings, some cherry blossoms ('cause a thing of beauty will never truly fade away - hence just not getting laser removal but covering it with something that suits him more, but keeping some elements like the J and V visible). It started with three roses below the "V" as a little homage to Jackie, and 2077 as the year that finally put him on the right track in his life, even if it almost killed him in the process.

Overall he is a healthier weight than he was for most of his life, and finally got some therapy he desperately needed to deal with all the crap he went through pre-2077 already. He's not dyeing his first grey hairs because hell, that he's even still around to get some is amazing with his line of work and life story. And he realized that there's no need to be super well put togeher 24/7, clean shaven and whatnot, when you know you're just gonna be hanging out with your man and cat all weekend (and actually allowing yourself to something like that - leisure time and pizza in bed, unheard of to 2077!Vince). He's doing good and feels good and comfortable, physically and mentally.

Kerry also changed, also embracing the dad bod over abs, probably still experimenting with his looks a lot now and then whenever the label feels like they need to draw attention to him for whatever reason. But to the brown eyes he returned in 2078 already in my headcanon for the Sun ending timeline, and he stuck with them.

Overall I think he might finally care a little less about other people's opinions too, the buzz and the drama, cause he knows that at the end of the day there's always gonna be someone waiting for him at home who loves him unconditionally. He's a bit calmer and at ease, but of course still up to no good whenever he gets the chance to stir shit up xD Vince and him remain to be a dangerous duo you don't wanna mess with. At that point Vince is a well-respected, even if somewhat elusive, fixer, so he's probably even more dangerous now than he used to be as a mere merc with an arsenal of connections and resources at his disposal that can almost rival Kerry's.

I also gave Kerry a lil new cyberware piece on his hand - he is an old man and I think, using his hands as a musician on the daily, at some point there's just gonna be some wear and tear to your bones and joints only tech can fix anymore... Especially if you're stubborn and refuse to retire cause no, you're not done yet, you still have so much to yell into the world and music to make, stuff to add to your legacy and all.

Last but not least: Nibbles is an old lady already as well here, but living her best life with her dads spoiling her rotten, of course!

And then öalkshjdfagsdföasgdfaösfh ;___;

Y'know, "to bad decisions" and all, and two very different pieces still fitting together perfectly somehow, and light and shadows, and the sun and moon and yeah. ;___; Brb crying, the feels are back xD

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far!! They mean so much to me and aösdjhfajsfhasfk could go on forever about every little detail xD On to the next drawing!

[the-winter-spider]

Willow | 1/2

Pairings: 1940sBucky x Agent!Reader, Bucky x agent!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Nothing really

A/N: This fic was inspired by @vibraniumqueen message sent to me!! Hope its sort of what you requested! I got carried away and now have to post this in 2 parts lol

Im not like the biggest fan of this buuuuut after writing over 15k words total for the whole fic i gotta post it lol ALSO i definitely did not edit this lmao oopsie

The door slid open, and in walked Nick Fury, his presence commanding the room as always. He didn’t bother with formalities; he never did.

“Agent,” Fury began, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got a mission. One that never happened, and one you’ll never speak of again.”

You nodded, your face impassive, though your mind was already racing. Missions like these were your specialty. You didn’t operate in the spotlight. You weren’t one of Fury’s public heroes or a celebrated Avenger. You were a shadow, a weapon honed in the dark, moving through the world unnoticed. A ghost.

Fury crossed the room, his trench coat brushing the floor as he moved. “We’ve identified a Nazi stronghold in 1941, deep in occupied Europe. They’re in possession of critical documents — plans and technology decades ahead of their time. We can’t let those files survive the war.”

You glanced at the map, your mind already calculating. “Time travel,” you said, your voice calm, though the weight of the mission began to settle on your shoulders.

Fury nodded. “You’ll be stationed as a nurse with the 107th Infantry. They’ll be arriving at a field camp near the stronghold in a few days. Your cover is simple: blend in, gain access to the target, retrieve the files, and get out. No deviations. No attachments.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. No attachments. That had been drilled into you since the beginning. You were trained to be invisible, to serve a mission and then disappear without a trace. Your past in the Red Room had taught you that much, and SHIELD had only refined it.

“I assume I’m working alone,” you said.

Fury’s expression didn’t change. “You always do.”

It was true. You were a ghost in every sense of the word. You’d spent your entire life operating on the fringes, never part of a team, never part of their world. You knew of the Avengers, of course—who didn’t? But they didn’t know you. You weren’t a part of their grand battles or their legendary victories.

Well, except for one. Natasha Romanoff. She’d been a fleeting presence in your life, a reminder of your shared origins in the Red Room. You’d trained in the same shadows, fought the same demons. But even then, you hadn’t truly known her. She’d been a specter of a different life, one that had moved on without you. While she got recruited there, Fury thought you were best suited in the shadows.

You refocused as Fury handed you a dossier. Inside were detailed maps, forged documents, and a small vial containing a glowing blue liquid. The device that would send you back in time.

“You know the drill,” Fury said, his tone as sharp as ever. “You’re not there to change history, only to secure our future. In and out. No one remembers you, and you don’t bring anything or anyone back.”

You nodded, flipping through the dossier. “And the 107th?”

“They don’t know who you are, and they never will. You’re a nurse. That’s it. But one name on that roster might ring a bell.” Fury tapped the folder, and you found it instantly. Barnes, James Buchanan.

The name didn’t spark recognition, but it did send a strange ripple through your thoughts. “Why him?” you asked.

Fury shrugged. “No reason. He’s just another soldier in the unit. But don’t let that distract you. This mission isn’t about making friends, and it damn sure isn’t about saving anyone who doesn’t need saving.”

You clenched your jaw. Fury’s words were a reminder of the line you couldn’t cross. You’d trained for this moment for years, honing your skills to perfection. You were designed to be unseen, unheard, and unfelt.

Fury’s voice snapped you back. “You’ve got your orders. Do your job, Agent. Leave no trace.”

You took the dossier and the vial, tucking them away with practiced efficiency. “Understood,” you said, your voice steady, devoid of hesitation. But as you turned to leave, the familiar mantra echoed in your mind: No attachments. No connections. You’re a ghost.

Later, when you finally opened the dossier, your eyes landed on a photograph. Barnes. The name was familiar, but it wasn’t until you stared at his face that something inside you stirred. A strange sense of recognition flickered in the back of your mind. You knew him—or at least, it felt like you did.

You flipped the page, your pulse quickening as more details came into view. And then, you saw it.

The Winter Soldier.

The words stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but they sparked a storm of emotions you weren’t prepared for. You knew the name, of course. Everyone in this business did. The ghost story whispered in shadows, the assassin whose presence was felt long after he disappeared into the night. But what you didn’t know was the man behind it.

Your gaze drifted back to the photograph, and for a moment, everything else fell away. His eyes. Even through the grainy black-and-white image, they stood out—haunted, distant, yet somehow familiar. There was innocence there, a quiet humanity buried beneath the weight of the darkness he would come to bear.

You tightened your grip on the file, your knuckles whitening. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel, and yet here you were, shaken by a face from the past you couldn’t place but somehow couldn’t forget.

Flipping through the pages, you scanned his history—Brooklyn, 1941, the 107th Infantry. Your breath caught as more images filled the pages. Pictures of him before he became the Winter Soldier: laughing with other soldiers, standing beside a scrawny young man labeled Steve Rogers, of course you knew him as Captain America but no one would ever know you. Then, the darker photos followed. HYDRA. The experiments. The cold, dead stare of a man who had been stripped of everything.

The door to your quarters slid shut with a soft hiss, and for a moment, the silence was almost suffocating. You placed the dossier and the small vial of glowing blue liquid on the steel table in front of you. The mission parameters were clear, the risks higher than usual, but none of that was new. You’d done this before, moving through missions like a shadow, leaving no trace. Yet, something about this one felt… different. Heavier.

You sat down, the cold metal of the chair grounding you. Flicking open the dossier, you reviewed the details again, committing every piece of information to memory. Maps, personnel lists, cover identities. You’d be stationed as a nurse in a field hospital near the front lines. A perfect cover for blending in. Your forged papers were flawless, down to the tiniest detail.

Your name was different now. Your past erased, rewritten to fit the narrative of a 1940s nurse.

Ghosts didn’t get attached. Ghosts didn’t feel. You weren’t there to alter history or forge connections. Your mission was simple: retrieve the files, destroy them if necessary, and get out.

You pushed the dossier aside and picked up the vial, turning it over in your hands. The blue liquid shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power it held. Time travel was a delicate operation, one that required precision and absolute control. There was no room for error.

You placed the vial carefully into the injector and secured it around your wrist. The faint hum of the device powering up was the only sound in the room.

Your internal monologue began to surface, unbidden.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not in this timeline, not in their world. You’d been forged in the Red Room, molded into an instrument of precision and silence. SHIELD had found you, given you purpose beyond the shadows of your past, but you had never stepped into the light. You were designed to operate in the margins of history, invisible to the heroes who saved the world.

It hurt thinking of Natasha, her voice, her presence in the Red Room. She had been a beacon of strength. But she had walked away from that world, found a new family. You? You remained in the shadows, bound to missions that no one could know about, missions that didn’t exist on paper. You didn't exist on paper.

You stood and approached the small mirror on the wall. The face staring back at you was calm, unyielding. But behind your eyes, you could see the tension creeping in.

You’re not doing this for glory or recognition. You’re doing this because you’re the only one who can.

You reached for the pack of clothing and equipment laid out on the nearby table. The nurse’s uniform was meticulously crafted, down to the period-accurate buttons and insignia. As you slipped into the attire, you felt yourself becoming the role. The transformation was seamless, automatic, a ritual that pulled you deeper into the identity you were about to assume.

Finally, you secured the last piece: a silver locket around your neck. Inside was a tiny microchip, a piece of technology far beyond anything the 1940s could comprehend. It was your failsafe, your tether back to the present.

A soft chime from the injector reminded you it was time. You glanced around the room, taking in every detail, knowing this might be the last familiar sight you’d see for a while. Then, you pressed the button on your wrist.

The world around you began to shift, colors bleeding into one another as time folded in on itself. Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stoic. You’d trained for this, prepared for every contingency. You were ready.

As the light around you intensified, your final thought was simple, resolute: You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

And then, the world snapped into focus, and you were standing in a field hospital in 1941, the distant sound of artillery fire echoing through the air.

The mission had begun.

The salty breeze off the English Channel carried the smell of sea and steel, a sharp reminder of the battles waged across its waters. You stood at the edge of the field hospital camp, the makeshift tents and wooden crates around you blending into the mud-soaked earth. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as the air grew cooler.

From where you were stationed, you could see the transport ship docking at the pier. Its hulking frame loomed against the gray sky, the gangplank lowering with a heavy groan. One by one, soldiers began to disembark, their boots clanging against the metal as they descended.

You were trained to observe, to analyze every detail without drawing attention to yourself. These men were exhausted, their faces grim and hardened by the horrors they had faced. Their uniforms were wrinkled and stained, helmets tilted at weary angles. They moved like a unit, but each step spoke of personal battles, of stories carried in silence.

You stayed rooted in place, your nurse’s uniform a perfect blend of authority and anonymity. A clipboard in your hand gave you an excuse to linger, but no one paid you much mind. This was war. You were just another face in the chaos.

Your eyes scanned the line of soldiers disembarking, cataloging them with practiced precision. You were supposed to be looking for weaknesses, details that might help you blend in more effectively. But then, your gaze landed on one man.

He walked with a quiet confidence, his posture upright despite the weight of fatigue. Dark hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his steel-blue eyes scanned the camp with a soldier’s wariness. His face was sharp, shadowed by stubble, but it was his expression that caught you—equal parts focused and distant, as if he were both here and somewhere far away.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You knew his name, knew his story—or at least, the parts that history would remember… the parts in the folder. But standing here now, seeing him in the flesh, was something else entirely. He wasn’t just a name in a dossier or a ghost from the past. He was real, and the weight of that realisation hit you like a wave.

I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night.

His arrival had stirred something deep within you, something you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way. Your mission was clear: stay invisible, complete the task, and leave. No deviations, no entanglements. But as you watched him, your chest tightened with an inexplicable pull. There was something about him, something magnetic.

Bucky paused near the base of the gangplank, helping another soldier with a crate of supplies. His voice was low, his words lost in the din of the camp, but the kindness in his gestures was unmistakable. He was a soldier, yes, but there was a warmth to him, a spark of humanity that hadn’t been extinguished by war.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the clipboard in your hand. Stay sharp. Stay focused. You couldn’t afford distractions, not here, not now.

And yet, your eyes betrayed you, flickering back to him as he moved through the camp, his presence impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just curiosity, a natural reaction to seeing someone you’d only read about.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to speak to him, to share even a fraction of the weight you carried. But the thought was fleeting, quickly buried beneath the weight of your training.

You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

The smell of antiseptic and damp canvas filled the air as you moved between the rows of cots in the makeshift medical tent. Their arrival—was what you’d been waiting for.

You were focused on checking supplies when a familiar commotion at the tent entrance caught your attention. A group of soldiers sauntered in, their uniforms caked in dirt and their faces shadowed with fatigue. Among them was a man who immediately stood out. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, his blue eyes bright despite the grime smeared across his face. He carried himself with an easy confidence, even as he favoured one leg.

Your mission dossier hadn’t prepared you for the sheer presence of him.

As the soldiers dispersed to their assigned cots, he made a beeline for you. His limp was subtle but noticeable, and despite yourself, your training kicked in.

“Take a seat,” you said, your voice steady as you gestured to an empty cot. “I’ll take a look at that leg.”

Bucky flashed a crooked smile, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice smooth, tinged with the faintest Brooklyn accent. “And here I thought this camp was all bad news.”

You arched an eyebrow, setting down your clipboard. “Flattery won’t get you out of a medical exam, Sergeant Barnes.”

His grin widened as he sat down, wincing slightly. “So, you know my name. That’s a good start. What do I call you, Nurse…?”

You hesitated for half a second, then gave him your cover name. “Nurse Johnson.”

“Well, Nurse Johnson,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “if I’d known there were nurses like you out here, I’d have gotten shot a long time ago.”

You gave him a pointed look, crouching in front of him to roll up the tattered leg of his uniform. “Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”

Bucky’s laugh was soft but genuine, his gaze never leaving your face. “You’re all business, huh?”

You pressed lightly on his shin, watching for a reaction. “Someone has to be. Looks like you’ve got a nasty sprain, but nothing’s broken.”

“Guess I’ll live to fight another day,” he said, wincing slightly as you adjusted his leg.

“Barely,” you muttered, grabbing a bandage from your kit. As you wrapped his leg, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention almost unnerving.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

"Thats the line you're gonna go with?" The corners of your lips slightly turned as you tied off the bandage, sitting back on your heels. “Helping stubborn soldiers like you survive long enough to get home.”

Bucky chuckled, his head tilting slightly. “You got a smart mouth on you, Nurse Johnson. I like that.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms. “And you’ve got a sprained leg. Try not to make it worse.”

He grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “You know, if you’re ever looking for a dance partner when this war’s over, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You better. A guy like me doesn’t make that offer twice.”

Shaking your head, you gathered your supplies and turned to leave. “Try to stay out of trouble, Sergeant.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’ll do my best if it means seeing you again.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, finding him still watching you, his smile softer now. Your mission had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

The first few days at the field hospital were a blur of motion and noise. Soldiers came in with fresh wounds, some minor, others devastating. Your hands worked tirelessly, stitching cuts, setting broken bones, administering whatever pain relief was available. You moved through it all like a machine, your focus never wavering.

You’d trained for moments like this, where life and death were separated by a thread, but this mission wasn’t about saving lives—it was about staying hidden long enough to complete your objective. The files you needed were still buried somewhere in enemy hands, and every moment you spent here was one step closer to obtaining them.

Still, blending in was vital, and that meant interacting with the men around you. They were polite, for the most part, offering nods of gratitude when you patched them up. But one soldier in particular seemed to be making it his mission to capture your attention.

“Hey, Nurse,” a familiar voice called out one evening as you worked on organizing supplies. You turned to see Bucky Barnes leaning against the frame of the medical tent, a lopsided grin on his face. “Got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow, but kept your expression neutral. “That depends. Are you here because you need actual medical attention, or are you just bored?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Bit of both, maybe.”

You sighed, setting down the bandages you were sorting. “Let me guess—another soldier got into a scuffle and you decided to play referee?”

Bucky stepped closer, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Something like that. You know how it is. Boys will be boys.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite yourself, you felt a flicker of amusement.

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. “Well, if you’re not bleeding, you’re wasting my time, Sergeant.”

“Ah, but see, you didn’t check.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Maybe I’ve got a battle wound you missed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to break through. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Flirt? Me?” Bucky placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m just trying to keep morale up. Can’t have our best nurse getting all serious on us.”

“Best nurse?” You arched an eyebrow. “You’ve known me for all of three days, Barnes.”

“Three days is all I need,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. “I’ve got a good eye for people.”

You turned back to your supplies, determined to maintain your composure. “Well, maybe you should use that good eye to look out for your men instead of distracting me.”

Bucky chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I do that too. Multitasking, you know?”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, another soldier poked his head into the tent, interrupting the moment. “Sarge, we’ve got a situation by the south perimeter.”

Bucky’s demeanour shifted instantly, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by sharp focus. He gave you a quick nod, then turned to follow the soldier out.

“Don’t work too hard, doll,” he called over his shoulder as he left. “Wouldn’t want you wearing yourself out.”

You shook your head, finally letting out a small laugh once he was gone. Bucky Barnes was trouble, that much was clear. He was charming, confident, and far too good at making you forget the rules you were supposed to live by.

But he was also a soldier, just like the rest of them. And you were here for a mission, not for him.

Stay focused, you reminded yourself, though it was getting harder with every interaction.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Bucky found every opportunity to stop by the medical tent, whether it was to check on his men or to toss a teasing remark your way. He seemed determined to pull you out of your shell, to coax a smile or a laugh from you no matter how busy or serious the day became.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a soldier with a shrapnel wound, Bucky appeared again, his presence filling the tent like sunlight cutting through a storm.

“Thought you might need some help,” he said, leaning casually against a supply crate.

You didn’t even look up. “Unless you’ve suddenly become a medic, I think I’m good.”

“Hey, I’m a fast learner,” he quipped, stepping closer. “Show me what to do, and I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

You finally glanced up at him, your expression skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He grinned, unflinching. “C’mon, Nurse. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sighed, gesturing toward the supplies. “Fine. Hand me the gauze.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he moved to your side, and for the next few minutes, he actually did as he was told, passing you tools and supplies with surprising care. But of course, it didn’t take long for him to start talking again.

“So,” he began, his tone light, “you always this serious, or is it just an act?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I’m trying to keep certain soldiers in line.”

“Ah, so I’m a bad influence,” he teased, leaning a little closer. “Good to know.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying not to let his proximity affect you. “You’re definitely something.”

