#and recognize when you're straying from canon

[wriothesleysgf]

pretty boy. — gojo satoru

notes: some domestic gojo, because god knows everyone needs it today.

content: no angst, here we just reject canon and embrace fluff. implied non!sorcerer reader, but can be read either way. established relationship. not proofread. this post is leak/spoiler free! this song is the vibe i was going for, if anyone is interested.

"honey, i'm home!"

the familiar, ever-joyous tone of one gojo satoru rang through the apartment; it was always the highlight of your day. you, however, didn't respond. it concerned him a little, to be honest, but as soon as he heard the sounds of soft music echoing from the kitchen, he knew just where to find you.

you were too busy gently swaying to whichever song the radio station was playing to notice gojo. so, like any adoring boyfriend would, he leaned against the doorframe and watched.

he never thought he'd be lucky enough to have a love like you. with his position in the world of sorcery, and the prestige that his name carried, gojo always thought he'd be alone. hell, he was absolutely petrified of catching feelings for somebody, since there would likely be people willing to hurt the people that he loved in order to get to him. rationally, he knew he could defeat them, but the thought always lingered.

thus, he was incredibly grateful for peaceful moments like this. moments where he could forget that he was the honoured one, and feel like all he is is yours— because that's all he desires anymore.

gojo knocks on the doorframe, not wishing to startle you as you cook. you jumped a little, but immediately settled the very second you saw those blue eyes and messy white locks. he looked so effortlessly attractive, even after a full day's work.

without even saying a word, he saunters over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. his chin rests on the top of your head, and he continues to sway you to the rhythm. as he hums softly, you recognize that he's probably had a difficult day. it's not like him to be so quiet.

you relax under his touch and let him hold you, knowing he needs it right now. "i love you," he mumbles. each words is sincere with him. the tone is more sombre than usual, almost like you'd have expected the words to come from nanami instead.

you get to a point that you can leave the food alone for a moment as it cooks, and turn around to face gojo. his arms remain around you, but you can see his face more clearly now. he's exhausted, and trying to mask that. you move a few stray hairs out of his face, carressing his cheek. "i love you too," you finally reply.

the returned sentiment puts a smile on his face. it's not the regular, goofy grin he displays around others. it's something more real, and it makes you feel like you're one of the few people that gojo really lets in on how he's feeling. if anything, you quite literally are, as his infinity was lowered the second that he stepped into the threshold of your apartment.

since your guard is so far down, gojo begins to move you with ease. he guides your body around the kitchen, causing the pair of you to fall into a rather messy slow dance of sorts. both are content, at peace in each others' arms. there's a blissful silence, a rarity for the gojo household, where nothing but the calming music fills the air.

the two of you remain in this little, serendipitous bubble for a while. the only thing that pops it is when the food on the stove makes a concerning noise, and you notice that you were so caught up that it began to burn.

"shit!" you squeal, leaping out of gojo's arms to try to salvage your meal. he just chuckles, finding your hectic movements amusing.

"baby, don't worry about it," he says, smiling as he pulls out his phone. "i'm ordering in, we can deal with this mess tomorrow,"

gojo then moves closer to you, wrapping you up in his arms so that you can't escape with ease. he waddles backwards towards the living room, not stopping until you're both plopped down on the couch (of course he's on top of you, pinning you down yet somehow not suffocating you with the mess of long limbs that he is).

he flicks on the screen, which is showing some older and kind-of sappy romcom, and presses a few buttons to order your food. the night ends with the coffee table littered in takeout boxes and some movie still playing— you weren't sure what, as you had both fallen asleep in each other's embrace long ago.

[romanoffsbish]

I’m Fine 🙂 / Save Me 🙃

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Familial / Sisters)

Warnings: Angst w/Bittersweet Ending | Reader Dies | Black Widow / Red Room Canon | Addiction | “Cry for Help”

All she had left was the memory of you. | WC: 1,512

"Do you ever feel like you're all alone in this world?"

Natasha looked up from her laptop quick. "What?"

"Like, no matter how hard you try, no one will ever love or regard you in the same way you do them?"

——

Natasha tried to approach you gently, "Y/N." Yet she wasn't quick enough as you jumped back. "Shut up."

There was a fire in your eyes she hardly recognized, and she took a step back. Looking in your eyes hurt, because you were not the same little girl who used to pick flowers from the garden just for her hair and part of her took blame for that. "Don't try and pretend like you do." If you were a wine you'd be the most bitter. "I don't know why you even keep me around Natasha."

The redhead scoffed bitterly, "because I love you!" It stung to feel the burden in her words—you're hurting yourself just to spite her, but she hurt you first and with the way your mind was racing this made sense.

"Or is it because you feel guilty?" You countered, and hit it on the head as she whispered, "Y/N, please..."

Crushing her the same way she did you the day she left you behind, in a place built to destroy a dreamer like you, in the hands of a man set out to punish you for the mistakes of the woman you loved the most. Ouch.

"Do you think the world would miss me if I vanished?"

"Of cou—." You mindlessly cut her off, words tinged with vitriol, "Of course not. You're the one they'd hold the candlelight vigils for, you'll be on a mural and I'd be the one the stray cats would miss, because just like them I know what it's like to truly have no place."

"Have you been smoking pot?" It reeked the longer she stood closer to you. Then you all but confirmed it as you grew defensive. "Is that all you can ask Natasha?"

Natasha clicked her tongue. "Answer the question."

"Yes," you monotoned, "what does that change?"

"Everything." You grew rather frustrated, "but how?"

“You’re not making any sense,” she tried to reason but you laughed incredulously, “this is the first time in my entire life that I am making complete sense, Natalia.”

"I don't like it when you're like this, sestra."

"I'm always like this." Natasha sighed, "yeah..."

"Yeah?" Natasha nodded shamefully and you couldn't stop the sob from breaking. She hated you.

"Then I won't be anything to you, anymore."

Natasha shot up in a cold sweat, her wife beater tank top sticking to her skin, the words of your last fight still ringing in her head; a cry for help and she was useless.

"Fuck," she hiccuped, her knees pulled to her chest as she sobbed alongside the sky just outside the window. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to force the pity she felt for herself away, the grief...

There were so many things she could have said; done.

I don't understand, but I want to; talk to me...

Had she ran after you, would it be different now?

Could've grabbed you by the arm. Don't go. Stay.

I love you more than you could ever know.

Instead she scoffed, 'at least I can finish my paperwork now,' and let you storm out the door without noticing the keys to her brand new jet black Porsche were gone.

Yelena still won't return her calls. Melina and Alexei are beside themselves in a grief harsher than her own. Though she internally wagers that her loss was the greatest, because you were her little widow first...

~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~

"Natty?" the blue haired girl looked at you with a wide grin, the innocence of the nickname you gave her was endearing and in the same breath, twisted. It was clear to her you didn't remember much of the before. You were four years her junior, so similar to Yelena, this life was honestly all you'd known. "Da, malen'kiy pauk?"

Natasha laughed just as soon as you giggled. It brought her joy to know, that for a while, you could be free of the harsh shackles that awaited you all back home.

"A little girl at school today told me about how in her family, when a person goes away, that they can become something else when they visit." Natasha nearly lost the joy on her face as you curiously approached death. In her mind the hope you held onto was futile, that when you shoot someone between the eyes, they are as good as gone, but she could never destroy you like that.

Instead, she gave life to your wonder, "What would you want to be then, a kitty?" You shook your head and blurted your answer easily, "malen'kiy pauk." The gaps in your teeth only made your smile more endearing, and the redhead opened her arms to you. You launched yourself into your sister's arms and gripped her tight.

"Then I could visit you," you mumbled against her shirt and the natural redhead tensed. The idea of you no longer existing felt unpleasant—her walls crumbled the moment you and Yelena entered her life but this was the first time she'd felt anything excruciating.

"Moya malen'kiy pauk," she chuckled softly so as to not cry instead, she placed a kiss to your cheek then hoped your childlike attention span would change the tune.

Then a familiar jingle sounded and you were scrambling into the house, shrieking for your mom.

Natasha shook her head and walked to the old man who knowingly parked out front of your house. He handed the redhead three ice creams, and a disk.

—————

You stood next to Natasha in the line for lunch, which was just a tasteless tray variety of essential nutrients. It was rule of thumb not to talk in line, but you were never one to follow the rules, and neither was Natasha.

"Are you scared of death?" Natasha frowned. "What?"

"I think a healthy fear for the end is fair, but I'm not losing sleep over the concept. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm honestly not," you shrugged, stance indifferent but Natasha unfortunately believed you as you went on to say, "just wondering if I'm alone."

"Never with us," Yelena chimed in. "Death is an inevitability, just a matter of the when and how."

It wasn't hard to see to the fear in the blonde's eyes as she kept up her indifferent demeanor. Deep down, Natasha knew she was still that little girl from Ohio, who up until recently called fireflies, forest stars.

—

"I can't believe it," your tone clipped, the warmth you used to greet her with was gone. "I'll be back," she lied without realizing, but you could see it clearly. "Izhets."

(Liar)

"Y/N, I am going to end it once and for all," she hoped you could see the bigger picture, a promised freedom.

"Tozhe tupoy," you chuckled humorlessly. "There is no end, just more opportunities to build up defense."

(Dumb too)

Natasha fell for the American's words of ignorance.

"I love you," she said with certainty before she was one with the shadows, the last piece of your hope gone as it'd been years since you last caught sight of Lena.

~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~

A loud cry outside the purposely cracked window pulled her from her bittersweet thoughts of you...

Natasha stood beneath the tarp of your balcony, eyes downcast on a gorgeous white cat, paws soiled by the mud she trudged through with her three kittens. The redhead set a plate of food down for her then settled down beside her, towel in hand as she dried her babies.

The light of the moon cast over the kittens, reflecting off their varied fur patterns. A black one meowed, calling to her first among the litter, he hissed softly at the unfamiliar lift but settled fast as she began to dry his fur, pulling off grime and putting him to sleep.

The same occurred with the next boy cat, who was a gorgeous shade of gray, with faint swirls of orange.

Lastly, the smallest of the three, a gorgeous blend of white, brown and orange. She was the most vocal.

A grateful purr came from the mama cat when the redhead moved on to her paws, her eyes fluttered open at the unexpected contact, and when Natasha lifted her own gaze she gasped. With the light now on her face the color of her eyes was clear, a tear streamed down Nat's face without warning. The color and deep feeling of understanding behind them were just so, you.

"Oh my," a subdued laugh left her as she caught sight of something else, she scooped the feline into her lap, and placed a finger on her wet, pink nose in waiting. The blur of black transferred right on over and the woman smiled truly for the first time in eight months. "Dobro pozhalovat' domoy, moy malen'kiy pauk."

(Welcome home, my little spider)

[iomoru]

Helloooo ^.^ I'm not sure if you've done this before, but could you write Albedo, Kazuha, and Heizou(seperate) with a reader whose main love language is physical affection?

(Thank you for writing my first request ^o^ + I hope you're doing well)

- Mercury anon

Whispers of Affection

A/n: ackk! Your very welcome mercury anon (◍•ᴗ•◍)!, I apologize for my late answer tho bc I got really busy with school work and I forgot to do it last night-

Genre: Canon Verse, Fluff, Gn! Reader, Touchy! Reader, Second Person, Proofread

Chars: Albedo, Kazuha, Heizou

Summary: In a world of adventure, you find warmth in simple moments of physical affection. Whether through gentle embraces or playful gestures, each encounter deepens your bond and reminds you that love thrives in the smallest ways.

Albedo:

The cool mountain air of Dragonspine nipped at your skin as you watched Albedo work on his latest alchemical experiment. His hands moved skillfully, carefully adding ingredients to a bubbling flask. You admired his focus, his sharp eyes narrowed in concentration. Yet, you couldn’t help but notice how long it had been since he even glanced your way.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the need for warmth—and something more. Taking a breath, you approached Albedo and quietly slipped your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek against his back. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed as he recognized your touch.

“[Name],” Albedo said softly, his voice gentle. He didn’t turn around, but one hand reached down to brush against your arm. “You know, you shouldn’t be this close to my experiments.”

“I just missed you,” you mumbled against his coat, the scent of pine and alchemical materials filling your senses.

Albedo’s lips curled into a small smile. “Missed me, did you?” he asked, setting down his materials and turning in your embrace to face you. His gaze softened as he looked at you. “You could have said so. I’ve been so caught up in work I must have neglected you.”

You nodded, and he pulled you closer, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. “You’re always so focused, but I like it when you take breaks.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I’ll be sure to take more breaks then, if it means spending them with you.” His hand came up to gently stroke your hair. “I can’t deny I enjoy this too.”

You sighed contentedly, the warmth of his embrace more than enough to ward off the cold. Even when words weren’t said, being close to him was all you needed.

Kazuha:

The breeze was gentle today, a soft wind playing with your hair as you walked side by side with Kazuha along the cliffs of Liyue. He’d been lost in his thoughts, watching the clouds roll by and listening to the leaves rustling in the distance. You admired how calm he always seemed, like a leaf floating effortlessly on the wind.

But today, you felt a little restless. You glanced at him and smiled, a sudden urge bubbling up inside you. Before he could react, you linked your arm through his and leaned your head on his shoulder. Kazuha blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly at you.

“Feeling affectionate today?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

“Just wanted to be close,” you replied, squeezing his arm gently.

Kazuha chuckled, the sound soft and comforting. He adjusted his stance slightly to accommodate your weight on his shoulder, his hand brushing against yours as he held your arm more securely. “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “Your presence is like a calming breeze, always soothing.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. Kazuha always knew how to make you feel cherished, even in the simplest of moments. He lifted his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and affectionate.

“There’s something special about the way you express yourself,” Kazuha murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every touch feels like a conversation, and I can’t help but listen.”

You hummed softly, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the quiet moment between the two of you. The sound of the wind and the warmth of his presence made everything feel right in the world.

Heizou:

You sat on the edge of a fountain in Ritou, watching as Heizou chatted animatedly with a merchant. His bright eyes sparkled with curiosity as he questioned the man, digging for clues on some mystery or another. You couldn’t help but smile at how engaged he was, even though the conversation had nothing to do with the two of you.

When Heizou finally turned back to you, his expression shifted from inquisitive to playful. “Were you getting bored waiting for me, [Name]?” he asked, crossing the distance between you in a few quick strides.

“I wasn’t bored,” you replied with a grin. “But I might be a little attention-deprived.”

Heizou raised an eyebrow, smirking as he stood in front of you. “Oh? Is that so?”

Without another word, you tugged him closer by his arm and wrapped your hands around his waist, pulling him down into an embrace. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his balance, laughing as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders in return.

“You’re really bold today,” Heizou said, his voice warm with affection. “Not that I’m complaining. I guess I have been a little distracted lately.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “You always get lost in your work.”

Heizou smiled and tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “And you always know how to bring me back,” he said softly. “You’re my anchor, you know that?”

You blushed slightly but didn’t let go, instead tightening your arms around him. “I just like being close to you,” you admitted.

“I like it too,” he replied, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make sure to give you more of my attention from now on. I don’t want you feeling neglected.”

You smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell with warmth. Heizou’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, everything else faded away. All that mattered was being in each other’s embrace.

A/n: I hope you liked this! (≧∇≦)/

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

[runnning-outof-time]

The Same Situation | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @mrsalwayswrite

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy's so worried about Freddie Thorne being with his sister, Ada, that he doesn't even realize that he himself is in just about the same situation with Freddie's sister, (Y/N). What happens when Freddie finds out that the same thing is happening on the flip side of it all?

Warnings: language, death threats, weapons

Word Count: 3504

A/N: I strayed a bit from canon on this one to make it make sense, so I hope that that’s fine. I didn’t expect for it to turn out this good, but I have to say that I’m pretty pleased with it. The italicized dialogue comes right from the show. Enjoy:)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) was working on tidying up the displays at her family's bakery when the shop's main door opened. She didn't even need to look up to know who it was; she recognized the sound of his shoes on the hardwood. "Tommy! Where've you been these past few days?" She asked as she looked up. But Tommy Shelby didn't respond. Instead he kept walking.

(Y/N) scoffed as she set down the cake she had so that she could follow the man into the back area of the bakery. "What's going on, Tommy?" she asked him another question, hoping to gain an answer from him this time. But he still said nothing. Instead he dropped his peaked cap onto the counter, the razor blades sewn into it clanging off of the metallic surface, and fished his pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the jacket he had on. "You know you can't smoke in here," (Y/N) pointed out, her hands falling onto her hips.

That was the sentence that finally made Tommy look at her. He'd frozen with the cigarette between his lips and an ablaze match just about ready to light it. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows at him, as if she was daring him to go ahead and disregard her statement. They held each other's gaze for a few moments before Tommy hissed from the fire licking his fingertips. He quickly shook out the match and tossed it into the sink before he took the cigarette from between his lips and put it back into its packet with a sigh.

"Care to tell me what's gotten into you?" (Y/N) asked him then, her one eyebrow still quirked.

"It's just one problem after a-fucking-nother," he mumbled, his lips pursing together in a brooding scowl.

"Well that answer told me everything," she pointed out, a slight bit of sarcasm laced into her words.

"Ada's pregnant," he forced out then, running a stressed hand over his face after he spoke.

"She is?" she responded, her eyes wide as shock filled her features, "who...who is...?"

"It's Freddie," Tommy hated the fact that those two words tasted like poison as he said them, "it's fucking Freddie," he added then for dramatic measure, the infuriation now fully present in his voice.

"My brother?" (Y/N) was still only asking questions, her shock still too prevalent for her to get past thinking only the basics. "M...my brother got your sister pregnant?" The words sounded so foreign to say.

"Yes, yes he fucking did," he was still fuming. "And now I'm going to fucking kill him," he added before he grabbed his cap and began walking towards (Y/N), who was standing in the archway that led to the exit.

"Woah, woah...you're going to do what?" (Y/N)'s voice was assertive, but it wasn't enough to get Tommy to stop. What was though, was her placing her hand on his chest and putting pressure against him as he walked up to her. "You're not going anywhere in this state of mind, Thomas Shelby," she told him, her eyes locked onto his, her gaze steely and serious, "and you'd be foolish to think that I'd let you go and kill my brother just because you're unhappy with what he's done. Freddie's not the best of men, but he's..."

"Tell me what he is, (Y/N), because right now I can only see a man who needs to be dealt with," Tommy cut into her statement, tension still evident in his words. He was just a few moments shy from foaming at the mouth here. He needed to get to Freddie and he needed to deal with this now.

(Y/N)'s eyebrows raised as she heard what he had to say, and, once again, surprise was now etched across her face, "It's rich of you to say that about him when you're in the same situation as he is," she said to him.

Now it was Tommy's turn to be confused. "What?" he asked her, his anger fizzling out slightly as he furrowed his brows.

"Are you forgetting about you and I?" she queried, her mouth slightly agape as she waited for his answer. He didn't give one, so she continued, "are you forgetting that we've been seeing each other since you came back from France? Are you forgetting that Freddie knows not one thing about us? You'd be a hypocrite if you were to go and strike him down for being in a situation that is almost exactly identical to the one you're currently in."

(Y/N) held his gaze as she finished her monologue, watching him intently for what he'd give as an answer. He blinked a few times as he thought her words over. His mouth opened and shut then before he let out a sigh and dropped his gaze from hers, clearly defeated now. "It's not that simple when you see it that way, is it?" she remarked, her hand finally dropping from his chest because he'd stopped putting pressure against it.

"I'm still fucking angry at him," he muttered in a disgruntled tone.

"Sure you are...and you have a right to be. That's your sister; you're meant to protect her. But I think I have a little bit of insight into what Ada was thinking, and let me tell you...the move wasn't made only on Freddie's part," she continued to try to reason with him, the slightest smirk forming on her face as she finished her statement. Tommy looked up as she said her final words, and upon seeing the smirk, he shot her the 'don't you even start' look. She held her hands up in surrender as the smile overtook her features. "What are you going to do now?" she asked him after a few moments had passed.

"I'm going to go and find a way to deal with this situation," he responded as he placed his peaked cap atop his head before tugging it down into its proper spot.

"And I trust that that solution will ensure that everyone stays alive?" she checked with him, her eyebrows raising as she spoke.

Tommy pursed his lips at her statement, thinking it over for a moment before he cut the tension by nodding and exhaling a sigh. "It'll take longer for me to figure out, but I'll see it through so that is the case," he told her, his eyes locked onto hers.

"You've given me your word, so now you must stick to it," she reminded him.

"When have I ever broken my word to you?" he questioned her, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Let's not start with that, Tommy Shelby," she said to him, her smile present as he exhaled a breath of a laugh at her statement.

"I'll see you later," he deflected the previous topic as he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

"I mean it," she stressed as they pulled away, trying to hold a serious look, but her smile was obviously breaking through.

"You have my word," he promised her again, kissing her lips one more time before she finally stepped aside and let him exit the backroom.

She turned to watch him walk out of the bakery, holding in her sigh until the door shut behind him. Men, she thought to herself as she shook her head, it's completely fine when they're in the midst of it, but if someone steps over the line they've already crossed, then there'll be hell to pay.

——

(Y/N)'s night had been pretty good so far. Nothing drastic came out of Tommy's blow up - besides the fact that Freddie declined his train ticket out of Birmingham and instead proposed to Ada. Of course, that struck a chord within Tommy, (Y/N) got an earful about it after he found out, but everyone was still alive. What she didn't know was that the caliber of her night was going to go down drastically the second she entered the small, dingy apartment that she shared with her brother.

Freddie was standing by the desk that was pushed up against the far wall of the apartment's main room. (Y/N) thought nothing of it, until he turned to face her with what looked to be a stack of papers in his hand. "Would you care to explain what these are to me?" he asked her as he shook the papers slightly for effect.

"What are they?" (Y/N) asked for some details. All she could see was that he was holding a stack of white paper.

"They're letters," he gave her more context.

"Ok...?" she asked for even more details. Everyone writes letters...why was he getting so worked up over these?

"They're letters from Tommy Shelby; from the war," he finally brought the hammer down, his words coming out in a cross manner.

(Y/N) sighed as she heard what her brother had to say. "I'm not allowed to write to someone who we've known since grade school?" she asked him, her eyebrows raising.

"Not in this manner you aren't," he rebuked, his voice raising slightly as his frustration became more pronounced.

"Well what was I to do? No one else was writing to me, Freddie. I tried you multiple times and got nothing! Tommy responded to me. He was my lifeline while you were all away," she raised her voice with his, showing him that she wasn't going to bow out of the argument.

"There's writing to him, and then there's forming a well-pronounced relationship with him, (Y/N). I'm never going to unread some of the things that were written here!" Freddie countered, waving the letters in front of her again.

