#nine times out of ten I simply don't know what to say.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Would you be willing to do more enemies to lover tropes in hero x villain?

"You have a date?"

"If you don't want me to date other people, screw me yourself."

There was a beat of absolute silence. The hero abruptly realized what they'd said. They whirled to face the villain, eyes wide. "I didn't mean - that is - I don't know why I just said that."

Everyone around the room was gaping at the two of them.

The villain's head tilted, oh so slowly, to the side. Their gaze burned into the hero.

"I was being flippant," the hero said.

"Mm."

"You know, because you're possessive."

"Am I?" The villain's voice was silken.

"So I was just getting in there before you said something snippy."

"Oh? Is that what you were doing?"

The hero glared at them, face hot, stomach fluttering.

"Leave us," the villain said.

Everyone around them scattered.

The hero cleared their throat, not speaking until the last door had fallen closed. They wrenched their gaze away to anything, anywhere, except them. "It's not a serious date. I mean - they're not you."

The thing, whatever they were calling it, that they had with the villain was infinitely complex. Consuming. They were the most important person to the villain, and vice versa, and they both knew it but...

But they'd never kissed. They'd certainly never slept together.

Sure, the hero would probably get antsy if they thought the villain was going out with someone who might become first priority. But it wasn't - they weren't - the hero hadn't even been the one to bring up the bloody date!

The villain rose to their feet.

"You're walking dangerously close to one of our lines, hero mine," they warned softly. They sauntered closer, seemingly lazy, except that was the one thing that they never were. "You look startled enough that I can believe it was an accident. We could forget about it."

The hero watched them, a little mesmerized, heart pounding. The villain stopped in front of them.

The hero opened their mouth.

The villain tapped their lip. "Ah, ah. You're not getting away with another flippant comment after that. Think."

The hero closed their mouth. They swallowed.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that when the air between them began to crackle, the hero would say something snarky or careless to diffuse the tension. Nine times out of ten, the villain went along with it. Eight times out of ten, the hero didn't say something quite so dumb in a room full of witnesses.

It wasn't fear. It was terrifying, but it wasn't fear. It would have been so much easier if they were simply scared.

The villain set their hands on either side of the armchair the hero sat in. The hero let themselves be bracketed in with the same slow deliberation as the villain had approached them.

The hero exhaled a breath.

"Good," the villain murmured, studying them. "Now. Would you like to take that back?"

The hero said a lot of crap to the villain that they never took back. They were the only one who did. They watched the villain for a beat, every atom wondering what it would be like if the villain's hands slipped from their careful placement on furniture onto flesh.

The dates weren't like that. The dates were never like this.

But, lord, it would be such a stupid thing to do to cross that line.

The hero tipped their chin up, holding the villain's gaze again. "Do you want me to take it back?"

"If you don't, I'm definitely taking what you said as a challenge."

"Ah, yeah. That's fair." The hero wet their dry lips. "Fair warning."

"So?"

It had happened before. A threshold moment. A teetering. The villain's eyes would go dark, like they currently were, tracking everything. They'd let it go, though. If the hero asked. They always did. For all of their obvious possessiveness, the villain was never the one who brought it up.

"So," the hero dared, before they could stop themselves.

The villain's eyes notched another inch darker, more molten. Their nails dug into the upholstery.

The hero shivered; delicious and awful all at once. Intoxicating.

"So you were being flippant?" the villain prompted.

"So flippant. Unforgivably reckless. I mean, we're a terrible idea."

"The worst," the villain agreed. "Your dates are much sweeter."

"You can be sweet. When you want to be."

The villain clicked their tongue, warning.

The hero grinned back at them. Wild. Drunk, perhaps, on the vertigo of such reckless possibility, such foolish wanting.

They were at the line again. The hero was boldly brushing it with their toe, smudging at it, taunting.

The villain waited.

"You're sweet to me," the hero said. "Despite yourself." They leaned in, and up. "Tell me to stop."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No."

"No," the villain echoed. Then they grabbed the hero by the hair and kissed them.

[novlr]

How do I strengthen my writing? I tend to fall back on bad habits because I can't find good habits to replace them.

Building sustainable writing habits that really help you improve can be really difficult. Especially if you don't know where to look. So, here are 10 tips for building good writing habits that can help strengthen your writing!

1. Clear out your creative faucets

Step away from your project and do something else! Write something different. Let yourself write badly. Or just plain old take a break. Your writing will suffer if you're constantly forcing yourself to work on something that isn't bringing you joy.

2. Read voraciously

In the immortal words of Stephen King: “If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write.” 

Read widely in your own genre and outside of it. Take inspiration from other authors, and read critically to see what they do well and what they could do better.

3. Read some bad writing, too

Breaking down exactly why a piece of writing doesn't work for you can be super helpful for understanding what to avoid in your own work. 

4. Try on different writing styles

Try out different approaches to storytelling to find the voice that feels most like yours. You might find yourself attracted to descriptive, sensory prose, or more to austere and pointed prose. Your writing will be strongest when you're the most authentic self you can be.

5. Explore characterisation 

People are messy. Accurately and compellingly conveying this innate messiness is essential to creating a powerful story. Explore your characters and who they are, and if it's a character-driven story, don't be afraid to let them drive.

6. Make friends with your thesaurus 

A great way to make a piece of prose shine even brighter is to expand your vocabulary. There are a lot of words in the English language that mean similar things but have slightly different moods and tones. Finding the exact right word to convey what you’re trying to say will help your writing land more emphatically with your reader. 

7. Banish filtering words

Filtering is one of the most common mistakes new writers make. It involves describing a character’s sensations or feelings with filtering words like felt, saw, heard, knew, watched, or realised. This holds the reader at a distance and makes them feel like they’re hearing a story, rather than living it.

An example of filtering would be, “She watched the sun rise majestically over the mountains”. It would feel more immediate to simply say, “The sun rose majestically over the mountains”. The reader already knows your point-of-view character is watching; now, the reader can watch it with them. 

8. Glare disapprovingly at the passive voice

Passive voice isn’t necessarily wrong all the time, but nine times out of ten, it will slow down the pace of your story and encourage the reader to lose interest in your characters. Passive voice means having something done to a character — “John was punched in the face by Nick” — instead of a character actively doing something: “Nick punched John in the face”.

9. Familiarise yourself with story structure

The best stories follow an established plot structure, and follow it so smoothly that the reader doesn’t even realise there’s an ancient storytelling template behind it. These structures are designed to introduce just the right amount of tension and suspense and to give the reader the ideal payoff by the end. Rather than being formulaic, they help with pacing and plot development.

10. Get peer feedback

Finally, the best way to make your work as strong as it can be is to get some feedback from other writers. This can be from a professional editor, a beta reader, or a collaborative writing group. Getting a second pair of eyes can help you catch plot holes or inconsistencies before you send your story out into the world.

Want to know more? Read the full post at the link below!

[luveline]

Hi! I just read Prince steve's shot of the steampunk au and god, I loved it. I saw below it said you could make a request for it, so I wanted to know if you could do one about the how they met. I know it's mentioned, but I'd like to see what it was like at the time, if it's not too much trouble.

PS: qmo how you write, you are one of my role models 💕.

prince!steve au ♡ fem, 1.1k

Young people stand like dominoes in the sun, teetering, waiting to topple in on one another if given reason. Nine days of bated breath, the city waits in a ramping anticipation for Prince Steven to meet his soulmate.

You're almost hoping it isn't you so you can go home and rest your aching legs. Hours in the warm summer air, your worst dress sticking to the back of your clammy knees. You're not fit to meet the Prince. But… if you meet the Prince, and you were to somehow be his soulmate, you'd live an easy life. 

You'd live in a Palace, wear the finest clothes, eat the nicest foods (three times a day!). You could spend your days lounging under crystal chandeliers eating plates of fruit and expensive cheeses, air-conditioned and always smelling of vanilla, or sandalwood, or saffron. You've never tried saffron perfume, but it's the most expensive at the apothecary. 

The line mills shorter. You follow close to the heels of a girl dressed in better finery, a cherry red dress that looks like it's made of thin sheets of glass, her dark hair coiled in sweet cherubic curls at the back of her neck. They bounce with every step you take closer to the pedestal. You attach your attention to them, following the winding twist of them to the root over and over. 

You want very badly to be the Prince's soulmate. You'd be stupid not to want such luxury. But letting yourself believe that it's you out of the tens of thousands of eligible young people is asking to feel disheartened.

You convince yourself for the millionth time that it's not you as you follow the line inside of the royal gardens. Trees with weeping branches arc inward, their leaves kissing and sunlight dappled onto the people below. You feel it warming your skin as you take the final stretch. 

Apparently, for the King's soulmate search, he simply held out his arm and let women touch the inside of his palm with their pinky finger. He did this for two days. Prince Steven's search is taking much longer, as he's insisted on greeting and shaking the hands of everyone who's presented themselves. 

You wonder what that might feel like. He's a super pretty man, with exactly the sort of smile a Prince might hope to have. Whenever you see him on the holo screens you feel sick, wanting desperately to remain indifferent to him, but knowing you're just like every other silly young person in the kingdom. You want to be a special perfect royal. You want to take his hand and leave behind your disappointing life. 

Too bad it's a fantasy. 

"Next, please," says a young woman with red hair, looking at you pointedly. 

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth and walk determined to the top of the garden. Up three gentle steps and into a Palace of white, pearly stone. There's a long corridor lined with guards who eye you as you draw in. Deemed decidedly undangerous, they let you pass into a makeshift reception. You'd already had your name taken to be allowed in the line; nothing stands in your way of the Prince but chiffon pink curtains that shine like rose honey in the sun and a surprisingly small girl with a sword. 

And there, among an audience of officials and important people, sits the Prince. He looks smaller than you imagined, a little tired. The girl with the sword kicks his shin and he perks up, to the ire of the older members of his court. 

"Hey," he calls, "don't be shy! And don't be slow, either. Please. I missed dinner last night–" The girl clears her throat. Prince Steven takes on a more princely effect. "Please, come in." 

The audience isn't exactly paying attention. Any hope they had for a soul mate today has seemingly passed, and you can hear a few poorly muffled scoffs at your appearance. Surely the girl before you posed a more pleasing possibility. She looked like a princess. 

You stall a few paces from him. 

He frowns at you. In his garb, his neat clothes, a heavy platinum crown atop his head, he's strangely intimidating. You assumed he'd feel more familiar up close, like buying a gemstone from the catalogues and finding they've sent you zirconium, but it's the opposite. 

"Are you okay?" the girl asks. 

"She's fine," Prince Steven says, standing up from his ornate chair. He steps down from the short platform, even his steps a princely brand of perfection. "Well you're more than fine," he says to you, and you gather from the get go that he's not flirting with you, only joking to ease your nerves. 

He offers his hand. 

You take in a breath and approach him with measured steps. Being run through by his personal guards crystal sword isn't on your agenda this week. 

All you have to do is touch his hand and go home when nothing happens. You're nervous, but stalling any longer prolongs the awkwardness you've created. 

You step forward. 

Before your fingers can touch his palm, the feathered lines curled around your opposite wrists begin to glow. 

A silence falls. 

You take your hand back but the light doesn't fade. It's white, nearly cream in colour, with the density of fog but none of its cold. Prince Steven's eyes are wide and awash, the sun-kissed skin of his arm paled. "You–" he says, stepping forward again. 

You take his hand. You have to know. 

White light sears and then blooms, like petals unfurling, the source of it indistinguishable from your wrist or his. And then, when you're sure your heart might fall out of your mouth, the light dims. What remains is thin as fairy floss wrapped around your skin and his. 

He rubs the meat of your thumb with the tip of his, and that light glows soft pink, like flower jam. 

"It's you," he says. He sounds happy, as though you were a pleasant surprise. 

You tuck your hand behind your back, and the glow remains. It's you. You're Prince Steven's soul mate. 

"She doesn't look much like a princess," someone whispers. 

"I wouldn't say that," Prince Steven says, his eyes roving over you without apology. His smile is as authentic as they come. "I think you'd better meet my mother." 

"Now?" you ask. 

"Afraid so. Don't worry, though, you look pretty." He offers his hand again. "Come on."

He's a prince. You take his hand.

[archangeldyke-all]

OMGOMG i love baby mommy sevika, but i keep thinking…. what would sevika be like with a kid who isn’t technically hers? like, reader had a child with someone else before even meeting sevika, and she always thought she hated kids and that it was a total dealbreaker for her, until she meets YOUR kid.

i can imagine the awkward first time meeting, tea parties in the living room while you’re making dinner, guarding that kid like her life depends on it when you all go out somewhere, letting them crawl into bed between the both of you when they have a nightmare :(( baby fever is a crazy thing fr.

AWEEEEE

men and minors dni

sevika's obsessed with you. it's pretty obvious.

she's always got her eyes glued to you from where you work behind the bar.

when you talk to her, she's always got a sweet little smile pulling up at the side of her lips as she listens, a sparkle in her eye each time she makes you laugh.

so, you aren't surprised when she asks you out.

you're just... a little hesitant.

"i'm sorry, forget i said anything, this was so stupid of me..." she sulks, turning away and rubbing the back of her neck. you squeak and reach over the bar, grabbing her wrist.

"i'd love to!" you say. she blinks in surprise. "it's just... i have a kid." you say. sevika blinks again.

"what?!" she asks. you laugh and nod.

"...yeah." you say. "i know you aren't really the 'kids' type, so... it's okay if you don't want to go out anymore." you say. sevika blinks again as she takes in the new information.

"since when?" she asks. you laugh.

"she's three and a half now." you say.

"what the fuck? why'd you never tell me?" she asks. you shrug.

"you're always talking about how you hate kids, i figured you wouldn't really be interested in hearing about mine."

