#he keeps going through the sheer power of spite | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mirnilop · 1 year ago

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𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ wally darling

⚠ tags: sfw, mob au, yandere!wally, gn!singer!reader, power imbalance, discussions of violence

♡ synopsis: you’d be surprised how many fans you accrue as a small-time lounge singer. while this is usually a good thing, one of yours happens to rule half the city, so he isn’t exactly receptive to the word “no”.

♡ word count: 5,310

⛧ﾐ‧*･ﾟ the following content may be triggering to some. please proceed with caution! ･ﾟ*‧ミ⛧

a/n: hello!! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ goshh, my very first post on this acc!! i haven’t posted fanfic in a hot minute but i’m suuuper excited to get back into it!! 💞 i have sooo many wips for this fandom, it was difficult to choose which one to finish first! credit to @/clownsuu for creating the au and for the lovely art!! i tweaked the concept a wee bit so that it takes place in a roger rabbit-esque world where puppets and humans live together unharmoniously (with a jessica rabbit inspired reader ofc >v>). it was a lot of fun trying to marry wally's canon personality with a Scary Mob Boss (*´ 艸`) i can't wait to post more!! what are y'all's favourite aus? let me know!! ･*･:≡(　ε:)

There’s a rose on your vanity.

The sight of it snuffs out your high spirits, irritation igniting in its place– and it was such a good day, too! You and the girls were perfectly in sync for your entire performance, bolstered by the unusually affable audience; you even rewarded them with a sneak peek of new material, which made them go wild!

Dreams of stomping it beneath your heel stew in your head as you drop it in the faience vase at the rim of the mirror, where a crinkled, beige-tipped rose droops against the rim. Why not break the vase too? An idea that’s crossed your mind too many times, and while it gets harder to resist with each flower, you endure it. They’re presents, after all, and you doubt your admirer would take kindly to the news that you’ve trashed them. You’re certain one of his minions would obtain the evidence, if not witness you do it; you can’t pinpoint the extent to which they survey you, but the crawling sensation of eyes on your back crops up often, and obviously they have no problem barging into your dressing room to play delivery service.

Sighing, you comb through your rolling rack to pick a suitable outfit to change into. Most of the articles hanging are also gifts, but you’ve made sure to keep some of your own hard-earned clothes here out of sheer spite. A burgundy cashmere number has just slipped into your grasp when the door bursts open.

“How’s that for a show?! And what a great crowd, a whole buncha dolls! Or– well, puppets– and humans! Hahaha!”

Lottie skips in with her usual energy, the bell on her collar jingling alongside the clack of her Mary Janes. You hate that their manager mandates the bells as a part of their costumes, as if puppets being treated like second-class citizens wasn’t enough. “You wanna make money or not? It’s part of the appeal! You know, Mary Had A Little Lamb and all that!” is what he told you after one of your countless tirades regarding his treatment of them, but the sleazy smirk wrapped around his cheap cigarette allowed you to read between the lines. As much as you despise that man, it’s not your business to judge the trio for staying contracted with him. Mottie’s recalled to you how difficult it was to hire a manager at all, and you suppose you have to (begrudgingly) thank him for bringing them into your life, since he’s the one who bagged them the backup singer gig.

A swell of color in your peripheral lets you know that she’s come near, but you don’t bother diverting attention from your search. This is such a common occurrence between you two that pleasantries are no longer required.

“And they were mighty generous with the tips! So me and the gals was thinking we should go somewhere to… celebrate…”

Hearing her trail off, you turn to find her staring at the new rose, her once-perky ears fallen limp. You click your tongue, remorse prickling your heart, though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll be alright, Lottie. Here,” You grab a wad of bills from your personal tip jar and fold them into her hand. “You take your sisters somewhere nice, my treat. As an apology for having to skip out tonight.”

When she doesn’t move from her spot, merely pouting at you with big, glistening eyes full of concern, you swaddle her in a hug. Fleecy strands of shell pink hair tickle your nose as she nestles her snout into your shoulder, squeezing you like a lifebuoy. Having her in your arms is a vital reminder as to why you continue to put up with everything. Lottie, Dottie and Mottie are your beloved friends– your family when you had none– and you are willing to do whatever is necessary to build a life with them.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive. And if that bug gives you even a whiff of trouble, you come get me right away, got it?”

She laughs, the sound a balm to the ache of your worries. “He never gives us any trouble– n’fact, I haven’t heard ‘im say a single word!”

“Good. At least one of them has manners. Now go have fun!”

After a few more hugs and a promise to relay your apology to her sisters, she trots towards the entrance. Halfway through it, she pauses.

“Promise ya’ll play nice?”

An involuntary grimace twists your face, which you smooth immediately.

“I was planning on it,” you concede, earning an exhale of relief from Lottie.

“Thanks. Honestly, I’m kinda worried...” She leans against the doorframe, gaze trained on the checkered floor. “I see more and more of that Napoleon-wannabe’s goons lately. Do ya think he’s gettin’ antsy? It’s been real quiet since that incident with Dorelaine.”

Ah, the incident. It happened a handful of months ago; he refused to go into specifics, but what you’ve gathered from his gnomic recount and various news stories is that their rival organization– led by Ronald Dorelaine, a human man– planted explosives somewhere important, racking up thousands in damages and dismembering several puppets, left to be mended with those horrific stitches. You didn’t receive another rose until several weeks afterwards.

“I can’t be sure,” you admit. “He doesn’t tell me much about the goings-on of the ‘family’, not that I care to know. But I noticed he’s been more wound up lately… maybe they’re going to retaliate?”

A visible shudder travels through Lottie, and she tosses her head as if to ward off the gravity of your predicament. It was easier to ignore the implications when there wasn’t an active turf battle.

“You’re right, we should stay as far as we can from that nasty business. Wear the red, then. To butter ‘im up a little.” She offers you a conflicted half-smile, most likely holding herself back from proposing a makeover, before sidling out the door.

Glowering, you follow the advice, shucking your tight, shimmering stage outfit for the cozy cashmere you were eyeing before. Like I need to be reminded of his favorite color. I’ve practically lived in red since I met him. It inexplicably fits like a glove, as do all of the clothes you've been bestowed; for the sake of your sanity, you prevent yourself from delving too far into that subject.

As you fix the little bits of your appearance that got mussed up during your performance, you can’t help but contemplate hiding in your room until morning, even though you know it wouldn’t work– and you’d have to pay for a broken front door. Once every speck of lint has been removed and your ensemble is flawless, you steel your resolve with a hard look in the mirror. If things go south, at least you’ll make a gorgeous open casket.

You step into your shoes and out of the dressing room, swiping your bag and a matching hat from the plethora that dangle on knobs affixed to the wall along the way. The haze that eternally permeates the lounge envelops you as you walk, no longer springing tears to your eyes like it did so long ago, when you were a starry-eyed fledgling. Upon entering the foyer, you call out to the owner, Gene, who’s counting the register behind the bar.

“Hey, I’m heading out!”

“Geez, you’re in a hurry! Got a hot date or what?”

“Something like that,” you breathe, your nerves relighting tenfold now that you’re so close to the outside.

“Ahh, I getcha.” His amusement is clear, construing an innuendo within your words that is absolutely not there, but you’d rather die than clarify. “You did a great job today, you deserve it!”

Somehow, your admirer has managed to limbo directly under Gene’s nose; thus far he’s made no indication that he’s aware he has a very important patron. For a moment, you observe him, and see how he absentmindedly rubs the pocket of his button-up– where a polaroid of his two children is safely tucked away– and you decide that it’s probably for the best.

“Thanks, Gene. Have a good one.”

“You too!”

His reply barely reaches you as you cross the threshold from the comfort of your work into the cold, pensive night. A luckier soul may have suffered a fright when greeted with the colossal figure standing below the street light, carved with shadow, but it’s a familiar sight to you now. An inconspicuous black car is parked behind him.

“Hi Howdy.”

“Evening, Mx.” He bows slightly, whisking open the sleek passenger door which you reluctantly slide inside.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that. I do have a name.” It’s true. Being addressed formally by such an important figure imbues you a with a sick feeling, like he’s won, and you’ve already been initiated into this fucked up institution.

Though he waits for you to finish speaking before shutting you in, he doesn’t grace you with a response; not that you were expecting one. In all the times he’s escorted you to these duress-dates, as you’ve taken to calling them, he’s remained stoic to a mechanical degree, acknowledging your presence and nothing more. Thrashing, crying, screaming– you’ve tried everything to escape, and have never elicited a reaction more severe than that of a tired parent handling a tantrum. If you resist, he simply manhandles you. It’s hardly a fair match, with him having 4 arms and several feet of height on you, so you opt to reserve your energy for dealing with his headache of a boss.

When he hauls his many limbs onto the driver’s seat, the car lurches, too small to accommodate a puppet of his stature; he has to hunch forward to see the windshield, antennae pushed flat. You lean back and vacantly turn towards the window, wondering if cars big enough for someone like him to drive comfortably even exist while the engine rumbles to life.

The umbrous cityscape passes you by, inklings of humans and puppets flashing in and out of the darkness like ghosts. Thick boughs of red and green tinsel are strung across a few lamp posts, but by the end of the season they’ll all be covered. Dottie’s already triple checked that you and her sisters have one day of the annual Christmas market off, even though you strike the same deal with Gene every year; the four of you get Saturday, then he gets Sunday to take his family. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, if only because you get to experience the aura of wonder that enlivens Lottie when the first snow falls, Mottie’s timid wheedling to attend The Nutcracker, and Dottie’s alphabetically-organized checklist of fun winter activities.

Those cheerful thoughts are wiped away as Howdy turns into a private garage attached to a sleek, angular skyscraper. He parks in the spot nearest to the entrance, the first in a row of spaces labeled with metal “Reserved for Staff” signs, and circles the car to let you out. The sensation of him gingerly lifting you comes with no alarm; he always assists you up the concrete stairs leading to the elevator, as if you’re so physically inept you can’t handle 3 tiny steps. You assume his needless precaution is for the same reason he hasn’t beaten you yet despite defying him so often: boss’s orders.

With a reedy knell, the elevator glides open, and Howdy signals for you to go ahead. Once you’re both inside, he inserts a key and presses the button for the uppermost level. Expecting a noiseless ride, you tune into the low muzak emitting from the speakers, which makes you miss the first time he calls you.

“Mx.”

Startled, you swivel towards him. His steadfast profile is unreadable.

“Boss doesn’t know you’ve opposed him so vehemently in the past. Please keep that in mind tonight.”

The entrance broaches before you can interrogate him as to what the hell he means, granting you entry to a luxury penthouse laved in gold, ivory, and– of course– red. A glimmering chandelier suspends from the ornamental ceiling, bathing the antique furniture in an amber glow. If you hadn’t just ridden up the elevator, you would have assumed such a lavish drawing room belonged to an old mansion.

It’s something straight out of a romance novel, except instead of a chiseled, broody Italian, it’s a short puppet sitting at the marble-topped dining table. He lounges at the head in a slate blue silk suit with its jacket buttoned to the top; an honor seemingly reserved solely for you, because it’s the only way you’ve seen him wear it, despite street tales describing the way it billows from his shoulders as he stalks the town. Revealed by its plunged neckline is the collar of a white dress shirt embossed with rainbow pinstripes, and a red ascot neatly tied and pulled askant around his throat.

Wally Darling, in the felt: kingpin of The Neighborhood, and resident thorn in your side.

When you arrive, he rises to meet you, dismissing Howdy with a pointed glance; you’ve learned that the relationship between a crime lord and his loyal bandog transcends language. You watch him as he leaves through a pair of swinging doors to the left, his cryptic advice-slash-warning heavy on your mind.

And so, you find yourself alone with the most dangerous man in the city– puppet or otherwise.

“Good evening, dearest. I hope my gift found you well.”

The concept of personal space might as well be Greek to Wally, since he hasn’t once respected it from the day you had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. He crowds so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face, the heat emanating from him eliciting shivers in your chill-soaked body.

“Yes, thank you. It was quite a lively night,” you chirp, wielding a civil smile.

Although the contours of his wispy, coiffed curls only reach your ribs, he extends his arm to you, which you take with such a featherlight hold that you barely brush his sleeve. Rather than leading you to the dining table like you expected, you’re guided towards a small lounge area to the side, the crackling croon of Billie Holiday wafting over from a refurbished stereo console in the corner. Oh, great. He’s feeling sentimental.

“Would you indulge me with a dance before dinner?”

Don't have much of a choice, do I?

“I’d love to.”

Dancing with Wally is funny, in an ironic sort of way; it certainly caught you off guard the first time he asked. When you envision dancing with a powerful, deadly mobster, you think of being swept away, wrapped snugly by strong arms and a dastardly smirk, or perhaps something more courtly, like a waltz steered by a polite hand on your waist. Turns out both versions are incorrect.

Muscle memory ushers your arms open, and Wally falls into the space in between them– literally. Slack against you, his full weight is heftier than his height would imply, but not physically uncomfortable– emotionally and morally, however, are another story. An air of pure peace washes over him as his cheek nuzzles the underside of your chest, arms limp at his sides; you swear you even hear a little trill. Your face burns, but you say nothing as you begin to sway faintly to the beat, tracing a loop with your feet as you traipse along. Wally follows easily, tethered by the reluctant cage of your embrace.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

The query is felt more than heard, his gentle monotone muffled by the downy fabric of your garb. You huff softly to yourself, rustling a few gel-slick strands atop his pompadour.

“How could I forget?”

The day the infamous Mr. Darling appeared in your club, his two largest henchmen in tow, is burned into your brain like a regrettable tattoo; Gene was off, so you were covering entertainment for the night while the sisters managed the bar and floor. As you were singing the very song playing now, you detected a curious hush that had overtaken the throng of guests, and strained to cut through the stage glare and cigarette fog to locate the cause. Tracking the audience, who were all regarding the bar with varying amounts of subtlety, you nearly dropped the microphone when you saw the broad blue back of Barnaby B. Beagle, someone you’d only heard of in gossip. He gesticulated as he spoke boisterously to poor Mottie, who was as white as a sheet behind the counter. Situated a slight ways away was Howdy Pillar, who stood as motionless as a statue with both sets of forelimbs fastened behind him.

And then you noticed him. A puppet no more than 4 feet tall, but whose oppressive presence commanded full attention. He paid no mind to the (one-sided) conversation between his colleague and your friend– no, he was staring right at you. Boring into you so acutely that you felt pinned, compelled somehow to continue singing until the final note trickled away.

As if a spell had been broken, you leapt from the platform and scurried to Mottie, who stayed petrified even when you tried to covertly nudge her to the side. How avidly you wished a fissure would open beneath their shoes and swallow them whole; but, armed with years of appeasing difficult and sordid customers, you spoke.

“Evening, fellas. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Barnaby, who had stopped talking when you rounded the bar, bellowed a laugh.

“Fellas?! Is that any way to greet the boss and I?"

He tilted forward with menacing glee, propped up by furry elbows as his claws scraped the laminate countertop. Each of his fangs were as big as your nose.

"Dontcha know who we are, toots? Or do ya just need a refresher on respect?"

The acrid smoke from his cigar blew directly into your face, making spikes of anger bubble in your belly as you choked back a cough. Just when you felt composed enough to reply, a surprisingly mellow voice chimed in.

"It's alright, Barnaby."

The shock slacking his jaw mirrored yours, although you hid it under a mask of cool indifference. You dared a glance at Mr. Darling, but the pressure of his peer chased your gaze back to Barnaby, who grumbled as he straightened back up. It was difficult to stay trained on his good eye, but you soldiered on. Fear was not something you could afford to show, and you knew you'd crumble if you peeked at the fabled gaping socket that he stapled open himself.

"I don't suppose you're Gene Clifton, aged 54, father of two, owner of this joint?" He joked, recovered from the flub.

"No, sir, but my banker would sure be happy if I was. Can I take down a message?"

"A message! I love this bird!" Snickering cruelly, he waved a flippant paw. "Y'should try that material on stage sometime, might bring ya more customers than the singing bit."

You sucked a sharp inhale up your nose. Serenity now.

"See, here's the problem. This is family territory, and in return for our protection, we charge a teensy fee. Now, we ain't unreasonable– we've sent ole Gene a few letters. And what’s our thanks for such humble hospitality? Zilch."

Oh dear. Gene doesn't bother investigating any mail the lounge receives before tossing it because it’s typically adverts. He definitely would've noted The Neighborhood's seal if he did. Regardless, the frank abuse of power only fanned your annoyance, obscuring your better judgment.

"What protection? I don't recall seeing any of your members patrolling outside. Besides, we didn’t ask for protection."

Mottie snapped towards you, looking as though she might faint. The corner of Barnaby's mouth twitched skyward, like he was hoping you'd argue, but his boss beat him to the punch.

"We can reach an agreement, I’m sure. I'd hate to see a family establishment go under, especially when they have such lovely entertainment."

Apparently Wally was so smitten that he'd accept your company in lieu of money, and so the agreement (if you can even call it that, since you were coerced) was this– whenever a rose was delivered to you, you'd attend a rendezvous with him. When you returned to your dressing room later that evening, you discovered the first gift of several: your vase.

“I knew because of your eyes.”

The floral wallpaper in front of you shifts back into focus, Wally’s voice shaking you from your recollection.

“Pardon?”

“That night, you drew me in; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all a petty protection tax. And I knew I had to have you when I met your eyes.” He sounds dreamy, reminiscing as you were before, though his framing of events is worlds apart from your own; he recalls a destined encounter with his future partner, whereas you mark it the day your wings were clipped for good.

“They shone like stars, even through the smog.”

It’s only after he’s finished that you realize you’ve stopped moving, wrapped in an intimate hug like true lovers. A strange mix of pride and disgust floods you at the compliment, stomach flip-flopping rapidly.

He untangles from you, receding so that only your hands remain connected. The newfound distance eases some of your tension, but to your horror, you find yourself mourning the loss of the husky scent of his cologne. Loath as you are to admit it, the bastard smells amazing: a dark, leathery swirl of apples and saffron that you’d buy out if someone turned it into a candle.

“Let’s not delay any longer. You must be starving.”

True to his gentlemanly veneer, he seats you at the table before settling himself. You don’t see him call, but a server emerges immediately from the doors through which Howdy left with a tray of appetizers.

There are two graces you award Wally Darling: his excellent taste in cologne, and his staff’s Michelen-quality fare. Though they adopt the four courses typical of fine dining, the dishes are more grounded, toeing the border between grandma and Gordon Ramsay perfectly. Truthfully, you’re not even sure what to categorize it as; virtually everything is transfigured into a jello, pie, or salad, harkening back to the post-war cookbooks you used to gawk at as a child in your late mother’s library. The yellowed pictures in those books appeared extremely unappetizing, but somehow The Neighborhood makes it work.

It could be because of an illusive member named Poppy, one of the 7 who make up Wally’s illustrious inner circle. She’s scarcely seen due to her fretful and skittish nature, but Wally lauds her cooking and baking skills, regaling you in the past with plenty of kitchen mishaps that occurred when she tried to decompress by experimenting with recipes and was interrupted by their more excitable comrades. If you remember correctly, he once told you that most of the menus in rotation were created by her.

The nature of these duress-dates is wholly dependent on Wally’s mood– if he’s happy, then he’ll gladly chat your ear off about frivolous happenings in his and his friends’ private lives, though he takes care to be shrewd with any details that dive too deep into the murky underbelly lying just below. If he’s unhappy, then they can be utterly unbearable; his mere existence puts you on edge, so it’s exponentially worse when he’s out of sorts, tone curt and glare fierce.

Thankfully, he’s amiable tonight. The first 3 courses march on without incident, and painless conversation flows between the two of you, even if he does most of the talking– you’re not exactly eager to share more than you have to. It’s when the server presents dessert that things go awry.

“Say, how are those triplets you work with doing?” Wally says, spooning at the Bananas Foster. “I haven’t had the pleasure of catching a performance since our mishap a while back. So much paperwork, so little time, you know how it is.”

The mention of both your friends and the aforementioned Dorelaine incident have you bristling reflexively, but you do your best to tamp it down.

“They’re well, overall. Sometimes it’s difficult for them– their manager’s a real piece of work, and we get all types at the lounge.”

“I see…”

He lets out a long “hmmmm”, like he’s reflecting on this information.

“My family has also come upon hard times. It can be… trying, sometimes, to guide my children. Especially now, when we are under unjust attack.” He confesses, wistfully resting his chin on a thread-scarred palm. “Every family requires a head, but what is a head without a neck?”

Unjust my ass. Still, the weird metaphor confuses you.

“A neck?”

At that, his catlike grin only grows. What is he talking about?

“Yes, a neck; that is, someone who supports the head. I care for my family, so it’s only right I am cared for in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the phrasing is puzzling, you’re fairly confident you can infer what he’s purposefully dangling in front of you, and oh, it makes your stomach plummet. Sweat breaks out underneath your suddenly-sweltering outfit; it's as if you've been tied to a railroad and have managed to divert the train through pure will for a year, but now it's steamrolling square for you. The anxiety of impending doom renders you mute, unable to piece together a coherent thought.

Taking your silence in stride, Wally leans forward, intense as he grasps your hand in both of his own. The yellow fuzz does nothing to help how clammy you feel.

“What I mean to say is, I think that it’s time to settle down."

No.

“Wh– what? Settle down how?”

“To get married, silly.”

You’re unable to help the gasp that escapes you. No, no, no!

“Get married? You mean– to me?!”

“Of course. I’ve been courting you all this time, haven’t I?”

You sputter, and he rubs your hand as if to soothe you. His many gold rings gleam under the chandelier, teasing a glimpse of your fate.

“I know in the beginning you weren’t receptive to the idea of this life, but I've shown you that I can provide for you better than anyone else.”

Your expression must betray your surprise, because he chuckles– a slow, stilted sound that sends gooseflesh blooming across your skin.

“You thought I didn’t know? Howdy may not have reported it– which I’ll rectify in due time– but I have eyes everywhere, dear. You’re quite the talented actor, though.”

