#seems kind of dramatic for the tower to be struck by lighting and IMMEDIATELY be on fire

[carniekisses]

imagine playing the 21 card trick on a tarot card deck but it turns out your card sucks, so the fun passtime becomes a disquieting omen

[ickle-ronniekins]

tangled up

request: from nonnie! “love those sharing a bed tropes... not saying you should do it but you should definitely do it”

pairing: fred x fem!gryffindor!reader

word count: 2.3k

A/N: ummmmmm love this request, i'm in suuuucch a fred mood lately

warning(s): brief mention of war, ~implied sexual content~ i suppose

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @keoghans @dreamer821 @wtfweasleyy @62442-am @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro | message me to be added loves!

The cool October air had a bit of a bite to it -- it seemed as though Bill and Fleur’s wedding was ages ago. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders to reduce the chill in your bones.

Suddenly two redheaded figures appeared with a pop! onto the field outside of your home. By what you could see, they’d apparated just before the line of protective enchantments -- a type of advanced magic only a very intelligent wizard could do.

“Bloody hell -- you’re a life saver, you know that?” George exclaimed as he finally reached you, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “I couldn’t be there for one more moment.”

Fred rolled his eyes and explained, “He means at Auntie Muriel’s. Being a bit overdramatic, are we, George?”

The elder twin shot his younger brother a look of amusement as George dropped his bag onto the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “Overdramatic? Tell me, Fred, would you like to go back?”

Fred then draped an arm across your shoulder and peered at his brother. “And reject our best mate’s offer to spend time at her lovely home? That would be so rude.” George swore he saw his twin shudder a bit, no doubt at the thought of returning to their Auntie Muriel’s to endure more yelling and criticism. George shot him a very sardonic look, and laughed lightly.

“Glad you two decided to come -- it’ll be nice having someone else in the house. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in months,” you waved your wand to pull three teacups from the kitchen cupboard and started the kettle. You felt a sense of ease at having your two closest friends here. “Should be alright out here, at least for a while.”

Fred glimpsed around your tiny little house. It was small, but exceptionally tidy with a very cozy feeling to it. It looked much different than the Burrow, but still emanated that feeling of home. “Lovely place you’ve got.”

“Thanks, Freddie,” you replied, handing him a steaming cup of tea. He gingerly took it out of your hands. “Just one problem.”

The twins chorused together, “What?”

“I’ve only got one extra bed.”

If the room hadn’t gone so eerily still at your comment, you never would have noticed the small jab to the hip George gave his twin. Fred grunted a bit and stifled a cough. “Oh, no worry -- George already said he’ll take the floor.”

Fred earned himself an eye roll and another jab.

You waved them both off and blew on your tea. “Don’t be silly! I’ll take the floor. You two’ve just got to battle it out for who gets the bigger bed.”

As if on queue, George immediately hoisted his bag back over his shoulder. He began walking away and pointed toward your very tiny spare bedroom off of the kitchen. “This one here, yeah? Thanks again, Y/N, really appreciate you letting us escape the wrath of our aunt -- I’m absolutely knackered, hope you two don’t mind if I turn in!” and with a quick wave to you and Fred, George closed the door and you both almost immediately heard very loud snoring. You and Fred exchanged a laugh.

You made sure everything was in order for Fred before leading him to your room. But you noticed he hadn’t brought his stuff with him -- you saw his belongings near your front door. With a wave of your wand, you brought it forward.

“I’m really okay to sleep on the couch,” he told you, pointing back toward the front.

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the couch,” you replied, shaking your head. “Besides -- you’re not staying out there. I might be a bit dramatic, but the couch is too close to the windows and the front door, and though I’ve been safe here for a while..” you voice trailed off a bit, and you swallowed down the nerves bubbling up inside of you. “Just -- we never know where the Death Eaters are. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

You patted Fred’s shoulder, ready to head back out to your front room, when he took your wrist in his hand and whirled you back around to face him. “If I’m not allowed to take the couch, neither are you.”

You crossed your arms and swallowed. “Fine,” you replied with a grin. “Have got tons of extra pillows and a massive blanket here somewhere -- let me go and fetch it. Go on then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Merlin, you are being thick today,” Fred chuckled, and you noticed traces of the young boy you grew to love. He caressed small circles on the back of your hand. “Would you just sleep in your own bed?”

“But --” your breath caught in your throat. You glanced at your own bed, easily big enough for two, maybe even three, and went against your better judgement before you could overthink it. “Just share with me, then. Nobody takes the floor.”

A hint of nervousness flashed across his features before twisting into a cheeky grin. You continued on when he stayed silent, “What’s the matter, Freddie? You’ve been my best mate for the better half of the last twenty years. I mean, I’ve seen you in your bunny slippers, for Merlin’s sake --” Fred flinched uncomfortably at the memory of you catching him, late one evening in Gryffindor tower, in bunny slippers his mum had knitted for him as a child. You had never let him forget it.

His grin deepened alongside the crimson red colour of his cheeks. “Listen, woman, they are soft and keep me nice and toasty, alright?”

“Whatever you say,” you replied before sliding yourself underneath your warm blanket. You patted the other side of the bed in an accidental sensual way and realized how that must’ve come across. You quickly cleared your throat and turned off the light before you could see his reaction. “Erm -- there are extra pillows on the couch if you need.”

You felt his body slide in next to yours, and you could still make out some of his facial features from the faint light of the lightning strikes outside. He was definitely still grinning. “I’m fine, really.”

You figured out quite quickly that neither of you were able to sleep, especially because it was only eleven p.m. and because of the wild wind and rain that were howling outside of your window. The words were spilling out of you before you could help it. “Fred?”

He turned on his side to face you. “Yeah?”

You were laying on your back, looking up at your ceiling in the darkness. “Are you afraid?”

When he didn’t answer right away, you turned your head to face him too. Each time the lightning struck it was bright and vibrant, and highlighted his features in a more intimate way than ever before. He threaded his brows together and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I am.”

It was weirdly comforting hearing him say that he was afraid. The man who didn’t have a serious bone in his body was actually scared. It was strange and unnerving and brought a sense of solace to you all at once.

You sucked in a breath, worried that your normal evening anxiety would show solely through the look in your eyes. You turned away to glance toward the ceiling again when you felt Fred brush his fingers gently against yours under the covers. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“I think it’ll be okay though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I suppose I can’t..” it was so weird, hearing him speak like this. He shifted again. “I just think.. we’re more prepared than before. Think there’s more of us this time. Besides, we’ve done our studying, and we’re all brilliant wizards.”

A smile tugged at the edges of your mouth. “You are kind of brilliant.”

“Wow,” he breathed, and it was almost a whisper. You noticed the way the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Care to return the compliment first?”

“Hang on,” he replied, placing his hands behind his head in a bit of a relaxed state. “I need to bask in this for a moment.”

“Oh shove off, you git!”