"those are other kids, this one's yours! of course i wanna hear about her!" sevika shouts. you grin, then pull her across the bar to kiss her on the lips..

when you pull away, she's blushing.

for your first few dates, it's just you and sevika. you don't want to introduce your kid to anybody until you're certain they'll be around for a long time. she understands. and she absolutely loves spending some one-on-one time with you.

but, the more pictures of your kid you show her, the more stories you tell her about the little girl, the more sevika gets excited to meet her.

and then, about five or six dates in, sevika tells you she's in love with you. and your babysitter has a family emergency, and calls you half way through the date (while you're riding sevika, the both of you moaning 'i love you's against each other's lips) to tell you she's coming back to your apartment with your daughter in tow, and she'll be there in ten minutes.

you don't really get to prepare for any of it-- all you have time to do is pull your pants up and hide sevika's strap before your daughter is bursting through the door with a loud "ma! i'm home!"

at first, sevika's nervous as shit.

but you watch all her hesitation melt when your daughter lights up at the sight of a new friend in her home and starts lobbing her with question after question.

"what's your name!?"

"sevika."

"how old are you?"

"thirty eight."

"woah! that's so much older than me. i'm four!" she exclaims, waggling four fingers in sev's face. sevika chuckles.

"i thought you were still three."

your daughter groans. "i'm three and nine tenths, that's basically four!"

"you're right, i'm sorry." sevika says.

"what's your favorite color?"

"purple?" sevika guesses.

"me too!" your daughter gasps, clambering into sevika's lap. you cringe as you watch it happen, knowing how clammed up sevika gets when it comes to physical affection, especially from kids, but you're shocked when you watch sevika simply wrap an arm around her waist and help her adjust in her lap.

"what's your favorite animal?" sevika asks. your daughter grins.

"rhino!" she says. "it's like a unicorn and a dinosaur had a baby." she says.

"that's a good point." sevika says, smiling sweetly down at your daughter.

all your fears of the two of them meeting evaporate.

from that point on, the two of them are besties.

every time sevika comes over, she immediately searches for your daughter. when you've got her at the sitters, sevika pouts, complaining until you shut her up with kisses.

"i thought you hated kids." you complain one night as you watch sevika play dollhouse with your daughter. (she was supposed to be eating dinner with you on the couch while the two of you watched a movie.)

"yeah, 'cause most kids suck. you've got a real good one here, babe." sevika says, ruffling your daughter's hair, making her giggle.

sometimes, sev will come over to keep your rugrat occupied while you clean or cook or catch up on household chores. she's fucking amazing with her.

you've caught her with various clips in her hair and glitter on her eyes and lips as your daughter plays 'beauty salon' on her. sevika just grins and shrugs, then holds up her nails, all messily painted rainbow, for you to examine. "like my new look?" she asks. you snort.

"you might need some touch-ups, but you're really rocking those bobbles babe." you say, pointing to the little bobbles decorating the tiny ponytails in her hair.

sometimes, you'll catch them playing 'dinosaur', which is just sevika crawling around as your daughter straddles her back, cackling when sevika sits up on her knees and roars.

sevika quickly becomes your daughter's favorite person. when she doesn't come over, your girl pouts, asking you 'where your lady friend' is tonight.

and when she finally moves in with you, sevika becomes the designated 'storybook reader' at bedtime. apparently, she 'does the voices way better than you, ma.'

your daughter calls her 'babe'-- since it's what you're always calling her.

sevika's such a sucker for your girl, always sneaking her candies and eating her veggies off her plate for her, shooting her a wink each time.

and when you're out in public, sevika's always got your girl on her back, giving her a piggyback, and shooting nasty looks at anyone who does a double take at the sight of sevika toting around a squirming, laughing little girl.

one night, the two of you are curled in bed and sevika sighs.

"i never thought i'd love a kid like this." she says. you smile.

"you love her?" you ask. sevika nods.

"so much. it's insane. like... i'd die for the little shit in a heartbeat, y'know?" she asks. you grin and nod, pressing a kiss to her head.

"'s called being a mom." you say. sevika blushes, and you kiss her again.

over time, your girl starts calling sevika 'step-ma sev' or 'silly sevy' or, most commonly, 'stinky sev.'

sevika never complains about her, either. not once. not when she's on a sugar high and screaming while she runs laps around the house, not when she paints on the walls of your and sev's bedroom, not even when she interrupts you and sevika mid-sex to crawl in bed beside you, scared of the monster shaped shadows in her bedroom.

before she proposes to you, she asks your daughter for permission to join your little family. your little girl gives it gladly, but, her being five and all, accidentally ruins the surprise for you.

"'s sev' gonna propose to you when i'm there or is it just a special ma n' sevy thing?" she asks one morning as you're whipping up breakfast.

sevika freezes where she's pouring a glass of orange juice, and you burst into laughter.

"i dunno, baby, do you think you should be there?" you ask your kid. she nods.

"duh! i wanna see the fancy ring!" she says. you giggle.

"you wanna see a fancy ring huh?" you ask, ignoring sevika's stuttering beside you. "come with me." you say, waving your daughter to your bedroom.

when you return, sevika's still frozen in place, and your daughter is giddy with excitement, her hands behind her back.

"stinky sev!" she exclaims. sevika blinks down at her.

"y-yeah?" she asks, nervously.

your daughter thrusts the tiny velvet box in front of her, flipping open the lid, revealing the ring you'd picked out for sevika a few months ago.

"look what my ma got you!" she exclaims.

sevika blinks up at you with tears in her eyes and you shrug, gently taking the ring from your daughter's grip and sevika's hand in yours.

"you wanna be mine forever?" you ask. sevika blinks, tears quickly falling down her cheeks.

"you fucker, i wanted to do it first!" she complains.

"that's a dollar in the curse jar!" your kid exclaims. you both laugh.

"i should warn you before you say yes, though, i'm kinda a package deal with this brat." you say, ruffling your daughter's hair. she giggles.

"hey! i'm not a brat!" she exclaims. and then, when sevika laughs and swoops in to kiss you, "ewwwww!" she cries as she runs away.

sevika chuckles against your lips and you pull away with a smile.

"is that a yes?" you whisper. she nods, her voice too shaky for words.

from the living room your daughter calls for you. "did she say yes ma?"

"she said yes, babe." you call back.

"fuck yes!" she screams.

you and sevika both turn your heads to glare at her for the word.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part eighteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

-

Why hasn't he ever gone shopping with Sephiroth before? Aside from the fact that Sephiroth was socially repressed and awkward and aloof and would've never lowered himself as to be seen in public with anyone. And the fact that Genesis didn't want to even think about sharing his few precious moments of downtime with Sephiroth, of all people. And also the fact that Genesis was pretty sure, at least up until this point, that it would be an excruciating experience for everyone involved….

But it turns out that Sephiroth makes for a hilarious shopping company. The man is unexpectedly prissy and demanding - and, really, quite fussy when it comes to his looks.

While waiting for his coat to be readjusted, Sephiroth is putting on a fashion show in the tailor's very cushy dressing room.

"No, the hue is too cold - can you please get me the darker green one? Same size," Sephiroth says, making faces at his reflection, after trying out about a dozen different, almost identical, button up shirts. 

"Right away, sir," the rather flustered tailor's assistant says and scurries off.

"I never thought you'd have a favourite colour," Genesis scoffs, lounging back on a fancy armchair while watching as Sephiroth accepts the shirt from the eager tailor's assistant. There's a pile of rejected and another of accepted articles of clothing nearby, and they're all in shades between dark forest green and the lightest shade of mint green. 

No matter how much mess Sephiroth caused, the store would be making a big sale today - so much so that they'd closed early, just for Sephiroth.

But then again, there probably isn't a store in Midgar that wouldn't close for Sephiroth.

"You've never worn green before," Genesis adds, leaning back on the comfy armchair lazily and enjoying the VIP treatment - which includes coffee service and everything.

Tch. He was a VIP patron too - but they'd never closed the store for him.

"Hm," Sephiroth answers, deftly buttoning up the shirt and adjusting the cuffs, before pulling on the jacket of the suit he'd been trying on. Because that's what he's doing, trying to colour match a suit. A very light green suit.

It doesn't suit him.

"A much better match, sir," the tailor's assistant says, a little too eagerly, all but fawning over him. "You have such a keen eye."

"Is that so," Sephiroth says noncommittally, making another hilarious stink face at himself while buttoning up the suit jacket. He still doesn't look satisfied.

"It washes you out," Genesis points out the obvious and swings to his feet. "My friend, you simply don't have the colouring for such pale hues."

Sephiroth sighs unhappily, giving his own reflection a disappointed look. It's almost a Goddess damned pout. "I don't, do I?" he says in defeat. "And the green really doesn't do my complexion any favours."

"It really doesn't," Genesis grins, clapping him on his shoulders. "I'm afraid black is still your colour." 

Sephiroth sighs again and then looks at him thoughtfully. "What is that shirt you're wearing?"

"Alas, it's not high fashion. A Shinra issue," Genesis explains with a sigh. "Mass produced and utterly commonplace."

"Huh," Sephiroth looks surprised. "It… looks good?"

"Oh, spare me, I know it doesn't, but when you go through so many it's simply easier to get them in bulk," Genesis says, shaking his head. "Bullet holes simply do not come off, after all. And the SOLDIER uniform turtlenecks are just about the only good article of clothing Shinra has ever produced."

Sephiroth hums, looking him up and down and turning back to the mirror. Then he sighs. "Please get me another version of this suit," he says to the tailor's assistant. "In black this time."

"Right away, sir," the mostly useless assistant says, doing a remarkably good job at not bouncing in excitement. "And for a shirt, sir?"

Sephiroth looks at himself for a long moment. He scrunches up his nose and then mutters, "... I suppose it should be in red."

"Stealing my style, now?" Genesis asks, leaning against his shoulder. "Also what is wrong with red?"

"It's not just red, rather the combination of black and red… ah, never mind. I suppose it will bring out my eyes," Sephiroth says, like he's admitting defeat.

It will bring out his eyes? Who is this guy and what has he done to Sephiroth? Genesis snorts and claps him on the shoulder again. "If you say so."

He's right, though. Red and black look much better on Sephiroth. As does the suit. Genesis has never even imagined Sephiroth in formal wear before, but…  it's not a bad look.

"You know, one fight in those delightful clothes, and they're in very expensive shreds," Genesis points out, while idly trying on some gloves, wondering if he should invest in some formal wear.

"Why would it be in shreds?" Sephiroth asks almost resentfully, turning to select a tie. He's actually a little mad about red and black suiting him so well!

Wow.

"You…" Genesis starts and then sighs. Of course Sephiroth doesn't remember. "Fancy and very fitting," he adds, just to dig it in, "though they are, clothing of this calibre can't stand the types of battles you and I get in. That's why we wear leather. Or mass produced uniforms we don't have to pay for."

Sephiroth just sort of blinks at him, easing the tie over his head. "You've worn a uniform?" he asks, dubious. "You?"

"Yes, I have worn a uniform - I had to go through the whole two ranks to get where I am now, didn't I?" Genesis asks, testing the gloves by spreading out his fingers. They're fingerless and quite nice. "Not a fan of trousers, I admit. I never had the ass for them."

Sephiroth coughs at that, smothering a laugh, and tucks the tie into his collar. "I see," he says, looking down at himself in order to adjust the tie.

Genesis leans back to watch him. "Neither do you. Or, rather, you have too much shoulder going on. Far too top-heavy, you'd look ridiculous."

"Thanks?" Sephiroth says, amused, and then turns around to face him, a black tie firmly in place. "How do I look?"

"Like a damn Turk," Genesis scoffs. A very good looking Turk, but one nonetheless. He turns to the starry-eyed tailor's assistant. "Get him one of those great coats from the back - a black one, obviously, with red lining if you have it."

"Ah, those aren't leather, sir - mainly cotton and wool," the assistant says apologetically.

"Then get us a fancy wool one, and then go check how your master is coming along with our order."

"Y-yes, sir, right away, sir!"

"Please and thank you," Sephiroth says to the assistant, who almost trips hurrying off. "There's no need to be rude, Genesis."

"Who's rude? It's their job," Genesis huffs and folds his arms. "You rock up at Shinra tower looking like this, and they'll start making you go to functions too."

"What do you mean, functions?" Sephiroth asks warily.

"Parties, galas, meet and greets, maybe even interviews," Genesis scoffs. He's usually the one who has to go - he was more presentable than Angeal, who didn't know how to swim those waters, or Sephiroth, who had the social graces of a poisonous wallflower. "Public events of the social kind."

"Ah," Sephiroth says, fiddling with his cuff. "That's fine then."

"... That's fine? You hate those things!"

"Do I?" Sephiroth asks, giving him a bitchy face like he knows something Genesis doesn't. "Hm."

Genesis eyes him dubiously. "Well, I suppose you'll learn why very soon," he mutters. "If they make you go."

The tailor's assistant brings in the great coat, and Genesis throws it over Sephiroth's broad shoulders before the man can try putting his arms into the sleeves. Hanging over him like a cape, it ties the outfit together perfectly.

"There, you look fit to take over the world," Genesis says, motioning to the mirror.

Sephiroth hums, stepping so that he faces the mirror at an angle. "I guess it's a popular colour scheme for a reason," he murmurs, begrudgingly impressed, and flicks the hem to make the red lining flash dramatically. "Fitting, I suppose."

"Silver Elite are going to lose their little minds," Genesis agrees. "You'll take it, then?"

Sephiroth takes a moment, adjusting his collar. "I'll take it," he says finally. Then he smiles and slightly bows at the tailor's assistant. "Thank you for your efforts."