That trademark simper melts into something beguiling; he cradles you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“I love you, and I will take care of you, as I ask you to do for me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

An inviting facade of genuine affection, so ardent that you almost want to believe it. Wouldn’t that be the easiest path to take? To surrender to the hand that feeds, because where it strangles others, it caresses you sweetly? It’s more tempting than you’d ever divulge, because underneath the armor of aplomb you've so carefully forged, you're exhausted. This burden has been yours alone to bear– and what a bear it is, because if you mess up, the people you love could be injured, or worse. So much worse.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Wally continues.

“Be reasonable. The family welcomes you with open arms! Haven’t you missed having a family?"

The words stab you right through the heart, and your waning resolve springs back tenfold by the fury that ruddies your vision. When you rip your hand away, he makes no move to stop you.

"My friends are my family. I don’t want anyone else, especially not murderers!” You snarl. “You kill people– and torture and maim them! How can you expect me to accept this?!"

"All in a day's work when cleaning up the city, unfortunately," Wally hums. "I wish we didn't have to resort to such things, but you must understand. As it is, puppets are treated as less than, and hardship runs rampant for both humans and puppets alike. You’ve experienced these firsthand.” With the elegance of a master conman, he touches his chest in mock respire. “All we wish to do is provide a safe haven for those in need– somewhere to rest your bones, enjoy a hot meal, and where everyone accepts you as their own. A home.”

You abruptly stand up, feeling like you’re wound so taut that you could erupt at any moment. The mahogany chair behind you tips over from the force, striking the floor with a leaden thud, though the sound is deafened by the blood rushing in your ears.

“Bullshit! You don’t have to start a gang to combat discrimination or help suffering people! Maybe that spiel works on the poor saps you trick into doing your dirty work, but it won’t work on me. The answer is no.”

All is still for a moment as you struggle to calm your heaving breaths, trembling and locked in a quiet stalemate with Wally, who’s as relaxed as ever. Your attention flits from his right eye to where the left would be, if not for the lesion carved from a notch above his eyelid to an inch below, giving the illusion that what lies beneath is impaled.

Oh shit.

The magnitude of what just transpired comes crashing down as your adrenaline flushes out. After playing it safe for months– stomaching unwanted exorbitant gifts, being tailed by his employees, and rousted to innumerous “dates”– you just rejected Wally Darling in the most aggressive way possible. So you do the only thing that might garner you a chance to make it out of this alive: run.

You’re halfway across the room when 4 thick arms suddenly wrangle and force you to halt, a scream ripping itself from your throat out of fear. Can this motherfucker teleport now?! How the hell did he get here so fast?? Thrashing, you throw your head back to search Howdy’s face, desperate for an ounce of the sympathy he’d offered in the elevator, but it is in vain; his stony visage is impenetrable, as though it had never wavered.

“How about you sleep on it, hm? Think about all of your options. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those little lambs when their adorable shepherd isn’t around to protect them.”

Delicate fingers cup your jaw, making you freeze as Wally stretches up to plant a faux-kiss on your cheek, complete with a small “mwah!”. You scowl daggers at him as he collects your hat from where it flew to the floor, dusts it off, and lovingly places it back on your head before giving you a few pats.

“Aw, don’t be that way, darling. I truly meant what I said; you have beautiful eyes. I can hardly wait to try one on.”

With a snap, you’re hauled over Howdy’s back and spirited out of the room, presumably to be transported to wherever you’ll be staying. Hopefully not Wally’s quarters.

It’s all too much; you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare. How else did you expect this to end? You’re not sure. With all of the awful things he’s done, forcing you into marriage is not beyond him. You just thought you’d have more time: to plan, to save up enough money to take the girls and race to the hills.

Tears gather on your waterlines, and the minute your mouth wobbles, they spill ceaselessly. Full-bodied sobs wrack you, the pain of Howdy’s shoulder jutting into your midsection compounding the profound ache of sorrow. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight, but there was no fight to be had; it ended the moment his eyes found yours across the lounge that day.

#🐇 penned #🌈🖼️ wh #feat. some random ocs i made up for the sake of the fic #welcome home #welcome home x reader #wally darling x reader #x reader #reader-insert #yandere x reader #i love randomly throwing in ronald dorelaine #cause we have no idea who he is or what he's like #so he can be whatever i need him to be #yandere wally darling #yandere wally darling x reader #welcome home mob au #clownsuu

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kikyoupdates · 1 month ago

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For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑣𝑜𝑤

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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When faced with the demands of the strongest sorcerer, your family can’t possibly protest. Well, not that they would have wanted to, anyway. They must be happy they don’t have to deal with you anymore.

Out of sheer spite, your mother insisted you live with the rest of the clan and be forced into a life of cruelty and discrimination, but even she would never dare defy Gojo Satoru. Besides, her wish has already been fulfilled. You still won’t have a shot at a normal life. Even if you had been given the right to choose for yourself, now that you’ve met Satoru and discovered what world this is, there’s no way you would ever take the easy way out.

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer.

True to his word, Satoru was able to convince the Gojo Clan members to let you stay with them. You’re not sure exactly what he told them, but he may as well be their deity. Granted, he’s still only a kid, but in the grand scheme of things, bringing in a single girl to stay at the estate isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Based on the way everyone turns up their noses at the sight of you, however, you can tell they aren’t too happy about it.

“No one here will ever hurt you,” Satoru promises. He keeps glancing over at you every few seconds as he leads you through the grounds of the estate—which is massive, might you add. He’s a lot more attentive than you were expecting. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re a weak, helpless baby bird. Which you might as well be, in all fairness.

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.”

“Are your injuries really painful?” he asks with a frown. “We don’t have anyone here that knows how to convert cursed energy into positive energy. But if I try asking, maybe they can reach out to another clan and bring someone over to heal you.”

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.”

Satoru watches as your grin somehow gets even wider, despite the fact that the bruised, swollen parts of your face must be aching uncontrollably. He’s not sure why you’re always smiling so much. It’s not like you ever had any reason to smile. Not with how horribly your family has always treated you.

Then again, that’s exactly what drew him in. Your warm, sunny disposition, which is so starkly different from what he’s used to. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, a smile suits you. He likes seeing you smile.

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

You’re given a nice place to stay. Satoru insisted that you live in the same building as him. It’s obvious that he wants to keep you nearby, in case anyone dares to try anything. Although you’re willing to bet that they won’t risk upsetting him. Not when he’s made it clear that you’re off-limits.

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has.

Gojo Satoru is in a class of his own. The details of his upbringing were never openly disclosed in the anime or manga, but you know for a fact that he didn’t have anyone he could truly call a close friend. Not until he met Suguru.

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

That night, you settle into your big, spacious room. You didn’t bring anything along with you for the move. It’s not like you had any personal belongings to speak of. Certainly nothing valuable, either. Your new room is a bit empty right now, save for a few decorations here and there, but you resolve to brighten it up and make it your own. All in due time.

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by.

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?”

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.”

He nods and steps inside. There’s a clan member waiting by the doorway, and they flash you a brief glare before turning their back towards you and sliding the door shut. As expected, you’re far from popular. They probably think you’re just a hindrance, or maybe even a distraction. You’re not sure if they’ll ever change how they feel about you, but it’s definitely better than staying with your own family.

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough.

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.”

“It’s perfect,” you reassure.

“Really? You can be honest. I can tell that you’re the kind of person to hide how you feel because you don’t want to upset anyone else. I already know your dad is the one who beat you, but it didn’t look like you were going to rat him out.”

“I just didn’t want to stir up even more of a fuss. Besides, seeing other people get hurt won’t make me feel any better. I’m happy enough just to be here. Again, thank you, Satoru. For helping me.”

You sure like to thank him a lot. He’s not really used to being thanked—for anything, really. He’s being trained and brought up as the strongest sorcerer. It’s a given that he’s meant to save and protect those who are weaker than him. But you don’t take any of that for granted. You’re never shy about showing your appreciation. You want him to know how much every one of his gestures means to you.

He likes that. He likes it a lot.

“If it’s alright, I’m going to try and go to sleep now,” you say. “I’m pretty tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Oh. Did you want to spend the night in my room? Like a sleepover? Would you be allowed to do that?”

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly.

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red.

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process.

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes.

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved.

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?”

Satoru reaches out and takes a rice ball into his hands, furrowing his brows as he looks it over. As far as rice balls go, it looks pretty normal. It’s actually rolled up really neatly. He’s surprised you made this yourself. You did a pretty good job.

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.”

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this.

“Gross!” he exclaims, immediately spitting it out of his mouth and onto the ground. He then proceeds to stare at the inside of the rice ball he just bit into. “Did you… you actually put chocolate inside of this? Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?!”

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.”

Satoru watches, horrified, as you bite into your own rice ball, smiling all the while. There might actually be something wrong with you after all. He’s starting to realize that you’re slightly unhinged.

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders.

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—”

“No.”

This is what most of your days look like. It’s been just over a week since you arrived at the Gojo estate. Your injuries have almost fully healed. Also, you’re no longer required to do chores at virtually every waking moment, so whenever Satoru isn’t busy with training, you spend all of your time together.

Satoru has to do a lot of different things. It’s not just honing his jujutsu abilities, day in and day out. He isn’t allowed to slack off when it comes to academics, either. It’s clear that his family intends for him to be perfect in any way possible. They refuse to let him settle for anything other than the best.

It’s a lot of pressure for a kid. Satoru makes it look easy, but nevertheless, you feel sorry for him. Which is why you always try to make sure that he’s having fun when he’s with you. You want him to have some semblance of a childhood, at the very least.

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together.

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.”

One of his usual attendants comes to pick him up. Satoru clicks his tongue in visible annoyance, but as always, he doesn’t protest. He has a strong sense of duty and purpose. A determination to uphold his responsibilities as the strongest.

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you.

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

The attendant blinks. He’s bewildered, of course, and you’re not sure what else to do but bat your eyes at him with a bright, hopeful expression. You may be weak, but you’d like to think that you’re a pretty cute kid. It’s about time someone developed a soft spot for you.

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close.

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.”

“Master Satoru, you can’t—”

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson.

It’s a bit awkward. Satoru told you to sit right next to him the whole time, and although he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, it still feels weird to be sitting in on a private lesson. While the teacher glares at you the whole time, no less.

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from.

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.”

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s not correct,” the teacher says. She scribbles something down onto a piece of paper. “It’s alright. That was an exceptionally advanced question, so I can’t blame you for—”

“It’s C.”

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out.

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?”

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—”

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.”

So, you do. You don’t just answer that question, but the next one, and the next one after it, and the next one after that, and so on and so forth. The teacher looks both amazed and horrified. Even Satoru can’t seem to hide how taken aback he is. They’re both staring at you like you’ve been hiding this incredible intelligence all along, when really, you’re kind of cheating. You died when you were sixteen years old. Satoru is incredibly smart for his age, but even taking that into account, your years of lived experience give you an obvious advantage.

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is.

Satoru’s lesson ends, and you can see the teacher whispering to the other Gojo Clan members about what just happened. Their eyes all widen in shock as they glance your way. They believe you’re ‘gifted’ all of a sudden, and while it doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer, at least they might think a bit more highly of you from now on. Maybe they’ll finally approve of you being by Satoru’s side.

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Is there a good way to be dumb?”

“I just meant that you seemed a bit dumb, because of how straightforward and simple you are. And you’re nice to everyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You’re easy to take advantage of, so… yeah. I thought you were dumb. Sorry.”

Satoru chuckles sheepishly. You snort in response, amused by his uncharacteristic shyness. You suppose it doesn’t really matter whether people think you’re smart or not. From the moment you were born, it was clear that you would have to defy everyone’s expectations. You’re going to have to work harder than most in order to prove yourself. In order to have a chance at saving people.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks.

“What thing?”

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.”

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.”

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s strange that you’re so fixated on improving yourself. He’s the strongest, so of course, there’s a heavy burden upon his shoulders. He has to be the best. It’s both his birthright and his destiny. There’s simply no way around it.

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger?

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect you. Even if he hasn’t known you for very long yet, he likes having you around. There’s no reason why he can’t look after you. It’d be nice if you got stronger too, he supposes, but it’s not like you’d ever be stronger than him. With him by your side, your future is already assured.

Which is why it’s weird. There’s this urgency and desperation he senses from you, almost constantly. It’s not like your family is around anymore. And even if they ever tried to take you back, he wouldn’t let that happen.

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself.

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much.

Word travels fast, and soon, pretty much everyone in the clan has discovered that you possess intellect far beyond what they imagined (not really, but whatever, you’ll take it). Satoru keeps insisting that you be allowed to sit in on his lessons from time to time. They reluctantly allow it, and sometimes, you even help answer some of the questions he has—instead of the teacher whose literal job it is to do so. She doesn’t seem to like you very much, unfortunately.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again.

He does this a lot. He usually makes a point of saying goodnight to you before he goes to sleep. It’s adorable, and it warms your heart to see that he’s starting to care for you so much. Sometimes, you still can’t believe this is the life you’re living.

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares.

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?”

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.”

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart.

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“Why would I be scared of some stupid stories?” Satoru brushes off. “I’ve already exorcized all kinds of cursed spirits. And none of those were scary, either. I’m too strong to have anything to be scared of.”

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.”

Satoru rolls his eyes as he lays his futon down next to yours. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once he’s lying down, facing you, and when he realizes just how close the two of you are… he’s embarrassed to admit that his heart starts beating a bit faster.

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles.

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, I’m happy you’re here. Ah. You’re not just trying to come up with excuses so you don’t have to hear my scary stories, right? I see right through you, Satoru. You’re not sneaky.”

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on.

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours.

“It’s okay,” he says, and since you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you just frown. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not strong, because I’m strong enough for the both of us. Before, I said I’d be your friend if you showed me how you planned on getting stronger, but… it’s fine. You don’t need to do that anymore. I’ll still be your friend. I don’t care if you’re weak or not. So, don’t worry about what anyone else says. I’ll stay with you no matter what.”

Through the dark of night, you can’t tell, but he’s blushing profusely right now. He feels like he just said something really cheesy. But he’s not going to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. He means it wholeheartedly.

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable.

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger.

While Satoru is busy training, you do the same. You try your absolute hardest to make some kind of progress, and yet, the changes are minimal—if any. It’s as if your body simply isn’t cut out for this, which is a bitter irony. To think that you’ve been reincarnated into a world where you have the potential to do a lot of good and help a lot of people, but your weakness is holding you back.

The knowledge you have is invaluable. You know that. Even if you’re not all-powerful, you still have the ability to make a difference. But this is Jujutsu Kaisen. A world in which death isn’t just possible; it’s more common than surviving. If you don’t have any way of protecting yourself and others, who’s to say you’ll even last long enough to save everyone?

It hurts. You hate being weak. You hate that your efforts yield no results. Unlike in the real world, where people can usually make up for talent or skill through sheer dedication and hard work, here, your fate may as well be sealed.

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.”

He proceeds to give you yet another up close demonstration of his cursed energy at work. He flattens several pop cans in one fell swoop, while you’ve been struggling to do the same to a single one of them.

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.”

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs.

Your shoulders slump. A while ago, you had your sixth birthday. Which means it’s been slightly more than a year since you’ve gone to live with the Gojo Clan. A whole year, and still, you’re as weak as ever. You know it’s still too early to give up, but it’s hard not to feel discouraged when you have Satoru by your side, and every day, you’re reminded of the fact that you’ll be helpless to change his fate if this continues.

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.”

Satoru smiles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a loose hug. During your time together, he’s become a lot more cheerful and expressive, which is of course due to your influence. It makes you happy to see, and you’re overjoyed that he cares about you to this extent. If you didn’t know what the future holds in store, you would’ve been more than willing to sit back and let him protect you.

He doesn’t realize that he’s destined for an early death. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his strength, that he doesn’t even consider it to be a possibility. Which is why you do need to become stronger. Even if he doesn’t understand why.

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.”

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you.

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.”

Of course, as you expected, your supervised training session doesn’t go much better. You can see the clan member repeatedly rolling their eyes at your lack of talent. The only reason they’re helping you at all is because Satoru insisted they honor your requests.

Once again, you’re left feeling hopeless and deflated. You wonder if you’ll ever see any improvement, or if you truly are beyond salvation. Destined to be so weak that you can’t protect a single person.

Not even your dearest friend.

You stare down at your feet, gaze glassy, and for a moment, it feels like you’re about to cry. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all? Some kind of trick that will allow even a weakling like you to have a fighting chance?

Some kind of… trick?

All of a sudden, your eyes widen. .

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

He enjoys having you here. He never thought it would make that big of a difference, being able to spend time with a kid his own age. And not just any kid, but someone who’s taught him how to smile, laugh, and appreciate simple moments he used to take for granted before. He’s glad he made the decision to visit you again that fateful day. If he hadn’t done that, every day would still be just as monotonous and boring. Every day would be unbearably predictable.

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him.

Like right now, for instance.

“[Name],” Satoru calls out. As always, he knows exactly where to find you. He can tell everyone’s cursed energy apart, and although yours is scarce, it easily stands out the most to him. It’s comforting and familiar. He’s fully committed it to memory by now, and if he wanted to, he could write a whole essay describing it.

It doesn’t take long for Satoru to find you. For some reason, you’re standing in place and staring off into the distance with a vacant expression. You’re also holding something in your hand. Is that… a knife?

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

You don’t respond at first, but then you turn towards him, in a rigid, unsettling manner. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them before. Even your lips are slightly parted, as if something has you in awe.

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly.

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out.

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.”

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

You take a hurried step backwards. Satoru still doesn’t understand what’s going on. You’re never this cryptic. It’s throwing him off, and for some reason, he’s getting a bad feeling about all this.

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

Satoru cries out, but it’s already too late. There’s blood everywhere. It’s a deep gash. A serious injury. You’re wincing, looking lightheaded from the pain, as if you’re about to pass out any second. Satoru instinctively knows he has to get help, and yet, he’s too shocked to move. This has never happened before. He’s never watched someone get hurt in front of his eyes—someone he cares deeply about—and been helpless to do anything about it. He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. A special, chosen existence. But right now, all of that feels pointless, because you’re in pain, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it.

Your body is… healing?

It’s true. The gash on your arm, the one you just inflicted with the knife, has already fully healed. You pause for a moment, then wipe the blood off your skin, so that he can see more clearly. Sure enough, it’s gone. There’s no trace of the wound that was there a second ago. Almost as if what happened just now was a figment of his imagination.

“Reverse cursed technique,” Satoru mumbles in disbelief. “You… when did you learn how to do this? You never mentioned it before. And I didn’t notice any changes in the flow of your cursed energy, either.”

“I learned it just now.”

“What?”

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.”

Satoru frowns. Something isn’t adding up. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is a very complex technique. Few individuals are actually able to pull it off. Even he doesn’t know how to heal himself. But such an ability was able to manifest in you? He supposes it’s not impossible, but given the nature of your cursed energy, and your overall lack of skill… it seems unlikely.

“I wanted to become stronger.” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Sorry. I needed to become stronger. So, I did. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but just now, I was able to confirm it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you already suspect it. That I didn’t obtain this ability naturally. I was frustrated that nothing was working, no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to improve, regardless of how hard I trained. So, I… took a gamble. I made a Binding Vow.”

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?”

You nod enthusiastically, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Would someone really gain the ability to use positive energy through a simple vow like that? It’s the first Satoru’s ever heard of it. And since healing is a rare, valuable power, most people would love to get their hands on it. If it was that easy, surely everyone would opt to do it, one way or another.

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this.

“I already knew that by imposing restrictions on yourself, through a Binding Vow, it’s possible to increase your cursed energy and empower your technique,” you say. “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is complicated, after all. I knew I had to make it a pretty serious restriction, in order to have any chance of succeeding. Even then, it still might not have worked.”

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always.

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard.

“In exchange for gaining the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I’m never allowed to use my cursed energy to harm anyone else, whether it’s a human or a cursed spirit. And if by some chance I do… I’ll die. Instantly.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!”

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

Note

Its been a while since I read the eng translation on Masquerade JP, but didn’t Malleus confess about being afraid of rollo? I would find it hilarious if he did. Especially since I feel like it would be a jab at Leona’s pride, he thot he was his arch nemesis💀 the one to bring fear into the powerful dragon, the one who can stand toe to toe with, the one that malleus can look him in the eye and say he’s a worthy opponent…Nope, it’s Rollo.

the twink that eats a few grapes and a croissant was able to scare Malleus Draconia himself, one of the top 5 mages in the world. And he did it less than a few days 🙃

You’re remembering correctly! In 5-5 (and then again in 5-18) of Glorious Masquerade, Malleus himself states that Rollo has actually made him feel fear. (Malleus also says in 3-7 that he may fear the flowers.) I think it was only 1-2 days max for the event though?