You playfully swatted him before he retaliated. Soon enough you were both sitting upright, thwacking one another with pillows and laughing into the darkness of the night. Fred fell to the floor with a dull thump, and you stifled lots of giggles and shushed him as he slid back into bed next to you. “You’re going to wake up George!”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were swatting at one another. It could’ve been hours, or perhaps days. But then the storm grew more fierce, and you found yourself scooting closer to him in bed. Fred always had a way of making you forget about everything going on around you. It was always surprising to you how you’d be able to drown out the rest of the world, as long as you listened to him talk, or as long as you watched him work on his inventions with gentle hands. Even in lessons, back in school, when he’d teasingly wink at you from across the classroom, you were pretty much rendered completely useless for the rest of the day. When it was just you and him, the rest of the world might as well not even exist.

He must’ve noticed how you zoned out, because he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

You turned on your side to face him fully this time. “Just reminiscing.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“Remember when we bumped into one another in the corridors during our fourth year -- I was sneaking sweets up from the kitchens, and you were attempting to sneak into one of the classrooms to finish working on inventions?” You smiled at the memory. “And then Filch was roaming around, and we nearly got caught?”

Fred laughed. You were happy that he remembered. “Never sprinted back to the common room so quickly in my life. That ruddy cat of his was clawing at my ankles.”

“Between the fact that I’d hardly gotten any sleep that night and the adrenaline rush, I was bloody exhausted.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, you fell asleep in the armchair next to the fire almost immediately when we returned and began to snore rather loudly, if my memory serves me correct.”

You grinned, not skipping a beat. “Yeah, my snoring is almost as embarrassing as those slippers of yours.”

You expected him to groan and throw another pillow in your direction, but instead he just deepened his smile and reached out and placed his hand next to yours on the edge of his pillow, your fingers almost touching. “I dunno -- I thought it was cute.”

You really hoped the steady drumbeat sound of your heart was drowned out by the sounds of the thunder outside. You weren’t so sure though. “Yeah?”

He wet his lips and nodded. “I remember having to wake you up because it was nearly four a.m. -- fire had died out and you looked so uncomfortable in that armchair -- I just wanted to carry you upstairs. Except..” Yeah, jinxes by the professors at each respective staircase. Boys weren’t allowed in the girls dorms, and vice versa. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you, so you gently moved your fingers a few centimeters before you slowly intertwined them with his. He didn’t flinch. Your voice was softer than you expected. “What else do you remember about that night?”

It was an opening -- you didn’t want to be so blatantly obvious about it, but Fred could always read you like a book. You hoped he still could, after all these years. Luckily for the both of you, nothing had changed. He took the opening. “I remember wanting to kiss you.”

You bit your lip, hoping to suppress the nerves that were bubbling up inside of you like fizzy champagne.

Fred laughed cheekily. “Never got a chance, though.”

Before you could think more on it, you nudged his leg with your toes and scooted closer to him. You could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, you were so close. “Then kiss me now.”

His mouth parted slightly in surprise, but nevertheless he inched forward and caught your lips with his. They were soft -- softer than you ever could have imagined, and so was the kiss itself. He tasted faintly of mint, and and you found yourself breathing in deeper when he trailed one solitary finger across your jawline and down your neck. The feel of him against you warmed up your entire body in a way that the common room fire never could.

He sighed against your lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Mmm we should’ve been doing this the entire time,”

You laughed softly and brought your fingers to your lips, hoping to still feel that electricity. “Yeah, we probably should have.”

All thoughts of the war seemed to subside as he leant in to kiss you again. Somehow, being with him, your limbs entangled together -- it was enough to make you forget about the war on the horizon, everything that was about to happen. As far as you were concerned, as long as Fred was beside you, tangled in the covers of your bed, everything would be alright.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice was rough and sensual and soft all at the same time as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for inviting me to sleep in your bed.”

You grinned and raked your bottom lip through your teeth. “Yeah, well, like you said -- we should’ve been doing this the entire time. Figured I’d get a jump start on what we’ve missed.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around your hips. Goosebumps sprouted on your skin as he lazily trailed his fingers up and down your spine and told you, “Knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

[ab1tofsp1ce]

A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 7: Someone Else Again

Masterlist HERE

A/N: A special thank you to @mandos-things​ for your kind message, so here’s the next part!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Just some fluff (and a little bit of angst)

Description: Finally, you both reach Kistern - now what?

“Okay, but you have to promise me something,” I said, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” He grumbled slightly when he asked that question.

“Don’t… don’t open your mouth.”

“Why would I do that,” he asked incredulously.

“Just – just don’t, okay? I really don’t want to get my fingers in your mouth.”

“And what would make you think I would want your fingers in my mouth?”

I sighed exasperatedly, although with light-hearted intentions. “Never mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

I reached my arms out, feeling around the air as I shuffled forward until my right hand bumped into his shoulder. From there, I anchored myself by grabbing his other one with my left hand. They felt stocky and warm under my grasp; the only thing separating his skin from mine was a thin shirt. I let out a playfully dramatic sigh, shaking myself slightly, and then began to trace up his shoulders to his collarbones, then his neck, his jaw, and finally I was cupping his face in my hands. He had a ragged stubble that scratched my fingers slightly, and I smiled and hummed contentedly at the feeling under my palms. I tickled my fingers slowly up the side of his face to his eyes, to which he grunted and muttered something about how I was poking him. His eyelashes were surprisingly long, and I could feel his skin was aged, yet still smooth – probably as it was consistently hidden from sunlight. I traced down the center of his cheeks, past his nose, and to his lips, which I ran my thumb over gently. At this, I felt two hands snake their way onto my hips, and he peppered a small kiss onto my fingertips.

“Why did you want to do this?”

I didn’t answer right away, because truthfully, I wasn’t sure how best to word it without sounding ungrateful or cold. So, I deflected.

“What do you mean?”

“You could just look at my face, if you wanted.”

“Is that what you want,” I asked. I didn’t want to pretend I knew what he wanted, but I had my suspicions.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” He sounded so dejected, and what made it worse was how he also sounded brutally honest.

“Did you want to take it off?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes. But I had to.”

“Well, if you were forced – ”

“No,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “I wasn’t forced. I wanted to, but it was more than that. I – I needed to.”

I nodded. I appreciated what he was trying to say, and it didn’t take a genius to see it was hard for him to articulate. He was doing a better job than I was, standing here like an idiot not knowing how to explain myself without sounding like a bitch.

“The truth is, I’m scared,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared that once I open my eyes it’ll be real.”

“Would that be so bad?” I knew what he wanted me to say by asking that question, and so I felt guilty that I knew my answer right away.

“Yes, because I can’t stay here. In a few hours we’ll be on Kistern, and then I’ll go my way and you’ll go yours and… if I see your face, I don’t think I could ever do that. And I know that I have to do. So…”

“So, you can’t,” he sighed, and I felt a hand leave my waist and caress my cheek slightly. He understood.

“No. No, I can’t.”

His weight shifted and there was a momentary puff of his breath against my face before his lips came into contact with mine. It was a gentle kiss, as delicate and precarious as this all felt right now. It was a cruel trick of the universe, that just as I finally found a home, I would have to leave it. Right now, he felt so far away from the man in the suit of armor – it was hard to even believe they were the same person.

He pulled away slowly, as if it was a chore, and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek before starting to move behind me. But I grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and, eyes still closed, pulled myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He obliged, in turn doing the same, and with my head in his chest I could smell him so clearly. It was something warm, like a foreign spice of sorts, mixed with rich woody tones and salt, like what I imagined the ocean to smell like. I felt him bury his face in my hair and sigh deeply, rocking me slightly with his overbearing frame. We stood like that for a while, and I soaked up every second of it, knowing when I let go, he would go and adorn his armor and be someone else again. Out there, he would be the Mandalorian but here, in my arms, he could be Din.