"You shouldn't have been reading them in the first place!" (Y/N) exclaimed, her eyes wide as she managed to snatch them out of his hands. She did a quick check of them, breathing the slightest sigh of relief when she found that they were all accounted for. These letters meant a great deal to her. They were the only things that made her smile during the dark years of war, and now they served as a reminder of the beginning of the relationship that she now shared with Tommy. "Why were you going through my drawer anyway, Freddie?" she asked him then, a glare present on her face.

"Ada heard talk..." he started.

(Y/N) quickly cut him off. "Oh...Ada," she over-exaggerated the words, rolling her eyes as she heard her brother huff.

"She heard talk that Tommy'd only did what he did for us because of the situation he was in. It got me thinking, and it led me to these letters," he continued with his explanation, motioning to the letters she was holding then.

"That still doesn't give me good reason to understand why you decided to go searching through my drawer of the desk," (Y/N) pointed out. Sure, Tommy being in a 'situation' could have possibly got him thinking; she wasn't going to discredit her brother's brain, but how he pieced it together and figured out she had these letters stashed away just wasn't computing for her.

"That doesn't fucking matter, (Y/N). You've been going around behind my back with him even after you've known that we're at odds with each other. That's uncalled for and it's something I won't fucking have anymore!" he disregarded her statement, instead letting his frustration get the best of him and shine through in his words.

(Y/N) looked at him for a few moments, digesting what he'd just said to her. She tried to decide which way she should go about this situation; bring in reason? Or let him have it? She was so close to choosing the latter. "It's a bit rich of you to be saying this considering you're doing the exact same thing with Ada...well you were trying to, until Tommy found out you got her pregnant," she finally gave her response. If it were any other time, she'd laugh at the fact that she was saying the exact same statement to the other side of the equation just weeks apart. But she kept a straight face now.

There was the slightest change in Freddie's composure after he heard these words. But yet he pushed on. "That doesn't change the fact that he's crossed the fucking line. I ought to put a bullet in his head for even thinking of you in that way!" he let his anger prevail, his voice raised yet again.

"And what good will that do? I told him this when he was thinking the same thing, and I'll have no remorse in telling you the same: dealing with him in this manner will make you an outright hypocrite because you are doing the exact same thing with his sister. In a way, you'd be unjustifying your situation by dealing with mine in such a way."

Silence fell between the two siblings after (Y/N) finished her piece. Both were staring at each other, and tension was building around them to the point that it could be cut with a knife. Freddie made the first move, breaking his gaze as he began walking to the door. (Y/N)'s voice stopped him before he could open it. "You're not going to find him because he's gone for the weekend...figuring out some deal with some fucking Inspector because you don't want to take your stubborn ass out of the picture," she told him, knowing exactly what he was about to go and do.

Her words made Freddie freeze. He didn't say anything, but instead stared at her for a moment longer before finally opening the door and exiting the apartment. (Y/N) couldn't help but exhale a sigh once she was alone. Men, she thought as she shook her head. Now she'd have to figure out a way to make sure that both her brother and her lover would make it out of this situation alive. Thankfully Tommy was out of the city for the weekend, and that Freddie knew about the potential of him getting caught if he went anywhere close to that Inspector at the moment.

——

"How did I know that the two of you would come here the very first chance you had?" (Y/N) questioned the two men that were currently pointing their revolvers at each other. She confidently walked up to them, seeing only their eyes shift over in the direction she was coming from. Their stances stayed unwavering; it was going to take more than a simple statement.

Tommy spoke first. "What're you doing here, (Y/N)?" he asked her, his eyes still fixed on his target that was lying below him.

"I'm making sure that neither of you do something stupid," she answered him as she stopped a few paces away from where their stand-off was occurring.

"I won't let him fuck up my sister's life for his cause," Tommy said then, his finger toying with the trigger as he spoke. (Y/N) didn't know what to say. The both of them had their weapons fixed on each other, and the tension was almost palpable around them.

Thankfully (Y/N) didn't need to do any negotiating. After a few moments, Freddie dropped his gun to the ground. "My God..." he started, a sigh escaping with his words, "you actually believe that," his next sentence was spoken as a statement, as it was made pretty obvious by Tommy where his thoughts were at the moment, "I love her, Tommy. I loved her since she was nine and I was twelve. And she loves me the same," he said then, the slightest smile creeping onto his lips as he spoke.

Tommy still kept his revolver fixed on its target, his gaze unwavering as he heard what his ex-best friend had to say. (Y/N) watched with her breath held as Freddie then stood from the ground. Tommy didn't lower his arm until Freddie took two steps so that they'd be standing face to face with each other.

"Do you even know the word?" Freddie queried, his eyes locked onto Tommy's, "because I can say the same thing about you with (Y/N); using her for your fucking gain, like she's just some dispensable object," he added then, his words spoken with a harshness.

"Freddie..." (Y/N) cut into their stand off with a warning tone.

"No, (Y/N). He needs to fucking hear this," Freddie brushed his sister off, "he needs to fucking know that this can't be a two way street; that he can't damn me for what he thinks I'm doing and then go and do the exact same," he spoke these next lines to Tommy, as if he was trying to get him to see sense in it all.

"Then you must know that we are in love too," (Y/N) spoke up after a few more tense moments had passed. This made Freddie break his gaze from Tommy to look over at (Y/N). She could tell just by his eyes that he was shocked by the news. "You heard me right," (Y/N) doubled down, moving closer to the two of them before she continued, "we are in love; have been since 1917, when we were writing letters to each other. He professed it to me the moment he found me at the apartment and I said it back all the same. You weren't there when it happened, Freddie, because you'd gone to meet Ada under that bridge you always find yourselves under," (Y/N) spelled it out for her brother, watching as his jaw went slightly slack. (Y/N) fought the smirk that was trying to form on her face. She loved having the upper hand. "That's right, I know about that. Us women, we talk, and Ada told me everything. I'm happy for the two of you, I see your relationship for what it is. I only hope that you both can stop patronizing each other and let it lie," she ended her statement by looking between the both of them.

The two men looked at each other again, the tension arising between them again. Freddie was the one to break the silence. "I don't know where you stand, but I will accept you and (Y/N) being together," he said, being the bigger person and the one to bury the hatchet first. (Y/N) wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but she knew she couldn't yet. Not with the way that Tommy was still staring her brother down. She silently hoped that he'd choose peace as well.

"I will accept you and Ada being together, but if you do anything to hurt her, it will be the end of you," Tommy finally conceded, but not before throwing one last threat into the mix.

Nothing else was said then as the two men continued to stare at each other. (Y/N) knew what this was. Neither wanted to make the first move. So she stepped into their staring contest. "Freddie, why don't you go find Ada. She was telling me earlier about some pain that she was having. She may need you," (Y/N) tried to reason with her brother, pushing on his chest slightly so that he would get the cue that she wanted him to back away from the situation. This did the trick in getting Freddie's gaze off of Tommy, and (Y/N) watched it soften as his eyes found hers. He said nothing, and only nodded before he stepped away and began to leave the old warehouse building.

(Y/N) turned to Tommy once the other man was out of sight. "I'm sure you would have killed one another had I not shown up," she broke their silence, her hand fiddling with the lapel of his jacket as she focused her eyes on his chest.

"He's not worth it," Tommy responded, shaking his head slightly.

"Sure seemed like he was when I got here," (Y/N) replied, her eyes rising to meet his. She was able to see the starting of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"He's not worth it, but you are," he flipped his words around, the second half of his statement succeeding in making (Y/N)'s cheeks heat up.

"You're a sap, Tommy Shelby," she teased him, smacking his chest gently, her words making his smirk appear full on his lips. She smiled back at him as she took hold of his lapels and pulled him closer to her so that she could press her lips to his. "You're a sap, and I love you," she whispered against his lips, feeling him smile against hers at her words. Tommy said nothing in response, but instead pulled her in for another kiss; a kiss that perfectly conveyed how he felt towards her.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @sunsetbeachesandwriting @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel

MASTERLIST

[cowgurrrl]

La Golondrina

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Author’s note: oooooooohhhh bitch plus disclaimer: I do speak and write Spanish and have for several years and will do so as I see fit for this series!! That being said, it won’t always be a perfect translation as I’m working off my grammatical knowledge and handle of the language. Please be patient :-)

Summary: The prologue [1.1k]

Warnings: backstory before the story, canonical type violence, torture

The heat of the room is suffocating. There are no windows, no fans, no fresh air. Sweat rolls down your back and sticks to your body. It's dark and dank and smells like cigarette smoke and mildew. The only light in the room emits from the crack under the door, the only indication you have of how much time has passed. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark as much as they can, and you can just barely make out the blood slicking the floor and the stained tools in the corner. 

This has been going on for so long. Maybe a few days. A week? You're really not sure. You don't know where you are, but you know the names and faces of the men who've taken turns busting their knuckles across your face. They've taken their time with you just as promised, withholding food and water as they bleed you out. You've done your best not to scream and cry, to not show weakness, as they tortured you for information and shoved a camera in your face to taunt the Agency. You've stayed strong. You've relied on your training. You've done everything you were supposed to. But you're so tired. You want to be done. 

Your head feels like it weighs a million pounds, and all you can do is let it hang dejectedly with your hands behind your back, metal digging unforgivably hard into your wrists. You swear you're burning from the inside out, but that could be the circular burns pressed into your skin. Your ribs ache as your lungs rattle to fight for breath. When will they come back? Did they leave you here to starve? Where the fuck is your team? Are you about to become collateral? The room spins around you, and your stomach churns from the bright pain dancing up your body. 

Unconsciousness dangles in front of you like a shiny carrot, and you're about to make the leap when a loud bang sounds somewhere in the building. Automatic gunfire, screams, and loud orders called in Spanish follow closely behind. The cuffs on your wrists keep you from moving to a safer position to protect yourself from stray bullets. Of course, I would survive being tortured by the cartel just to catch an American bullet, you think. You try to shift your feet in a half-hearted attempt to get down, but the floor is too slippery. You'd laugh if your ears didn't feel like they were splitting in half and your sore body wasn't tense with fear. 

The gunfire gets closer, and you can barely make out a handful of different voices, but you don't know if you recognize any of them. You don't know when the last time you heard a voice that didn't belong to a loyal sicario. You don't know what the fuck is happening. You let your head loll to the side in defeat and wait for the scale to tip. However this ends, you hope it's quick. 

A few more rounds find homes in bodies and walls before the building goes silent. Ringing takes over your senses, and you're almost positive there's blood dripping from your ear. The doorknob jiggles, and you can feel yourself shaking hard. You don't try to stop the tears from rolling down your face anymore. You're too tired. Your body is too weak. You're too ready. Another boom, and you scream as the door crashes down and officers swarm the room. Sunlight floods in and nearly blinds you as you squint against its intensity. Golden bullets wink at you, and barrels swing past you as they clear the room. Nobody gives you a second glance as you sit there, bleeding and trembling. 

"Soy CIA! No dispares!" Your voice doesn't sound like your own, all crackly and deep. You repeat it over and over again and hope that you're not hallucinating when you catch the Colombian flag on someone's vest. A hand lands on your knee, and your body jerks painfully to escape it. You kick at the person kneeling in front of you and let out a choked sob, unable to distinguish if the hand is friend or foe. 

"Hey, hey," a familiar voice says. You blink through tears, find his brown eyes boring into yours, and slump in relief. "You're okay. We're gonna get you outta here." Javi murmurs. He moves hair out of your face and wipes blood from the side of your head. You lean into his touch and let out a shaky sigh. 

"Are they dead?" You ask in English, hoping nobody but him can understand the cruel question. He nods and glances at your own handcuffs, forcing your hands behind you. "Javi, I need you to say it. I need to hear the words. Please." You beg. His hands gently frame your face and make you look at him as his eyes scan your injuries.

"They're all dead. Every single one, okay? You're safe now." He says, and you nod. Steve steps into your eyeline just enough to show you the key in his hands before he moves behind you to unlock the cuffs. Everyone is silent as they watch you. Based on the looks on their faces and how bad you feel, it's a miracle you survived. 

"I'm gonna have to maneuver them to get you out. It's probably gonna hurt." Steve warns. 

"Just do it." You urge and clench your jaw. The metal starts moving, and a pathetic moan slips from your chapped lips. If it weren't for you crying in pain, you would be able to hear a pin drop. Javi keeps you upright as Steve works at the cuffs, and the second the metal drops from your wrists, you fall into Javi's chest. 

"I've got you. You're okay." The words are soothing, and the tone is kind, but you sob anyway. You cling to him like a liferaft as the shock takes over. 

You don't remember exactly what happened after that. You know what they've told you. You know what's written down in a classified folder postmarked for Washington and forever relegated to the White Room. You know what injuries sent you into emergency surgery and which would cause aches for years. But the only thing you can say for certain about that rescue is that you heard Javi's radio chatter in Spanish and English, demanding an update. Steve tried to say something, but Javi beat him to it. Your eardrum was perforated, but you heard his words loud and clear.

“La Golondrina está libre.”

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Sorry: I thought of another Makima comment/question. But before I bring that up, I am very excited to see that you are writing something for JJK!!!! I know it's going to be so perfect and give me all the feels!!!

Okay so I read your response to my question, (I'm the one who asked about character study), and I just wanted your thoughts/opinions on the jealously issue that arises with Himeno. I know you mentioned Makima being jealous of Himeno's relationship with reader, and I want to know how much of that you think is nature or nurture. It's obvious she is possessive of reader due to her nature as the Control Devil, but do you think that is equally due to nurture? i.e. what she has learned from movies or from other humans' interactions with their significant others? I love the moment when she catches Himeno with her arms around reader's shoulders. I cannot imagine the range of intense emotions and inner turmoil she felt seeing that!!! And do you think that was a recurring feeling she experienced when someone got a little too close to her beloved? I feel that is a trait that will carry on to Nayuta and all other reincarnations (as possessiveness does in the Canon!)

Thank you so much for your time once again!

Hi again, I love talking about character studies and motivations so keep 'em coming if you ever have another question \^o^/

(As for that JJK fic... it is certainly going to be a grand ride and it is going to be a bit of stray from what I typically write. I'm having fun working on the draft, it's going to come with a surprise I hope people appreciate when it's finally up and posted!)

I think that as far as Makima's jealousy though, it's a mixture of both. It's in her nature to be possessive as one who is the physical embodiment of the fear of being controlled but I attribute her behavior to nurture as well. If you're someone who has been deprived of affection your whole life, you're bound to be possessive of whatever affection you receive. That's essentially how Makima's jealousy works as far as my fics goes.

When she has a shift in how she views the reader and their relationship changes, that affection is something she prefers to have to herself. But Makima is someone very patient and we see in the canon, she has no problem playing the long game to get what she wants. She won't lash out out of her emotions even if she wants to. So during the moment where she saw the extent of the reader's friendship with Himeno, there were quite a bit of ideas she had concerning Himeno and making her disappear entirely.

But at that point in time, Makima views the reader a beacon of light for the sort of relationship she can hope to have with someone one day. The reader has, at this point, never succumbed to Makima's abilities. The reader has recognized Makima's loneliness and reached out to comfort her even though at that point, the reader's opinion of Makima was quite low. Add to the fact that Makima and Reader's relationship has improved exponentially by that point, it's something she doesn't want anyone impeding on. Not even someone who was there first as "your friend".

And yet, Makima doesn't lash out despite how much she would like to. Because the key thing Makima has always desired is being able to have a relationship with someone built on equity rather than fear and control. She doesn't want to mess that up having a jealous fit. She is afraid of losing that affection she receives from the reader, but she is more afraid of there being a day the reader succumbs to the influence of Makima's powers.

So she relies on intimidation in the moment Himeno encroaches on someone Makima claims as her own. And when she feels that is failing, she decides to rely on good old-fashioned communication when the reader prompts her to be honest as to why she is upset during their date.

But when their relationship is solidified as a couple, I see Makima making it more apparent when she is feeling jealous or needy. Lovers should be honest with one another, after all. Especially after she reveals her true identity and it didn't scare the reader off. They have their contract, marriage in Makima's eyes. It's the ultimate insurance of their relationship. So it does increase a bit from then on.

Kishibe encroaching on their peaceful life.

The reader's death at the hand of the Rat Devil, destroying precious life Makima held so dearly to her heart. It's an unforgivable crime to take that away from her.

I feel that jealousy would even extend to your family as well. Your family is her family now, something she's always desired. A family that she didn't need to make her own through force. So I feel if the reader has any siblings or close family childhood friends, Makima would feel some type of way about it.

It never makes it into the final draft, but there was a small joke in my outline about how Makima would view the reader making a contract with another devil as cheating. It was something I was only planning on being some sort of gag, but I don't think it would be too far from the truth. Makima would prefer to be the only devil the reader ever has a contract with.

And when it comes to her future incarnations, they definitely have varying degrees of possessiveness regardless of the quality of their lives. Nayuta doesn't showcase it during the sequel mostly due to the fact that for an indiscernible amount of time, it's only ever been just her and the reincarnated reader. So I imagine that when the two of them begin interacting with other people on the regular from schoolmates to even Power, it begins to come out more.

But Himeno, fun as she is, is strict about that. So Nayuta isn't allowed to let those feelings run rampant no matter how much she would like to.

[kristinamae093]

Ghosted

Ghosted - Two Steps Back (Chapter Ten)

Series Summary - Prince Liam fell for Riley Brooks hard and fast. A marriage filled with love and devotion was within his reach. But everything changed when she vanished just before the end of the social season. As everyone voices their concerns regarding her scandalous departure, a confession from an unlikely source turns Liam's world upside down and makes him question everything around him.

Book/Pairing - TRR - Liam x MC (Riley Brooks)

A/N 1 - This AU starts right before the beginning of the engagement tour. There is a two-month lapse between the coronation and where we pick up, but we will stray from canon. Please excuse any errors found.

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

After the Regatta

Penelope hobbled to her room on a sore foot and a painfully bruised ego. This wasn’t going as expected; advisors told her toward the beginning of the season she might stand a chance, but after only the first few events, they hastily changed their tone. Between Madeleine, Riley, and Olivia, they knew Penelope would not be the new king’s choice.  

Regardless, Penelope was enjoying her time away. The friends she’d made were irreplaceable; she and Kiara formed an everlasting bond. Even Riley was incredibly friendly, despite her commoner status. Penelope was rooting for Riley to win it all because she was genuinely a nice person, and Penelope was looking forward to what Cordonia could look like with her as queen. 

Penelope approached her door whilst humming to herself. The day was long, and she was relieved to be in the comfortable solace of her own space. She planned on calling her parents for their daily video chat, and to get some doggy face time to tide her over while away. Her anxiety was through the roof without having them close, but the friendships she’d made were a momentary distraction. She was glad the ladies were nice enough; otherwise, this experience would’ve been a nightmare. 

Penelope entered and made a bee-line for the bathroom. She did her business, washed her hands, and bounced her way over to the dresser to get more comfortable for the evening. Just as she opened the drawer, a stern knock sounded on her door. Penelope scrunched her face; she was expecting no visitors but thought perhaps Kiara wanted to hang out. 

As Penelope opened the structure, a thunderous force shoved through her and entered, slamming the door shut. Penelope stumbled backward but caught her footing. She could only stare at the person in front of her as panic flourished through her body. She didn't recognize them, but the death glare plastered on their face told her that notion was not applied on both ends. Her instinct told her to scream for help, but the visitor addressed her before she was given the chance.

They spoke in a low, raspy voice. “Have a seat, Lady Penelope. We have a lot to discuss.” 

“W–who are you?” 

“You need not worry about who I am, only what I know.” 

“What do you mean?” 

The person clasped their hands behind their back and stalked around Penelope; like a vulture circles its prey. “Everyone around you thinks you're the sweet, poodle-obsessed Penny, but I see otherwise. I know all about you… The things you’ve done… What your daddy tries his damndest to hide…” 

Penelope’s already increasing heart rate spiked. “I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t. It’s alright, I wouldn’t want anyone to know, either.” They dismissively shrugged.

“Know what?” 

The person snickered at her attempts to deflect, but they could see the panic rising in her eyes. “It’s quite a common expression — young and dumb. But, when you’re in the nobility, there are no secrets unless you know the right people.” 

Penelope thickly swallowed. “I don’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Really? So, then you’ve never been — joined in holy matrimony, right?”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “I–” 

“Enough with your attempts to feign confusion; that will only prolong this process and I am not in the mood to play games. I know of your estranged marriage; how your father pays plenty of hush money per month to keep his mouth shut. I imagine it would be fairly difficult to talk yourself out of that situation if the press were to catch wind; considering Portavira continuously requests the Crown’s compensation. And I do believe the monarch would not be happy to learn your family has developed a slush fund, either.” 

The intruder gave Penelope a wicked smile and added, “Not to mention the — fatality that was caught amid your poor life choices…”

Penelope visibly tensed. “That’s not – I didn’t–” she stammered before snapping her mouth closed; her flustered state prohibited her from forming an argument.

“It’s a matter of opinion, I suppose. Regardless, I attained the records from your procedure.” They waved a piece of paper in Penelope’s face, and recognition swept over her instantly. She released a shuddered breath as the document came to a stop, her tearful eyes centering on the text. 

Despite Penelope’s panicked state, the aggressor continued, “Tell me, do your parents know of your aborted fetus? I mean, I saw you on security cameras entering the clinic alone. It was smart of you to use a fake name, but unfortunately, that was not enough to cover up your mistakes.” 

Penelope never answered, but the assailant watched her swallow thickly with shame etched in her features. She couldn’t fathom how this stranger had found her deepest secrets that she was certain would never see the light of day. 

Penelope found out she was pregnant the day after her annulment was discreetly settled. Terrified wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how she felt, as she stared down at the positive test; she went to the clinic in disguise to find out about her options and decided abortion would be the best solution. Being only nineteen years old, Penelope was practically a child herself and didn’t believe she was at a point to care for a baby like they deserved. And she was alone; when she dreamt of this moment, it happened completely differently in her head. She longed for the fairytale love, where they would start a family together; not single and inevitably disgraced.

Her parents didn’t know, she was too afraid to tell them — especially after her father agreed to pay a continuous hefty fee for Guy’s silence. Penelope was always well-behaved; the perfect trophy daughter. The look of pure disappointment held in their eyes when they found out about her marriage haunted her; she never wanted to do anything out of line again. All Penelope desired was to move on from her mistake, but life had other plans.

Panicked and ashamed, Penelope made the impossible decision alone, not wanting anyone to know of the stupid decisions that led her there. Her fear and guilt only increased after the procedure, but she grieved what could have been and pushed it into the deepest pit of her mind.

She never told a soul – nobody knew – or so she thought.

“All it would take is a small whisper to the press and it would destroy not only you, but your fraudulent parents as well…” 

Penelope gasped as her tears freely flowed. “No! P–please, don’t!” 

The person laughed; the sound sending an involuntary chill down Penelope’s spine. They stalked forward until her back hit the wall and they breathed over her. Penelope squeezed her eyes closed, but felt them draw nearer. The tangy scent of alcohol mixed with cigar smoke filled her nostrils, as they whispered in her ear, “If you want my silence, you’re going to have to earn it.” 

