#here I go again with the self indulgent posts

[theetherealbloom]

Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever

Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.

Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”

I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T

Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler

gif by @a7estrellas

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OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY

The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.  

You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.  

“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.  

“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.  

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.  

“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”  

The day unfolded in bursts of joy.  

Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.  

Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.  

Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”  

“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.  

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”  

Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”  

“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.  

Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.  

“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.  

“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.  

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET

The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.

“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”

Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”

Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”

“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.  

Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”  

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”  

“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.  

“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”

Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”  

“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.  

Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”  

You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”  

Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.  

“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”

“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.  

“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.

You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.  

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.

“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”

“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”

Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”

“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.  

Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.  

Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”

Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”  

“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.  

“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”  

“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.  

The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.

THE NEXT DAY

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON  

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.  

Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.  

His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”  

“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.  

“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.  

It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.  

The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.  

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.  

Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”  

Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.  

Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”  

Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”  

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”  

Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”  

“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.  

Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”  

Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”  

“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.  

“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”  

He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”  

The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”  

Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”  

You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”  

“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”  

Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”  

“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”  

Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”  

Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”  

Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”  

You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING  

The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.  

Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.  

“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.  

Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.  

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”  

Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.  

He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”  

“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.  

“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.  

“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.  

Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.  

“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.  

Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”  

“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.  

The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.  

“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.  

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.  

“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”  

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.  

As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.  

“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”  

“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.  

“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”  

“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”  

“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”  

Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.  

“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.  

The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.  

As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.  

When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.  

You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.  

Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him. 

L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING

The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions. 

“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”

And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more. 

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.

“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go. 

“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”

Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.

“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”

Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.

“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home. 

Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”

You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”

He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”

There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close. 

This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up. 

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”

You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”

His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”

Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”

You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.

Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave. 

Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.  

“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.  

You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.  

“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.  

Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”  

You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.  

He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”  

“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”  

His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.  

“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.  

When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.  

“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.  

“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.  

The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.  

The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.

A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.  

“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.  

Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.  

“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.  

“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.  

Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.  

Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.  

Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.  

“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”  

“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.  

He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”  

You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”  

Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”  

You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”  

Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.  

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”  

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”  

You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”  

“Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”  

Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”  

Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”  

The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.  

Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”  

Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”  

You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.  

The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.  

Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.  

In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.

[tanoraqui]

now that this fic is all published, I can ramble about the things that happen afterward in the timeline! Feel SO free to ask about anything you want more details of.

First off, all three posts about Dave the Balrog are 100% canon to this au, except for where they sometimes contradict the fic's worldbuilding or plot bc I hadn't settled on every detail yet. Also, Dave’s name is probably more like “Drav”, from the Sindarin “drava-”, “to hew.”

That happens much later, though - about 1980 TA. FIRST, immediately, as Celebrimbor says: it's time to save the orcs!

That is, wildly self-indulgent crossover with @ceescedasticity's fic(verse) elves, once, which isn't 100% my headcanon for orcs but it's essentially canon for this au because it makes everything VERY FUNNY in a tragic irony way. I've thought about this so much that it really deserves its own bullet-point post, but highlights include:

- Annatar attempts to conceal the fact that Curufin and Celegorm are orcs, and, y'know, have been since they died. This works until Celebrimbor identifies a bunch of the orc army's weapons as made by his father, even if the style is strange and fell, and the two of the have a HUGE fight in front of representatives of every Elvish kingdom in Middle Earth and most of an army of orcs.

- Bellow/Turgon is having the single strangest, most uncomfortable road trip of his life, and he counts the crossing of the Helcaraxë in that total.

- Turgon tries to convince Galadriel to take Celebrían and Elrond and get out of here, because inevitably this must be a cruel trick and all the orcs will be forced to turn on all the Elves. Galadriel is like, "Honestly, I've been watching Celebrimbor's slow corruption and Sauron's slower un-corruption for about 2,000 years now, and I think we actually have a shot at this. Also, bold of you to assume you can beat me in a fight."

- Curufin and Celegorm had BOOKED IT when Annatar's summoning-compulsion snapped, on the reasonable assumption that any plan the Dark Lord had for them + Celebrimbor could only be cruel to the extreme...so Celebrimbor and Annatar go on a bonus road trip to retrieve them.