I tried to pretend it didn’t affect me. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, I allowed my focus to be enveloped by the view of my new home, rather than the dread of leaving what I had. As we jumped out of hyperspace, I got my first look at Kistern. What struck me as new and strange was the number of other ships around us. Larger stations orbited the planet, and I had never seen so many New Republic ships before.

As we came into the planet, there was a buzz through the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, this is landing tower 5, you need clearance to land on Kistern. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian leaned down and pressed something before responding to the call.

“Landing tower 5, this is D50 Genesis. I have a passenger with eligible refugee status, and I am the accompanying chaperone.”

There was a crackling pause over the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, may I please speak to the refugee?”

The Mandalorian looked over at me, nodding his slightly as a gesture for me to speak up. “Uh, yes?”

“Am I speaking with the refugee,” the woman asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Do you have your completed paperwork?”

“Yes.”

There was another brief pause.

“D50 Genesis, you're cleared for landing on terminal 14. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian shuffled forward in his seat as I sat back down.

“This is D50 Genesis, I copy. Over and out.” The intercom switched silent.

I paused, feeling suddenly how loud my heart was beating. I couldn’t believe it. I was finally here, about to land. I felt only apprehension.

“How long do you get on Kistern,” I asked him. “I mean, I’m assuming they don’t just let you wander free down there.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, staring forward as we entered the atmosphere. “I’ll take as long as I can get.”

I leaned back into my seat and stared at the roof of the ship, swallowing hard. He said it so calmly, like nothing had happened between us. How could someone feel so close to me and yet so far away? He didn’t even seem to care.

Part of me wanted to ask him, but the truth was that wouldn’t be fair. Because if he asked me the same question, I would be completely clueless. I wasn’t sure what to do, or what I wanted from him. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything he could give me. What would I do, trek around the galaxy with a bounty hunter? Not that he would ever want me to…

The ramp lowered and we were greeted by an officer, flanked by two guards. All three seemed rather taken aback at the sight of a Mandalorian escorting me down from the ship, although seemed to withhold any reaction.

“Welcome to Kistern,” said the officer, his eyes sliding from the Mandalorian to myself. “Can I see your papers?”

I dug around in my rucksack before producing a few slightly crumpled documents. The officer pilfered through them, occasionally looking up at each of us, almost skeptically.

“These are in order,” he said at last. “You can come with me to get your authorizations. We’ll, uh, give you two a moment.” His voice was laced with unease.

“Hold on,” I said, frantically. “He… you’re not sending him away, are you?”

The officer turned back to me with an eyebrow raised. “Well, he can’t stay… surely you know that. He has no jurisdiction on Kistern.”

“Can’t you make an exception,” I stammered, getting a bit desperate. “Just for… just for a couple of days? I – I just…” I could see the officer wasn’t buying it, so I reached over and took the Mandalorian’s gloved hand in mine. I could feel him tense up slightly under my touch, but he didn’t react. I pulled out my best desperate expression. “Please. I’ll never… I’ll never see him again.” Well, it wasn’t a lie.

The officer sighed. “I can give you 24 hours, no more. Come with me.” As he turned away, I exchanged a look with the Mandalorian, who seemed a little baffled. “Uh, thanks.”

“Hopefully it’s enough time…” I said, diverting my gaze and slowly letting go of his hand. “It’s better than nothing,” he admitted. “Come on,” he gestured, and I followed him after the officer.

Apparently, Kalbier had known nothing about Kistern, although this didn’t surprise me. The planet was not desertous like Yak’ish Temeen, and in fact, couldn’t be further from it. The city we were in was covered with a grey, dull sky, and was bordering a large ocean. The air was salty and somewhat humid and smelt of oil and smoke. The only immediate similarities I noticed between my home planet and this one was the variety of creatures inhabiting it. Once again, like that outpost on Utaran, many of them seemed to stare at us as we walked past, and I kept my eyes trained to the ground as best as I could.

We were taken to the New Republic’s post, where I was given a starting balance of 500 credits and keys to a lodging to which I had access to for four weeks. Their behavior was curt and professional, and I had to bite my tongue so as to not make my resentment apparent. I blamed them in part for what had happened on Yak’ish Temeen, and after everything they hadn’t done, they still treated me with civil disregard. I couldn’t be more pleased to get out of there.

The Mandalorian escorted me through the city streets; tall metallic buildings that created thin and crowded alleyways and backstreets. The streets were muddy and well-trodden, and the place was far less than pleasant.

“Kistern is notorious for pirates,” said the Mandalorian, placing a hand gently on my lower back to guide me through the crowds. “No wonder the New Republic wanted to get it under control as quickly as possible. But that doesn’t make it impenetrable. I’m sure there are plenty of pirates who would love to get back on this planet. Like our friends on Utaran…”

I tried to focus on what he was saying, which was valuable information, but I could only feel his gloved hand gently resting on my skin as we shuffled through the alleys.

We finally reached the lodgings, a dilapidated multistorey apartment covered in graffiti and adorned with flags and washing lines that hung out the windows between the buildings.

Inside, the room was small and minimally furnished. I walked over to the opposite wall and looked out the window, which boasted a view of the city sloping down to the docks. I heard the door shut and lock behind me.

“Keep the door and windows locked at all times,” said the Mandalorian. “And don’t stay in this town longer than you need to. I’ve heard there are far safer cities inland, and ones where your skills will be useful.”

I turned around and leaned against the windowsill, looking over at him. He was by the door, and there was something passive about the way he stood; he was trying to distract me from asking.

“Can I… what if I came with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“To find your… the person you’re looking for. You only have 24 hours here, surely you could use some help?” I knew my voice sounded desperate, but it was hard to hide how I was really feeling.

“No,” he said, with a tone of finality. I knew it was pointless trying to convince him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

“I’m not entirely useless,” I said, rather unconvincingly. “I’m sure there could be something –”

He interrupted me with a morose sigh, looking down at the ground. “Of course you’re not useless, but you’ll only tie me down while I’m out there.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster. Ouch. I tried to hide the pain in my voice, but he noticed, looking up at me.

“I didn’t mean it like –”

“It’s okay, really,” I said, mostly meaning it. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about doing what you do.”

He sighed. “What I meant was I’d worry too much. I wouldn’t be able to focus if you were with me…”

It still hurt, hearing what I already knew. It made me realize how starkly different we were and snapped me back into the harsh reality of our situation.

“Well,” I said, gathering what composure I had left. “I don’t want to keep you here. You’d… you’d better get going.” I avoided the eye contact he was so intensely trying to give me. He seemed to take a hint, and slowly turned for the door.

I couldn’t hold back. “Will you – will you come back to say goodbye?” He didn’t need to be looking at me to hear my pain as I choked on my words. I felt stupid, bleating it out like a child, but at the same time, I didn’t care.

“I’ll try,” he said. And then he was gone.