Penelope’s eyes shot open as she frantically nodded her head. “Okay, j–just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.” 

“I knew you’d see reason,” the unknown presence spoke while taking a small step away. They produced an envelope from their jacket and handed it to her. 

Penelope opened it and started skimming over the information; it was an email address with a set of instructions and a few other notes. She didn’t understand what it all meant; the main thing that stuck out was the location of where they wanted the photographer to be. 

“Why are they going to be outside Riley’s room?” 

“The less you know, the better.” They once again reached into their jacket, this time pulling out a small vial and handing it to her. “You need to give this to her beforehand. I do not care how it happens, just make sure it gets in her system; the earlier, the better.” 

“W–what is this? Is this a drug?” Penelope stammered as she stared down at the bottle in her trembling hands. 

The person smiled; a dark, wicked smile. “You don’t need to worry about that; just make sure she ingests it at an early enough hour.”

Tears once again streamed down Penelope’s cheeks as she frantically shook her head and tried to hand the items back. “N–no. I can’t do that, and I won’t. I would rather disgrace myself than–”

“You’re going to do it.”  

Penelope stood a little taller and yelled, “No, I won’t! I–”

Penelope received a sudden, sharp backhand to her cheek. She fell to the floor cradling her face but was soon flipped over onto her back, her aggressor pinning her to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream, but quickly closed it as she saw the gleam of a blade in the light right in front of her face. 

“Make a sound and I’ll kill you right here, right now.” The attacker moved the knife to hover over Penelope’s throat, applying just enough pressure to keep her subdued. “You have two options — you either comply and do as you’re told, or this is where your life will end. If you refuse to cooperate, you already know too much, and I will ensure you don’t live to tell the tale personally. But I won’t stop there, no – I’ll ruin your parents as well; the entire world will know what a fraud you and your family are.” 

“No… P–please. I – I can’t – I –” Penelope frantically stammered, trying to develop a coherent sentence. 

“You can, and you will. Otherwise,” they leaned forward, close enough to touch noses with Penelope. “I’ll dig your grave myself and throw those mangy mutts in with you after. Perhaps we can make it a family affair and shove your parents inside, too. After all, being exposed to the world and losing their only disappointment of a child would leave them with nothing left to live for; especially once they know of your treacherous sins.” They sat back with a vile chortle, letting the words linger.

Penelope cried harder, her breathing rapid and erratic as her panic boiled over. She opened her mouth to shout for help despite the blade at her throat, but a firm hand abruptly pressed against her lips. “I think I’m being very understanding, actually. I could just end you and move on to the next useless suitor, but I’m allowing you to make the correct choice; to answer the call of service for your country. That commoner has no business being here; you know it, I know it, everyone knows it! We have to deal with her!” 

After a tense moment of silence, her intruder grew restless. They rolled their eyes and huffed, “You’re running out of time. I’ll gift you ten seconds; agree, or...” The blade on Penelope’s throat suddenly held more force; hard enough she could feel her skin being lightly pierced. “I don’t think I really need to finish that sentence, do I?”

Penelope subtly nodded her head, afraid to move too much. Although she didn’t want to betray Riley in that way, she saw no other way out. Not only was her own life being threatened, but her parents as well; she was not willing to let them die because of her secrets they knew nothing about.

Her attacker soon chortled and sat up. “I had a feeling you would see it my way.” They patted her cheek, hard, before they stood and adjusted their clothing.

The intruder walked to the door and turned back around to address a whimpering Penelope. “As a reward for your service, I will make you a lady-in-waiting for the soon-to-be queen. I’d suggest you take the position and use discretion whenever necessary from here on out. If you do anything to compromise this operation, you will be sorry. Am I clear?“

The following afternoon, Olivia met with Liam, Leo, and Ray as they discussed the events of the night prior. The court just arrived in Portavira, although there was a break in events until the polo match in a few days. They gathered in Olivia’s room, as that’s where Ray set up his equipment and continuously ensured the area remained free of compromises. 

Olivia told them about Penelope’s involvement, and Liam was certain Olivia was lying or playing some kind of sick joke. However, after seeing the proof himself, he knew it had to be true. He wasn’t close with Penelope by any means, but still felt betrayed. Riley was kind and warm to those around her, not a malicious bone in her body; what made Penelope want to get rid of her?

“We have to question her. I can’t be sure, but she might know we’re onto her. The look in her eyes –” Olivia shook her head with a heavy sigh. ”– I can’t explain it, but I don’t like it.”  

“I agree,” Leo interjected. “We need to know why she did it, man, because this makes absolutely no sense. I mean, Penelope – of all people? Did she accidentally eat some dog food or something, and it made her go kookoo?” 

Despite his overflowing anxiety, Liam laughed. “I really don't know. But we’re not all going to question her. I think it’s best if myself and Leo did this, so we don’t overwhelm her.” He spoke to the entire group. 

“Are you… okay to do that?” Leo tentatively asked. “I can take Olivia — or hell, even Maxwell or Drake, if you don’t think you can keep your cool. We can’t really risk her shutting down and withholding anything important...” 

Liam remained silent for a long moment. Honestly, he didn’t know if he could control himself. The selfish side of him wanted to confront Penelope face-to-face and demand answers. However, he knew he was teetering on a dangerous ledge, and her confession could provoke several different reactions. 

He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept or ate a full meal. Days were molding together, and he had no sense of time unless it pertained to the tour. Liam was simply muttering through, doing the dutiful checklist a monarch should on the daily and trying his hardest to stay afloat; even though in all reality, he felt like he was drowning in a sea of uncertainty. No amount of training could prepare him for something like this; he was simply in limbo until one of the many open ends finally led them to something of importance. As the King he held mighty authority; yet, he’d never felt so powerless. Every second of not knowing something was torture; he just wanted to see Riley with his own two eyes. 

“I… don’t think I can, actually. If you wouldn’t mind questioning her, I would very much appreciate it, Leo.” 

Leo patted Liam on the back with a reassuring smile. “No problem. Care to accompany me, Livvie?” 

“I suppose if we want some kind of answer, I’ll have to, won’t I?” Olivia smirked. 

“Are we doing this now, or?” 

“Yes. The sooner, the better.” 

“And we’re certain she’s here?” Liam asked. 

“She was out earlier with her dogs,” Olivia answered with an eye roll. 

Liam nodded as he rubbed his palms together. “This is a decent plan. I have a good feeling about this, guys.” 

For the first time since he opened his eyes to the truth about the narrative against Riley, Liam felt like this could take them somewhere relevant. This was a solid lead and although he knew it probably wouldn’t provide him with all the answers he was seeking, it was a damn good start. 

Liam spoke again, “Any other updates?” 

“I received the diagnostic report on Lady Riley’s dress on the way here." Ray explained. "The blood was mostly Riley’s, but traces from Tariq were present as well. There were a few hairs and skin cells noted, but the DNA only registers those two.”

“Oh… okay…” Liam quietly responded. He hoped deep down the mess was from someone else, but immediately felt foolish to let himself believe such a thing. Hearing it confirmed out loud made his stomach burn with anxiety; this is what he blinded himself to, this is what he ignored. The overwhelming guilt Liam was fighting momentarily took his breath away. 

“Otherwise, there are no new leads.” Ray briefly met eyes with Olivia, the both of them having a silent conversation; unbeknownst to Liam. It wasn’t technically a lie, but not the entire truth. Ray found something — interesting, but Olivia decided now was not the time to bring it up to Liam, at least until after they learned what exactly Penelope knew. “Where Tariq is concerned, I’ve hit a complete brick wall; there’s absolutely nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

Ray shook his head. “Not a trace. His accounts show no transactions, and his family has not heard from him in months. I’ve checked every mode of transportation available to leave the country and he wasn’t on any of their databases.” 

“How is that even possible? There has to be something, somewhere. Seriously – Tariq has the IQ of a fucking peanut.” Leo interjected. 

“It could be a collection of reasons,” Ray answered. He suddenly stopped typing on his keyboard and took in everyone’s curious expressions. “Either he’s just incredibly clever and has an immaculate ability to cover his tracks, has hired someone to do that for him, or…” 

“He’s dead…” Liam quietly inserted, just above a whisper. His palms started trembling in his lap, and the only thing he could feel was his heart erratically thumping.

The deeper this web went, the further Liam felt himself slipping from reality. All he wanted was a sign, a concrete clue, anything to put him one step closer to finding Riley. The longer that time passed, the more he believed there was a grim reason they couldn’t find them. Just when the light at the end shined brighter, Liam was suddenly drug further down into the abyss of questions, making him doubt everything. 

“We can’t confirm that right now, Your Majesty. I’ve searched hospital records and there are no reports of him checking in at any of them and nothing solid to point to that conclusion. There are a lot of open ends regarding his whereabouts, but I have a couple more places to look before we should start truly discussing that possibility.” 

“Right…” Liam quietly responded as his mind raced. If Tariq’s DNA was on her dress, does that mean he’s the one who injured her? They already knew he was close to Riley; the pictures obviously showcased them together, but was Tariq responsible for attacking her, too? Those thoughts created a storm of rage he’d never felt before; just when he thought the fire had sizzled out, another splash of gasoline was poured onto the diminishing coals. Liam may not have felt a lot of hope, but he sure as hell felt the rage consuming his entire being. 

Leo noticed Liam's forelorn expression and reassuringly gripped his shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. We’re going to get an answer — soon.”

A short while later, Olivia, Leo, and ‘Harold’ walked the halls of the Portavirian estate, searching for Penelope’s room. Liam opted to have a drink with Drake instead of being alone, as his already overflowing anxiety seemed to increase with every passing second. 

They rounded the corner and Olivia tapped on Penelope’s door, but received near silence; muffled barks rang out beyond the structure, although seemingly at a distance. After a few moments, she stepped forward and repeated the process, but again, no answer. Leo knocked a few times a little louder, but heard nothing — aside from the dogs. He reached for the handle and tried to turn it, just to see, only to find it locked.

“What should we do?” Leo asked Olivia. 

Olivia tapped her index finger against her chin. “I don’t know…” She furrowed her brow and stared at the door in front of her. “The poodles are inside, so she shouldn’t be far… Maybe we search around and see if we spot her anywhere? It’s still relatively early; she could have stepped out for a moment.” 

Leo and Ray both agreed, and the trio began their trek. They started outside by the pool and checked the lounge area, but Penelope wasn't located anywhere. They searched nearly every floor, even the roof, but found no signs of her. Everyone else was already in their room for the night, the estate nearly deserted as they scoured the abandoned hallways. After a while, everyone agreed to take their chances and return to Penelope’s door, as a good hour passed since they last attempted. 

A voice called out to them as they made their way up the grand staircase. They turned around to see Landon making his way to them with a grin on his face. “Good evening, Your Majesty, Duchess, a pleasure to see you both. Are the two of you just strolling, or have you been out on the town?” He chuckled with a playful side eye directed at Leo. 

“You know me,” Leo smirked, “but actually, we’ve been looking for your daughter.” 

Landon’s smile faded, instead replaced with a perplexed expression. “What do you need from Penelope?”

Leo and Olivia shared a hesitant look. “Actually, it’s confidential… Do you know where she is?” 

“She said she was retiring to her room earlier.” 

Olivia spoke next. “We checked there. We checked everywhere and we have no clue where she’s at.” 

“Perhaps she’s already in slumber; she is quite the heavy sleeper. How about I come with you? I was headed there anyway, as she was acting fairly strange earlier.” 

“Strange how?” Leo asked. 

“She kept hugging her mother and me, and told us how much she loved us. She just seemed — sad, as if she would burst into tears at any moment. And she asked me to ensure Merlin and Morgana get plenty of treats.” Landon furrowed his brows and shook his head. “I asked her what she meant, and she just gave me another hug. Emmaline thinks she’s getting ready for her time of the month, which is why I came prepared.” He held up a wad of chocolate bars and laughed.

“I take it Merlin and Morgana are the poodles?”

“Oh, yes. They’re practically her children. It’s been hard on her to leave them at home, but she’s done fairly well. The unexpected route changes actually ended up being very beneficial to her, since she gets to be with them for a few days. I’m certain she’s going to have a hard time leaving again, but I know she appreciates getting to see them. When it was time to leave for the engagement tour, she was practically inconsolable; she didn’t want to leave, to the point we weren’t sure she would attend at all.” 

“So, she didn’t want to return, then?” Olivia inquired, hanging on his every word. 

Landon sighed and looked away. “I don’t believe so, no. But we made sure she knew how much of a tremendous opportunity this was for her. She was incredibly reluctant, but finally agreed. In all honesty, I think most of her reservations were regarding the fact that she was going so far away. Penelope is a very timid girl; she doesn’t particularly enjoy the crowds or being away from home. I’m confident staying in Cordonia where things are a little more familiar will turn things around for her; perhaps she will enjoy herself a bit.” 

“Right…” Olivia trailed off, as her mind swirled around these new little bits of information. She questioned if Penelope's reluctance to come back had to do with Riley's disappearance. The haunting look in Penelope’s eyes as that cab drove away told Olivia she could be correct. 

“Lead the way, then,” Leo inserted with a forced smile, as uneasiness crept into the pit of his stomach. The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood at attention, an involuntary shudder traveling through his body; he shook it off and politely smiled at Landon, who returned the gesture before starting the journey.

Everyone strolled through the halls together and within a short time, they were nearing Penelope’s room once again. Leo and Landon made small talk along the way, but Olivia didn’t listen most of the time. A bad feeling rapidly grew as they walked; why, she wasn’t sure, but it was becoming impossible to ignore. As they got closer, the air suddenly felt cold, raising goosebumps on her skin and sending a shiver down her spine. The hallway had an eerie aura to it that was beyond explanation; judging from the cautious expressions of everyone around, Olivia knew her feelings were not in her head. Landon appeared to be the only one who didn’t notice the atmosphere shift, although he hadn’t stopped talking long enough to take in the environment. 

Just as they were about to arrive, they heard muffled voices speaking not far away. Olivia furrowed her brows and started walking faster, practically running, with Ray and Leo not far behind. 

She came to an abrupt stop as she saw a litter of guards standing outside of Penelope’s room; dressed in full riot gear with what she assumed to be loaded assault rifles, all appearing to be awaiting instructions. Standing toward the back of the mass of people was Liam, who was speaking with Bastien in hushed tones. She could tell even from afar he was talking sternly; his angry demeanor instantly drew Olivia to him. Drake lingered close-by, wearing an expression of pure confusion.

Olivia approached them and inquired, “What’s going on?” 

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” Liam replied. “Did you question Penelope?”

“We were looking for her, that’s why we’re here, now.”

“But you didn’t find her?” Liam snapped, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his tone. 

“Not yet…” Leo answered as he took in Liam’s tense shoulders and ticking jaw. “Liam, what is going on?” 

Before Liam could respond, Landon interjected himself. “What is the meaning of this?!” 

Liam took a deep breath to calm himself and spoke in a calm, yet authoritative voice. “Duke Landon, I understand this may be hard for you to hear, but we have to take Penelope into custody.”

“Custody?! On what grounds?!” Landon hollered. 

Liam swallowed down the ball of anger and agitation lodged in his throat and spoke in a flat voice. “She is the prime suspect in the murder of Rhonda Floros.” Everyone’s eyes widened as their jaws hit the floor. “We will investigate further, but she has to be detained until we can–” 

“I – what?! You have no proof! This – this is an injustice!” Landon yelled as he frantically paced in front of Penelope’s door. 

Leo hesitantly spoke in a hushed manner. “Li, all we knew about was the photographer. How can you jump to that conclusion?” 

“The forensics came back and Penelope’s prints were all over the murder weapon. Her DNA was on everything else as well, but I’m focused on that knife.”

“Impossible! There has to be some kind of mistake!” Landon pleaded. 

“I’m sorry Landon, but the forensics does not lie,” Liam replied with a sad smile. “Trust me, I don’t want to believe she could have done something like this and I intend to figure it out, but we have to locate her first!"

Landon quickly stepped toward Penelope’s room and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “She is in here — I know she is; she’s sleeping. I’ll wake her up and we can figure out this mess together, because I know for certain she is innocent.” He spoke as he unlocked the door and turned the handle. He entered and flipped the switch on the wall, the area becoming illuminated. 

Liam motioned for the guards to stay outside and followed closely behind. Olivia entered next, followed by Ray. However, a stern hand on Ray’s chest halted him in the doorway. 

“You are unauthorized personnel,” Bastien snapped.  

Liam quickly intervened. “No, he’s not.” 

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, I entered his credentials myself. I know for a fact what clearances he has and doesn’t.” 

Liam stepped up to Bastien with narrowed eyes. “Poof.” He snapped his fingers. “I just gave him access. Now, step aside.” He growled through clenched teeth, the vein in his neck profusely popping out.  

To be honest, Liam was stalling until he found Ray and Olivia; the three of them were going to question Penelope together. His earlier worries about keeping his cool were well out the window; now he was simply confused. Why did she hire the photographer? Did she really kill that maid? Did Penelope know they had spoken to her? Every piece of random evidence found had Penelope’s DNA – and only hers – on it in some fashion. Although the legitimacy of the scene was still in question, her fingerprints on the murder weapon were more than enough to detain her for questioning. 

Bastien never once took his eyes off Ray during the entire interaction. Ray observed Bastien's face crack slightly and saw him swallow and clench his jaw when Liam commanded him to stop. He finally moved his hand to allow Ray entrance, but held his intent gaze for just a moment too long. Olivia watched and noted how she wasn’t stopped, nor Drake or Leo — only Ray. She couldn’t help but wonder why Bastien didn’t want him specifically there. 

Liam glanced around as he entered and saw no signs of Penelope and nothing raising any kind of alarm. He’d never been inside this room before, but to the naked eye, not a thing was out of place. However, Liam couldn’t deny the sudden chill he felt as he stepped over the threshold. His skin instantly clammed up, and his heart rate increased substantially with every tense second that passed. 

Everyone else followed behind and did the same, but Landon circled the room while frantically calling Penelope’s name, only to get no response. He ducked into the bathroom to check there, but saw no traces of his daughter. Everything appeared just as it was earlier that morning when he personally prepared everything for Penelope’s arrival.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Landon huffed as he reemerged. “She said she was coming to bed. Where else would she go? Should we contact Lady Kiara? They had grown quite close.”

Liam sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Bastien, send someone to Lady Kiara’s room to check.” His patience with this situation was dissipating. An answer was right there dangling in front of his face; he could practically taste it. Even if he had to turn the entire continent upside down, Liam was going to find Penelope and make her answer for her part in this mess — whatever that could have been. 

“Yes, sir.”

Olivia glanced at the dresser and saw a jewelry box. Something on top of it quickly caught her attention; it was a piece of paper neatly folded with the words read me written on it in red ink. Her breaths immediately stopped as she stared at it for a long moment. Goosebumps raised on her skin as she realized the penmanship was strikingly familiar.  

She slowly reached out and brought it closer; Ray noticed and came to stand beside her to see what she had found. Liam and Landon continued to speak on the other side of the room, completely unaware of their discovery. Olivia carefully unfolded the sheet and quickly scanned over the contents. As she started reading, the color suddenly drained from her face, her hands trembling, and even tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. Her mind instantly started spiraling, trying to decipher what this meant.

Olivia and Ray stood gawking at the paper in a trance for an unidentified amount of time. The sound of Landon’s thunderous voice suddenly brought both out of their dazes. “This is absurd! She did nothing wrong!” 

“I understand your frustrations but as I said before, the forensics does not lie,” Liam answered in the calmest tone he could muster. “I have questions about all of this, Landon! But one way or another her DNA was littered–”

“Bullshit! Run the tests again! Something is going on here!” 

Liam winced at Landon’s volume, but shook it off and stood to his full height. “Duke Ebrim, you’d do well to remember who you’re speaking to and watch your tone. While I understand why you’re upset, I’m only here to figure this out. If you want to clear her name, help us find her so we can speak to her!” 

Landon frantically looked throughout the room, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. At that moment, they heard a bark, followed by another softer cry; everyone suddenly stilled and an eerie silence took over, as they glanced at one another with furrowed brows. It sounded undeniably close, but there were obviously no dogs in the area. The silence in the air was deafening, but then it happened again and Landon finally pinpointed the location — the closet. It would make sense; Penelope heard the commotion and retreated in there with her poodles to hide because she was afraid. 

Landon made a bee-line for the door and wildly swung it open. He took a step back and two fluffy dogs slowly came out with their heads down, causing Landon to take a few steps back; they laid at Landon’s feet and whimpered. 

“What is it, Merlie?” Landon asked as he rubbed one of the dogs’ heads, their howls intensifying. 

The room’s air suddenly felt incredibly thick at the interaction. Liam felt physically sick to his stomach as recognition swept over him from head to toe — something was waiting for them in that closet. His hands shook at his sides, his breathing shaky and uneven as he stared into the dark, open doorway. 

Landon stepped over the poodles, who went and lay on the bed, but continued whining. As he entered, he ran a hand along the wall until he found the switch. The small area came to light, and his worst nightmare suddenly became reality right in front of his face. 

“NO!” Landon wailed at an ear-piercing volume as he dropped to his knees near the doorway. 

“What’s wrong?” Liam sought, but Landon broke into a fit of sobs and crumpled to the floor. 

Liam swallowed thickly and took a couple of cautious steps forward. Olivia suddenly appeared and tried to redirect him, but Liam was steadfast; whatever it was, he needed to see it for himself. As he got closer, he could see a chair lying on its side. His eyesight started on the floor and slowly traveled upward. He hadn’t made it very far before the color drained from his face with sweat immediately beading his brow at seeing a pair of dainty feet dangling in the air; one heel on, the other nowhere to be seen. 

Liam looked away but with a shuddered breath followed the body back up to the face, and sure enough, it was Penelope.

Landon suddenly shoved Liam out of the way. “MOVE!” He rushed over and held Penelope’s lifeless form, lifting her easily with one hand; the other quickly moving to remove the belt from around her severely bruised neck. Her limp body dropped into his arms and he cradled her to his chest as he rocked back and forth, making cries that would haunt Liam until the day he died. 

Liam regained his footing but remained cemented in place. This was it; this was their big break, but they only received more unanswered questions. Hopelessness flourished, as he saw no other solutions in sight. He felt like a mouse, mindlessly running through a maze just trying to reach the end for the reward. Penelope's testimony was that reward, but instead of finding the end of the maze, he encountered a sudden, abrupt wall.

Regardless of their actions, they faced a grim reality where a devastating setback countered every advance they made; one step forward, only to be met with two deadly steps back.

Liam suddenly couldn’t breathe; his lungs felt like fire with every rapid, hollow breath. The room started spinning, his vision hazing at a rapid rate. His heart pounded mercilessly, the sound overpowering Landon’s continuous wails filling the room. His hands flew to his chest and he stumbled backward, Leo and Drake quickly moving to catch him before he hit the floor. 