- Everyone meets up by the Sea again, but instead of taking (or, obeying) the offer of escape into Ulmo's hands, Turgon and probably a bunch of other orcs volunteer to come help break the Crucible. They Deserve This.

- In the end, as usual, the day is ultimately saved - as are the souls of thousands of trapped elves - by the power of love and overwhelming violence.

AND THEN...

Celebrimbor & Annatar don't actually rebuild Ost-in-Edhil and Eregion as they were. Those days are over, and also the surviving Númenoreans kinda...regard Annatar as Absolute Evil, for some mysterious reason. And those who knew about the whole or even partial conspiracy - namely Tar-Miriel herself - aren't too keen on Celebrimbor, either.

They leave whoever wants to stay and rebuild in Eregion, leadership tbd based on the traditional system of craft-based meritocracy, and take a few decades off to lay low from geopolitics, work on their marriage, and for Celebrimbor to learn a little bit of necromancy so he can manipulate his own fëa and hröa, thank you very much.

They stay with the Witch-Queen of Calador for a while, discreetly because officially that kingdom is also not on good terms with its “former” evil-ish overlord. (The Witch-Queen of Calador and her not really sane, almost certainly unsafe, but arguably consensual relationship with Annatar really deserves her own post, too. She’s my favorite OC of this au. She really loves bats.)

Elrond & Celebrían get married! Elrond always knew his wedding would have to involve stopping drunken brawls from erupting between people who love him but hate each other, but he’d assumed it’d be Iathrim and Fëanorians, not an elderly Queen Miriel going for Annatar’s eyes with a butter knife.

Annatar regards the birth of Elrohir and Elladan with some concern, this alarming lineage now augmented by the blood of Arafinwë (cut off Melkor’s foot) and Galadriel (Melian’s pupil, hates him). But that’s nothing to how freaked out he is by Arwen, who is such an obvious Reprise of Lúthien that it’s now CLEAR that this was all a Melian scheme to assault him, personally.

He can’t just kill her now—Elrond and Galadriel and both right here, not to mention Celebrimbor. And then she’d absolutely be his enemy when she Returned… No, the only solution is to stay in Imladris for a while and become her most beloved uncle whom she would not dream of assaulting, whom she could not bring herself to injure even if circumstance and conscience forced her hand. Love has ever been the undoing of Melian’s line. The Reprise is obvious, but not so established that he cannot twist it into irony, Lúthien’s heir as his devoted student and companion rather than foe.

[smash cut to late 3rd Age Annatar watching the Music settle into place as Arwen interacts with the newest, currently toddling scion of the House of Elendil and nearly killing the child right then because no, no, thats not how this was supposed to Reprise—that’s his jewel of an elf-queen, Singer and trade-manipulator and niece, and he’s going to lose her forever? Killing the brat won’t even work, that would only make her follow him sooner, one way or another—]

Celebrimbor doesn’t want to build a city (and have his heart broken by the loss of the city) again, but he very much does want to ImproveThe World, and also to Make Things With His Hands. So he and Annatar, and whoever of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wish to join them, set about… “Traveling” is too loose a term; just because they’re not city-building doesn’t mean anyone here wants to live on the road. They need workshops, forges, and ideally a maia-sized cat tree tall tower from which to survey their domain. They are a highly skilled work crew/technical, artistic & management consultants who change cities every 5-200 years, throughout Middle Earth and perhaps even other continents.

This what Celebrimbor and Annatar do, for most of the rest of their time in Middle Earth. A few of the Mírdain travel with them all the time. Others strike out on their own, or in similar small groups. Others stay in rebuilt Ost-in-Edhil, or Rivendell or the Havens or another Elvish kingdom, and come lend a hand when their particular talents are called for. Everyone who “died” in Númenor and was “resuscitated” by Annatar walked away with a strengthened, basically permanent osanwë connection to the simulated workshop group chat, which they’re aware of, and a location tracker and fëa-stamp saying “PROPERTY OF MAIRON, FUCK AROUND AND YOU WILL FIND OUT” which only an Ainu could detect.