The first angry cat got trumped and outdone by a second, far angrier cat 💀 Leona thought he could bring Malleus to his knees with an easily avoidable (with magic) stampede… He thought on a scale that was too small 🙄 Obviously, you should threaten not only Malleus’s safety but also that of his people, his beloved gargoyles, and Twisted Wonderland as we known it. That’s what’s going to nab you that coveted “Malleus’s Archnemesis” status/j

It’s even stupider when you realize that, of the two, Rollo acts much more goofy (even if his intentions aren’t goofy). Like… not only are Rollo’s monologues and brooding about how he’ll finally triumph over Malleus and all mages far longer than Leona fixating on Malleus, but bro literally pulled a lever that acrivates TRAP DOORS for the NRC students to fall through 🤡 THAT SHIT AIN’T NORMAL… SEEK HELP AT ONCE, FLAMME

I think there’s something to be said about just how tenacious Rollo is as well. That is the trait of his which ultimately earns him Malleus’s fear: because, despite being a mere human and all the blows he has been dealt up until that point (including a particularly devastating blast of double the damage he inflicted onto the SSR trio), Rollo still manages to stand back up. (Reminder that he’s been excessively spellcasting up until this point, trying to roast the NRC boys into a fine crisp.) Not only that, but he unleashes his UM right after and keeps trying to take them on, 3 vs 1. Most impressive of all????? Even though Rollo is using up so much magic, even though he’s feeling so many overwhelming and negative emotions, he NEVER Overblots. That is some extreme mental fortitude right there 😭 I have to applaud it…

And then you think about how neurotic Rollo is (the 2 croissants, 16 grapes, 1 cafe au lait lunch everyday SENDS me every time) and how easily set off he is by little inconveniences (like a goat eating his stationary) and it becomes even funnier because of how “lame” Rollo is in his daily life 😩 The power of sheer spite powered him through it all, and Malleus has no choice but to respect and to fear him for it/j

#twisted wonderland #twst #Leona Kingscholar #Malleus Draconia #Rollo Flamme #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #notes from the writing raven

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fmet · 7 months ago

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Mithrun is a fantastic, fantastic character. He is undoubtedly severely disabled, cannot care for himself, has clear physical and mental limitations but people still recognize his authority as the Canary’s captain, for his knowledge about the dungeon’s demon, and for his vehemence, and as a result he’s highly respected. This doesn’t mean that his limitations are ignored, but they don’t negate the abilities that he is alleged to have. For a lot of the manga, these extraordinary abilities in spite of his limitations are what define his character. Because he can, and desires to, continue fighting and involving himself in the dungeon’s fate, he does, and we’re expected to believe that because he does is the only reason he can continue going. His exceptionalism in magic, in knowledge, and in character is what is keeping him alive, and without any of these things, his disability would kill him—is what we’re supposed to believe.

But this isn’t what happens. When all three of these points become moot after the dungeon collapses and the demon is defeated, he doesn’t die. He would have died, certainly, if the circumstances were different, but the words Kabru and Senshi spoke to him about the concept of renewal, both directly and indirectly, made him realize how much he could still do with life if he wished. He has a brother and many of the canary’s who are willing to continue caring for him, and in post-canon it’s shown that this is what ends up happening. He lives on not through the brute force of his skills, but through an open perspective and the helping hands of others.

A big overarching question that dungeon meshi likes to pose through it’s story is what makes a person, society, idea, etc, able to propagate— what lets someone or something continue on, establish a legacy, accomplish their goals, or simply not die. We’re shown people who live through their physical strength, their exploitation of others, their charisma, their mind, sheer force of will (whether their own or someone else’s), but all of these are eventually demonstrated to be inefficient on their own, because they disregard the inherent nature of mortal living things: Those that eat, live; Those that eat with others will thrive; and those able to feed others have the highest character of anyone. This is why the Winged Lion is such a powerful concept, this is why Laios makes a good king, this is why Falin survives despite all odds, this is why Thistle doesn’t.

Mithrun may have survived for his revenge, and gained renown for doing so, but he could never live for it, because it inevitably would lead to his death (and this turns out to be what he wanted anyway). It wasn’t his abilities or this desire that made him “worth” rehabilitating or caring for. His disability was never a caveat to these “advantages” of having him live. It’s only his willingness to eat, and others making sure he continues to do so (Misiril, the Canary’s, his brother, Kabru, Senshi), that made his survival for this long possible. Realizing this in the wake of lacking the “admirable” desire for vengeance he once did is one of the more healing character conclusions that Dungeon Meshi offers. As long as he has something he wants to do, he will eat, and he will live, and people will be at his side as he does so. The value of his character “in spite” of his disability is irrelevant.

#dungeon meshi spoilers #dm #Before he became a canary this way of thinking about his life also seems pretty significant #Because he’s handsome and a noble and had a girl back home and was better than his brother. That’s what he lived for.#And it ended up almost destroying him #Mithrunnnnnn I love you mithrun. You and guts berserk would be bestfriends

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jacks347 · 10 months ago

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Would the listeners survive a zombie apocalypse? (In my slightly sarcastic, completely subjective opinion)

Idk man, I'm bored and got time to kill in church so here we are

(Tagging this is going to be a nightmare-)

(Edit from the future: It was. It really was.)

Redacted:

For sake of my sanity this isn't all the listeners, just the ones I'm still actively keeping up with (I'll get to the others...eventually)

Angel - Solid maybe. Out of all the unempowereds, definitely has one of the highest chances. But it would take an extreme streak of luck.

Babe - No...I'm sorry but no. Would be like one of those extras that you see eaten in the first minute of a horror movie.

Sweetheart - Probably. Can a zombie detect someone invisible? Sweetheart is smart enough to survive, they'll be fine.

Darlin - Yes if they have Sam to hold them back from sacrificing themself for the "greater good". No if they're left completely to their own devices.

Lovely - Depends on the version. Pre Adam, no. Pre Inversion, maybe? Post Inversion, definitely. Hard to die to a zombie apocalypse when you're a) already dead and b) literally immortal.

Treasure - Okay, I know Treasure is the newest addition to the roster and we haven't had a lot of time to see their personality develop but as of now? Yeah...no.

Freelancer - They'll do it on -3 hours of sleep simply out of spite. Freelancer has been through enough, they're just tired. They'd survive but begrudgingly.

Honey - Honey would survive out of spite and spite alone. Would definitely have that baseball bat from The Walking Dead.

GBA:

Guardian - ...you're kidding, right?

Darling - Yeah...no. Soft bby would never.

Faithful - Possibly? That stubborn attitude and medical abilities would help but has absolutely no combat training so ehhhhh, it depends.

Paradise - If she can break a pirate crew out of space Fort Knox and wrangle Yargwynn, a zombie apocalypse is pocket change. Paradise would own an apocalypse.

Partner - I swear I'll stop bullying the new additions. Once they're worth not bullying. The man made the zombie apocalypse, I guess we're gonna find out if he survives won't we? I'm not hopeful though.

Escaped:

Asset - No one in ATW even knows how to do basic math, the only way any of them survive is through sheer force of which they might actually be successful. So maybe.

Raven - Yes but she would have a mental breakdown about it so she would not be the same on the other side.

Slash - ...seriously?

Guest - Hm, a trained vampire slayer in a zombie apocalypse, I wonder what would happen! Obviously she'd be fine.

Intern - Entirely dependent on who they're trying to keep alive. If it's just them, probably. If it's them and the rest of their merry band of misfits, no.

Future Wife - You're funny. RIP my girl, no one will know her husband broke the fuckin timeline for some pancakes.

Agent Schäfer - Once the shock and panic wore off, yeah she'd be fine. Hope she doesn't get eaten during that freeze.

("Where's Lass?" When Desmond returns for more than five minutes, come talk to me about listening to Blue Infinity)

Nomad:

Pack Mom - Definitely. We already know she's a deadly shot and wasn't afraid to shoot a living person, a dead one would be fine. She will be perfectly fine.

Lass - Yes. Not with as much overwhelming power as Pack Mom but she'd get through it. I mean...she has formal sword training, I think she'd do okay.

Little One - Probably not. Out of the original Frosthaven romances, they are the least likely to survive. They'd put up a good fight though.

Lamb - Yes and no. Physically, she'd be just fine. Mentally, I don't know if she could do it. Slipping back into that killer mindset might just drag her under.

Chester's mate - Probably not. Out of all the new Frosthaven romances, they're the most average. They'd try though.

Harlow's roommate - No. I love them but no. Not our slightly stupid boat captain.

Caltraxus' TA - Yes and they'd hate it every step of the way. Would survive completely hungover if that was an option.

The Doctor - Probably? If not by her own merit then definitely through someone else cause everyone needs a doctor in the apocalypse.

Beau's mate - Yes. Literally fought a bear once. She will be just fine.

(The lack of fandom names for Nomad's listeners saddens me greatly. And also makes my work so much harder)

This was so dumb but I had fun so :P

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namixart · 6 months ago

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It Takes Two

Read on AO3!

"Whatever happens, you can't fall in love with me. Even if you think you have, it's not real."

Cloud takes Aerith's request and turns it into a challenge.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Cloud sat down across from Aerith, and she spotted his frown through the fire burning between them. Their small camp was tucked away in a corner of the Mythril Mines, on a ledge that Cloud and Barret had deemed reasonably defensible. Still, someone needed to keep watch, and it was Aerith’s turn. With Cloud now sitting silently across from her.

Across. Not beside her. Confrontational and direct in a way Cloud usually wasn’t when he joined her during her shifts. Curious.

Aerith cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

He shot her a half-glare, as if she should’ve guessed what he was talking about from his complete lack of preamble. “You know,” he said, predictably, gesturing vaguely with his hand. Confrontational, yes. But still uncomfortable with words. That was a clue as to what he meant, at least. But she wasn’t going to bail him out of that one. Not if he couldn’t even get it out himself. It’d buy her some time, at least.

“I really don’t. You know me—I’m a talker. Can’t remember ‘em all.” She shrugged with a smile.

Cloud huffed. “Oh, I’m sure you remember this one. It’s a doozy,” he said sardonically. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “‘Whatever happens, you can’t fall in love with me. Even if you think you have, it’s not real.’” He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Ring a bell?”

Verbatim. Even two weeks after their shared dream, two weeks of fighting and travelling and trying to change their fate, her words were burned in his memory. Just like the look on his face was burned in hers, she supposed.

Aerith let out a half giggle. “Ah. That does kinda shake a tambourine. What about it?” Stalling, stalling, stalling, buying time until she figured out what to say, what to do. He wanted an explanation, he wanted a say, he wanted the truth, and she couldn’t give it to him. The Whispers had taken it away. She didn’t know why she’d asked him that anymore, but she knew it was important. She knew it was for the best, in spite of the sheer agony it brought her to deny herself the chance to try. The chance to love him. It was important, but she didn’t know why anymore. And now Cloud would want to know.

He frowned at her. “Bullshit.”

Aerith blinked once. Twice. Furrowed her brows. “Well, that’s not very polite,” she said, forcing the airy cheer in her voice. Not what she was expecting, either. “What do you—”

Cloud shook his head. “Bullshit,” he repeated. “You can’t ask someone not to—you can’t ask me that.”

In spite of herself, Aerith cracked half a smile. There he was. Confrontational, yes, but he couldn’t say it twice. Her heart squeezed with affection for her—no, not hers. Never hers. Just Cloud.

“Why?” she asked. She’d beaten him to the punch. A well-placed why was a dangerous weapon. And, when aimed correctly at Cloud Strife, it had the power to make him swerve away from uncomfortable topics like they would burn him.

But he just frowned harder. “Because you don’t get to put that on me.”

Caught off-guard again, Aerith stared. “What?”

Cloud finally averted his eyes from her. “You can’t put that on me,” he repeated. “If you don’t feel—If you don’t want—” He gestured awkwardly between the two of them, and the flames of the campfire trembled— “then fine.”

Aerith forced a smile. This was what she wanted. It was. Distance between them. To protect him. From a threat she didn’t even know anymore. It was what she wanted. “Good. Then—”

“I’m not done.” He met her gaze again, stubborn and resolute. “You don’t get to put this on me. It takes two.”

“Huh?” Thrown off-balance again. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Aerith was supposed to be the one in control of her reactions. “What do you mean?”

Cloud crossed his arms. “I don’t get why you’d ask me that. And I doubt you’ll tell me.” He raised an eyebrow. Touché. But not for the reasons he thought. “I just know it’s got something to do with Whispers and fate and the Planet and all that.” He made a sharp, frustrated gesture in the general direction of the rest of the cave. “I know you wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.”

“That’s right,” said Aerith, slowly. Where was he going with this?

Cloud pressed his lips together. “But you can’t put it on me. I don’t even know why it matters.”

She sighed. “Cloud—”

“It takes two,” he repeated, insistent like he was anchoring himself to those words, “so, if it’s that important, why don’t you not fall in love with me?”

“What!?” exclaimed Aerith, immediately regretting it when her voice echoed a little too loudly in the tunnels. “What?” she repeated in a whisper.

Cloud shrugged, faux-nonchalantly. “You heard me.”

“I did,” said Aerith. “But you—I... You can’t—”

He fixed her with an unimpressed look. “Oh, and you can?”

Aerith frowned. “That’s different.”

“Really.”

Cloud leaned forward, closer to the fire. It cast shifting shadows over his face, but the Mako glow in his eyes was steady. “Explain, then.”

She looked away. “I can’t. Not even if I wanted to. The Whispers—they took that knowledge away from me.”

He frowned again. “Then why—”

“Because I know it was important,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “I know I was trying to protect you. And that hasn’t changed. So, please—”

Cloud sighed and leaned away. “Fine. Wasn’t expecting an explanation anyway. Still. It’s real unfair of you to put it on me.”

She shot him a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry?”

Cloud shook his head. “Nah. Not good enough. Puttin’ it back on you.” He crossed his arms. “Like I said: if you care that much, you try not falling in love with me.”

Aerith felt the competitive spark tingle under her skin. “Maybe I will. Won’t.” She giggled. “You know what I mean.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Ball’s in your court.”

A beat.

She stared at him. “Wait—You don’t mean... You’re not—” He couldn’t. It had only been two weeks and she’d warned him.

He couldn’t be in love with her. He just couldn’t.

Finally, Cloud’s usual awkwardness seeped back into his eyes as he realised what she was asking, what he’d implied. “No! I–uh, I’m not. No,” he said, stubbornly looking away from Aerith. “It’s the, uh, the principle of the thing. It takes two. And I don’t see why it’s gotta be on me.”

Because someone has to be responsible here, thought Aerith, and I might not be. Not if you keep saying stuff like that.

When she didn’t reply, Cloud leaned towards her again. “Shouldn’t be a problem for you. Right?” he said, barely above a whisper. “It’s what you want.”

Aerith held his gaze. “It’s not a problem,” she lied.

Something flickered on his face. Aerith tried not to think about how it looked a lot like hurt. “Right,” he said.

She let a small beat of silence pass, then she cracked a smile. “Did we just—this a game of chicken or something?”

Cloud chuckled. “Or something.”

She pouted. “That’s so childish.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it takes two.” He held a hand out over the fire.

It takes two to tango, it takes two to fall in love, it takes two to make a stupid childish bet.

Aerith took his hand. “It takes two,” she agreed, gripping it tight for a moment.

Cloud nodded slowly, then shook his head. “Right. I, uh, I better let you get back to your shift.” He let her hand go and stood up. Aerith tried not to notice how he’d held onto her fingertips for just a second too long. “I, um, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“Yeah,” said Aerith, as she watched him circle the campfire to get back to the tent. “Right. Glad.” They’d cleared nothing up, and they both knew it.

He paused. “Night, Aerith.”

She turned back to the fire. “Night, Cloud.”

After one last beat of silence, she heard the quiet rustle of fabric as he slipped inside the tent.

Then, left alone with just the crackling fire to underscore her thoughts, Aerith realised what she’d just agreed to.

“Shit,” she hissed, burying her face in her hands.

Betting Cloud she wouldn’t fall in love with him, daring herself not to get close. It was kinda like betting on a horse with a broken leg.

She was so, so screwed.

---

Despite what he’d implied during their conversation at the campfire, Cloud didn’t really act any differently around her the day after. Well, maybe there was an extra glance he’d toss her way while they were striking camp, maybe a lingering touch as he helped her up a ledge, maybe a hint of something in his voice when he spoke to her.

Or maybe it was Aerith being hyper aware of him.

For all that he’d laid bare his grievances the night before, she wasn’t really sure about his feelings or his intentions. He’d said it was a matter of principle—that it wasn’t fair of her to put the responsibility of them not becoming involved on him. He’d said the ball was in her court. He’d said he wanted a say in his feelings.

But he hadn’t actually said what his feelings were. Or what he wanted from her, from them. He’d simply rejected her request and issued a challenge, in his usual awkward fashion. Translated: I’m not going to try not falling in love with you. You do that, if you like.

Aerith could do that. Probably. She just had to ignore the burgeoning feelings in her chest. Easy. Those very feelings were totally not the reason she’d tried to engineer an unrequited love situation for herself by pushing Cloud away.

She could do it. No biggie.

Aerith was used to charmers. She knew how to skirt around their words, how not to fall for them. She was a flower seller; she was used to guys coming onto her while she was just trying to make some Gil, she was used to dodging their advances. She’d had Zack Fair. She knew how to handle charmers.

The problem was that Cloud wasn’t one.

Cloud was awkward, and sweet, and earnest, and blunt.

“You good?”

And he was walking right beside her.

“Hm-mm,” she said, linking her hands behind her back. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You, of course.” She winked, relishing in the way he cleared his throat and looked away. How Not To Get Attached 101, one hundred percent foolproof, Aerith-brand pointless flirting.

“Get real,” he muttered, shooting her a small glare. “Or have you lost the game already?”

Okay, maybe just seventy percent foolproof. Aerith giggled. “Nope. Just teasing.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “You’re always teasing.”

“That’s me.” She winked.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That’s you alright,” he said, letting a fond note slip into his voice.

Aerith swallowed a knot in her throat and turned away to look ahead.

Cloud wasn’t a charmer. And that was the problem.

---

“You ever feel like life is mocking you?”

Aerith couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Sometimes. Like right now.”

Cloud groaned as they both followed Naomi down the sunny streets of Costa del Sol. She and her friends wanted to see a real couple on a date, Cloud wanted to get paid, and Aerith wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed at Johnny’s and disappear. How was she supposed to keep her distance from Cloud if they kept straight-up dating?

“You don’t get to say that,” he muttered almost absentmindedly.

She winced, but he wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t seem to have noticed he’d said that out loud, so she let it slide, averting her gaze as well and frowning a little bit. For the first time in a while, she couldn’t quite read him. Was he happy about their predicament? Was he annoyed? Embarrassed? A combination of the three?

The girls had called them a couple. Aerith wished it was that simple.

She closed her eyes for a moment. If they were a couple, she could’ve reached out to the side and taken Cloud’s hand in hers, entwining their fingers as they walked. If they were a couple, maybe he’d be complaining about having an audience on their date while a cute blush coloured his cheeks. If they were a couple, she wouldn’t feel like her life was mocking her.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” said Cloud. His eyes were focused on his feet, minding his step.

Aerith swallowed a knot in her throat as she leaned close to him. “Well, you know, there’s no rule book. We can just be ourselves. Have fun just hanging out, y’know? Let ‘em think what they want about us.”

Cloud looked like he was going to argue, a spark of fire flickering in his eyes as he shot her a glance, but the resolve on his face waned just as quickly as it had arrived. Aerith bit her lip. This job was a bad idea.

But… But maybe it’d be fun to pretend, just for a while, that they could be a normal couple. That they could spend an afternoon roaming a charming seaside town together, enjoying each other’s company. Then again, the indulgence was dangerous. If she reached out and took his hand, would she let go when the day ended? Would he?

She sighed. No. Better to stick to her guns. They would have a pleasant time with the activities Naomi and the others had planned for them, and then they’d return to the rest of the group and tell them about their weird job. They’d go back to the hunt for Sephiroth and nothing would change.

Nothing would change, nothing had to change, if nothing changed he’d be safe, it was what the Aerith of the past had wanted, and that Aerith knew better than the Aerith of the present, because the Aerith of the present didn’t know anything except for the burning need to keep Cloud safe, no matter how much it ripped her heart in half, and—

A warm weight slipped into her hand, hesitant but determined. She blinked twice, hard, chasing those frantic thoughts away from her mind. She looked down at the hand holding hers, then slowly back up at Cloud, who was still resolutely facing forward despite the fact that pink dusted his cheeks.

Aerith heard herself make a small questioning noise through the fog in her brain.

Cloud shot her a glance, part plea, part glare, part challenge. “We’re on the clock, aren’t we?”

She nodded slowly, but the words stayed stuck in her throat.

He shrugged, jostling her hand. “Let’s give ‘em what they want, then.” The statement felt loaded, a little bitter, a little teasing. What the girls wanted. What about what Aerith and Cloud wanted?

“Right,” she breathed. She didn’t want to picture how dumb she looked in that moment. She felt sluggish and slow, as if she’d woken up from a deep slumber. But it was just Cloud holding her hand.

His small smile was halfway between relieved and smug, and Aerith idly thought that she kinda wanted to kiss that look off his face. Unfortunately, it would only have made him even more smug and, well, she couldn’t have that on top of losing their stupid little game.

So, she just looked ahead, at Naomi waving them over to the Run Wild stand. If Cloud tightened his hold on her hand just for a fraction of a second, she pretended not to notice.

---

“I thought you’d gone to bed.”

Cloud played a loud, startled chord on the piano as Aerith came up behind him. “Uh,” he said eloquently. “I haven’t.”

“I can tell.”

He winced, his shoulders stiffening.

She paused, biting her lip. She hadn’t expected to run into him just yet. She’d thought she’d have more time to get her feelings sorted. But there he was, in the same small Gongaga hut she’d chosen to find some shade in. It looked to be some sort of community centre, not unlike the one in the Sector 5 undercity, but it was almost empty. Just Aerith, Cloud, and a heavy blanket of unease weighing them both down.

She was supposed to be mad at him, wasn’t she?

Forget about that loser.

Hate to break it to you, but the man is dead.

Horrifically insensitive, to say the least. And very unlike him. Sometimes, it was like there was something bubbling just under his skin, something that had burst out for that one moment. Aerith had no idea why, out of all possible topics, he’d reacted that badly to Zack specifically. Or, rather, she had two ideas that maybe were the same idea, but she hated all of them.

Idea one: it was the degradation, that uncomfortable elephant in the room, that ticking clock threatening to take Cloud away from her—no, take him away from them—at any moment. For as much as they all avoided talking about it, she knew it weighed heavily on everyone, Cloud most of all. Yet, Aerith couldn’t quite shake the feeling that while, yes, something was wrong, it wasn’t degradation. It was something… different. Maybe something worse.

Idea two: it had nothing to do with Zack and everything to do with her. The thought made her stomach churn a little, in ways that she couldn’t quite identify—and she hated herself for that. For the small, selfish part of her that was, maybe, just a little happy at the thought that Cloud could’ve been jealous.

Idea both-of-them: the thought of Aerith and Zack had bothered him, but the intensity of his outburst had been amplified by the thing going on with him, degradation or otherwise.

Aerith hated all of those ideas. But she couldn’t hate him. She couldn’t even be mad.