They lowered him to the ground and sat over him as Liam’s vision slowly faded out, their faces disintegrating into a pixelated, blurry image. He blinked his eyes a few times to regain himself, but found the rapidly spinning room made him nauseous. He felt Leo lightly tapping his cheeks, but when he tried to open his mouth, only an anguished cry escaped. 

Liam stared at the ceiling until the bright lights suddenly dimmed. His eyelids grew incredibly heavy until he succumbed to the weight of the world forcing them down. Darkness consumed him as he slipped into unconsciousness, a still silence overcoming his being. 

"Goddamn it," Leo grumbled to himself, as he watched Liam’s body relax. "Get a fucking ambulance! Now!" He hollered over his shoulder before his teary vision centered on his brother again. "Cummon, Li..."

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[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 19: The Wizard’s Tower

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 9k words, 19/?? chapters

Summary: After traveling through Waterdeep, you and Astarion finally arrive at Gale's tower. Introductions are made, tours are had, and the relationship between yourself and Astarion continues to remain complicated.

A/N: People seem to disagree on whether or not familiars age, but I’m going to go with “no” because Tara is already older than a Tressym’s typical life span in BG3.

Ao3 | [Ch18][Ch20] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Walking through the streets of Waterdeep ought to be faster than this. It should have only taken you an hour to get to Gale's tower, according to Astarion.

However, you're in a new city and every single wonder captures your attention, leading you to stray from your path.

"Astarion, what's that?"

"It's a shop, darling. We have those back in Baldur's Gate."

"I know it’s a shop– gods, you know what I mean!"

Despite his attempts to keep you on track, Astarion doesn’t resist your wanderlust. His hold on your hand remains strong and, with every twist you take, he's being pulled along right behind you. You stop for an odd street stall, finding all manner of knick-knacks. You marvel at a statue, standing grand in the center of a plaza. You pull to an abrupt halt, earning a disapproving grunt from Astarion, when you spot a street performer using magic.

After what must be the tenth detour, Astarion finally tugs back. “Darling, could we please focus? We’ll have time for outings while we’re here, I assure you.”

You look at him, finding his expression to be amused, even if slightly annoyed at you. “We’ll have time to explore the city?” you ask, tentatively. You don’t want to presume that he’ll join you for anything, but the fact that he said ‘we’ gives you hope.

“Yes,” he answers, tugging on your arm once more. “But only if we make it to Gale’s without missing his celebration. Otherwise, we will never hear the end of it.”

“Fine,” you say, allowing Astarion’s hand to pull you in the proper direction. “Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit nervous.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you, purses his lips some as he asks, “About meeting Gale? Whatever for?”

You avoid his gaze, focusing on the road ahead of you as you respond, “It’s odd meeting someone you’ve only ever dreamt about. I know so much about you all, but you don’t know me. He may not even recognize me. How do I approach that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion starts. You can sense an incoming joke at your expense, so you brace yourself for his next words. “Maybe something along the lines of ‘You’re the man of my dreams’, that worked wonders on me.”

You wince despite the preparation. “Excuse you, that is not what I said. Besides, I didn’t dream nearly as much about Gale. I don’t think you understand how nervous I was to meet you.”

Looking back up at Astarion, you note that he is focused, staring forward as he leads the way. Despite that, you also spot unabashed satisfaction on his face. His tone is just as self-satisfied as he replies, “I would expect no less.” Then a thought occurs to him and his tone shifts, thoughtful and a bit more reserved as he says, “Though that may have been lingering guilt, I suppose.”

Your reaction is immediate and a bit overdue. “Not at all,” you say, stopping Astarion in his tracks as you pull on his arm. "I didn't come find you out of any type of obligation or guilt. I came to find you for you. I set out before I knew anything other than… than love.”

The vampire is forced to stop, look at you and your serious poise with his full attention. He doesn’t seem to believe you, and it becomes more evident when he says, “I’m sure. Certainly explains why you and my siblings have been such fast friends.”

Astarion continues to walk, yanking you after him a bit more roughly this time. Your voice is a bit breathless as you follow in a rush, “Yes, I’ll admit that after I arrived I– I let myself get a bit carried away.” The man snorts from ahead of you. “But that was never my intention when I left Neverwinter. I just couldn’t get you out of my damned mind. You can ask my parents if you’d like.”

The line of his shoulders seems to relax a bit, but he remains focused on navigating the streets of Waterdeep, ignoring your burning gaze. After a few blocks of silence, he speaks, “What are they like?”

“Who?” Your mind has wandered by now, thinking of how, were it not for Astarion’s initial chilly reception, you may never have met with Dal in the first place. Then deciding that, no, ultimately you would always have found the spawn, one way or another.

“Your parents,” he mumbles, barely audible over the buzz of the city. “What are they like?”

Oh! He’d been so reluctant to learn about you as your own person that the question catches you by surprise. Once you collect yourself, you’re only too excited to answer. Your words come out fast, unfiltered, “Well, they’re both elves, of course. They came to live in Neverwinter after meeting through their trade. It’s how they were able to send me to the best college for the arcane arts in the city. My mother is fairly practical, logical. She didn’t want me to come all the way out here, but, erm, came around to it eventually. I suppose I get my curiosity from my father, but, even so, I think you would quite like him…”

As your words trail off, you realize that Astarion’s slowed down, listening to you. “It’s odd,” he says, turning his head back ever so slightly. A worried crease lines his brow. “I am rather more concerned with what they would think about me.”

The admission leaves you a touch speechless. At first because of the vulnerability in Astarion’s fleeting look– Then because you’re honestly not sure how to answer. It would likely be a lie to say that they would love him. Your mother especially would hold no mercy for a man as mercurial as he is. But you decide that your words need not be so severe, “I think they would grow to adore you.”

“I see,” he mutters, accepting your word choice with as much grace as you suppose he can muster.

How I wish he would meet them, you think. But that’s not something ‘friends’ do, is it? Perhaps he thinks Gale really has a chance to stop me. Given his experience, does he actually have a chance?

You don’t have much more time to consider that question because Astarion pulls to a stop before a grand set of doors. They’re made of wrought iron, engraved in runes and intricate patterns, lined with a shimmer of blue magic. You recognize the runes as teleportation runes, and given the outer facade of the building, easily surmise that this isn’t the exact location of a wizard’s tower, just an entrance.

“Is this…?” you ask.

“It is,” Astarion says, flashing you a smile. You’re not sure what the look on your face is, but he is drinking it in with glee.

It’s just past midday, and you’ve finally arrived at Gale’s doors.

Astarion releases your hand to reach the door. You’d gotten so used to moving as a singular unit, that his sudden absence leaves you a bit off-kilter, as if a part of you is missing. You can't help but flex your hand open and closed a few times to return to yourself, to return to the present.

Once he’s reached the doors, you spot a large iron knocker in the center of them: the head of a tressym in high relief, a ring set between its sharp teeth. Astarion grips the ring, knocks it against the door three times in rapid succession.

A voice comes through the tressym a moment later, and you recognize the Magic Mouth spell. Gale’s voice is cheery, exactly as you’d remembered it from your dreams, as he says, “Welcome to the tower of Archmage Dekarios. To enter, please supply the phrase that he undoubtedly provided you with. Knock thrice more for emergency assistance.”

Astarion shoots you a look, as if to say, ‘see what I must put up with?’ then clears his throat before uttering his phrase, “'For the jubilation of one magnanimous mage, I, Astarion Ancunín, am enchanted to be granted entrance.”

The iron on the doors immediately begins to shift, unlocking whatever mechanism lies behind them. Several loud clunks and thunks later, the massive doors open to a glowing blue portal.

“Does he make you say that every time you visit him?” you ask, barely holding back your laughter.

“Oh no,” Astarion replies, gesturing you forward. “It’s a different damned phrase every year. And it seems to be a torture uniquely reserved for me. Elminster simply gets different types of cheese for his phrases.”

You follow his guiding hands, stepping through the blue portal, feeling the world behind you vanish and shift in hues of blues, not unlike the teleportation circle you used to get here. As soon as your foot touches the ground before you, the inside of Gale’s tower comes into focus.

Immediately, you feel electricity in your veins– the weave is strong here. You could only dream of having your own wizard’s tower, but you know enough about them to know their basic principles. They’re often built on spots where the weave is most highly concentrated. It’s often why they’re crafted in such odd shapes, in such inconvenient locations, and built to such great heights. It’s all in an effort to amplify the magic they’re built upon. 

This tower is no different. You can’t quite tell the shape of the full tower, but the room you’re in is a semi-circle, lined with books and featuring several cozy looking couches. It’s quite possibly one of the loveliest waiting rooms you’ve ever had the chance to be welcomed in. You’re practically entranced and only vaguely register when Astarion asks from your side, “Have I lost you to the books already?”

He might have, if not for the rustling sound coming from behind you. You make an abrupt turn, only to come face to face with the man of the hour himself: Gale Dekarios steps through a set of blue, velvet curtains, wearing a set of purple robes and a gentle smile.

Unlike Halsin, who had hardly changed, only sporting a few new scars and wrinkles, or Astarion, who looks entirely unchanged, Gale looks like a new man. Or rather a very old man.

Where there was once a short, brown beard there is now a lush, wavy white beard in its place, neatly trimmed and manicured to perfection. His previously long, brown hair is white as well, carefully brushed back from his face, giving you a full view of his age-dappled features. Gale’s deep, brown eyes are as sharp as ever, surrounded by a webbing of wrinkles well-worn from a life full of joy. Your heart swells at the sight of him, looking every bit the witty sage from your memories, albeit greyer and a fair bit more lined.

You almost don’t recognize him, save that unmistakable glint in his eyes, the patient smile as he takes you and Astarion in.

Gale is the first to speak, his words aimed for Astarion, but his warm gaze falls entirely on you. “Oho, Astarion! Is this the guest you spoke of? I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised upon receiving your invitation confirmation. A guest, for the first time!”

What? you think in a sudden crack of panic. He didn’t tell him who I am?

You flash a distressed look at Astarion, who is only looking at Gale with annoyance. “Gods Gale, must you make a fuss out of everything?”

“It’s not every day that your oldest and dearest friend finds someone new worth cherishing. I was starting to grow rather fearful that you’d get old and wrinkled in your lonesome.” Gale’s smile is a bit mischievous as he turns away from you, to Astarion’s ire.

The words sound like playful jabs from Gale, but Astarion’s glower only seems to deepen. He looks just about ready to hiss like a cornered cat when you interject, “Not someone new per say. An old flame, actually.”

Astarion turns his glare to you, but it’s Gale who responds, “Phenomenal! Astarion, you sly dog, never giving even the slightest indication. When did you find each other, how long have you two been together? And how do you put up with him?”

You’ve only just entered the tower, and already the vampire looks at his wit’s end. Their friendship had always been entertaining to you when you had the chance to dream of it– they’re opposite in so many ways, alike in so many others. As such, Astarion’s flared nostrils and irritated stance come as no surprise. Neither do his clipped words as he struggles to respond to the wizard’s sudden enthusiasm, “What they meant to say is that they are– Well. They happen to be…”

His lips seem unable to say the words aloud, so you take it upon yourself to help. Stepping forward and standing tall, you look your friend and companion Gale Dekarios in the face and say, “It’s me, Gale.”

You’re not sure what you expect when you say the words. Perhaps a question, ‘who?’, or a confused, concerned look. Maybe even Astarion elbowing you in the side.

However, the wizard before you only takes a single beat. For that moment, he looks at you, with those same, familiar sharp eyes, before recognition settles in.

Then his arms are wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“My friend,” he murmurs into the hug, squeezing you tighter with a pair of ropy arms. “I can’t believe it.”

Your own arms respond in kind, crushing him back with your own youthful vigor. “I know, it’s a lot.” And it truly is– your own heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes are welling up with moisture. Astarion was your lover, but Gale? Gale has only ever been your friend. You’d saved the world together. You’d spent countless nights researching and planning together, spent even more simply enjoying each others’ company. And, unlike when you met with Halsin, you now feel so much more comfortable in your former identity. You feel comfortable claiming this hug for yourself.

Outside of your bubble of joy, you hear Astarion clear his throat pointedly. “While this is all incredibly touching, perhaps we can head into the tower before you both break each other in half?”

Gale releases you, as you do him, and you both turn to shoot daggers at Astarion. “Don’t mind him,” you say to the wizard. “He’s just jealous that it took him the longest to recognize me.”

“Of course,” Gale responds with a hearty chuckle. “Astarion has always been uniquely undiscerning when it comes to you.”

The man in question looks between you, face set in a grimace. “Gods below, I’m having the most unpleasant flashbacks.” You don’t need Detect Thoughts cast to see his thoughts written on his face. Something along the lines of, ‘This was a terrible idea.’

Gale ignores him, turning back to you in utter glee. “We have so much catching up to do!” he says, arms open wide. Then begins one of his customary rambles, “By Mystra’s grace, elves are fascinating. I knew you would reenter the Material Plane, but I had no idea it would happen so quickly. Not to mention, from my studies, elves typically don’t revisit past lives– part of ensuring that your kind continues to progress, I’ve been told. That being said, I am ecstatic that you’ve gone against the grain, my friend–”

You’re enjoying a long-lived human’s perspective on your reborn soul, but Astarion clearly doesn’t share your same sentiment. “Yes, yes,” he says, waving a hand. “Very interesting, I’m sure. However, it’s been a long couple of days, Gale. Could we please focus?” You’re reminded of when he asked you to focus on the way here and can’t help the snicker that leaves you. Astarion points an accusatory finger at you, “And you. Stop encouraging him.”

You hold up your own hands in innocence. “I’m only being a polite guest! Gale, thank you for having us.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re reminded of your past-self saying the same phrase of thanks every time you and Astarion came to visit.

“It’s my pleasure,” Gale says, his smile widening at the familiar words. “Now, could I interest you both in a drink?”

“We should drop by our lodgings first,” Astarion responds, before you can agree to a drink. “Or do you not want to deposit that enormous pack of yours?”

You blink at the vampire. The pack was growing rather annoyingly heavy, but you, again, hadn’t given much thought to your lodgings. A slight dread begins to build. “Where will we be staying?”

Gale turns around, gesturing for you both to follow. “Why one of the guest rooms, of course!”

One. You try to catch Astarion’s eye as you begin to follow Gale, any amount of his attention, any indication that he’s panicking internally as much as you are. Is he going to be comfortable sharing a room? Will we be sharing a bed?

The man’s face doesn’t react to Gale’s words– in fact, it remains utterly impassive as he says to you, “Don’t worry, darling. Despite his being a senile old man, Tara makes sure the place stays well kept.”

Tara! Gale’s familiar hadn’t appeared in your reveries often, only arriving for a spot of tea or to join you in chiding Gale to settle down. But your memories of her are fond and your question comes with a natural excitement, “Is Tara here?”

Gale takes you up a set of stairs as he responds with a cheerful look back at you, “She is out currently– procuring several items we still need for the celebration. But she should be back in no time. She shall be delighted to see you.”

His words warm you, glad that he’s had someone all these years. Then, remembering your past-self’s insistence and considering no one else showed up to welcome you, you ask Gale, “Did you ever listen to us? Find yourself a partner?”

Based on the way his shoulders hunch a bit, he slows as he continues to climb the stairs, you’re afraid you’ve delved too deep too soon. “Oh yes. Shortly after losing you, I found someone. I’m sorry you never had the chance to meet them.”

Guilt eats at your chest, knowing that he means that ‘sorry’, and wishing that he wouldn’t have to feel any regret. “I’m sorry, Gale, I shouldn’t have pried.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, continuing on briskly once more. “It was a lovely experience. But life goes on.”

You can’t help but look at Astarion as Gale says those words, wondering what he made of Gale’s lost love. What he made of Gale’s continuation after the fact. Perhaps, as two beings with lives beyond measure, their friendship evolved beyond trading barbs in the years after your death. Perhaps they could be there for each other, when everyone else passed on.

Astarion’s face betrays nothing as his red eyes meet yours in the dimly lit stairwell. “Darling?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you respond, turning back to Gale to change the subject. “I’ve only dreamt of parts of your tower, Gale. Would you be willing to give me a tour?”

“I would be overjoyed,” he says, climbing over the last step of the stairs. “Once you’ve had a moment to rest, let me know and I shall be right over.”

Following him out of the stairwell, you’re left in the curve of a hallway, several doors lining the outer wall– likely Gale’s guest rooms. “Amazing,” you say, looking left, right, up. “This tower is built in such an intricate way. What type of material did you use to ensure that the weave stayed stable?”

The wizard stops short of the first door and looks back at you. You can feel his appraising gaze, as if just taking in your robes, the spellbook at your hip, the inquisitive gleam in your eyes. “By the outer planes, are you trained in the arcane arts?”

You nod eagerly, your enthusiasm getting the better of you. “I am. I’ll confess, I was looking forward to meeting you as a scholar as well.”

The energy exchanged between you is palpable, and you sense that Gale is about to start on another lengthy diatribe about his tower, when Astarion clicks his tongue. “For the love of all that is unholy, could you two not wait until the tour?”

“Right you are, Astarion,” Gale says, smiling at you all the while. “What a fortuitous calling you’ve found, my friend. I look forward to imparting as much as I can.”

“More like a divinely ironic calling,” Astarion murmurs under his breath, pushing past Gale. “Which room is ours?”

“The third door,” the wizard responds, otherwise ignoring the man as he continues to speak to you. “It’s been a while since he’s been this prickly. He must be glad to be visiting with you again.”

“I can still hear you,” Astarion calls, as he opens the door down the hall.

You ignore Astarion as well as you respond in a quieter voice, “He’s been like that since I arrived on his doorstep. If it weren’t for my dreams of him, I’d have thought he was a prickly pear, not a man.”

The two of you share a laugh together before Gale continues down the hallway. “I apologize for before,” he says. When you only offer him a confused look, he continues, “For when I thought you were a new love of his. I truly should have known better. Astarion would have needed another half dozen centuries to get over you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but Astarion looks at you both from the doorway to your shared room. His eyes are dark, looking only at Gale, as he says, “That’s enough, Gale. Let us take a moment to unpack.”

Gale reads his friend’s expression with a patience you wish to possess someday. “I shall see you both later for a tour and some tea then?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, entering the room after Astarion. “And, thank you again, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend.” The wizard leaves you both with one last smile and a small wink, whisking off with the energy of a much younger man.

Now that you’re finally in the room, Astarion lights the lantern by the entrance and closes the door behind you. Looking into the space, you spot an armoire, a changing screen, a pair of armchairs, a couch, and then– just as you’d been afraid of, a single, large bed.

You focus your energy on keeping your voice calm, your breathing steady, even as your heart races. “So,” you start, dropping your pack on the ground and turning to face Astarion. “You didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“I told him I was bringing a guest,” is all that he says back.

“But not who I was?”

“I responded to his invitation weeks ago. It slipped my mind,” he says with a shrug.

The nonchalant look on his face is driving you mad. You’re not sure how this man can make you feel so many different emotions in one day, but by the gods does he manage it. “So you neglected to mention that we weren’t exactly lovers in your letter?” You gesture to the solitary, perfectly fluffed bed.

“Excuse me,” Astarion says, pacing to the armoire to begin unpacking his clothing. “I received enough helpful words from Dal, I didn’t want an entire speech from Gale before even arriving. Besides, it’s sharing a bed, darling. It’s not exactly the erotic act that you’re making it out to be.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” you say, disregarding his words.

“Nonsense, we’re grown elves. We can trance in the same bed without issue,” he says with an eye roll. “And if I’m such a temptation to you, why did you agree to be friends so easily?” he counters, raising an accusatory eyebrow at you. After the weeks you’ve had together, he knows full well that he’s a temptation to you. But if he thinks you’ll give him the satisfaction, then you suppose you know what you must do.

“Fine, the same bed it is. You’re the one who will suffer when I have a bad trance,” you grumble, beginning to take your items out of your pack as well.

Astarion crosses his arms, watching you as you lay out your robes. “I would hardly mind, darling. I tranced next to your past-self for years without issue.”

You suppose it’s true, though you can’t imagine what their trances were like. Your reveries of their life are the most visceral– it’s hard to imagine that they did anything but sleep peacefully. Instead, you ask another question that’s bothering you, aside from the bed, “So what are we supposed to tell Gale? That we’re… friends?”

“Naturally,” Astarion replies, sitting down in an armchair with a content sigh. “He’ll understand. It’s part of living a long life.”

You nod, continuing to unpack in silence, mind filled with thoughts of their long lives. After a few minutes, you ask Astarion another question, “Why didn’t you tell me about Gale’s former love? I might have avoided bringing it up.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, simply filled with a dejected sadness you aren’t able to stifle.

Astarion lifts his head, which had settled back in the armchair’s plush comfort. His words are solemn, honest. “Unlike the rest of our former companions, Gale is still alive. It is his story to tell, if he wishes.”

It makes sense, but you still feel the guilt of hurting him in the pit of your stomach. Not unlike the guilt you felt rehashing Astarion’s past memories. “Can you at least tell me this? How did they die?”

“Old age,” Astarion supplies. “And before you ask, no, they weren’t an elf. They won’t be popping up on his doorstep unannounced like some kind of bookish ghost.”

“He never considered extending their lifespan? There are plenty of–”

“No,” Astarion interrupts, looking at you with tired eyes. “They didn’t want that, and he respected their wishes. An extended life isn’t for the faint hearted.”

You gulp, feeling the guilt bubble up again at the question you inevitably want to ask, once more afraid of hurting Astarion. “And is that how you feel?”

“I don’t know anymore.” His words are quieter, barely loud enough for you to hear, and you can’t read his expression as his head ducks. His head is back up a moment later, a nervous little smile playing on his lips. “Well, if you have much more left to unpack, I actually meant to have a word with Gale. Shall we meet you downstairs?”

“Oh, sure,” you respond, pushing your guilt and curiosity back down. You suspect you already know what he wants to talk to Gale about. “I’ll be down shortly.”

When you do arrive downstairs shortly, neither man is present. I doubt they’ll be done any time soon, you think, beginning to poke around the room. I’ll find something to read while I wait.

That’s how you find yourself perusing through Gale’s carefully curated selection of waiting room books. And sweet hells is it curated well. It’s all you can do to keep from bouncing off the walls.

After picking up and dismissing several books, you settle on one that truly interests you. “Is this a first edition of Elameth's Compendium?” you ask no one in particular, flipping through the pages of a large, red tome. In it, the elven enchanter Elameth details a variety of magical artifacts, how to craft them, and how to dismantle them.

You’re surprised to receive a response as you flip the pages. “Oh my yes. Mr. Dekarios is quite fond of that particular compendium.”

Your head snaps up at a familiar voice, a feminine, unaffected voice, distinctly posh in its lilt. When you turn toward its source, you look down to see a small, cat-like creature peering up at you. “Tara?” you ask.