They're the mysterious stranger(s) who accept an offer of hospitality on a stormy night and reward you with a magic ring that blesses your farm with fecundity. They arrive in a city in the middle of a cholera outbreak and inform the local rulers that they're here to overhaul the whole wells & sewers system in exchange for room and board; no, the local rulers do not get a choice in this. One time they do oust an evil ruling dynasty and just kinda take over the kingdom for a few centuries, but then Celebrimbor starts to get paranoid of his own growing attachment so Annatar reluctantly agrees to find and raise some honorable candidate for kingship [gender-neutral]. One of the Mírdain with them says, what about the choice of the people? And then after a lot of discussion, partly in collaboration with their local Men, they write up and seal with Power a Constitution that establishes an oversight body of political, economic, craft and etc. experts to oversee and have veto power over popular elections to kingship from a slate of candidates chosen by the current/soon-to-be previous king, on a strict thirty-year schedule. There, that should stabilize the whole messy business of mortal succession!

Also, 1300 years or so into the Third Age when this version of Gondor hits its equivalent of the Kin-Strife, Annatar takes advantage of its weakness to initiate a plan he's been contemplating for a while, especially while gaining local insight into a variety of nation-states and their management, and returns to Oroduin to forge what may he his last Great Work...a new standard of currency.

It’s called, in the common tongue developing from Adúnaic and Sindarin, the “mira”, pl. “miran”, from Quenya “mírë” (“jewel, precious thing). Where pettier currencies are based in gold or silver or the might of some particular empire, these hold value Because a Great Maia Said So—indeed, Sang So, Sang a new line into the Great Music that these coins would always have a value of…whatever he said so, if he updated a petty lyric or two of their Song. Those who use the coins don’t need to know this; they simply intuit, with coins in hand, what they are worth.

(You can lead even the mightiest empire by the nose if you control the price of grain alone, much less other commodities, or one currency relative to another. Each minute adjustment takes Power, especially to shift the natural balance of multiple interlocking goods…but Annatar is a master of the perfectly placed lever with which to shift the world.)

Maybe at some point the Valar are like, “okay, I think they don’t irrationally hate us anymore, I think this could work” and send a small group of Maiar to openly, humbly approach Annatar and Celebrimbor and ask if they might be apprentices in the craft of…whatever the fuck is happening here. Or maybe something adjacent, because Pallandro and Alatar would really like to fuck off into those excellent looking woods and hunt the remnants of Ungoliant’s spawn, and Radagast actually wandered away 5 minutes ago to talk to a bird. He’s gonna be a while. But Curumo and Olórin are listening politely!

…Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the Jewelsmiths, slowly becoming folklore, bettering the world (and manipulating wide-scale economics) one stone at a time. (They’d still be the “Jewelsmiths” anyway, even if they included those who, in another universe, were called “The Wise.”)

As stated in the third Dave the Balrog post, they do Sail eventually, several centuries after Arwen’s death. Celebrimbor just gets tired, and Annatar can’t fix it. Ossë spends the whole voyage backstroking next to their ship and sarcastically quoting Annatar back at himself, Years of the Trees insults about being made weak and pathetic by love, until Annatar nearly lunges over the side as a wolf to tear his throat out.

[dragon-queen21]