Cloud cleared his throat, without turning around on the stool. “I, uh…”

She hummed quietly. She shifted her weight on her feet for a moment, considering. Then, slowly, she took the couple of steps needed to close the distance between them and sat down on the stool beside him. Cloud gasped quietly, then hurried to make more room for her.

Aerith took a deep breath. She didn’t look at him, just kept her gaze trained on the sheet music in front of him. It was titled Hollow. “You, uh…?”

She felt him stiffen. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him fiddle with his hands in his lap. “Shouldn’t have said that stuff.”

“No,” she said. “You shouldn’t have.” She frowned. “Why’d you say it?”

There was a long, excruciating beat of silence. “I… don’t know,” he murmured, like he was struggling to get that much sound out of his throat. “I don’t—It just came out.”

Shit. The degradation.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Aerith shook her head. “I’m not upset. Not at you, anyway.”

“You… aren’t?”

“No. Just—” She gestured vaguely with her hand. “I’m upset at things, I guess.”

He shifted slightly to turn back the pages on the sheet music. “Yeah. Me too. That’s why I came here.”

“To play?”

Cloud hummed. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get my thoughts in order and then come find you but, well…”

Aerith giggled quietly. “But I found you first.”

He shook his head. “Yes and no. You did find me first, but…” He sighed. “Thing is, I can’t get my head on straight.” She finally looked at him. He was frowning deeply, thumbing the edge of the sheet music without really seeing the notes. “I’m trying to find a single thought that makes sense, but there are none. It’s just static.”

Aerith nodded slowly. “Wanna talk about it?”

Cloud lowered his gaze. “No point. I keep asking myself why the hell I said that, but I come up empty.” He furrowed his brows. “I never want to hurt you, no matter how ticked off I get.”

Ah. So their conversation had bothered him.

Damnit. It was idea both-of-them after all. Aerith winced.

Cloud continued, oblivious to her reaction. “I’m not stupid—I know saying shit like that’s gonna upset people. It’s just that sometimes it’s not worth the effort to spare feelings when there are more important things to do.” He shook his head. “But never with you. You’re—” He cut himself off. He sighed, looking back down at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Wish I could tell you why I said that.”

Aerith bit her lip. Slowly, she reached out and took one of Cloud’s hands in hers. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

Cloud finally looked at her, still frowning. “It’s not. I shouldn’t—”

She shook her head. “Not that. It’s okay if you can’t tell me why you said it.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then let it drop to his hands again. “I guess.” She could tell that he didn’t really guess, but she didn’t push it. She knew how frustrating it was to find static where information should have been in her mind. It was like that when she tried to remember what the Whispers had taken away.

Cloud sighed again, letting some of the tension leave his shoulders. Not all of it, though. “Can I ask you a question? It’s, uh, related. To—” He made a vague sweeping gesture with his free hand.

Aerith cocked her head to the side. “Shoot.”

“Zack,” he said, wincing a little. “Is he… Is he the reason why…?” He trailed off.

When he didn’t speak again, she frowned. “You’re gonna have to finish that thought, Cloud. I’m not a mind reader.”

He grimaced. “Right. Sorry. Back in Midgar, when you asked me… that.” He was blushing and refusing to meet her eye. Clearly he’d used up all his bravado when he’d quoted her request to her face and turned it back on her. “Was that because of Zack? Because you still like him?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

He tossed her an odd look. “You don’t think so?”

“I told you. I don’t remember exactly why I asked anymore. But I remember everything about Zack.” She smiled a bit. Hard guy to forget, even after he’d disappeared, even though all in all they hadn’t spent that much time together.

She felt Cloud stiffen, and he delicately pulled his hand from hers. “I—sorry.”

Aerith furrowed her brows. “Why are you sorry?”

He winced. “I’ve been pushy. And unfair. Sorry. I won’t get in the way, I promise.” He sounded a little strangled, like it pained him to say those words out loud.

Almost in spite of herself, Aerith half-laughed. “In the way? Of me and a guy who disappeared on me five years ago?”

Cloud stared at her for a moment. “But you said—”

Aerith sighed. “It’s complicated, okay? I liked him, but then he just… vanished. I never got any closure.” She closed her eyes. “But… Cloud, our situation is complicated too.”

“Aerith, seriously, if you still—”

“That’s not it.” She didn’t know why she wasn’t taking the easy way out, why she didn’t just let him believe she still liked Zack. Maybe it was because, in spite of everything, she hated lying to him. Or maybe it was just selfishness. “Zack’s got nothing to do with you and me.” She gave his shoulder a light nudge. “Promise.”

Cloud shot her a glance. “But you’re still playing your little game.”

She half-laughed. “Your little game. And yes. Still in it.”

His shoulders slumped a bit, a mix of releasing tension and sagging dejectedly. “Getting mixed signals here.”

“I thought I was very clear in Midgar,” she said, shrugging. “You’re the one who decided not to listen to me.”

“I still think you were unfair to dump that on me.” He was pouting a little, now. Cute.

Aerith stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, you dumped it right back on me, didn’t you?”

“It takes two,” he said, without meeting her eyes.

She hummed. “It takes two.”

A moment of silence fell over the two of them. It was almost comfortable now, only slightly weighed down by the uncertainty and the stupid, stupid games they were playing. Aerith just had to keep telling herself it was better like that. She was already too close to the edge of the precipice; she couldn’t keep dancing on it. She would fall, and take Cloud right down with her. He didn’t deserve it.

He pressed his lips together, then opened his mouth to say something, and Aerith knew she had to stop him.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” she said, straightening up. “For what you said.”

Cloud blinked at her. “I thought you weren’t mad.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I am a little. But I know how you can make it up to me.” She leaned forward and tapped the sheet music. “Play me something.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the piano keys like he was seeing them for the first time. “I’m, uh… really not that good.”

Aerith clicked her tongue. “I’ll be the judge of that. C’mon, I wanna hear! I’ve heard Tifa play, it’s only fair. I have to figure out who’s better.”

There was a spark of competitiveness in his eyes, but he quickly looked away. “…Probably her,” he said, slowly like it took a toll on him to admit he wasn’t the best at something.

“Won’t know until you play. Chop chop, music man.” She grinned.

Cloud let out a breath of a laugh, then gingerly laid his hands atop the keys. As he started to play, Aerith closed her eyes and sighed.

The song was nice, slow and melancholy. He would stumble on the keys, every once in a while, and then he would play the next notes a little too loud to compensate. It wasn’t perfect, and Tifa was better, but it was still nice.

And, best of all, the music filled the air between them so that no unwelcome thoughts or words could get through. Inside the music, there was quiet and peace.

---

Aerith hadn’t known that you could see stars before the sunset.

She sucked in an excited gasp of crisp Cosmo Canyon air as she looked up at the celestial phenomenon, clasping her hands in front of her. Cloud had told her about the bright evening star that appeared in the Nibelheim sky before all the others, before the sun had even set, but seeing stars in the violet early evening of the Canyon was still magical.

“How are you still surprised by this?” chuckled Cloud, holding the celestiograph up to his face. Well, that was what Caesar had called it, but all it was was a fancy camera. Cloud was surprisingly good with it, and was quietly proud of himself in a way that was very different from his smugness when it came to physical feats of strength or agility, but no less endearing.

Aerith huffed. “How are you not?”

He shrugged. “I thought the other one was cooler.”

“You just can’t appreciate beauty in life and nature.”

He snorted, but didn’t reply.

Aerith walked a few steps away from him, closer to the stars—infinitesimally so. She’d always known that the light fixtures in the underside of the Plate in Midgar were a sorry imitation of the real things, but she only really realised that now. The sky, the stars made her feel so small and young compared to the rest of the universe around her. A wave of emotion hit her, and she couldn’t tell which part was hers and which was the Planet’s. She brought her trembling hands together in front of her, and she closed her eyes in a silent prayer.

A quiet click came from behind her.

She straightened up. Cloud was finally satisfied with his shot composition, then. She turned around, only to find that he wasn’t looking at the sky. Both his gaze and the camera were fixed on her.

He froze like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar, and the camera chose that moment to slowly spit out the picture. She shot him a perplexed smile. He returned it, hesitant but fond. Then, again, click. Aerith giggled, shaking her head—click.

“Cloud, c’mon,” she said, half-laughing and half-scolding. “What’re you doing?”

Instead of answering, Cloud just hit the shutter button again. And again, and again, click-click-click until Aerith walked up to him and snatched the camera from his hands, with the string of printouts trailing after it. Still giggling, she held it out of his reach, knowing full well how easy it would’ve been for him to just steal it back even as he made a half-hearted attempt. “Had your fun?”

Cloud chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “Think so.”

“Why’d you do that?” she asked, stepping away from him and taking the camera with her.

He shrugged. “Dunno. Felt like it.”

She hummed. The line burned on the tip of her tongue. Why did I do that? I was appreciating beauty. If Cloud had been a little more like her or like Zack, he would have said it. But he wasn’t. She wondered whether he’d thought of it and just chickened out, or if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. After all, it was right there. But she couldn’t quite picture him saying something that cheesy and flirty with a straight face. It just wasn’t his style. He probably thought little comments like that were insincere, empty.

Aerith smiled, remembering Costa del Sol.

They ’re just thoughts. Let ‘em be dark and ugly. You’re not. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.

Cloud didn’t do insincere. He wasn’t a charmer or a flirt. He was just himself.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, taking a couple of steps towards her.

Aerith shook her head. “Nothing, nothing.”

He held out a hand. “Can I have that back? We still got a job to do.”

“Not yet,” she said, hiding the camera behind her back with a smile. “You know, it’s not really fair.”

“What is?”

Aerith rocked on the balls of her feet. “Well, you have all these pictures of me and I have none of you.” She delicately detached the string of printouts and handed it to him.

Cloud took it, but he stiffened a little bit and scratched the back of his neck, looking away. “You, uh, want a picture of me?”

“I want a picture of us. Let’s take a selfie together,” she said, holding up the camera as she hopped to his side.

Cloud just nodded as she pressed herself even closer to him, delicately taking his arm. She shot him a smile, then looked back to the camera. Click. Cloud stilled for a moment.

Giggling, she lowered the camera to take a look at the picture. “Aww, we look—” She cut herself off when she saw it. In the photo, Aerith was slightly dishevelled from the wind, but she was smiling happily at the camera as she leaned towards Cloud. But Cloud… He was turned towards her, with soft eyes and a half smile, fond and thoughtful. She pressed her lips together as she thumbed the edge of the picture. He looked at her like he was looking at a painting, or a sunrise, or the starry night sky. He looked at her like he—

Aerith blinked twice, hard. She wondered if that was how he always looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention.

Cloud cleared his throat. “Ah, sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I ruined it.”

But Aerith slowly shook her head. “No, no. It’s perfect,” she said. She took the printout and held it up to her chest. “Perfect.”

He turned to her, silent for a long beat. His expression was indecipherable, but at the same time he looked the way Aerith felt: uncertain, balancing on the edge of their dumb precipice. Or maybe he was waiting for her at the bottom, wondering if she would ever take that step. And she wanted to, she wanted to join him so badly.

But she couldn’t.

“Aerith…” he whispered, a plea.

She closed her eyes and turned away. “Let’s just take the picture and go,” she said. Her voice was steady, at least.

“Aerith,” he repeated a little louder, but still strained. She heard him take a hesitant step forward.

“Don’t,” she said. “Just—please, don’t.” She bit her lip, willing her heart to slow down.

“Why?”

She stilled, sucking in a sharp breath. Ah, there it was—the well-placed why used as a weapon. She’d have been proud if she didn’t feel so damn sad.

“It’s better this way,” she said. “Trust me.”

“You don’t know that,” said Cloud, frustrated. He circled around her to try and catch her eye, but she turned her face away. “Maybe you used to, but you don’t know anymore. You said it yourself.”

Aerith pressed her lips together. “Things don’t stop being true because we don’t remember them anymore.”

He crossed his arms. “But what if they were never true? What if they changed?”

She shook her head. “I’m not risking that.” I’m not risking you. “Know what hasn’t changed? Me wanting to protect you.” She attempted a smile. “And me not losing our game.” If the conditions of the game required her admitting it out loud, anyway.

Cloud regarded her for a long moment, then sighed. “I hate this game.”

She snuck a glance at him. He didn’t look all that upset—more mildly exasperated. Aerith smiled hesitantly. “It was your idea.”

“Never claimed it was a good one.”

“Well, you’re stuck with it, mister.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re stuck with it. You’re the one playing.”

Cloud was not subtle when he wanted to throw a jab at her about something. Still, Aerith let it slide. “C’mon,” she said, handing him the camera back. “Let’s finish the job.”

As he pointed the camera at the stars again, she delicately tucked their selfie into her jacket pocket, next to her heart.

---

When Aerith opened the door to her room at the Nidhogg Inn to find Cloud standing in front of her, she wasn’t all that surprised. He’d been on edge around her for a few days, always fidgeting and hesitant. Sometimes, she’d catch him just… looking at her, studying her like she was going to vanish at any moment. It was clear that he needed to talk to her. Aerith just hoped it wouldn’t be a confession of some sort. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep pretending.

“It’s kind of late,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Something wrong?”

Cloud pressed his lips together. “Can we talk? Alone?” He shot a glance over her shoulder, to the room where Tifa and Yuffie were still asleep.

She nodded as she stepped out of the doorway. “Lucky I was the one who answered, huh?” she said with a small smile.

Cloud didn’t return it—just shot her that same long look she’d noticed in the days prior. “Let’s go,” he said. He made a jerky movement as if he’d wanted to take her by the hand and then thought better of it. Instead, he motioned for her to follow him.

Aerith hummed as he turned around and made for the stairs. He led her out of the inn, in the chilly Nibelheim night. She rubbed her hands over her bare arms. “This better be good,” she chuckled.

“Dunno about good,” he said, shooting her an apologetic glance. “But it’s important.”

She nodded. Cloud paused for a second, as if considering where to take her, then he gestured to the water tower. “C’mon.”

They climbed the ladder in silence, then sat side by side in the same spots they’d been in just hours before. It was slightly less cold up there, and Aerith realised there was some sort of machine behind them, buzzing quietly and emitting a bit of warmth.

Cloud caught her perplexed look and shrugged. “It’s the same as when I was a kid. This thing’s responsible for all the water in the village, and it overheats like crazy. Weird that it hasn’t changed.” He looked away. “Didn’t think to bring a blanket, so I figured this was the next best thing.”

Aerith smiled a bit. “It is. Thanks.”

He hummed, but didn’t say anything else.

She let a few moments pass in silence. Then, she sighed. “You know, if you just wanted some company, I don’t think you’d have taken us all the way up here. Out of earshot of everyone else.” She lightly kicked her heels together. “So, what is it?”

Cloud stiffened. “Right.” He took a deep breath, and Aerith braced herself. “I, uh, I talked to Red—Nanaki.”

She blinked at him. Not what she was expecting. “Okay?” she said. “What’d you talk about?”

He fiddled with his hands in his lap. “He asked me not to say anything, but it’s too important—a-and I guess you already know about it anyway. Besides, it’s about you, and—”

“Cloud.” She put a hand on his arm, forcing him to look at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Start over?”

“Uh, sorry.” He winced. “He said… He said that you two could see the future, back in Midgar. Before the Whispers,” he muttered. “Is that true?”

She grimaced and looked away. Why, Nanaki? “True enough,” she replied. “But I couldn’t tell you what I saw now.”

Cloud nodded. “That’s what Nanaki said too. Said that you lost that knowledge.”

“That’s right.”

“Is that why you didn’t want me to lo—like you?”

Aerith drew in a sharp breath. His words were soft, but measured, careful. He had to have rehearsed them all in those moments where he’d looked like he wanted to talk to her. She couldn’t face him.

When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Because you saw something in our future?”

Slowly, she nodded. “…Yeah.” She felt him still. “But I don’t know what it was. I told you before.”

“You have.” Cloud sighed. “Nanaki said that… He said that he thinks you’re in danger.”

Aerith kept her eyes trained on the dark silhouette of the house in front of her. “He did, did he?”

“Please don’t play dumb.” There was a strained note in his voice, now. A desperate note.

“I’m not,” she said, biting her lip. “I told you, I can’t remember. But we’re all in danger, aren’t we?”

Cloud scoffed. “You know what I mean.” He let another long moment of silence pass. “Listen… Whatever it was, we changed it, right? The Whispers—”

She shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know. We’ve been over this, Cloud, I’m not risking it. I had a good reason for asking you that, even though I don’t remember it anymore. And now you know why.”

“What about—” He cut himself off with a frustrated noise, pulling up a leg to his chest. “So that’s how it is. You make all the decisions and I just have to follow ‘em.”

Aerith frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not.”

Silence fell again. Aerith fiddled with her hands in her lap. Cloud was upset, frustrated, angry even. She didn’t know how to make it better without making it infinitely worse. Without putting him even more at risk. Maybe it was better this way—the anger would be temporary, whereas whatever was waiting for him in the future she’d forgotten was a permanent scar, a pain that would never leave him.

“Hey,” he started suddenly. “If you could see the future back then… Does that mean you knew I was going to…?” He gestured vaguely between the two of them instead of finishing his question, but Aerith didn’t need him to.

Did you know I was going to fall in love with you? Were we always doomed? Was there ever a chance?

She sighed. “Dunno. Maybe that’s the future we averted.” She attempted a small smile. She didn’t even believe her own words.

And Cloud didn’t either, judging from his scoff. “Aerith.”

“What?”

“C’mon.” He looked away and whispered, so quiet that she almost missed it, “It was inevitable.”

Aerith clenched her hands on the edge of the platform. Hearing him say that should have filled her with joy. Yet, all she could feel was regret, dread, and fear. “I didn’t think you believed in fate,” she said shakily.

He tossed her a sidelong glance, then shook his head. “I don’t. Fate’s got nothing to do with it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s because of who you are and who I am.” His voice was trembling just a little.

Aerith pressed her lips together, feeling her eyes starting to sting. She knew how hard it was for him to be vulnerable like that, to lay his feelings bare and risk getting hurt for it. And she hated herself because she had to do just that—hurt him.

“Cloud—”

He shook his head. “Don’t you get it, Aerith? I can’t let anything happen to you—I won’t.” He looked at her, defiant and determined. “I promised Nanaki, and I’m promising you. I’ll keep you safe. No matter what happens, no matter what you say.”

Aerith stared at him, tears in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him, to hold him close, to apologise, to kiss him until all the hurt and all the fear were forgotten. But she was terrified. It was all so much, too much. She was just glad he’d never said the word love.

“Cloud,” she whispered, desperately trying to hold back the tears. “Cloud, please—”

Emboldened by her reaction, he reached out and gently touched her cheek. “It’s real. So real that it feels like I’m drowning.” He sounded like it too, quiet and strangled and tender.

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her face away from his hand. “Cloud, I—please, don’t do this,” she whispered.

Cloud retracted his hand like he’d been burned. “I—I’m not doing anything,” he said. “I told you before. If—If you don’t feel—if it’s just me, then that’s fine. But you said that it wouldn’t be real, and you’re wrong.”

She knew. She’d always been wrong. But she couldn’t afford to be right.

Aerith shook her head again. “Cloud, what do you want me to say?”

He made another frustrated noise. “I want you to stop lying to me, I guess. Be a nice start.”

“I… I’ve never lied to you,” she said in a sigh. “Wish I had, honestly. I could’ve told you I was still in love with Zack, and we wouldn’t be here right now. But there are questions I just can’t answer.”

Cloud shot her a glance. “Because…?”

“Because I’d tell you the truth,” said Aerith. “And it’d put you in danger.”

He leaned a bit closer. “I can take care of myself. What if I was okay with that?”

“I’m not.” She bit her lip. “I’m just not.”

It was hard to breathe. She stood up suddenly, leaning a bit on the water tower so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

“Aerith?” Cloud shot to his feet as well, holding out his hands as if he wanted to steady her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m going back.”

Cloud looked torn for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, or do something. But in the end he just nodded stiffly. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

She turned around, unable to look him in the eye any longer. They made their way back to the inn in uncomfortable silence, with Cloud walking just slightly behind Aerith. Once they got to her room, she stilled with her hand hovering over the doorknob, and Cloud stopped as well.

“Aerith?” he called softly.

She shook her head and took a deep breath before turning around. “I’m sorry, Cloud,” she whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.” She let her gaze fall to her feet and pressed her lips together.

Cloud didn’t say anything right away. Aerith saw him shift his weight from one foot to the other, then he took a hesitant step forward. Gingerly, his arms came around her shoulders as he pulled her into a gentle hug. Aerith swallowed back a sob as she brought her hands to his waist, not quite hugging back but not pushing him away either.

“I wish I could do something to help,” he whispered in her hair. “You’re hurting too. I wanna make it go away, but… But you won’t let me.”

She shook her head, but didn’t reply. They stayed together like that for a long moment, both unwilling to be the one to either step away or bring them closer.

Aerith felt his lips brushing against her hair again. “Aerith,” he murmured. “It’s real.”

She tightened her grip on his waist, just barely, just for a moment. “I know,” she replied. “I’m sorry.”

---

Cloud hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a second, not since she’d appeared on the virtual stage of the Gold Theatre, clad in white and ready to sing. She’d felt his gaze burn like it was the sun looking at her, following her every movement, listening to her every word. And it was just as well, she figured, since it was all for him.

Aerith couldn’t give Cloud all that he wanted, but she could give him something at least. A song, a moment, a memory.

A date.

She hadn’t called it that, of course. It was just a friendly outing between friends who were friendly. She was kinda glad, actually, that the rest of their companions had also come to the showing of Loveless. Granted, they were sitting apart from Aerith and Cloud, but it helped dilute the tension. If Aerith concentrated enough, it almost felt like the two of them were just part of the group, even if a little physically far.

And if she concentrated further still, she could almost make out the voices in the Lifestream laughing at her in the back of her head. Did it still count as denial if she was self-aware about it?

Cloud linked back up with her at the exit of the theatre, after all of their friends had already left the premises. Aerith waved at him with a small smile, and he returned both.