The playful banter continued, but beneath it all, you felt the weight of unspoken truths. Every moment with Bucky was a reminder of what you couldn’t have, of the life you were just passing through. But for now, in the fleeting quiet of the field hospital, you allowed yourself to enjoy his presence.

Just for a little while.

The sun was setting, painting the horizon in hues of gold and crimson. The camp had grown quieter, the hum of daily activity fading as the soldiers took what little rest they could before nightfall. You were sitting on a wooden crate just outside the medical tent, enjoying a rare moment of stillness. A cup of lukewarm coffee sat in your hands, its warmth a small comfort against the cool evening air.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence, and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky’s voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

You glanced at him, your heart giving a small, inexplicable flutter. “It’s a free camp,” you said, gesturing to the crate beside you.

Bucky sat down with a tired sigh, his helmet resting on his lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling comfortably between you. He looked different in the fading light—less like the cocky sergeant who flirted with you during the day and more like the weary soldier you knew he was. His eyes were distant, reflecting the weight of battles fought and losses endured.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” he said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “Most of the nurses here, they talk about home, family. You… you’re a mystery.”

You kept your gaze on the horizon, your grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Maybe I just don’t have much to tell.”

“Everyone’s got a story,” he countered, glancing at you. “Even ghosts.”

Your heart skipped at the word, but you kept your expression neutral. “Ghosts don’t have stories. They just… exist.”

Bucky frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Is that what you think you are? A ghost?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his insight. He was perceptive, more than you’d expected. Finally, you spoke, your voice low. “I’ve spent a long time learning how to disappear. It’s easier that way.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. “Easier, maybe. But doesn’t it get lonely?”

You swallowed hard. “Loneliness is part of the job.”

He shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “Doesn’t have to be.”

You turned to look at him then, your eyes meeting his. There was no teasing now, no flirtation. Just quiet sincerity. It made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t really have anyone to talk about,” you admitted after a moment. “No family, not that I remember. My parents… I don’t even know their names.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his eyes filled with empathy. “Were you… a orphan?”

You hesitated, the term feeling both accurate and not. “Something like that. I was raised by people who didn’t care about who I was, only what I could do for them.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d intended, but Bucky didn’t shy away from them. His gaze softened further, and he nodded slowly. “That’s a hell of a way to grow up,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, trying to deflect the weight of the conversation. “It made me good at what I do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. “But it doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

You looked away, unsure how to respond. Empathy wasn’t something you were used to, especially not from someone like him—someone who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, even in the middle of a war.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You remind me of someone.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Who?”

“Steve,” he said with a small, fond smile. “He didn’t have much either. His mom passed not too long ago, and his dad when we were kids. But it's always been just him one way or another just fighting to survive in Brooklyn. Always getting picked on because he’s small, but he never gave up. He had this stubborn streak, always standing up for people, even when it got him into trouble.”

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You knew his story, but hearing Bucky talk about him like this—like he was just Steve, not a legend, because to this Bucky he wasn’t one yet—it painted a different picture.

“Must’ve been tough,” you said softly.

Bucky nodded. “It was. But he never let it break him. That’s just who he is.” He paused, his smile growing a little. “He can't throw a rock without wheezing but he never let that and will never let that stop him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the warmth in Bucky’s voice cutting through the weight of the conversation.

“He’s lucky to have you,” you said.

Bucky looked at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I’m lucky to have him too. He’s always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The vulnerability in his words mirrored your own, and for a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of your shared pasts hanging between you.

Bucky reached out then, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said softly. “Not to me…I see you Nurse, and the view is amazing”

The camp was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that preceded something terrible. The usual hum of activity had slowed, and even the soldiers seemed more on edge. You felt it too—the tension in the air, the weight of something approaching.

You were in the medical tent, organising supplies when the call came.

“Enemy movement spotted near the south perimeter!” a soldier shouted as he rushed past. “They’re coming!”

Your heart dropped. You knew this moment was inevitable. The enemy had been closing in for days, and now they were here. But it wasn’t just the impending battle that had your stomach in knots. It was the mission—the files.

You quickly grabbed your hidden satchel from beneath your cot. Inside were the tools you’d need to breach the Nazi stronghold, which was now dangerously close to enemy lines. You’d been waiting for this opportunity, but it was coming at the worst possible time. The camp was about to become a battlefield, and every second counted.

Before you could slip away, Bucky stormed into the tent, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his face set in a grim expression.

“There you are,” he said, his eyes scanning you quickly, as if ensuring you were unharmed. “They’ve called all hands. It’s gonna get rough out there.”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He frowned, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you tightened the straps on your satchel. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing. “What’s in the bag?”

You froze for a split second, but it was enough for him to notice.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I can’t explain right now. I just… I have to go.”

His jaw tightened. “Go? Where? The perimeter’s crawling with enemy troops, and you’re talking about running off?”

You stepped past him, but he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Talk to me,” he pleaded. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the day you got here. Please, dont do this….What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, the weight of your mission crashing down on you. Bucky wasn’t supposed to know. No one was. But in this moment, with his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized you couldn’t just walk away without saying something.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you said quietly. “I’m not just a nurse. I’m here on a mission.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed “A mission?” confusion and concern mixing in his expression. “What kind of mission?”

You glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I can’t tell you everything. But there’s something I need to retrieve from the enemy. It’s vital.”

His grip on your arm tightened slightly. “You’re planning to go out there alone?”

“I have to,” you said, your voice firm. “This is what I was sent here to do.”

Bucky shook his head, his frustration evident. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you even have backup?”

“No,” you admitted. “This mission is off the books.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “That’s insane. You can’t go out there alone.”

“I’ve done it before,” you said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll be fine.”

But Bucky wasn’t convinced. “Not this time,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’m coming with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t going to let you go alone.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t get to push me away now. If this is as important as you say it is, then you’re gonna need someone watching your back.”

You hesitated, torn between the mission and the growing connection you felt with him. Bringing Bucky along wasn’t part of the plan, but the truth was, you knew he was right. The enemy would be everywhere, and the odds of surviving alone were slim.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But you follow my lead. No questions.”

He gave you a small, determined nod. “Deal.”

Together, you slipped out of the tent and into the night, the distant sound of gunfire growing louder with each step. The mission was about to reach its breaking point, and so was your fragile trust in Bucky.

But there was no turning back now.

The camp was already descending into chaos by the time you and Bucky slipped through the south perimeter. Gunfire echoed in the distance, mingling with the shouts of soldiers and the thunderous roar of artillery. The enemy was closing in fast, and every second felt like borrowed time.

You led the way, keeping low as you navigated the uneven terrain. Bucky followed close behind, his rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning for threats. The weight of your satchel bounced against your side, a constant reminder of the mission’s stakes.

“Where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice as you reached a narrow trail leading toward the enemy-occupied forest.

“There’s a stronghold about a mile from here,” you replied, keeping your voice low. “That’s where they’re keeping the files.”

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “And how do you know this?”

You hesitated. “Let’s just say I have access to intel most people don’t.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll trust you.”

The tension between you was palpable, but there was no time to unpack it. You pressed on, the shadows of the trees swallowing you both as you moved deeper into enemy territory.

The stronghold loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. It was an old stone fortress, fortified with barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. You and Bucky crouched behind a cluster of bushes, observing the layout.

“Two guards at the main entrance,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “And a patrol circling every few minutes.”

You nodded, scanning the area. “There’s a side entrance near the east wall. It’s less guarded, but we’ll have to time it perfectly.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “You’ve done this before.”

“More times than I care to admit,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the patrols. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Together, you moved swiftly and silently, sticking to the shadows. When the patrol passed, you darted toward the east wall, Bucky covering your six. The side entrance was a narrow metal door, rusted and worn. You pulled a small device from your satchel, a compact tool designed to pick even the most secure locks. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

“Impressive,” Bucky murmured as you slipped inside.

You gave him a quick look. “Focus.”

Inside, the stronghold was cold and dimly lit, the corridors eerily quiet. You navigated the labyrinthine hallways with precision, your memory of the layout guiding you. Bucky stayed close, his rifle raised and ready.

Finally, you reached a secured room at the end of a long hallway. A heavy steel door stood between you and your objective.

“This is it,” you whispered, pulling out another device from your satchel. It was a miniature explosive, designed to breach the door without causing a large-scale alert.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “You really came prepared.”

“Like I said,” you replied, placing the explosive, “I’ve done this before.”

The device beeped softly as you set the timer. “Stand back.”

The explosion was quick and precise, the door blasting inward with minimal noise. You and Bucky rushed inside, your eyes immediately scanning the room. It was filled with filing cabinets and stacks of documents, the enemy’s plans meticulously organized.

You went to work, quickly locating the files you needed. As you stuffed them into your satchel, Bucky kept watch by the door.

“So this is what all the secrecy was about?” he asked, his voice low but tense.

“These files could change everything,” you said, your hands moving quickly. “If they fall into the wrong hands, it could shift the balance of power for decades.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “Then we make sure they don’t.”

Just as you secured the last of the files, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Time to go,” Bucky said, his grip tightening on his rifle.

You nodded, and together you slipped out of the room, moving quickly and quietly through the stronghold. But as you reached the exit, the footsteps grew louder, closer. The guards were on high alert now.

“We’re not gonna make it out the way we came,” Bucky muttered, his eyes scanning for another escape route.

You pointed to a nearby staircase. “There’s a secondary exit through the upper level. It leads to the roof.”

Bucky nodded, and the two of you raced up the stairs, your boots barely making a sound on the worn stone steps. At the top, you found the door to the roof. It was locked, but Bucky didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it open with a grunt.

The night air hit you like a wall as you stepped onto the roof. Below, the camp was in chaos, enemy soldiers scrambling in response to the breach.

“There,” Bucky said, pointing to a nearby tree line. “We jump, head for cover.”

You hesitated, the drop from the roof to the ground far from ideal. But there was no time to argue. With a nod, you followed Bucky as he leapt, landing with a roll in the soft dirt below. You hit the ground a moment later, pain shooting through your legs as you landed hard but kept moving.

Together, you sprinted toward the trees, gunfire erupting behind you. Bullets whizzed past, but you didn’t stop, adrenaline driving you forward. Finally, you reached the cover of the forest, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter.

Once you were safely concealed among the trees, you collapsed against a trunk, your breath coming in heavy gasps. Bucky crouched beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of pursuit.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, clutching the satchel tightly. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky gave a small, breathless laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You met his gaze, the tension of the moment fading slightly as his familiar smirk returned. “So are you, Sergeant.”

Despite the danger, despite everything, you felt a flicker of warmth between you. The mission had tested both your resolve and your connection, but you’d made it out together. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The firelight flickered across the camp, casting long shadows as the remnants of the battle settled into an uneasy calm. You and Bucky sat on the edge of the forest, just beyond the perimeter, hidden from sight. The distant sound of gunfire and shouting had finally faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the night.

The stolen Nazi files were secure in your satchel, now buried beneath layers of medical supplies. You’d succeeded in your mission, but the cost weighed heavily on your shoulders.

Bucky sat beside you, silent for a long time. His rifle was propped against a tree, his hands resting on his knees. The tension between you had shifted—no longer marked by suspicion but by a shared understanding.

“You really weren’t kidding about being a ghost,” he said eventually, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, the flickering firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. “I told you it was important.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. But you didn’t tell me everything.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling over you. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of frustration. “Because you didn’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening around the satchel. “It’s about the mission. It’s about keeping things safe.”

Bucky frowned, his gaze searching your face. “Safe from what?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. “From things that could change everything if they’re not handled right.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, the soldier in him catching on to the weight behind your statement. “Sounds like more than just some stolen files.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky was silent for a moment, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with awe and concern. “And you’ve been doing this alone?”

“It’s what I was trained for,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “No attachments, no distractions. Just the mission.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “That’s no way to live.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “It’s the only way I know.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “You’re more than just a mission, you know. You’ve got a life, a soul. You can’t keep shutting people out.”

Your chest tightened at his words. For so long, you’d lived in the shadows, carrying the burden of your missions alone. But now, sitting here with Bucky, you felt the cracks in your armor growing wider.

“I’m not supposed to get attached,” you said quietly. “It makes things complicated.”

Bucky gave a small, rueful smile. “Too late for that….”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a surge of emotion, a mix of fear and longing. You’d spent years building walls, but Bucky Barnes was breaking through them with every shared glance, every quiet moment.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand stayed on yours, steady and grounding. His touch was gentle, but there was strength behind it, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t used to.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, you know?” his voice soft but resolute. “I’m in this.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the firelight reflecting off his metal fingers. It felt like he was holding more than just your hand—like he was holding the weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long.

“I’ve never had this before,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone, to let someone in.”

Bucky’s thumb traced small, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest ache. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I mess this up?”

Bucky leaned closer, his voice low and steady. “You won’t. And even if you stumble, I’ll be right here. We’ll figure it out together.”

His words broke through the last of your defenses, and a tear slipped down your cheek. Bucky’s other hand came up, his thumb gently wiping it away. His touch was so tender, it made your heart ache even more.

“You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “Bucky…”

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “Just let me be here for you.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly in the background. The world outside the camp seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet comfort of the moment.

After a while, you finally spoke, your voice barely audible. “You’ve made me feel something I didn’t think I could feel.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “What’s that?”

“Hope,” you said, the word feeling both fragile and powerful.

His lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile. “Then we’ve got something to hold on to.”

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft and tentative, a promise of something deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were shining, and you could see the depth of his feelings mirrored in them.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. “Together.”

Bucky squeezed your hand, his warmth chasing away the chill of the night. “Together,” he echoed.

And in that moment, with the firelight flickering around you and the weight of your shared pasts slowly lifting, you believed him.

In the days following the mission, the dynamic between you and Bucky began to change. There was a newfound understanding between you, a quiet bond forged in the heat of battle and the weight of shared secrets.

Bucky became more protective, often finding excuses to check in on you, whether it was during your rounds at the medical tent or when you were working alone. His teasing remarks were still there, but they were softer now, laced with genuine care.

You found yourself leaning on him more, allowing him into the parts of your life you’d always kept hidden. And despite the danger, despite the mission’s stakes, you had the files you could go back now and have exiled beating your initial time, but you stayed you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

But in the back of your mind, you knew the clock was ticking. The mission was complete, and soon, you’d have to leave this time, this world—and Bucky—behind.

The glow of the fire illuminated the night, the crackle the only sound cutting through. Most of the camp had settled in for the evening, but you and Bucky remained near the fire, sitting side by side on a fallen log. The warm glow danced across his face, softening the sharp angles and making his eyes shimmer like the stars above.

Bucky leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the log behind you. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked with a playful smirk, his voice low and smooth.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with….again?”

He grinned, his teeth catching the firelight. “What can I say? I’m trying to impress the mysterious nurse who keeps patching me up .”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get on my good side.”

“Is it working?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Maybe.”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more sincere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the weight of the war, the mission, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, suspended in this fleeting moment of peace.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse quickening. “Bucky…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re strong, smart, brave… and you’ve got this way of making me forget everything else, even when the world’s falling apart.”

His words broke through the walls you’d spent years building. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, and he met you halfway. His lips were warm and soft against yours, the kiss tender but filled with a quiet intensity. Time seemed to stop as the world melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were wet with tears. Bucky frowned, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Bucky’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheeks. “Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his own tears on his waterline threatening to spill. “Stay. Please stay, for me.”

Your heart shattered at his plea. The sincerity in his eyes, the quiet desperation in his voice—it was almost too much to bear. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew the mission, the weight of your responsibilities, and the secrets you carried. You’d always been a ghost, moving through life without leaving traces behind. How could you let yourself stay, knowing the danger you brought with you?

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his hands dropping slightly. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. “Because… I don’t get to have this,” you said quietly. “People like me… we don’t get happy endings.”

Bucky stared at you, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve this just as much as anyone else.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling. “You don’t understand—if I stay, things could fall apart. I’m not meant to… to put down roots. To belong.”

Bucky reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “If that’s what you’ve been told, they’re wrong. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Whatever’s weighing on you… let me help.”

You squeezed his hand, your tears falling freely now. “I wish I could. But this isn’t goodbye, Bucky. Not really.”

His grip tightened, his eyes filled with pain. “How do you know?”

You gave him a shaky smile, your heart aching. “Because feeling this… it’s the kind of thing that changes everything. No matter where life takes us, I’ll find you again. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away. His breath was warm against your hair, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the impossible. In a different world, maybe you could stay. Maybe you could let yourself love him the way you wanted to.

But for now, you clung to him, memorising the feel of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat. This wasn’t the end. You wouldn’t let it be.

The fire burned low, its warmth fading, but neither of you moved. Instead, you lay back together on a blanket you’d pulled from the medical tent. The stars stretched endlessly above, their light soft and comforting.

Bucky shifted, his arm wrapping protectively around you as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding you in the moment. He let out a soft sigh, his voice breaking the silence.

“When I was a kid, Steve and I used to sneak up onto the roof of our building,” he said quietly. “We’d lie there, looking at the stars, talking about all the things we were gonna do someday.”

You smiled faintly, imagining a pre-serum Steve beside him, small but full of fight. “What did you talk about?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and fond. “Steve always had big dreams. He wanted to do something that mattered. Join the army, help people, change the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “Didn’t care that he was too small, too sick. He just wanted to be better, to do better.”

You closed your eyes, the image of Steve Rogers—Captain America—so different now. But to Bucky, he was still that skinny kid with more heart than anyone.

“And what about you?” you asked gently.

Bucky hesitated, his hand absently tracing small circles on your shoulder. “Me? I just wanted to keep him safe. Steve’s always been the brave one. I just… I wanted to make sure he didn’t get himself killed chasing those dreams.”

His words were filled with so much quiet love, it made your heart ache. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky smiled, his hand brushing over your hair. “Maybe. But I think you’re the brave one here.”

You rested your head against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “We both are.”

The silence stretched once more, comfortable and grounding. The crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of the camp blended with the soft rustle of the trees.

Bucky’s voice broke the stillness. “Did you have someone like that?” he asked, his tone thoughtful. “A sibling? A close friend?”

You paused, your mind drifting back. “I didn’t have siblings,” you said slowly. “But I had a friend. Her name’s Natasha.” You smiled softly at the memory, though a hint of sadness crept into your voice. “She was like a sister to me. Strong, stubborn, always looking out for me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened. “She sounds like someone you could count on.”

“She was,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “We went through a lot together, but… I haven’t seen her in years.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Think you’ll see her again?”

You stared up at the stars, your heart heavy with longing. “I hope so. But with the way things are… who knows?”

Bucky nodded, his thumb brushing over your arm in a soothing motion. “If she’s anything like you, she’s still out there, fighting her own battles. And when the time’s right, you’ll find your way back to each other.”

You swallowed hard, his words offering a comfort you didn’t realize you needed. “I hope you’re right.”