“I am she, yes,” the small, but proud creature says, tilting her head at you. “And who, may I ask, are you to be rifling through Mr. Dekarios’ books?”

She doesn’t seem mad at you, rather quite curious as her large green eyes inspect you. Will she believe you as easily as Gale did? Her eyes are staring at you so intently that your voice catches a bit as you begin to talk, “I– I am–”

“Ah, I see it now, my dear,” the tressym says, taking a few steps toward you with her feline-like gait. “No need to explain yourself. You’re Mr. Dekarios’ old friend, aren’t you? You look a tad different, but then again, so do most people that have died before.”

You blink, surprised at how little you needed to say for her to recognize you. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know?”

“A lady’s intuition, darling,” she says, lifting her head proudly a bit. “However, you also have that same air about you. Mr. Dekarios will be quite pleased to see you again.”

“We, erm, re-met each other earlier today,” you say, closing the book in your hands and turning to the tressym. “How have you been, Tara?”

“Very well, thank you for asking,” she bows her head a bit in acknowledgement. “You are far more polite than that wicked vampire you call a mate. Thank goodness you’re back, if only for that pale man’s sake.”

You laugh, vaguely recalling some of Astarion’s previous encounters with Tara. They got along about as well as two opposing felines would. “Has he been very difficult without me?”

“Oh yes,” she says, and her wings shuffle a bit in discomfort. “Nigh impossible to deal with. I don’t know how Mr. Dekarios puts up with him.”

You’re about to ask another question when her ears perk up, shoot back. “Well now, it seems like he and Mr. Dekarios are on their way to you. I am still working on preparations for the celebration, so do keep Mr. Dekarios occupied until I have need of him.”

You’d already planned on thoroughly distracting the wizard with questions about his tower and are only too happy to keep the tressym pleased. “Of course, Tara.”

She purrs a hum of approval before turning around. With a “ta-ta, darling” she leaves you waiting for the imminent arrival of Gale and Astarion.

The two arrive from behind the blue, velvet curtain less than a minute later. “Oh hello,” you say, looking at them from over the book you’d reopened.

Astarion looks to be in a better mood, though Gale looks distinctly less happy. It’s Astarion who speaks first, “Hello, darling. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

The warmth of his words comes as a bit of a surprise. You look back to Gale, who is smiling at you sadly. I see , you think. Astarion thinks Gale will convince you to leave your project be– that he can grow attached to you now because you won’t be leaving him in the lurch. No matter, you think. This changes nothing for me.

So you respond with the same enthusiasm, “Not at all! I was just looking through the excellent book selection you have, Gale.” You hold up the red tome in your hand and his expression immediately lights up once again.

“Elameth's Compendium! Why, we used that book in your prior life, don’t you remember?” he says, his crow’s feet becoming more pronounced as he smiles.

You shake your head. “Unfortunately not. I didn’t receive every memory. And admittedly…” You look at Astarion who is looking at you rather smugly, knowing exactly what you’d told him multiple times now. The smug look will certainly only get worse with your words, but you also want to discuss your memories with Gale, as the sage and scholar that he is. “Most of my reveries were about Astarion.”

At that, Gale looks between the two of you, a pensive hand stroking his beard. “Fascinating,” is all that he offers.

“Yes,” you agree, ready to provide more information, to receive any and all theories he has about you and your memories. But, of course, the subject of your memories refuses to be excluded for long.

“Maybe if your evenings researching together were less dreadfully dreary you might have dreamt of more of them,” Astarion offers with a flip of his hand. “Now, shall we begin with the tea or the tour?”

The three of you decide to begin with a tour. 

Gale leads the way, his mane of long, white hair guiding your path forward. As a tour guide, he’s clearly well practiced, describing each room in detail, explaining its purpose, and even peppering in the odd anecdote or memory from your past life.

You go through a sauna, heated with fire runes. You walk past his actual library, filled head to toe with books of all kinds. You drop by his study, and its sweet scent of ink trails after you. An astronomy room, a storage room, a dining room, a sitting room– you begin to wonder how tall this tower truly is from its exterior. Gale explains that he’s had to renovate a few dozen times over the years, to ensure that the tower’s magic remains stable. As such, rooms come and go with a few, necessary exceptions.

Even among all of these extraordinary rooms, a few stand out to you, clear gems in the wizard's remarkable living space.

“This is the alchemy room, where I grow plants and create my various concoctions! I’m quite proud to say that you’ll find some plants that grow even on the other side of Faerûn. I’ve created many an interesting tonic– I’d exercise some caution if you find yourself in here. Why one time…” He trails off into a story about how Tara turned purple for a week. She was not amused, apparently.

“And this is the experimentation room, where I bring anything that may be dangerous to test. There are a variety of different materials for me to test spells and artifacts on, and the room is warded with a wide assortment of protection wards to make sure that the rest of the tower is unaffected. It certainly is helpful when it comes to any errant magic, wouldn’t you say Astarion?” The look Astarion shoots him is that of a man who has seen one too many Fireballs in his life.

“Now this is the enchanting room, where I create magical artifacts. Now this includes your customary garden-variety fare, but I do have the opportunity to create a few rarer objects, such as the sunlight rings that I craft for the spawn. You'll find that I boast all types of spell components and even have a few specialized work benches, infused with various magical properties.”

You want to stay in this room for hours, you want to look through each and every book, peruse the shelves, test out the recipes that are strewn about the place. But you hold back, merely asking Gale a few questions about where he sources his materials, whether or not he had a bench for each school of magic, and how long it took to create a sunlight ring.

Easier questions answered, you eventually ask him, “Is this where we worked on our ring designs together?”

Gale takes a quick glance at Astarion before nodding. “Yes, precisely. That’s exactly the type of thing we used to work on.”

You elect to ignore his word choice, pressing on, “I had a dream about that just last night. We’d settled on a ring made of silver, it had slotting for an inlay along its edge.”

Recognition passes over Gale’s eyes before he bows his head wearily. “One of the last times we spoke. That was our most promising candidate.”

You already know that much. Despite the way Astarion’s eyes tighten around the corners, the way that Gale’s sadness creases his mouth around his beard, you continue, “I had an idea I would love to speak to you about. Would you have time before your birthday festivities?”

The wizard’s head lifts back up, the sadness reaching his eyes now. “I think it’s best if we leave that part of our past behind us, wouldn’t you say?”

Luckily, you’d prepared for such a response, expecting it. From your memories, from understanding who he is, what Astarion might have said to him, you think you know just what to say. “I wouldn’t. At least, not until I figure out one last thing. I have memories of the necromancer’s notes. Untouched, unbloodied, but undeciphered. I just need someone to delve into my mind and pull them out. If it amounts to nothing, well, maybe I could move on. But a wizard once told me, my intuition has rarely led us astray.”

Neither of your companions say anything to this, but you can tell see the wheels turning in Gale’s mind. He’d tried, just as you had, to remove the blood from the notes. He’d attempted, just as you had, to decipher what was left. Here you were, offering him the key to a century and a half’s mystery. He’d be remiss to not take you up on it. 

Astarion, for his part, is simply looking at you. His red eyes seem to glow in the enchanting room’s magical lighting. You wonder if he believes you, that this will be your final attempt to try, that you would leave it be if it amounted to nothing.

I just know it will amount to something though, you think to yourself. I refuse to let it lead nowhere, not when I feel so close.

Gale interrupts your thoughts. “Well, I shall have a think on it and let you know later. For now, let me show you both to our last stop: the kitchen! Where we can also enjoy a lovely, little morsel and a cup or two of tea.”

Musings pushed aside for now, the three of you head to the kitchens for a late lunch. With all of Gale’s commentary, Astarion’s snarky interjections, and your own questions, the tour ended up being quite a few hours. You’re ravenous by the time the tea kettle rings and Gale shuffles about his kitchen preparing an afternoon meal for you all.

“Do you need any help, Gale?” you ask, scooting your chair back, ready to get up and join the wizard as he flits back and forth.

“No need, my friend. You are a guest after all,” he assures you, with a wave. A blue, spectral hand floats behind him, opening and closing doors for him as he artfully arranges what seems to be a hearty assortment of various meats and cheeses. “I may have aged a touch, but I assure you that I am every bit the gourmet chef I have always been.”

“Right,” Astarion mutters under his breath. “Every bit as capable of giving an entire adventuring party food poisoning.”

You chuckle at Astarion’s comment, only to recall that Astarion hasn’t had a real basis for Gale’s food since his early days of pretending not to be a vampire. Since then, his main diet has consisted of blood and wine, which you haven’t seen him partake in in over a week. “Aren’t you hungry?” you whisper to the man, leaning over to him in the event that Gale shouldn’t overhear.

His red eyes meet yours, and, as always, you can see the underlying hunger in them. It’s fruitless to ask, you realize. He’ll always be hungry. 

“I’m managing. Don’t you worry about me– Focus on getting your noisy stomach to quiet down.” He shoots you a wry smile, but you can’t help but worry regardless.

“Fine, but once that’s quieted, I will be bothering you again,” you say, pointing a finger at him menacingly.

“What’s this about noisy stomachs?” Gale asks, walking over with a plate stacked full of meats, cheeses, smears, breads, and assorted fruits. Far too much food for the two of you who could eat it– Perhaps more than would feed you for a week. “Why, I have just the remedy.”

The three of you, well Gale and yourself, enjoy the feast he’s prepared for you, chattering all the while about the various things you’ve seen in his tower, what he’s gotten up to in the last hundred and fifty years, and your life back in Neverwinter. You’re surprised when even Astarion chimes in with his own questions about your current life.

You learn about Gale’s latest research. They learn about your time at the arcane college in Neverwinter. Collectively, you reminisce about times that you’ve only witnessed through dreams. 

Together you have a pleasant afternoon, one that quickly turns into evening as you continue to chat. The entire conversation and atmosphere bring about a warmth you’d missed in your ‘normal’ life. Seated at Gale’s round kitchen table like this, you can almost pretend that this is your life. Perhaps it is now.

It’s only after a small “Ahem, ahem” interrupts Gale’s latest recounting of a particularly explosive application of the Weave that you all realize how late it’s gotten. “Mr. Dekarios, I’m glad that you and your friend have gotten reacquainted, but I am afraid I require your assistance in the dining room.”

“Tara! Of course, I shall pop right on over.” Gale turns to you and Astarion, smiling at you both in turn. “Well, my friends. It seems I’m needed for the party preparations. I hope you don’t mind my absence.”

“Not at all, Gale,” you respond, bowing your head in acknowledgement. “Hosting is plenty of work without my showing up here unaccounted for.”

“Nonsense!” Gale cries, standing up from his chair with a few creaking bones. “Why this may be the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

His words sound so genuine, his smile so sincere, that you nearly miss what he’s said. A birthday present. Oh gods, I need to get him a present. “Say, Gale,” you say, catching his attention before he leaves. “When is the party proper?”

“Oh, right.” He gives a lighthearted chuckle, looking at Astarion as he does so. “You’ll forgive me for the befuddling schedule– it’s the only way I can ensure Astarion actually shows up on time. You know how he likes to avoid people.”

“Not to worry, I understand.” You snicker, only to earn an indignant elbow from Astarion. 

Gale looks between you two knowingly, and you feel your face flush under his sympathetic eyes. “Well, let’s see…” The man begins a countdown on his fingers. “Including tonight, the party is in five nights.”

“Oh!” you breath out, surprised. Plenty of time to explore the city, to hopefully speak to Gale, and, most importantly, acquire a present for him. “Sounds lovely. Thank you, Gale.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “I shall see you two on the morrow then.” Gale gives you both one last wink before following Tara out of the kitchen.

That’s how you and Astarion are left alone once more. The silence that settles between you is all at once easy and yet deeply uncomfortable. You want to fill it with something, but what can you say? That you know he wants Gale to dissuade you from your goals? That you haven’t known a peace like this in your entire lifetime and you’re afraid it isn’t meant to be yours?

Whatever it is, you need to say something, to fill the silence. You turn toward him in your seat and begin, “Astarion–”

“Darling, I–”

You both stop before you start, realizing that you’re interrupting each other. You’re the first to collect your bearings. “Go ahead, Astarion.”

He smiles at you and the tenderness in his eyes is difficult to miss, catching you off guard. “I just wanted to thank you.” When you only offer him a puzzled look, he elaborates, “For coming with me. I know it was a bit of a gamble for you after, well, everything. But this is already proving to be more… tolerable, than most years.”

His words spark a tingle in your chest, cause a warmth to bloom on your cheeks. It’s a compliment of sorts, and one that you weren’t expecting to receive. Given his sullen attitude and snarky comments, you’d expected a half-sarcastic, ‘This has been riveting.’

But the man never fails to surprise you. So you’re left speechless, nodding at his thanks, unsure of how to accept them.

“Now, what had you wanted to say, darling?” he asks, expression back in a confident mask, as if his words hadn’t just blanketed you in a deluge of emotions.

What had you meant to say? Right. You had wanted to fill in the silence, which seems almost banal in the wake of his sincere thanks. You comb through your own thoughts as quickly as you can, trying to find a reason to speak, to answer his expectant gaze.

“Would you like some blood?”

He blinks at you and you blink back, as if neither of you had expected you to say this. His response comes a moment later, a bit guarded, “I suppose I could use a snack. But with all of the day’s travel and your rather delicate constitution, are we sure that’s the best idea, darling?”

It may not have been your first or most pressing thought, but now that you’ve said it, you realize that feeding him is still quite important to you. So you press on. “I’ll be fine. It’s plenty late and I’ll be able to sleep off any ill effects,” you assure him.

“In that case, perhaps we first head back to our room? That way I won’t have to carry your limp body up several flights of stairs.” His use of ‘our’, his quick acceptance of your offer, it all feels so surreal. Maybe that’s what friendship means to him, but it’s sending you and your body mixed signals.

Either way, you agree without argument, and you both head back to your shared quarters.

Once you’re standing in the center of the room, you ask, “Where would you like me?” 

Astarion raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. “Oh, you absolute fiend. Here I was, thinking that a bite on the wrist was already quite intimate.”

“Astarion,” you chide, ignoring the way his low, sultry voice sets your skin alight. “I meant, would you prefer the bed, the couch, maybe a chair?”

“How dull, darling. The bed then,” he says, gesturing toward the yet untouched plush, blue bedding. 

You follow his direction and sit on the bed. After taking a quick breath, you get to work, rolling up the sleeve of your robe for him and exposing the tender flesh of your wrist to him. “Here you are,” you say, holding out your wrist to him as he takes a spot next to you.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking hold of your wrist, angling it back and forth between his cold fingers, as if trying to find just the right spot to bite.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, after the third rotation.

“It’s nothing, dear,” he says, fingers trailing the line of veins extending from your wrist. With his soft touch shocking your brain into submission, you barely register his words as he continues, “I was thinking, perhaps, I might need to bite a bit more carefully to keep you from growing faint again. I’m afraid I had rather gotten used to biting that delectable neck in your past-life.”

You gulp and you’re certain that the sound is audible to you both. “Is that so? Would you… prefer a neck?”

“Don’t you worry your lovely little head, darling,” he says, bending his head over your wrist. “I shall manage.”

You’re about to protest, to insist that he’s allowed to bite your neck, even as your heart pounds brutally in your chest at the thought– but his fangs sink in before a word can escape your lips and you’re left huffing out a small sigh.

Astarion’s lips smile against your wrist, and, were it not for the kind consideration he’d just shown you, you may have smacked him on his beautiful silver head for it.

Much like the previous times he’s had a nibble, his seemingly involuntary hums are more the source of your lightheadedness than anything else. The deep rumble that sounds from his chest sends your heart into a frenzied rhythm that your blood just can’t appear to keep up with.

Calm down, you think, imagining images of still water, light breezes, soft cats. Calm down or you will fall back again. Nothing seems to be working to quiet your pounding heart and, as you look at the angle of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek, you can feel your breath catching, your vision blurring.

No, you repeat to yourself. He will starve himself if it means you don’t get injured, keep yourself together. You’re startled by how accurate the thought sounds to your own mind. You knew he cared about you, but had you ever really sat down and understood the depth of it? However, you don’t have time to think about the implications of his concern because your world is beginning to spin.

Breathe, you command of yourself. You take a deep breath. 

Another, you think, and you feel your eyes start to focus as fresh air enters your body. 

Two large breaths later and you’re feeling significantly better– your heart is still racing, but the room has stilled and your body feels your own again. Just in time too, as you feel Astarion take one last drink from your veins, remove his fangs, and breathe a sigh of bliss onto your skin. 

When he pulls back to look at you, the flush on his face, the pink on his ears is still somehow worth the miserable feeling of blood loss. “So darling,” he says, licking his blood-stained lips. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine,” you say, smiling at him with the best, least exhausted grin you can manage. Certainly better than you have after your previous feedings. “Though I do think it is your fault that I feel faint sometimes.”

“Really?” Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Well,” you start, not sure how to approach the issue with him, but needing to tell him all the same. “I think it’s the noises you make while you feed. My heart just, erm, panics a bit.”

Astarion looks at you with a blank expression. “Noises?”

Ah, so they are involuntary. “Yes, the mmm’s and the hmm’s and the–”

“Stop that.” Astarion raises a hand up to your face, placing it over your mouth. When you look toward him to see what could be the matter, you see that a blush covers his cheeks, that the tips of his ears have turned a deep red. “I– I thought I’d stopped doing that years ago.”

It’s as if time stills. You struggle with your confused, nervous thoughts as you register his embarrassment, the words he’s said.

Astarion is blushing, your brain thinks.

Of course, the rational part of you counters. He’s just fed, he’s going to have some blood in his system for a while.

But he’s blushing because of something I said, you supply.

Your mind goes blank at the thought.

You’re grateful that you can’t reply to Astarion, not with his hand over your mouth, because you’re not certain what is liable to come out of it at the moment. 

Luckily, Astarion continues to speak, not releasing your face, “Well, I apologize for the noises. I’ll try to control that. In the meanwhile, why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day.”

You nod into his hand, after which he removes it from your mouth. His face continues to have a touch of pink, and his eyes refuse to meet yours. You can hardly be bothered by it, because the only things running in circles in your mind are the feel of Astarion’s hand on your face, the sight of his perfectly blushed cheeks, and the fact that, somehow, despite everything, he still cares about your well-being.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You end up having to take a quick bath to clear your mind, and you both get ready for bed separately. However, at the end of the day, you both wind up in the same, immense bed after all is said and done.

You thought that maybe something big would happen. Perhaps that he would recoil from you. Or worse, grab onto you. Maybe that the earth would open up and swallow you both. But nothing of the sort happens.

You both simply lay down, tuck yourselves in a variety of soft blankets, rest your heads on the best down pillows magic can conjure, and remain several feet apart on the massive bed.

Much like last night, Astarion puts out the lantern next to the bed and whispers to you, “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

There’s simply no way that your reverie will take you tonight, of that you’re sure. You’re convinced of it, because all you can hear is the pounding of your heart, the muffled breath you take when you try to be quiet. But eventually, against all odds, your trance does overtake you.

That night as you enter your reverie, you blink your eyes open to a familiar inn.

Again, the establishment is dead, not a soul in sight in this remote village. And, as always, the innkeep reaches down into their front desk, pulling out another book.

It looks to be a book that they’ve already started– a bookmark is placed about halfway through its pages. The cover is mostly plain, a black leather with a large tower embossed in the center. In the smallest script you catch the title before they open the book, “The Midnight Tower and its Master.”

The innkeep flips open to their current page and begins to read… 

When you wake up from your reverie a few hours later, you sit up with a gasp, a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

Next to you, Astarion stirs, looking at you with a drowsy concern. “Darling, are you alright?”

“I–I’m fine,” you say, taking several deep breaths. “I dreamt of the tower.”

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

Mika's basic writing tips

I wrote a bunch of these at ~12:30 AM last night, so my apologies if they are hard to understand.

Will reblog with more writing tips that come to mind! these are just starters.

One!! usage of paragraphs. I have no doubt that all of you know how to use paragraphs,  punctuation, capitalization, etc, but let me tell you. I am in a creative writing class and I have had to read more walls of text than normal. it should be classified as a form of torture.

Adding onto the last point, to clarify on punctuation; do not use commas and periods for everything. Do not limit exclamation points to just displaying positivity, as they can be used to convey yelling/screaming, alongside the positive things. I don't use exclamation points a lot in my writing because it never feels fitting; but depending on the scenery and the personality of your character, it will work.

Two!! Get into character; pretend you are that character. If they're angry, dig your heels into the ground and think of anything and everything that makes you grind your teeth. Focus on how your heart beats in that moment of rage, focus on how your mind swirls and all thoughts become bitter, focus on how your nails dig into your palms. The same goes for if they're sad; think of a memory that hurts, or think of a time you felt sad, and recognize how you felt in that moment. How you felt hopeless, how you felt burnt out, how you felt like you weren't good enough. Writing is a great way to get out feelings such as these, because you're able to use both your own and other people's characters to vent. 

It is okay to not be okay, and it is okay to write about not being okay.

Three! Have fun with writing fanfiction. Of course, don't stray so far from canon that the characters are basically ocs, but you can incorporate headcanons and project onto that. In some of my own fanfiction, which I rarely share here, I use headcanons to expand on a character's personality if they barely get any screen time. For characters like those, everyone will have their own interpretation.

It's okay to have fun. You don't have to stick to just aus or just scenarios from canon. Mix and match. Put AU versions of characters into scenarios from canon! And vice versa.

Four! Writing bizarre and nonsensical things can help improve your writing. I wrote a story about a chair named Harold for my aforementioned creative writing class, and it helped me recognize how to reference things vaguely, as well as helped me figure out how a chair might feel about the going ons around him.

Five!! Do your due diligence when handling sensitive topics. Research it; maybe there's threads on reddit of people talking about their experiences, maybe there's tips on tumblr, maybe there's an influencer talking about how that specific thing affected them. Listen closely to those stories. However, you must also keep in mind that not everyone will handle things the same. 

If someone is in a life threatening situation, they have three options: Fight, flight, freeze. Depending on the type of character you are writing about, they may fit into one of these categories. Or maybe they'll begin in one category as the moment starts, only to switch to another as it continues.

The same goes for writing about medical scenes and wounds; some people will learn things from fictional works. Sometimes it's life lessons, but having things like proper wound treatment can help inform the reader as to how they should handle a potentially life-threatening situation. If you have a possible surgery scene, perhaps there'll be a reader who has an upcoming surgery, and reading about a character they like also getting one, with accurate details, will help soothe their nerves.

It's also helpful to have proper research when writing about physical and mental disabilities. There are a lot of stigmas and, if research is not done, you risk feeding into said stigmas. It is another story, however, if you have the physical/mental disability you are writing about, because you know your own experience. You have firsthand experience.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Day Zero | Kensei Muguruma x Reader |

author's note: i want him 🤷‍♀️

pairing: kensei muguruma x fem!reader

warnings: takes place during turn back the pendulum, canon-typical violence, light angst, comfort, established relationship

"Missing souls?" Your stare down with your much taller husband is fierce, despite his weariness and lack of time to do anything but gather his things and maybe even get a quick kiss before he goes on his mission.