“So!” she exclaimed, bouncing up to him. “What d’you think?”

"I think you were amazing,” he said, sounding a little dazed. “You write that song?”

Aerith hummed. “Just wanted to try my hand at it.”

He half-laughed. “Right. And now you’re gonna have producers at your doorstep.”

“Well, sadly I don’t have one of those right now.”

“A doorstep?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your mom’s place?”

Aerith giggled. “She’s gonna chase ‘em off with a broom.”

They laughed, then she smiled at him. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

He nodded slowly, then averted his gaze. Silence fell, but it was soon interrupted by the loudspeaker: “Attention, all park guests. The Skywheel will be closing soon. Don’t miss out on your chance to experience the Gold Saucer from a truly breathtaking angle!”

Oh, the Skywheel. Aerith thought vaguely that she and Cloud had never gotten to go during their first visit to the park. Things between them were still complicated, but maybe back then she could have played it off as more of a casual date. She couldn’t do that anymore: they were both in too deep and her self control was the last thin line of defence against disaster.

But she really had to stop assuming she was the only one making decisions.

Cloud, next to her, cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”

“Hm?” She turned to look at him. “Where?”

He nodded towards Event Square’s exit. “Skywheel. I wanna see what all the fuss is about. Besides, uh, we got unfinished business.” He scratched the back of his head without looking at her, but she could still see that the tips of his ears had turned pink.

Aerith felt herself soften. “Unfinished business, huh?” she said quietly.

Cloud hummed awkwardly.

She thought for a moment. There was something else she could give him. A little bit of closure wherever she could.

“Okay,” said Aerith. “Let’s go.”

He snapped back to her, as if he hadn’t expected her to give in without a fight. “Uh, yeah. Let’s.”

On the way to Skywheel square, they were quiet, but Aerith didn’t mind the silence. The air between them was charged, though, even more than usual. Maybe it was the way Cloud kept sneaking quick glances at Aerith, maybe it was the way she kept catching him because she was doing the same. More than once, she found herself desperately wanting to reach for his hand, wanting to hold him. Wanting, wanting, she wanted so much. And knowing he wanted the same things was agonising.

The crowds around them were loud and rowdy, excited, normal. More than anything, Aerith wanted to be normal. Just for a little while, she wanted to be a normal girl on a date with a boy she liked and who liked her. Was that really so wrong?

She sighed deeply.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she reached out and slipped her hand in Cloud’s. He jumped a little, startled, and turned to her, eyes wide as saucers. He didn’t pull away, though. “Aerith?”

“Just for tonight,” she heard herself whisper. “Okay?”

Emotions flashed over his face in fast succession: joy, disappointment, pain, anger, acceptance. He closed his eyes and looked to be counting to ten. “If that’s what you want,” he said. The hurt note in his voice was impossible to miss, but Aerith ignored it all the same.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was the best she could do. One Skywheel ride, one night, one date to get it all out of her system, and then they could go back to the way they were without having to wonder anymore. Or, at least, she prayed it would happen like that.

She smiled a bit, and he returned it, then she lightly pulled on his hand. “C’mon,” she said. “This way.”

The loudspeaker in Skywheel Square was still giving out the announcement about the ride closing soon, with an attendant eagerly waving excited guests closer. Aerith and Cloud joined the queue, but they didn’t have to wait long for their turn. Aerith hopped into the spacious cabin first, giggling at the spectacle of lights already visible from the windows. A quiet thump behind her told her that Cloud was on board too, and she turned to grin at him. He sat down first on one side of the cabin and, after some consideration, Aerith settled a fair distance from him—not far enough to be awkward, not close enough to be intimate.

As their cabin slowly began its climb upwards, Aerith’s attention was pulled outside the window. The fireworks show was starting.

“Wow, look at that!” she exclaimed.

The sky was an explosion of colours, mixing together in beautiful shapes all around them. She couldn’t see the stars in the sky, replaced by the light of the fireworks. Below and all around them, the rest of the Gold Saucer’s attractions and events were in full swing, from the roller coasters to the Chocobo races to the flash mob in the Terminal Square. It was loud and chaotic and frenetic. And yet, inside the Skywheel cabin, all was quiet and intimate.

Aerith glanced back at Cloud, only to catch him looking at her the way he had back in Cosmo Canyon, the way that was forever immortalised in the picture Aerith kept carefully tucked in her jacket pocket. She bit her lip.

“I know I’ve been weird,” she said, quietly. “And a little unfair.”

Cloud shook himself out of his reverie and raised an eyebrow. “A little?”

She half-laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me, either.” She frowned. “You know… when we first met, there was something about you that really bothered me.”

He furrowed his brows. “Hey,” he said softly, without any real animosity. “I know I was kind of a dick, but—”

Aerith giggled. “Not that. Although…” She winked and he rolled his eyes, then she shook her head. “No, it was something else. It was in the way you talked, the way you carried yourself… I haven’t seen him in five years, but suddenly there was you, and if I wasn’t careful I’d start thinking he was there, wearing your clothes and your face.”

Cloud nodded slowly. “Zack?”

She hummed. “But he wasn’t. It’s always just been you. You, running around the slums with me. You, saving me from Shinra HQ. You, here with me right now.” Aerith sighed and leaned back into her seat. “You’re different, and things are different, and that’s okay.”

“Aerith—”

“But… there’s still so much I don’t know,” she continued. “So much that’s fuzzy and unclear.”

The degradation, her stolen memories, Sephiroth looming over it all. It felt so much bigger than her.

She stood up. Cloud’s eyes were on her, she could feel them, but she couldn’t meet them. “The thing is, Cloud… I’m trying so hard to find you.” The words were just flowing out of her now, as if someone else was speaking through her. Cloud was Cloud, he was right there, but he wasn’t, and—

He echoed her thoughts: “But I’m right here.” He blinked twice at her.

Aerith sighed. “I know, but…”

He let a long, uncomfortable beat pass. “Degradation, right?” he asked, quietly.

She froze. She turned around. He’d stood up as well without her noticing, and he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed and eyes planted on the fireworks show outside without really seeing it.

“…No,” she heard herself say. “Not degradation.” As she said it, she knew it was true. There was something else keeping him from her. But she couldn’t begin to guess.

Cloud took a tentative step towards her. “Then what?” he asked, maybe a little sharper than he’d meant to.

She flinched, and it seemed like the cabin flinched with her. The floor disappeared from under her feet, and she tumbled forward. Instinctively, she put her arms up to brace herself for the collision with the seat or the floor, but the only thing she hit was something warm and solid. Aerith blinked up at Cloud, as dazed as he looked. Maybe he’d caught her, maybe they’d just crashed into each other. Either way, she was gathered into his arms, feeling his pulse quicken under her fingertips in tandem with hers. He swallowed thickly as he looked down at her.

“I, uh, I think one of those solid holograms hit us,” he muttered.

“Oh,” she said. “Scary.”

“You’re okay. I got you.”

It was her turn to gulp down a knot in her throat. Cloud didn’t take his eyes away from hers, and they were so intense that they were burning.

“If it’s not the degradation, then what is it?” he asked quietly, not letting her go. “You said you want to find me—help me make that happen. I… I want you to find me. Just tell me how to let you.”

Aerith just stared at him, her mouth hanging slightly open. “Cloud…” she whispered. “I—I don’t know. I—”

The moment dragged on for a few tense, electric seconds.

A burst of fireworks exploded with a loud bang, and the sound cut between them like a knife. Aerith jumped out of his arms with a gasp as her world once again expanded to contain things other than Cloud Strife. “Woah,” she said, pressing a hand on her heart. “Is it just me, or was that way closer than the others?”

Cloud shook his head. “Uh… Oh, we’re just getting close to the top, I think.”

A glance out of the window told her that he was right. “I see,” she said, sitting back down. “This is safe, right?”

Cloud shrugged as he sat down too—again, just far enough from her as to not be intimate, the moment from before gone like a mirage. “It’s fine,” he said. “Not that Shinra gives a shit about people’s safety, but if this thing were dangerous, nobody would wanna set foot on it. Huge loss of profit.”

Aerith giggled and leaned back in her seat. “Reassuring. Kinda.” She sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to enjoy the show, then.”

He hummed, then turned back to the fireworks. Aerith studied him for a second. The moment was gone, but not forgotten. He still had a crease of worry between his brows, and her hands itched to reach out to smooth it over.

She bit her lip. Slowly, hesitantly, she scooted closer to him. “Forget about what I said, okay?” she whispered. “Let’s not worry about that. Not tonight.”

Cloud tossed her a sidelong look. “Forget about it?” He huffed a little. “You say the strangest stuff, and I’m just supposed to forget about it?”

“Yup,” she said, popping the p and forcing a playful grin on her face. “You know me. I don’t always make sense.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, doubt clearly painted on his face. Then, he sighed and turned away. “Fine,” he said, dropping his eyes to the floor. He still looked unsteady, though, and like he wanted to ask a million questions. That wasn’t a look she wanted on his face—not now, amongst the fireworks in the sky.

Aerith only hesitated for one more moment. In one swift motion, she closed the rest of the distance between them and took his arm in her hands, leaning her head on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen in surprise under her touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“Aerith?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Just for tonight,” she said. “Okay?”

Cloud didn’t reply, but neither did he relax. Then, just as Aerith was about to let him go, he slowly moved. Delicately, he took one of her hands from his arm.

Aerith frowned a little, but sat up straighter. That was fair. She couldn’t keep expecting him to humour all her mixed signals—to be okay with her constantly pushing him away while she held him tight. She opened her mouth, an apology ready on her tongue, but Cloud laid her hand down, palm up, between them. A fraction of a second, and his own covered it, threading his fingers through hers.

She gasped quietly and looked up at him. He was still turned away from her, but when he felt her eyes on him, he shot her a sidelong glance. Red dusted his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, but his eyes were focused, daring, challenging. And they were an open book.

Not just for tonight. It takes two, right? I ’m in if you are.

Aerith couldn’t help but smile up at him a little shakily, feeling as if her heart was going to jump out of her chest. She looked at her bodyguard, at her friend, at the man she loved. There he went, fighting for her again, and again. It took her everything she had not to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him silly, to apologise for everything she’d put the both of them through. But in that moment, just being there with him, holding his hand, would have to be enough. As she closed her own fingers around his, Cloud finally relaxed next to her, and gave her hand a light squeeze. Aerith let her head fall against his shoulder again and closed her eyes.

“Just for tonight,” she repeated softly.

This close, she could feel Cloud’s sigh hit the crown of her head, a veneer of calm betrayed by the pounding of his heart, impossible to miss from where she was leaning against him. Aerith wondered if he was looking at her, but didn’t check. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she met his eyes and found love and longing there.

She settled for looking at the fireworks again, holding his hand just a little bit tighter.

Five minutes later, as they stepped out of the cabin, Cloud extended a hand to help Aerith down. She took it with a small giggle, and ignored the way he held onto her for just a moment too long with practised cheerfulness.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said, locking her hands behind her back. “I had fun.”

Cloud hummed. “Me too.”

She glanced at the dwindling crowd in the square in front of them. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“Course. You?”

“Born ready!” She flexed playfully, drawing a chuckle out of him. “We should go get some shut-eye. Gotta be in tip-top shape to kick Corneo’s goons’ butts.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

Cloud went ahead, and Aerith followed him after just a moment. He seemed a little distracted, as if he had something else on his mind. She shook her head. Probably thinking about their strategy for the battle the next day. She supposed the real anomaly was Cloud thinking about something other than their mission for a whole evening.

The walk back to the Haunted Hotel was a silent one, but not uncomfortably so. There was no hurry in their step, as if neither of them quite wanted the night to end. That late, the park wasn’t as busy or loud. It felt more normal, more like a real place with real people rather than an endless party. Aerith kept glancing at Cloud, feeling a small smile playing on her lips.

One night, one perfect night with him. It would have to be enough. It would be enough. No harm in wanting to draw it out as long as she could.

But there was still a limit to how much she could dig her heels in, to how slowly they could walk. In the end, they stepped out of the lift and onto their floor.

Aerith sighed, hopping ahead of Cloud. “Well—”

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, coming up beside her.

She shot him a bemused smile. “Isn’t it, like… ten metres away from yours?”

Cloud cleared his throat, looking away with a faint blush on his face. “Still.”

Aerith giggled. “Alright, then, Mr Bodyguard.” She took his elbow. “Do the gentlemanly thing.”

To her absolute delight, he actually held up his arm a little higher as he gently tugged her forward. As promised, they walked right past the boys’ suite, and stopped just two doors over. Aerith let go of Cloud’s arm to rummage in her pockets for the room key. She didn’t want to wake Tifa and Yuffie up.

As she finally fished it out, she turned with a grin. “Looks like we’re here,” she said. “Thanks for the escort.”

Cloud nodded slowly. He was still blushing and refusing to meet her eye. Aerith cocked her head to the side. “What is it?” she said, leaning forward to try to catch his gaze.

“Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I—If this really has to be just for tonight… There’s something I wanna do before tonight ends,” he said quickly, snapping his eyes back to hers.

Aerith blinked twice at him. “Oh?” she said.

He didn’t say anything right away. He gingerly took a step forward and took her hand in his, while his other hand hesitantly rose to brush over her cheek. Every move was slow and deliberate, like he was giving her the time and space to stop him or step away. But Aerith was rooted to the spot, frozen by his touch and what he was asking. She felt her eyes go wide, and she knew she had to say something. But when her mouth fell open, no words came out.

A little bolder and surer of himself, Cloud tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, a gesture so tender and gentle that Aerith felt a bit like bursting into tears. He pressed his lips together and swallowed thickly. “Can—Can I…?”

A stronger person might have said no. A stronger person might never had let them get to this point at all. But all Aerith could do was nod.

A flash of disbelief passed over his face, as if he’d still expected her to say no. Then he furrowed his brows and leaned closer to her until their lips were a breath apart—hesitant until the very last second, like she was going to break or disappear.

“Cloud?” she whispered.

He blinked and shook his head a little, as if coming out of a trance. Then, all at once, the hand on her cheek slid to the back of her head as he nudged her towards him to finally close the hint of distance between them.

Cloud’s kiss was just like him: gentle, nervous, but determined and a bit rough. Aerith felt her room key slip from her hand as she wrapped both her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. Cloud’s other hand, the one not cradling the back of her head, went to her waist, pulling her even closer.

Aerith knew full well that this was a huge mistake, that she was throwing all her efforts to protect him down the drain. She supposed they would be in good company with her self-control. Because, damnit, she’d wanted to kiss Cloud for so long, and now that she was doing it she wasn’t sure she’d ever stop.

He broke away for a moment, but didn’t go far. “Aerith,” he murmured on her lips. “I—”

“Shh.” She closed the gap again. He seemed to have no objections to that, because his grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her even closer.

Cloud kissed her like he wanted to tell her something. It’s real, Aerith, it’s real, please, don’t let it be just for tonight, I’m tired of games and secrets, I love you, I love you, I love you.

And Aerith kissed him like she wanted to answer. It’s real for me too, I don’t want this to be just for tonight either, I’d lost our stupid game before we even started playing it, I love you, I love you, I love you.

She could feel the pounding of his heart almost as if it was coming from inside her chest, and she wondered if he could feel hers the same way. She smiled over his lips, and he just kissed her harder, while his hand at her waist shifted to rub gentle circles on her back. Aerith pulled him even closer, trying to commit everything about him to memory. His warmth, his taste, his scent, the way his hair felt threaded through her fingers—just him, just Cloud.

Down in the lobby of the Haunted Hotel, the grandfather clock chimed—midnight. And, just like in a fairy tale, it broke the spell.

Aerith froze with her hands tangled in Cloud’s hair as she returned to reality. The reality where they couldn’t be a normal couple sharing a good-night kiss after a date, where they weren’t supposed to be in love at all, where Aerith had to be the one to know better, despite how much it hurt.

Cloud pulled away from her. “Aerith…?” he called, voice a little hoarse. His whole face was flushed crimson, and his pupils were blown wide. His hair was even messier than usual and his mouth was hanging open, huffing a little through kiss-swollen lips. He looked stunning, and she’d done that to him.

Aerith screwed her eyes shut, willing that image to disappear from her brain. “It’s tomorrow,” she whispered, fighting to keep her voice even.

She felt him stiffen in her arms. When she looked at him again, it was like something had cracked in his expression. He stared at her like she’d just stabbed him, shock and hurt clear as day. She wished she hadn’t looked. “I’m sorry,” she said, slipping out of his grasp.

Cloud let her, and his arms fell limply to his sides. “Aerith, I—” He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry,” he muttered then, averting his gaze.

Aerith shook her head. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She fought the urge to cup his cheek in her hand, settling instead for a quick pat on his upper arm. “Good-night.”

Quickly, she picked up her room key and unlocked the door. As she slipped through, she looked at him again. He hadn’t moved from his spot, and he still had his eyes fixed on the floor.

Aerith forced a smile. “Hey, chin up,” she said. “Gotta be in tip-top shape tomorrow, right? Better get some rest.”

Cloud blinked twice as he met her gaze again, then frowned. “Right,” he spat out, bitter and hurt. Aerith winced. He seemed to notice, and something in his face softened. “Right,” he repeated, gentler but no less upset. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Good-night, Cloud.”

“Night.”

If she looked into those big, sad eyes of his any longer, she knew she would have jumped right back into his arms, so Aerith quickly shut the door between them. With a sigh, she leaned her head against it and closed her eyes.

She hated herself.

And she hated fate, and the Whispers, and the Aerith of the past who was calling all the shots for the Aerith of the present, and her stupid, stupid feelings pulling her in every direction at once. More than anything, she hated the hurt darkening Cloud’s face, the bitterness in his voice, and she hated that she was the cause of all of it.

She felt like crying, but she didn’t deserve to.

After what felt like an eternity, muffled footsteps came from the other side of the door, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t heard Cloud walking away after she’d closed it. She gulped down a sob at the thought that he might have been standing there that whole time, alone in the hallway, maybe hoping she’d come back.

“I love you,” she whispered, barely loud enough for even her to hear. The words tasted bittersweet on her tongue: sweet, because they were true and beautiful; bitter, because she was saying them to a closed door.

---

Aerith was sure that the owner of the bar was going to kick her out any minute now. She just hoped that her half empty glass of foul bottom shelf… whatever would be enough to convince him that she still counted as a customer, rather than an anxious little thing hiding away at his counter far too late in the night.

No. Half full. Her glass was half full. It had to be, because then everything would be fine at the Temple and they’d get the Black Materia back and they’d all be okay and—

“That any good?” came Cloud’s voice, soft behind her.

She straightened up, then shook her head. “No,” she said, not particularly caring if the owner heard her. She still pushed the glass towards Cloud as he sat down on the stool next to hers. “But you can try it, if you want.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink.”

Aerith shrugged. “Don’t do it often. I don’t like it when my brain’s fuzzy. Usually.” Tonight, I wish it was.

Cloud hummed. “Yeah. Same.”

Neither of them said anything for a long beat. Aerith bit her lip. They hadn’t actually gotten a moment alone since their date at the Gold Saucer. The day after had been… a lot. The Coliseum match, the Turks, Cait Sith’s betrayal, the panic and anxiety of it all. There had been no time to talk, no time to rest. Only once, in the night, had Cloud reached out for her. They’d been riding in the buggy, crossing the desert in their desperate rush to make it to the Temple of the Ancients before it was too late. Aerith had thought that almost everyone was asleep—except for Tifa, at the driver’s wheel, and Cid, operating as her navigator. Aerith couldn’t sleep, though. Thoughts of the Black Materia, of Cait Sith, of the Ancients, of Sephiroth kept running through her mind a mile a minute, and she just couldn’t stop. Until someone shifted next to her, and then suddenly there was a hand in hers, warm and solid. She’d turned to Cloud, blinking slowly. He hadn’t said anything, just brushed his thumb over her knuckles. Then, he’d nodded towards his shoulder—an invitation that Aerith had accepted with a sigh of relief, greedily taking in his warmth as she rested her head on it and closed her eyes again.

There had been no need for words that night. She wasn’t sure it was the same now. It was the calm before the storm—one night in Costa del Sol before they would board the Bronco and sail North. To face whatever was waiting for them there. Suddenly, the silence was suffocating.

“You worried?” she asked, folding her arms on the counter and sneaking him a glance.

Cloud sighed. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get the Black Materia back.”

“We will.” She hummed, leaning her forehead down on her crossed arms. “Still.”

“Still what?”

Aerith drew in a deep breath. “I think I’m more than worried. I’m scared,” she whispered.

She felt his hand land tentatively on her shoulder. “I got you,” he said. “I promised you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”

“You did.” She turned her head a bit to look at him. His eyes were soft, understanding, but determined and focused. “Thanks. I’ll keep you safe too.”

Cloud cracked a smile. “That’s not how bodyguards work.”

Aerith giggled, straightening up. “It’s how this one works.” She leaned on the counter again, this time on a propped elbow. “He acts real tough and strong, but he still needs his favourite florist to bail him out of trouble every once in a while.”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “As if.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then gave him a small smile. “I protect you, you protect me. Deal?”

Cloud nodded slowly. “Deal.”

Quiet descended once again. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was charged. As if they were both waiting for something.

In the end, Cloud was the one who broke it. “We need to talk,” he said, furrowing his brows seriously.

Aerith gave him a lopsided smile. “We are talking.”

He frowned, but it was almost more of a pout. “Aerith.”

“Yeah. I know.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

Cloud took a deep breath. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, with no progress on his starting sentence. Aerith giggled quietly, and he shot her an unhappy look. “Give me a break.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Go on.”

He inched his hand forward on the counter until it brushed hers. Without breaking eye contact, he gently entwined their fingers. Aerith stilled a little, but let him.

Letting out a sigh, Cloud stroked circles with his thumb on the back of her hand. “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer me? And tell me the truth?”

Aerith bit her lip. “Cloud—”

His hold on her hand tightened. “Please,” he whispered. “I need to know.”