"I-it wasn't any trouble, sir!" the poor assistant gulps, looking a little wobbly at the knees. "The master is finished with your leather coat, sir. If you're ready…"

"I am," Sephiroth agrees, running a satisfied hand down his front. "I am very ready."

The planet isn't, Genesis thinks with a sense of exhilarated doom. The planet isn't ready for this at all.

-

Shizun can no longer rock Qing Jing Peak colours ☹️ The Tragedy is immeasurable.

(aka I meant to put him in Qing Jing Peak colours but then I looked up Sephiroth in a suit and 👌 black and red is really the Aesthetic here.)

(This is all Very Important To The Plot. Which Totally Exists.)

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

I thought we were over

For my dearest twin, @h3apm3ch4n151m :)

Warning(s): implied murder, yandere/stalker ex reader!! That's right, it's not a yandere character this time, it's you.

Also, Floyd is a teensy bit OOC for this, but there is a reason for it, so please bear with me.

...three years, four months, seven days, two hours, thirty minutes, five seconds ago.

That's when Floyd broke up with you.

You don't know why. You can't possibly understand why. You were perfect for him, you still are!

Let's count the reasons you're perfect for him, shall we?

You love him (obviously!!)

You're able to tolerate his... behaviors.

You help him appear less threatening.

You helped him get his grades to be more consistent.

You helped him with those pesky mood swings.

You love him (again)

You love him (one more time, just to emphasize)

You love him.

You love him, and yet... he abandoned you.

He said you weren't worth his time anymore. He said you were... bad for him.

And just like that, after the two of you being together for so long... he just broke up with you.

...three years, four months, seven days, two hours, thirty-one minutes, ten seconds ago.

You've been keeping track of him ever since.

You just want to make sure he's doing alright, that's all, nothing more!

Recently... he's been... seeing someone.

It makes you sick to even think of him being with someone other than you... especially when they're nowhere near as perfect for him as you were.

They'll just end up hurting him in the end.

Unlike you, his perfect partner.

...the audacity of him. Saying you're "bad for him", what does that even mean? All you ever did was help him and love him to the FULLEST extent. You were around him all the time, you really got to know him and his issues... and you helped him.

How did you help him? That's easy. You simply told him not to speak without your permission- unless of course he was speaking to you... and he listened like the good little boy he is... because he loves you. Even if he's with someone else now, you know deep down he still loves you... and he always will, because you're perfect for him.

You're the perfect match for him and you always will be. Hell, you even chose to never return to your home, because you loved him just that much. Doesn't that show how eternally devoted you are to him? How much you love him?

Why can't he see that?

...

No matter.

He will, soon.

He'll realize soon, that the two of you are meant to be together, forever and always.

All you need to do is pull a few little strings... a few things to set him off like always... and just like that, his new partner will see the ugly side of him. Yelling and fighting... screaming and crying... a storm of emotions nobody in their right mind would want to stay with... nobody except you, of course, because you taught him how to behave himself.

Wait... why haven't they broken up yet...?

That person he's with, did they not fully comprehend what was happening? Do they think that's okay?

Ugh. Regardless of why this new partner of his isn't getting themselves the hell out of that relationship they aren't supposed to be in, the point still stands that you must now take desperate measures. It's the only option!

And that's why you are where you are right now... standing at his back door, covered in blood.

"Shrimpy-?! What are you doing here, why are you covered in blood-?!" He's uncharacteristically freaked out... ah, adorable as always.

"Take me back. You know we're perfect for each other." You tell him the truth. You're the only person good enough for him.

"We broke up three years ago-"

"Three years, four months, nine days, five hours, seven minutes, two seconds ago."

"...creep." He looks... disgusted. "You still haven't told me why you're covered in blood."

"I got rid of what was in the way, that's all."

He seems to get the hint.

"Get the hell off my property and never show your face to me again, Shrimpy."

"You're still calling me that nickname... doesn't that mean, in some way, you still love me-?"

"No, I do that for everyone. It means nothing, and you're delusional to think it ever did."

"But I know there's another name you used to call me, remember? The one I taught you about... the special nickname, just for me..." You laugh to yourself. "I heard you still call me that."

"I-!" He seems a bit freaked out. "That... that doesn't mean anything..." He's always so careful around you, because he knows what you'll do if he isn't... it's cute how scared he is of you, a human.

"Admit it: you still love me, like how I still love you."

"No, I'm not goi-"

"Say it now or you know what will happen."

"...okay... fine... maybe..."

"No, I want to hear you say the words exactly."

He hesitates for a moment.

"...I... still love you, Shrimpy."

"And?"

"And... I'll take you back, and we can... be together... forever."

"That's just what I wanted to hear. Good eel."

And just like that, your life returned to the perfect way it was before...

And Floyd will never slip through your grasp again.

[atopvisenyashill]

that bit about joffrey is FASCINATING have you ever written about this in depth? I've always loved his character but I would never be able to like. Describe why exactly he is the way he is so I really appreciate your analysis of him loving BOTH parents and incorporating only their flaws - I always just assumed that he hates his dad and is annoyed by cersei (still loves her) but then the way we sexually humiliates and abuses sansa etc is so robert-coded like of course he emulates the bevavior of his father.

Also slightly off topic but i always forget that Joffrey is like canonically so good at all the proper princely things (thinking of that scene at Sansa and Tyrion's wedding when she's so upset that a monster like Joff could be so good at dancing) and - not to go on about GOT again - but I wish we had actually gotten to see that and him being charming etc. Huge props to the show for giving Joff the perfect wardrobe (the only thing they did right) but also f them for waiting all that potential

yes, they really said joff gets to have all the swag and then the moment he died they put cersei in that fuck ass bob and no one in the lannisters was allowed to serve again smh. and thank youuu i actually had to stop myself from rambling over him before haha, but i'll go into more detail here! so this was the comment from the other post-

joffrey is a kid just ruled by his first, most base instinct. his instincts, his core emotions, tell him to love and trust both robert and cersei, and imo he twists himself into a MONSTER to try to appeal to both of them. no one else matters - not his siblings, not his uncle, not his grandfather, not the realm. he needs to be the sort of vicious person they could both be proud of, he needs to be better than them both at violence, so he absorbs all of their faults and none of their virtues.

i definitely do see very often that people feel he only loves one or the other parent and while I do understand that reading, I don't think it's quite how Joffrey operates. I think he does love them both, and holds them both in high esteem. I do agree that he's annoyed by Cersei but that doesn't mean he doesn't value her opinion (as much as Joffrey puts value on anyone else's opinion, I mean).

Joffrey and Cersei

Joffrey relies on his mother more than almost any other male character we see in the series. We see him call for Cersei basically every time he's hurt, in trouble, or wanting to whine about something. Not only that, but you have everyone from Robert to Renly to Tywin himself saying that Joffrey is doted upon and inseparable from his mother. A few choice quotes:

"Fear is better than love, Mother says." Joffrey pointed at Sansa. "She fears me."

He takes Cersei's lessons to heart, however flawed they are. Her opinion matters to him, he wants her to see him as strong.

Nine cases out of ten seemed to bore him; those he allowed his council to handle, squirming restlessly while Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, or Queen Cersei resolved the matter. When he did choose to make a ruling, though, not even his queen mother could sway him.

It's Cersei he listens to the most. We know that if a little King, even with his mother as Regent, doesn't want to deal with her, he can simply ignore her - that's what Jaehaerys does with Alyssa, after all. But Joffrey doesn't do this; he'll fight with her, he'll insult her, and he's not shy about doing it in public but he never disregards her out of hand.

Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture . . . and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it. "Mother!" he wailed.

His instinct, every time, is to turn to her for help. He loves her. He adores her. She's the only person around who tells him he's strong and smart and will be a good king. He leans on her for guidance, for comfort, he talks to her about fucking whores. He shares everything with her because he doesn't have a single friend. She models anger and violence for him constantly, she excuses his disturbing proclivities, so he molds himself to be the person she wants him to be, the king she wants him to be. People - including Tyrion and Tywin! - are always wondering why Cersei is blind to his cruelty, but the reality is she knew he was cruel and loved him for it.

Tommen did as he was bid. His meekness troubled her. A king had to be strong. Joffrey would have argued. He was never easy to cow.

For Cersei, cruelty is strength and in her eyes, Joffrey is as strong as they come. This isn't by accident; just like his constant cries for her are reinforced by her rushing to coddle him, his cruelty is reinforced by a mother who sees it as strength. It's almost like what Coldhands says to Bran - Joffrey is a monster, yes, but in Cersei's eyes, Joffrey is her monster.

Joffrey and Robert

Joffrey had never had a close friend of his own age, that she recalled. The poor boy was always alone. I had Jaime when I was a child . . . and Melara, until she fell into the well. Joff had been fond of the Hound, to be sure, but that was not friendship. He was looking for the father he never found in Robert.

From Cersei's point of view, I think she knows very well that Joffrey is searching for love, acceptance, and himself in Robert. She doesn't like it, but she seems to accept that it's natural for Joffrey to search for some sort of father figure, and doesn't seem to begrudge him that - imo, I think because she knows Robert is always going to reject Joffrey for his cruelty.

“Why would he [care]? Robert ignored him. He would have beat him if I’d allowed it. That brute you made me marry once hit the boy so hard he knocked out two of his baby teeth, over some mischief with a cat. I told him I’d kill him in his sleep if he ever did it again, and he never did, but sometimes he would say things…”

Whenever they interact, the few times they do, there's violence. People always take this as Cersei not allowing Robert to "teach" or "properly discipline" Joffrey but, well...does the above seem like helpful discipline? Knocking out your child because he freaked you out? Punishing extreme violence with more extreme violence? And it's not just Cersei that this moment sticks with, because Stannis brings it up as well-

"Joffrey . . . I remember once, this kitchen cat . . . the cooks were wont to feed her scraps and fish heads. One told the boy that she had kittens in her belly, thinking he might want one. Joffrey opened up the poor thing with a dagger to see if it were true. When he found the kittens, he brought them to show to his father. Robert hit the boy so hard I thought he'd killed him."

Since Cersei says Robert would "say things" and we see him threatening Cersei (the "or I'll honor you again" line), I don't think it's a stretch to say that Robert threatened to beat Joffrey nearly to death several times over.

And yet...Joffrey compliments his father, especially in comparison to his other relatives.

He wrenched free of her. "Why should I? Everyone knows it's true. My father won all the battles. He killed Prince Rhaegar and took the crown, while your father was hiding under Casterly Rock." The boy gave his grandfather a defiant look. "A strong king acts boldly, he doesn't just talk."

And Cersei believes this came from Robert-

"Father, I am sorry," Cersei said, when the door was shut. "Joff has always been willful, I did warn you . . ." "There is a long league's worth of difference between willful and stupid. 'A strong king acts boldly?' Who told him that?" "Not me, I promise you," said Cersei. "Most like it was something he heard Robert say . . ."

And of course, Jaime is the one who pieces together why Joffrey sent the catspaw-

“Yes, I hoped the boy would die. So did you. Even Robert thought that would have been for the best. ‘We kill our horses when they break a leg, and our dogs when they go blind, but we are too weak to give the same mercy to crippled children’ he told me. He was blind himself at the time, from drink.” Robert? Jaime had guarded the king long enough to know that Robert Baratheon said things in his cups that he would have denied angrily the next day. “Were you alone when Robert said this?” “You don’t think he said it to Ned Stark, I hope? Of course we were alone. Us and the children.” Cersei removed her hairnet and draped it over a bedpost, then shook out her golden curls. “Perhaps Myrcella sent this man with the dagger, do you think so?” It was meant as mockery, but she’d cut right to the heart of it, Jaime saw at once. “Not Myrcella. Joffrey.” Cersei frowned. “Joffrey had no love for Robb Stark, but the younger boy was nothing to him. He was only a child himself .” “A child hungry for a pat on the head from that sot you let him believe was his father.”

When you put it all together, you have a child who is ignored by his father unless he's being threatened with a beating, who is constantly calling him a monster, who watches his father harm and humiliate his mother day in and day out, who has no other paternal figure around but this violent, angry man who he is supposed to model himself off of, and a mother who encourages his cruelty because she believes it's the only way to protect herself, to protect her son. He's not just emulating his mother's cruelty, he's emulating Robert's violence specifically when he humilates Sansa at court, when he openly talks shit about Cersei - it's what he's seen modeled for him as kingly behavior!

The Abuse And Jaime Of It All

King Joffrey's face hardened. "My mother tells me that it isn't fitting that a king should strike his wife. Ser Meryn."

He knows Robert is abusing Cersei and he takes her dislike of it seriously even as he doesn't make the connection that she means he shouldn't be striking his wife period. Whether it's because Cersei directly told him (which could make sense; she's purposefully hiding it from Jaime but perhaps she confided in Joffrey) or because he witnessed it himself, he's aware of the abuse enough that he takes his mother's comments about not personally striking Sansa to heart.

"No," [Robert] thundered in a voice that drowned out all other speech. Sansa was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, and he was drunk as a man could be. "You do not tell me what to do, woman," he screamed at Queen Cersei. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!" Everyone was staring. Sansa saw Ser Barristan, and the king's brother Renly, and the short man who had talked to her so oddly and touched her hair, but no one made a move to interfere. The queen's face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in silence, servants trailing behind. Jaime Lannister put a hand on the king's shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard. Lannister stumbled and fell. The king guffawed. "The great knight. I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer." He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet, splashing wine all over his satin tunic. "Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!" Jaime Lannister rose and brushed himself off. "As you say, Your Grace." His voice was stiff. Lord Renly came forward, smiling. "You've spilled your wine, Robert. Let me bring you a fresh goblet." Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. "It grows late," the prince said. He had a queer look on his face, as if he were not seeing her at all. "Do you need an escort back to the castle?"