[dayurno]

and #12 since ur so [REDACTED]

send me a kiss and i’ll write a short fic based on it 

this is my formal reply to @mugglebeans'​ post about kandrew + edens + helium by glass animals. also i love you lizzie 

12 - Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

Andrew knows every dark alley and hidden corner of Eden’s Twilight. 

Which is to say —  he never forgot. His mapping of the place started at seventeen years old: with so many people around, and so many older men he worked with, Andrew needed to know his every escape route in the case they’d one day be needed. Eden’s is a confusing building when it’s bathed under the neon nothing of a Friday night, but Andrew has adapted over the years, his vision nothing short of perfect as he pushes through a staff door and finds himself on a narrow hallway that branches into the break room (empty and unusable; Roland still uses it for stocking after all of these years) and the office, where most of the staff goes for their actual breaks in light of the misuse of the former. 

Kevin’s footsteps from behind him are heavy; inelegant; unlike anything Andrew has ever heard from him before. He’s not drunk —  can’t take his drink well, that’s for sure, but not drunk —, but he is agitated: from the dancing, Andrew supposes, or the thousand or so hands that tried to grab at him as he was dragged away from the dance floor, all of them slapped away by Andrew, who’d rather not have to put up with this again any time soon. 

When they stop by the break room, Kevin’s back leaning against the locked door as he regains his breath, Andrew barely has the mind to look away from the rise and fall of his chest, white dress shirt stained red (It’s wine, Kevin told him when Andrew had immediately dragged him down to check for wounds, it’s okay. It’s just wine.) like a portrait of his own bleeding passion, overwhelming and all-consuming even in something as trivial as dancing.

Andrew should’ve known this would be a problem, but then again, he always found chaos more interesting. 

“What are we doing here?” Kevin prompts, thick eyebrows furrowing. He towers —  he always does —, but he imposes no threat: Andrew thinks it’s infinitely comical that a man this large is capable of so little harm. 

Andrew is no fan of lies, but the circumstances call for one. He’s not sure what he’d even say —  I came to the conclusion that I want you more than I thought I did, Kevin. How’s that for you? —, because out of everyone Andrew knows, Kevin would be the most likely to believe a lie so long as it came from his mouth.  

So trusting. Andrew hates it. 

Adores it, too. 

When Andrew says nothing, too busy considering the foul ways of his psyche, Kevin’s frown deepens. “Are we going to fight?” he asks, lips loose from the shots he’d downed with Aaron back when the night started. “Why?”

“Not fight,” Andrew disagrees, because, for one, he’d gotten past the time when pushing Kevin up against a wall meant starting a fight. 

“Oh,” Kevin replies, though his frown is immovable. It never isn’t. Kevin is nowhere near the image of a soft, kind, easily-pleased lover —  whenever Andrew looks over in his direction, Kevin is always stressed about one thing or another, the visual depiction of untreated and piled up anxiety disorders.

There is another side of him, a side Andrew very much prefers: the side that looks up at Andrew, dark hair sprawled over the white of his pillows, and does something that is almost a smile, except Andrew wouldn’t know, because it is so genuine it barely looks like Kevin.

A smile Andrew has never seen before, until he did, and then it was like he couldn’t stop seeing it. 

A smile Kevin never seems to show anyone. A smile that is untouched by the polish of fame. A smile that only happens in moments like these, when Andrew gets him alone and something inside of Kevin shifts. A smile —  that is Andrew’s, and no one else’s.

Andrew tugs him down by the collar of his dress shirt to smooth over the frown on his face with the pad of his thumb, and Kevin’s hands stutter before gracefully sliding down his pockets, his left slower than his right. He doesn’t let Andrew touch it —  doesn’t let anyone but Abby even come close to it since the cast came off, a few weeks ago —, but he doesn’t hide it from Andrew’s eyes like he does to the others, quiet permission that piles up with the thousand or so little vulnerabilities Kevin had offered him ever since they struck their deal.

“You cannot dance anymore,” is what Andrew murmurs, at last, face closer to Kevin’s than it has been in the past weeks. So much for no strings attached, Andrew thinks to himself, his knuckles almost burning with longing as they brush against Kevin’s neck. 

Kevin frowns again, and Andrew smooths it over more insistently this time. Smile, he almost wants to say, but the feeling is overpowered by the white noise in his chest. “That’s—” Kevin starts, not above a whisper, “that’s—  It meant… Nothing. Andrew. Why?”

“What meant nothing?”

“Those people,” Kevin easily replies, his face doing something weird to keep him from frowning. “You don’t have to—  forbid me from dancing. I wouldn’t do anything with anyone on that dance floor.” Then, more quietly, “Not with anyone that’s not you.”

“Oh?” Andrew whispers, his mouth so close to Kevin’s the air between them tingles. “How sweet of you,” he deadpans. “You still can’t dance anymore.”

He presses his lips together, looking over Andrew’s shoulder for a second before inquiring, “Why?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“This is—  I like dancing.”

“Yes,” Andrew agrees, unhelpful as he is, and lets his mouth brush against Kevin’s. It sets him ablaze, the softness of it, his teeth aching with the urge to rasp over the puffy center of Kevin’s lips, pliant and tender like only a few parts of Kevin are. “And yet I am not a fan of people touching what is mine. I don’t share, Kevin. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Kevin’s breath stutters. “I’m not…”

“Mine?” he guesses, reaching a hand to carefully trace the slope of Kevin’s cupid bow. “You really are naive.”

“Your pet,” Kevin concludes, eyes darting downwards to Andrew’s fingers before meeting his eyes again. “I’m not your pet.”

“I never said you were.”

Kevin hesitates, then, almost imperceptibly, gulps. Andrew watches his Adam’s apple bob up, and it’s an event —  everything Kevin does is an event. “What do you want, Andrew?” he asks, his tone impatient though the way he shivers suggests otherwise. “Remember what I told you: ask, and I’ll tell you if you can have it.”

Condescending, surely —  but so close to Andrew’s mouth, and so beautiful, and looking rather willing to stay for a little longer, so maybe Andrew can overlook it. “Yes,” he prompts, “or no?”

And while Andrew is used to Kevin’s anxiously pondering over his every decision, this time the answer is quick and firm. “Yes,” Kevin says, crossing his hands behind his back. 

He does that —  both because he wants Andrew to know that he won’t touch, and because he does not like it when anyone grabs him by the wrist, memories of Riko Andrew can’t contest. 

Andrew tugs him down harder, and Kevin’s mouth opens before their lips have even connected. Giving and taking; pushing and pulling; the constant rise and fall of the tide that is the two of them, a dramatic opera Andrew knows Kevin loves with his every other muscle. 

Kevin’s lower back hits the door a bit roughly, and Andrew tongues against his lower lip apologetically before putting off everything in the world that’s not the overwhelming heat coming off of Kevin in waves, the two of them tucked away into a corner of the world where no one else lives. Nicky and Aaron will ask —  they always do, when Andrew and Kevin disappear —, but he thinks the quiet, barely perceptible blush in Kevin’s cheeks is always worth it.

In the end, it always comes back to this: everything Andrew wants, though not much, Kevin lets him have it. 

He ends up thinking that getting what you want when you ask for it is an odd, rather uncanny feeling, but it is one Andrew can learn how to get used to.     