Trapped in a dating sim: Regressor Leon Hc's

Just finished book three for this series and decided to be self-indulgent and make some agere headcanons, thus here we are

~~~

~So I had it in my head that Leon would be a caregiver until it hit me that no, he fits the combination of a toddler in dire need of a nap and forever being stuck in his terrible twos. In other words, still causing problems for everyone involved even while regressed.

~For awhile only Luxion knew that Leon regressed, given that the AI is always with him. I think he'd soften up a bit whenever his master is feeling small and probably keep him out of harms way and out of sight to the best of his ability. Either on the Partner, or just in Leon's dorm room.

~ Now I offer you this, Who would win? A robot capable of destroying the world vs 1 sarcastic toddler.

~That one part in the manga where he gets a headband to put on Luxion- that but he keeps trying to do that to the robot whenever he's regressed. Putting small stickers on him, or a small hat, or anything else cute that he can find and manage the AI to wear. Luxion doesn't necessarily like it, but doesn't say no. Like he won't stop Leon from doing anything. Probably finds a way to blackmail him once he's big again let's be honest.

~Leon would probably throw a temper tantrum at the drop of a hat. Literally the most fussiest baby ever. So cranky over anything and everything.

~Upon Olivia and Angie finding out about his regression (which is bound to happen sooner or later) they immediately decided to take up the roles as caregivers for the regressed boy.

~Leon meanwhile is constantly trying to push his caregiver’s buttons.

~Goes to Olivia whenever he’s about to get in trouble. She’s a pushover and can never bring it in herself to get upset at Leon no matter what he does when little. Angie on the other hand has no issues putting the regressor into time out.

~Luxion meanwhile who literally just encourages the baby crimes. He just wants to watch the world burn and to make sure that Leon's happy.

~He’d host so many pretend tea parties ‘inviting’ every single one of his stuffed animals.

~Wants to brew his own tea but only manages to spill boiling water on himself and start crying over it. But then throws a fit if one of the girls tries to make him something to drink because he claims they don't know how to do it right. So instead he just pouts.

~Probably threw a pillow at the girls during a temper tantrum and felt horrible about it afterwards, but still refused to apologize until the next time he was small and the guilt was simply too much for a mentally two year old to handle.

[pbnmj]

i deserve a spider-woman nepal..... miles doesn't have to be the only teen spider with a terrible bisexual mentor (enter my own sketches of the world's most annoying spiderperson, who i fling towards pavitr, complete with a design that's subject to change)

[vaguely-concerned]

how I like to imagine lucanis is feeling about being dragged along to the grand necropolis every other day in this playthrough... it's about the duality of

all the walking dressed up skeletons and other assorted body parts strewn around: undeniably kind of bad and creepy. how the fuck is it so cold and windy down here all the time rook is just a slip of a thing how are they not shivering constantly. should I get him a nice warm scarf or would that be against his sense of swag as a watcher I am currently being made to think way too much about spirit possession (these weirdos seem to think it can be benign???? it does NOT feel benign). someone might have worked very hard to get those bones to lie still and dead on the ground it seems disrespectful to that hard work to make the bones get back up again and dance a jig like this. is all I'm saying

vs.

hearing rook speak to spirits and wayward wisps with kind calm authorativeness and care and generally show a whole new side of competence and knowledge they've kept close to the chest so far: ...this better not awaken anything in me (challenge failed)

(rook who's anxiously trying to gauge if the skeletons are going to be a dealbreaker fondly reminiscing 'oh I had my first kiss over there by the van markham mausoleum from the latter part of the steel age actually' and lucanis having to admit 'this does explain some things about you'. there must be some kind of comfort in feeling like you're too removed from the normal human experience anymore to connect with someone only to find that the person you're growing a terrible crush on had barely ever seen the sun until the age of like 34 and thinks this place is the height of normalcy. lucanis' broody line where he's like 'I only know death' and ingellvar both meaningfully and amusedly raising their eyebrows like 'yeah? uh-huh? please, say more' fhdskjaf. i'm sorry you've had your freak matched lucanis I'm sure it's a bit disorienting but we'll figure this out together yet. two little death dudes sitting in a tree k i s s i n g and also trying to figure out the 'life' part of things together)

[deaddove]

hello radiant emperor fandom. i heard you guys like dark historical fantasies about genderqueer warlords and their ruthless pursuit of Revenge and/or The Throne… well let me put you onto something:

need more emo femboys with daddy issues? doomed siblings? lord/vassal dynamics? romantic stabbing? corruption arcs? sexy masochism? you 🫵 should consider reading