The two of you fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. The weight of your shared stories, your losses and hopes, filled the space between you.

As the night deepened, you knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. But for now, you let yourself have it, holding onto Bucky like he was your anchor in a storm you couldn’t escape. Beneath the stars, in the quiet of the night, the war and the mission felt distant, like a different world entirely.

You stood near the edge of the camp, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the field. The soldiers of the 107th were regrouping, preparing to move out. You spotted Bucky in the distance, his silhouette unmistakable as he spoke with his men. His voice was calm, commanding, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was ready for the next fight, even if his heart wasn’t.

And so were you.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel, your fingers brushing over the hidden compartment containing the files. This would be your last night here. By dawn, you’d be gone, pulled back to the time you belonged. Everything you’d built here—every connection, every moment—would be left behind.

But Bucky.

He made his way toward you, each step heavy with the knowledge of what was about to happen. When he stopped in front of you, the space between you felt impossibly small yet vast, like an ocean you were both struggling to cross.

“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice low, not a question but a statement, tinged with quiet resignation.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I have to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with emotions he wasn’t voicing. He looked down for a moment, then slowly reached up, pulling something from around his neck. His dog tags caught the fading light as they dangled from his fingers, the metal clinking softly.

He held them out to you, his hand steady even as his voice wavered. “Take these.”

You stared at the tags, your heart twisting. “Bucky, I can’t—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “I want you to have them, please”

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling over you. These weren’t just tags. They were a piece of him, a symbol of his identity, of the man he was here and now. Taking them felt like crossing a line you weren’t sure you could bear.

But when you looked into his eyes, the quiet plea there shattered any resistance you had. Slowly, you reached out and took the tags, the cool metal pressing into your palm. Your fingers curled around them tightly, as if holding onto them would somehow keep him closer.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky gave a small, sad smile, his hand brushing against yours briefly before he let it fall. “Just… promise me you won’t forget.”

Your chest tightened, tears welling in your eyes. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything you couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much he meant to you, how this short time together had changed something inside you. But the words stuck in your throat, buried under the weight of your mission and the future you knew awaited him.

Bucky reached up, gently cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You’ve been trained to disappear,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But not from me.”

You choked back a sob, your hands gripping the dog tags like a lifeline. “I’ve never had this before,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

His hand slipped down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Then don’t,” he whispered, begging one last time. “Stay. Please. Stay for me.”

Your heart broke at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through every defense you had left. But you knew you couldn’t. Staying here would risk everything—the mission, the future, his life.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but you know I can’t.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on your hand, his eyes searching yours for something, anything to hold onto. “Why?” he asked, his voice raw. “Why does it have to be like this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Because this isn’t my time, this isn’t our time” you said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes glistened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to beg you to stay again. But instead, he nodded slowly, his hand lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter how long it takes.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave him a shaky smile. “You won’t have to wait forever.”

With one last, lingering glance, Bucky leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips, the steady presence of his touch, imprinted itself in your memory, a moment you knew you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.

When he pulled back, he let his hand fall, his eyes never leaving yours. “Take care of yourself doll,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You too,” you whispered, clutching the dog tags close to your heart.

And then, with every ounce of strength you had left, you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might never be able to leave. But with every step, the weight of his dog tags in your hand was a promise—a tether that would guide you back to him.

I could feel you sneaking in, As if you were a mythical thing

[s0apmactav1sh]

Minors, fem alinged do not interact with this blog you will be blocked!!

Taskforce 141. A tight knit group made up of monsters. Soldiers who were on a whole other level to the rest all because they were supernatural. Price, the captain of the TF and a dragon hybrid. His boys were apart of his hoard, the things he found irreplaceable and precious. Even with one wing enemies trembled at the sight of such a large man coming towards them. Ghost, the lieutenant and a wraith. What could be said about him, with shadows at his mercy and the darkness being apart of him there wasnt a way to kill a man who was already dead. Soap, sergeant number one and a werewolf. All hell breaks loose when hes able to transform, the team being his pack so he does whats needed to protect them. And lastly, Gaz, the harpy hybrid. The taskforces eyes in the sky. A bird of prey as other soldiers call him.

Thats all the infromation you had been given when you were first introduced to Kate Laswell. You had been handed files but most of the information on them had been classified and blacked out. Laswell had mentioned breifly how she had to practically seek you out, going to people she assumed would have an idea on where you would be. However no one could tell her what you were or where you were mostly because you kept on the down low and only popped up on the map during certain times. How she had caught you while you were in a bar in blackpool was a question you held back from asking.

"Whats in it for me?" Your voice was gruff, not in the way johns was from his years of smoking and barking orders, but in a softer way like you werent expecting to have to talk tonight. Help always came with a price. Yours especially, since you'd be working with monsters you were unfamiliar with. It wasnt like you were different persay but mixing your type of monster with theres didnt seem like the greatest idea in your mind but with Kates promise of a large sum of money and the few pints she bought you it was enough for you to agree to work alongside the taskforce for a few weeks until you were no long needed and could slip back into whatever hell you came from.

-

A Nightcrawler, a monster so unheard of they practically didnt exsit anymore. A creatures that lurked in the darkness where it could lure its victims into it and get rid of them, feasting on them after. Price had to put down your file the minute he read what type of monster you were, everyone knew that trusted one of you would end with death. The shiver that crept down his spine had him removing himself from his desk and leaving his office going directly to the resting room he knew his boys would be in. If he was going to accept kate purposal of accepting you into the taskforce, even if it was for a few weeks, he needed them to voice there opinions first.

"No. Not a chance" Was the first answer he got from ghost once it was finally brought up. Soap was to busy tryna keep his tail still so Gaz could brush out the muck and dirt he had in it from the missions they had been on. "We'd never be able to trust something like it." Ghost was set on declining having another person invade his space. He had enough trying to deal with a werewolf a harpy and a dragon, thrusting a nightcrawler into the mist would cause chaos.

"Its not a good idea, nightcrawlers have a tendancy to go rouge and attack everything within range" was the next response price got from gaz this time, the harpy also turning down the idea of having a nightcrawler join them. Although he voiced his reason as to his decline a lot more clearly than the wraith did. Still Price was hoping atleast Johnny may say something positive so he doesnt look like an asshole for not listening to them even though Kate had went through the pain of trying to get you to come and help them. But with prices luck so far with getting his boys to agree to allow you onto the team there was little hope that johnny would agree.

"Are you mad? A nightcrawler on our team. Ain't no way thats happenin" like he expected he was instantly turned down by the werewolf. Now explaining to Laswell that none of them wanted you on the team because you were a nightcrawler would be the difficult part since the woman was so persistant on getting them another to work with them. Dialing her number once in his office, all price could do is hope she hadnt gotten a chance to even figure out were you were.

-

The sound of kates phone ringing knocked you out of your small buzz as you picked it up and handed it to her turning away and getting another drink for yourself in hopes of drinking yourself to sleep once more before you set off to this taskforce. The sound of irritation soon hit your ears as kate tried getting whoever was on the other end of the phone to agree and take you in even if was just for one mission. Clenching your jaw you reached over and took the phone listen to the sound of the voice coming through.

"Kate there isnt a thing I can do to get the lads to let him join. They dont want a nightcrawler on the taskforce I cant force them."

A small scoff leaves you before you hang up the phone and pass it back to kate. "Thought they were on board with me joining."

-

JDBSJSVDUDBDV i have struggled i mean struggled to finish this. I honestly hate it with a burning passion and I have half a mind to delete it all and start over but here is part 1 of a fic im not even sure Ill finish.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

The Joker(s) And The Queen

Masterlist

Warning: I write the Reader as female

Pairing: Ace x Reader x Deuce

And I know you could fall for a thousand kings

And hearts that would give you a diamond ring

When I fold, you see the best in me

The joker and the queen

- Ed Sheeran, The Joker and the Queen

They are card soldiers and the duty of a card soldier is to serve his queen - but how could they be asked to do that when they’ve already sworn their devout and unyielding loyalty to you? 

If there was one thing that Ace and Deuce could agree on was that you were the best thing that’s ever happened to them. The otherworldly prefect who entered their lives in a blaze of glory.

It wasn’t no one’s fault that you can both brighten and lighten any room you entered, at how all eyes would immediately turn to you. You were someone whose very existence demanded to be awed and admired and praised. And as much as they were more than willing to do all of the above, they knew that they weren’t the only ones.

They would be fools to ignore how beloved you are by the student body, how you have every single student wrapped around your little finger, how despite not possessing a lick of magic in your body, you had become the most powerful being in school with the way you have the rich, famous and mighty treating you as if you were the reason the sun rose in the morning and set at night. It was clear that you were the object of desire of many - and for good reason. Despite your limitations, you were a pillar of strength, boldly facing every adversity that this twisted school threw at you. Your kind nature saving not only the overblotees but also many other students from a dark and tragic fate. Even with no magical abilities you’ve achieved the impossible and they knew that your circle of friends, which at first were only them, Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts, would only continue to grow and grow as more and more of their peers become aware of just how awe-inspiring you are and they are left to wither away in the shadows, left on the cold and dark sidelines to watch as you get pursued by people who are more worthy to bask in your light.

To say that someone like you is a rarity would be an understatement. In this school of villains, of conmen and crooks, tyrants and thieves, of dark beasts that would claw their way to the top through any means necessary, that would lie and stab to achieve their goals, someone as pure and angelic as you was simply unheard of. A celestial beauty so ethereal that even wild animals and woodland creatures are in reverence of you. Your existence was a siren’s call, and like moths to a flame, they are all ready to drown themselves if it meant they could take even a step closer to you.

You have princes, celebrities, men so wealthy that they could buy you an island and consider it pocket money, all ready to give you a life that even fairytale characters could only dream of. You have people with power who could give you anything you desire: titles, crowns, sceptres, the stars and moon. You had the literal world at your fingers and the ability to do whatever you wanted yet- 

Yet you chose them. The objects of your coveted affections, the ones who hold the honour of receiving your tender love and unconditional care, the ones who are blessed with the privilege of calling you theirs - are them. The two foolhardy, act-first-think-second boys who you had to save from expulsion on their first day.

It’s Ace’s eyes you meet from the bleachers of the gymnasium during a basketball match. It’s his name that you’re screaming, cheering and wearing - the bold, block-lettered ‘TRAPPOLA’ on the back of your jersey making it clear just who it is you came there to see. And if there were any fools that weren’t so sure, the breathtaking kiss he plants on your lips after he jogs over to your front row seat in the stands should seal the deal, especially when you reciprocate with fervent enthusiasm.

It’s Deuce’s jacket you wear when you run errands, the oversized black leather that once symbolised physical proof of his shameful past now proudly engulfs your shoulders, the silver ‘Spade’ as clear as day. It’s Deuce who you meet with at the end of his track and field club, it’s his tie that you elegantly loop around his neck and expertly loop into a windsor knot before tugging him towards you and pressing his lips against yours.

It’s them who you open up to, who you let your walls down and tears fall, who you allow to embrace you in your darker moments. It’s them who you run to in your times of joy, who you hug and kiss in elation, not caring who might be watching. It’s them that you praise, that you brag about to others. It’s them who has your full attention. It’s their hands that you hold. It’s them that you invite to Ramshackle and who you snuggle up against late at night.

They showed you the worst of them, from the first day they met you it was clear that they were nothing but trouble: a brash class clown and a violent former gangster yet with all of that, with all the trouble they’ve given you and continue to give you, you still chose them.

Every single day, you choose them. You take their weaknesses and polish them into strengths. You always see the best in them, despite the many instances where you would’ve been well within your right to not. Instead of letting them drag you down, you brought them up, lifting them into the pedestal that was your love. You support them wholeheartedly, in their dreams, passions and pursuits. Never once do you listen to the whispers of others, the ones that call them no-good, tactless mischief makers who would only bring you trouble - instead you’re the one who defends them, who is more than ready to defend them in a blink of an eye.

They know that you’re too good for them, that their reputation is rightfully deserved but please continue to indulge them. Like you are now, with your blissfully sleeping body sandwiched between them, happily snug inside both of their embraces, let them continue to worship you, to covet you like the beloved Majesty you are. Let them continue to hear the words you sleepily whispered to them before you sailed away into the silver mist of your dreams.

“I love you boys”

A card soldier lives to serve his queen so please continue to choose them. They’ll be sure to spend every breath in this life and the next, swearing their hearts, bodies and souls to you in eternal servitude. 

“What do you see in them?” A Pomefiore first year asks you as the two boys are once again being scolded by a teacher for unruly behaviour during class.

You gaze lovingly at your boyfriends, the two that you know without question would stand by your side - the ones that have always stood by your side, since the very beginning - and all you can see is their courage, their loyalty, the fact that no matter how scared you become in this strange, magical new world you know that you have no reason to fear anything if you have those two. 

The only possible answer you can give to your classmate is, “my future.”

How was I to know?

It's a crazy thing

I showed you my hand

And you still let me win

[muiitoloko]

See Me

Summary: Metatron, the former Voice of God, faces his greatest challenge: loving and protecting a human from a distance, unseen and unheard.

Pairing: Metatron × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst

Author's Notes: Honestly, I have no idea why I wrote this—just got hit with a sudden urge for some good old angsty, cliché vibes and had to roll with it! 😅

Also read on Ao3

When all this began, Metatron was furious. The idea of being demoted from God's spokesperson, the Voice of the Almighty Himself, to a mere guardian angel was unthinkable. He had been the one who spoke God's will, who delivered divine messages with a biting wit and an air of celestial authority. Now, he was expected to guard a single human life, and a newborn at that. It was a role that felt beneath him, a task for lesser angels, not for someone of his rank and stature.

But there was no arguing with the man upstairs. God's decisions were absolute, unchangeable, and Metatron, despite his anger and frustration, had to accept this new role. He took it with the reluctance of a soldier sent to clean the latrines after years on the battlefield, and when he first laid eyes on you—the newborn baby he was supposed to guard—he felt nothing but resentment. What was so special about you that he had to waste his existence watching over your every mundane moment?

And so, with a heart heavy with disdain, Metatron began his task. He watched over you as you grew from an infant into a little girl, your parents' first child and clear afterthought. It didn't take long for him to notice the imbalance in your household, how your parents lavished attention on your younger brother while you were left in the shadows. You never seemed to mind, never voiced a complaint, always the quiet, unassuming child who asked for nothing and expected even less. But Metatron could see how it hurt you, how you longed for a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to show that you were loved, too.

Years passed, and the little girl grew into a young woman. A kind woman—too kind, Metatron often thought with a bitter edge. Kind to everyone around you, even when they didn’t deserve it. You gave and gave until there was nothing left, and still, you smiled, still you pretended that it didn’t matter, that you were content with the crumbs of affection you received.

But Metatron saw through it all. He had watched you for years, after all. He knew that your kindness was a mask, a way to protect yourself from the endless disappointments that life had thrown at you. Your parents, who never saw you; your brother, who took their love for granted; your ex boyfriend, who used your gentleness as a convenience; your friends, who abandoned you when you needed them most. You were not the fool you appeared to be, not the oblivious girl who floated through life without a care. You were sharp, intelligent, and painfully aware of every slight, every cold shoulder, every broken promise.

Metatron hated it. He hated how they treated you, hated how you let them, hated the world for being so blind to your worth. And yet, despite all his celestial power, he could do nothing. He was bound by rules, by divine decree, unable to interfere in the ways that mattered most. He could only watch as you smiled through your pain, as you laughed with those who didn’t deserve your joy, as you loved with a heart that was destined to be broken time and time again.

And somewhere along the way, amidst the anger and frustration, Metatron began to feel something he never expected: affection. It started small, a quiet appreciation for your resilience, for the way you held yourself together when the world seemed intent on tearing you apart. But it grew, steadily, inexorably, until he found himself thinking of you not as a duty, not as a burden, but as something precious. Someone precious.

He knew it was wrong. He was an angel, a being of pure spirit, created to serve God’s will. He was not meant to feel, not like this, not with such intensity. But the more he watched you, the more he grew to admire you—your strength, your kindness, your intelligence hidden beneath that façade of simplicity. You were so much more than the world saw, so much more than anyone gave you credit for

But you were also fragile, your heart worn thin by years of neglect and quiet suffering. Metatron wanted nothing more than to reach out, to touch your cheek, to tell you that you were not alone, that someone saw you, truly saw you, and cared. But he couldn’t. He was bound by the very laws that had demoted him, and so he remained at a distance, watching over you, protecting you from the shadows, always close but never close enough.

And the anger that had once filled him—anger at his demotion, at the unfairness of it all—had slowly transformed into something else. It was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was directed at the world that had hurt you, at the people who had failed you. And it was tempered by a deep, aching love that he could never express, a love that he knew would remain unspoken for all eternity.

Metatron had watched over countless lives in his long existence, but you were different. You had changed him in ways he didn’t fully understand, had softened the edges of his celestial being, made him feel things he never thought possible. And it terrified him, this attachment, this love that defied all the rules of heaven and earth.

But he couldn’t turn away. Even if it meant enduring the pain of watching you suffer, even if it meant standing by as others hurt you, Metatron knew he would stay by your side. Because you were worth it. Because in a world full of shadows, you were the only light he had left.

And so, he continued to watch, to guard, to love you from a distance, hoping that one day, somehow, you would find the happiness you deserved. And though he could never be the one to give it to you, he would be there, always, watching over you, protecting you from the worst the world could offer, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

For what was an angel without his purpose? And Metatron had found his, in you.

That night, Metatron sat unseen in the armchair across from you, his hazel eyes watching intently as you moved around the living room, carefully setting out snacks and arranging cushions for the movie night you had planned. Your movements were meticulous, your expression one of quiet anticipation, as if this night meant more to you than you would ever admit. You had invited your friends, or at least those you thought of as friends, hoping for a few hours of laughter and camaraderie. Metatron couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at how much you invested in these people who had proven time and time again that they didn’t deserve your kindness.

He watched as you placed the final bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, stepping back to survey your work. You seemed satisfied, a small smile playing on your lips as you reached for your phone to check the time. They were supposed to arrive any minute now, and you were ready, hopeful even. But as Metatron sat there, unseen and unheard, he knew what was coming.

It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with a message. Your smile faltered slightly as you read it, but you quickly forced it back into place, your kind nature refusing to let disappointment take root.

"Hey, I’m so sorry, but my grandmother is sick, and I need to stay home tonight. Rain check?"

Metatron’s eyes narrowed. He knew the truth—your so-called friend wasn’t home with a sick grandmother. No, they were out, laughing and drinking with others, not sparing a single thought for the invitation they had so casually dismissed. But you didn’t know that, and as always, you believed their excuse, sending back a message full of well-wishes and understanding.

"It's okay, take care of her! We’ll do it another time," you typed, your fingers moving quickly over the keys before you set your phone down, that hopeful smile still lingering, though it had lost some of its shine.