[spicysoftsweet]

Rookie Crush Pt. 2 (Indoor Sin) - Tonpa x Chrollo **NSFW**

A/N: It turns out Tonpa x Illumi wasn’t forever. Also, please don’t unfollow me. 

Part 1 here

---

Tonpa’s life had changed dramatically to say the least.

After receiving the dicking down of a lifetime right before the 35th Hunter Exam officially began and again while in Trick Tower (his bulbous nose darkened into a dusky red color just thinking about it), he’d expected nothing more from those entanglements only to receive a text message from an unknown number as he began the long way home after failing, yet again. 

Illumi wanted to see him again, and Tonpa was on Cloud 9.

Aside from his admittedly sparse visits filled with short, intense bouts of passion -  Illumi was a busy man after all - he showered him with gifts, more than he could ever want. Tonpa, however, was wise enough to know nothing could come out long-term from such an arrangement, as Illumi was much younger and could obviously do better. Tonpa thought highly of himself but he wasn’t stupid, despite what others thought. 

Tonpa contented himself with accepting Illumi’s gifts wholeheartedly, in however way, shape or incredibly sexy form they came in. There was a finality to this “relationship,” if you could even call it that. So Tonpa decided to milk it for what it was worth.

“Lumi?” Tonpa spoke up, raising himself onto his elbows from where he lay by the assassin to watch his beautiful lover from the side.

“Mm?” Illumi continued to stare at the ceiling blankly. Illumi’s unreadable expression had terrified him the first few times, and Tonpa worried that Illumi was (appropriately) regretting his decision to be with him, but by now he recognized this as what Illumi looked like at baseline. Illumi’s gaze slid to him, and Tonpa lightly dragged a finger up and down his muscular chest.

“Have you heard of the YorkNew City Auction? I would like to go… if it’s not too much to ask.” 

---

Illumi worked the magic of cold, hard cash, and to Tonpa’s elation, he was now seated among the rich and the famous, clad in a fitted suit that cost much more than his entire life savings. The only thing that put a damper on this very moment in time was the fact that Illumi had declined to come with him, stating that he had an important mission to complete during that time. Tonpa decided not to be upset and focus on the here and now. 

Unfortunately for him, in mere hours was a siege of the entire auction, and Tonpa found himself fleeing and taking cover. Fear coursed through him, and while he hoped and prayed his Lumi would come to his rescue, he was also thankful his love was not involved. If Tonpa were to die today, he would die a happy man anyway.

As he ran into a secluded building, serendipity struck a second time.

Tonpa stopped in his tracks as he turned a corner into a room, and saw the most horrifying sight he’d ever seen. A man dismembered against a wall, not bleeding but breathing, and not whimpering in pain despite looking as though large chunks had been bitten out of his body. Tonpa unintentionally let out a gasp, and the man’s eyes shifted to look right at him.

“Help… me…” 

The soft iridescent glow coming from the room faded immediately, and Tonpa heard footsteps coming towards the door while the man who had cried for help breathed his last breath. Tonpa turned on his heels to run like hell again, only to hear a calm, yet firm voice.

“Stop right there.”

Tonpa froze in his tracks, his stomach turning.

“Turn around and face me.”

Tonpa turned 180 degrees and gazed into the gray, curious eyes of the most beautiful man he had ever met. Even with the soft glow of Chrollo Lucilfer’s Indoor Fish fading, the lights of the city under siege streamed through the glass, giving Lucilfer the look of an angel. Chrollo’s draw was magnetic and Tonpa’s feet stayed planted to the floor. 

He should be running. But instead, the angel extended a hand to Tonpa and smiled with gleaming, white teeth as their palms touched.

“Your name?”

“T-Tonpa.” A warmth spread over his cheeks again, somehow still apparent in the dark of the room by the Chrollo’s confident smirk. 

“Chrollo Lucilfer. Pleased to meet you. May I have this dance?” Chrollo drew the shorter man’s behind him by the arm without really waiting for a response, and with a flip of the pages of a book in his other hand, music seemed to fill the room, along with the same iridescent glow as before.

Tonpa looked up around him in awe as he spun around in the room with the angel of destruction, the man he already knew would threaten his already tenuous relationship. Beautiful sea fauna of all types and shapes and colors swam in the air above them, giving the room the look of the most exquisite aquarium, the two waltzing together on its sea floor.

“Indoor Fish,” Chrollo informed him, his gray eyes still posed on the man with a charisma, as intense but wildly different from that Illumi Zoldyck possessed the day they first met. 

Illumi. His Lumi would be hurt.

But regardless they continued to dance, Chrollo’s left hand interlaced with his, and his right pressing on the small of his back into him.

“Do you belong to anyone?” Chrollo whispered as they continued to wade the room with the indoor fish.

And Tonpa lied. “No.”

Was it really a lie?

Chrollo’s lips pressed to his once, a soft peck, before whispering, 

“Good. I wouldn’t have cared regardless.”

In seconds, Chrollo seemed to transform from the kind, gentle angel to the devil himself, his Indoor Fish swarming as though in tune with the fiery lust inside. And then the two of them hastily undressed, Tonpa pulling off Chrollo’s jacket, then shirt, then pants, stopping only for a moment to stare at the meal before him, before he bent over to take Chrollo’s erect cock in his mouth. 

He’d done this so many times for Illumi but with Chrollo, this act was different. His touch was tender and he didn’t move with the inconsiderate haste Illumi did at times; even his taste was different. Maybe it was the effect of the promise of a new beginning but Chrollo seemed to appear like a saving grace. His comparatively warm, slender fingers running through his hair as Tonpa bobbed up and down reassured him so.

When Tonpa rose, Chrollo slowly backed him against the wide window displaying the skyline but rather than forcing him facefirst as Illumi had, he slowly entered him, facing him the entire time, his lips nipping softly on his neck.

“I’ll take care of you like no one else has,” Chrollo promised.

What a promise to give someone you’ve just met, Tonpa thought. But at least for now, as he felt their bodies pressed together. He decided to believe it.

[aphelioo]

Quiet Festival Night

((another one shot based on a prompt from @sydneygremlins, thank you darling!!))

Geralt could see the glowing lights of the bustling city ahead in the darkening evening, having just rode in after fulfilling a contract. Thrown over the back of Roach behind him was the corpse of a Kikimora, a creature he found annoyingly common. He usually had to take a potion to fight well enough to kill it without incapacitating himself for a week, unless they were young and reckless, like the one strung over Roach now. To his side was Jaskier, loyally at his heels as usual. The feisty little bard had been with him for about thirty years now, but he had hardly seemed to age. There were a few indications, however; Jaskier had started to grey a bit -- nothing extreme, but noticeable to himself and the Witcher -- and had grown a short but thick beard that also housed streaks of grey. Aside from that, Jaskier had the same spring in his step as he did when he first joined Geralt. There were a few times, of course, where that spring died, and Jaskier would drag his feet to his next destination, usually leaving Geralt behind. Geralt had never forced him to stay, but had always wished it. It was selfish, almost cruel, but he was so used to his endless chattering and song that Geralt was unable to bear the crackle of fire and find sleep beyond his reach, and skip meals, sleep, company, to keep moving. Always keep moving.