"So you do know how to listen to me." He murmurs, avoiding answering any further questions that he really shouldn't be answering. You're his former lieutenant, not an active member of the Gotei 13 as a result of it, so you hold no official title to mark any claim on top-secret information.

But you're also his wife, and there's a very different fine line to cross when it comes to these situations. A happy wife equals happy life even in Soul Society.

"And why are you the one that has to do this??"

"You were a Shinigami once. You already know the answers to all the questions you're going to ask me!" Irritation bubbles beneath his skin, as his temper is quick to flare up as usual. But it simmers down just as quickly: you're just worried about him, as a good wife should be for her husband.

He sees the fear flickering in your eyes and takes your hand with exceedingly gentle care. "You trusted me more before we got married, I think."

"Souls didn't go missing when I was your lieutenant." You allow your husband's kiss to your palm, flicking away a stray hair from his eyes as he presses another to your soft skin. "Let me come with you."

"No can do." Kensei mutters. "If you were active duty, I would let you. This is a high level threat, and as out of practice as you are—"

"As long as my blade can cut anything or anyone, I can fight!" Your lips curl in a snarl and your husband feels your ire behind the smack against his chest. "Mind you, I only retired so I could marry you, bastard! I could be a captain now, if not for that!"

"And the significance is not lost on me!" Kensei circles your wrists easily with his long fingers, holding them tightly enough to your sides that you can't lash out again with ease. "I know what you did for me, for us. And we can have this argument later, for as long as you like. I have to go now."

The desire to argue burns your bones, if only for the sake of keeping him home just a bit longer. Souls don't just go missing! But his decision is final: you're not a Shinigami anymore, and thus you have no place in such a dangerous mission. It's your heart and your worry that compels you to tag along rather than anything close to a sense of duty, and such things wouldn't be recognized as a good reason to intrude on a mission by the head of the Gotei 13.

"Fine. Stay alive, otherwise you'll wish your soul had gone missing."

Kensei can't help but smile for you and lean in for your kiss. He claims they bring him good fortune, and while you see through such a bad excuse for his wife's love, this time you actually do kiss him with a sense of good luck behind it.

Sleep never comes easy when Kensei is away, but this time is different. It hasn't come at all, and your zanpakutō calls for you relentlessly as it nears an hour past midnight. Your husband's word lingers in your mind, an all-too annoying reminder that he was once your captain and in charge of you and as your husband, he still relatively holds that sort of power. Your Kensei is rarely wrong about these decisions, but this time…

He's dead wrong.

In a flash, you're wearing your old Shihakushō and your dear blade is buzzing with excitement as adrenaline rushes your veins. The moonlight is cold, chilling your bones just as much as the ugly scream that resembles only one sort of monster as you follow what feels like Kensei's Spiritual Pressure to the same area those previous souls were lost.

The group around it, made up of a rather odd pairing of individuals, ponder what exactly is going on with only a little bit of surprise at your approach. Captain Hirako gazes at you expectantly, eyes dark as he holds a wounded Hiyori at his side.

"Lieutenant." His joke holds no mirth, though he's certainly happier to see you here than not.

Praying that your voice doesn't shake as the overwhelming, imposing Spiritual Pressure looms over the area, you speak to the captain of the 5th Division with only one goal in mind."Where's Kensei?"

"You don't need me to tell you that, do you?"

There's another ugly, horrifying scream and as Shinji raises his blade to defend you, all whilst still holding the 12th Division's lieutenant, your impressive speed and decisiveness has already struck out and blocked the attack yourself. A mask covers his face, but there's far too much left, even with this transformation, for your dear husband to be unrecognizable.

"He should've let me come with." Your husband's strength is much more powerful now as he pushes against your blade, and certainly the Hollow before you doesn't intend to pull punches against his own wife. "Where's Mashiro?!"

Another Hallowed scream and the sounds of swinging blades and bursts of Kidō answer the question for you, and Kensei quickly overpowers your hold and kicks you squarely in the stomach, the agonizing feeling of your lower ribs cracking leaving you nauseated. Air harshly escapes your lungs and the cold ground beneath your back doesn't soothe anything as the Hollowfied man you married looms over you, the mask on his face betraying absolutely nothing even in the face of the one he's loved for a hundred years.

"Kensei…" Coughs splutter out as Love, yet another captain that's been caught in this mess, swoops in to pull you to safety just before Kensei destroys the ground you laid on with a single, all-powerful punch that reduces it to nothing.

"Attacking his own wife?" Rose responds with a swift blast of Kidō, anger evident as his brows knit together. "The Captain I know is far above something so scummy."

"It's not his fault." Your murmur of defense falls short: of course your husband would never lay harm to you, or to any woman. But this is no longer your husband, you determine as Hachi binds him with the strongest thing he can: Bakudō #99. Kin.

Kensei is pinned with ease, officially down and out now. The sight of the mask on his face, covering the sharp jaw and the warm eyes of the man you've spent countless decades with, makes your stomach turn with relentless nausea. He's a Hollow, and there's but one thing Shinigami are known for.

Clutching the hilt of your zanpakutō, you release it from its scabbard to the surprise of those around you. "Sharpen—"

"No!" Shinji's sword clashes with your own. "Do not kill your own husband."

"What do you presume we do?!" You growl, sneering right in the face of a revered captain without a care in the world. Kensei would be distraught at the sight, but not anymore than he'd hate himself for what's happening now. "He's not Kensei anymore!" Despite the strength you put on, doing your best to mimic your husband's usual demeanor, the breaking of your voice is heard clearly.

"We will find a way to save him." Shinji's promise is hardly heard before an inky darkness surrounds everyone on the battlefield, and you fall to your knees before your restrained, Hollowfied husband.

The last thing you see before nothing is the mask that covers your husband's face, and fruitlessly, you reach out to touch it.

There's far too much light as you come to, with a mix of murmured voices doing their best to remain quiet while ultimately failing to do so. The air around you is different— This isn't Soul Society.

Thin blankets fall as you shoot out of the bed and reach for your zanpakutō, but the dizziness sends you into a wall instead. How long have you been unconscious? What happened after Kensei was restrained?

The sliding door to the room opens and your vision clears as the room stops spinning around you. His voice is deep and his arms look strong, and that handsome face cracks a little amused smirk at the rare sight of you being caught off-guard.

"You're noisy."

"K-Kensei!" Your body feels odd and there are plenty of questions to raise, but damn does none of it matter more than making it across the room and tackling your dear husband in a tearful fit.

"Oof!" Kensei's arms encircle your frame, taking the brunt of the impact as his back hits squarely against the wall. "Control your strength!"

"Bastard!" His tank top is soon drenched in your tears and you're in Kensei's arms fully as he picks you up and encompasses you both in the thin walls of privacy your temporary bedroom provides.

He settles at the end of the bed, wiping your fretful tears away as best as he can once he's placed you beside him. "Crybaby… What do you remember?"

"You… As a Hollow."

Kensei sighs grimly. "In Soul Society?"

"Yes? What's going on, Kensei? My body feels strange— No, it's not just me… The world feels strange. Where are we?"

"In The World of the Living." Your husband murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. "We're in exile."

Flashes of the recent days come to life as Kensei explains further, his story no doubt the truth as your memory recovers. Captains and lieutenants alike, Hollowfied and cursed with such monstrous forms that give an inexplicable boost of strength and speed. Ousted from Soul Society and left to meander in this world you've sworn to protect…

"Are we Hollows?" The shaky whisper matches your unstable core, the feeling of something there that wasn't there before putting you on edge. You remember a fight in the same plane of existence your zanpakutō lives on, scratching and clawing and forcing your way to the autonomy you've always had until after what felt like weeks, you emerged with the victory.

"Urahara tried to undo what was done, to no avail. We're not Hollows… Entirely, at least."

"So what do we do?" You murmur, hands eagerly clutching his tank top as his warm arms come around you once more.

Kensei's lips find your forehead, a soft, lingering kiss saving him from a question he can't answer right now. He supposes the real answer is to just simply survive— even with Kisuke and Yoruichi's help, there's nothing guaranteeing that Soul Society won't come to finish the job. Or rather, there's nothing explicitly stopping Aizen from making sure those who know his true self take their information to the grave.

"So… You came to the battlefield." Your husband murmurs against your skin, no sense of anger or mirth alike in his tone.

"I did."

"I know you know how to listen to me." His deep chuckle dispels any ideals that he may be less than pleased with your insubordination, given your current situation would be far different had you remained home that night.

"You like a brat." Your teasing falls flat and silence fills the gap between you, the sounds of Shinji and Hiyori arguing in the other room preventing it from becoming too quiet.

Never one to mince his words, Kensei murmurs in a soft tone. "Is it true that you raised your blade to kill me?"

Your lips turn to a frown. Why the hell did Shinji tell him that? "I did. Are you upset?"

Kensei's arms squeeze tightly around you, encompassing you in his warmth and desperation for his wife's love. "You should've been faster. You were hurt because of me."

"Not you. The Hollow." Your arms hold your husband as tightly as he holds you, the scent of soap pleasing your senses as your husband accepts forgiveness.

"I'm sorry." There's an edge to his voice, a hoarseness you don't often hear from him; he's always been strong, so put together and brave that it's a tad frightening to hear him on the verge of tears.

"I forgive you. Will that help you forgive yourself?"

A smile pulls at your lips as you're pulled closer to Kensei, so impossibly close to his strong, scorching body that your arms loop around, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek before gazing out of the window as the sunlight rises. The world is upside down now and the future is more uncertain now than it was back when you were caught between a career or a love life, but the laugh bubbling up comes anyway.

You've at least got one helluva trump card for the next time you blatantly ignore Kensei's command.

"And no…" Kensei murmurs against the flesh of your neck, nuzzling in comfortably. "Being right once doesn't mean you can defy orders."

We'll certainly see about that!

[egg-emperor]

Game canon Eggman is pure evil y'all, rest assured to my fellow evil Eggman enjoyers. He's never acted for any reason that wasn't fueled by his evil/selfish intentions. I've carefully analyzed him in all of his scenes for hours and hours for years and years. I don't need to theorize, speculate, or insist on personal interpretations to get to this conclusion because I specifically go by what the games tell and show me undeniably.

I analyze very literally, not abstract or based on how I feel about it, only literally what I can see and hear. I feel this avoids a lot of unnecessary confusion and complication and it can actually be this way and yet still have a lot of depth to it to explore despite this. I don't see appeal in straying too far with the what ifs rather than the literals that are deliberately blatantly presented because the former is when bias can seep in.

But I know some probably think, "If you think I'm biased because I don't like pure evil Eggman so I don't want to see him as such, why aren't you biased for not liking less than pure evil Eggman? What if you're just seeing what you want to see?" But with the way I only go by what's blatantly there to see and hear in the games themselves in bold explicit forms, I feel I avoid any chance of bias.

I don't like to admit this but when I was younger, I had some incorrect interpretations about Eggman. Yes, even me. XD I never thought he was this completely good and caring guy but I definitely didn't have the most accurate understanding of who he was, how he'd act in certain situations, and what he is or isn't likely to say or do. A lot of my own personal biases at the time were to blame.

Years of heavy studying and analysis got me to where I am now. And I realized he said or did the exact opposite in the games to what I thought he'd do or wrote in my silly private fanfics back then. So I started to look at him neutral and unbiased, without expecting or wanting anything specific and letting it influence my perception. Only exactly what I could hear him say and see him do instead.

I rebuilt my understanding into what it is now and ever since, it has stayed completely consistent. Every new piece of media just reaffirms it or gives me new stuff to add that tracks and doesn't contradict the old in the slightest. I'm still having new revelations, discoveries and eyes opened to new things about him but they only further prove, develop, and strengthen my understanding now.

This was all done by me just shutting off these biased parts of my mind and letting the game canon show me who he was, not by my own personal desires and influences. Then I realized I was such a big fan of what I understood him to be, all of my desires turned into loving game canon Eggman for exactly who he was and wanting him to stay the funny pure evil bastard he is. And he does! 💜

But yeah because of that, even though my old perception years ago certainly wasn't the same level as those that spread misinformation of him being way nicer, softer, and morally good than he is in the games, I know what it's like for bias to influence me in some ways. And those little things I believed then are far different from what I know now, so this isn't an example of me being biased lol

I'm very happy that I came to fully recognize, embrace, and appreciate his funny but very much pure evil self! And one of the main goals of my blog besides expressing my passion, is to help people learn more about him and understand him too because I swear, your enjoyment and appreciation of him can grow so much stronger when you do. I love when I'm told I've helped with that!

But if you really don't like that he's pure evil because it makes you uncomfortable, that's fine. But there's a difference between not wanting to see it because you don't like it and what happens in the games. And if you don't like game canon Eggman like that, I have a lot of respect for you if you admit that and just do something different in your fan stuff, without claiming it to be fact.

But game canon Eggman canonically being a funny silly but very evil and threatening bastard man personally fills me with immense joy and it's why I adore him so much. It's endless fun and entertainment! 🥰💜

[novafire-is-thinking]

(If you're still doing the headcanons) Chromedome?

Headcanon A: realistic

Sometimes, Chromedome’s old conjunxes show up in his dreams. They repeatedly show up in small roles, but he fails to recognize them even though they feel oddly familiar.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Back in the day, Chromedome used to carry around a dart gun with him; he would shoot Prowl every time he was annoyed or just wanted to be annoying.

Prowl would sometimes walk around with stray suction darts in hard-to-see places, and wouldn’t realize it until someone pointed it out or laughed and pointed at him.

Soon, Chromedome was getting the same treatment by Prowl’s personal dart gun. lol

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

After Rewind’s death, Chromedome gradually isolates himself from everyone. Eventually, he disappears, and no one can find him.

One day, Prowl receives a message. It’s Chromedome, who explains that his health is declining. All those years of mnemosurgery are catching up to him, and his mind is failing.

CD doesn’t say it outright, but he wants Prowl to be there for him until the end. Does he still hate him? Of course. But that’s the point: he doesn’t want anyone important to him to witness him slowly losing his mind. He’s counting on Prowl to feel just sentimental enough to come to his aid, yet detached enough that he won’t fall apart when the inevitable happens.

Remarkably, Prowl shows up—ready to be there for Chromedome.

Old hurts inevitably rise to the surface. They fight. They laugh. They fight again. Chromedome kicks Prowl out a few times.

But Prowl keeps coming back.

Eventually, Chromedome’s condition declines to the point where he’s nearly catatonic, and can’t tell the difference between reality, his personal memories, and acquired memories. Prowl can no longer leave CD alone.

Prowl does his best to keep Chromedome comfortable. He ends up confessing the majority of his crimes to Chromedome, since CD can’t tell the difference between reality and memory anymore.

One night, during a final moment of lucidity, Chromedome types up a note to Prowl while he’s asleep.

The next morning, Prowl wakes up and finds the note on a datapad under Chromedome’s lifeless hand:

“Nice stories, asshole.

You were my favorite person to hate all these years.

Good luck.”

Prowl saves the note. He personally oversees the removal of CD’s body and registers the death. Chromedome is buried next to Rewind. There’s no funeral; just Prowl saying his goodbyes.

The only way anyone else from CD’s past finds out about his passing is by doing a search on Cybertron’s death record database or by visiting Rewind’s grave. After the shock wears off, they wonder what happened and how he spent his last days.

Prowl tells no one. He takes the secret to his grave.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Chromedome Tumbler once looked up to Pharma.

In fact, judging from the fact that Tumbler wasn’t bothered by Prowl’s arrogance, bluntness, and know-it-all attitude, I’m going to say that, at the time, he got along with Pharma better than anyone else (besides Ratchet). After all, JRo made it a point to show Pharma addressing him by name at least once.

Happy to have someone who did more than tolerate his presence out of politeness, Pharma would take the time to listen to Tumbler. Amongst other things, Tumbler would talk about the latest developments in mnemosurgery. Trepan certainly wasn’t going to share any of that.

Tumbler discovered that if someone gained Pharma’s respect or fondness, the doc was weirdly good at giving advice, or at least saying things that could be translated to helpful advice. In fact, Pharma was the one to give Tumbler the final push needed to leave the New Institute.

While recovering from his run-in with Overlord, in a moment of vulnerability, Tumbler confessed to Pharma that his spark was no longer in his work at the New Institute, and that he was considering quitting and starting over.

Always one to follow his own passion to the point of obsession, Pharma didn’t hesitate to tell Tumbler he should go through with it (1) if he had a practical plan to transition to something else, and (2) if it was what he really wanted.

After all, the war was only beginning, and they’d all need to find things to give them reasons to hold on…

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (13/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.5k

Everyone gets a much-needed breather.

Read on AO3 or you can find the thirteenth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from | ch. 12 - no amount of freedom gets you clean | ch. 13 - stay stay stay

I stepped into the dining room just in time to see Rhys land on the balcony. Though he didn't stumble or fall, the motion wasn't nearly as graceful as I'd come to expect after weeks of watching Cassian and Azriel do the same thing. He was out of practice, and the wince on his face told me he'd had the same thought.

When he came closer, I realized Rhys looked disheveled. Or at least, as close to disheveled as he ever seemed to get, which is to say he looked only very slightly less than immaculate. He hadn't changed out of his clothes from yesterday, which were now faintly wrinkled, and a stray lock of hair fell against his forehead, making my fingers itch to brush it back into place. Mother above—he must not have slept at all.

At the sight of me, Rhys stopped in his tracks, as if he hadn't expected me to be there. I watched his gaze rake down my body, and I didn't need to hear his thoughts to know what he was thinking, seeing me through his own eyes in something other than a tunic from Spring or the clothes I'd been forced into Under the Mountain. "Night Court attire suits you," he said softly.

"All things considered, it would be strange if it didn't," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips, "but thank you, though."

He indicated for me to sit, and food appeared with a wave of his hand. I recognized the look on his face, the same one I'd seen when he'd pushed me to eat that soup in my cell Under the Mountain, as if he was prepared to feed me himself if it came down to it. Today, though, I didn't need to be told twice, just scarfed down what was in front of me without really tasting it. I was too focused on eating for the silence to feel oppressive or awkward. The whole time, Rhys watched me intently, even as he poured his own tea.

"Why did you leave?" he said eventually.

My hand tightened involuntarily around the handle of my teacup, though I was relieved we were getting straight to the point. I took a moment to choose my words carefully, then said, "It seemed presumptuous to stay."

"If it was something I—"

"You haven't done anything wrong. Really."

"You climbed ten thousand steps yesterday."

I stared down into my half-full cup of tea, unsure how to tell him that climbing those stairs had still been easier than asking someone else to do something small for me—my absolute terror at the thought of being a burden or seeming entitled ran too deep for words. "I just...thought you'd want space, now that you can finally have it," I said, hoping he'd understand.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Not from you."

We weren't sitting very far from each other, but I pushed my chair closer to his anyway—just those few inches between us had suddenly become unbearable. Food forgotten, I pressed my face to his shoulder and felt better when I did. "I think I needed to hear you say that," I whispered as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Feyre, you're under no obligation to stay here," he said, a change in his voice making me suspect this was a prepared speech, "and of course I'll take you back across the Wall if that's what you want. I know you didn't understand what was happening when you accepted the bond. That said, as far as I'm concerned, the townhouse is yours, too. And even if it wasn't, I thought after everything you were at least comfortable enough to stay in my guest room for a night."

It did seem ridiculous when he put it that way. If I could have buried my face any deeper in his shoulder, I would have. "I was just trying to do right by you."

"And I want to do the same for you. Apparently it's not nearly as simple as it sounds." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

We were in this together too, I realized. The list of decisions to make and things to figure out that had to wait until we'd gotten out from Under the Mountain was miles long, but it belonged to both of us. And one of the few things I knew for sure was that Rhys had proven himself to be an excellent teammate.

We'd be alright. Eventually.

"Finish eating," he added, gently nudging me off him. "It's been weeks since you've had a proper meal."

I picked up the fork again and cast a significant look at the plate of eggs he'd only picked at. Once he took a bite, I said, "For what it's worth, I don't want to go back across the Wall, at least not permanently. I want to see for myself that my family is safe, but there's nothing left for me there."

I didn't trust that Tamlin had kept his word regarding my family. And even if he had, he might change his mind now that he knew I had a connection to Rhys. I needed to see with my own two eyes that they weren't starving—or fix it myself if they were.

"Then we'll go today," Rhys said, as if that settled it.

I blinked in surprise—I didn't want to wait very long to check on my family, but it wasn't that urgent. If Azriel's shadows confirmed that there was no bad news, I could give it a few days. And Rhys didn't have to come with me, either.

"We don't have to. I don't want to pull you from Velaris when you've only just gotten back."

"I wouldn't begrudge you a reunion with you family after having one with mine last night," he said. It sounded reasonable enough, but there was a slight note of hesitation in his voice that made me suspect there was more to it than that. I just gave him a look until he continued, "There's quite a lot of work to do after the balance of power shifted and our…performance yesterday. The rest of the Inner Circle is handling it to spare me having to work so soon after returning. And...I don't know how to be around them just yet."

I nodded, considering that. After fifty years trapped in the city, the Cauldron only knew how much business there was to handle in the rest of the Night Court—and the size of the pile of correspondence that had surely arrived from the rest of Prythian. But that last admission that he was avoiding something…I suspected Rhys was rarely that candid, even with me. I didn't take that show of trust lightly.

"Did something with them not go well last night?" I said, as gently as I could manage.

"Nothing like that," Rhys said slowly, clearly weighing his words, "but last night we were all so relieved we didn't really talk. We're all furious with each other, and I'm not looking forward to facing it."

If he wanted a buffer, I'd be that buffer. But I wouldn't let him run himself ragged, either.

"We'll go to the mortal lands another day, when you don't look dead on your feet," I said. In truth, I needed the time, too. I'd barely wrapped my head around everything that had happened since Tamlin had dragged me to Prythian, and I needed a better handle on it before I faced my father and sisters. And Cauldron—did Rhys expect me to introduce him? He started to say something, but I cut him off before he had the chance to. "We don't get along. It's…complicated."

"Contrary to popular belief, I do try to stay out of your head. I don't even know how many siblings you have."

So I told him. And he told me more about his own family, as if we were two normal people who hadn't just been through an ordeal. It was strange to finally be sitting together in the Night Court and just…talking. Until then, so many of our conversations had been strategizing. I liked this better.

When both our plates were clear, I stood up and stretched. Though everything had improved greatly with some sleep and food, I'd never been so sore in my entire life. Rhys didn't seem to be faring much better. "Let's get you back to the townhouse so you can sleep," I said.

His face darkened. "I'm not sure I can."

"You're going to collapse if you don't." A human would, at least. Perhaps there was some faerie healing magic that could fix sleep deprivation, but I doubted it. I could offer one thing to help, so I added, a bit more softly, "Try falling asleep on me. My scent helps, doesn't it?"