But the night was only just beginning, and as you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a drink to go with the snacks, the phone buzzed again. Another message, another excuse. Metatron saw the way your shoulders tensed, the slight pause before you picked up the phone again, your eyes scanning the words as your heart sank a little further.

"Something came up last minute. I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. Hope you have fun though!"

Again, you believed them, because that was who you were. You always saw the best in people, always gave them the benefit of the doubt, even when they repeatedly let you down. Metatron watched as you sent another understanding reply, but he could see the cracks beginning to form in your carefully constructed armor. He could feel the weight of your disappointment, even if you wouldn’t acknowledge it yourself.

And so it went, one after another. Your phone buzzed, you read the message, and each time, your expression grew a little more resigned, a little more defeated. By the time the last message came through, you were sitting on the couch, your phone clutched in your hand as you read the final excuse.

"Sorry, I totally forgot I had plans tonight. Maybe next time?"

That one hurt. Metatron could see it in the way your eyes lingered on the screen, your thumb hovering over the keys as you tried to find the right words to reply. You wanted to believe them, wanted to think that they had genuinely forgotten, that it wasn’t intentional. But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. They hadn’t forgotten. They just didn’t care enough to remember.

Still, you sent a reply, something kind and understanding, as you always did. But the energy had drained from you, the excitement that had once filled the room now replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Metatron hated that silence. He hated how you just accepted their behavior, how you allowed them to hurt you over and over again without ever standing up for yourself. But more than that, he hated how he was powerless to do anything about it.

You sat there for a while, staring at the screen of your phone as if hoping for a miracle, for someone to change their mind, to show up at your door and make the night what you had hoped it would be. But no one came. No one messaged. And eventually, you set the phone down with a sigh, reaching for the remote to start the movie you had planned to watch with them—now watching alone.

Metatron wished he could tell you that he was there too, that he was watching with you. He wished he could comfort you, let you know that someone cared, that someone saw you, truly saw you. But you didn’t hear him, didn’t see him, didn’t feel him. You were alone, just as you had been so many times before.

The movie played on, but you weren’t really watching. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying the messages, the excuses, trying to convince yourself that they were genuine, that they hadn’t meant to hurt you. But then, your phone buzzed again, and this time, Metatron knew it would break your heart.

You picked up the phone, your eyes widening slightly as you saw the notification. One of your friends had posted a picture, a group shot of them all out together, laughing, drinks in hand, the night filled with the kind of joy you had hoped to share with them. You stared at the screen, your heart sinking as you realized they hadn’t just canceled—they had gone out without you.

They hadn’t forgotten to invite you. They just didn’t want you there.

Metatron watched as the tears welled up in your eyes, your hands trembling slightly as you set the phone down, your gaze fixed on the screen. You tried to hold it together, tried to tell yourself that it was a mistake, that they hadn’t meant to leave you out, that there was some reasonable explanation. But deep down, you knew. You always knew.

He hated how you never seemed to see the bad in people, how you always looked for the best, even when they repeatedly showed you that they didn’t deserve it. He hated how they hurt you, how they took advantage of your kindness, your generosity, and left you with nothing in return.

And yet, despite everything, you still believed in them. You still wanted to believe that they cared, that they were your friends. It was a kind of stubborn optimism that both infuriated and endeared you to Metatron, but in moments like this, it was more than he could bear.

He wished he could reach out, touch your cheek, wipe away the tears that threatened to spill over. He wished he could tell you that you were worth so much more than the way they treated you, that you deserved friends who loved you, who saw you, who valued you for the incredible person you were. But he couldn’t. He was bound by the laws of heaven, and so he remained in the shadows, watching as you curled up on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold the pieces of your broken heart together.

The movie played on, but you didn’t watch it. Your mind was too full of the images on your phone, the laughter and joy that you were so painfully excluded from. Metatron wished he could tear the world apart for you, make it right, make them see what they were missing. But all he could do was sit there, powerless, watching as the tears finally fell, silent and unnoticed, just like you.

And as the night wore on, Metatron’s heart ached with a pain that was all too human. Because in that moment, he realized that no matter how much he loved you, no matter how much he wanted to protect you, there was nothing he could do to heal the wounds that others had inflicted on your heart.

All he could do was watch over you, love you from a distance, and hope that one day, you would find someone who could see you the way he did—someone who would never let you cry alone.

Later that night, after the painful realization that you had been excluded from yet another gathering, Metatron watched as you moved through your bedtime routine with a sense of resigned heaviness. He had observed this ritual many times before, each movement familiar and practiced, but tonight, there was a sadness in you that he hadn’t seen in a long time—a sadness that tugged at something deep within him.

You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and changed into your nightgown, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin. But there was no comfort to be found in the familiar routine tonight. Your movements were slow, almost mechanical, as if you were going through the motions without really feeling them. Metatron noticed how your shoulders slumped, how your gaze seemed distant, how your eyes were red-rimmed from the tears you had tried so hard to hide.

When you finally finished, you walked over to your bed, the room dimly lit by the small lamp on your nightstand. Metatron’s eyes followed your every move as you knelt beside the bed, your hands clasped together, your head bowed in prayer. This was how you always ended your day, no matter how difficult or lonely it had been—you always prayed, always spoke to God as if He were right there beside you, listening to every word.

But tonight, there was a heaviness in your voice as you began to speak, a tremor that betrayed the depth of your sadness. Metatron leaned forward slightly, his heart aching with a pain he wished he could take away, as he listened to your prayer.

“Father,” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “thank you for another day, for the health and strength to get through it. Thank you for my family, my friends, and for the people I was able to help today at the hospital.”

You paused, your voice trembling slightly as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Metatron could see the way your hands clenched together, your knuckles white as you fought to keep your emotions in check.

“Please, watch over them,” you continued, your voice wavering. “Watch over my parents, my brother, and… and my friends. Keep them safe, Father, and give them the happiness they deserve.”

There was another pause, longer this time, as if you were struggling to find the words to say. Metatron watched as a single tear slipped down your cheek, your eyes closing tightly as you tried to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“I… I don’t want to be ungrateful,” you whispered, your voice thick with anguish. “I know I have so much to be thankful for, and I try, I really do. But… I feel so alone, Father. So alone, and… and I don’t know what to do.”

Metatron’s heart broke at the sound of your confession, the raw vulnerability in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He wanted to reach out, to comfort you, to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was there, watching over you, caring for you in ways you could never imagine. But he was bound by the laws of heaven, unable to reveal himself, unable to give you the comfort you so desperately needed.

Your voice shook as you continued, your words spilling out in a rush of emotion. “I try to be strong, to be kind, to see the good in people, but… but it’s so hard, Father. It’s so hard when… when they don’t see me, when they don’t care. I try to be a good friend, a good daughter, but… but it feels like no one wants me. Like I’m just… invisible.”

Another tear fell, and then another, until they were streaming down your face, your body trembling with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to escape. Metatron could feel your pain, your loneliness, as if it were his own, and it took everything in him not to cry out, not to break the rules that bound him and reveal himself to you, to tell you that you were seen, that you were loved, even if you didn’t know it.

You bowed your head lower, your voice barely audible now as you spoke the words that had been weighing on your heart for so long. “Father… please… help me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this. I’m so tired of being alone, of being… unloved. I just… I just want someone to care. Someone to see me… for who I really am.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and with it, the dam of emotions you had been holding back for so long finally burst. You buried your face in your hands, your sobs muffled against the bed as you cried out all the pain, all the loneliness, all the heartache that had been building up inside you for years.

Metatron felt his own tears welling up, his heart shattering at the sight of your suffering. He had watched over you for so long, had seen every tear, every heartbreak, every moment of loneliness, and it had taken everything in him not to intervene, not to break the rules and offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

But tonight, as he watched you cry, as he listened to your anguished prayer, something inside him snapped. He couldn’t just sit there, invisible, powerless, while you suffered. He couldn’t just watch as you cried yourself to sleep, believing that you were unloved, unseen, when nothing could be further from the truth.

For a moment, Metatron considered defying the rules, revealing himself to you, showing you the love and care that he had been holding back for so long. But he knew that it was impossible, that it would only cause more harm than good. And so, he did the only thing he could—he prayed.

“Father,” Metatron whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he gazed at you, his heart aching with a love that he could never express, “please, give her the comfort she needs. Let her know that she is not alone, that she is loved, even if she can’t see it. Let her feel my presence, if only for a moment, and let her know that I am here, watching over her, caring for her.”

And as you cried yourself to sleep, your prayer still lingering in the air, Metatron remained by your side, his unseen hand hovering just above your cheek, so close but never close enough. He stayed there, watching over you, guarding you, loving you in the only way he could.

And as the night stretched on, Metatron made a silent vow to himself. He would do everything in his power to protect you, to guide you, to help you find the happiness you deserved. And even if you never knew he was there, even if you never saw him, he would never leave your side.

Because in a world full of shadows, you were his light, his purpose, his reason for being.

And he would love you, from a distance, for all eternity.

As the days passed, Metatron continued his silent vigil, watching over you as you navigated the challenges of your life with the same quiet resilience that had drawn him to you in the first place. Today, he accompanied you to the hospital where you worked, his presence unseen but ever vigilant. You were a pediatric doctor, a role that suited you perfectly, given your boundless compassion and patience. It was in the hospital that Metatron saw the truest reflection of your heart, the way you poured yourself into caring for the children, giving them your time, your love, and your undivided attention.

The children adored you. To them, you were more than just a doctor—you were a friend, a protector, someone who made their days in the sterile, often frightening environment of the hospital a little brighter. They loved you because you saw them, truly saw them, in a way that others often didn’t. You took the time to listen to their stories, to comfort them when they were scared, to make them laugh even when they were in pain. And in return, they gave you their trust, their affection, and, most importantly, their honesty.

Metatron watched with a mixture of admiration and concern as you moved from one patient to the next, your demeanor calm and professional, yet always with a warmth that set you apart from the other doctors. You were in your element here, surrounded by the children you loved, and for a few hours, at least, you could forget the loneliness that plagued you outside these walls.

Today, one of your patients was a little girl named Sophie, a bright-eyed child with a contagious smile despite the illness that kept her in the hospital. She had always been one of your favorites, and Metatron knew it. There was something about her spirit, her resilience, that reminded him of you. As you entered her room, Sophie’s face lit up, and she greeted you with the kind of enthusiasm that only children seemed capable of.

“Doctor!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice filled with joy as she reached out for your hand. “I’ve been waiting for you all day!”

You smiled warmly as you took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, too,” you replied, your voice soft and full of affection. “How are you feeling today, Sophie?”

Sophie’s smile faltered slightly as she thought about her answer, but she quickly brightened again, determined not to let her discomfort show. “I’m okay,” she said with a shrug, her tone a little too casual for a child her age. “But I wanted to tell you something!”

“Oh?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as you sat down beside her bed, your full attention on the little girl. “What’s that?”

Sophie leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she whispered, “Doctor Marques likes you! He told me!”

Metatron, who had been hovering nearby, listening intently, felt a surge of irritation at the mention of Colin Marques. Doctor Marques was a natural flirt, the kind of man who spread his charms indiscriminately, with little regard for the feelings he left in his wake. Metatron had seen his type before—men who were all too happy to take advantage of someone’s kindness, to make promises they had no intention of keeping. And the idea that Marques might be trying to worm his way into your life, into your heart, made Metatron’s blood boil.

You laughed softly, a sound that Metatron usually found comforting, but now it only made him more agitated. “Is that so?” you asked, your voice playful as you ruffled Sophie’s hair. “And what did Doctor Marques say exactly?”

Sophie giggled, clearly delighted to be sharing what she considered a very important secret. “He said you’re the prettiest doctor in the whole hospital, and that he likes talking to you because you’re nice. He said he wants to take you out for dinner!”

Metatron clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists as he fought to keep his composure. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. Marques was nothing but trouble, and the thought of him trying to charm his way into your life, to take advantage of your kindness and generosity, was enough to make Metatron want to interfere in ways he knew he shouldn’t.

You, of course, took Sophie’s words in stride, smiling at the girl’s enthusiasm. “Well, that’s very sweet of Doctor Marques,” you said, your tone light and nonchalant. But Metatron could see the faint blush that crept into your cheeks, the way you ducked your head slightly as if embarrassed by the attention. He knew you well enough by now to recognize that, despite your dismissive tone, the idea of someone showing interest in you wasn’t something you took lightly. You had spent so long feeling invisible, unappreciated, that even the smallest bit of attention was enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you were worth noticing after all.

But Metatron knew better. Marques wasn’t interested in you for the right reasons. He was a man driven by ego and desire, and the idea of winning over someone as sweet and unassuming as you probably appealed to his sense of conquest. It wasn’t about love, or even genuine affection—it was about the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of knowing he could have you if he wanted.

And Metatron would be damned if he let that happen.

Over the next few days, Metatron made it his mission to keep Marques at bay. He couldn’t interfere directly—his powers were bound by the laws of heaven—but there were other ways to make sure Marques stayed away from you. Little things, subtle things, that the doctor wouldn’t even notice. A misplaced file here, a scheduling conflict there, a sudden page that called him away just as he was about to approach you. It was all too easy for someone with Metatron’s celestial abilities, and he took a certain grim satisfaction in watching Marques grow increasingly frustrated as his attempts to get closer to you were thwarted at every turn.

The other angels noticed, of course. The guardian angels assigned to the children you cared for, and even Marques’ own guardian, a rather irritable angel named Maraues, were quick to pick up on Metatron’s interference. They didn’t like it—they were bound by the same rules as Metatron, after all, and they knew how important it was to respect the boundaries set by the Almighty.

But Metatron didn’t care. Let them talk, let them frown and shake their heads. He knew what he was doing was right. You deserved better than Marques, better than the casual flirts and smooth talkers who would only end up hurting you in the end. You deserved someone who truly saw you, who loved you for who you were, not for what they could take from you.

And if Metatron had to play dirty to keep Marques away, then so be it.

One day, as you were finishing up your rounds, Metatron noticed Marques lingering near your office, a bouquet of flowers in hand and a hopeful smile on his face. It was clear that he was planning to ask you out, to finally make his move after days of trying to catch you alone. Metatron’s eyes narrowed as he considered his options, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a way to prevent this encounter.

As Marques started to approach your office, Metatron acted quickly. A slight flick of his wrist, a whispered word in the ancient language of angels, and the door to your office suddenly swung open, revealing you standing there, your expression one of surprise as you saw Marques standing just outside, flowers in hand.

But before Marques could speak, Metatron intervened once more. He sent a sharp, insistent thought to one of the nurses down the hall, and within seconds, the nurse appeared, rushing up to Marques with a look of urgency on her face.

“Doctor Marques, we need you in the ER right away!” she said, her voice breathless with urgency. “There’s been a serious accident, and they need your help immediately!”

Marques hesitated, clearly torn between his desire to talk to you and his duty as a doctor. But in the end, duty won out, and with a frustrated sigh, he handed the flowers to the nurse, instructing her to give them to you before hurrying off down the hall, leaving you standing there, bewildered and alone.

Metatron couldn’t help but smirk as he watched Marques’ retreating form. It wasn’t the most honorable way to handle things, but it was effective. And that was all that mattered.

But as you stood there, holding the bouquet that had been left behind, your expression softening into something that Metatron couldn’t quite decipher, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew he was protecting you, that he was doing what he thought was best, but he also knew that you longed for love, for companionship, for someone to see you the way you deserved to be seen.

And so, as you placed the flowers on your desk, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, Metatron vowed to himself that he would find a way to protect you without stifling your chance at happiness. He would keep you safe from those who would hurt you, but he would also keep his eyes open for someone worthy of your love, someone who could give you the happiness you so desperately deserved.

Until then, he would continue to watch over you, guarding you from the shadows, doing everything in his power to keep you safe—even if it meant bending the rules a little along the way. Because in a world full of pain and disappointment, you were the one thing worth fighting for.

And Metatron would fight for you, for as long as it took, until the day came when you no longer needed him.

But deep down, he knew that day would never come. Not for him. Because somewhere along the way, in the midst of his duty, in the midst of his anger and frustration, Metatron had fallen in love with you. And though he could never act on it, though he could never reveal it, he knew that his heart would belong to you for all eternity.

And that was enough. It had to be.

Metatron’s heart felt heavy as he watched over you that night, his unseen presence lingering in the quiet darkness of your bedroom. He had made sure you were safe, that you had finally drifted into a restless sleep after the emotional turmoil of the day. The soft rise and fall of your breath was the only sound in the room, and Metatron felt a pang of longing as he stood beside your bed, his gaze fixed on your peaceful face.

You were so vulnerable, so fragile in this moment, and yet there was a strength in you that Metatron had come to admire deeply. He had seen the way you faced the world, the way you endured the pain and loneliness that seemed to follow you like a shadow. And though you didn’t know it, he had been with you every step of the way, silently guarding you, protecting you from the worst of what the world could throw at you.

But tonight, as he watched you sleep, Metatron felt a deep sense of frustration and helplessness. He had done everything he could to keep you safe, to shield you from the people who didn’t deserve you, but it wasn’t enough. You were still lonely, still longing for someone to see you, to truly see you, in the way that Metatron did.

And so, with a heavy heart, he made the decision to return to Heaven, determined to speak with God Himself. If there was anyone who could help, it was Him. Metatron wasn’t one to beg, but for you, he was willing to do whatever it took.

As he ascended to Heaven, the familiar, brilliant light of the celestial realm surrounded him, and his usual sharp wit and sarcasm returned as he passed by his angelic brothers and sisters. He could feel their curious gazes on him, their whispers of speculation about what could have driven the Voice of God to such a state. But Metatron paid them no mind. He had one purpose, and he wouldn’t be deterred.

Finally, he stood before the throne of God, the presence of the Almighty filling the space with a power and serenity that would have brought any other being to their knees. But Metatron, as always, stood tall, his hazel eyes flashing with a mix of determination and frustration as he addressed the one being who could change your fate.

“Father,” Metatron began, his voice steady but laced with an underlying edge, “I need to speak with you about her.”

There was a pause, a silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity, but Metatron waited, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that God was aware of you��how could He not be? But it was one thing to watch over you as Metatron had been doing, and another entirely to intervene in your life in the way Metatron was about to request.

When God finally spoke, it was not with words, but with a presence that filled Metatron’s mind, a sense of knowing that transcended any human form of communication. And in that moment, Metatron knew that God understood exactly what he was asking for.

“You know I cannot grant this request, Metatron,” came the silent, omnipotent reply, gentle yet firm.

Metatron’s jaw clenched, his frustration bubbling up as he struggled to keep his tone respectful. “Why not?” he demanded, his voice thick with emotion. “She deserves more than this—more than the loneliness and pain she’s endured. I’m not asking for much. Just… just let me find someone for her. Someone who will see her for the incredible person she is, who will value her and love her the way she deserves.”