I think it's pretty clear that Joffrey is dissociating here which also explains his very detached way of looking at Robert's abuse of Cersei. It freaks him out enough that he uses Sansa as an excuse to leave (giving her the Hound, then running off himself) but he doesn't show it. He's not even particularly upset during this scene, not throwing a tantrum or making whiny remarks like he does when he's usually upset. He only has a "queer look" - the stress of trying to reconcile his adoration of Robert and his love of Cersei just makes him fully shut down instead of confronting it.

Joffrey gave a petulant shrug. "Your brother defeated my uncle Jaime. My mother says it was treachery and deceit. She wept when she heard. Women are all weak, even her, though she pretends she isn't. She says we need to stay in King's Landing in case my other uncles attack, but I don't care. After my name day feast, I'm going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head."

I think people often take his comments about how women are weak to mean he doesn't view his mother as a competent advisor. But you notice a pattern here - he gets shitty with her when it's about Jaime specifically.

"A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier . . . yet I thank you for the sentiment. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?" "She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles."

"She's with my council" he says, because he sees no reason to not let Cersei run things without him, something Robert never lets her do. But "your brother Jaime" not "my uncle Jaime" which is a shift because he doesn't stop calling Renly or Stannis his uncles even after they rebel. He knows, he suspects, and what he resents is not Cersei fucking Jaime but Jaime fucking Cersei.

My read on this is that Joffrey sees his mother as weak for allowing herself to be seduced by Jaime, and sees Jaime as a lecherous seducer who is the cause of all his problems. If only Jaime hadn't seduced his mother, maybe his parents wouldn't hate each other. His claim wouldn't be under question. His mother should have just taken the abuse and bided her time instead of putting herself in danger and having bastards.

He loves his mother. He loves his father. And that's the human heart in conflict with itself that resides in Joffrey. Does he honor his mother, the only parent he has, or does he honor Robert, the patriarch he is supposed to emulate? If he has no other example of what strength looks like, is he even capable of figuring out a different path for himself?

[airbendertendou]

RUN2U! ♥︎ rk900

synopsis : being the resident “ human nurse “ [medic for human officers] means you're on-call 24/7. except no one really needs you and they let you know that.

cw : imagined nines a little monstorous so hes really big and noticeably non-human ; medic!reader except idk anything abt nursing ; cussing ; gavin is mean sorry if hes your fave </3 , a lot of mentions of guns nd violence

song inspo ; run2u by stayc

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

hiring you wasn't the smartest idea, hank thinks. you were sweet ; kind and soft and too nice to deal with the assholes on this team. inviting you to active crime scenes was beyond stupid. allowing you to sit in the back of a car, small, useless medkit in your lap as you wait for the okay.

it's safe — the lost, wild deviant has either run off or is dead! hank shakes his head — they're lucky no harm, has come to you. yet.

gavin scoffs, shoving past you harshly as you hold a chilled ice pack out to him. blinking, you drop the pack, opting to grab a stained cloth instead.

hank smiles stiffly, allowing you to wipe the blue blood off of his face. you let out a sigh as you do so, drooping slightly at the usual mistreatment you recieve. "are you hurt anywhere, lieutenant?"

"not this time," he answers. working with — taking down — deviants was never a clean, easy job. it got even worse when nines joined — he was adament that problems be taken care of. your lips tilt up the smallest amount as you pull the rag away. "thanks, [name]. we're almost done here."

you simply nod, holding in your yawn as the night drags on. heavy, perfect footsteps crunch on the ground until they're standing in front of you. icy, steel eyes peer down at you as nines stares. there's a splatter of blue on his uniform ; on his hands, his gun, his face. you clutch the bloodstained rag in your hands with a gulp, hiding the movement with your bag.

"[name]." he holds his gun out to you, the barrel facing him. "dispose of this."

"i don't—" your fingers tangle deeper into the silly medkit you hold. his head tilts, blue eyes held onto yours as his inidicator turns yellow for a split second. "i wouldn't know what to do with it."

nines allows his arm to go limp, the empty gun falling to his side. "what do you do, then?"

you think you can hear gavin snort — can hear the other detectives laugh at your frozen form. what did you do? what use were you as an on-call medic for people who didn't even need you? "um—���

his indicator swirls again, "[name]?"

"i help," you say it weakly, loosening your grip on your bag. your eyes grow unfocused, blurring as you focus on a tree in the distance. hank angles his body to you as another cop talks to him. "when people are hurt. i help."

"okay," is drawled out as hands fall onto your shoulders. nines watches as hank leads you to the back of his car, the door open as you continue to stare at nothing. your heart rate has went down, but you seem stuck. hank goes back to nines, "cool it with the ten degree, okay? kid's jus' doin' what was told."

he upset you. it lingers in nines' head like an echo. something he did or said made you sad, or angry. he wasn't sure of which yet. looking at you as you sulk in the back of the car, nines thinks to earlier. you cleaned deviant blood off of hank — maybe that would make you feel better?

when your vision becomes clearer, all you see is white. a white suit stained blue in various spots. you blink, looking up until you see a poised, structured face. "yes?"

nines crouches, kneeling until his face is in line with your torso. iced eyes peer up at you as his hands fall to his knees stiffly. eyes dig into him, but all the android cares for are yours. "i... require help."

your lips fall open in shock as you watch this prim, postured detective ruin his suit and his reputation for you. clearing your throat, you take the bloodstained cloth from your medkit shakily.

tender, practiced strokes to his face cause nines' eyes to flutter shut. if he had real skin, it would prickle with chills — the heat from your skin was bouncing into his slowly. nines all but sinks into the feeling ; sinks deeper into the dampened ground.

"are you hurt anywhere, detective?" your voice brings him back. the sound of his title on your lips causes another shutter to flow through him. dazed, nines doesn't even realize his indicator slowly darkening, turning orange with the human emotions he feels. "nines?"

and then your bare hand is on his cheek — nines short circuits.

a bright, ungodly shade of blue colors his cheeks ; his nose ; all the way up to his ears. a livlier, warmer shade of blue than his cold eyes. nines lets out a loud, unneeded stutter of breath.

“no,” he breathes, “i’m okay. thank you, [name].”

——♥︎——

how out of character was he nd don’t lie ): hope this was okay, thank you for reading, ♥︎ if you’d like to be tagged / untagged in any dbh content, let me know!!

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[blacklegsanjiii]

•°♤°• Soulmate AU: The Aftermath

Sanji doesn't really understand their anger. He doesn't understand at all.

He doesn't understand

He doesn't remember how to feel. Not since his father Judge told him that his soulmates are dead.

He remembers it as if it was yesterday.

He was still in the dungen, head wrapped tightly around a metal helment. Meant to kept the face hidden but not seen.

He remembers Judges footsteps, the way his big and tall figure covers his sight. He remembers the cruel words that wouldn't leave his mind.

"They're Dead." Judge says

"They're Gone." Judge continues

"Not only did you fail as a son, but you failed as a soulmate as well." His tone so venomous its like a vipers fangs had pierce his own skin.

Sanji, despite with the helmet on, can see the corners of his mouth twitch up.

Nine years. At nine years old, he was told by his father Judge that his soulmates are dead. He failed them. He should've been there to protect them. But instead he was there when they died.

He remembers breaking out in a loud cry. A cry so loud it could've been heard from miles away.

He falls to his knees, gripping them tightly as tears drip down. Above him Judge scoffs.

"Honestly, why am I even surprised?"

"You obviously don't deserve it" He scoffs with a smirk

"Maybe it would've been better if you weren't even born. Then maybe your soulmates didn't have to die. Maybe they would've been better off without you, to maybe find out that their 4th soulmate is a failure."

Judge turns around, but he mutters the words that would haunt Sanjis mind forever.

"If your purpose isn't to be a soldier, then maybe your purpose it to be a Lab Rat".

(Sorry if Judge is a little OOC).

Spade, please don't apologize for taking Judge to the place he would have gone if Sanji had stayed in Germa. But holy hell that's sad, let's go!

Sanji has been numb since nine years old, trapped in a dungeon in a metal mask with his father leering down at him. Telling him his four soulmates are better off without him because of his being. His weaknesses. He doesn't understand why the four people in front of him have anger towards a man who is blatantly right about him. Sanji thought Reiju was lying after all. Why would his soulmates be alive? Why would Judge let them live?

He remembers what Judge told him very clearly, surprisingly. He failed to save them, he let them die because he was in the dungeon. He was weak and dumb and fragile. He stared down at Sanji and said he shouldn't have been born and Sanji felt himself break and agree silently in own head. That his only used would be as a lab rat, something to cut into and test on.

Chopper shoos everyone out so he can ask Sanji questions when he wakes up which he answers plain and simply. There's no need to lie if they're telling the truth or not, either way they'll all find out. He says that to Chopper, he's used to repeating himself and if they want to know he'll tell them. Chopper frowns and says that's his decision to make but still, as a doctor he's supposed to give his patients privacy from others. Which is new to Sanji who blinks and shrugs before chopper gives him the okay to go back to sleep and he does.

When he comes to next Zoro and Nami are eating with a plate for him beside them. Nami smiles and says they saved him dinner and that they'll need to know his favorites for the party they'll throw when he's allowed to leave the infirmary. Sanji is blinking and confused for the first time in ages as he stares at the plate and tries to remember what real food tastes like, he read plenty of cookbooks but he hasn't eaten real food since he was ten.

"Eat up, Curly. It won't hurt you." Zoro says.

"Right." Sanji whispers.

"Do you need help? We can cut it up if you like or-" Nami starts.

"No, no. I just haven't had to eat since I was ten. Would get in the way or the scientists work, not that it particularly stopped them " Sanji says as he starts cutting into the brown meat thing on his plate and takes a bite.

"What do you mean?" Zoro asks carefully.

"Easier to keep my nutrition coming in from an IV, especially after they replaced my ribs." Sanji shrugs, not really finding the pleasure he did as a child in eating. "Could probably make decent money off me since I have a bunch of Germa science experiments in me." Zoro is still as can be as Nami leaves the room quickly with hands over her mouth.

"You're our soulmate! We aren't sending you anywhere or selling you off." Zoro forces out.

"Judge killed my soulmates. He killed Reiju's too, I'm pretty sure." Sanji says as he eats. "Told me when he moved me from the dungeon to the medical wing I was in."

"I'm right here, in front of you." Zoro argues as he grabs Sanji's arm and anything zing goes into Sanji's body and well that's strange. "Your connection to us is weak. It got damaged when we were kids.

"Oh, he would do that." Sanji says simply as Nami comes in with Luffy and Usopp making the two men look as well as Chopper standing by their legs. "Did something happen?"

"What the hell did Judge do to you?" Luffy demands with anger and fury as he looks at his soulmate.

"I'm a labrat, he experimented." Sanji answers like it's obvious.

"You're a person." Usopp argues.

"I have never been a person." Sanji responds. "Why would you even want me as a soulmate anyway? I'm broken."

"You're not broken, you're ours." Nami says as she brushes his hair with his hand and that's a sensation Sanji hasn't felt in years. Not since his mother died, but this is more intense with the little electric feeling of finding one's soulmate.

"Nami, set course for Germa. We're beating up Sanji's dad." Luffy orders.

"Aye aye, captain." She says as she kisses Luffy's cheek and leaves.

"Is the food good at least?" Usopp asks after a few quiet tense moments.

"I have no idea." Sanji answers as he keeps eating. Zoro laughs as Usopp complains he made it with love and Sanji is confused but finishes a third of his plate before giving up and watching Luffy inhale it like the vacuum tubes in the lab.

[transmasc-rose]

I like Rose, and I think they should have done more with the Bad Wolf event. So here's a small list of related AUs that have been rattling around in my head.

Feel free to use them for whatever, I'd love to see if you write something tho!

Becoming Bad Wolf, absorbing the Time Vortex and using its powers effects Rose beyond that one moment. Merely absorbing it long enough to expel the power was enough to cause Nine to regenerate, and Rose used its power for an extended period. Time travelling on its own is enough to change the body, the cells, the aging process. Being around enough Time Lords effects the aging process. So when you absorb the vortex into yourself, become it for an extended moment, make someone else immortal in a way no one else is, who's to say it doesn't effect you too? And when you leave with Tentoo, the human Doctor, the mortal Doctor, and you think--we're going to live together, we're going to die together. And the original Doctor thinks--this is for the best. I won't get more attached, I will lose her on my terms, they'll live what I can't have. But the Doctor ages. And Rose doesn't, whether she can regenerate, or lives in a single timeless body. Not like Jack, she can die, but her Doctor dies first. The Doctor lives the life of the Companion, and Rose lives the tragedy of the Doctor. There's no evidence of Time Lords in Pete's World. Rose and Tentoo have a child in the comics. Does her child die before her too, or does she inherit her "gift"? Does she find her way back home? Is she angry? Is she scared? Is she alone?