Requiem of the Rose King by Aya Kanno

loosely based off Shakespeare's Henry and Richard plays, this manga follows intersex protagonist Richard III (yes he has straight black hair with the bangs covering one eye. yes it’s to hide his heterochromia) through England's War of the Roses.

(he is so cute don't you just want to see him snarling and covered in blood. don't you want to see him slowly abandon his ideals in a desperate bid to be accepted by the world that shunned and demonized him.)

battle, bloodshed, and court politics ensue! also because it's a shoujo manga, Richard becomes the psychosexual obsession of most of the male cast and engages in a toxic doomed relationship or two.

this is not a series for those looking for good queer rep, but perfect for anyone who wants to read about beautiful criminally insane people tearing each other's throats out and being horny about it. it is fun, violent, melodramatic, sexy, and utterly devastating. and although it is tonally very different from TRE, it has so many similar ingredients that i think it deserves to be on your radar. actually it deserves to be on everyone's radar, it's so fucking good and doesn't get anywhere near the attention it deserves...

yea there is an anime that is unforgivably ugly and so heavily censored it's a mystery why they even bothered to adapt it. would not recommend it at all but i guess you can watch it if you want, i am not the police.

actually no i changed my mind. Aya Kanno's work is stunning and deserves to be appreciated. ok case rested.

[immunetoneurotoxin]

“Not a soul assigned to their case at the Bureau could make sense of their existence. There wasn’t a single scientist, parapsychologist, doctor, or specialist with over a dozen PHD’s under the sun that could figure them out. Pyrokinesis in a human? They defy every law of nature, yet they exist amongst humanity regardless. How do you explain that?” “The truth is that there are a lot of unknown things out there in the world that mankind hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of. Everyone flocked to this case trying to find rational answers, but there aren’t any. Look at the files in your hands. By the eyes of science, Pyro should not exist. Don’t you know what happens to things mankind doesn’t understand? The Bureau has done sickening things to them in the name of research.” “That’s why I helped them escape, Conagher.”

Excerpt from the novel INCENDIARY; A TF2 Pyro origin story Read the latest chapter of 'Incendiary' on AO3 here! Artwork created by the incredible @narklos ♡ 

[nightshademyn]

Spring Nap time 💤 🐰

[crebbyhermit]

oc textposts :) 

[walkingstackofbooks]

I really didn't think I was going to get Chapter 19 up on time, but I did and I have!

And MAN the Garashir in this chapter is some of my favourite stuff I've ever written, honestly I'm rereading it and I can't believe I wrote it... Ah man, I'm so hype to share this chapter with youuuuu!

[nest-being]

i hate that i've been so sick recently :( i wake up tired and sore every day and there's just a bunch of seemingly small health issues that just all add up together and it's freaking me out so much. i went and got my blood tests done yesterday and i've got a doctor's appointment next week so i really, really, REALLY hope i get some answers and not just another, hmmm, weeeell 🤷🏻‍♀️ from my doctor. i'm supposed to be moving overseas with my wife next year so i literally NEED to get better. is wishful thinking enough to heal me?? i wish it was 😢

[tricksterlatte]

The Online Fandom 7 Deadly Sins

sloth: complaining about how no one writes the tropes or pairings you like and bashing what's already out there, while refusing to create anything you desire yourself

greed: zine and other finance-related scandals with zero remorse for those negatively affected

gluttony: spending rent money on merch, experiencing buyer's remorse, then repeating the same process next month

wrath: anon hate over literally everything under the sun, even harassing official writers and threatening them if they don't make your ship canon

pride: devaluing other's characterizations and ships to praise yours as better, whether through a canon perspective or a moral perspective, when neither matter in the long run when it comes to your own enjoyment

envy: trash talking others' fandom creations or saying you won't bother creating anything because it'll never be as good as them

lust: fighting over who tops or bottoms because of your personal preferences when one, both, or neither could happen, especially when most of these characters never even kiss canonically nor have most people fighting done any of these things irl themselves

[peachcitt]

it’s about to be june everybody :)

[skrunksthatwunk]

"i'm not disabled" followed immediately by "i've got bad knees and a bad back" is certainly something to read 🤨 you know it doesn't have to be cripling for it to count, right...? it's not normal to be in pain after 15 minutes of standing. ableds can stand for, like, an hour at a time before they need to sit.