She looked into his pleading eyes, and there was nothing she could do but nod.

Cloud broke eye contact, but didn’t let go of her hand. “Our game,” he started. “Still playing?”

Aerith wanted to laugh. They were still speaking in code. She supposed it was easier than the alternative.

Do you love me? Are you still trying not to?

A few days before, she would have tried to find an escape. She’d have teased him and avoided answering. But she was tired. So tired, so sad, so scared, and maybe a little tipsy too.

So, she shook her head. “No. I lost a long time ago.”

Cloud sucked in a sharp breath. “You did?” he asked, so quiet that she almost missed it.

Aerith hummed. “I tried. I’ve been trying. But… I guess I always knew I was going to lose, didn’t I? That’s why I tried to put it on you.”

“Too late,” he blurted out. He grimaced slightly, then cleared his throat. “It was always too late.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He was blushing to the tip of his ears and refusing to meet her eye. “Yeah. I think the dream was when I knew, but…” He shook his head. “It’s like I told you in Nibelheim. It was inevitable. From the moment I met you, I was always going to—” He cut himself off and finally looked at her again.

Aerith could only stare at him. She’d known he had feelings for her now, but… “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “All this time—”

Cloud scoffed. “After two weeks? After two days? That’s creepy as hell.”

“I suppose,” she said, giggling as she drew closer. “But it would have saved us a lot of headaches.”

He frowned a little. “And you? You could’ve said something earlier.”

“I could’ve.” She dropped her gaze to the ground. “But I told you—I was trying to protect you. Guess I was always doomed to fail there, huh?” She swallowed a knot in her throat. “I’m scared.” Then, she felt his hand on her chin, gently tilting her head up to meet his eyes again.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “And I’ll be here. As long as you want me to.”

Aerith pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen now. I don’t know what we’ll find at the Temple. I just—”

“We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

She nodded a little shakily. Then, she closed her eyes. “Okay.” His hand slowly shifted so that he was cupping her face. As he gently stroked the skin under her eye, Aerith sighed and leaned into the touch. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. “You’re still here, fighting for me, despite everything.”

Cloud chuckled. “I told you before. You’re you and I’m me. You’re worth it. That’s all.”

She smiled. “Inevitable, right?”

“For me it was. But it takes two.”

“Well, it was inevitable for me too,” she replied, stealing a kiss from his palm. “But I just want the record to show that if anything happens, I tried.”

Cloud scoffed. “Noted. But I won’t let it.”

Aerith hummed, studying his face. His eyes were focused, but soft—soft like in the picture, soft like on the Skywheel, like at the water tower, like at the bonfire, like on the beach, like in the dream. She leaned a little closer to him. “Can I kiss you now?”

Cloud stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, instead of replying, he just closed the distance between them. This kiss was nothing like their first: no rush, no nervousness, no uncertainty. Just quiet affection and relief.

“I love you,” murmured Aerith without breaking contact. “I love you.” And, this time, it was all sweet. So sweet.

In response, Cloud let go of her hand to cup her face with both of his and pull her even closer to him. He muttered something against her lips, something she couldn’t quite make out, but it didn’t really matter. She had a good guess.

Cloud was the one to pull away first, this time. His eyes shone with love and relief, and Aerith thought that she wanted to drown in the Mako blue. “I won’t let anything happen,” he repeated, barely above a whisper. “I’m not losing you, no matter what.”

Aerith smiled, tracing his jawline with a delicate finger. “Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

#this is like. obscenely long for tumblr but like yeehaw right #ffviir spoilers #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii rebirth #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough #clerith #my stuff #my writing #my fics #enjoy!

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koishua · 7 months ago

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queen of tears spoilers!!

identity is above all else, it seems like. ep 14 of queen of tears ruined me in all the good ways. when the question is "do you want to die as yourself?" vs "are you willing to live at the cost of who you are as a person?", the ultimate answer hae-in gives is no. she'd rather come to peace with the prospect of death with all of her memories of loving and, in turn, being loved coming with her. the death of memories is more painful than the death of her life itself. hyunwoo begging and sobbing in her arms does not deter her, however much she wants to keep on living. as herself. keep on living as the hong hae-in who loved dearly and who was loved, desperately so.

a loss of identity is death to everything that ever had a hand in helping her become who she is now. this brings me to the phrase "death is for the living". the dead do not mourn or face the aftermath of their last breath in the world of the living. the living, those who are left behind, are the ones who truly know what death is. so it is painful when hyunwoo, the man who isn't struck with the terminal illness bound to take her life any time soon, begs almost on his knees for hae-in, the woman who's counting the seconds left she has to live, to give up her sense of self. it's understandable how both of them stand strong in their desires. one fears becoming a stranger to all that she loves and one fears becoming familiar to life without the one he cannot live without. so he does everything in his power to have her take the surgery (all effort is in vain, she will not give up her identity).

i love this episode so much. im still only halfway through it but i had to give my two cents. such a beautifully tragic dilemma of two people who love. one loves by wanting to remember, one loves by giving everything to make her live. have a taste of love again for the first time. he says that he'll be the first person she'll meet and get to know again after the surgery. that he will still be there for her when she wakes up a completely different, empty, and lost person. he wants her to live, does not care if she'll ever even be able to reconnect with him ever again. he believes that she deserves to wake up another day and smile. to still be able to make new memories.

in the end they're both very selfish people who love selflessly.

edit: help me my stomach hurts from laughing so hard oml not him using his face and body card to annoy her into living. using jealousy as a mean to motivate her to take the freaking surgery and live ugh im in tears ahhahahah i love how if she doesn't become convinced the first few times when he's nice, he just intentionally pisses her off or annoys her into doing things to help herself 😭😭 thr only way to get hae-in motivated to live: make her mad at himself and have her do beneficial things out of sheer SPITE

edit 2: NO WHAT THE FOUK JUST HAPPENED POOR HYUNWOO OH MY GOD the way he lost all strength in his knees my god he crumbled in front of her feet he got a taste of what losing her felt like with that massive crash im still in shock i can't imagine having to witness that and trying to get through the car window to help save her and then not find her there?? and then she appears unscathed thankfully and he feels like a bucket of ice cold water drops over his head??? man they have to be so much more careful from now on bc the amount of yandereism the other guy is exhibiting ugh and the evil mother saying she'll help him out with "i can't stop till the moment i die" wtf??? OMG SHE'S GETTING THE SURGERY WHAT WHAT WHAT "i promised i would never make you cry after we get married" WOMAN HE'S BEEN SOBBING HIS SOUL OUT EVERY EPISODE SINCE!!!! 😭😭 ALSO NOOOOO NOT MY BOY SOOCHEOL GOING THROUGH IT AGAIN I CANT TAKE IT PLS MAKE HIM HAPPY WITH HIS LITTLE FAMILY I WILL CRYYYYYYYY he's gonna have MAJOR trust issues lmfao

#tp #cinema time!#queen of tears #my gut is telling me she won't forget a single thing lmfao #NOOOOOOOOOOOOO WTF WTF WTF WTF WTF WTF WTF WTF #WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK NO NO NO NO NO NO NO #I KNEW IT THINGS WERE GOING WAY TOO SMOOTHLY I FUCKING KNEW IT YOU FUCKING BIIIITCHHHH YOU ASSHOLE YOU #OH MY GOD YOU EVIL FUCKING GREMLIN I CANT I CANT I KNEW IT I WAS TOO OPTIMISTIC I FUCKING KNEW IT #HAE-IN MY GIRLIE POP PLEASE I KNOW YOU CAN RECOGNIZE THE EVIL IN HIS EYES THAT AIN'T YOUR MAN #the end of this episode is fr hyunwoo's villain arc he's had eNOUGH #yoon eunseok you fucking bitch fight me

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total-drama-brainrot · 9 months ago

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Solo Victory Noah AU, where Noah is in Team Victory, instead of DJ... Noah later ends up becoming the final Team Victory Contestant... Alejandro keeps trying to sabotage Noah, but Noah always outsmarts all the sabotages... Noah ends up in the Final 3, with Alejandro and Heather... Owen is super-duper proud of Noah! 🏆

I've actually been toying with an AU where Noah ends up on Victory instead of CIRRRRH, watches what's happening to his team with thinly veiled annoyance, eventually grows sick and tired of sleeping in Economy (he's not at all concerned for the people he's watched be manipulated and/or his own position in the competition, why do you ask?) and manages to make it to the merge through the power of sheer spite despite being a one-man-team.

It's... not a very fleshed out idea, mind you, and I usually only ponder over it to make myself laugh at different scenarios where Alejandro is desperately trying to get Noah- the surprise one man army that no one saw coming- eliminated, and Noah managing to either outplay him at his own game or twist the circumstances to his favour in a very Looney Tunes-like fashion.

Because Alejandro would see the continued existence of Team Victory as a personal slight, so he'd put an increasing amount of time and effort into getting Noah eliminated if only to prove that he can. And Noah's just smart enough and finally motivated enough (initially by spite, turned vengeance, turned pure amusement) to spin Alejandro's schemes on their head every time. They're literally the Road Runner and Wile. E. Coyote.

It usually ends up with Team Chris or Team Amazon heading to an elimination ceremony, only for it to be a "surprise reward challenge" or something similar.

(Of course, they'd go through a "Alejandro tries to sweet talk Noah into an alliance" stage, like Alejandro does with DJ in canon, but Noah's switched on to Alejandro's true colours since he's literally watched him eliminate the rest of his team. Maybe Noah plays into Heather's offered alliance instead? Again, I haven't really thought too much on this silly AU.

After Chris doesn't allow Noah to join Team CIRRRRH, and Noah himself refuses Alejandro's offered alliance, it turns into Alejandro driving himself crazy trying and failing to eliminate Noah.)

The main draw of the idea, for me at least, is Noah not making it to the final three though. Because (in my mind) Noah doesn't even really want to be back in the competition- he just kind of went along with the crowd for the Celeb Manhunt bus chase, and inadvertently bagged himself a spot on World Tour. He's under no delusions that he'll ever win the million, but floating his way to the merge would at least make up for the embarrassment of being voted out first from the Gophers his short run in Island.

So he makes it to the merge after playing a glorified game of cat-and-mouse (Tom and Jerry Style) with Alejandro. He's got a hypercompetent Archvillain gunning for his elimination, and now that the teams are null and void, alliances are the name of the game. So what does Noah do?

He gets himself eliminated, just to take the satisfaction of doing so away from Alejandro. Probably through a technicality or something too, like Izzy's departure from the competition, to save himself the shame effort of jumping out of the jet.

That's mostly because I really like the idea of Noah reaching the merge, thinking "I've reached the goal I've set for myself. Might as well quit whilst I'm ahead!" and just-

Leaving.

(Which is ironic, because he's spent the last ~8 challenges actually trying to remain in the competition, and now he's just. Giving up. Drawing a line in the sand. "This is as far as I go.")

It's a shame that the London challenge happens pre-merge, because the idea of Duncan being forced back into the competition and the jet taking off before anyone realises that they're missing Noah- who snuck away into the city and is having a great time using Chris' debit card (of which he memorised during his time as Chris' assistant) to live it up bourgeoisie style in London- is fuelling me.

Realistically though, he'd probably sneak off in China during the eating challenge- because why would he stick around when Owen's gone? It wouldn't be hard for him to throw the eating challenge at the first round and then just. Not sit as the loser's table. Maybe he knows enough Mandarin to get by, and manages to stowaway himself back home to his family and beloved golden lab.

Meanwhile, Alejandro is seething.

Owen is really proud of his little buddy for making the merge, and a little disappointed in Noah for 'giving up', but when Noah expresses that he didn't have anything to stay for after Owen's departure, his disappointment turns to sentimentality.

#something about noah 'quitting' the competition always has be in stiches i swear--#“yup. i've done what i set out to do. time to go home and sleep for a decade!”#noah leaves the competition early by his own accord like an introvert leaving a party early.#alejandro is SO MAD that after all of his effort he wasn't even the one to get noah eliminated.#he's even madder when he finds out that noah got HIMSELF eliminated. on PURPOSE.#yet another example of noah twisting things to his advantage.#alejandro: you are like the road runner. annoyingly competant.#noah: meep meep motherfucker.#also yes noah somehow manages to go mia post-elimination and the public is once again BAMBOOZLED by this kid's ability to ghost them #total drama #solo victory noah au #silly ideas #others' ideas #replies #...maybe i just don't want to see noah win world tour. this boy's a loser. he's not allowed to win anything.

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senka-mesecine · 2 months ago

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Could you pls make a list of headcanons of situations with his s/o that would make Barnes smile? Thank u

- wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

― When you act stubborn, spiteful or willful and you find your attempts to rile him up, win out over him in some shape, way or form or simply be a rebel thwarted by him. He just views the occasional spitfire attitude amusing, yes, mainly because he sees it as an empty, vague threat best laughed at by someone far stronger (him), but when it falls flat on its face because he's made you behave either through the sheer authority of his presence, his words or as much as a single look, he finds that one profoundly entertaining to the degree he might very well crown the occasion with a triumphant, almost taunting smile intended to challenge and tease. Mock. You can't win no matter how much you may try and that's funny to him. Call it The Taming of the Shrew starring Robert Barnes. It's not about the brattiness as much as the fact that you really think you stand a chance against him is comedic gold to him sometimes.

― God, speaking of which, Barnes being Barnes, if you say something particularly mean, either intended at him or someone else, he'll not only smile, he'll laugh in contended surprise because he'll feel he's rubbing off on you and influencing you, especially if meanness isn't in your general nature and you're legitimately a generally nice person (which compared to him isn't hard) but once in a blue moon something foul and nasty slips past your mouth, a frustrated cussword, an insult and there he is, perking up, because he's proud he's drawn the worst out of you, going against your better nature. A great many of the things that cause him joy have to do with your corruption and seeing you occasionally be the bastard he usually is a primetime reason to smile. Notwithstanding the fact that the contrast is precious in his eyes. Him being a bastard suits him and he's fully embraced that. You doing so? It's worthy of a smile because it's a novelty.

― In the aftermath of doing something truly horrible and shocking regardless of what that may something may be, when you're exasperated and dismayed with him, chances are Barnes will smile at your bafflement because he cultivates the raw emotion out of you like a rare fuel or drug that keeps him high, usually not a twinge of regret in him. Actually, the fact you in particular are so shocked and morally outraged with him makes him all the more glad he's did a figurative bad thing, almost as a way of gloating over you with a grin days later, silently and wordlessly reminding you can neither do anything about it or stop it, or stop him because this is exactly who and what he is and he's effectively showing you; you can just bear witness to it and be passively horrified. It's not unlike a wolf bearing its bloodied fangs to you because it doesn't intend to hide its nature. In fact, it means to flaunt it.

― By extension...you attempting to preach him on ethics. He might actually sit there stoically, not really say anything and listen, following you with his eyes the entire time but if you get truly impassioned and into it, he could very well smile at that too because you're here genuinely preaching to the choir thinking you saying a lot of important words is going to change a grown man set in his ways and who believes in what he's doing through hell or high water; not that you're necessarily saying something he disagrees with. Or hey, maybe you are. But, that's beside the point. Fact that you're so zealous and fervent about this is what is the root cause of Barnes grinning like the Cheshire cat. People who are slightly impotent in their power talk, and people who wield the actual power, in his opinion, act. And you talking, giving him the lip and over philosophizing as much you are is cute to him.

― Weakness. Hear me out. In others? It might disgust him and come off as the ultimate insult, but if a significant other is weak compared to him? If they technically have the drive but lack the physical stamina to push through with something (and yet they refuse to give up?) it's worth of him cracking a grin because it's a clear reminder who the tough person in the relationship is. They can run, but they can't run fast or far enough. They can be pigheaded, but what is the point of being pigheaded faced with Barnes? They can have bravado, but their bravado is just them talking the talk and not walking the walk. Might not be funny at first but if it happens consistently it can get pretty damn amusing. To him, it's like watching a kitten with delusions of grandeur, convinced it's a tiger. He could watch you fall flat on your ass (literally and figuratively) all day and not be bored.

― Strength. Yep. Is it contradictive to the above statement? Perhaps, but then again, Barnes is a complex, often contradictive character. If his significant other is genuinely an unexpectedly tough cookie, whether mentally or physically, if they brave through something considered adversity, show unusual fortitude in whatever situation independently of him, if they're firm, have a good head on their shoulders and they're here standing on their own two feet Barnes might just privately beam up with a smile and this one unlike all the rest on this list could very well be intimate and just for him when nobody sees because he knew they had it in them all along and now he has tangible proof too. They're exactly who he thought they were or who they could become and he sees a tiny, rarely positive piece of himself in them and it's like a moment of recognition.

― During sex. Hey, very likely. You might be there begging, pleading and desperately sweating it out because it's round god knows which at this point, you're dead exhausted, feeling like you've been running a drill exercise and you still haven't finished, pretty much caught in a flurry of dry, heaving orgasms because he's not letting you reach a peak and as you placate with him to allow to you cum he might just give you the evilest, most wickedest smile you've ever seen him with in response to all the whining and moping because he relishes torturing you. It's on his authority that you're either released or not released and the notion is stupendously diverting. Mind you, Barnes won't randomly smile at the first sign of you begging. No ma'am, no siree, he'll draw it out to great lengths and be at his most serious for the major duration of it all and it's only when you're at your most defeated and broken is when he takes time to sneer and goad.

― Generally, to conclude things, most things Barnes smiles at as a whole or in relation to his significant other aren't things most commonplace people would smile at because for the lack of a better way to describe it, I imagine his sense of humor is genuinely fucked up and borderline weirdly erudite and darkly deep when you start analyzing it. The nail thinking it should stick out before it gets inevitable hammered down is funny, headstrongness being disciplined is funny, the weak conquered by the strong and brought to heel is funny and the notion the machine is gonna keep running regardless how many obstacles it has to chew down in its wake is also funny, by extension, anything his significant other does that is contrarian in regards to him is also smile-worthy to Barnes precisely because it falls under this very dichotomy. It's the ultimate inside joke he has with himself. You're his and he owns you any attempt to fight or argue that irrefutable truth like it can even be changed is hilarious at times.

#platoon #platoon 1986 #platoon imagine #platoon imagines #platoon headcanon #platoon headcanons #platoon reader insert #platoon reader inserts #robert barnes #bob barnes #robert barnes imagine #robert barnes imagines #bob barnes imagine #bob barnes imagines #robert barnes headcanon #robert barnes headcanons #robert barnes x reader #bob barnes x reader

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resident-idiot-simp · 7 months ago

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I’ve always hated media interpretations of hope, usually its depicted as an innocent fragile little thing that needs to be protected regardless of what form it’s taken ie inanimate object, animal, human or just a concept. I actually like what they did with hope in the Percy Jackson universe but I won’t into details here for fear of spoilers.

I think Ghost as the God of Hope works really well because he (nearly) always survives regardless or in spite of what it will take to live like when he dug himself out of his own grave. None of it was pretty or kind and there are even moments where he is small and fragile but it feels earnt in the story and hearing still survived Hope has a nasty habit of springing back up even after you’ve squashed it.

I fell like people have a habit of writing Despair as some loud ugly thing that just lashes out and it can be that but it can also be silent and still or even seemingly happy it doesn’t always lead to steaming and crying I have literally seen people so sad they start laughing.

I’ve think Soap as the God Despair works so well as well because people also sometimes mischaracterise him as this happy go lucky guy who not as smart or as good at his job compared to the rest of the 141 and Ghost in particular, he may not be as stealthy as Ghost but he’s more destructive and I would argue smarter in a book sense way.

As Gods I’d say they both have a Grim determination to get the job done the difference being hope fighting for the end and despair fighting till the end.

One of the inspirations for this idea was the story of Pandora and the Alone mission. Soap opens the proverbial jar and lets out the nightmares when questioning graves on his and shepherd’s betrayal. Pandora was curios and opened the jar realising evil unto the world. Ghost stayed to watch over and guide Soap through a city being destroyed by monsters they’d previously helped. Hope was the last thing left in the jar and it stayed to protect and help humanity survive.

When questioned about Ghost staying behind to help Soap in Las Alma’s they both responded together and opposite eachother, Soap in despair felling alone and Ghost resolute always there.

This was supposed to be short lol

Side note imagine 09 Ghost Soap Persephone and Hades

I agree honestly it misses the whole point of hope smh.

OOHHH amazing reasoning absolutely agree with you. God and that is such a powerful connection and example. That even in the worst moments humanity will always succeed and conquer.

I have to it is a sight to see and so telling of the sheer lengths people can go and what they can handle. The amount of respect I have for people who suffer so much and can still smile is beyond words. My mom is disabled and was told she would never work again, but that woman got up and told the world to fuck Itself. She got better It's still hard and there are days she can't get out of bed, but she beat the predictions. She has chronic fatigue and chronic pain with fibromyalgia, she has a heart aneurysm we are keeping a close eye on and just beat breast cancer. She from what I have seen is the embodiment of hope and the strength of the human spirit.

Completely agree as does @azilver we talk about this a lot. People really don't understand Soap's character and it sucks. It's all a mask or if it isn't it is a tool in his arsenal so people don't realize how dangerous he is.

Again, completely agree.

YES, GOD DO YOU HAVE A LINK I NEED TO CONSUME THAT LIKE CRACK!

AGAIN, SPOT ON! That is such a good way to tie that line into the idea as well as a good basis on top of the already solid reasoning!

(HOLY SHIT!!!! OMFG YOUR RIGHT THE LIST IS BEING ADDED TO THAT IS SO BASED)

#call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #hybrid au annon #Resi responds #deity ghost

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voidsentprinces · 6 months ago

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Need an anime where our perspective is another student who watches as the guy who is clearly been selected by the universe to be the anime protagonist avoids it so hard. But the universe keeps throwing classic anime tropes at him. Dude specifically switches seats with another person so he isn't sitting at the front, the back, the side near the door or anywhere near the windows.