He was dragged from his thoughts as Jaskier strummed a new ballad he was working on, based on their adventure last week. Geralt’s bravery when facing a powerful archgriffin, and Jaskier had nearly gotten himself killed because he had followed Geralt about twenty minutes after the Witcher left. He hadn’t yet seen such a beast, and it nearly killed him, but it was well worth the experience and the song. That was another reason Geralt tolerated Jaskier; his music and words grounded him, never letting his mind wander too far into dangerous territory.

“A griffin beyond measure, and Geralt took pleasure/

In cutting down the beast, after it tore through his minstrel/

The gold he’s paid is gone by morn, and-”

Jaskier stops. “Oh that’s bollocks, Geralt, I don’t think I can find a word to rhyme with minstrel.”

“Take it out of the story then.” A jab.

The bard gasped dramatically and pulled out his notebook, slapping Geralt’s thigh with it before he popped it open and scratched the last line.

“Well, I was going to sing about your kind act of spending all the coin you made to save my hide,” Jaskier snapped, but it, like Geralt’s jab, had no malice. They both knew what the other sounded like with venom on their tongue. “But now they get to hear about the minstrel’s sacrifice so the bloody slow Witcher could get a good stab in.”

Geralt grunted, but there was amusement in there. After thirty years, there was no mistaking it. The pair were a couple of unlikely friends, and Jaskier finally got Geralt to utter the word when he pried an apology for what happened on the mountain a couple years after the incident. Ever since, there was the ever usual playful banter, and Geralt slowly learned to relax around him. The Witcher would meditate in a more open area if he was with Jaskier, but it was more a symbol than anything; if Geralt were in any danger, his body would jolt from a meditative state and get him out of harm’s way, but Jaskier didn’t need to know that. Geralt showed his affections quietly, always making little excuses to get Jaskier a gift every once in a while, or allowing himself to let his walls down and let the bard protect him. He was one of the few people Geralt really trusted, aside from Yennefer, Ciri, and the other Witchers at Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier continued playing until they started to walk past houses and businesses, prompting him to play some more familiar tunes that he had nailed down decades ago. The bard’s presence made people a little less jumpy about the Witcher, if they were in a good town. Luckily, they seem to have struck gold. There are the usual dirty looks, but they don’t last long when Jaskier catches their eyes. As they approach the home of a local merchant, Jaskier slings his lute over his back and hops onto Roach, standing carefully and beaming with pride.

“Mr. Rorenshack!” he sang, clearly trying to charm their new friend. It had worked before; charming the people who paid them to get them to pay a little more. A dirty trick, but Geralt didn’t mind the extra coin. “We have your dastardly beast! And the kikimora too!”

A couple of ladies, relaxing on the neighbor’s porch, giggled at Jaskier’s jest. He winked at them before Geralt grunted at him, trying to get the bard to focus on the task at hand. As Rorenshack emerged with a pouch of coin and a smile, Jaskier hopped down from Roach -- who wasn’t pleased with him for the added weight -- and approached the merchant.

“I trust you can do whatever fun little things you folks do to kikimora bodies when we’re gone,” Jaskier purred, his hip jutting out to the side just a bit. He was tall, nearly as tall as Geralt, and towered over the small merchant, whose face was flushed. It was clear he fancied the bard. “In exchange for coin, of course.”

“A-ah, yes, of course!” he stammered, pushing the coin to Jaskier’s chest. Rorenshack turned to Geralt and moved forward, taking his hand and shaking it with a wide smile. “Thank you, Sir Witcher, many thanks! You’ve saved the lot of us, you have! The bard’s songs ring true!”

Geralt grunted, almost embarrassed. He didn’t like to be showered with praise by strangers. Geralt turned Roach and began to make his way to the stable he had seen when they were going through the town. Jaskier jogged alongside him, tossing him the coin purse heavy with their reward. Another grunt. Geralt was quiet, and Jaskier knew the Witcher was falling into his thoughts. As Geralt got Roach situated -- paying for the horse to be washed and brushed -- Jaskier took some of the coin to the nearby inn, disappearing into the crowd that filled the street. Geralt had seen banners and lanterns and other odds and ends that screamed festival. Geralt made his way to the inn, making a note that he should figure out just what the festival was all about. He opened the door and sighed softly, the last rays of light slipping through the window, nearly drowned out by the lantern light of the loud tavern. He immediately caught sight of Jaskier, the bard leaning against the wall with his tankard and watching the crowd. He met Geralt’s eye and the Witcher walked up to him with a hum.

“I’m surprised you’re not playing for them,” he hummed.

“It's a bit too crowded, and there’s already another minstrel here,” Jaskier said in a plain tone. He took another drink of his tankard before offering it to Geralt, who gladly took it. “There was only one room left, and it's just got one bed.”

“We’ve dealt with that before,” Geralt muttered behind the tankard as he took a drink. “It's autumn, after all, I believe this may be a Harvest Moon festival. Nice and cool out, might be nice for you to sleep next to a warm body.”

“I can do that without you, Witcher. You forget I can charm my way into anyone’s breeches.”

“Less work to sleep in the same bed as a Witcher when there’s no other choice,” Geralt retorted. “Besides, you won’t be wasting energy trying to please him.”

“I please you enough,” Jaskier teased, earning a jab from Geralt. “Oh, get over yourself, Geralt! You haven’t been so desperate to go to your lovely bard to ease your nightly desires even after weeks on the road, I doubt you’ll try to seduce me with your brutish ways tonight.”

“You’ll still be going to bed with a Witcher.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to elbow the Witcher, who had a proud smirk on his face. Geralt handed back the tankard, to which Jaskier scolded the brute for emptying his drink. The Witcher took the key and headed up to their room while Jaskier went to get them food and drink. The sky was falling to darkness, but the city was ever so bright. More lanterns were lit, and people danced and sang in the streets, celebrating some deities that they believed to influence the harvest. Geralt sat at the foot of the bed, staring out the window and humming. The moon was beginning to rise in the sky, its light filtering into his and Jaskier’s room. It wasn’t long before Jaskier came in and set the platter of food and drink on the bedside table, sighing loudly.

“That poor minstrel, he must be a bit overwhelmed,” he hums. “He’s doing well, but I’m sure he’ll sleep like a rock later.”

Geralt hummed, taking one of the pitchers and some of the food. He relaxed, especially when the bard settled in. They both looked out the wide window and people-watched.

“You know, I really do love seeing people like this. No one’s afraid. Everyone’s drunk and having fun. And here you are, sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You didn’t even glance at the ladies downstairs. And they weren’t anything less than angels.”

“You didn’t go to them either.”

The two men fell silent, the two of them eating and drinking their fill. Once Jaskier finished -- he had always been quick to finish his meals -- he got up to change into something more comfortable. He slipped on some soft breeches and a billowy white shirt with a frilly neckline /and wide sleeves, tucking the shirt in as Geralt looked back with a raised eyebrow.

“Why do you always dress like a pirate’s spoiled whore?”

Jaskier snorted and put his hands on his hips. “People want to hurt the Witcher’s companion,” he explained with a similarly raised eyebrow. “If I’m going to die in my sleep, I’ll die a beautiful death.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but the thought of someone hurting Jaskier twisted his stomach. He knew people targeted his dear bard. They had before. He turned away, allowing the sadness to reach his eyes. While Jaskier couldn’t see his eyes, the bard knew his Witcher well enough. He climbed over the bed and touched Geralt between his shoulder blades, causing the Witcher to flinch slightly. Jaskier sighed softly and rubbed his back, scooting closer. His other hand found its way to Geralt’s shoulder, and he leaned his head against the Witcher.