“Humans have free will, Metatron. They choose their own paths, their own loves. No angel, not even you, can interfere with that. It is not our place.”

Metatron’s fists tightened at his sides, his frustration mounting. “But she wants to be seen,” he insisted, his voice growing more desperate. “She’s spent her whole life being overlooked, taken for granted, treated like she’s invisible. Can’t you see that she needs someone? Someone who will finally see her the way I do?”

Another silence, longer this time, as if God were considering Metatron’s words. But when He spoke again, the answer was still the same, unyielding and absolute.

“It is not our place, Metatron. She must find her own way, make her own choices. You cannot choose for her, nor can I.”

Metatron felt a wave of helplessness crash over him, a rare and unwelcome emotion for someone of his stature. He had always prided himself on his ability to solve problems, to find solutions, even in the most difficult situations. But now, standing before the Almighty Himself, he realized that there was nothing he could do. He was powerless, bound by the very laws that had created him.

But he couldn’t let it go. Not this time. Not when it came to you.

“She wants to be seen,” Metatron repeated, his voice low and filled with a pain he hadn’t meant to reveal. “And so do I. I want her to see me, to know that I’ve been there all along, watching over her, caring for her in ways no one else ever could. I want her to know that she’s not alone, that she’s never been alone.”

God’s silence was deafening, the weight of Metatron’s confession hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, Metatron feared that he had gone too far, that he had revealed too much of his heart, too much of the forbidden love he had for you.

But then, something changed. The presence of God seemed to shift, to soften, and Metatron felt a warmth in his chest, a deep understanding that transcended words.

“You both want to be seen,” God finally said, His voice gentle, filled with a compassion that Metatron had never experienced before. “But that is not something that can be granted by divine intervention. It must come from within, from the choices you both make. You must let her find her own way, and you must accept that you cannot interfere.”

Metatron’s heart ached with the truth of those words, a truth he didn’t want to accept. But he knew, deep down, that God was right. You had your own path to walk, your own choices to make, and no matter how much he wanted to protect you, to guide you, he couldn’t force your hand. You had to find your own way, and he had to trust that you would.

But it didn’t make the pain any less real.

Metatron bowed his head, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his unspoken love, his unfulfilled desires. He had always prided himself on his duty, on his ability to carry out God’s will without question. But now, faced with the one thing he couldn’t have, the one thing he wanted more than anything else, he felt the sharp sting of failure.

“I understand,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll protect her, as I always have. But I’ll… I’ll step back, and let her find her own way.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Metatron felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, a warmth that soothed the ache in his chest, if only a little.

“You have done well, Metatron,” God said, His voice filled with a kindness that Metatron hadn’t expected. “Your love for her is pure, but you must let her go. Trust that she will find her way, and know that you have done everything you can to protect her.”

Metatron nodded, though the motion felt hollow, empty. He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier.

With a heavy heart, Metatron turned away from the throne, his gaze fixed on the floor as he made his way out of the celestial chamber. The other angels watched him as he passed, their expressions a mix of sympathy and curiosity, but Metatron ignored them. He didn’t want their pity, their understanding. He wanted you.

But he knew he couldn’t have you. Not in the way he wanted.

And so, as he descended back to Earth, back to the place where you slept, Metatron steeled himself for the task ahead. He would continue to watch over you, to protect you from the shadows, but he would no longer interfere in your life. He would let you find your own way, make your own choices, even if it meant watching you fall in love with someone else.

Because in the end, all he wanted was for you to be happy, to be seen and loved the way you deserved. Even if it wasn’t by him.

But deep down, Metatron knew that a part of him would always long for the impossible—to be seen by you, to have you look at him the way he looked at you, with a love that transcended all boundaries, all rules.

But that was a dream that would remain forever out of reach.

And so, with a heart heavy with unspoken love and unfulfilled desires, Metatron returned to your side, watching over you as you slept, knowing that he would never be more than a guardian, a protector, someone who loved you from a distance, unseen and unheard.

But it was enough. It had to be.

Because he had made a promise—to protect you, to love you, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

And Metatron never broke a promise.

[gldrushsblog]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin.

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: Aurora Beckett had simple plans for the night: clean up the counter, finish boxing up the last batch of strawberry cupcakes, and maybe catch up on her favorite drama. Until the click of a gun spoiled the tiles of her bakery and her plans.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: This chapter contains a violent scene involving murder, as well as mentions of nausea and a character passing out.

🧁✧ ˚. TAGS: oc is traumatized and on the verge of throwing up but she's also a little weird, jk is having fun cosplaying as a satanic entity for the night

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: This chapter's a lot shorter than the average word count I write but I hope it's intriguing enough for people to keep reading. Also please don't hesitate to type out your comments and opinions. I love to read them and stay informed with what clicks for you and for doesn't.

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie ... (Please do let me know if any of you want to be added too.)

CHAPTER 1: AURORA

Aurora had two problems tonight.

Her frayed nerves that showed no sign of settling down any time soon, and the blood on the once-pristine white tiles of her bakery floor, which were sometimes grazed with flour and all that.

The latter and former both caused by a group of tall and dark figures of men that barged inside the dim lighted interior of her bakery that she was just about to pack up like they were out to hunt. From what she could see from the corner of the counter she was hiding behind and trying to squeeze herself further away into the darkness, the prey in question was another stumbling man who fell his way before them, backing on his palms as he slid on the floor, a messy trail of blood following right after him as the group of men loomed forward with a errie calmness. She visibly winced at that before taking advantage of the soft darkness and lifting her gaze up and instantly retreating back.

Gods, she had never regretted turning down Lia's offer to drop her home more than she did now. But no, she wanted to finish baking one last batch, just to get ahead for tomorrow.

Now she was hiding from men who looked like they made up the gateway of hell.

 

Clad up in all black with their forms blended into the shadows, save for the luminosity of moon light spilling through the window. They could’ve been anyone, anyone except the customers who regularly graced her small bakery. Definitely not the kind who ordered pastries.

She should have been afraid for her life. She was, in part. But another part of her was horrified at the blood—so much blood—coating the clean floor where she spent her days baking treats. A morbid thought crossed her mind: it was going to take forever to scrub that out.

She tried to shake off the absurdity of the thought and focused on the bigger issue that screamed that she was going to be the next one on their hit list. She doubted her capability to hide here, to hide her frantic heartbeat from all of them because it was all she could hear, until that changed too like her mundane nights.

"Done running?" A deep gravelly voice echoed louder than her heartbeat in the small space that was her bakery, followed with clear thumps of footsteps against the floor. And that's when her eyes took in the sight of a man who was probably what waited you inside that gateway.

He was wearing black too, of course, but somehow he stood out, and when he walked further, the other men looked nothing but mere shadows surrounding this larger unexplainable force.

"It was getting really fun." He drawled as if murder was a game, and the man cowering on the floor was just another player who had lost. It took all her might not to dig a hole somewhere here and hide further. It seemed to have the same effect on the cowering and trembling man on the floor as well that whimpered pleads for mercy which were unheard by lucifer himself and her as well because the sound of conflict in her head was louder.

She felt guilty and all kinds of words related to it because she was a present presence here, watching a man on the verge of getting killed in her property, doing nothing. She tried to fumble for her phone in the pocket of her apron as quietly as she could, but to her unfortune, it was on the far end of the countertop - a distance that felt like a mile now. She didn’t dare move, and the moral lecture she had rehearsed in her head earlier evaporated when she heard the sound of a gun clicking as well as her will scattering.

Her wide eyes that were going anywhere but the scene unfolding in front of her stopped at two inky voids like black ink splashed across a page, who found her before she could and was staring straight at her, penetrating through her very being as he too was crouching down on the floor, making a surge of panic run through her as the idea of her being seen settled in.

He saw her.

Her heart stopped.

Yet when she saw him stay blank and unamused as ever, even when he caught on an unexpected presence, she chose to second thought her plan to scream and run. Or she was forced to do so because his eyes had her frozen and stiff, unable to breathe.

Her heartbeat even came to a pause if that was possible, and then before she knew it was resuming that violent pace when she saw his lips moving. 

"Close your eyes."

Despite the pounding in her heart, she caught the words.

Yet she didn't obey, and that was the second time she felt regret flooding in the night when a quick click of the bullet leaving his cocked gun echoed around. The relief she felt for one moment when she wasn't on the receiving end of his chilling gaze washed away the moment the prey of a guy's brain spilled on the floor.

Blood. Blood. Blood. That was all in her line of sight as the man collapsed dead on the floor. Blood. Pooling around him. Blood. Everywhere. 

Aurora felt her throat work, her stomach twisted, a nauseous feeling overtaking her before she gathered whatever self preservation was left in her and forced her palm tightly against her mouth to not let out the sound of horror that was bubbling. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But all she could do was press her back harder against the counter, eyes glued to the body now lying lifeless on the bakery floor.

Her eyes, unblinking, slid up to the man who had penetrated the life out of a once alive being. The man stood over the corpse, expression unreadable. The gun hung loosely in his gloved hand, as though the life he had just taken was of no consequence to him. As if this was routine.

It didn't suprise her but horrified her further.

Would she be the next on the floor with life draining out of her as well as her blood, begging for his non existing mercy?

Her answer was his eyes stopping at her quivering and crouched figure again from the corner.  Her vision had blurred over the time he was turned toward her after barking orders at his men—orders she couldn’t hear over the deafening roar of her heartbeat. She barely registered the sound of footsteps until they were close—too close.

And then, darkness.

With a last prayer to gods above, her body shut out with the last thing she saw before her eyes blacked out, being the devil coming for her.

To be continued...

[thelov3lybookworm]

I was listening to hyunjin's Ice Cream and this idea came to me loll. Idk if you do these kinda requests but can you do a fic inspired by the ice cream lyrics? 🥹🥹

Azriel with reader who's really cold but he's still hopelessly in love with her? (I love hopeless romantic az 🫶🫶) but not too much angst please I need fluff and happy endings, otherwise my heart wouldn't be able to take it 😔

Ice to cream

Summary: Azriel has a stoic exterior, and no soul has ever really seen what is underneath.

But then he met someone as cold as ice, and was ready to be her sweet cream.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: okayyyyy i feel like sweet cream sounds weird but my brain thinks its cool so ignore it 😉

also, i looooove you anon, thank you for this ask ❣️

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

That day had been like any other.

Azriel had been walking down the winding streets of the city of starlight, whistling to himself.

It was rare that the shadowsinger whistled, but that day he had simply been feeling like it. It was also shocking to his own self how carefree he had felt that day and had decided to take a walk instead of locking himself up in his office and finishing up reports while wallowing in self pity since Rhys had banned him from visiting the third Archeron sister.

The day was beautiful, nothing to signal that the shadowsinger's life was about to be turned upside down.

Azriel had been walking past a bookstore, and there was nothing that could have prompted him to turn his head to look at it, but maybe some unseen forces were at work, because he glanced at the storefront, and then decided to step inside for a moment.

The inside was cosy, the light streaming in from the multiple windows not too harsh, dust motes dancing as if to an unheard song. The store was quiet except for the occasional turn of a page or the purring and meowing of a cat.

Azriel had no reason for going into that bookstore, but once there, he decided to see if he could find a small book to read when he felt like lazing about and not writing reports.

Walking through the multiple aisles, Azriel let his gaze wander.

It was some time later, when his fingers were absently caressing the spine of a book in the fantasy section and he was about to leave without a book because nothing caught his fancy, that a loud, irritated meow sounded nearby, and Azriel winced.

A blur of orange fur in his periphery caught his attention, and the moment he glanced to his left, a cat shot out from between the shelves, knocking over some books and racing towards him.

Azriel stood frozen, until another meow sounded, and a black cat and pretty female came into view. She had an annoyed look on her face as she chased the two cats, and, in his whole five hundred years of existence, Azriel had never thought he would experience at love at first sight.

He wasn't one to judge whether people deserved his time and love by their looks. He usually tried to know them personally before he did.

But here she was, chasing two cats as they knocked over books, and Azriel could not breathe.

Azriel's shadows whispered that if he caught hold of the cats, he might be able to talk to her.

The spymaster wasted no time, scooping up the orange cat as the female picked up the snarling black cat.

She panted heavily, holding tight to the wiggling cat. Azriel didn't have to struggle though, the orange cat simply stopped moving the moment Azriel's shadows swirled in front of its eyes.

The female sighed, muttering something about food in the black cat's ear, and that finally managed to get the animal to calm down.

She glanced up at Azriel, shaking her hair out of her face, her face emotionless.

She walked forward, grabbing the orange cat from him with a mumbled thank you, then walked away. Azriel raised his hand to call for her, but she had already left.

Disappointment hit him from all sides, from his own self as well as his shadows, and he was left to wonder why.

Azriel left the store without a book that day, and the pretty female had not even glanced at him as he left, and that gave Azriel a purpose.

He would have to return.

To get a book, of course.

•○🌑○•

Azriel feared she would beat him in his broody spymaster act if given the chance.

It had been a month since Azriel had first visited the bookstore, and so far, he had come nearly everyday to the store in hopes of getting her to talk to him. And, obviously, to find a book to read.

He had been unable to get any responses from her as of yet that were not one word answers, but Azriel pretended that he was making progress. That he was beginning to crack the hard shell around her.

Currently, she was arranging some books, balancing precariously on the ladder that lay against the tall shelf. Azriel watched, alert and tense in case she lost her balance and would need assistance.

It didn't take long, as she winced a moment later and started rubbing her eyes with one hand, his shadows whispering of how dust had gone into her eyes.

Azriel was next to her in a moment, his grip tight on the ladder as he smiled up at the female, and she glanced down, a frown on her face.

She put the books in her hand back into their place before she began descending the ladder. The moment she touched the ground, she scowled, turning to Azriel.

He blinked in confusion, though he still kept that smile on his face.

"Were you trying to look up my skirt?"

His smile faded, and his eyes went wide as his brain registered how inappropriate his actions might have seemed.

"I- no- I would never- I-" He sputtered, at a loss for words.

The female gave him an unimpressed look, turning away.

Azriel was frozen in place for a moment until his shadows whispered to him about how this was a good opportunity to talk to her. They screeched in his ears, and that finally got him moving as he followed behind the female, tripping over his own feet as he tried to get her attention.

"Hey! Hey wait!"

She paused behind a shelf, half turning to him.

"I was not trying to look up your-"

"Doesn't matter if you were. Happens often enough that it doesn't bother me."

Azriel froze, his brows scrunched. She made to continue walking, but his shadows shot out, the ones next to his ear letting out an exasperated sigh.

The female glanced down at her hand in confusion, to where the shadows were twisting around her wrist and weaving through her fingers.

The female's eyebrows rose, and she looked up at him.

He pulled them back hastily, heat rising in his neck and face. "Um. Forgive me. They sometimes don't want to be controlled and do whatever they want."

She turned to him with a sigh, and Azriel had to wonder if he was dreaming when he saw her lips twitch in the slightest.

Master is not dreaming. He is simply dumb. A shadow whispered as it bobbed away from Azriel's ear, swirling around itself as if in a dance.

Azriel squashed the urge to snarl at it.

"What do you want?" Azriel whipped his head to look at the female, finding her staring at him with a bored expression on her face.

He cleared his throat. "I would like to know your name."

"Why do you want my name? Are you going to put some enchantment on me?"

Azriel opened his mouth to deny any harmful intentions, but again he got distracted by his shadows' whispering.

We wish to engrave it on master's skin.

The heat Azriel's face increased.

"I-I just want to know. No reason..."

She studied him for a moment. "Y/n."

Oh it will look beautiful carved on master's chest.

It will look better on his face.

On his forehead. No one would then try to steal him away.

Or maybe on his hips-

Or butt-

To the outside world, it would simply look like his shadows were floating leisurely in the air, but Azriel could barely think straight through their unnecessary commentary.

"A-Azriel. I am Azriel."

She snorted, turning away. "I know."

He followed her as she stalked through the shelves, his mind having stopped working the moment she gave him her full attention.

"How do you know that?"

"You are not really subtle with who you are."

"Oh?"

"Everyone knows you are the spymaster of this mother forsaken court."

If anyone else had insulted or even thought something bad about his court, they would be chopped into pieces and thrown into the Sidra before they even took their next breath, but then again, Azriel's brain had stopped working, and all he could think about was the fact that she knew who he was.

"So you've heard about me?"

"Yes."

"So can I ask you out to eat with me?"

She froze in her tracks without warning, and Azriel, who was usually very good on his feet, rarely stumbled, even when drunk, slammed into her, taking both of them down.

She wiggled under him, trying to get him off of her, and he scrambled to follow her wish.

She glared at him as she straightened into a kneeling position, dusting off her clothes.

"What makes you think that?"

"Nothing." He mumbled, embarrassed that he was acting like a young boy who had only learned the concept of reproduction and how it happened.

She climbed to her feet, but Azriel's hand shot out to grip hers.

Master finally did something right without having us guide him.

We must celebrate.

Azriel decided he was going to kill his shadows, but that would have to wait for now.

"Please. I want to take you out."

Y/n studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed.

"Fine."

A sudden burst of excitement took over Azriel, and he jumped to his feet.

"Amazing. Can I pick you up at sunset today?"

She nodded, and before Azriel could even realize what he was about to do, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek. Then he simply turned away, and sprinted out of the shop, already thinking about what he would wear and wich restaurant to take her to.

As he left, he didn't watch as the female who had captured his attention with a few cold looks, who was as cold as ice, lifted her hands and ran her fingers over where his lips had been a moment ago, her eyes blown wide and lips parted.

She stood there, unmoving, for mother knew how long before she glanced around, hoping no one was near.

And then, she let herself smile.

A shy, unbelieving smile as her face flushed.

And there, in the dark shadows between the shelves, her ice exterior began to crumble.

Cracks appeared.

Cracks in which he would plant himself so deeply, so thoroughly, and begin to weaken the mighty walls around her heart.

•○🌑○•

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

[acourtofthought]

So I saw your ask about Elain and why she’s your favorite character, what scenes made you like her, headcanons.

I was wondering if wondering if you answer those same questions but with Lucien ❤️

Hi there ❤️ and here you are:

1. Why is Lucien one of your favorite characters?

Lucien is the guy you aren't automatically programmed to want in romantasy. He's not dark and brooding, he doesn't have blue, gray, green, or black as night eyes, he doesn't have shadow powers, he doesn't hate everyone and everything but her. Really, he's the comic relief who in most other series would remain a side character. But what Sarah has done with the comic relief is make him hot. Muscular. With gorgeous red hair. Really intelligent. With a secret heritage that's going to make him just as powerful as the other most powerful players in their world.

Sarah has taken the sidekick and set him up to be just about as powerful as the lead of her trilogy. It's almost unheard of.

But he's been such a good guy the entire time. He's not betraying people, stabbing them in the back. He's not hounding Elain, trying to snark his way into gaining her attention, not seducing her, not trying to make her jealous. Dude could probably wipe out Az if he wanted at this point with the hints of his Day Court powers beginning to peak through but instead he just stands aside and lets everyone do their thing even if he's hurt as a result.