Dude is on his 7th apartment (and counting) because the universe has dropped

Entire Mecha on him (with a space princess was inside/he bought the princess an apartment and promptly left)

A quirky magical girl character (he left the apartment to them)

A ghost of a vengeful spirit (wasn't able to get his deposit)

A kaiju attacked, almost got recruited to a Super Sentai team in the process. He left the apartment to the team.

Spirit of his ancestor showed up claiming he was mythically prophesized to a special power. Couldn't get any sleep and left.

Played a video game, screen started glowing and a mysterious voice began speaking to him. Burnt down that apartment.

Fully eats his breakfast before leaving and walks on the walls of the various residences to avoid any "On-the-Way-to-School" encounters.

A time vortex opened up to him while he was cleaning the classroom. With apologizes, he threw the PoV character into it. And they got stuck in a fantasy world for half a year.

He has become extremely adapt at dodging trucks. Maintains a perfect diet and eats slowly so he doesn't choke to death or get a heart attack that might also send him to another world.

He woke up with technocolor hair the first day of school. He smacked his hair so hard the color came out and then filled it in with black marker.

A magic sword found its way to him. He turned it over to the police. They tried to make him a rookie detective, he declined.

Until recently he took his lunch to the middle of school swimming pool. Then Swim team tried to recruit him and now he's eating in the bushes right outside of campus.

Purposefully gets average score on tests. Does not engage in study sessions.

Attends no festivals. Whatsoever.

Mom almost died. He revived her through sheer spite, he was 3. Ensures his dad is always around for family visits. Lives with his family despite them thinking he's self-sufficient enough to live alone.

A gang showed up to try and fight him. He convinced them they have the wrong school and sent them to America.

Whenever something weird happens, he packs up and leaves school early. Including the time there was a bomb threat.

Sometimes gets a chill down his spine and sure enough finds a classmate looking at his fondly and immediately turns them down on the spot. 13 guys and 2 girls so far. 5 nonbinary aliens who have been posing as classmates to learn more about human society.

Got lost in the woods once and fell into a pit discovering an ancient civilization of mole people. Climbed out and promptly walked in a straight line until he got home somehow.

Has an extra set of clothing for all members of the student body in case quote, "Ecchi bullshit ensues." Incidentally, he is also really good at dodging the female student body.

Is not studying to go to Tokyo University or become an idol or work an office job. He's aiming to immigrate to the middle of the Netherlands and hopes nothing interesting ever happens to him. But he cannot risk going to towns specifically labeled "Nothing ever happens here" cause he tried to move out to Rural School three weeks ago and there was a zombie out break, a vampire serial murder, and a string of UFO sightings all within a week.

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kikyoupdates · 2 months ago

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For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

prologue | story masterlist | next

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer.

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.”

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.”

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has.

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by.

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?”

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.”

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough.

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.”

“It’s perfect,” you reassure.

He likes that. He likes it a lot.

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly.

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red.

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process.

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes.

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved.

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?”

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.”

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this.

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.”

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders.

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—”

“No.”

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together.

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.”

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you.

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close.

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.”

“Master Satoru, you can’t—”

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson.

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from.

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.”

“It’s C.”

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out.

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?”

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—”

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.”

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is.

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Is there a good way to be dumb?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks.

“What thing?”

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.”

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.”

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger?

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself.

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again.

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares.

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?”

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.”

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart.

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.”

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles.

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on.

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours.

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable.

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger.

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.”

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.”

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs.

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.”

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.”

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you.

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.”

Not even your dearest friend.

Some kind of… trick?

All of a sudden, your eyes widen.

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him.

Like right now, for instance.

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly.

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out.

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.”

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it.

Your body is… healing?

“I learned it just now.”

“What?”

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.”

“What do you mean?”

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?”

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this.

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always.

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard.

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!”

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qilingxiong · 1 year ago

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alright, time to ramble about di feisheng and jiao liqiao's dynamic in contrast to li xiangyi and qiao wanmian, because scenes from these later episodes are fascinating and i'm absolutely delighted by how these two relationships are so starkly different in the present day.

with xiangyi and wanmian, you have two people who loved each other when they were young and ultimately don't regret it, but who also don't want to return to that past life. once the emotional upheaval of wanmian learning xiangyi is still alive has gotten its closure, the two are talking to each other as warm friends. xiangyi still calls her a-mian. there's the sense of bittersweet nostalgia, and they're on separate roads that'll only cross every now and then, but that's something both of them are okay with and know the other is okay with. they've let go, and i adore wanmian especially because she missed xiangyi so, so much for ten years, and she fought through that grief and managed to find a way to move on with her life while still remembering him. there was miscommunication but they've got a way to move forward now.

and then you have feisheng meeting liqiao again, liqiao who's followed him since he was seventeen, and when he disappeared for ten years she took over the jinyuan alliance and appeared to manage it well in his name. but emotionally, instead of letting go during his absence, she only got more possessive. on feisheng's side, he's completely disinterested in her. and yet both of them know she loves him and he's not afraid to weaponize that, because at the same time liqiao says she wants to marry him she's also undermining everything else he's striving for. while wanmian and xiangyi seem to have found a place to stand on level ground as equals, with these two it's a power imbalance that keeps swinging back and forth like a pendulum. feisheng is liqiao's weakness and anytime they're in a room together he has all the authority over her, but at the same time thanks to her he has so little agency and say in his own sect. every time they make physical contact in episode 19 it's unsettling, with the violins screeching while they're playing at some facade of intimacy. liqiao is called a-qiao when they're alone, but she's referring to herself with that implied level of familiarity. feisheng just calls her by her full name. it's all moves in a chess game to guess each other's hand. they don't trust each other but here they are tossed together, and neither of them are happy about it.

when xiangyi says something along the lines of wanmian not belonging with him anymore, it's because he's happy she's found her own future with someone else. when feisheng says it to liqiao, it's out of sheer spite and suspicion. ten years passed, and some people managed to mend the torn threads between them left behind. others are having them unravel even further.

#idk if this is coherent or not but im kind of obsessed with dfs and jlq's dynamic they're so fucking awful #kudos to xiao shunyao and wang herun's acting because they're great to watch #and seeing their characters interact makes my skin crawl #also goddamn the way mlc has activated my analysis brain far more than anything else has in MONTHS #mysterious lotus casebook #di feisheng #jiao liqiao #li xiangyi #qiao wanmian #ashton originals #mlc meta

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tatterings · 1 year ago

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Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 7 - "A Tangle of Weeds"

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: PG-13

Tags/warnings: Spoilers for early act II, mentions of PTSD/trauma, battle, violence, angst.

Word count: 7.3k

Note: This is the seventh chapter of my first ever fanfiction!

Sorry it took so long to get this chapter made, y'all! I had 5,000 words trying to summarize all of the events in Act II and hated it.

So I had to start over. And here we are, at 7,300 words just for this chapter, lol. Big big thanks to @solmesia for taking the time to read through multiple drafts and do a beta read, and also go back-and-forth with me bouncing ideas. <3

I’ve also posted this on AO3. Fic under the cut!

The shadow-cursed lands truly were a horror to behold; Astarion ranked them with other disturbing sights, such the mindflayer nautiloid, brothels set alight, or even worse, - Wyll insisting they’d help a random stranger with no payment upfront. The other sight that had turned Astarion’s already-cool blood into ice was how quickly Halsin’s mood had shifted as soon as the shadows had thickened around them. As they descended from the hills of the Mountain Pass and into the thick of the shadow-cursed lands, the druid’s jovial smile had faded, his lips taut with focus.

“The shadow curse is just as foul as I remember it,” Halsin had said his voice almost a growl, “And… perhaps even worse.” With height to his advantage, he lifted his torch high above his head; but it hardly shed light beyond ten meters. Once the torchlight faded, their surroundings were as black as pitch poured into the air. Even Shadowheart, devotee of Shar, was unnerved by the desolation.

The walkways were cracked, uneven; the land torn apart by the sheer force of the curse’s spread a century ago. Halsin, usually more than happy to strike up a conversation, seemed lost in his thoughts unless directly addressed.

“So.. this shadow curse is Shar’s doing?” Gale had asked as they walked, keeping their ranks filed tightly. “I knew it was some sort of magic, but different from the Weave of Mystra.”

“Yes, despite the many lives lost trying to stop Ketheric Thorm’s evil from spreading across the land,” Halsin said, his tone serious as he scanned the edge of their visible range for threats. “Ketheric had abandoned Selune after personal tragedies and massed a Sharran army in his grief. Of course, loss is a part of the natural cycle; it should not be interrupted.”

Astarion glanced back at Shadowheart as Halsin spoke; her nose crinkled in a sneer. The vampire rolled his red eyes and walked closer to Karlach, who emitted a decent bit of light by her infernal engine.

“So that’s where the druids came in?” asked Wyll, who kept Scratch on a tight lead. It would not do to let the dog’s skillful nose lead him into the shadows.

“Correct, Wyll; we druids of the Emerald Grove, as well as the Harpers could not let this darkness spread. So, we joined forces to stop his army,” Halsin continued. His strides were long and purposeful. Everyone besides Karlach had to walk at double-speed to keep up. “We were successful in defeating Ketheric and his forces. We interred his body into the Thorm family mausoleum.”

“If you defeated him, then how did the shadow curse come to be?” asked Lae’zel. “It seems your blade must not have struck deep enough, if Ketheric still released the curse.”

“You may be right,” Halsin said. He released a deep sigh that made his large shoulders sag. “Shar is a spiteful goddess; with his last breath, she gave him the power to release the shadow curse. It washed over the land like a flash flood. Anything, and anyone, touched by the darkness warped was into the corrupted beings and places around us.”

Karlach’s body sizzled with rage. “And that bastard’s damage has been here for over a century now, yeah?” she asked. Halsin nodded at her question. “High time you had some help to get some sunshine out here, soldier!” Karlach beamed at the druid, who smiled weakly back at her.

“Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it,” Halsin said. He lifted his torch closer to a gnarled tree branch above the pathway. As he patted it with his large hand, it seemed to crumble into dust. “The very spirit of this land seems to have disappeared. Thaniel, as I know him… or knew him… for him to have no presence here is grave news.”

The group had been silent in response; the adventurers knew nothing of this Thaniel or nature spirit. Astarion, whose idea of ‘communing with nature’ meant enjoying wine on a veranda, had no words of solace to offer Halsin. Even the vampire, who had no interest in finding out which chirps belonged to which bird, had been unnerved by the complete lack thereof. No birdsong had rung from the twisted treetops. There had been no rustle of squirrels amongst fallen leaves.

Halsin’s additional news dropped a heavier burden on the shoulders of the adventurers. They marched in silence, with the only noise being the jangling of their own packs, the crunch of their footsteps on gravel, the crackle of their lit torches, and the occasional agonized screech of a shade. Their grunts of effort joined the symphony as they climbed a steep hill. Having the high ground was beneficial in any location, but even more so in such a foreboding wilderness. It would serve as a decent enough place to make camp for the evening.

“So you think we might find answers to the tadpole problem at Moonrise Towers, Halsin?” Gale asked, receiving a nod from Halsin. “And you think Thaniel might be there as well? What awaits us there?

Halsin jammed his staff into the coal-colored soil, using it as a post to which he could tie his torch. “I…do not rightly know, if I am honest Gale,” Halsin explained with a shrug, “But.. I think it is as good a place as any to get a start.”

****

Halsin bedded down at the front of the campsite; he wouldn’t run from the curse this time. The opening of his tent faced away from the campfire; he wanted to easily launch from his bedroll at a shadow-cursed creature.

But given how they’d lit up their campsite with cantrips, torches, and lanterns, it was doubtful that one of the twisted beings would try to slip into the light. He sat at the entrance to his tent, his knees pulled to his broad chest, and his arms wrapped around his shins. The druid stared into the distance; but even with elven eyesight, he could not see much beyond the camp’s lit circle. Occasionally the shadows would flare in the distance, blue green magic flickering like the hottest part of the flame.

The shadow curse flickered with power whenever it absorbed the life force of a creature; he recalled seeing the same visual as the curse rolled from Moonrise Towers a century ago, lapping up his friends and allies in bright turquoise flashes.

Something rustled around the edge of the tent, and a shadowy form appeared in Halsin’s peripheral vision. He slammed his hands on the ground in front of him, eyes flashing golden light as he prepared to wildshape on all fours.

“Halsin! It’s just me,” said Astarion, holding two wine glasses in one hand, and a wine bottle in the other. “I’d say I’d enjoy being ravaged, but, well, we’ve had that discussion. And I certainly would not want to be ravaged by those claws.” The vampire wiggled the wine bottle at Halsin’s hands, fingertips glowing with magic.

Halsin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was a relief and a joy to have Astarion’s company. “I’m sorry, Astarion,” he said, sitting back on his heels. His brows knit upward and a meek smile pulled at his lips. “I’m…on edge in this place.”

Astarion joined the druid, folding his legs underneath him and sliding to a cross-legged position with catlike grace. “Aren’t we all,” the pale elf said, with a lilt and a small giggle. “So I felt it prudent to raid the stocks. Better than tiefling vinegar wine, I hope?” The vampire poured a conservative serving of wine in one glass, before looking up at Halsin through his long eyelashes. “It’s so quiet here.. I know you said you don’t imbibe because you turn into even more of an oaf, but we could use some singing honestly. Regardless of how bad it is.” The vampire’s smile was gentle. Genuine.

Halsin held a hand over the glass meant for him. “I appreciate the thought, Astarion, truly, but I will have to decline,” the druid could see the disappointment in the vampire’s face, his ruby eyes rounding with concern. “But I would love your company while you enjoy it. Please, go ahead.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head back. Halsin felt scrutinized.

“It is nothing to do with you, I assure you. I was not being fully truthful with you at the tiefling party,” Halsin explained. He picked up the empty glass with his large hands and twirled the stem in his fingers. A nervous habit. “I do not partake now, because I did so too often, in the past. Specifically, after I lost Thaniel to the shadow curse. Honey mead was my drink of choice.” Halsin looked to Astarion and winked. “As suits a bear. But as for an elf, it left a sickness in me. Once I realized the damage I caused because of its misuse…I decided it was best to forgo it completely.”

Astarion’s expression softened as he nodded, his ivory curls bobbing about his ears. “I see…Well, more for me then,” the pale elf replied, swirling the wine in his glass. He held it to his nose to inhale the aroma, closing his large eyes. “So. This Thaniel. Was he a lover of yours, druid?”

Halsin caught himself from falling backwards out of surprise. “Oh no, quite the opposite,” he said. He shook his head furiously, as if to shake the disturbing thought away. “At my current age, he is like a son, to me. But I have known him since I was a young cub.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed again, and his bottom lip protruded in a beautiful pink pout. “Like a son? Halsin, if you’ve known him since you were a child, he must be hundreds of years old now. What in the hells do you mean?” He took a sip from his wine, licking his top lip. Halsin caught sight of a sharp fang tip.

The druid studied his hands in thought, before meeting Astarion’s gaze. “Well, I believe Thaniel may be many hundreds, or even thousands, of years older than myself,” he said, with a shrug of his well-muscled shoulders. He noticed Astarion’s eyes darting to them and back to his face with unnatural quickness. “Thaniel is the embodiment of this land. The.. formerly untainted purity of nature is manifest in Thaniel himself. So, as best I can tell, that is why he takes the physical form of a child.”

Astarion studied Halsin’s face over the rim of the wineglass as he took another sip. He pulled the glass away and held it daintily, a slender pinky raised in the air. “A rather apt explanation. As good as any, I suppose. Although nature is hardly innocent,” the pale elf said.

Halsin chuckled and placed a large hand on Astarion’s back. He delighted in the coolness of the vampire’s skin, even through his flowy cream tunic, which was a welcome relief from his intense body heat. “Ah, Astarion, and you say you’re not in tune with nature,” Halsin chuckled again, “While there’s no intention behind her actions, Nature has her own form of fury. You know, storms, earthquakes, and lightning. Think of a child being refused a sweet - their anger manifests in much the same way.”

The vampire nodded, his lips turned downward in thought. Halsin continued. "In earnest, his physical form matters not. But, when I was younger, it was a welcome sight to a loner whose closest friends were animals," Halsin said with another shrug. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze directed at the shadows. "He was... is... my best friend."

Astarion took another sip of wine, swishing it along his palate. “You were bound to be a druid from the start, it seems. But how do you mean, you were a loner? That’s quite a transition to go from that, to being an Arch Druid,” he said, flashing a pointy-toothed grin at Halsin.

The druid shifted the weight of his torso from one hand to the other. He felt especially restless this evening. He took a deep inhale and exhaled slowly.

"I would say that I still prefer solitude, or the company of a select few," Halsin said, smiling with his eyes as he glanced at Astarion; creating a genuine smile had become more challenging. "So when I met Thaniel, it overjoyed me to have a companion with whom I could roam the wilds. We spent many spring days playing in cool creeks and many winter evenings sharing ghost stories around a campfire."

Halsin blinked quickly, willing away the moisture at the corners of his eyes. "But as the seasons passed, and as I grew older and wiser, I realized that Thaniel was not just a boy; he was the spirit of the land. He remained the same while I grew older, and I realized he required protection."

The wine bottle gurgled as Astarion poured himself a small serving into his glass. "And now your path to becoming an Arch Druid becomes clear," he said, raising the glass in a lighthearted toast. Halsin raised the empty glass to meet Astarion’s with a ting.

"You are correct. Thaniel. He… shaped me into the person I am today. And one hundred years ago in this very place..." Halsin's words broke off. He chewed on his bottom lip before he spoke again. "It is my greatest failure, not being able to save him from this curse. One that I cannot abide."

Astarion sat beside the druid, swirling his glass from time to time before taking a sip. After a few minutes, it was empty again. The men sat in silence, facing the broken valley below. Again, the quiet was unnerving, interrupted only by Gale's snoring and the occasional shriek from the shadows. Halsin dug his fingers into the dirt, eager to hear something else, anything.

Then, a gurgle erupted from Astarion's slender stomach. Color rushed to the pale elf’s cheeks, and the tips of his pointed ears turned red. His eyes widened, and his eyebrows raised as he met Halsin’s stare.

The druid couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Astarion, you could have just said you were hungry,” Halsin said, tilting his head to the side. He then nodded toward the inside of his tent, his braids falling around his ears. The large druid did not bother to stand, but crawled the few feet to lie on his bedroll.

The vampire stared after him, with round eyes and an uncertain expression. “I - well. If you insist. Next time I will,” Astarion said, setting his wineglass aside. He stood slowly, bent over, before ducking inside the tent to kneel beside Halsin’s neck.

Halsin rolled his head to the side.

“Go ahead, Astarion, I am ready,” said the druid with a nod of his chin. He stared at the wall, his jaw set to prepare for the sharp pain. He was glad to offer this to Astarion, who would otherwise surely starve in this cursed land. I wonder how Thaniel fares wherever he is. Is he hungry? Is he safe? Is he… alive? Halsin’s mind drifted out of the tent flap, and into the darkened lands outside.

Astarion’s hands seemed to float in the air above the druid’s body, as though he were a marionette held up by strings. “I- yes. Thank you,” the vampire stammered, before lowering his mouth to Halsin’s neck.

Halsin started at the sensation of cool wetness on his jugular. He forced a smile for Astarion, just in case he looked over, before the druid allowed his thoughts to wander again.

The shadow curse brought an icy coldness, so frigid that temperature ceased to be felt; not unlike the cold-turned-to-numbness that occurred when being bitten by a vampire.

Astarion raised his mouth and bit into Halsin’s neck. The ice now coursed through Halsin’s veins, and he squinted his eyes at the sensation. He felt the numbness radiate from Astarion’s bite and the coolness of the pale elf’s tongue on Halsin’s warm skin. It made the druid shiver, a feeling he hadn't experienced since he first allowed Astarion to feed. He realized the shiver was partly from longing; but of a different form. Halsin longed for the desire he had for Astarion during their past feedings. In this moment, he could feel nothing except a sense of loss.

Astarion cleared his throat and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his pinky finger. “Er, thank you Halsin. I… appreciate your kindness,” the pale elf said.

Halsin felt the vampire’s cool gaze sweeping across his features. “Of course, Astarion,” he said, giving the smaller elf’s hand a squeeze.

The vampire didn't return the squeeze; he allowed Halsin to hold his hand as his pale head tilted. Halsin met his gaze with another forced smile. His eyelids felt as heavy as his heart in this place. Astarion nodded, his lips pressed together, and lowered his gaze to the ground as he left Halsin’s tent.

Halsin rolled in his bedroll the rest of the night, with his only tent-mate being raw, angry restlessness. It lolled tauntingly about his rumpled bedroll, heavy with desire and the faint aroma of rosemary and bergamot.

*****

The adventurers began their journey in the morning, once again at a loss for the actual time of day amidst the curse's darkness. The disrupted sleep patterns wrecked their energy levels, compounded by the general malaise of walking in such an eerie landscape and the shades lurking beyond the reach of their lights. It left each adventurer frustrated and eager to reach Moonrise Towers, in hopes of finding some answers.

Just a few hours into their tedious hike, commands echoed through the twisted and broken landscape, reaching Astarion and his companions. It sent everyone's heart, except for Astarion's, into a jolting pace. The shouts had been in Common, from humanoids untainted by the curse—a glimmer of hope.

Several in the party nearly dropped their torches in their rush to find the fray, even though seeing just down the pathway was as challenging as peering around a 90-degree corner. After running for several minutes, they stumbled upon the battle.

Astarion had never witnessed such a peculiar gathering of fighters; however, he had read about them. A magnificent and terrifying beast called a drider—a twisted drow-spider hybrid—swung a longsword at the group of humanoids. In his other hand was an intensely bright lantern, which jingled with every swing of his blade. Around his eight legs darted a hyena and several goblins, hollering chants that included the word "Absolute."

“Cultists!” Halsin said, his eye color shifting from honey hazel to molten gold. They glowed with bloodlust, shaking Astarion's nerves when he gazed into them for too long. “Karlach, Lae’zel, with me,” Halsin ordered in a half-growl as his massive back curved upward. “Wyll, Gale, control the bugbear with whatever you have. Shadowheart, I require your shield.” Halsin fell forward, his hands meeting the dirt with such force that dust flew up into the party’s faces. “Astarion, let loose upon them.” In a blaze of gold, Halsin transformed into an enormous cave bear, twice the size of the already sizable wood elf.