Or maybe she's still immortal, but she doesn't leave--either she makes it out of Doomsday in her home dimension, or she refuses to make a choice in Journey's End and insists the original Doctor keep her and Tentoo. What matters is, she's there when Ten regenerates into Eleven. She's there when the TARDIS malfunctions, and decides to crash. And through some happenstance, whether separation while the TARDIS was crashing, splitting up for one reason or another, Prisoner Zero plot devices, or simply breaking the age old rule of "don't wander off", they get separated. And the Doctor leaves for "five minutes". Rose returns to the TARDIS, or thinks she's found the TARDIS, and its not there. At best she sees it leave, or it leaves some signature behind she can track with a device from Pete's World. She knows it was there. So she waits, as Amy waits, because if a universe apart wasn't enough to break her spirit then time travel isn't either. Learns the year, gets a job, maybe goes and does her A levels like she said she wanted to do that one time. Years pass. Does she keep in touch with Amelia, the only lead she has to the Doctor? Rose says she doesn't really like children in Fear Her, but she's tolerated them before. Another strange figure in Amy's life. A connection to her "Raggedy Doctor". And almost as strange, too. Because as the years pass, the five between Doomsday and The Eleventh Hour, and the 12-14 years Amy waits, she doesn't age a day over 19/20. Did she ever get an explanation from the Doctor about Jack, in this vague extra time she's been with him? About how he left him without warning or explanation? Does Jack tell her? Does she worry he left her too? As the days pass, does she worry that he could sense what she was becoming, and abandoned her like he abandoned him? Or did she never know, not even have that context, left hoping that the doctor would one day come back until she has to accept that this time, this might be it. Left to deal with this curse on her own. She was worried Ten would leave her when he got that face. Maybe Eleven did. ...and of course, Eleven returns, none the wiser, and Rose's face only "confirms" he'd barely been gone at all! Nothing to worry about! Right?

[all-about-kyu]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝑳𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑷𝒊𝒙𝒊𝒆 𝑫𝒖𝒔𝒕

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You've had enough of Yoshi's behavior... there only seems to be one way of shutting him up. 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Pixie!Yoshinori x fem Jikan Kitsune!Reader 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔: friends to lovers, modern fantasy au 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut 𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: R 18+ 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: language, magic, both Yoshi and reader have fangs 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: dom!reader, sub!Yoshi, brief choking, slight predator-prey play, biting, marking, edging, begging, dacryphilia, facial 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1,919 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: don't perceive me......... Thank you to @sanjoongie for beta reading this for me <3 𝑺𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: @sanjoongie @minjaeluver @horanghoe

𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕

“Yoshi.” You sigh, “Stop that right now.”

In the past ten minutes of your walk with your pixie friend, he’s flicked or poked at one of your tails at least twelve times. Normally, his mischievous nature doesn’t get under your skin. You’re a rather patient person. Today, for whatever reason, each time he messes with you, the closer you get to snapping at him. A giggle floats through the air. When you turn, Yoshi is smiling widely, his pearly fangs shining in the light. You’re half tempted to reach over and flick his pointed ear, but you maintain your composure still.

“What?” He feigns innocence, “I was getting a leaf off your tail!”

“That’s what you said the last three times, Yoshi…” You remind him.

“Hmm, must be some tree nymphs playing around then.” He enthuses with a flutter of his wings.

You shake your head, knowing it’s just in his nature to play games like this, especially with people he enjoys being with. You pull the tail he was messing with forward into your hands. Smoothing out the teal and white fur, you note the lack of leaf or tree bits. Even if he were being helpful, you would’ve known. As a Jikan Kitsune, you have phenomenal hearing. Not only do you hear the slightest bit of air moving, but you can also hear other people’s thoughts if you wish. Most times, you choose not to. What people think is not your business. Just as you and Yoshi fall back into a rhythm and into mindless conversation, you feel a tug at a different tail. You turn your head just in time to see Yoshi pulling his hand away from where your nine tails are. He gives you an innocent smile again, showing off his fangs and fluttering his pretty transparent wings. A few bits of its silver, glittery coating fall to the ground. He once tried to explain what it was. You simply understood it as a dusting over them to protect them from the elements.

For some reason, that tug was your last straw with him. Instead of firmly telling him to stop, you find yourself backing him against a wall, pinning him there with a hand around his throat. The moment you do so, you hear his breath hitch, and his eyes go wide. He’s not scared despite you baring your teeth and pinning your fox ears back. He almost looks pliable, desperate even. Your eyes flit to his wings for a brief moment, and watch as they twitch just the slightest bit. Another bit of the glittery dusting rubs off on the bricks.

“What did I fucking ask you to do, Yoshinori.” You speak lowly, a growl invading your tone.

“You told me to stop.” He barely breathes out his response.

“And what did you not do?” You press further.

He gulps. You can feel his Adams Apple bob against your palm.

“I can read your thoughts, Yoshi. I think it’s best that you respond out loud.”

“I didn’t listen,” his breath hitches again, “I kept messing with you.”

You read his mind again for a brief moment to catch him thinking, “Oh god, please.” You smirked at the notion of what he was asking for. Which, in turn, causes him to squirm a bit under your gaze. He knows you read his thoughts, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to have a silver tongue again.

“If I knew you would react like this, I wouldn’t have done it.” he bites back weakly.

“Not what your thoughts are saying.” You supply, “We both know that, don’t we?”

“Fuck.” you hear his thoughts go nearly blank after the simple word. Finally, you release his neck, and he lets out a small gasp when you take a step away from him. That sparkly, slightly dazed look is still in his eyes. After a few moments, it fades, and he processes that you’re indeed still in public. He clears his throat and stands up straight again. He stretches his wings out fully and flaps them a few times before looking at you again. 

“Can we-” he stops himself, tucking a bit of the silver half of his hair behind his pointed ear.

“Hmm?” You feign innocence this time.

“Your apartment.” He states quietly, a piece of his brown hair falling in his eye as he looks at you.

“Come on.”

You grab his wrist and practically drag him through the park and back to your apartment. Not once have you ever crossed the boundary between friends and more with Yoshi. Today, you will. The moment you have the door shut, Yoshi spins you to be pressed against the wall. You’re so shocked by the sudden movement that you let out a small yelp before you kiss him back. One of your tails teases along his leg while the others flick at their own accord at the sensation. One of his small, sharp fangs digs into your lip. Not enough to break the skin but enough to tease and ask to deepen the kiss.

Instead of complying, you take him completely by surprise and flip your positioning. Yet again, Yoshi is pinned to a wall by you. A small gasp escapes his lips before you nudge his chin up with a gentle press of your finger. Your lips immediately take purchase on his neck, leaving small fleeting kisses along the side. Just when you reach the base of his neck, right by his collarbone, you let one of your own fangs tease along the slightly shimmery skin. 

“Your thoughts sound so pretty, Yoshi. How about you say them out loud?”

He shakes his head in defiance.

“No? Do I need to force it out of you?”

In response, you get a small whimper. Again, taking him by surprise, you step away from him entirely. His eyes fixate on your teal and white tails swishing behind you. Your eyes swirl dangerously with arousal. Yoshi’s are far too dilated and glittery for him to be anywhere near Earth.

“Go to my room. Strip.”

You’ve grown a habit of reading his thoughts, it seems. When you fixate your fox ears on him, you hear him think, “Finally, please, oh god, please.” and you’re more than satisfied with what you hear. Without another word, Yoshi is fluttering his way down the hallway, little bits of silver dust falling behind him. You linger behind, fixing your hair as you stalk up behind him. When you reach the threshold of your bedroom, you’re greeted with the sight of your pixie friend naked and painfully hard already.

“At least you know how to listen now.” You tease.

“I know I’m about to fuck you.” He responds with a snarky tone.

“Oh?” You chuckle, “Is that what you thought was about to happen? Sweet pixie… I’m about to make you eat your words.”

You watch as a slight bit of panic invades the arousal dripping from his eyes. You saunter into the room and sink between his legs at the edge of your bed. Yoshi’s hips wriggle slightly, hoping you’ll give attention to his painfully hard member. Instead, you place small kisses along his inner thighs. Any bit of his shimmery skin you can reach, can and will be kissed. When you reach the apex of the sensitive skin, you bite him. You don’t break the skin, but there’s a pretty mark where your fangs were pressed.

“Please, please, please.” you hear his thoughts beg again.

“Yoshinori…” You start, rubbing his thigh in small circles, “If you want something, you better say it out loud.”

“Touch me, make me feel good. Please?” His voice is airy and needy.

You let your tongue loll out and drip a bit of spit onto his member. Reaching forward, you wrap a hand around his cock. His wings twitch at the contact, and his thighs attempt to snap together before you stop them. You stroke him slowly, paying special attention to his leaking tip. Each time you reach the wet tip, you twist your wrist, reveling in the small noises that he tries to hold back. His half-brown, half-silver hair falls in his eyes as his head lolls forward. His lower lip is tucked up under his teeth. You can see just the very tip of one of his pearly fangs digging into the skin as he still trying to control his sounds as if you can’t hear his thoughts.

“Gonna- gonna- fuck gonna-”

You pull your hands off him completely and chuckle at the frustrated whines that escape.

“Why’d you-” He interrupts himself.

“You’ve been quite the pain today. It’s only fair that I edge you a few times, no?”

“Fuck you.” You hear him think.

“You best watch your thoughts. I can still hear them; in fact, I can hear them even clearer now.”

He stays silent, both mentally and out loud. A satisfied smirk graces your lips as you reach both your hands back to his previously neglected member. Now, slowly stroking him, twisting your wrists with each motion, he starts squirming in your hold. His wings twitch every time you pass your thumb over his leaking tip. His eyebrows furrow together. His mind is fully blank. You’ve noted that his wings twitch far more frequently. To the point that the silver glittery dust is practically a semi-circle of stardust around him. Again, you pull your hands away.

Tears spring from Yoshi’s eyes, “No, no, no,” he begs, “Please, I- I didn’t mean- ah- fuck!” He interrupts himself with a moan the moment your hands are back around him.

“You look so pretty when you cry, pixie.” You say in a condescending tone.

“I just wanna-” He stops himself with a moan again.

His wings are more fluttering than twitching at this point. So, when you let your tongue peek out of your mouth to lick a bit of precum, he practically shudders at the touch. Small tears escape his eyes at the sensation. Now, his thoughts come like a flood. They’re mostly an incoherent, unintelligible mess. His hips thrust up into your hands, hoping to get a bit closer to the heat of your mouth.

“Gonna- fuck gonna- please, I’m gonna-” his thoughts start, “I’m gonna cum! Fuck, please, need to-”

“Cum.” you command, licking a bold strip up the side of his cock.

You move your hands around him faster as his whines and begs become higher until he finally cums. Ropes of glittery, pearly cum jut out mostly on your hands and his lower abdomen. A few hit your face, but you couldn’t care less. Hearing his pretty voice, as sweet as it is, and watching how his silver-coated wings twitch and flutter as he rolls through the waves of pleasure are more than enough to keep you satisfied. For now. You wipe the cum from your cheek and look at your friend.

“That’s it.” You soothe when he starts to come down from his high, “You okay, Yoshi?”

“Mmh,” he hums, flopping back against your bed.

You chuckle, “As easy as it would be just to read your thoughts again, I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m fucking amazing.” his voice is slightly slurred.

“And have we learned not to piss me off?” You ask in a teasing tone.

“I might need another lesson.” You don’t have to see his face to know he has that mischievous smirk back on his face.

“Kanemoto Yoshinori… you will be the death of me.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @monsterfvckersunited @kwritersworld @k-vanity @cultofdionysusnet

[i-smoke-chapstick]

'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART NINE]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Reader comes to Jervis with a strange request.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Two idiots in their element. The slow burn is slow burning. She fell first, he fell harder. Jervis is mystified. Soft Jervis. Both Jervis and reader are hurt. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. The girls are FIGHTING. Stick with me. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx @all-things-fandomstuck @killingboredom @sweetlimeharvest @frenchfryqueen69

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - 'PART THREE, - 'PART FOUR, - 'PART FIVE, - 'PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN' - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, - 'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

♫ “Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder.” Older by Isabel LaRosa

Opening the door, the small firelight of the mansion paints the living room golden. It's the only light in the house.

You look around to find the place incredibly tidy. The only thing amiss is the two corpses, that lay bloodily on the dining table. The sight makes your breath catch in your throat, but you've admittedly seen much worse with Barbara Kean as your mother. These two must be the actual owners of the mansion. Or used to be, anyways.

You glance at Mr. Tetch in mock disapproval, and he clicks his tongue with a tsk.

"You must forgive me, I wasn't expecting visitors." He turns his nose up at you, voice coming out indignant. His eyes are still wide at your unannounced presence.

"...My bad." You huff, staring at him.

Silence overtakes the room, you two staring at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. His eyes scan you over, landing on the wound on your waist. You don't miss the gesture.

"You shot me." You say, blunt.

"Yes," He hisses. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Should've shot me in the head, then." At this he lets out a very dry, humorless chuckle.

"Pity. I should've. I apologize, I was caught up in the moment."

You send him an unamused look.

Scanning over his face, you see cuts of his own decorate his cheek. He must've taken a blow while you were comatose. Either a scrap to get away from Jim, or the two home owners had put up a fight before he hypnotized them.

"You're hurt." You say, taking a note of how the dry blood sticks to his cheekbones.

He looks inquisitively at you. You're the one shot. You're the one who should be in the hospital.

You sigh at his puzzled complexion.

"What exactly are you doing here?" He drawls, slowly. "Revenge? For Mr. Gordon? For you?" He scoffs, ignoring your look of discontentment.

On Mr. Gordon, actually. You think. You don't say that just yet. That would probably make Mr. Tetch happy. He still shot you. You're kind of enjoying his disgruntled mood at your appearance.

"No." Is all you say, simply. "I just have a lot of questions."

Mr. Tetch raises an eyebrow at this, cocking his head. Good. You've piqued his interest. Before he gets the chance to ask what type of questions, you interrupt him.

"We can talk about it while I clean your cuts. That looks nasty." You say, nodding to his face. He looks equally frustrated and surprised at your words, hesitant. He purses his lips. "Relax. I'm not going to try to kill you. That's more your style, apparently."

He huffs at the dig.

"What did you have in mind?" He asks, curtly. You grin. You dig out of your pocket a bottle of painkillers given to by Selina. His eyes widen.

"Do you know if this place has any gauze or band-aids?"