i know! i appreciate the concern, but i uh. dunno lol. genuinely i don't know. but i included the afaik ("i'm not disabled afaik" was the original phrase, though i'm not like mad at you for excluding it or anything) because i'm well aware that it's a possibility. it's hard to explain but there's a lot of little things that don't add up to much but are like. noticeable. like i would prefer to do most things sitting, if i could, as a matter of comfort. it would be easier for me. and walking isn't as bad as just standing. i've never been great at taking care of my body, and this has only gotten worse with time. it's hard for me to know what i should read as necessity and what i should read as preference, and how much weight to put on said preferences. like you said, i know it doesn't need to be "if i don't sit down i'm going to collapse" or anything, but where to draw that line between Definitely A Medical Thing That Affects Me More Than Other People and.. not that, i'm not sure. i kinda just thought i was a persistently slightly tired and low energy person, but it doesn't seem bad enough to be chronic fatigue, so...? is it related to the half-diagnosed. idk it's complicated depression (and yes in hindsight i probably should've counted that as disabling but whatever)? idk it's not a rabbit hole i've explored much at all is my point. but i know it's there and uh i guess this was sort of validating in a way anon so.. yeah? yeah👍

[starpros-sunshine]

also i think that after seeing that Something is going out with his eichisama tori should also sneak into town to go and see what's the deal with this wataru guy. and he inevitably gets lost but meets hajime and they have a bonding moment barbie movie-style and him and tomoya help tori meet wataru. and then wataru sees tomoya and goes "oho! interesting child!" which once again leads to eichi unreasonable jealousy against this poor random kid

Okay so I've been thinking on this and I've been trying to get something coherent and bear with me right right.

(this got so long again I just started going into detail and detail and detail and oh god I am so sorry)

So Tori, poor, innocent Tori, has to come to terms with the fact that Eichi is hiding something from him (that "Something" being a tall blue-haired extra of unknown origin) and he knows that, technically, the mature thing would be to leave it alone. Eichi will have his reasons for being a little secretive about it. He has his own life and if he doesn't want to be open about...whatever it is that seems to be going on there.... then he doesn't have to be because the man has a right to privacy.

Tori knows that. But Tori also knows that being mature doesn't matter if, technically, his beloved Eichi-sama could be at risk of giving his heart away to a scoundrel that only wishes to play with him until he's bored and then throws him away, breaking Eichis heart in the process. We couldn't have that! And what if he's a criminal? Can you really trust someone who snoops around on other peoples property without their knowing? No you can't! So really it's only natural Tori wants to know what that guys deal is. Out of a genuine concern for his friend. Of course.

And so obviously it's a completely acceptable and normal and rational decision when he sees that Yuzuru isn't there for a moment to keep watch over him like the guard dog that he is (really Tori isn't a child anymore there's no need to be so overprotective) and the other staff members also don't seem to be around and Eichi is also nowhere to be seen, that he decides to take his coat and pack his little bag with some money (read: more money than just "some" money) and tries to sneak out of the house and down the path across the small meadow and the bit of forest that separates their not-so-humble abode from the small town where the other people live.

His inital plan simple. Go there; ask around a little, maybe try some tailing (after hearing stories from the other aristocrats about how one is able to hire people to follow their spouses around without them noticing - and that apparently being an actual thing people earn their money with - he's decided that it can't be that hard and he should try his luck.) and then leaving as quickly as possible, lest Yuzuru die of a heart attack after finding out Tori dissappeared. It would be quick and easy and nobody would ever find out. That was the original plan. But Tori very soon comes to find that that could prove harder than he thought when he notices he actually really really enjoys the feeling of not having anyone hover over him like some sort of falcon watching their prey.

The little river running by the path through the meadow is still frozen (It is winter after all) and the snow on the ground almost reaches his ankles. The 15 minute walk takes him 30 because he keeps jumping around in the snow (He's made three snow angels by now. For a second he has to think of his sister and of how nice it would be if she were here with him too and how they could make snow angels together were it not for her having to stay with their parents, but he pushes that thought to the back of his head again and decides to move on with his way).

When he eventually arrives at the town - and after just wandering aimlessly through the rather empty streets - there are three major epiphanies.

The first one is that he doesn't have a clear destination. He has no idea where to look for the blue-haired weirdo. The second is that, seeing as it is a forenoon in january, most people probably aren't spending their time outside. And if they are then they are at a different place than where he is. And the third and final one: He is completely and utterly lost.