“You shouldn’t speak of your own mortality so easily,” Geralt murmured, refusing to look at the bard.

“I know...I shouldn’t worry you. I only talk like that because I know you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me,” Jaskier whispered, squeezing Geralt’s shoulder. “I trust you, Geralt.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched, and he hesitantly reached up and gripped Jaskier’s hand.

“I can’t protect you forever.”

“I won’t blame you,” Jaskier reassured, his hand making circles on the Witcher’s back. “Come lay down, my dear Wolf. We’ll be just fine tonight.”

Geralt hesitated before he allowed the bard to pull off his armor and lay him down, murmuring reassurances to the Witcher. Jaskier laid down with him and pulled Geralt close, one hand on the back of Geralt’s neck. This was different from the other times they had shared a bed; usually the two of them would, at most, press their backs together to share warmth, or woke up to find Jaskier curling up against Geralt. This time, the contact was intimate and deliberate, and Jaskier was holding Geralt. Geralt’s thoughts were interrupted by Jaskier pressing his lips to th*/e Witcher’s forehead, which sent him for a loop. The kiss lingered, and tears welled up in Geralt’s eyes. He had always hid everything he felt behind a wall, and Jaskier had made a door and let himself in. Geralt clutched Jaskier close and trembled, earning some sympathetic pets to his hair.

“Oh, darling Witcher…” Jaskier murmured, his voice shaky. “I-”

Geralt stifled a sob, and Jaskier pulled away slightly to look down at his Witcher, and his heart shattered. Geralt refused to meet his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks. It was the first time he had truly cried for...well, as long as he could remember. He eventually met Jaskier’s eyes, and the bard wiped his tears away.

“This is stupid,” he whimpered, sounding weaker than Jaskier had ever heard him. “I shouldn’t be crying because of someone’s touch.”

“Geralt, it's okay,” Jaskier murmured, hugging Geralt and nuzzling his cheek. Now he was crying, and their tears mixed. “You haven’t gotten the contact you need, and I’m so grateful that you trust me and let me help you. I want you to be happy, Geralt. That’s all that really matters to me. Why do you think I’ve followed you for so long?”

Geralt grumbled and rubbed back, his nose pressing into Jaskier’s cheek lovingly. He didn’t want to hold back.

“Rest, dear wolf,” the bard murmured before he began to hum a soft tune.

Geralt melted into the touch of his friend, feeling a spike of guilt in his stomach. For a split second, he let himself pretend that they could spend nights like this forever. Jaskier holding Geralt and stroking his hair, singing the beast to sleep. He pushed those thoughts away and held onto Jaskier, allowing himself to drift into a peaceful sleep with Jaskier’s breath gracing his skin and lips pressing to his forehead whenever he stirred. There was a blissful understanding between them, and deep inside of himself, Geralt knew they wouldn’t sleep apart again for a long time.

[its-a-branwen-thing]

Worst Case Scenario? We Use Atlas

Not to be dramatic or anything but this week’s RWBY had such gravity dust (especially the Ironwood/Oscar talk and Yang/Blake’s talk and meeting with Robyn) and I haven’t felt that kind of chilling buildup in a while. There was something ominous and heavy about the framing of those scenes and the dialogue and I need to discuss!!

First up we have Yang and Blake going rouge here. At least, justifiably rouge, by revealing the Amity Tower plan to Robyn. They paint Atlas in a good light, saying Ironwood means well, but Robyn still wants the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help her Brothers. And the shots of the scene illustrate that. Blake and Yang in light, Robyn in shadow. She steps in a moment for take Bake’s hand, and then steps back, still uncertain. When she runs we’re left with Yang alone while Blake goes a moment ahead.

Now this shot is interesting because it frames it like she’s being watched. Maybe it’s a moment for us to reflect on her uncertainty, maybe it’s someone spying. And yes, I say someone because this doesn’t seem like a hidden camera because I don’t typically imagine those placed behind bars, rather in more open areas. (I’m also going to ignore the part that they discussed this plan in a heavily monitored Mantle where maybe they could have been overheard). Which brings me to:

The discussion in Ironwood’s office. This is a very pointed glance between Qrow and Clover. Now, it could mean anything but, ships aside, it was shown when Robyn was mentioned and Ironwood demanded her brought into custody. It could just be concern. But the way Qrow looks down afterwards? I think there’s more going on there. I want to think Qrow’s been working with Clover to spy on Robyn in bird form, leaving him to be able to assist her in Mantle when Tyrian finally attacks. Or maybe they have another trick up their sleeve. Who knows. But this struck me funny once I saw the scene with Yang standing alone. I don’t think Qrow is used for espionage nearly enough.

And then we get to Oscar and Ironwood. I love the design of this vault, it definitely fits in with Atlas’s look. They’re having a discussion on the origins of Atlas, how the Relic of Creation keeps it afloat (tabs for later) and how Amity is going to have to be raised the old fashion way, hence all the supplies being directed towards it. Funny, how the relic could solve the problem of keeping Amity afloat, keeping it from Salem’s immediate grip and restoring communications, but to do so would crush Mantle and cause Atlas to fall, so Mantle’s being squeezed so the city above can stay afloat I just....I love it. It’s complicated and great. I have some ideas how this will end too (remember Age of Ultron?) But it’s also Ironwood’s discussion with Oscar that’s important.

This shot made me uneasy. Not because it’s dark space and two figures in an ideological standoff, but that it’s two friends, or allies, standing at opposite ends and I have a nagging feeling this will happen again. Under much more dire circumstances. Here, Oscar says “some things matter more” in response to Ironwood’s idea that Salem’s defeat is the only thing that matters. This isn’t Ozpin speaking, (that we know of) it’s Oscar and he disagrees that people should suffer for the ultimate good. This divide might only grow (although Ironwood’s chuckle might be cause for hope).

I know we’ve had heavy episodes in all the seasons, but this one felt dire and dark and like standing at the edge of something.

I have a strange suspicion that Atlas won’t fall at all. It will rise. “Ozpin said it could take us as high as we wanted.”

And it will serve the purposes that Amity Tower was supposed to, but with much more sacrificed (someone would have to stay and use to Relic for that purpose...). The people of Atlas will be evacuated to Mantle, where they will have to work together to find a new way forward, a good resolution to that divide that will obviously produce some turmoil but, if the truth is out, maybe it’ll be lessened by imminent global threat SHE. Amity might fall, a red herring the whole time, in the tundra landscape it presides over. But I just feel like having Atlas fall is too similar to Beacon’s collapse. There has to be a twist. And I hope it’s a good one.

CRWBY, as always, rock on.

[pixiegrl]

the pan scene from the muke tangled au (with luke's pov?) 🥰🥰

Em! I love how much you love the Tangled Muke verse! I had alot of fun writing this and trying to have Luke be tough (but he’s baby). Please enjoy this thing I write specficially for you and @calumsclifford​

Also its on ao3 bc thats who I am now: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054014

When Luke got up this morning, he wasn’t expecting his day to take this kind of turn. It had started like any other day. He’d gotten up, made some food, played hide and seek with Petunia, painted on what little space he had left on his walls. Luke thought about cleaning, but considering he wasn’t leaving the tower anytime soon, it seemed unimportant.