Lucien is not only fantasy book boyfriend material but he's also a lot closer to real life boyfriend material, the kind who is already mature all on his own and readily apologizes for his mistakes, where he doesn't need a girl to fix him.

Where so many other MMCs are carbon copies of one another Lucien stands out as being one of a kind.

2. Is there a specific scene that made you like him?

Literally every scene. I was a Rhys girlie during my first read but he hasn't stood up to the test of time. Not that I hate Rhys now or anything but there's been many MMC since then who rank much higher for me. Lucien remains in my top 5 and I can't even imagine what it would feel like to have an entire book from his POV.

While I love every scene he's in I was beside myself getting his POV in ACOWAR.

3. What theories/headcanons do you have for Lucien?

Possible contender for High King wielding Gwydion, that his beast form might be a dragon, that he and Elain performing Calanmai might stop the lands from dying further, that he'll be the one to break through the spells and wards at the Human Queens castle.

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, The Joker (more characters pop up later, will add them then.)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood, Angst, (let me know if I should add more tags)

Word Count: 584

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 7 - Gotham Transcends

She watched them swarm, at the behest of their white skinned jester whose hair was the same toxic color that painted her sewers. Born in a vat created by the corrupt, from the same poisonous liquid she tasted regularly. Whenever he appeared he stained her soil in the warmth of the living. Her Bat right behind him, protecting her, called him Joker.

And the jester would laugh.

A sound so chaotic, alluring, her attention captivated, ripped away from her Bat. Something in him resonated with the souls that walked her streets, that lived in her buildings, that wished for change. They would gather, hold him up and then recoil. He danced with her Bat unlike any other, fluid and unpredictable. His whispered thoughts, his actions, always directed towards her Bat. The jester needed him, loved him, loved her, wanted her changed. Her shadows played with the soundless song he wove. Enjoying their game.

Nightwing, her oldest bird went too far, in protection of the youngest, in reaction to the second. Her Bat had been gripped by something indescribable. Fear was at the forefront, determination followed closely. Her eldest bird sat hopeless, her youngest shocked. With rhythmic movements her Bat pounded his chest trying to bring him back. Her Bat could not, would not, let the jester die. Like with the others, she gave her Bat what he wanted, a helping hand. She plucked a bit of shadow and when her Bat cracked the Jester’s chest, she slipped in. Disoriented and confused he shot up, clutching at his chest, his laughter echoing, filling her with new sensation.

She had not known. She had been unaware.

She? …I?

I had not known?

The excuse fell flat. Ignorance did not justify the consequences of that night. What would transpire would be devastating. How would I have known that it was not love, what the jester felt.

No.

It was love, but it was twisted. It was obsession but more consuming. It was jealousy, but it was sinister. He wanted my Bat. His full attention and our birds would, have, paid the price.

Later, bound and imprisoned, he spoke to the shadows. He spoke to me in sweet hushed tones. Disappointed that his plan had failed, regretful. I could feel the thrill run through me, from him, when I would inadvertently respond. A flicker here, a subtle movement there. He saw me, followed me with his mismatched eyes and when he could, he would grasp the tether, trying to pull me in. The jester was dangerous and now he was aware, his connection to me, to my Bat.

It was hard resisting, but I would not be swayed. He was not brought back because I wanted him, his life is held within the hands of my Bat. All he had to do was let me know and I would cut the string, let the jester collapse like a marionette. Though he did not know the power he held, though he did not speak to me directly, though I brought him nothing but torment. My Bat still had faith in me. Cared for me.

I settled on him, dark tendrils wrapping around his neck, adoringly watching him work. I watched him fight, watched him run ragged for me. I curled in tighter, burying myself in his back. I smiled at the feeling, a laugh escaping, unheard.

Gotham is me. I am Gotham and the Bat is mine, the jester an after thought.

I had finally, fully, awakened.

This one was difficult to write. I like the Joker as a villain but now he has a bit of Gotham in him, like the robins, and that cannot bode well. Also, why does the last bit sound menacing? This is where the story led me T_T

I'm afraid to follow the path, but I must march on.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

What do you think of afo giving shiggy decay

Oldest and favorite theory now to (very possibly) turn true in the manga. This was seriously one of my first theories when I joined the fandom!!!

Tumblr sucks at helping you find your own posts, meaning I have no way to link my old posts about it in this ask :( but anyway.

At first it was purely born from the frame of the shadow man with the hat delivering Tenko home and how strange it was that Tenko happened to awaken his quirk that day. There's also the fact that the man looked a lot like AFO, with the body structure, the suit and the face in shadows.

This is the panel that started it all:

I remember a lot of people went against it 'cause it was anticlimactic for them. They thought that if AFO gave Tenko decay, that event was taking something from Tomura as a character, making him less interesting.

For me, it made sense because there were too many factors that you couldn't explain otherwise. Some of them are exposed here. There are too many variables for it to be a coincidence. Now, if AFO gave Tenko decay or if he did something to activate it that day... That's yet to know.

But for example, look here. AFO had a room fully prepared for Tomura. He had shelves full of books, a bed, a chair and a desk... He even had toys!

* it looks like some of the action figures had arms or even the head missing. One of them is fully on the ground.

It wasn't long until Tomura had a PC installed too:

It's clear that AFO was expecting him. For what I know from the Vigilantes manga and bnha, AFO didn't treat every kidnapped kid like that. He had a hospital full of kids to turn into nomus after all. He wasn't that involved with every experiment.

Tomura was clearly different from the star. He knew who Tomura was, he expected the tragedy to happen, he expected the quirk too. AFO never reached for Tomura's hands. He acted like he had already seen the state the Shimuras' house was left in. He knew where to look for Tenko, like he was following him.

And the way he spoke... It was too premeditated:

He created that situation so he could play the role of Tenko's saviour. He needed Tenko to hate every hero, every citizen, he needed to feed his anger, his hurt. Or well, at least how's the theory goes.

AFO gave Tenko decay, waited for the result of an abused 5 years old reaching his limit and then he appeared like a knight in shining armor. He made sure to allow Tenko to walk around, he was also probably using his influence to interfere so a) the Shimuras deaths wouldn't become a scandal and b) no one would rescue Tenko before he could.

But going back to the "AFO gave Tenko decay" theory, I think the canon fact that supports that theory the most is that Tenko was already 5 years old. Here are the panels I'm referring to:

There's always the question if the Shimuras had a quirk. We know Nana had hers, but nothing is said about Kotaro or Nao or even Hana. We don't know if they were mostly a quirkless family or if Tenko would be the first one of them.

For the way Tenko recounted his day to Nao, we know that he was at the park playing with some friends. Here:

Between AFO picking Tenko up from the park and taking him home to his family, he must have done something. I don't know about the timeline... and if Giran could have already been associated with AFO... I just remembered that his quirk was the ability to muddy the memory of anyone up to five minutes prior or after he used it.

You see, Tenko never said anything to his family about the man that brought him home. We don't know what Tenko did when he "played the hero". We don't know what AFO told Nao. This is just theorizing, but giving someone a quirk by force doesn't hurt? From whom did AFO take decay if Tenko wasn't the original user?

Doc Garaki said it was a quirk never seen before...

I don't know. Since you asked me my opinion, I'll say that I'm still not very sure if AFO gave decay to Tenko or if it was Tenko's quirk from the start. It's not unheard of, since his case sounds a lot like Eri's, who developed a weirdly aggressive quirk on her own.

We're getting closer to being absolutely sure 'bout AFO's involvement with Tenko prior to the deaths of the Shimuras.

I just wonder what option fits better thematically.

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

I am not exactly sure if your request are open or this account is abandoned because I don't wanna bother.. But how do 2p Prussia, 2p America, 2p Italy, 2p Canada to their darling s/o walking around, talking by themselves and running around when their alone, especially listening to music and do that.. People usually called it maladaptive daydreaming?.. And I again I'm sorry if I bother you

+ This comment: Oh if you don't know maladaptive daydreaming.. You can search it on google, maladaptive daydreaming is usually caused by mental health issue

Ah! I’ve heard of this, and I relate to a lot of the symptoms. Honestly, the process helps me with a lot of my writing, but I’ve never really had it overtake my life.

And you’re no bother hun! Also, as long as the ask box is open you can submit until your heart’s content (this goes for everyone!). Adult life sometimes makes it hard to be consistent with my writing. Even though life’s made it tough, it just takes longer than I thought. Which I am sure we all understand.

Also, if you ever want, you are welcome to ask me questions, or just check in on my status. I don’t consider them the same as a request/ask. Honestly, I’ve always wondered if I should share the menu of questions. Like the ones of lists where people request a number/shape/phrase from a menu of questions and the author answers them.

Note: (F/Br) = Favorite Brand

Anyways on to the event~

(Y/N)’s head rocked to unheard music as she moved through the house. A large basket, full of dirty clothes, was in hand as she muttered to herself. Like a plane on autopilot, her legs took the barefoot woman down the hidden, wooden stairs toward the basement.

With her mind lost to the clouds, she was unaware of the encroaching shadows. One that slunk along her walls and blended in with her home’s hidden corners.

The man’s ears were perked, eager to pick up on her muttering as he remained out of sight; but as he tried to make out each, exact word, all he could do was scrunch his face in confusion. She was uttering pure nonsense. Curiosity continued to knock at his brain, as he realized the muttering and occasional grunt sounded like someone in a fight. Part of him wondered if she hated laundry. Or was she somehow hurt, that a mere load of laundry caused her body to ache so, maybe she was complaining about that event? Perhaps, during the hours he had left her, someone said something to piss her off and to alleviate the feeling of failure she was repeating the moment but with her winning?

Brushing off the momentary flare of anger at the possibility of something going wrong, he decided to stalk closer. His presence unnoticed as he fell in line with the darkness to follow the woman further into the unfinished basement.

Remaining between the darken beams of an empty corner room, the man watched as she bounced past the laundry room. He choked down the chuckle that threatened to bubble out as she seemed to forget what chore she was doing. He watched as her quirked lips and blink of confusion reminded him of a puppy denied a bone via a simple magic trick. But after a moment she stepped backwards and moved inside to complete the chore.

For hours, he watched from the dark places of (Y/N)’s home as she continued in what he could only call her own wonderland. Little sounds and words came from her as she auto piloted her way through the evening. Each of her movements could only be described as light and spacey. 

Soon enough, (Y/N) had finished her day. Her head hitting the cold pillow and slowly giving up consciousness in return for a more vivid fantasy as she cuddled her blanket close.

As her breath settled into sleep’s pattern. The man left the shadows and stood over (Y/N). He looked down, his eyes softened by worry as he brushed away her hair.

The whole day. She had not noticed him once. Not even reacting to the feeling of his eyes tracing her form.

Oh, what to do with her.

HIS.

SWEET.

LITTLE.

OBLIVIOUS.

ALICE.

Prussia: Once again, (Y/N) moved on autopilot. Her mind lost to wonderland as she cleaned the front room windows. A dance to step as her inner adventure rose closer to its climax. Ignorant of the eyes on the outside.

 “Another day, another fantasy”. thought Wilhelm as he watched her from his dark Audi. His thumb tapped along the steering wheel as he bobbed to her beat. Waiting for her.

Waiting for the next point of her set schedule. The subconscious pattern he had identified weeks earlier. The key to bringing Maus home was a simple afternoon walk.

His cornflower orbs flitted to the car clock. The neon numbers changed to fourteen hundred. At its brief flicker, to signify the change of the hour, Wilhelm looked back to the house.

(Y/N) opened the white door, and Wilhelm felt his heart stop. Her beauty alone froze the breath within his lungs.

The summer sun reflected off her (H/C) locks and the (F/C) headphones helped create a beautiful halo. Her eyes were refreshing pools of (E/C) that offered relief from the ruthless heat. The baggy, mesh, basketball shorts and simple graphic tee made her seem like an angel failing to blend in with mortals.

To view her so openly felt like a sin. But Wilhelm couldn’t ignore the serpent’s call. Not when the house had been prepared, and the wedding planning was in the final stages.

No, he thought as she walked past his car. Not when her mental wonderings made it so easy for him to snatch her away.

He opened the car door. Following the distracted woman down the suburban running trail.

Not when he could make his own daydreams a reality.

America: Over the next few weeks, (Y/N)’s mind continued its wandering. Those mental walks felt like a summer, sun-dappled path as she made her way through the elaborate stories. After all, they prevented a dull moment and allowed her to complete her days and tasks while tranced.

It was perfect.

If only you didn’t ask Allen.

On each visit to her home, he was ignored. His presence was treated as nothing more than a fly on the wall. Allen would agree that it was nice, it allowed him to get closer. To be bolder in his actions.

Even with all he learned and all he was able to do, it wasn’t enough. The information lacked intimacy. The kind where Allen could slide into (Y/N)’s life. To build a bond that would take them from friends to a couple, and finally end with marriage.

Just him and her. Forever.

If she wasn’t so damn lost within her own mind.

The process of focusing her hazy eyes on him would take too long if he went the organic route. No, he wanted her attention.

And.

He.

Wanted.

It.

Now.

Italy: The grocery store bustled with life as (Y/N) pushed her cart forward. Her lazy stride as her upper body leaned on the cart handle. Her eyes felt that the world was so distant as she glanced along the shelves like her dedication to the dream prevented the world from coming into focus.

A sudden crash of zincified steel and a punch to the gut caused (Y/N) to choke as her lungs struggled to regain their air and her stomach to keep its contents down.

A groan mumbled its way through (Y/N)’s clenched lips as her mind caught up with reality. She had been wondering about the snack aisle for chips, but at its lack of (F/Br) and at her mental moment of failure, she decided to check the next aisle in case they were moved. Initially, there was no one at the aisle’s end that (Y/N) had seen, so she exited. But, like a teen driver with a brand-new cellphone, her glance up was not long enough.

“Non ci posso credere!”, came from the owner of the hand that was now rubbing her back. His gentle touch helped calm her body’s panic as she looked back at him.

(E/C) widened as a heavy blush warmed her cheeks.

He was handsome.

His copper hair that had the smallest hints of crimson in the highlights the shone like bloody pennies in the florescent lights. His eyes were the deepest pools of maroon that pulled at her brain like a siren’s song. A sharp nose that complimented the soft smile that crinkled the corners of his beautiful eyes.

Yet, her brain couldn’t ignore that something was off. Was it in the way he looked at her? Or the gentle, but tight grip on her arm? Either way, it made (Y/N) feel like she was viewing a shadow from above the water’s surface. That underneath lay a predator in wait, urging her to jump in. To embr-.

“Tesoro?” The man interrupted. “Are you alright?”

She ummed with a nodded as she scurried to collect her cart and stand straight. A stuttered “Yes” as she began to turn her cart away and after a silent moment of staring, an “I’m sorry” as her steps led her away from the attractive Italian.

(Y/N) should have looked back.

Because Luciano stepped forward. His voice was soft as he called for her to look back. It had enough power that only (Y/N) should have turned to look at him. To bless him with another conversation. To give him his anchor point into her life.

She should not have let her dreams dull her senses as her wondering took her around the aisle’s corner.

Because he frowned. A frown so deep that the creases pulled his lips downward. She was lost again. Not even thirty seconds after bruising her gut. Not allowing him the chance to smooth over the pain with the promise of pleasure.

Being ignored burned him. A blaze that flittered like black flames from his heart to his head with horrible ideas.

Ideas that concluded this ‘dream-walking’ could be trained out. Or at least, change them. Maybe, dreams that were filled with only him, could be a better anchor. Even if they would quickly become nightmares.  

Canada: Large shelves were covered in books. Each varied in thickness, texture, color, and quality, but with one thing in common. They were all blank.

Matt’s scuffed hand reached for a leather bound, brown journal. He turned it over in his hands before flipping through the pages. It seemed sturdy. A book that could handle a lot of pages turning, folding, and writing, but he grimaced. Its paper was rated for matte, which was the standard.

“No.” He muttered. “It’s too light.”

His boot-clad feet carried him further into the book aisle of the art store. As he approached the end, his lilac eyes were drawn downward to a small, black book on the bottom shelf.

Gently, Matt picked it up. His hands carded through the paper and looked over its binding. This one was a lot stronger than the last. Pausing at the book’s middle he noted that it’s pages were tightly bound with glue and white tread that released the smell of glue as he closed it with a small slam.

‘One final thing’, he thought as he flipped the book over for it’s specs.

Hot Pressed Watercolor

‘Finally,’ He sighed as he tucked the book under his arm. ‘Now, all I have to do is finish her studio.’

With a nearly, unnoticeable pop in his step, Matt left the store.

After all, with one more thing checked off his list.

That meant he was one item closer to bringing (Y/N) home.

One more thing closer to a happy home with children.

And after all, (Y/N)’s dreams could mean happier children. All he has to do is encourage her to record.

[princess-leaorgana]

What Tieflings Do Chpt. 1

Summary: After the takedown of The Absolute, Zelphie finds her city in need of more help and her home destroyed. She won't stop top help, but who can help her?

Rolan x Tav (Zelphie; ~30y.o AFAB, Sorcerer, Tiefling, not really described physically on purpose <3)

M/F

Author's Note: I fucking love tielfings. Along with this being a budding romance/smut/fluff/word vomit fanfiction, it's also my case study in DnD 5e tieflings, how they act, what sets them apart from humans and devils and elves. That being said, I have a few artist liberties in here as well where I couldn't find a straight answer, if you'll amuse me.

Mild trigger warnings - There will be smut in future chapters, but this chapter mentions injury and my hyperfixation on tieflings being carnivores. Also spoilers to the game! If you read my work and find anything else that puts you off, please tell me! <3

‘It seems as though the worst is not yet behind us,’ Jaheira said, sarcasm in her voice. Zelphie laughed at the half-elf and sighed.

‘But surely, we can be awarded a little relaxation until the morning,’ the tiefling suggested and Jaheira smirked.

‘Maybe you will relax, but I must go home, to my litter,’ she said and Zelphie chuckled.

‘Oh, I do wish I could help you with all of that,’ Zelphie responded sarcastically. Jaheira couldn’t hold back her laugh. Zelphie smiled at the older woman. She was always so self deprecating about her age, but Zelphie thought she was beautiful and always thought her so strong. To meet Jaheira, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, now twice so, was so exciting for Zelphie. She had grown up hearing stories of the Druid Jaheira, High Harper. Jaheira was everything Zelphie had been expecting and so much more. Zelphie was very happy to call her a companion, a neighbor in fact. The two looked at each other for a moment, the last two in Baldur’s Gate, well, for now. Shadowheart, Halsin, Lae’zel, Gale, Karlach and Wyll had all left. Jaheira, Zelphie and Astarion were left in Baldur’s Gate, the vampire had run off to the shadows, Jaheira and Zelphie remained. What did one say to a companion one had faced the end of the world with? 