He narrows his eyes, and turns on his heel without a word. You follow him to the bathroom.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub while you stand. His gaze never strays from you.

You're reminded of Lee digging through the bathroom mirror while you do the same. You managed to find some cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and band-aids.

Looking over at him, you assess the situation. His top hat is askew, with bruises and small injuries decorating his face and neck. God knows how many he actually has, under his clothes.

"Death by a thousand cuts, huh?" You muse. He blinks at you, offering a scoff. "Take off your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?" You watch the blood drain from his face. It's satisfying.

"I'm assuming you have more injuries on your chest as well. Take off your shirt. And turn on the bath faucet."

A moment of stunned silence, before he leans over to run the water. You hold in a laugh as he awkwardly bends on the edge of the tub, long and tall limbs slowly peeling away his clothing. Soon enough, you're shut up yourself.

You swallow as he unbuttons his suit jacket, averting his gaze from yours. You take in his shirtless form with a breath. It feels like something out of a shitty romcom.

He stays silent, effectively embarrassed. You don't blame him. You wonder if he thinks you're purposefully trying to humiliate him. Not that he has anything to be humiliated for. He's gorgeous.

He notices you staring, and squints his eyes. Great. He probably thinks you're some perv now. The humor in the thought makes you involuntarily smile.

"Are you enjoying this?" He asks, sarcastically, through gritted teeth. You kneel in front of him and he goes silent. You can hear the small gasp he lets out and full-body shudder when you bury yourself in-between his legs to get a better angle. It's certainly more...intimate then you thought it would be.

Ignoring his words, you take a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. You place it to one of his cuts, and watch him let out a loud hiss of pain.

"I enjoyed that." You grin up at him, referencing his reaction. He scowls at you.

The room is peculiarly comfortably silent, save for his low groans of pain he attempts to muffle at the stinging.

"You know, I've actually never done this before."

His gaze hardens.

"What?"

"I've never done this before. Not first hand. But I used to watch my mom do this to my dad all the time when he'd come home."

Jervis casts his eyes upwards as you stand up. Dark eyes follow your movements, looking up at you as you cradle his face to steady him. You softly wipe the dry blood away. This is as close as you've ever been to him. You think it's the first time you've touched him, too. It's not entirely unpleasant.

"Why are you here?" He whispers, keeping eye contact with you. His voice is so quiet, almost as though he struggles to get the words out, not being able to focus on anything but the feeling of your hand on his cheek.

You sigh. You knew you'd have to answer the question eventually.

"Same as you, really." You bite your lip, and his gaze flits. "I want revenge on Jim Gordon." You say your dads name quietly, but with no less venom.

Jervis furrows his brows. You'll have to elaborate.

"He chose Lee over me. Purposefully, I'm sure." You say, a bit bitterly, and a bit sadly. You notice how Mr. Tetch's eyes soften at your tone of voice. "He knew what he was doing."

"And you expect me to help? How so?" The corners of his mouth twitch.

"You," Here goes nothing, "You are going to teach me how to hypnotize people."

His expression doesn't change for a moment, before his lips part. For a moment you think he might laugh in your face, and then hypnotize you to go kill yourself. But he stays startingly silent, if not amused by the request.

"I assume you learned hypnotism somehow. So, it can probably be taught, yeah?" You ask. You finished cleaning his cuts a minute ago. You're unsure why you're still standing so close to him. "So, I propose, we form an alliance, of sorts. You want revenge, I do too."

"I could easily accomplish that my own accord." He speaks, glint in his eyes.

"Maybe. But I know everything there is to know about Jim Gordon. I know how to hurt him."

Mr. Tetch stays silent, before sucking his teeth. He seems to mull over his options.

"Hm. Alright." He hums, and your eyes widen. You really weren't expecting him to agree. "On one condition."

And there is it. The bargain. You'll take it though. It's better then him hypnotizing you into helping him after hearing your idea.

"You, young one, will owe me a favor. A favor that I can call upon at any time."

"What kind of favor?" You breath, hesitant. He smirks, and it's strangely comforting to see his charisma and showmanship slowly return.

"Oh, nothing too demanding, I assure you. Just a small service, whenever I see fit. Think of it as a... mutually beneficial arrangement."

You offer him a small grimace, but take the offer regardless. One favor couldn't hurt. No price can be put on revenge, it seems. You're mother taught you that.

You finish running the water, while his stare remains locked on you. Still sitting cross legged on the edge of the bath, he never yields in his gaze. He catches when you wince again in pain, from the shot.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, quirking his head.

You look back at him, eyebrow raised.

"...Why?"

"Can you hear the dripping of the faucet?"

You can...Aw, fuck.

Instantly, you're zoned out. Yeah, Selina was right. This was a horrible idea. But why go through the trouble of asking for a favor? For hearing him out?

"Do you hear how it synchronizes with your heartbeat?"

Beside yourself, you nod. He flashes a wolfish grin.

"Wonderful," He praises. "Your bullet wound won't bother you anymore. The pain is nothing more than an illusion. If anything, it's a mild annoyance."

When he wakes you up out of your trance, you smile at each other.

[supeson]

je ne sais quoi

hey guys, girls, and gays. thanks.

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen , part fifteen, part sixteen, part seventeen, part eighteen, part nineteen

"Fuckin' stupid, putting it this high up, this is an accident waiting to happen," You mutter under your breath, fingers just grazing the bag of cat food on the top shelf. You step up on your tip toes, the shelf gets no closer. Stepping up onto the shelf helps, giving you another 3 inches, and you grab a corner of the bag, letting out a triumphant noise.

"Gotcha!" 3 inches too many, it seems, as it all gives way and you crash back to the floor, eighteen pound bag of cat food clutched tightly to your chest. You're staring into the fluorescent lights when a sharply manicured hand pops into view.

"Need a hand? I saw your valiant struggle against that dastardly-placed food."

You lift your head and look up. An extremely attractive woman with looks down at you and smiles, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners. You shift the food to the floor beside you and take her hand. "Uh yea, thanks. God, that's embarrassing that you saw that. I would've preferred to have been crushed under the food, actually."

She laughs. She laughs? Your brain short-circuits. "Well, you recover nicely, I'll give you that. What's the name that would've been on the obituary?" You giver her your name as you stare at her with wide eyes. Damn, she's good. She nods as though thinking about it. "Selina Kyle. And here, if you ever find yourself trapped under some cat food, and you can move your arms, give a ring, and I'll come over to dig you out. And hey, if you're not too beat-up after that, maybe we could grab dinner."

She hands you a slip of paper with her name and phone number, gives you a wink, and waltzes down the aisle. You stand there for three uninterrupted minutes before you haul the bag of food off of the floor and start calling Alfred's name.

*

"-and then she gave me her number, unprompted, isn't that fucking crazy?" you ask, shoving the piece of paper in Bruce's face. You'd put away your pet store findings once you'd gotten home and had gone to find him, finding all of this very funny, if baffling. You'd found him reading in the library, book now closed on the arm of his chair.

Bruce takes it, and turns it over carefully. You immediately backpedal. "I mean, I wasn't gonna call her, obviously, what we have is too important to me, and it's going so well, but this has never happened to me before, and I-"

"Selina Kyle is one if my exes. And she knows I'm Batman."

You deflate. "Oh."

Bruce catches the spiral you're going on. "That's not to say she didn't truly find you attractive, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that it brings up memories for me. Particularly painful ones. Selina and I, we have an incredibly complicated history, one that almost ended in marriage, if only-"

You kneel in front of him and cup his face with your hands. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Or, even if you want to, but can't right now. I'm in it for the long haul, remember?"

Bruce simply nods and rubs your hand with his own, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Another time, then."

*

Batman stands on a ledge, surveying the city. The night is quiet, surprisingly, given how warm the weather's been. So quiet, that she couldn't hide the taps of her heels if she wanted to.

"Going silent for a bit," Bruce says into his ear piece, then switches it off and turns around. "What do you want, Selina?"

"Oh, can't a girl just enjoy a night out on the town, Batman? Not all of us have such fulfilling careers," she replies, slinking into view from around the door to the roof. "Or relationships, for that matter."

"Did you know from the beginning?" His eye twitches underneath the mask.

"Honest to god, I didn't. I genuinely thought I was just playing the field, until I saw Alfred as I was leaving. That and Harley showed me some tabloids that weren't afraid of getting sued. I gotta say, this is pretty underwhelming, for you. Not a cape, not a villain, hell, not even somebody remotely famous. I'm impressed, I-"

"Don't talk about them like that. This is different. This is-" His hands are tightening under the cape. A master of his own mind and emotions it seems, until it comes to you.

Selina holds up her hands in surrender and smiles coyly. "Relax, B. I'm just here to tell you I'm not stepping into your territory. I'm not stupid enough to try and take something that's yours again." She pulls out a grappling gun and shoots it off into the night. "Just let me know when you're done, 'kay? I wanna take a turn."

She's gone before Bruce can formulate a reply. He switches his comm back on, and starts making plans.

*

You've been out at the pool entirely too long, Bruce thinks. Like a cat laying in their favorite window, as soon as it had become warm enough, you were out in the gardens, at the pool. You always told him that given the opportunity, you would stay out there all day, but he hadn't quite believed it until it became an inconvenience to his plans. You've been out there for seven hours now, and likely for longer, now that Dick, Steph, Duke, and Jason have joined you.

"Sir, if I may suggest going to them, instead of waiting for them to come to you?" Alfred asks, hands perfectly poised behind his back.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Alfred."

He simply nods. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Depends on how this goes. I'll let you know."

"Quite good, sir."

Bruce makes his way down to the pool, and walks up just in time to see you break the surface in the deep end, much like a polar bear in their enclosure at the zoo. Jason, Steph, Duke, and Dick have a volleyball game going in the shallow end, while Titus lays in the pavement and watches. His heart clenches when you catch his eye.

"Babe, hey! Are you finally gonna join us? The water's great! Steph says it's too cold, but here she is, right? Of course, Tim told us to drop dead when we invited him, but I think that's just because he's too skinny to appreciate how refreshing this cool water is." You swim up to the edge, smiling wide. His other children snicker.

Bruce kneels down by the edge. "Actually, I came to ask you something, would you mind coming up for a second?"

You note the way his smile falters for a millisecond, and how he tightens his hands. He's nervous. Anything that can make the Bat nervous warrants your full attention, you suppose. "Oh, uh, sure, one sec."

You climb up out of the water, and Bruce thinks you look radiant with the late afternoon sun behind you. You join him on the lounge chairs, toweling yourself off carefully. Bruce has never felt anxious until this moment right here. "Okay, big man, shoot."

Bruce clears his throat. "Right. Yes. So, I've been thinking. About our relationship, specifically, and how much it has changed me. Changed us, for the better. I never thought that something like this, given my line of work, would ever be possible, but you seem to have proven me wrong, and gone against every calculation I could have had for our relationship to play out. And it has been the greatest thing to behold, really. I want to deepen our commitment. I want us to commit to each other, despite our problems." Bruce pulls a small box out of his pocket, and flips it open. Sitting in the center are two rings, both with a silver band, but one with a ring of some crushed blue stone inlaid, and another with your favorite color instead of blue. He says your name like it's the first time he's ever said it before. "I love you, will you marry me?"

You immediately stand up, going, "Are you fucking sure?"

His children stare at him in shock, while Alfred simply walks down the pathway, champagne and sparkling grape juice in hand. Bruce's eyebrows start to draw in, and you speak quickly. "Shut up, shut up! I know you're sure, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that, yes! I meant to say yes, sure, whatever! I just, I don't, I've never-"

Bruce shoots up and kisses you. There are stars behind your eyes as you comprehend what's just happened to you, what's going to happen to you, and all you can think about is that you're soaking the front of his shirt right now. Bruce must not realize he's losing himself a little bit, because just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, Dick whistles. The two of you spring apart, Bruce combing a hand through his hair in embarrassment, and you burying your face in your towel. Alfred is already passing flutes of champagne around, and Tim and Damian are tearing down the pathway.

"Father, how could you!" "Bruce, holy fuck!"

Bruce just smiles wider than you've ever seen in your life as he pries your left hand away from the towel, and slips the blue ring onto your finger. Looks just like his eyes, you think as you stare in awe.