"You don't have to do that," he said quickly. Almost reflexively.

I stepped closer, taking both of his hands in mine. "Now that I've eaten, I'm taken care of. It's your turn. We'll get back to the townhouse, and I promise once you're asleep I'll stay so you don't wake up alone." He started to say something else, but I cut him off with a kiss. Brief, casual, almost chaste—the sort of thing that had been impossible Under the Mountain.

Rhys's hands tightened around mine. "My wings…I can't— I barely made it up here. I'm not strong enough to carry someone down, not anymore."

The memory of that faerie missing wings and bleeding out in Tamlin's manor flashed in my mind. That could have been Rhys if we'd made a single misstep. The thought was nearly enough to make me retch, but I forced myself to smile instead of making him feel worse. "Then another day we'll see if you have the smoothest landings to go with the biggest wingspan."

Rhys looked like he might have spat out his tea if he'd still been drinking it. I let my smile widen into a grin and tugged him towards the stairs.

Making my way back down to the street was infinitely more pleasant than climbing up, and if I was being honest, I'd attribute that to the company that I had this time around. As we walked, Rhys told me about the time he and his brothers had gotten dizzy and vomited on the way down, back when his father had been High Lord and they'd been something closer to carefree. And though I wouldn't admit it to him, knowing he'd once made a fool of himself on these very stairs made me feel better about being stupid enough to run off the night before.

In the townhouse, we collapsed onto the sofa in wordless agreement that it wasn't worth taking any more steps just to make it to a bedroom. I curled up against the arm of the sofa, and Rhys was too exhausted to protest when I nudged his head to my lap and covered him with the blanket I found draped over a nearby armchair. He hid his wings to keep them out of the way as he laid down.

I stroked Rhys's hair until he finally drifted off. It didn't take long—no surprise considering how little sleep he'd gotten in the past two days. I'd never seen him this at peace before, though. It made him look far younger than his five hundred years.

While Rhys slept, I tried to convince myself that I could trust the calm in Velaris was real. I didn't feel real, and maybe after I'd learned the sense of contentment I'd thought I'd found in Spring had all been a lie, I'd always meet tranquility with suspicion. But at least for now, there was truly nothing more important to do than ensure my mate finally rested.

The sound of familiar, shuffling footsteps down the hall told me that perhaps making sure Rhys slept undisturbed was easier said than done. After weeks in the House of Wind, I knew the sound of Azriel trying not to move so silently he inadvertently snuck up on me.

"He just got to sleep," I said, voice low but still loud enough that keen faerie hearing would pick it up, "so if you're here to talk to him, it had better be urgent. Come back later if it's not."

Perhaps it was a bit aggressive of me, but the mating bond was probably making me protective. At least I hadn't snarled. When Azriel appeared in the doorway, a thick stack of papers in hand, the ghost of a smile on his face told me he wasn't offended in the slightest.

"I was hoping I'd find both of you here. This report is for you, too," he said, dropping it on the side table.

My brows shot up, but I made no move to pick the papers up. "Why me too?" I said, hoping his answer would save me from having to explain for the second time that day that I couldn't read.

"Intelligence reports regarding your family," he said, and my heart nearly stopped. Cauldron, I knew Azriel was an excellent spymaster, but I hadn't realized he could work this quickly. The mixture of surprise and worry must have shown on my face because he added, "They're fine. Your father's business turned around miraculously, which was Tamlin's doing. They're safe, and we've put measures in place to ensure they remain that way."

"Thank you," I said, and he nodded.

Perhaps, though, I shouldn't have been surprised. After the show Rhys and I had put on Under the Mountain, it made sense that there would be interest in where I'd come from—and all seven High Lords knew my surname. I kept forgetting about my title, but Azriel and the others probably had a vested interest in keeping the family of the Lady of the Night Court safe as well.

"Did Nuala and Cerridwen make it out alright?" I said.

"Yes. Spending time with their family as we speak."

That was a relief—I'd been so focused on getting Rhys out before he killed anyone else that I hadn't considered that we'd left the twins to fend for themselves. It seemed like such an oversight now, and I felt a stab of guilt.

After a moment, I added, "And how bad are the rumors?"

I could've sworn Azriel's lips quirked up. "They're calling you Cursebreaker. And Faebiter, but that one doesn't seem to be catching on nearly as well."

It wasn't a real answer, but I wasn't sure I wanted to press for one if Azriel was being evasive for some reason. There would be time to deal with all of that when Rhys woke up, and I wasn't sure I wanted this fragile-seeming peace to be broken just yet. So I just said, "In my defense, I did warn Rhys, and I didn't break the skin."

That, at least, got a chuckle out of Azriel, even if he still looked grave. His gaze flicked from Rhys's sleeping form, then back to me. "Will I see you at dinner tonight, Feyre?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but it was an obvious attempt to wring information out of me. I suppose I shouldn't have expected any less from Azriel. The rest of Rhys's Inner Circle must have seen Rhys panic when I left, and even though they were busy, I was sure they were also wondering exactly where things stood between the two of us.

"Of course," I said, not really willing to reveal that I hadn't known anything about dinner plans at all.

"Good."

Another curt nod, and Azriel turned to go. There was probably still plenty he had to take care of, but I said, "Az?"

"Yes?" he said, turning back around.

"Are you going to be in the training ring tomorrow morning?"

"Of course."

"When I threw that bone-spear at Amarantha, I missed," I said, not bothering to explain. By now, I was sure he'd heard the whole story. "It looked dramatic, but the throw was short of where I was aiming. Will you help me make sure that doesn't happen again?"

The look Azriel gave me was the closest he ever got to fond, nothing more than a slight softening around the eyes. If I hadn't already spent time around him, I would have missed it. "We'll keep going until you never miss a throw again."

He meant it, and in some ways it was a relief to hear. On some level, I knew it was impossible, but there was a part of me that hoped if I just trained hard enough, I'd never be vulnerable again.

If the day came, I'd be ready to pull us out from Under the Mountain a second time.

"Then I'll see you bright and early. Thanks."

Before Azriel left, he cocked his head at me and added, "I missed Rhys, but I hope you know I missed you too, Feyre."

He was gone before I had a chance to respond. I turned my attention back to the steady rise and fall of Rhys's chest. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that I could spend hours just watching him breathe, another effect of the mating bond. Under the Mountain, I'd never gotten a chance to see him at ease this way; now, I realized that if entire world burned around us, I wouldn't mind in the slightest as long as he was this peaceful.

I still hadn't plumbed the depths of all this feeling.

I wouldn't dare risk him waking up alone, so I sat like until the sun started to sink towards the horizon, still turning this newfound sense of safety over in my mind. It felt like it might disappear if I didn't savor it. My heart raced, even though I was doing nothing more than sitting still.

It felt all too soon when Rhys began to stir. The sound he made in the back of his throat was soft and decidedly un-High-Lord-like. As he turned his head towards me, his nose grazed the strip of exposed skin between the bottom of my shirt and the top of my pants. The sharp intake of breath as he scented me made the hem of my top flutter.

"Feyre?" he said, voice rough. "You're still here."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. While I'd been sitting there, I'd come to a decision almost without realizing it. There had never been a question in my mind about staying in the Night Court, but if Rhys didn't want space, I didn't either. The farthest I ever wanted him to be from me was down the hall. I'd stay in this house, even though it didn't feel like mine.

He sat up, and I ran my thumb along the mark the waistband of my pants had left on his cheek, then brushed his hair back into place. With a sigh, he leaned into my hand. "Your scent was in my dreams before I even met you. For a moment, I thought this might be a dream again."

My heart squeezed. If I had anything to say about it, it would be real the next time and all the rest.

"We made it out," I said, managing to sound reassuring when I was still letting that fact sink in, too.

He nodded, throat bobbing, and caught my hand in his, brushing his thumb over the tattoo. Even though he'd known about it, a look of awe spread across his face at the sight of it close up. The bond went tight in my chest again.

The last time he'd given me that look had been when he'd dropped to his knees before me on Calanmai.

I wasn't sure either one of us was breathing. But the moment broke, and he gently slid my hand out of his and stood up, eyes darting around the room as he straightened his tunic. He unfurled his wings again, posture straightening. Not quite a mask, but the High Lord was back. "I have to debrief with the Inner Circle this evening, and you should be present for that," he said

"Is it at all related to the dinner plans Azriel mentioned while you were asleep?" I said, shooting him a look as I stood up, too.

"Ideally no, but it will be a working dinner if necessary."

That made sense, as much as I wasn't looking forward to dealing with the rest of the world—or watching Rhys dive headfirst back into his duties as High Lord. But we couldn't put it off forever. I nodded, bracing myself to ask my next question.

"If someone's coming here from the House of Wind, then would they be able to bring my things?"

"You'll find them in the room across the hall from mine," he said with a flick of his wrist. Magic, then. Rhys had said it just a hair too quickly and matter-of-factly, though. Not quite pointed, but he hadn't even given me the opportunity to broach the topic of sharing a bedroom. In some ways, it was a relief not to have that conversation, even if we already had shared a bed once. Another scar from Under the Mountain, most likely. I wouldn't push.

He headed upstairs to wash up and change, and I took a deep breath, hoping to steady myself for news of whatever chaos was happening in the rest of Prythian. I had a sinking feeling I was at the center of it.

[sephirthoughts]

The Ghost of Shinra Manor

Chapter 3 of this

summary: It's been two years-ish since the events of Dirge of Cerberus. Cloud visits his hometown, and investigates a rumor of a ghost, haunting Shinra Manor. If you're surprised by who it turns out to be, you are beyond my power to save, comrade.

tags: g-g-g-ghosts!!! sefikura, sephiroth x cloud, sane!sephiroth (sort of), post advent children, post dirge of cerberus, canon timeline, delusions, intermitten amnesia, low drama, enemies to…whatever the hell they have going on

warnings: references to death, PTSD, child abuse, etc. all of hojo's greatest hits, mention of animal death in the context of ethical subsistence hunting/fishing, canon-typical violence, technical nudity but i didn't describe anything so you'd have to imagine it yourself which is not on me, pervert

rating: teen and up [BE ADVISED: THIS RATING WILL CHANGE]

Part 3: Regression

Cloud was not in a good mood, this morning. Firstly, it was dim and grey outside, and heavy cloud cover portended foul weather, which in the Nibel region meant freezing storms. Secondly, he had slept unusually well, last night, but his sleep was troubled by vivid dreams, of people and places he’d never seen, and so he woke fatigued, rather than rested.

Unlike most dreams, which faded and became indistinct, the moment you were awake, the chaotic and disjointed scenes remained etched clearly into his mind, as if they were real memories. This, of course, was because they were. He’d had enough other peoples’ memories stuffed into his head, to know the difference, and he did not appreciate it.

Thirdly, and arguably most importantly, he had awakened from these dreams, to find that the giant, silver-haired ghost he’d brought home last night, had undergone a deeply unnerving change.

Namely, he’d transformed into a tooth-meltingly adorable boy, of about ten years old, with huge, blue-green eyes, shoulder length silver hair, and a barely visible dusting of fairy-kiss freckles across his button nose. 

Cloud’s old shirt now hung nearly to the four-and-a-half foot-tall child’s knees, and the sweatpants had to be forgone altogether, since they kept falling off and he kept tripping endearingly over them. He was now wearing a pair of Cloud’s boxer shorts as a stopgap solution. 

When asked why he’d changed, the boy couldn’t understand what Cloud meant and began to cry, so Cloud gave up interrogating him, for now. All he could think was that this must be some sort of punishment from the goddess, because it was frankly sickening to want to pinch your arch-enemy’s precious little cheeks so badly.

“Cloud?” the sweetly childish voice said, while Cloud was standing at the stove, frying some of the fish he’d caught yesterday, for breakfast.

“Hm.”

“Did someone send you, to find me? Is that why you came to take me from the manor?”

“No,” Cloud answered gruffly. “I went in there looking for monsters and found you, by chance.”

Miniroth’s face fell. “Oh. But then, how did you know my name?”

“Recognized you from recruitment ads.” Cloud scooped a fried fish onto a plate, and set the plate on the table in front of the world’s cutest Sephiroth bobblehead. “Who would’ve sent me to find you, anyway? Do you even know anyone?” 

“I hoped, maybe…” the boy trailed off and his hand strayed reflexively to his chest. Then his expression changed and he jumped to his feet, patting his collarbone area frantically. “My locket! It’s gone!”

Cloud frowned. “What?”

“My locket! My locket!” he repeated, near hysterics. “I have to go back there! I have to find it!”

“Ok, calm down,” Cloud attempted. “I never saw you wearing a locket. Are you sure you had it?”

Sephpod-nano was not listening. “Her picture is in it! I can’t lose it! I have to get it back!”

“Hold it right there!” Cloud said, in the ‘dad voice’ he used with Marlene and Denzel (and Yuffie and Barrett and Cid), as the child made for the door. “You can’t go back to the manor, without me, and I’m not going anywhere till after breakfast, so chill out.”

“But I—” 

“No buts. Sit your ass back down.”

The boy wavered, then dragged himself back to the table and sat sullenly, with his arms crossed on his chest. The image was…pretty hilarious, actually. A minifigure version of the legendary silver soldier, in an oversized Gold Saucer t-shirt, sulking like a child whose parent wouldn’t let him go out to play. It was improving Cloud’s mood, quite a bit.

“If you dropped it in the manor, it’ll still be there when we’re done eating,” he said, as he sat down with his own plate of fish. “It’s not going anywhere.”

Chibiroth brightened a little. “You’ll take me there, after breakfast?”

“Yep.”

“Promise. Promise you will.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “Fine. I promise.”

“Thank you,” the boy said earnestly. “I’m sorry for acting like a baby. It’s only that, the locket has the only picture of my mother. She died right after I was born, and it’s all I have left of her.”

Cloud’s eyebrows went up. It had never once occurred to him that Sephiroth had parents. But of course he did. He must. Even if he was artificially conceived, the human DNA had to come from somewhere, and he’d have to be carried by a surrogate. No way did that dead thing in the mako tank give birth to a baby.

“How did you get the picture?” he asked. “Did Hojo give it to you?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Uh. Lucky guess. Come on, eat.”

Sephiroth reached for his fork, but his fingers slipped through it. He tried again, several more times, to no avail. Seemingly exhausted by the effort, his hand fell into his lap, and his shoulders slumped. “I—I can’t. I apologize.”

Cloud looked confused. “Apologize?”

“Refusing to eat what one is given is ungrateful and ill-mannered behavior, unbefitting a SOLDIER,” the boy said stiffly, as if by rote.

“Look, I can see you can’t pick up the fork,” Cloud reasoned. “It’s not like you’re refusing on purpose. So don’t apologize.”

“Why can’t I pick it up?” Sephiroth asked mournfully, looking down at his translucent fingers. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Cloud answered, technically truthfully.

He swallowed a few unenthusiastic bites of his fish, but he was in no mood to eat, now, with sad-baby Sephiroth sitting there all dejected, staring at his tiny ghost hands. He didn’t even look up, when Cloud took their plates away. 

It occurred to him, as he pulled on his own boots, that the child was barefoot. There was no way in the ten hells any of his shoes would fit the industrial-sized Sephiroth, but on this travel-sized version they’d even be a little too big. Any of his jackets would do, as well.

The problem was pants. Walking him through the woods last night had been a huge pain in the ass, and it’d be ten times worse with him tiny and bare-legged. 

He’d rather not take the road through the Nibelheim outskirts, and risk Sephiroth being seen, so he guessed there was no better way than to just carry him. Other than going into town to buy clothes for a ghost, which would happen over his cold, dead body.

“Hey kid, come here,” he said. “Try on these shoes.”

“I’m not a kid,” Sampleroth informed him, as he came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Oh yeah?” Cloud smirked. “What are you?”

“I’m a weapon. That’s what the professor always says.” 

“Tch. Hojo is a piece of shit. Forget everything he told you. Leg.”

He stuck out his skinny leg, so Cloud could pull a thick, wool sock onto his foot, which reached up to his knee. “What’s shit?”

“Shit comes out the back, when you go to the toilet.”

Microth’s eyes went wide, and he covered his mouth with both hands, to stifle a laugh.

Cloud’s heart felt sour. This child’s warm, spontaneous giggle was so different from that mirthless, psychotic braying, when the adult Sephiroth was laughing at him for crying over Aerith.

At that thought, a surge of black, bitter rage welled up in his throat. At the same time, that icy pain stabbed through his chest, again. He avoided eye contact with the child and concentrated on tightly lacing the work boots he’d found, so they wouldn’t fall off. 

“Alright, how’s that?” Cloud looked up, to find the boy unsuccessfully fighting back tears. “What’s wrong? The boots hurt?”

“I’m s—sorry,” Babyroth sniffled. “I didn’t mean to laugh. Please don’t be mad.”

“Huh? Why would I get mad about you laughing?”

“Everyone does,” the boy said miserably. “Hojo slaps me if I laugh.”

Son of a bitch. “Look, I wasn’t mad at you. I was…thinking of something else. So, no more crying, ok?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, hastily dashing the tears away, as they rolled down his cheeks.

Cloud felt a headache coming on. “For fuck’s sake. He slapped you for crying, too?”

The silver head bobbed faintly up and down.

“Listen, you don’t have to worry about Hojo anymore, ok? He’s dead. He’ll never hit you again.”

The pink rimmed eyes looked tentatively up at him, through long, wet eyelashes. “He is?”

“Dead as a doornail. That’s what he gets for being a piece of shit who’d slap a kid for laughing or crying. Shiva’s tits.”

“What’s a doornail?”

“No idea.”

“What’s tits?”

“Rough slang for breasts. Uh. Don’t say it to women.”

When they stepped outside, the frigid atmosphere was still and heavy, unlike yesterday’s windiness, and the dark-grey storm clouds were lower and closer. Cloud knew that meant they’d be ass-deep in snow before sunset. Better not waste time. Putting his sword in a storage materia, he squatted down and lifted the child onto his back, like a backpack. 

“Hang on tight,” he said.

WIth that, he took off at a full sprint, using his hyper-tuned senses to avoid trees and boulders and low-branches, and to leap deftly over fallen trees and other obstacles. That cut the two-mile walk to Shinra Manor down to less than five minutes.

“You’re so fast,” Sephiroth breathed, when he put him down, outside the gates.

“Were you scared?”

He shook his head decidedly. “I’m not scared of anything, when I’m with you.” 

The innocence and earnestness of that statement hit Cloud like a kick to the gut. He turned away to conceal any emotion his face might betray, and summoned his sword again, which he slapped onto its holster. 

“Let’s go find your locket.”

The locket was a pretext, of course. The real reason he wanted to come back, was to search for any kind of clue, which may help explain Sephiroth’s presence. He just didn’t know what the hell he was looking for. Before they went inside, he got out his phone and sent a text.

Strife: hey what do you know about ghosts 

He didn’t expect an immediate response, so he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He gave a start, when he felt the child’s ice-cold hand grab hold of his. Cloud looked down at him.

“I—I’m not scared,” Sephiroth said quickly. “It’s so we don’t get separated.”

Suppressing a smile, Cloud grunted his acknowledgement, and the two entered the manor’s sepulchral doorway hand-in-hand.

“Where would it be?”

“My room. I don’t think I’d leave it somewhere else.”

Cloud lifted Sephiroth in one arm and leapt up to the second-story landing. “Which one is yours?”

“Only the scientists are allowed to stay up here. My room is in the sub-basement.”

Cloud had an ominous premonition, but he kept it to himself, and the pair headed for the basement passage. 

The crypt wasn’t pitch black this time, because the torch sconces Cloud lit yesterday were still burning. They weren’t special torches, it’s just that firaga spells burned mystical energy, so they were hard to put out. A skilled enough caster could make a torch out of a wet rock, if they wanted. 

Past the ransacked library, through the Galian beast fight room, Sephiroth led Cloud to a narrow passage, full of steel doors. At the end, there was what looked like an industrial lift. Unfortunately, the manor hadn’t had power since the reactor shut down. 

Cloud pried open the steel gates, which gave way with a lot of metallic groaning and shrieking, and peered down, then up. “The lift car is below us. We can just go down the cable.”

The boy nodded dutifully, and climbed onto Cloud’s back again. Once he was secure, Cloud leapt casually into the pitch black elevator shaft, caught the cable one-handed, and slid down, to land lightly on the roof of the lift car. It was a simple matter to open the emergency hatch and drop down, then pry open the steel gates on the bottom floor. 

The darkness this far down was so heavy, that even Cloud felt uneasy. The stale, dank air was saturated with the smell of rust and rot. And…something else. Old blood. Death. And monsters. Not lot of them, though. The stronger ones must’ve eaten the weaker ones, long ago. Most of those had probably starved to death. 

“What’s down here?” he asked. 

“Specimen containment.” Sephiroth’s small voice sounded even smaller and thinner in the oppressive stillness. 

Cloud lit up a firaga spell and peered about. The hallway branched three ways, and all three were lined with huge, heavy, steel doors, like the ones in Shinra Tower’s Science and Research Division. 

Sephiroth pointed to the left hallway. “There.” 

“Shit,” Cloud muttered. 

Unfortunately, that was the side that was completely blocked by fallen rubble. Cloud could see from here that there were no gaps to squeeze through, and trying to clear it would be suicidal. Any disturbance could cause another collapse, and bury them under thousands of tons of rock. 

“What is it?” Sephiroth asked, while Cloud was staring at the rubble, considering what to do.

“Trying to figure out how to get in there.”

“I know the passcode.”

“What good does that do us, when the whole area is caved in?”

Sephiroth looked down the hall, then up at Cloud, with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Sephiroth, is there something wrong with your eyes? Can you not see that the hallway is blocked?”

“No. Well…yes. I think something’s wrong. A lot of things look blurry and grey, and bright light hurts. But I can see perfectly well, in here. Maybe it’s your eyes.” Cloud just looked at him, clearly disbelieving, so the boy pulled him by the hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Hey, stop, you’re gonna knock your head against—” Cloud stopped short, as the boy walked straight through the wall of collapsed rock and masonry. He was still tugging Cloud along, but Cloud’s knuckles were stopped by the solid stone and Sephiroth’s fingers slipped out of his.

“Damn it. Sephiroth! Sephiroth, come back! I can’t get through!”

Just then, there was a slight shift in the air. The soft hiss of some kind of hide, sliding against stone. The nauseating stench of death rose around him, like a thick fog. The corners of Cloud’s mouth curled imperceptibly upward, as he reached back and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

The intruder emitted a low growl, that sounded as if it came up from the bowels of hell. A snarl and a leap. Ten tons of muscle and bone erupted out of the inky darkness, to collide with the swing of heavy-bladed greatsword.

The titanic beast was knocked sideways, crashing into a stone wall, scattering debris all around. Mad with hunger and undeterred, it clambered to its feet, shook its head, and sprang again, with a roar of fury at the tiny creature that had dared to cause it pain.