It should be regarded as an accomplishment really. Getting lost in a town with a population of barely 300 locals living there. Indeed Tori would think it impossible. Yet here he is. If anything he's sure he's at least the only one who can claim this feat for himself. This is fine. He has this under control. If he just keeps walking then he's sure to come out somewhere (No there are no tears in his eyes anyone who says otherwise is just imagining things (he decidedly ignores the little voice in his head that tells him "Who's gonna say otherwise. Look around yourself, have you forgotten that you're all alone here?")). So the big brave boy that he is he marches onward, ignoring the way his fingers have started to feel numb from the cold and his eyes have not stopped watering and the little voice in the back of his head that tells him he should've just listened to Yuzuru (He banishes that one to the deepest depths of his subconscious very quickly. There are blows that his pride can take in these situations and then there's having to agree with "You should've just listened to Yuzuru". If There is one thing that can be said about Tori then it's that he is not one to simply give up. He has come this far and he'll be damed if he backs out now).

Lost in thought and not paying much attention to his surroundings (he has more important things to think about right now), he only manages to register a flash of blue in his peripheral vision. And because this could be what he's come here for in the first place but more importantly because this is a person and that is where the bar is set, Tori immediately tries to follow them. If Lady Luck is especially nice to him this time she lets this person be the mysterious stranger he's been looking for, but what feels like a day of walking through empty streets in the biting cold of a noon in late january have humbled him enough to not push it with his luck.

And when he turns the corner, calling out for the figure to wait, insted of the strange man he was expecting he comes face-to-face with a meekish looking boy with blue hair and big violet eyes and next to him there's a second boy, this one able to be described in all aspects with only one word: average. And for a solid ten seconds they all just stare at each other.

Tori doesn't really know how, he really has no idea, but somehow he ended up following the two home. Or, well, more or less. Following isn't really the right word here. After their almost-staring-competition on the street the meekish looking one with the blue hair asked him if he was alright because "he seemed lost" (he absolutely did not.) which then prompted an entire series of events that ended is Tori sitting in this strangers families home - with an entirely different stranger also there - getting a serving of what he assumes to be radish soup. Tori feels a little sorry for the boy, Tomoya, as he said his name was, who seemed like he was previously engaged in a conversation with the other boy, who later introduced himself as Hajime and who had spent the entire way asking him questions about how he ended up here and what someone like him was doing all alone in a sleepy village neighbourhood like theirs and if he really didn't need a tissue (He hadn't cried while explaining how he was lost. He totally hadn't) and on and on and on as Tomoya had to awkwardly walk behind them.

So now, sitting at this table with these two people who he has only met today and who have given him a bowl of soup to warm himself up with, he has to tell everything about how he ended up in this situation in the first place. At the end of his recollection of this oh so wonderful day he is met with two pitying looks an a laugh - apparently one of Hajimes younger siblings had joined them at their little impromptu gathering (he wonders, distantly, how his own sister is doing right now).

And as he's about to say that he should probably make his way home and resume his mission another time when he has a map, Hajime mentions that he actually knows the guy Tori is talking about and that he lives at the local inn and that that isn't that far from them and that he and Tomoya can walk him there if he wants to. Tori agrees immediately. He is so over trying to be discreet about it at this point he really just wants some sort of success in this kind of ridiculous endeavour he's set out on.

So after the soup is finished and his limbs don't feel like they're about to fall off anymore the trio goes on their merry way and Tori feels a little silly because for all the walking around he did before they reach this inn really pretty quickly... maybe he should've thought to bring a map... The three of them venture further into the inn, and Tori only overhears Hajime talking to an older woman, but he's more occupied with looking around the place. It's father homely and rustic, a completely different atmosphere than at their place. There are noises from the few patrons sitting at the tables and chatting with each other, but it only add to the cozy feeling of the entire place.

When Hajime comes back he leads Tori up a little stairway and down a dimly lit hallway. They stop in front of a door at the very end of it (in my head there's a bit of a terasse thing happening there like. you can look down into the part where the tables are and such right right) and Tori barely has time to mentally prepare for the fact that this really is happening now before Hajime knocks and the sound of muffled steps approaching the door can be heard.