The sun starts to dip beneath the horizon as you kiss him again, then slip his ring onto his hand. The thought of announcing it to the press, and having to go out into public with him officially makes you nauseous, but that's a freakout for another time. For now, you kiss your fiancé, then throw down to towel and jump back into the pool to cool your heated face. Everybody yells their indignation, but you just hug yourself at the bottom of the pool, incredulous.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Ninerose (and/or tenrose if you have different opinions about it)

ninerose

how do i put this. i dont think it's an exaggeration to say that ninerose taught me what love looks like. like yadda yadda broken childhood home and all that, but whatever, i had my doctor who discs. and these two. oh, these two. there's so much about s1 and them that i return to again and again because it's so messy and so sweet and so. hopeful? you know? like here's the doctor, broken, and here's rose, glowing like the sun. and he becomes a better man for her sake. he makes himself worthy of being saved, yes, but she would have saved him anyway. because she loves him so, so much.

like, i know people get annoyed nowadays about how much rose there is in the fandom, how she can get a spotlight other companions never can, but like. god. she really did show up and rewire my fucking brain, and i can't even be mad about it. she's all that and more. and nine, obviously, nine's my. second favorite now, but the doctor closest to my heart forever. there's nothing that can improve my day like watching an episode from s1 and seeing the two of them interact, there really isn't.

tenrose

i do actually have different thoughts on these! simply because all variations of the doctor get slightly different thoughts. i mean, i don't really ship specific doctors with specific characters, if that makes sense? if they win the hearts of one doctor, then to me, they've won the hearts of all of them. so, i do ship rose with every doctor lol. but ten we got on screen so let me talk about that.

i think tenrose, the way it's written, is a perfect follow up to how ninerose set them up. you know, you've got a kiss on the doctor's side that killed him and only he remembers happening, and on rose's side, her doctor just exploded into a twink. i love how upset rose is by it. i've seen people talk about how unfair she's being or how unreasonable she is, crying because she thinks the man she was falling in love with is gone when the doctor's right there but. he exploded in front of her. she has no information on this, except to hope that it really is her doctor. god, the children in need special where they reconnect immediately post him regenerating is so important to me for this reason. this is upsetting! this isn't something that we should judge rose for not simply rolling with it! but in the end, that is her doctor. changed, slightly, to be loved is to be changed. but it's him.

and yeah, can we talk about the whole ten literally rebuilt himself to be for rose and how that fact fucks him up forever and ever <3 literally a disaster of a man, you can't do that, sir. that's not healthy!!! but i love him for that. it's so doctor-ish of him. in the wake of her becoming a goddess of time and space to save him, how could he not remake himself in her image. to be someone he thinks she will love, that can love her better. i just. sorry going to speak briefly on nine again, but i think about how the majority of the bad wolf scene is framed with every shot of him on his knees, looking up at her. how he only rises back up at the very end to kiss her and save her life in return. that's what i think ten is born out of, more than anything. that moment of terrifying, awestruck devotion, and then the choice to rise again and hope he's enough, know he's enough, to save her life.

and that is always ten. that's him in the satan pit jumping without knowing where the bottom is and then yelling in the face of the devil that he only knows of one goddess, and it's her. that's why when rose is in danger, nothing on this earth can stop him. that's why he burns up a star to say goodbye to her, because that's the only thing in the universe that could be worthy of being exchanged for even a glimpse at her. and it's him when he tries to snuff himself out during the runaway bride, and it's him when he spends so long not being able to see martha for how fantastic she is because all he can do is mourn rose, and it's him when he's so distracted by her finding him again that he gets himself shot by a DALEK.

insane to me, actually. he was literally born wrong out of love.

and not even to mention rose. let's not pretend she's not equally on this train. hello: woman who would have been okay with being trapped with him on the other end of time and the universe from home? woman who was going to ditch all the people she knew and loved in another dimension to stay with him? woman who started blasting herself haphazardly across dimensional barriers with a cannon to find him again? she's as bad as he is. i love her.

[put any ship in my ask box and i’ll give my brutally honest opinion]

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It's just that... you don't really get along all that well, do you? At least, that's what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers (very vague, im sorry, but you'll see), slow burn, language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: here's part 3! it's looking like this story is going to be surpassing my usual 5 parts... so, um... i hope everyone gets invested enough to keep reading past that!

Wordcount: 4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

You couldn't stop thinking about it, and it was so dumb. But... you simply couldn't help it.

That framed picture somehow would find its way back into your thoughts every so often. It felt a little weird, but you also kept almost automatically rationalising it for yourself. You had photos with Mark all over; your social media pages were littered with photographs of the two of you throughout the years, and the comments accompanying them would probably make anyone feel the same way you did about that framed photograph in Joe's hallway.

So then, why did that framed photograph feel so weird to you?

Joe loved Poppy like you loved Mark, you knew that to be true. The only reason Poppy wasn't weird about your friendship with Mark was because of her friendship with Joe.

You all understood on a level not many other people did.

But still... you didn't know why, but, that photograph of the two of them felt... odd. Kind of raised your hackles a little. So, you asked Mark if he'd seen it when he was over at yours for snack night: a night of lots of snacks and dips as a substitute for dinner.

"So, I've got a question... remember when I went over to visit Joe two weeks ago?"

Mark snuck a baby carrot into his mouth that scooped up a dollop of hummus twice its size, and then immediately wanted to say something.

"Hmm," Mark hummed urgently, his face in a deep frown as he chewed.

It took ages for him to get it down, but you waited because going straight in to call Mark's fiance's friend weird might not have been the best way to go about this.

"Yea, what the fuck happened?" Mark asked, eyes big, but already aimed at another snack to grab from another bowl.

"What do you mean? Nothing happened,"

Mark looked at you all sarcastically as he chewed, as if to say, yea, all right, sure.

"What? We talked about your wedding, set dates for events, you know, figured some things out," you waved a hand around to convey the casuality, "But–"

You were about to ask Mark if he'd seen that framed photo of Joe and Poppy that he'd cropped the two of you out of, but Mark interjected before you could bring it up.

"No... something happened." Mark said matter-of-factly and then he paused and looked at you, ready to listen to what you had to say for yourself. But, you kept quiet too, because what the fuck was he on about? So, Mark continued, "Joe didn't speak to Poppy for like... five days? Four or five days after that, which is," Mark leant back and tilted his head back to shout his next words towards the ceiling, "a huuuuge deal!"

"Oh, well, that must've been unrelated to our meeting... we just talked about your wedding, he said I was nice, and–"

"Ah!"

Mark pointed a finger at you that he held right next to his face, one eye closed as he looked at you.

"That's it. He said you were nice,"

"I am nice," you argued.

"Yea, we tell Joe all the time... but he said you were nice?"

Opting to ignore the fact that you'd now heard from several sources that people were talking about you behind your back, you explained how you'd nearly walked out after Joe thought he was being smart that night. How you had said that you were a nice person, implying that Joe could just have been friendly and polite, and it would've been normal. And then you explained how, at the end of the night, Joe had struggled through telling you that he agreed and thought you were nice too. You mocked Joe to paint a vivid picture for Mark and exaggeratedly stuttered your way through the words Joe'd said.

Mark just ate and listened to you, and by the end shook his head a little at your impression, a dangerous smile playing his face.

"But have you seen that framed photograph he has in his hallway? Right by the front door?"

You finally got to the point you were trying to make.

"Of Pop?"

"The one we're cropped out of," you were hoping for Mark to be a little outraged, but he remained totally calm.

"Yea, Poppy has the same one, we've got it framed upstairs, on the landing," Mark said as he licked spilled mascarpone from his finger. "Smaller version, though,"

"We're cropped out of that,"

"Yea,"

"Mark... we're cropped out of that," you needed more of a reaction from him.

"Yes."

But you didn't get it. Mark didn't seem bothered at all. Like you'd said, Mark was made of trust and had just gone and proven it once more.

"He went and had a photo printed that he then had to cut two people out of... don't you think that's weird?"

"Why would it be weird?"

"I mean, I don't know... there are so many other pictures of the two of them, why did he choose a pic that he had to cut us out of,"

Mark shrugged, said, "It's a nice photo of them," and that was that. It was a nice photo of them. It just... it bothered you. You were unable to articulate why it did, exactly.

A phone buzzed on the table, and both of you looked to see if yours was the one that was ringing. It turned out to be Mark's.

Joe was calling.

"Speaking of," Mark said, answering and bringing the phone to his ear, "Joe!"

Mark listened, then rolled his eyes at you even though you had no idea what Joe was telling him.

"How drunk?"

You couldn't help but let a huffed laugh escape you. Poppy and Joe had gone to the pub, you knew. Context clues filled you in on the situation.

"Fucking hell," Mark said and kind of slumped into your sofa more as he listened to whatever Joe was telling him. "I mean, I'd give you advice, but you've been in this situation more than I have,"

Mark was going to have to leave, wasn't he?

He suddenly laughed loudly at something Joe said, head tipped back, mouth wide open, before muttering, "Shared responsibility," softly, indicating he was repeating Joe's words back to him.

"Yea, no. All right, that's fine... see you in a bit. Keep a close eye on her, though, will you?"

Mark said it with love so evident in his voice, it made you scrunch up your eyebrows. If someone else had been there, you'd have made eye-contact with them and would've probably audibly awed.

Mark laughed again at something Joe said, then shook his head as he looked at you, like you knew what the fuck was going on.

When Mark hung up, he turned to you and without any warning said, "Let's go, we're going to the pub."

When you walked in about twenty minutes later, the place was absolutely packed.

"Go grab four beers, I'll find them," Mark said, and you asked, "Four beers? Not three beers and, I don't know, a sprite for Pop?"

"Four beers," Mark said again, holding four fingers up for emphasis before he pushed himself in between a few people and disappeared into the crowd. Off to find Poppy and Joe.

You turned towards the bar and sighed at the fact that Joe and Poppy hadn't just gone to a normal pub, but somehow, one that seemed to exclusively house an after-work-drinks sort of crowd. Most people were dressed smartly, men in suits with top buttons undone and women in pencil skirts and high heels that crossed their legs at the ankles as they held drinks against forearms that were folded over their stomachs. You were in jeans and converse and definitely felt out of place, but the atmosphere was nice. You almost couldn't hear the music over the loud chatter and the belly laughs.

Just when you thought, okay so how am I going to get these four drinks over to my friends when I don't know where they are, all three of them popped up right beside you.

And Poppy was wasted.

"Babe," she slurred as she slung both her arms around your neck the minute she laid eyes on you; eyes that were barely open and kind of crossed over, mind you.

For someone semi-posh, Poppy got sloppy alarmingly quick when alcohol entered her system. She was like you in that way.

"I love you, you know that?" Poppy sprayed into your ear loudly, voice control out of the window, and it made you wince at Mark over her shoulder.

"I'm taking her home," Mark said and that's when you noticed that Joe was trying to get one of Poppy's arms into her coat. She was still attached to you, however, so it really wasn't working out for him.

"I really do," Poppy didn't pay Joe any mind and instead evaded his hands and grabbed you by the face as she pulled back from her hug. For a second you were scared she was going to plant a fat drunk kiss right onto your face.

"Not like Mark does obviously, but I do love you, you're amazing,"

You frowned through a smile, not sure where this was coming from. Had Joe and Poppy talked about the two of you like you and Mark had talked about the two of them? That didn't sound completely out of this world. Kind of made sense, actually.

"Okay, Poppy," your frown turned into scrunched up eyebrows, but your smile remained, unwavering.

"No, listen to me," Poppy got all serious, her hands still clasping your face. She tried to make stern eye-contact, but her eyes were dancing.

"Let's go Pop," Mark interrupted, but it was like he wasn't even there.

"You're so important,"

She was so, so drunk. You could smell the liquor on her breath.

"Thanks,"

"And nice,"

You shot eyes over to Joe who quickly looked down, folding Poppy's coat over his arm, giving up on trying to get Poppy to put it on. He passed it to Mark who leant in to say something closer to his ear that you didn't catch, but Joe laughed, mouthed, "Tequila," and then held up 6 fingers. Mark groaned.

"Poppy," you moved your hands to covers hers and softly pried them off of you. "Thank you. I love you too. But, look who's waiting," you pointed a small finger over her shoulder at Mark, and Poppy seemed very annoyed which only made you laugh.

"Let's go, babe," Mark took hold of Poppy's shoulders and you saw him work to hold her up as much as he was working to guide her towards the exit. Her feet were everywhere and nowhere, just like her the aim of her eyes.

"Good luck," Joe grinned at Mark who looked back over his shoulder.

The two of you made eye-contact, and within 2 seconds of just looking at each other, you'd said goodbye and promised to call each other tomorrow, all unspoken.

"Don't let those beers to go waste," Mark nodded towards the bar where the four beers you'd just paid for still stood, waiting to be drunk.

Oh.

Immediate panic washed over you.

Mark and Poppy were leaving, which meant now you and Joe had four beers to share and... you and Joe had four beers to share.

Mark could've been smug about it. Could've made a face at you to tease, but he hadn't. Had just quickly said to drink the drinks and then turned his full attention to his fiancé who was bumping and leaning into people left, right, and center.

"You got it," Joe wasn't going to let himself be told twice and slid two glasses slightly more towards you before grabbing the other two, one drink in each hand, double fisting. It looked like Joe had also had a few drinks already, which, of course he had. Poppy hadn't been doing tequila shots on her own, you assumed.

Suddenly, your evening with Mark of bitching about Joe from the comfortability of your own sofa in your own flat had turned into an evening in a posh pub with the actual dude himself. Alone. Just the two of you in a sea of suits, button-ups and pencil skirts. The prospect of it was awful.

Who would mind two wasted beers? No one really. Certainly not you, at least. Joe could have all four if he wanted. You were about to come with a dumb excuse, a polite one, to get out of there, but before you could, Joe cleared his throat.

"So," Joe said, and you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Joe was sort of turned to you, full body language engaged and ready for a chat.

A chat.

With you.

Like normal people.

Like friends.

"Who's going to be your plus one?" Joe asked and immediately busied his mouth as he took a slow sip of beer, peering at you over the glass.

You frowned a little at his question, and then more at the way he looked. All suited up, top buttons of his shirt undone, loafers – he looked like everyone else there, fit right in amongst the office crowd even though you knew very well Joe didn't have an office job. Joe didn't know how to do water-cooler-talk, didn't know how office gossip worked. Why these after-work drinks at the pub were such an important part of working in an office. You did, or had done, but still, Joe fit in with everyone else and it was very clear that you didn't.

It made you feel inferior but also a little rebellious at the same time.

You reached for a drink for yourself, deciding that you actually would mind wasting two beers that you'd paid for and you copied Joe, taking an even slower sip than he did, buying yourself time. If this was going to happen, if you were going to have drinks and be out with Joe, you weren't going to be the first one to back out. You had said you were going to at least try to be friendly, hadn't you? And it seemed like Joe was trying, so now you had to too.

"For the wedding," Joe clarified, like you didn't understand what he originally meant.

You took long to answer, smacked your lips and looked at your glass as you lowered it, saying, "I don't think we get plus ones, Joe,"

It was Joe's turn to frown.