‘I assume you have your own family to return to, little cub,’ Jaheira said and Zelphie smirked. Zelphie knew that Jaheira knew better than that. An adult tiefling in Baldur’s Gate, with a full family? Unheard of. The sorcerer had been on her own since she was a child. Not a lot of tieflings had the love of their parents. ‘You know where to find me, please keep close by, yes?’ She asked and Zelphie nodded and hugged Jaheira. Jaheira was so lithe, it was a wonder how she was so strong, Mother Nature was on her side. Jaheira hugged her tightly. ‘Careful with those,’ she said as she loosened the hug and pulled on Zelphie’s right horn. ‘And come find me when you have the strength to help us rebuild, we’ll need you.’

Zelphie headed out to the lower city, praying to any god that was paying attention to her that the small space she had been living in was still standing. The gods would not favor her, however. Her bungalow was dust amongst the streets of Baldur’s Gate. She was half expecting it. But where was she to go? She would kill to take a bath. To continue walking these streets, watching the dead being carted off, the rubble, confused children abandoned, it hurt Zelphie’s heart. There was no bath or bed for her, she would make some use of her time. On her way back to the Elfsong Tavern, she helped where she could. She made use of her volatile magic and helped push large chunks of rubble out of the way so the street could be a little clear for transportation once more. There was a lot to do everywhere, but the park near the lower city’s central wall was a hazard. Zelphie pushed herself to her limits, and twilight was making the work hard. She began her journey to the tavern, hoping for at least a roof to sleep under. 

‘Oi! Hero! I can’t believe you’re alive!’ A familiar voice called from the fountain in front of Sorcerer’s Sundries. Zelphie smiled and looked towards the voice. The tiefling population in Baldur’s Gate had grown tenfold since the scourge of The Absolute took hold. Zelphie couldn’t be happier about it. A lot of Baldurians weren’t very happy about them, not only were they refugees, sucking up precious resources, but tieflings had never had a great reputation. Hellspawn, Devil Bastards, Brighteyes, Gargoyles, a few of the many choice words Zelphie had been called in her lifetime. No one could look past their dark ancestry. Zelphie couldn’t tell a soul how far back her familial line went to the Archdevil Asmodeus, but that was all a stranger would see when they looked at her red skin, her glowing red eyes, or her long and sharp horns. How could she blame some people? What was worse than a devil? After these last few months, Zelphie would have to argue that there was nothing worse than a devil. But Baldur’s Gate would have to get used to being overrun by hellspawn, because they were certainly here to stay, and Zelphie was very happy to see this one in particular. Lia, a tiefling she had met at the Emerald Grove at the beginning of her adventure, was sitting on a pile of rubble outside of her brother’s new property, Sorcerer’s Sundries and the illustrious Ramazith’s Tower. She was waving her arm happily and Zelphie grinned and walked over to her friend.

‘Gods Lia! You’re alright! When I saw the state of the tower, I wasn’t so confident,’ she said happily as Lia lept from her seat. Lia hugged her friend tight, which was incredibly painful for poor sore Zelphie, but she hugged Lia back happily.

‘The outside of it is rather brutal, but from the inside, it’s as if nothing happened at all,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You look a little worse for wear though,’ she said and tilted her head and Zelphie sighed.

‘Please tell me I don’t look half bad for a girl who defeated an Elder Brain,’ Zelphie tried to sound positive. Worse for wear was quite a nice way of putting it. ‘I’m hoping there is one last bed in the tavern for me….my…my place wasn’t as lucky as the tower, I’m afraid.’ Lia frowned and shook her head.

‘Oh, Zelphie, I’m so sorry. I feel so guilty, watching all of these people lose their homes, I certainly know what that feels like. Come on inside, would you? Have a bath and something to eat. There’s a bed in there for you,’ she said and Zelphie frowned. Sleeping in a wizard’s tower was certainly much more preferable than an overcrowded tavern, but Lia and her siblings had just reunited. Zelphie did not want to push in as a beggar off of the street.

‘Lia, I couldn’t. The last thing you three need-’

‘Please shut up and come inside, gods dammit. After saving the city, maybe the whole world, you absolutely deserve to rest your head on a plush pillow,’ Lia interrupted, stubborn as Zelphie had ever heard her speak. Lia wore her emotions on her sleeves, she was bold and she was stubborn. Zelphie and her weren’t exactly close, but every argument she ever heard Lia participate in, she always won.

‘Fine, thank you, Lia. Thank you so much,’ she said and Lia walked her inside. The storefront of the building was as busy as it had been, but for a completely different reason. The normal store had turned itself into a place of healing, it seemed. Beds were brought in and tables were used as beds to comfort the needy. Zelphie walked past clerics healing the hurt and she looked at Lia. ‘Give three orphaned refugees a little land and see what they do with it,’ she said and Lia beamed proudly. ‘Once I’m cleaned up, I’m sure I can be put to good use down here, whatever is needed,’ she said and Lia laughed.

‘You’re fucking ridiculous, Zelphie,’ she said and snorted, leading Zelphie upstairs. ‘You’re bruised, tattered, your brain is full of holes, you are part of the group of people who get to rest.’ Zelphie sighed at that. She was dirty, she was starving, she was exhausted. Still, life went on around her, how could she sleep and rest when there was so much to be done? ‘If you even try to lift a finger for the next twelve hours, I’ll break your legs,’ she said, her tail swaying playfully. Zelphie couldn’t help but laugh at that a little. She followed Lia up another flight of stairs to a portal. Zelphie recognized this portal, she had gone through it before. ‘Rolan changed this to only allow family inside. With the given exception to the person who saved his hide. Three times.’ Lia said and Zelphie looked at her. Rolan has made an exception for her? Surely that also included the rest of her companions, not just her. Although Zelphie was a bit biased towards the tieflings they had met on the road, she wasn’t the only one to defeat the goblin camp, to free those imprisoned at Moonrise or to put a final stop to Lorroakan’s madness.

The pair stepped through the portal, and Zelphie was once more transported to a strange level of the tower. The floors below could be seen from where she was standing, and it gave her nerves an unsettling feeling as she remembered that day. But the ‘foyer’ was much different from when she last saw it. Less clutter, every book and object clearly visible for browsing. Lorroakan had been a hoarder of knowledge, not a lover of it. Clearly Rolan was good on his word, books and scrolls and tomes were neat and tidy. There were considerably less of them, as well. No more throne of books either. Items were on full open display instead of being trapped behind locked screens. Lia led Zelphie to a small hallway and up more stairs. Three flights up, Lia finally walked through and Zelphie was terribly relieved. She was exhausted. Her arms, her legs, her tail, even her horns ached. She imagined her promise to help downstairs would not pull through. She was ready to pass out on the next flat surface she saw.

 ‘Alright, let’s see if I remember this…if I get it on the first go, you tell Rolan how talented I am,’ she said and Zelphie smirked. They stood in front of a normal brick wall. Nothing fancy about it at all.

‘As if he’d believe anything out of my mouth,’ Zelphie said and Lia laughed. The other woman looked like she would respond, but turned to a wall and knocked on it with her knuckles.

‘Epoolso,’ Lia incanted and Zelphie smiled. Lia’s brother, Rolan, was the new master of Ramazith’s Tower, he was a wizard, and like most wizards, was very eager to not only learn, but teach. Lia was not a wizard, but it was clear that Rolan was trying to teach his sister a few tricks. Her incantation wasn’t correct. Lia sighed and attempted again. Nothing, just a brick wall. ‘Well, there goes my chance at impressing a hero then,’ she muttered, crossing her arms. ‘I’ll go find Rolan,’ she said and Zelphie shook her head.

‘No, don’t bother him, I can do it. The Weave and I go way back,’ she teased and Lia smirked. Zelphie lifted her hand to the wall, giving the brick a sharp knock. ‘Pulso,’ she said quickly, and a blue light materialized around the wall in the shape of a door. Lia sighed.

‘Damned wizards always make everything look so easy,’ she said, opening the door and Zelphie laughed.

‘Do NOT call me a wizard in front of Rolan, his head will pop off,’ she said and Lia laughed.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said and led Zelphie through the door. Inside was a little room, a bed, a wardrobe, a desk and a small wooden bath. It wasn’t much unlike Zelphie’s actual home. It was just missing the fireplace. ‘I want to catch up with you later, but I’m sure you’re dying to scrape the illithid off of you. You probably haven't eaten yet, I’ll be back with some dinner, but relax, take a hot bath. I’ll be back in a little while, alright?’ She said and Zelphie smiled and nodded.

‘Thank you so much Lia, this is wonderful,’ she said and Lia smiled, leaving Zelphie alone to her thoughts. Zelphie turned on the taps the second the door shut and for the first time in hours, sat down on the floor. She wouldn’t put her dirty clothing on the bed. She began removing her boots. She was almost ashamed of the state of her body. Before the damned kidnapping she was never seen to have a hair out of line. Seeing her skin, smelling it, feeling it, she was going to need more than a hot bath to fix herself up. Dirt, grime, blood, viscera, bruising, cuts, all of it covered her body. She was so aware of it as her bath was running. She removed her robe next, wishing she had more than her lounge clothing to wear, as her robe deserved a proper fire burial. She peeled her pants and wrap shirt off. All the clothing became a puddle on the floor. She poked through the drawers of the wardrobe to find washcloths. She began to scrub at her skin with just water as the bath began to rise. She would make that bath a soup if she got into it now.

Once the bath was full and she had used up three cloths, she got into the tub and sighed out loudly. That might have been exactly what she needed. She would be very happy to soak her skin off here. She allowed the parts of her she couldn’t reach before to soak, dunking her head, hair and horns in the water. They were very sore, her horns. Having sore horns was a newer experience for her, but it was over now, it had to be over. The residual clean-up of the city aside, she could live as she normally did. No fear of ceremorphosis, no fear of Baahlists, doppelgangers, not even goblins. Her biggest worry now was finding a place to rest her head in the future. May Lia, Cal, and Rolan be blessed for giving her refuge for the night, she thought. Her fingers and tail played with the water a little until it became much too cloudy for her liking. She stood, giving herself one last go with a washcloth and stepped out. Now, she would be allowed to preen herself. Lotion her body, file her nails and oil her horns. Being able to take time to do this routine of hers was impossible these last months. If her preening tools had been worth any gold, they would have been sold ages ago, with most of her other possessions. Every moment awake was a moment to take advantage of. To do, to go further, to save their skins. There was a knock on the door and she quickly pulled a tunic over herself for quick cover. She walked over to the door and smiled, seeing Lia once more. The tiefling’s red eyes lit up seeing her.

‘I have never seen your skin so glowing before,’ Lia said and grinned, looking around the room a bit. ‘Oh, let me take those to the wash,’ she said, pointing at a pile in the corner of a towel, cloths and Zelphie’s clothing. Zelphie grimaced and walked over to the pile.

‘You should probably just burn them,’ she said and Lia laughed. Zelphie scooped it all in the dirty towel, which was the cleanest article and Lia took it easily.

‘I was going to bring you dinner, but me, Cal and Rolan would like you to join us. Well, Call and I want to catch up, we have so many questions, but I think Rolan just wants to show off what he’s done to the place,’ she said and Zelphie smiled.

‘Alright, let me just…’ she said and rifled through her bag, finding thick stockings to cover her legs. She followed Lia out of the room, taking a quick stop at a washing room to dump Zelphie’s soiled clothing. ‘So, the infirmary downstairs, I assume you all need help. I can help. After dinner, please put me to good use,’ she said and Lia smirked.

‘You will rest after dinner, I told you. We want to catch up. You can take a break from being the hero for one night, please. Let someone else take care of you,’ Lia said, repeating herself from earlier. ‘Besides, I’m sure you’re useless while you're so tired,’ she nudged Zelphie, who smiled. She still felt guilty, of course. She felt guilty because she did want to relax, but her heartstrings pulled as she was reminded of the chaos down on the streets. The chaos she caused. She did not argue, she hoped she would be right as rain in the morning. Then she would be able to help. Lia led her to a dining room, which was almost untasteful how ornate it was. Clearly Lorroakan’s taste still lingered in the tower. The table was very small, an assumed upgrade from the new master and his siblings. Cal and Rolan were sitting at the table, but stood when Zelphie and Lia appeared. Cal happily walked right over for a hug.

‘Oh Cal! It’s wonderful to see you in more comfortable clothing,’ Zelphie said. The ranger was clearly in need of a relax, his normal leather armor gone, a white shirt and relaxed pants it was instead. He looked like a normal person.

‘Look at you though! I didn’t know how small you were under those robes,’ he said with a happy chuckle letting her go.

‘I’m so glad you and Lia were able to get here safely, where you belong,’ she said as Rolan walked over to greet her as well.

‘Don’t give Rolan all of the credit for that, mate. He told us exactly who bumped us up on the guest list,’ Cal said and pressed a finger to his own nose playfully. Zelphie laughed and looked at Rolan. Imposing as always, in his robes, but as master of the wizard’s tower of Baldur’s Gate, it only made sense. He always had a sense of imposing about him, but right now, after everything, Rolan’s confidence was well measured. A hero of Baldur’s Gate he was.

‘Hello Rolan,’ Zelphie said and held out her arms to hug him as well. Rolan smirked and followed her lead. The hug wasn’t as warm, but about two months ago, Rolan was cussing out Zelphie for merely existing around him. She was very happy for a curt hug.

‘Hello Zelphie, I’m so glad to see you safe,’ he said honestly and Zelphie smiled.

‘Safe because of the quick learning of the new master of Ramazith’s Tower, I promise you. You’ll have to show me those cannons one day. Of course I assumed they would be powerful, but it was unbelievable the amount of damage they did to a red dragon, of all things,’ she said and Rolan’s red cheeks deepened.

‘I would be very proud to do so,’ he said and nodded to the table. The siblings and Zelphie made their way to the table and Zelphie sighed with joy. Tieflings, though very similar to humans in look and biology, had a lot of quirks. One such quirk was their diet. Zelphie did travel with Karlach, another tiefling who had a huge appetite, but her decade in the hells gave her different tastes. Zelphie swore she watched her friend eat actual dirt when it came to it. Otherwise, her companions ate like rabbits. Tieflings were carnivorous by nature, and to finally dine with a group made exclusively of Tieflings, she was very happy to see food that finally suited her diet. ‘I hope the food is to our hero’s tastes,’ Rolan said in response to her little gasp. Zelphie grinned and looked up at her hosts.

‘I’ll complain about the tadpoles and the Baahlists and the goblins and all of that until I die, but only to you three can I complain about Gale’s cooking,’ she said and the other three laughed. ‘You spend months and months with two Druids and tell me how you survive,’ she said and sighed, scooping up cooked marrow for her bowl.

‘Well, we did live in that grove for a while, I think we can understand your pain,’ Lia remarked and took a bite of her food. ‘You did have that vampire though, I’m sure he was helpful,’ she said and smirked. ‘In more ways than one, I’d like to think,’ she added and Zelphie snorted.

‘Yes, he was very giving when it came to his hunts, always very generous with the blood he caught,’ she said sarcastically and Cal looked at her. The truth was the opposite. Although a tiefling could live off of blood like a vampire, vampires had an insatiable hunger for it. Astarion did not like to share his kills.

‘Did he ever…bite any of you?’ Cal asked and Zelphie looked at him.

‘Oh yes, I trained him well. Always just enough to make him happy.’ Cal went deep red in the neck and Lia smiled at her brother.

‘Does it hurt?’ He asked curiously and Zelphie was about to answer but Rolan jumped in.

‘You let that vampire bite you?’ He asked her and she nodded.

‘Yes…honestly…at the time, we had all just landed from the kidnapping and I was desperate. I know it sounds delusional, but I was very happy to have a vampire fighting alongside me. I would do anything to make him more powerful,’ she said and shrugged. Rolan raised an eyebrow at her. There was the judgment in his face she was more used to. ‘If you think that sounds stupid, I’d love to tell you the truth about Gale,’ she said with a laugh and took a bite of dinner and sighed happily.

‘Gale, the wizard? Oh you can tell me whatever you’d like about him,’ Lia said and sighed.

‘Lia, please behave,’ Rolan said and Zelphie giggled.

‘I know you three had your own dangers, I used to wish you would join us, but I’m now thinking how productive we would have been if you had,’ Zelphie said with a smirk. That would have been fun, watching Cal shyly flirt with Astarion and Lia boldly flirt with Gale. Gale wouldn’t have a clue what hit him.

‘Probably not very. I wish we would have been more help, but Rolan insisted without our own tadpoles, we might have held you back,’ Cal said and Zelphie shrugged.

‘In some instances, Rolan’s correct. Halsin and Jaheira could not come to Moonrise Towers without alerting suspicion. Although, that might have to do with them knowing Ketheric to begin with,’ she said and looked at Rolan, who was just looking back at her. ‘If it weren’t for the chance that we were tadpoled, we wouldn’t have been able to save you two or Danis or Lakrissa,’ she said, speaking to Lia and Cal, but still looking at Rolan. He had been so frustrated that he had failed trying to save his sister and brother, where Zelphie had succeeded. But he had to know, without her gods damned tadpole, she would have failed as well.

‘May the tadpole be blessed,’ Lia said and Zelphie looked at her with a smile. ‘But…do you still have it?’ She asked and Zelphie shook her head.

‘No, it was part of the last command to the elder brain, destroy all illithids, destroy self. Halsin was able to confirm they were gone,’ she explained and smiled. ‘Which is lovely for many reasons, but more so because my powers are back to what they were before the tadpole. Which means I can help downstairs and in the city. What do you need?’ She asked and Lia frowned.

‘Zelphie, we want you to relax,’ she insisted, but once more, Rolan spoke quickly. 

‘What would your talents be able to help with?’ He asked and Zelphie smiled.

‘A few things. I can cauterize and heal superficial wounds, though I’m sure you’ve caught most of those. And I have very powerful mending talents. Broken legs, broken anything. Even with the tower or store itself. My mage hand as well,’ she said and lifted her right hand, a blue one easily flowing out of it. It flew over to an end table in the corner of the large room and lifted it gently. ‘It’s very strong, please tell me what I can do,’ she said and Rolan watched her carefully.

‘We could really use it, thank you,’ he told her and Zelphie smiled. ‘I’ll meet you in the morning, we'll go over a plan,’ he said and Zelphie nodded, very happy to be of use. Zelphie’s tail lifted and swished slowly and happily, content that she wouldn’t just take advantage of her friend’s hospitality. She knew Rolan would be logical about this.

‘Rolan, we talked about this, we can’t ask the hero of Baldur’s Gate to do-‘ Cal began and Rolan’s eye contact with Zelphie shifted to his brother. He held up a hand and shook his head.

‘You are right, we can’t, but we won’t refuse her request, either,’ he insisted. ‘Whatever she wants, she’ll have,’ he finished and Lia chuckled and took a bite of her dinner. Rolan went a little red and shot his sister with an annoyed look.