Astarion climbed to high ground on a rock outcropping above the slanted pathway, nocking an arrow in his short-bow. What is he planning? Thought the vampire, his lip curled upward. He’s seen us fight; he knows we excel in stealth. What is he doing? Astarion didn't need to breathe, but he did so to maintain a sense of normalcy. In battle, he held his breath to ensure his arrow would find its mark. The pale elf took aim.

Along a ridge opposite him, Shadowheart and Gale climbed, preparing to cast spells. Lae’zel and Karlach each downed an elixir of strength and turned towards the battle. The gigantic cave bear, charging headlong at the half-dozen cultists, nearly knocked them off their feet. Shadowheart dropped her arms in frustration; Halsin was out of range of her spell.

With a tremendous roar, Halsin collided with the drider, knocking it from its spindly legs. The arachnoid creature screeched in anger, and slammed his lantern into the muzzle of the bear, as well as the head of one of its goblin allies. A flurry of arrows erupted from the group of humanoids standing on the roof of a dilapidated building. Astarion loosed his arrow, laced with paralytic poison, and watched as it struck the drider’s sturdy carapace but failed to penetrate.

“Hells below,” the vampire cursed, leaving his elevated position to employ his daggers instead. He stalked the periphery, minding to stay within the safety of light, but kept enough distance from the swinging swords. Does Halsin think he’s the leader since we’re in these lands? Bullheaded oaf! Astarion seethed, sneaking behind a goblin and slitting its throat. He let it fall to the ground with a thud, not even bothering to check its pockets. He maintained visual contact with Halsin, who had galloped off to take another charge at the drider.

The spellcasters climbed from their high ground to be within range, nodding at their new allies as they joined them in the crumbling building. More arrows loosed from their allies’ bows, felling nearly all foes. Lae’zel and Karlach met the goblin and bugbear with their blades, dispatching them quickly.

The cave bear charged the drider, only to crumple at its legs as the drider’s blade fell between the druid’s shoulder blades. Halsin’s agonized roar, as well as the drider’s maniacal cackle, echoed between the cliff sides.

Astarion surged behind the drider, his anguished scream erupting as he leaped onto the drider's thorax and drove both daggers deep into its back. One dagger slid between the ribs, piercing a lung, while the other struck either the spleen or intestine,. He pulled it to the side to open the wound further. That godsdamned reckless fool.

“Halsin, get up godsdamn you!” Astarion shouted, jumping to the ground as the drider fell. He kneeled beside the Arch Druid, who had reverted to his large elven form. The wound between Halsin's shoulder blades oozed acrid pus—poison. The large elf groaned and shifted slightly; he still had life in him.

Astarion's hands shook as he rummaged through his belt for a healing potion, antidote, or anything. He could hear the clang of Shadowheart's armor as she rushed to their aid. He found a basic healing potion, which hardly healed a burn, let alone a festering wound. The vampire tried to roll the large elf to his side, groaning with the effort of Halsin’s weight and his own trembling fingers. He opened the druid’s mouth and carefully dripped the potion onto his tongue.

The vampire's vision blurred, his focus solely on ensuring Halsin's kept breathing. Astarion only noticed Shadowheart's arrival when he saw a greenish glow enveloping the druid. It was Cure Wounds, a spell he recognized from its frequent use on Lae’zel. Shadowheart cast lesser restoration, and the green pus between the druid's shoulders seemed to dry up as his wound knitted closed.

“Thank you,” Halsin wheezed, sitting up slowly. “Once again, I owe my life to you.” He held out his hand to Shadowheart and firmly gripped her delicate fingers. Astarion scowled beside him, arms crossed. The druid turned to face him.

“And thank you for stabilizing me, Astarion”, Halsin said with a deep bow. Halsin’s eyes were ringed by purple; whether from fatigue or bruises, Astarion couldn’t tell.

“Of course, Halsin,” the vampire replied, offering a curt nod. Does he even care that he could have died? That he didn’t wait for us? For me? Astarion forced air from his lungs in exasperation.

The arch druid did not seem to pick up on Astarion’s unusual lack of verbosity. Instead, he wordlessly stormed toward the bugbear, which had grasped at the dirt. Lae’zel must not have dug her sword in deep enough, this time. The vampire trotted after the druid, with a mix of curiosity and dread building in his stomach as Halsin cast shillelagh, his staff radiating with magic.

The Arch Druid glowered over the bugbear. “What are you doing in these lands?” Halsin said, his voice a desperate, angry bark.

“We will meet the Absolute, praise her!” the cultist said, wheezing against his punctured lung. “Praise Ketheric!”

Halsin took a step back at the name. "Ketheric Thorm is dead and buried. His body locked in the mausoleum,” Halsin said, his words dripping with venom, not unlike the wound he from which he had just been healed.

“Not anymore…” wheezed the bugbear. His gleeful cackle sounded more like a rattle, and he coughed blood as he spoke. “He has risen, he is immortal. Praise Ketheri-” The crunch of Halsin’s shillelagh into the cultist’s eye socket cut his words short.

“Ketheric Thorm is dead,” Halsin repeated. He twisted the staff as if it were inside Ketheric, instead of the bugbear.

Astarion was not sure which turned his stomach more; the squelch of the brain matter, or the transformation of Halsin into someone unrecognizable.

******

Their newfound allies from the battle turned out to be the Harpers. How history repeats itself, Halsin had thought with a frown, although let us hope not completely. After the battle, they had parted ways, but with a newfound hope. Within one more day's travel were the Last Light Inn and the rest of the Harper forces.

Despite the good news, the mood of the campsite took on a somber tone. The battle did not go as smoothly as it should have; they had used their valuable potions and energy for healing. To make matters worse, provisions were low, and Gale prepared the most basic of gruel stews. The party broke bread together around the fire.

Gale sat near Astarion, the wizard having noticed the vampire's foul mood and hoping to lift his spirits, even if it meant becoming the butt of a joke. Astarion scowled at the soup boiling over the campfire.

“Well, thank you again for cooking Gale. But I’m thankful for once to not have to eat, either,” said Astarion. His voice and his half-hearted joke fell flat. The vampire leaned on his knees, his brows furrowed as he stared at Halsin. Scratch sat at Shadowheart's side, his head resting on her feet, whimpering every time a shriek echoed from the darkness. Karlach stood and squeaked his ball to raise his spirits before stepping away to play fetch. A small smile crossed Lae’zel’s face at Scratch’s happy bark, and she finished her stew.

Wyll, seated near Gale, spoke first. “So, Halsin. You’re very familiar with the Harpers then?” he asked, gesturing with his spoon.

Halsin nodded and leaned towards the fire. His dinner had been plums he’d stocked away in his pouch. “Indeed. In that battle 100 years ago, they were my closest allies. Jaheira directed their forces in battle; I directed the forces of the Emerald Grove under my predecessor.”

Astarion sat up with his hands on his knees. “Oh did you, Halsin?” he snapped, tilting his head back and glaring at Halsin through half-lidded eyes. “I’m surprised you were content with playing second fiddle, seeing as how you barked orders at us during the battle.”

The druid noticed that Karlach, Gale, and Wyll shot the vampire a harsh look. Halsin flinched at his words. “I…you are right, Astarion,” he said, with a deep sigh sagging his shoulders. “It was not my place to issue orders. I have not seen this place in a century, and the fury took me at the moment.”

Shadowheart shook her head and glanced at the druid, worry on her face if not on her lips. Lae’zel rolled her eyes, a small “tsk’va” escaping her. Astarion crossed his arms, gripping his own skin with his fingertips. The firelight danced in his ruby eyes; it made his anger seem more intense.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that, Halsin. Your loss of control was quite clear as you charged in alone to get yourself killed,” Astarion said. His fangs were nearly bared under his plump top lip. Gale gripped the vampire's knee in response to his words. Halsin’s sensitive hearing picked up his whisper of “Enough, Astarion”.

Halsin’s chest felt gripped by a tangle of vines at the vampire’s anger. He knew Astarion was not wrong; he knew he had been foolish. He was repeating history in his own actions. The large elf shook his head slowly and placed his elbows on his knees. His braids fell into his face.

“That was foolhardy of me, to not wait. Your words are harsh, but accurate,” Halsin said, nodding slightly. “I truly do not enjoy leading battles. Leading… anything, in fact. It is a terrible burden.”

Wyll tilted his head in Halsin’s direction. “But you were the leader of the Emerald Grove, before handing it off to join us,” he said. The warlock’s gentle face was picture-perfect confusion.

Halsin sat up straighter. “That is correct. But that was not my choice. In the battle for the soul of these lands, I was second in command. After we defeated Ketheric, we thought we had won,” the Arch Druid said. “But not long after we sealed him away in his tomb, the shadow curse took hold. No one had seen the likes of it before. No one knew how to react. Then it claimed all those within its reach. Those who had survived the battles now fell to the shadows. The Archdruid, my predecessor… was seized by the curse. I couldn't save him; there was no time. I had to lead the survivors to safety,” Halsin continued. “That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning.”

The party listened in silence. Astarion’s expression softened slightly. He knew this story already; from reading Halsin’s diary.

Halsin went on, "But imagine if I had been faster, bolder, better. Lives would have been saved. More than I care to count. Including that of Thaniel.”

The party was silent; in surprise, or in respect, Halsin wasn’t sure. But he appreciated the silence all the same; it gave an excuse to end supper and depart. “Excuse me, my friends, but I must prepare for our travels tomorrow. If you need me, I will be in my tent,” said Halsin, before slipping away.

*********

After Halsin had left, the vampire received a proper scolding from Karlach, Gale and Wyll. The trio was insistent on kindness; they were all bleeding hearts. Couldn't Astarion understand Halsin was hurting? They had pointed out that he was clearly grieving, and we all make mistakes. But their opinions were split: Lae’zel agreed with Astarion; there’s no room for feelings when lives were on the line. Halsin made a foolish decision to give orders, and she was bitter about following them instead of trusting her own judgement. Shadowheart’s skin had rubbed raw from her chafing armor when she had run to heal Halsin. She, too, harbored frustration about his rash actions.

Regardless of their support or dissent, Astarion didn’t need their opinions. They didn’t know Halsin as well as he did. He felt an intense closeness with the druid, even though it had not quite been a fortnight since he’d met Halsin. But what delicious days they had been, the best he'd experienced in centuries, all without having to sell his body for the Arch Druid's time or affection. Moments filled with combat and comaraderie. Adrenaline and arousal. Intimacy and intelligent conversation. Until reaching the shadow-cursed lands.

A few yards away from Halsin’s tent, he shuffled his feet in the dirt. His hands twisted the strings on his tunic and his gaze fixed on the tent as he lost himself in thought. Since they arrived here, Astarion hadn't once felt the druid's calloused hand around his waist, nor received a playful nudge from his bear form. It made Astarion’s stomach churn, and his chest throbbed as if a stake had been driven through it. Has he lost interest in me? He wondered, feeling the stake twist in his heart.

Thaniel wasn't a lover, but Halsin appeared consumed by his obsession with the boy. The rotten feeling inside Astarion grew. He despised it; he wanted to support this noble, sweet fool.The vampire crossed his arms, his fingertips and sharp nails lightly digging into his skin. He wished he could cold-shoulder the druid in pettiness. But after the bloodshed of the day, Astarion was starving.

The campfire’s light cast his shadow against Halsin’s tent wall.

“Halsin? May I enter?” he asked, his tone soft and meek, filled with apology.

“Yes, Astarion, please join me,” Halsin replied from inside the tent.

Astarion’s mouth curved upward slightly. The druid didn't seem to hate him. He ducked inside the tent and shared the smile with Halsin, who had a book open in his cross-legged lap.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted company or not,” the vampire said, eyes downcast to the ground. He lowered himself to a sit beside Halsin, his nimble fingers playing with the strings on his tunic.

“Your company is always welcome, Astarion,” Halsin rumbled, looking down at the slender vampire at his side. The druid’s expression was softer than Astarion expected.

“Er…well, thank you, for that,” Astarion replied. “Even when I’m just…hungry?” He winced at his own words. The vampire didn��t come only because he was hungry. But if Halsin wasn’t interested in his companionship or affection, he couldn’t admit that he had tucked tail and come begging for anything at all from the druid.

The large elf closed his book gently. “Oh, of course. I am sorry to not have thought about it earlier,” Halsin said, closing his eyes as well. “I feel well enough to offer my blood; Shadowheart is quite the healer, despite her Sharran loyalties.” The large elf reclined on his bedroll.

“Indeed,” Astarion replied flatly, lowering his torso to Halsin's and placing his mouth on the druid's neck. As he fed, he tried all the same tricks from his first feeding: flitting hands over Halsin's torso, his cool breath on the large elf's hot neck. But Halsin only stared at the tent wall; it was like feeding from a living corpse.

Astarion blinked back the moisture from the corners of his eyes and sat up, wiping blood from the corner of hips lips. Halsin was lost to him. Once was an oddity; twice was a pattern. Again, the druid had shown no arousal, no emotion, no reaction besides a grunt of pain.

“Well, thank you for the last supper, darling,” Astarion said, his voice detached and flat. “I suppose we’re done then.” He shuffled on his knees to sit further away from Halsin, his fingernails picking at the seams on his trousers.

The druid roused slowly, as though it took a moment for Astarion's words to sink in, like rain soaking into parched soil. “Last supper?” Halsin asked, his voice low. He shifted to sit on his knees and rubbed his forehead with his thick fingers. “Done with what? What do you mean?

Astarion glanced over his shoulder at the druid; he didn’t want to face the larger elf completely. “Oh, darling don’t play coy. It sounds like you’ll get answers from your Harper friends tomorrow at Last Light,” he said. “Then you’ll be off on your merry way!” The vampire flipped his slender hands in the air.

The druid met his gaze, his honey-hazel eyes scanning Astarion’s face. The vampire felt as though he were being inspected. “Astarion, what are you talking about?” Halsin asked.

“Please, Halsin, stop with the facade,” Astarion said, waving one hand towards the larger elf. “You know your old friends are here, challenging the Absolutists,” The pale elf’s gaze shifted to his knees; if he looked any longer at Halsin, the mist in his eyes would turn to tears. “You’re obviously closer to the idea of them than to us,” Astarion’s tunic became tight around his shoulders as he rounded them, bending into himself defensively.

He heard the rustle of Halsin’s movement on the bedroll. “Astarion,” the druid said softly, “Have you lost your senses?” He was too gentle. It hurt, this feigned bit of care, and it made the abscess in Astarion’s chest worsen.

“No, I certainly haven’t, but you have!” said the vampire. He could feel the color rising to his cheeks; Halsin’s fresh blood circulated within him. Astarion shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Over this Thaniel boy. Over this curse. You’ve less self-control than a beast!”

Halsin rose to his knees, his large form blocking the candlelight within the tent. He cast a shadow on Astarion. “Do not compare me to a beast, Astarion,” the druid replied, his voice almost a growl. Astarion felt the druid's forceful exhale on his pale skin. Halsin sat back on his haunches. “People see me in battle, or see my size and don’t think I can get hurt.. or have feelings.”

Astarion felt his eyes widen, and the moisture overflowed. Cool tears streamed down his porcelain cheeks. “I.. am sorry, Halsin,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible. “I am aware you can get hurt. Too aware.” The vampire’s voice sharpened, and he met Halsin’s eyes. The druid’s thick brows knit together upon seeing Astarion’s tears. “But today, it appeared as though you had forgotten that. You’re so willing to sacrifice yourself that you don’t see that you don’t have to.”

Halsin seemed to deflate at Astarion’s words like a drinking bladder emptying its contents. “I…must not lose focus until everything is put right. I’ve wasted too much time already - and nature has suffered.” He moved closer to Astarion and placed his broad hand on the vampire’s knee. Astarion chose not to react to his touch; he had to focus on fighting back his tears.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, which startled Halsin. “Oh darling, I didn’t peg you as self-centered, but here you are, making this about yourself,” Astarion said, seething as more tears streamed down his cheeks. He met Halsin’s fragile gaze with ferocity. “Do you think that one person could have stopped the goddess Shar? Really?” He gestured forcefully toward the open flap of the tent while maintaining his accusatory stare at Halsin.

The druid cast his gaze to the shadows outside the tent. His expression shifted several times as they sat in silence. Astarion could only assume the first was offense; but his last expression seemed to be understanding.

Halsin's hand remained on the vampire's knee, gripping snugly, his wide thumb rubbing gentle circles on Astarion's kneecap. “There was no one else to blame,” Halsin said finally, breaking the silence. “And, if I centered my rage at myself, I could not lash out at others in anguish. I could cage the bear and let it wound itself against the bars…”

Astarion's fingers shook as he gently placed his hand on top of Halsin's. “Come now Halsin,” he said, letting go of the pet name, “You’re older even than me. You know as well as I do that the world is cruel more often than not. You helped me understand that being cruel to oneself won't improve matters.” Astarion meant every word; Halsin's kindness and affection had been a soothing balm for his anxieties, keeping him from seeking affection through means he'd rather avoid.

Halsin met Astarion’s gaze and raised his hand to the vampire’s cheek. His large thumb wiped away the cool tears. “You possess more wisdom than you give yourself credit for, Astarion,” he said, tilting his head as he smiled. A deep exhale escaped the druid's lips, and the sigh ruffled Astarion's curls. "I offer you my apologies."

Astarion momentarily forgot himself, savoring the warmth of Halsin's palm as he leaned into it. The touch provided a brief reprieve from the gnawing pain of no longer occupying a special place in the druid's heart. After a moment of allowing himself happiness, the pale elf pulled his face away from Halsin’s gentle hold. “I.. appreciate that darling,” he said, an airy laugh escaping his lips. “Because, foolish as I am, I'm still here with you... despite your loss of interest.” He lifted his wine-red gaze to meet Halsin's, searching for any hint of intent in the subtle expressions that played across the druid's face. What he found was utter confusion.

“Dear heart, what are you talking about,” Halsin asked, his hand falling from Astarion's cheek to his pale, slender neck. His thumb traced the vampire's bite scars with tenderness.

"Oh, please," Astarion began, his hands gesturing at himself with a hint of flippancy. "Just acknowledge that I'm just a pretty distraction to pass the time whilst our ‘fates are aligned’.” Cool tears welled up in his eyes once more, then ran down his cheeks again, like raindrops sliding off a marble sculpture. They sparkled in the gentle candlelight of Halsin's tent.

Halsin's mouth opened, his tongue twitching as he searched for words that eluded him. “Astarion, I am deeply grateful to Silvanus for allowing our paths to cross, but-” The druid’s words were cut short.

“Yes, yes, and 'it was delightful while it lasted’,” Astarion interjected, his head jerking to the side as tears cascaded down his cheeks, dripping onto Halsin's calloused hand. “But tomorrow you’ll find Thaniel, and then you'll whisk him away into the woods, leaving me to..” Astarion choked back a sob, which soon wracked his shoulders. “I'll be abandoned.”

Before Astarion could react further, he found himself pulled tightly against Halsin's broader form. The druid's thick arms enveloped the vampire's torso, his legs parting as he drew Astarion closer. Astarion was almost entirely ensconced in Halsin's embrace. “My dear Astarion,” Halsin began, his voice a deep, gentle rumble emanating from his chest. “You won't be abandoned. I want to be with you. I-"

Astarion attempted to pull his torso away but found it was a futile effort. He shook his head in frustration. “Don’t fill my head with that nonsense, druid,” he said, sniffling to clear his runny nose. “Not when I have nothing to value; only burdens to carry.” Despite the embarrassment of his tears, he looked into Halsin's kind eyes. He needed to know for certain what Halsin wanted.

“Astarion, that is untrue. You spoke such wisdom moments ago: we can rely on each other whenever our burdens are too great,” Halsin said, his voice almost a whisper. “I want to help you with yours…” The druid squeezed his arms around Astarion, coaxing a whimper from the smaller elf. “I care for you,” Halsin continued. He smiled at the pale elf - a genuine one, radiating from his kind eyes.

Halsin hooked his large finger under Astarion’s chin, to bring the vampire’s gaze to his. “Astarion, my heart does not stir lightly, and yet…it soars just to look upon you. I value you beyond measure. Think of the times you have fought beside me in battle, your prowess with arrow and dagger are invaluable; you have saved my hide more than once. And of the many evenings your company brought great comfort to me when we sit together and read. I treasure your astounding intellect, even when your well-thought arguments are against my own! And I can always depend on you to bring laughter to my lips, as sure as the sun will rise each day. Those moments are all so precious, so valuable to me…I want to never be without you.”

Astarion closed his eyes, allowing more tears to fall. The sensation of soft, warm lips on his cheek made his eyes flutter open. Halsin’s lips traveled up from his cheek, to kiss the corners of Astarion’s eyes; to kiss away the vampire’s tears. To kiss away his fears.

“Regardless of any burdens you have, Astarion,” Halsin continued, saying the vampire's name like a song, like a hymn, a prayer of tenderness and care. The druid's lips met Astarion's other cheek, kissing away his salty tears. “And despite the challenges ahead… Astarion, dear heart. My heart.” The druid paused and placed another kiss on the pale elf’s forehead.

Astarion's plush, pale lips parted, but he had no words, no witty response, no wry observation. He simply gazed at Halsin, his eyes shimmering with renewed hope.

A moment passed; thick with tenderness and desire. And when Halsin pressed his mouth to Astarion’s cool lips, only a surprised, pleased whimper escaped the pale elf. Halsin’s kiss was so very soft. Deliciously tender, as he pulled Astarion’s lower lip between his own. Passionate, as he suckled it gently before pulling away. Halsin did not slip a greedy tongue into Astarion’s mouth, like the lustful kisses the vampire had known over the years.

He placed another chaste kiss on Astarion’s now-reddened lips before pulling his own just far enough away to speak. “I am here with you now, Astarion. And I will always return to your side.”

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