"Of course we do,"

"Don't think so,"

You had the wedding invitation stuck under a magnet on your fridge. Saw it every day. Nowhere did it mention a plus one for you. You assumed later because you'd been asked to be Mark's best man. You'd have actual jobs to do. Bringing a date just to leave him stranded was weird, and so it made sense to you.

"Why wouldn't we?"

Joe hadn't had the same train of thought, it turned out.

"Does your wedding invitation have a plus one on? Because mine doesn't,"

Joe thought back, eyes darting around but not really looking at anything. "I don't... I don't remember word for word exactly what the invitation said–" Joe paused abruptly and looked at you, one corner of his mouth slightly upturned. "Well, I do, of course," He didn't, but he didn't need you to know that. "But surely..."

"I think they kind of want us to focus on the jobs we've been given," you said, feeling all smug that you got to tell Joe something he didn't know yet. One-upping Joe felt stupidly good. You were in jeans! In dirty old canvas trainers!

"Oh yea," Joe quipped, and you didn't like how casual that suddenly sounded.

"Like not forgetting the rings,"

And there it was. In a reflex, you lifted your middle finger up at him and immediately realised that Joe could absolutely take full offense. You weren't people who flipped each other off for fun. You said you were to at least try to be friendly, but nothing else had really changed since your meeting over at Joe's house. You weren't suddenly people who were comfortable around each other to be mean in ways you could be mean with Mark, knowing that the bickering was never damaging but more a fun way to get actual frustrations out.

But luckily, Joe gasped a small gasp through a wide smile. No offense taken.

"I thought you said you were nice," the face Joe made almost seemed flirty.

"And you agreed," you threw right back at him. "Even told Pop about it,"

Joe didn't argue, and so you knew you were right. Joe and Poppy had talked about you and Mark.

A pause followed where you weren't sure how to continue the conversation, and the feeling of wanting to abandon the evening all together crept back in. You'd had half a beer, had said some words to each other, so you knew it'd be all right for you to now go, well, I actually have to go get going. But then, something else crossed your mind.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Joe absolutely wasn't expecting the tone switch in you, suddenly sort of serious.

"Have you thought about your speech already?"

You'd briefly mentioned it the other night, your speeches. You'd said that you would just need to make sure that the vague idea of them wouldn't be insanely different from each other. If you were just going to do a a short quick little cute speech, Joe couldn't do an insanely long one that included a whole PowerPoint presentation, or something else insane, like a song. But, you'd very quickly come to the conclusion that neither of you wanted to speak into a microphone for very long.

You wanted your speech to be heartwrenchingly beautiful though. Mark was going to fucking wail at his wedding, you'd absolutely make sure of it.

"I have," Joe said, nodded slowly, and for a second you thought, how the fuck is this guy an actor?! He was obviously lying.

"Okay..." you phrased it like a question, and a short silence followed where you both narrowed your eyes at each other, not fully trusting what wasn't said aloud. Joe was confusing you and you didn't like it.

"But we really don't get plus ones?"

You knew Poppy would have laughed at the way he said it. You didn't. You just shrugged.

"Maybe Poppy doesn't want you to bring a date, just because,"

Oof. Wrong thing to say. Insinuating all kinds of things Joe didn't appreciate, you could see it in the sudden tension in his jaw. It hit almost below the belt. You kind of meant it, though. Had that blown up framed photo of them on your mind still.

"And perhaps Mark doesn't want you to bring one for the same reason,"

You learnt the hard way that dishing it out was far easier than taking it.

That stung, like it always did when people would assume you and Mark were dating, and wouldn't believe it when you said you weren't.

It stung almost extra because you'd just thrown someone a comment you hated getting yourself, and then got it right back like you deserved. The fact that it was from someone who'd probably gotten the comment loads too made you feel even worse about it.

Served you right.

If the air between you hadn't been awkward but maybe sort of pleasant for a second, you missed it.

Slow sips from wet beer glasses were had, and you cursed yourself for not being able to just call it a night already. You were committed to win this now, even though none of this was a contest. Nothing ever was, but you were just like that. Couldn't help wanting to win at everything, especially when it came to petty shit like this. There was no way you were going to leave this pub before Joe did.

It was all awkward comments, feigned naturalness and ease, and when you finished your second beer, you hated how Joe just went and ordered another two. He kept you there and you realised he was onto you. He fucking knew you weren’t going to say no, weren’t going to be the one to back out first. You were too much like Poppy in that way, you thought, and it felt a little vulnerable. Like Joe could read you, could really see right through you, just because he knew Poppy so well.

But with alcohol in your system, you started feeling invincible. Feelings like guilt and regret took a back seat, which was dangerous.

Made you order the next round, just out of sheer spite. And you'd barely eaten - just things like cucumber and carrots with hummus and tzatziki - and started to really feel the effects of it.

Made you smile at a stranger like you shared an inside joke when he bumped into Joe and made him spill some of his drink.

Made you ask stupid questions, like why Joe had a cropped photo of him and Poppy framed in his hallway.

"I don't know if you've fully understood the situation, but I can explain it in simpler words, if you'd like?"

Patronising. Joe spoke to you like you were an idiot.

"I am friends with Poppy, and have been friends with her for a looong time. We're family, and sometimes it's nice to have photographs of family up on your walls. Some people think so, at least,"

So very patronising, it was honestly insulting. He was also missing the point. Didn't understand what you meant. He probably wouldn't, even if you explained it, you thought, so you left it alone.

"It's okay if you don't get it," Joe looked down his glass before adding, "if you don't have that same sort of bond with Mark, I don't expect you to understand," and taking a sip.

Too far.

You were getting too intoxicated to just... take shit like this.

"Oh you wouldn't fucking know what friendship was if it stared you right in the face," you challenged.

For a second tonight had been about proving to each other that your friendship with you best friends didn't cross any inappropriate boundaries. Now, however, it was suddenly all about proving to Joe that your friendship with Mark outweighed his friendship with Poppy.

Joe had no fucking idea how bonded you and Mark were.

How you'd gone through absolutely shit in your teens, and how Mark had managed to haul you through, pulling you out at the other end with a lot less scars than you'd imagined beforehand.

How you'd spent years not thinking you'd live past your teens, battered and bruised from trusting people you were told time and time again you could trust. Had to trust. But should've never trusted. How Mark was the one who'd held out a friendly hand and had proven to you time and time again that men sometimes didn't want all the things you weren't ready to give. Weren't willing to hand over.

How Mark had fixed parts of you which you'd redeemed unfixable until he'd gotten all up in there.

How Mark was solely responsible for your strong belief in the power of kindness. The power of true friendship. The platonic soulmates type of shit.

Joe had no fucking idea. And so you told him again, "You wouldn't even fucking recognise it,"

Joe was about to fight you on it, but he felt something had shifted. Saw something in your expression, in your eyes, that made him swallow his words whole.

Joe saw something that made him believe you on your word. Maybe his friendship with Poppy was a small tiny thing in comparison.

"I'm sorry," Joe's features softened immediately upon the sight of you, and it was all kinds of wrong.

Somehow everything felt unfair all of the sudden.

You needed to leave.

Needed to be polite and thank Joe for the lovely evening all sarcastically and leave without a good excuse to do so. Just, get out.

Away from Joe who didn't understand. Who made fun. Who judged. And who was he to fucking talk?

When you hurridly turned, intending to run, Joe gently reached and touched your upper arm. Strong fingers, but somehow a soft touch.

"I need to leave," you said, and without saying anything else, Joe let you go and let you walk out.

No questions asked.

No goodbye from either of you.

—

The Taglisted: 

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(taglist currently full, sorry)

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part eleven.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

-

Well, at least Sephiroth knows better than to run around the Shinra building in a t-shirt and pyjama pants - which, while no doubt amusing, would've caused far too much chaos to be worth it.

While Angeal is putting away the remains of Sephiroth's fast food, Genesis gives the man himself an assessing eye.

The shirt he'd picked up, dark green turtleneck, works well enough with the usual coat. The outfit would need some more matching accents to really work - there's too much black and grey, they overpower the slight splash of colour - but at least it doesn't clash with anything. However… It's obvious there's simply not enough space in the sleeves of Sephiroth's coat for a full-sleeved shirt.

The leather creaks in agony when Sephiroth moves his arm, and his bicep bulges accordingly.

"Couldn't find a new coat, then?" Genesis asks, resting a hand at his hip.

Sephiroth tugs at his cuffs unhappily and bows his head, saying nothing. That's a no then.

Well. As weird as it is that memory loss gave Sephiroth the kick he needed to exercise some self-care, Genesis isn't about to look a gift chocobo in the talons. "I'll mail you the details of the shop where I got mine. They don't do mail order, everything is bespoke, but well worth the effort."

"Mn. My thanks," Sephiroth says, considers his gloves, and pushes them into a pocket. He then picks up his sword, and holds it by its sheath at his side. "Shall we?"

"You know Lazard isn't going to be happy about this," Angeall comments idly, putting the trash in the garbage. "I'm pretty sure he banned us from using the training room, permanently."

"What he doesn't know can't come to bite us in the ass," Genesis says dismissively. "And besides, we're supposed to be evaluating Sephiroth! Surely we must be thorough about it."

Angeal shakes his head, amused, and looks at Sephiroth, now fully dressed, with a shirt. He looks relieved. "Let's go."

They head out, Sephiroth trailing after them and clearly trying to cover up the fact that he has no idea where they're going.

"Floors 49 to 51 are dedicated to the SOLDIER program," Genesis says, once they're safely in the elevator. "49 is training and equipment, 50 has a gym and gear storage, and 51 is SOLDIER offices - Lazard office is up there too. We're heading to 49, where the training room is."

Catching his meaning, Angeal adds, "Floor 49 also has a briefing room, it's where we acquire most of our missions."

Sephiroth looks at them sideways through his bangs silently for a moment before nodding ever so slightly. "I see."

He really doesn't remember any of it? Damn. "You don't usually hang around on the SOLDIER floors, outside receiving missions," Genesis says, looking at Angeal and arching his brows. "You're not usually around much."

"Mn."

"I think you go to the Record's sometimes in your down time," Abgeal offers, clearing his throat and arching his brows to Genesis. "Floor 58. It houses the Shinra public archives."

"Well, public," Genesis says, shrugging. "You need a keycard to access it and a high enough security level to actually take anything out, and of course none of the really classified files are accessible. And their drama section is abysmal."

Sephiroth hums, looking between them suspiciously. "A library, then?"

"If you want to call it that. Midgar Public Library has better variety - and a little less propaganda - but I imagine you've never been," Genesis sniffs and looks at him.

"Ah," Sephiroth says, wary.

"You'd be swarmed there," Genesis clarifies. "By the grateful and adoring public."

Sephiroth shifts his weight at that and says nothing, looking uncomfortable.

Angeal hides how troubled he is well as he faces Sephiroth, but Genesis can hear it in his voice. "The cafeteria, by the way, is on floor 61," he says. "It's not usually too bad, and people tend to leave members from other departments alone."

"Or you can pay the cafeteria staff under the table to deliver," Genesis muses and looks up as the elevator comes to a stall. "Right, I'll go see that the coast is clear. Angeal -"

"We'll just wait here," Angeal says, knowing, and looks at Sephiroth - who is very much not ready to be jumped on by an excited baby SOLDIER asking for pointers.

"Then off I go, to face the beasts," Genesis says and sets forth.

It's a well-practised routine at this point, to subtly chase away any wayward SOLDIER Second Class members from the training room. Mostly it just involves him walking in and making his presence known - Seconds tend to know to make way.

Thirds are trickier, because they're often too new to know better - but SOLDIER Third Classes don't have access to the training room anyway.

"Genesis, sir," a Second Class he's sometimes trained with, Kunsel, sidles up to him. "It's it true? About Sephiroth?"

Well, at least he knows to keep his voice down. "Is what true about Sephiroth?" Genesis asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I heard he was hanging around in Injections," Kunsel says carefully and adds, "In The Restroom?"

It really took them only a day, huh.

"Sephiroth? In The Restroom? Really," Genesis says as though excited and leans in. "When? Did someone see him?"

"Um, yesterday?" the Second Class says, also leaning in a little. "It was one of the Third Classes."

"... Oh," Genesis answers, affecting disappointment. "I see. Well, I'm pretty sure Sephiroth was at home yesterday."

"... Really?"

"Saw him myself," Genesis assures him with a shake of his head and rests a hand at his hip. "You said it was a Third Class who spotted him? Well. I wouldn't want to call them a liar, but… they were probably coming out of the procedure themselves. And you know how it is with Mako injections."

Kunsel hums in thought, looking a little troubled. "I do, sir," he says and shakes his head. "It did seem a bit weird."

"You should talk to the Third," Genesis says. "They're probably really convinced they saw something, and maybe they did - but it still wouldn't do to spread stories like that. That's only good for ruining someone's reputation."

"No sir, you're right. I'll talk to him," the Second Class says seriously and nods. "I'll take care of it."

"Good man - maybe take them out on some easy mission, get their mind off it," and get them out of the building for a bit. "It's not their fault. Mako plays tricks on us all."

With Kunsel and hopefully the rumours thus fended off, the coast to the training room is clear. Genesis heads to the elevators, where Angeal is casually poking at the floor button 

"Showtime," Genesis says and looks at Sephiroth. "Time to see if you're still worthy of being a Hero."

Sephiroth clenches his hand around Masamune's sheath and gives him a weird look. "A hero?" he asks incredulously. "Me?"

… Oh. That's…

"Don't worry," Angeal says quickly, clapping Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We'll help you remember." But he looks worried too.

"Or else, take your place," Genesis says, but the taunt lacks its usual sting as he shares a look with Angeal.

This… might be even worse than they thought.

-

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss; Genesis.