‘So, how has it been here? I imagine you three haven’t even found every nook and cranny this tower has to offer,’ Zelphie asked to move the subject away.

‘Cal went through a strange portal and was lost for three hours,’ Lia said and Cal laughed.

‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found those scrolls Rolan needed for the cannons, I say well worth the struggle,’ he said, still laughing.

‘Yes, and you managed to piss if that djinni, which makes that part of the tower impossible to traverse through, you have my thanks, muttonhead,’ Rolan said and Zelphie giggled.

‘A djinni? Hopefully you didn’t free him,’ she said and Lia laughed.

‘Free? I’m not entirely sure, but he is long gone.’ Zelphie gasped, knowing that absolutely meant the djinni was free and causing havoc somewhere.

‘Another reason I regret allowing either of you to live here, I’m hoping a talented sorceress will prove to be much more careful as a housemate,’ Rolan said and Zelphie felt her tail swish a little more enthusiastically. Well, that felt nice, another little compliment from Rolan.

‘Thank you again, for letting me stay here for the night. I hate to be a pest, once I’m settled again, I’ll be out of your hair and find a way to pay you,’ Zelphie assured and Cal snorted.

‘Pay us? Come on Zelphie, this is our way of repaying you! How many times did she save our skins? Never mind the whole world saving bit, you’ve saved me Lia and Rolan personally more times than we deserve. Please, letting you sleep in that little room is the least we can do,’ he insisted and Rolan looked at Lia.

‘Little room? Where did you put Zelphie?’ He asked his sister.

‘One of the guest rooms on the second floor, I wasn’t sure where you would be comfortable,’ she answered and shrugged. Rolan shook his head and lifted a glass of wine.

‘No, we’ll have you move up to our floor. You’ll love it, the scenes from the balconies are beautiful. Well, they will be once the destruction is taken care of, of course.’ Rolan sipped his wine and Zelphie went a bit red.

‘I’m fine in the little room, besides, it’s just the one night, no need to fuss,’ she said and Lia looked at her.

‘What do you mean one night? Where are you off to? Aren’t you from Baldur’s Gate?’ She asked and Zelphie shrugged.

‘I can’t stay here forever, surely there is a place for me somewhere. Maybe near Cloakwood,’ she said and shrugged.

‘Your place is here,’ Rolan insisted. ‘Unless you are uncomfortable here, of course,’ he added quickly and Lia nodded, reaching over the table for Zelphie’s hand.

‘Please stay with us,’ she said softly.

That was that. Ramazith’s Tower of Baldur’s Gate was now owned by the tieflings. Zelphie would earn her place with the siblings and they would insist she didn’t need to. She already had and they were happy to have her. She listened to the three bicker and tease each other for the rest of dinner and once the food was happily finished, Rolan asked for a moment alone with Zelphie. He led her to a sitting area and was very earnest in his speech. Zelphie sat next to him on a large red sofa and he poured them more wine.

‘I wanted to thank you, personally. This isn’t easy for me to do, so I will apologize early on if I’m…clunky,’ he said and lifted his glass of sweet wine to his lips. Zelphie sipped her wine along with him, her head already a little spinny from dinner. Good food and quality wine was exactly what she needed.

‘Just you not being angry with me is thanks enough,’ she said, playful in her tone. Rolan hummed happily and shook his head.

‘I guess we can both say confidently which one of us deals with stress better,’ he said and smirked into his wine glass. ‘I will also apologize for my previous behavior. I really hope I can make that up to you. I can’t imagine why you would still consider myself worthy of your friendship,’ he said and nodded.

‘Please don’t apologize, Rolan. If I had siblings or any family out there, I’m sure I would have acted the same as you,’ she said and placed her hand on his. He looked down at her hand and then her face and placed his goblet down on a table in front of the sofa.

‘You don’t have any family?’ He asked her honestly and she shook her head.

‘No, I don’t even really remember what happened to them. I was around five, I went to bed one night and woke up in a hostel. All the woman who owned the place said to me was that my parents were gone. It hurt, but I don’t think a lot of our kind can’t empathize with that story,’ she told him honestly and she watched him chew on his bottom lip. ‘But it made me who I am today. I’m lucky I was born with magic in my veins. I might not have survived otherwise, it sounds a little backwards but I’ve always considered myself very lucky.’ Rolan’s yellow eyes read her face for a moment and placed his hands on his knees, preparing himself for something.

‘Could I trust you with something?’ He asked her, his voice a little softer than normal. Zelphie tilted her head, but nodded.

‘Of course Rolan,’ she told him and he sighed out.

‘No one knows this, besides Cal and Lia, of course but…’ he reached for his goblet and faltered. He placed his reaching hand back to his knee. ‘You and I share a similar story, I-uhm,’ he started, but Zelphie would not interrupt him. She wasn’t exactly sure where this was going. Had their parents also been lost? Murdered? Kidnapped? ‘My whole family…they were rounded up when I was ten years old. I ran and hid in a closet, my mother told me to hide. Like you, I still don’t know what happened. I uhm…I met Cal and Lia’s mother soon after that,’ he began and Zelphie’s brows furrowed.

‘You…met…?’ She asked and Rolan looked at her and he nodded.

‘Lia and Cal aren’t really my siblings. My true siblings are dead,’ he said plainly, but there was a quiver in his throat. ‘But their mother took me in…they are all I have, they were so easy to call me their big brother when we were children, I just…we never let that go,’ he said and Zelphie’s heart broke. She couldn’t help it. Even though this tragedy had happened to Rolan maybe two decades ago, she reached over and hugged him. He hugged her back and she felt his tail curl around her waist.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said softly and he shook his head but did not let her go.

‘No, I’m sorry for you, you didn’t get a Cal or Lia. I’m the lucky one here, my dear,’ he told her softly. ‘Which…for many many reasons is why I’d like you to stay,’ he said and the hug ended. Zelphie sighed at him and tilted her head. ‘You need family. We tieflings are strong, but together we are stronger. We work better as a community. Besides the fact that without you the three of us would have died four or five times over, you deserve a family as well, Zelphie. Please, let us give you that,’ he said with such earnestness that Zelphie felt her nose twinge. That was very kind of Rolan. Zelphie had always adored the three siblings, she was always jealous of their relationship and wanted more than anything for them to be together and happy. How could she turn down such a sweet offer? ‘Please, Cal and Lia mean the world to me. If anything had happened to them at Moonrise, I wouldn’t be here. I owe their lives to you. And if you did not save me, make me see what kind of master Lorroakan was, Cal and Lia wouldn’t be here with me where they belong. I would still be being assaulted by a mad man. I could never, even if I lived a million years, I could never repay you for what you’ve done for my family and me.’

‘Rolan…’ Zelphie spoke softly, and Rolan kept his eye contact with her. She felt her eyes sting and she shut them.

‘Might I ask you what you’re thinking?’ Rolan asked her. She felt his hands in hers. She opened her eyes and looked at him once more. What a difference a few life changing events could make. One their first meeting, Rolan was obnoxious and annoyed at Zelphie. Their next few meetings Rolan would have leveled her. Now? Now she would consider him a very close friend.

‘I’m thinking too much, as I usually do,’ she said with a sad little smile.

‘Would you be unhappy here?’ He asked her and she shook her head quickly.

‘No, no no, it’s not that, not at all. No, I adore the three of you. I’m honored you would have me,’ she said and Rolan’s neck went a little red. She felt his tail twitch next to her on the sofa and he moved it away from her slowly.

‘Do you feel guilty?’ He asked her and she nodded. He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Well, that proves it right there you are an only child and orphan,’ he said and reached over for his goblet once more. He took a sip of wine and Zelphie mirrored him. Her mind was spinning. The wine, the food and the new opportunity, it was all a little much for her. That and the war she had just won hours ago. After a long drink Rolan looked back at her. ‘Maybe you will feel more…persuaded if I show you your new lodgings,’ he said and stood up, holding his hand out for her. Zelphie took another little sip and took his hand. She was helped up with a little swaying.

‘I think if I’m upgraded, I might feel more guilty,’ she said and he chuckled.

‘Don’t, for you will have restless nights hearing Lia yelling at me, or listening to me practice my incantations,’ he said and she giggled.

‘Still more calm than camp. You know what calms a githyanki to sleep at night?’ She asked Rolan as he led her from the sitting room. He looked down at her and shook his head. ‘Sword sharpening. Hours and hours of sword sharpening,’ she said and Rolan laughed, looking ahead.

‘Not too many of those here, I’m afraid. There were a lot of weapons tucked away, but I had them given to the Flaming Fist for the battle. What need did we have for them?’ He said and Zelphie just smiled up at him. He glanced down at her, a little proud of himself. He knew Zelphie and her selflessness would have liked to hear that. He smiled at her smile, his blush never fading his already reddened skin. 

‘We saw those weapons, Gale and I, when we were last here. Those were very mighty pieces, that was a wise decision,’ she told him and his smile faltered.

‘Oh, well, if I’ve impressed the Gale of Waterdeep, then I’m very happy,’ he said, poison on his lips and Zelphie frowned, but she kept her mouth shut. That was certainly a quick change of attitude. ‘Very kind of a well-off man to just leave his closest companion in the dust the second everything ended,’ he said and Zelphie’s brows stitched together.

‘Rolan, he needed to go back home. He has family in Waterdeep,’ she said and Rolan huffed.

‘And he left you behind, to live in a bungalow at best,’ he said and Zelphie stopped following him.

‘You shouldn’t speak ill of him. He took quite the liking to you, Rolan. If you are jealous of his relationship with Mystra, I can assure you-‘

‘Mystra? Jealous of him and Mystra? No, no, I’m angry at the way he threw you away like yesterday’s newspaper.’ He said, holding his hands behind his back. Zelphie’s tail began to whip back and forth. She would absolutely not tolerate anyone speaking ill of Gale Dekarios, even Rolan.

‘Threw me away? He, like everyone else, went back to their lives. He doesn’t owe me anything, certainly not more than Shadowheart or Lae’zel or Wyll or any of them. What are you talking about Rolan, why are you so upset with him?’ She asked, very confused, but angry at anyone who would put Gale Dekarios in a bad light. Rolan’s eyes narrowed and he blinked for a moment.

‘Weren’t the two of you…?’ He asked and Zelphie’s face twisted for a second. She then buckled over with laughter. Rolan had, for some reason, assumed Zelphie and Gale had an intimate relationship. Gale Dekarios was very handsome, charismatic and powerful, but no. Zelphie had only felt friendship and fondness for the wizard, not love, not that kind of love.

‘You thought Gale and I were an item?’ She asked and kept laughing. ‘Oghma’s left eye, no, no, no, definitely not,’ she said and grinned at Rolan who did not look very amused. He looked down at the floor. ‘Why would you have thought that?’

‘There were a few nights when we all stayed at the inn…I could have sworn…’ he said and bit his lip and Zelphie calmed down and nodded. She knew what he must have misunderstood.

‘At Last Light Inn? No, halfway through our adventure, Gale was given…some divine directive. From Mystra, and those nights where, yes, I’d go to him to comfort him were just that. He was battling a lot of inner demons and I was just being a friend, nothing more. So please Rolan, don’t go to battle with someone you should respect and admire as a colleague. He’s a good one for you to have,’ she said and placed a hand on Rolan’s arm. ‘Not on my account, anyway.’

‘I’m sorry, I should have asked you,’ he said and Zelphie shook her head.

‘It’s nice for someone to defend me,’ she told him and he smiled a little. ‘And it proves my point that I have tried to prove to Gale a thousand times,’ she said and her and Rolan kept walking.

‘Yes?’

‘Wizards are very fucking stubborn,’ she said and he snorted. They walked a little in silence, Rolan was feeling a touch embarrassed. Zelphie wouldn’t harp on it. She would send a sending spell to Gale to reach out to Rolan. She would have them fast friends in a jiffy.

‘Down here are Cal and Lia’s rooms,’ he said, pointing to a west wing. It was common knowledge that wizard’s towers were massive. Melphie still could not believe she was in the same building. She knew she would be getting lost. ‘My bedroom is right here, should you ever have need of me. Though, I will warn you, I’m not usually there. We’ll have a proper tour tomorrow before we all head downstairs. I’ll show you my normal hiding places,’ he told her and she nodded. ‘And I think you will do nicely just across the hall here,’ he told her, walking to a door down the hall to the right of his own room. He opened the door for her and she couldn’t help the little gasp that came from her mouth. 

The room was very large. It had a high ceiling and a balcony. Two large bookshelves covered the western wall, a canopied bed with royal blue blankets and pillows right across from them. There was a door connecting to a large washroom. Desk, a vanity and a wardrobe adorned the room as well. 

‘If there is anything you’d like to change, please feel free. I’ll be changing a lot of the comforts around here in the coming months. Please, this is your home now, make it yours in whatever way you please.’ Zelphie looked up at Rolan and beamed. He smiled down at her and nodded his head.

‘Rolan, I’m at a loss for words, this is beautiful. It’s more than I’ve ever had,’ she told him and he looked at her for a moment and nodded again. His tail swayed happily, very content with the compliment.

‘You deserve more,’ he told her firmly, sweetly. Zelphie smiled and looked down. She stepped closer to him and for the third time that evening, she hugged him tight. He hugged her back, resting his chin on her temple, their horns clinking together lightly. Zelphie felt a light moan escape from her lips at the tender feeling of her sore horns. She would not sleep easily tonight. Rolan looked down at her, worried at that sound. Goodness was his face close. ‘Sorry, they are very sore,’ she whispered and he nodded and he looked up at her horns, inspecting them.

‘Please tell me you weren’t head butting illithids,’ he said and let her go, reaching up to her horns to inspect them.

‘A girl had to do what she had to do…’ she said, but it wasn’t the truth. A tieflings horns were imposing, but not exactly strong enough to do battle like a devil or demon. Zelphie did have very large horns, so the pain she felt was from them being caught or pulled. She had been thrown around by enemies who got close enough to her. Rolan raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged. ‘Truth being, they were usually used against me,’ she said and he sighed, nodding. No tiefling living could say they were never at least bullied with a horn push or pull. He still pressed a finger to the crown of her left horn, rubbing up lightly. It hurt a little, but a purr was brought through her throat. Rolan stopped touching her immediately.

‘Was that alright?’ He asked, completely red in the face. Zelphie felt her own skin burn and her happy tail fell and she felt it coil around her leg in embarrassment.

‘Yes, sorry, it felt nice,’ she said softly and Rolan nodded. He took a while to think about his next words and Zelphie bit her lip. She was about to wish Rolan a good night, but he spoke first.

‘I’ll get some oil for you, we’ll see if they just need a massage,’ he said and nodded.

‘Oh, you don’t need to,’ Zelphie told him and he smiled a little at her.

‘I’d like to,’ he said simply and turned on his heel. Zelphie noticed the happy curl of his tail as he left the room. He wasn’t going to be easily swayed off, that was for sure. Zelphie knew that, she meant what she had said, wizards were stubborn and Rolan was a prime example of that. He was stubborn, confrontational, proud and fiercely protective. Zelphie knew now that was probably the guilt he felt. The same guilt she felt when others took care of her. She understood him, and she would continue to not allow his blunt speech upset her. The truth was, she adored Rolan, just as she did Cal and Lia. And the other tieflings that she had grown so close to, Alfira, Lakrissa, Bex and Danis, all of them. The siblings were priority to her. They were good people, happy people, and people that deserved the world in her eyes. Even more so now. 

Zelphie walked to her new bed and sat down on it. The mattress was plush as anything she'd ever sat on. She giggled to herself, thinking of how she would get out of it in the morning. She touched the soft blanket, running her hands over it gently. What a difference, she’d never lived like this before. Her mind flashed to an idea of how her new housemates might have lived back in Elturel, its descent into Avernus. She shook her head, not wishing to let her drunk imagination run wild on that subject. She heard a loud crash outside and lifted herself off the bed. She walked to the balcony doors and opened them. Fireworks. Someone was shooting them off and she smiled. Rolan was right, the view was beautiful, she had a view of the river. She was a very lucky tiefling.

‘Exploring?’ A voice called from behind her. Zelphie turned around and smiled, seeing Rolan again, a little tincture in his hand. Her tail moved back and forth happily.

‘Someone is setting off fireworks,’ she said happily. Rolan smiled down at her and looked off as another few were set off.

‘Here I was, hoping you would get a good night’s rest,’ he said and walked past her to the edge of the balcony. ‘But, it’s the very least the city can do to celebrate its hero,’ he said and glanced back at Zelphie. She walked over and stood next to him.

‘Baldur’s Gate has many heroes,’ she corrected him and he gave her a sly little smirk. ‘At least one of them on this balcony,’ she said and gave him a playful nudge. He gave a proud little huff.

‘Oh please, that compliment cannot come from you. I wouldn’t even have had power the cannons gave you if not for you,’ he told her and she smiled. ‘Shall we?’ He asked her, nodding back inside. She followed him back into the room. Rolan sat on the bed and Zelphie sat on the floor in front of him, her back in between his legs. ‘Please tell me if this hurts,’ he told her and Zelphie closed her eyes, bracing for pain. Pain did not come. Starting at the crown of her horns, she felt his fingers gently glide. ‘When I was younger, I was bullied relentlessly. Other children had no issue grabbing me by my horns and pushing me around,’ he spoke and Zelphie opened one eye. ‘My horns very rarely went without being sore. This would always help,’ he continued and Zelphie closed her eyes again, relaxing. He had such a soft, low voice, very pensive. Between his voice and the massage, she would fall asleep like a brick. She leaned back, her purring continued and her tail coiled around Rolan’s leg. ‘It’s alright, right?’ He asked her and she nodded slowly.

‘Yes, you’re so good, Rolan,’ she said softly. She meant it. It felt wonderful. She had never been massaged before, not really, nothing like this. ‘You have a wonderful touch,’ she added. His fingers moved up her horn and she shuddered. It hurt a little, but the chills were worth the pain. Where did all of this gentleness and care come from?

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, very happy with the praise. It was not long into this lovely treatment that Zelphie leaned against Rolan’s leg and felt her aching body weigh heavy. ‘Such a simple thing to be taken care of, but it means the world, doesn’t it?’ He kept talking softly. Zelphie did not respond. She was still purring and her tail was still around his leg. ‘Zelphie?’ He called out softly. Nothing. She was asleep. Rolan froze for a second, not sure what to do. He moved a little and she stayed still. Rolan got off of the bed and shuffled away from Zelphie. It hadn’t taken very much to send her to sleep. She slumped up against the bed. Rolan pushed the blankets to the side and looked back at Zelphie. A strong transmutation spell would do the trick. Not that he liked using magic on an unconscious friend, but it was just to help her into bed. Slowly her body lifted off of the floor and he was able to drop her gently on the bed. He covered her with blankets and left. Zelphie slept the deepest sleep of her life that night, ready to take on what tomorrow would have brought.