When the door finally opens (it's been a few seconds at best but it feels like an eternity), Tori is greeted by the lovely view of a pair of pale clavicles, barely covered by a black linen blouse. He has to actively look up to look at the face of their owner and when he is met with a pair of sharp, purple eyes he feels like his throat just sew itself shut. Hajime explains to Wataru that Tori was looking for him and suddenly a light seems to go up above Watarus head as a look of recognition flashes over his face and he turns around to Tori again and asks him if he's "the princess that Eichi's been telling him all about". Tori is confused. Hajime decides that this is his cue to leave and he slowly backs away to go back down and collect Tomoya, who's been roped into helping out with the catering by some elder gentleman (Wataru watches Hajime as he collects Tomoya and they leave, intrigued by this strangely average boy, as Tori just stares in horror as the realisation dawns upon him that he is now completely alone with this man whom he didn't even intend on speaking to in the first place).

So now he is here. In this very awkward situation. Sitting on a chair in this strangers room (for the second time today! Did he ever have a day this eventful? Who knows! Tori for sure doesn't.). He wants to talk, but Wataru is faster and asks him what he's doing here. Tori doesn't really know how to reply. How do you talk your way around having to tell someone that you actually got lost on the way to spy on them. That's right. You can't. Well, Eichi could. But Tori is Tori and he never wished for that to change more than he did now.

He looks out of the window and it is at that moment that another three major epiphanies reach him. Firstly that he doesn't know what to do now that he's here, secondly that he's going to get murdered by Yuzuru (and if worst comes to worst also Eichi) once he gets back because he's been gone all day without telling anyone and they're probably all worried sick, and last but not least: it is dark outside. He can't go home like that. He is virtually stuck in this predicament he found himself in.

Wataru seems to have a similar thought, because the immediate follow up question after not really getting a coherent answer from Tori is if anyone knows he's gone. Tori shakes his head. If Tsukasa ever finds out about this mess of a situation he will have to die because he would never let Tori live that down.

He gets ripped out of his incoming spiral by the bird that takes a seat on his head and Watarus over-the-top contemplative sigh and the slight lilt in his voice when he voices the next issue that's in the room. He isn't even speaking to Tori anymore, but to his bird that sits on Toris head, Jeanne, and Tori is starting to get annoyed by the way he jokes about this entire thing, calling Tori a "a little bird that escaped its nest", as if he isn't stuck having to prepare for his untimely demise. And by the way this guy hasn't put down his cryptic smile and teasing voice ever since he entered the room. When he thinks things can't get any more awkward for him Wataru proposes two options. Either he walks him home, or Tori has to stay at the inn for the night and he brings him back in the morning. Tori decides he'd rather go back home sooner than later (he'll have to take the lacture either way and he's probably caused everyone enough worries by now anyways. And also he misses his bed.). So Wataru grabs his coat, quickly goes to tell the inn-keepers he's "bringing retuening the princess to ger people" (Tori doesn't know if he liked the bird comparison better or not).

The way back is still very tense because Tori does not dare to walk next to Wataru (he's sketchy it's not Toris fault it's a normal reaction) and so he just awkwardly walks behind him, He doesn't really watch his surroundings - it is dark and the only nice thing is that it's snowing and there are animal sounds and they are spooky and he needs to watch the way and it's easier to think that way - until suddenly he gets hit by a snowball right in the head. And he is so baffled by this that he just stares at Wataru, and Wataru grins at him with his stupid stupid grin and somehow they end up in a snowball fight on this meadow where the only reason you can see anything is because of the snow and when they finally arrive at the mansion they both have so much snow in their hair and their clothes are wet from the melted snow and when they knock on the door and wait for someone to open Wataru gets some of the snow out of Toris hair and says that that snowball fight can be their little shared secret and Tori grins back at him and agrees and when the door opens and both of them are frantically ushered in by a maid that tells another one to get Yuzuru and Eichi Tori decides that maybe this guy isn'r so bad after all. Maybe he's actually quite nice.

[cherrylight]

hey there <3

im kind of unsure what to post on here, for sure ill post / reblog selfship content thats what this blogs made for but i also just dont have anything to post about it atm

so if theres any ideas yall have so i can still be active pls tell me

be it ocs or just silly lore or whatever please tell me because idk what to do rn