This time it caught the blade in its mighty fangs and clamped down tight. With a swing of its head, it flung the creature in an arc, to pulverize its impudent bones against the wall. The little thing struck the wall…with its booted feet. And began to push back.

The beast snarled and snorted, slavering around the blade between its fangs, but it was in a conundrum, now. It couldn’t loosen its hold on the blade without the small creature cleaving its jaw in two. It shook its head hard, trying to dislodge the thing from the blade, but it just held on.

The beast had no choice but to give up the blade. With a half spin, it used the momentum of its body to fling both sword and wielder away down the hall. The small creature landed in a crouch, sliding backward, the blade digging a furrow in the stone floor, as it skidded to a halt.

The beast gave a snarl of wrath, foaming at the maw, and charged desperately, to meet its foe. The tiny creature shot forward like a bullet. Like lightning. Like nothing the hellish beast had ever seen, in its life of miserable captivity, forced to fight other beasts and little monsters like this one, for survival.

A flash of blinding, blue light clove the darkness asunder. 

All at once, the boundless sky opened before the eyes of the beast. It stood not in a stinking, rot-filled hole in the earth, but sweet, green grass, looking out upon vast meadows and snow-capped mountains.

It threw back its horned head and drank deep of the clean air. Its warped and mutilated body was whole and hale again. It felt young and strong and full of life, as it had not in many years. 

Then it heard a call. Hardly daring to hope, it turned. There was its pack, running free under the sky. Leaping and racing to meet it, were its mate and cubs, who had lived in chains and died in torment, at the hands of those two-legged monsters. The roars of joyous reunion shook the heavens. 

In the stifling darkness of that basement hallway, the behemoth’s massive head thudded to the stone floor, cleanly severed. Its body wavered for a split second, and then collapsed, a fallen mountain of hideously scarred and mutated muscle and hide and bone.

Cloud closed his eyes and held his blade upright in honorable salute. Hopefully, this tortured creature found its peace, at the end.

When he opened them, he blinked and squinted in the suddenly bright (compared to the pitch dark) illumination. There were wall lamps, all along the hallways, which seemed to have mysteriously powered on.

He looked down, confused. The behemoth’s carcass was nowhere to be seen. Not even a drop of blood remained. Behind him, the formerly rubble-blocked hallway was perfectly sound and clear, without a bit of gravel out of place. What the hell was going on, here? 

There was a noise, around the corner. Footsteps and voices echoing up the hall. They were coming this way, but it was far too late to find a place to hide. Having no choice, he stood his ground, sword at the ready. Two white-coated scientists turned the corner, looking over a chart and discussing something. 

They walked right past Cloud, like he wasn’t there. So, it was like the last memory. They couldn't see him, because he wasn't really in this time and place. He was only an observer.

Sheathing his sword, he followed the scientists down the hall, in the direction Sephiroth had gone. There were small observation windows in each door. Cloud peered in each one, as he passed.

Monsters, all of them. Twisted and mutated to varying degrees. Some were stitched together from parts of other monsters. Some were chillingly humanoid. 

The scientists had stopped before one of the doors. They were looking in at the specimen in the room and chatting idly about interesting experimental results. Cloud heard one of them say ‘Subject S’ and his stomach turned. The little boy. Child Sephiroth. That was his room. 

Cloud pushed the two men put of the way and he peered in the small window, as they stood there and kept talking, as if nothing had happened.  

Sephiroth’s ten-year-old version was sitting on what appeared to be an oblong metal crate, looking despondently at the floor. His feet were bare and his skinny body was draped in a thin, grey hospital gown. 

“Sephiroth!” Cloud said, banging on the door. 

The boy looked up quickly. Seeing Cloud, his expression turned ecstatic, and he leapt up and ran to the door. “Cloud! Cloud! You came for me!”

“Shut the fuck up in there!” one of the scientists said, smacking the door with his open palm. They both laughed, like it was hilarious to startle and bully a captive child. Cloud wanted to tear their throats out, but he ignored them.

“How do I get you out?” 

“Keycard. They took away my passcode privileges.”

He looked down at the door, and saw the number pad and keycard slider. The two scientists each had a badge with their picture and a microchip, clipped to their coats. Cloud plucked one off and slid it in the reader. After a second, the light flashed green and he heard a bolt click. He pushed the door open. 

Sephiroth’s little arms were flung around him as the boy’s tiny body struck his midsection with enough force to knock the wind out of him. “You’re here, just like you promised! I knew you’d come!” 

Cloud gently pried the child off him and knelt, to get a better look at him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and long, pink lines across his face. Fresh wounds in the process of healing. His arms were covered in more pink lines, plus ugly, purple-black bruises. There was blood under his fingernails. 

“What happened?”

“Fight.”

“Why are you in this specimen paddock?” 

“This is my room.”

Cloud looked around the bare, ugly, six by six cell, worse than the cells in a Shinra prison, and felt his fury boiling up like magma. He took a long breath, then spoke slowly and calmly, to keep it under control. “How can this be your room? There is no bed, no toilet, and nowhere to sit, except this metal crate.”

“This is my bed,” Sephiroth said, looking away, like he was embarrassed. “They give me a blanket at night. Usually.”

Cloud did not have the fortitude to unpack that ‘usually’ without unleashing mass destruction, so he moved past it for now. “Did you find your locket?”

Sephiroth shook his head, tears starting in his eyes. “I can’t find it. Last time I was here, I was wearing it already.”

“You’ve had this memory before?”

“Mn.”

“What happens next?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll protect, you I promise.” 

Sephiroth’s eyes flickered to the door, then away. “I don’t want you to see.”

One of the scientists had gone away, so only the other one was left. At that moment, he came into the room, looking only at Sephiroth, as if Cloud wasn’t there at all. 

“Exam time, Sephiroth,” he said, in a bland, inoffensive voice. 

Sephiroth was ash white and shaking, but his eyes were fierce and hard, pupils dilated to narrow slits, in the blue-green irises.

“I had my exam already,” he said icily.

“This is a different kind of exam.” The man smiled as he shut the door behind him. “I just need to check a few things, today, to make sure you’re developing normally.”

Cloud saw fucking red. “Sephiroth…did he—”

“He tried,” the little demon said, low and toneless. 

The man sat on the metal crate. “Come over here. I don’t bite.”

“No,” the boy snapped, in his unintimidating little voice.

“Come now, Sephiroth. You know what happens, if you don’t cooperate with medical personnel, right?” 

Cloud watched in horror, as Sephiroth hung his head, and went to stand before the man. 

“I didn’t know,” Sephiroth said to Cloud. “I didn’t know to have my guard up, for this kind of thing. But I learned.”

Cloud’s sword was already out, but just as the man tried to lift Sephiroth’s gown, the boy leapt on him, with an inhuman howl. The much bigger man fell to the floor, clutching his torn throat, as crimson blood gushed and spurted all over the stone.

Sephiroth fell upon his supine body, growling and clawing him with his bare hands. He died gurgling pathetically, while the feral wolf cub literally tore him open and disemboweled him. 

Sephiroth, bathed in blood, wild-eyed and white teeth bared, looked up at Cloud and burst into tears. “I didn’t want you to see! I—I didn’t want you to know how bad I am!”

There was a commotion, outside the door. It seemed the man had triggered some kind of emergency system. Alarms blared and red lights flashed. Booted footsteps thundered down the hall. A trooper kicked the door open. There were ten of them, with stun batons and black riot gear. For a ten-year-old child. 

Cloud picked up the sobbing, blood-soaked boy and swung his sword one-handed, blowing the soldiers away like chaff.  

“You’re not bad,” he said, in Sephiroth's ear. “Do you hear me? I’m proud of you, for what you did. I’m so proud of you, for defending yourself. That disgusting filth…he deserved a far worse death than that.” 

Sephiroth wrapped his bruised and bloodied arms around Cloud’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder, as Cloud carried him out of that room, stepping over the bodies of guards. 

“Does the memory end here?” 

“No. The guards beat me with those shock batons till I black out, then I wake up from it. But you killed them all.”

Cloud cursed under his breath (at the guards having beaten a small child unconscious, not at his having killed them all, with which he had no moral qualms, whatsoever).

“Why is it that people can’t see or hear me, but I can affect things?” 

“I don’t know.”

Just then, another troop of guards came storming up, but they ran right past Sephiroth and Cloud, like they didn’t see them. 

“Seems like they can’t see you either, if you diverge from the memory’s path.” 

As they stepped into the T-intersection of the hallways, the world suddenly went inky-black. The boy gave a little whimper, clinging even more tightly to Cloud. 

“It’s ok. I think we woke up,” Cloud said, and summoned his firaga spell again. 

Sure enough, they were back in the dank, disused basement, as it had been before the memory sucked him in. No time had even passed, evidenced by the dead beast's body, which was just beginning to dissolve into sparks of green, to be accepted back into the lifestream.

“What happened?” Sephiroth gasped, looking around wide-eyed. “The hallway…it’s all blocked off with rocks! Is that a behemoth?!”

“It attacked me after you went through the wall,” Cloud explained, as he set him on his feet. “It was suffering. Probably starving. I ended things as quickly as possible.”

Sephiroth lowered his head contritely. “I’m sorry I ran off. I got so eager to find my locket, but it wasn’t there.” 

“Maybe we can still find it. Is there anywhere else you may have left it, or dropped it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sephiroth said, quickly growing distressed. “I can’t remember.” 

“Calm down and think carefully. Where is the last place you saw it?”

Sephiroth’s brows furrowed in thought. Just as they did, Cloud stumbled and his firaga spell winked out, as the entire floor bucked and tilted under their feet. 

“What the hell is happening now!”

He grabbed for Sephiroth, who had been right beside him, but his hand closed on nothing. Suddenly he found himself blinking around, in the grey light of a tumultuous outdoor scene.

A beach. Waves roared and crashed on the shore, and the stormy sea was glowing a sickly green. The ground was shuddering and quaking, as huge fissures opened everywhere, emanating that same green light. It was that island, from those bizarre dreams he had, last night. This must be another memory.

He heard voices and turned, just in time to see a big, blonde man throw a silver-haired boy to the ground. Sephiroth. He was older, now, but not by much. Just a young teenager. Who was this jackass pushing him around? 

“Sephiroth!” Cloud shouted, as the boy got to his feet. 

Sephiroth turned his head, to look in Cloud’s direction. The man grabbed him and threw him to the ground again. He was bellowing about something, but Cloud couldn’t understand what he was saying, over the thundrous cacophony of the waves and earthquakes. 

He dashed toward them. Sephiroth reached for something near his feet. The man kicked it. Cloud watched in slow-motion, as a little silver glint went tumbling through the air, bounced off a rocky crag, and vanished into the massive rent in the earth.

Cold realization shot through him. It was the locket. Cloud told Sephiroth to think about the last time he saw it, and this was the last time he saw it.

The only picture of his mother. The only thing he had, to prove he was a human being, with a person who had cared for him. And that man had thrown the boy to the ground and kicked that irreplaceable treasure into a fissure.  

Cloud’s simmering rage exploded, and his brilliant blue sword-light went arcing toward the man, cutting a deep gash in the rocky ground as it went. The teenaged Sephiroth didn’t even see it. He was staring dazedly after the locket, which had been swallowed into the bowels of the earth. 

The sword light split the blonde man down the middle, cutting the vision apart, causing it to whirl away and vanish, just like the first one had, yesterday. 

Sephiroth was on the floor, sitting halfway up, still gazing away into the pitch darkness, after the locket. Cloud knelt by him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Sephiroth.”

The boy turned his head to look up at him. It was no longer the child, though, it was the teenaged Sephiroth, from that last memory. 

“Cloud,” said his deeper, but still youthful voice. “Am I...dead?”

“Yes. You are,” Cloud answered, as gently as possible.

“Then why…” His voice wavered and he swallowed hard. “Why didn’t I find my mother?”

Cloud cleared his own throat, against the sudden, aching tightness in it. “I don’t know.”

“I always thought, if they’d just let me die, then I’d finally be with my mother. But it’s not like that, at all.” 

A tear rolled down the boy's white cheek. He curled into himself, letting his shaggy, chin-length hair hang over his face. His body was translucent again, and his voice was becoming more fuzzy and indistinct, like a fading radio signal. At the same time, that pain in Cloud’s chest returned with a vengeance, a needle of ice stabbing through his heart.

“I’m alone, in the dark. I’m always hungry. I’m always cold. I’m always afraid. I feel like…I did something terrible. Something to make me deserve this. But I can’t remember what it was. I can’t remember anything I want to, and I can’t escape from the memories I don’t want, when they come. And I can’t leave this house. No matter how hard I try, I can never find my way out.”

“But you did,” Cloud said through his teeth, clenched against the pain, which was worsening by the second. “You came to my cabin, last night.”

“I did. I did, because…you helped me. You showed me the way.” Sephiroth looked up, then gave a start, seeing Cloud clutching his chest. “Cloud, what’s wrong! What’s happening, are you hurt?”

Unable to speak or breathe or even think, Cloud pitched forward. But the instant before his skull struck the stone floor, he felt himself buoyed back up. Something had caught him, and was lifting him to his feet. 

The pain in his chest melted away into soothing warmth. He felt fabric on his face and smelled his own laundry soap, along with something else, underlying it. A faint, aromatic scent, that reminded him of petrichor.

Teenaged Sephiroth was holding him tightly, against his chest. His lean, sinewy body felt solid and real. Rather than being ice cold, it was actually a little above the ambient room temperature. Which still wasn’t all that warm, considering they were in an uninsulated basement in Nibelheim, but it wasn’t so corpselike, as usual. 

Coming abruptly back to himself, Cloud twisted out of his grasp and backed away a step. “Thanks.”

“Does it hurt, here?” Sephiroth asked, laying a hand on his own heart.

“Yeah,” Cloud admitted. “It stopped, but when it hurts, that’s where it is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the hell are you sorry, for? It has nothing to do with you.”

Sephiroth lowered his head and looked wounded. Cloud found he had to suppress a sudden urge to apologize for snapping at him. What was wrong with him? Why was he so concerned with Sephiroth’s deranged ghost’s feelings?

“Why are you older, now?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sephiroth said helplessly. 

“You can’t tell? You’re almost as tall as me. A few minutes ago, you barely came up to my chest.”

“I can’t. I guess, you always seem the same, to me.”

“How do I seem?”

“You’re…Cloud. You’re warm and bright, like morning sun. And you’re so strong. Stronger than anything in the world. Being near you makes me feel safe. Like nothing can hurt me, when you’re there. But…you don’t feel safe. You're in pain. There's so much rage. So much hatred, in you. I think…I think you hate me.”

“You’re wrong.” 

“About what?”

“You’re not the one I hate.” Cloud held his hand out. “Take my hand and don’t let go. Let’s not lose each other again.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY 

next chap

ao3

[the-kr8tor]

I love how your writing manages to move me to the point of near tears because I swear nothing else can do that (or im going soft). The end sentence of the opin chapter squeezed my heart.

Daily Hobie HC(??) Honestly this is just me rambling about my (personal?) hobie hcs so maybe it counts? - Starting off with one of the anon's asks earlier, I highly do not believe that Gwen liked Hobie or vice versa. For sure he had definitely taken Gwen in, but thats probably because she was homeless and literally had nowhere to go. Hobie had taken her under his wing instead of trying to initiate anything romantic with her.

And there is no way Hobie didn't already know about Miles- you can tell that Gwen definitely could not shut up about him to Hobie from day to night as soon as she was in earshot of him, by the way he immediately recognizes Miles and his jealousy, prompting Hobie to be the massive big brother shit-stirrer he is and mention his sneakers being taken, plus the jumper being left at his place. (I have a feeling Gwen didn't actually, and Hobie was just playing around by saying that) - A personal headcanon of mine is that Hobie's numb in a way, especially emotionally. It shows when they're talking about the canon events in the movie, to which Hobie just replies 'eh, what of it?', and brushes it off with a neutral expression on his face, while everyone's pained. I feel like he's already lost many family members, friends, etc due to the government that it feels as if nothing hurts anymore, when in reality it builds up to overflow one day. - Trust me aftercare is god tier with his man. Even if he's tired he'll always make sure that you're alright before he decides to rest, cleaning you up himself, getting you water and some snacks if it isn't too late at night. Once you two are fine, it's cuddles galore afterwards, with Hobie making sure you're asleep first before letting himself fall asleep. - A personal headcanon of mine which I'm usually very nervous to talk about is the fact which I think that he's somewhere on the ace spectrum. Of course he doesn't seem to really label himself on gender/sexuality, feeling comfortable with whatever people perceive him as, but going back on topic; I really don't visualize him being all that sex-hungry.

Sure he'll make the most vile jokes which leads you to question what his braincells do, but overall he's just happy to be there with you, whether its cuddles or causing havoc everywhere in his universe. - Adores Hobat Brown. Hobie and Hobat would get along so well, there's no possible way they couldn't. While Hobie's holding your hand, Hobat's found his way into one of Hobie's vest pockets. Or perhaps Hobie would DIY chest pockets onto some funny matching Halloween shirts you bought just for the little bat. Including you-bat too. Human versions and bat versions in opposite pockets- Hobat in yours, you-bat in Hobie's. - I feel like his favourite flowers are snapdragons. Not because im self-projecting, but if he had to pick he'd probably say snapdragons cus they just look cool. I can see Hobie randomly just squeezing them to watch them 'snap'. -He owns 4 cats, minus the strays. They're all oriental shorthairs, with the original being 'Mama Tea'N'Crumpets', or Mama TNC for short. Hobie adopted her after seeing her among the strays and looking very pregnant. After a few weeks, Mama TNC gave birth to three kittens; Bottol'o'Wo'ah (Bow - Brown like Mama TNC), Fish'N'Chips (Fish - Lighter brown/creme) and Theft (All black).

All four of them love sleeping in his bed, and in the middle of you two when you guys try to cuddle. Or on top, whatever happens first. They're the reason you two have to race to bed and immediately get comfy because Mama TNC knows how to open doors and all kittens follow. - Is weird and tries different icecream flavors (Loves chocolate though) - Has made a customized plushie for the two of you before you moved in properly with magnets in them so whenever you came over, you put the matching plush next to him and they held hands, or vice versa. When you moved in, the plushies hands stayed connected forever on the shelf. -🐦‍⬛

Awww thank you so much!! Fun fact abt that last part in opin: it was supposed to be a placeholder! Bc I finished writing so late at night my brain wasn't using all its power so i just came up with it until i could think of something better but by the time i was editing it I saw it and went "hey that's not too bad! This is pretty good!" So i kept it in lol

Thank you again!! Opin was really hard to write after writing for bdas bc in my mind (and own expectation) i need opin to be better or just as good as bdas. And i think I did well even though I struggled at the emotional parts and I loved writing every bit of it so it's a success methinks

Daily Hobie HC!!!

That's alright! I love general HCs!

I agree! Especially the part that hobie was just being a lil shit at that part in the movie lol he was like: imma make this dude so jealous

I think that he's desensitized in a way bc according to the comics he had a rough life before and even after becoming spiderman

Bro is a god in aftercare source: me and 🐦‍⬛ anon bc we said so

I love that! 😍

That's the most adorable thing ever!!!!

I bet he likes them bc they look gnarly and very punk!

THE CAT NAMES HAHAHHAHAHAHHAH AWWW TEA N CRUMPETS lmao i can imagine hobie introducing them like: this is my son fish n chips and theft 🔪😈

Hobie seeing jalapeño ice cream: I want that

THE PLUSHIE WONSWISJNQJNSJSN SO CUTEEEEE

[thecapricunt1616]

Hey. Hope you’re doing well. I just want to say congratulations on 200 followers. Also I am a fellow autistic person myself. I was wondering if you’re only okay with answers this, do you sometimes see your reader as an autistic person? Because sometimes I do even when the reader isn’t autistic. Also I hope you have a great day stay safe.

Also remember to stay hydrated.

What is your least favorite thing people have ever asked you about your autism if you have had that experience?

What is your favorite tips of fanfics you write?

I have read your fanfics and great writing job on them.

And again congratulations on 200 followers. 🎉🎊

🙂😊😀🌸👍🏻

Oh my, Hello friend!! Thank you SO much, firstly!

Alrighty, there are kinda different answers to this? It depends!! Heres what I mean.

For The Bear & His Honey : Winnie is autistic, as is Carmen - this is just canon for me. Carmy, (as an autistic person myself, who has also done extensive research on autism & how it presents in different genders, and even age groups) is visibly autistic. JAW as an actor has mentioned in interviews, even if he didn't realize? He purpousfully gave Carmy autistic traits, this likely because Mikey - the main driving character of the original Chris Storer Screenplay, and The Bear show in general - showed traits of autism as well, and Carmy took strongly after his older brother.

Winnie though, is a 'Manic Pixie Dreamgirl' To Carmy, she was raised 'Normal' - as a latchkey kid, in a trailer park, with a deaf twin, and a mother who worked too much to keep them afloat. She has a big personality - like Mikey, because Mikey had to raise him and sugar, but Winnie had to keep a social life afloat for her and Chris - before he died. So Carmys autistic traits were way more coddled by his family, hence why his panic sets in much more often (Mike was always there to hug him and calm him down) - Winnie helped herself, and her brother.

Now - Carmen x Reader? It depends. It depends on the ask. I believe every writer bases things off their own feelings as much as they can because it's all they know (the more you stray from experiences you had yourself, or at least extensively read about, the more difficult they are to realistically write). So, alot of things I write - I think about how I would feel. I am an overly emotional kind of autistic. When it comes to empathy, I have too much - which is why I am able to write Dad!Carm so well, (parents and empathy are like PB&J)

Smut? It is up to interpretation. I'm autistic, so the reader can always likely be read as autistic. I also have ADHD. So severe, I was diagnosed by the time I was 4 (early 00's) & I'm AFAB, which it wasn't recognized females could even have ADHD until I believe 2010 or later, so thats how you know it hinders me - even as a 4 year old little girl, the doctors knew I was more then just - 'chatty'

Least favorite thing people ask me .... hmmmm - i've gotten "i'm not sure I can handle that, do you have any empathy?" from A FREAKING GIRLFRIEND!!! like- I finally opened up to her, and her first question was if I was capable of feeling like I was a sociopath!!!

In regards to my favorite kind of fanfics to write? I like asks that are detailed. I like getting an ask with someone's detailed vision, and trying my best to bring it to life as close to what they saw in their head, kinda like a tattoo artist tries to do! You always have an idea in your head for a tattoo (if you're inked you get this, if not - sorry for the bum analogy) but when you have the idea, if the artist just doesn't get it - it's hard to say yes to having it on you forever. You want that artist that can bring the vision that is plastered on the inside of your brain to life, that is the kind of ask I like answering.

thank you so soooo much for this adorable ask sweetness!!! I hope you are having a wonderful night xoxo-xoxo