And then there had been the matter of Mother. Luke had finally worked up enough courage to ask her about letting him go see the floating lights. It’s his twenty-first birthday in a few days and he figured that he was old enough to leave the tower and go see them. He knows they’re not for him exactly, but they always appear on his birthday. It always felt special and nice seeing them once a year on his day. A little part of him has always liked thinking that they were for him, a birthday gift from the world to him. Luke desperately wants to see them, at least once, in person. He wants to be able to touch them, to be a part of whatever celebration it is that is happening.

Mother had, of course, rejected the idea immediately. She’d gone on and on about how dangerous the world was, that it was dark and full of evil and danger, that Luke and his hair would be at risk if he left. She’d called him clumsy and ditzy, told him he wasn’t smart or savvy enough to survive on his own out in the world. She’d left him with the brush-off that he shouldn’t ever ask to leave again, for his own health and safety. She’d been mean and cruel, insulting him and then she’d just left.

Luke just wanted a hug. But it’s very hard to have a lizard give you a hug when you need it and it’s not like Mother was here to give him one. She’s never been here when he needed it, not when he’d broken his arm and cried for hours from the pain until he’d realized he could use his hair. Not when he gets sad and lonely, worried that she’s been gone for too long and she’s never coming back for him. Luke doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. He can’t just leave the tower; he would have nowhere to go. If she never comes back after this argument, Luke’s not sure what will happen to him.

And then this...this man had shown up. Climbed in right through the window (which Luke’s not sure how he managed that) and landed at his feet practically. He hadn’t known what to do and on instinct, had hit the stranger with the only thing he could get his hands on, which happened to be a frying pan. He’s reasonably sure he hasn’t killed him, only knocked him unconscious. He’s laying facedown on the rug, the bag he was carrying splayed out next to him. Luke doesn’t think he’s that big a danger in this state. He doesn’t have pointy teeth or sharp claws. He doesn’t even look that mean.

Luke is busy examining him when he’s suddenly struck by an idea. If he can show this man to Mother, prove that he’s capable of taking care of himself, then maybe she’ll let him go see the lights! He scrambles to lift up the body and drag it over to the wardrobe he has. The man is heavier than he thought, but he manages to drag him across the room and successfully heave him into it. He slams the doors and props a chair under the knob to keep it closed.

“Petunia! Look what I did! I managed to take him down and trap him! Mother has to let me go now to see the lights, I mean look at what I just did. I’m not too weak to handle myself,” Luke whispers excitedly to his lizard. Petunia cocks her head to the side, nodding along with him.

“Oh! He had a bag! I should go hide that too.” He turns to grab the bag, noticing that the flap has fallen open. Curious, he peeks inside it. There’s a beautiful circlet of jewels. He slowly pulls it out, turning it over in his hands. 

“Petunia, what do you think this could be?” Luke whispers. It’s bigger than the ring he has. It’s too large to fit on his wrist and he doesn’t think it’s big enough to be a necklace. Carefully, Luke turns to the mirror and places it on his head. It shines in the light. He tilts his head to the side, letting the light from the window catch in the jewels. It glows slightly. He’s never seen anything so pretty before. He wonders who wears this kind of thing, what the purpose of it is. The stones in it are similar to the one in the center of his ring he notices. Maybe those kinds of things are common down where this man is from.

“Luke,” Mother calls from below the tower. Luke jumps, looking around frantically. He hadn’t expected her to come back so quickly. “Let down your hair,” She sing-songs.

“One moment Mother!” Luke calls, pulling the thing off his head and tossing it into a nearby vase for hiding. He kicks the bag off to the side and runs to the window. Now is the perfect chance for him to show her what he’s done. She’ll have to let him go now if he can show her what he’s managed to do on his own.

“Luke! I have a surprise for you!” She calls. 

Luke hooks his hair over the peg and throws it down, “I have one too!”

“I bet my surprise is bigger and better,” She sing-songs again as Luke pulls her up.

“I seriously doubt it,” Luke mumbles. He finally manages to pull her up enough that she’s able to sit at the ledge of the window and climb into the room.

“I brought back parsnips. I’m going to make hazelnut soup for dinner. It’s your favorite! Just for your birthday! Surprise!” Mother makes her way to the table he has, placing her basket on the table.

Luke frowns. He doesn’t like hazelnut soup. He prefers the squash soup she makes. Mother likes the hazelnut soup. She looks at him expectantly. 

“Well Mother, that’s nice and all, but I have something I want to tell you-”

“Luke, you know I hate leaving you after we’ve had a fight. Especially when I’ve done nothing wrong. But you just keep pushing and pushing after I’ve told you how worried I am for you to be out there, especially with how special your hair is. I only want to keep you safe you know,” She starts to pull everything out of the basket, going about preparing for dinner.  

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier-”

She sighs dramatically. “I hope you’re still not talking about the stars.”

“Floating lights. And I’m leading up to that.” Luke starts to make his way over the wardrobe. Her back is turned to him, so maybe this can be a surprise. He can finally prove that he is capable of taking care of himself, of going out into the world to see the floating lights for one night.

“Because I thought we dropped the issue sweetheart.”

“No ,Mother, I’m just saying you think I’m not strong enough to handle myself out there,” Luke says, making his way towards the wardrobe.

“Oh I know you’re not strong enough to handle yourself out there,” She says, glancing at him. There’s an air of finality to what she’s saying but he’s determined to show her what he’s done to prove himself to her.

“But if you would just-” Luke pleads, hand on the chair, ready to pull it out from under the door to show her the body he has.

“We’re done talking about this.”

“Trust me! I know what I’m-”

“Luke! Enough with the lights! You are not leaving this tower! Ever!” Mother yells, rounding on Luke. She looks angry, angrier than he has ever seen her. 

Luke shrinks back, filled with fear and dread. He pulls his hand off the chair. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t show her what he’s done. Maybe if the man wakes up, he can bribe him to take him to where the floating lights are. Mother doesn’t have to know that he’s even left. He can convince her to leave him alone for a few days and be back before she knows it.

“Great, now I’m the bad guy,” She sighs heavily, looking at him expectantly.

“I was just going to say that you’re right. I would be safer here. I decided that what I wanted for my birthday is a new guitar,” Luke says carefully, evenly. He can’t give away his new idea, lest she know what he’s planning.

She glances up at him, “But you have one already.”

“The strings are old and worn down. And I’m out of strings to replace them with.”

“It will take me almost a week to get you a new one similar to what you have.”

“I just thought it would be a better idea than the stars,” Luke says, making a point to emphasize the word she’s been using. She perks up at that. “Maybe I could write a song for you with the new one.”

She sighs, coming over to Luke, holding her arms open. He quietly wraps his arms around her in a hug, which she half-heartedly returns.

“You’re sure you’ll be alright sweetheart?”

“I know I’m safe as long as I’m here,” he says. Mother kisses his hair, petting it fondly.

Luke bites his tongue all through dinner, preparing Mother a basket of food to take with her, and lowering her back down out of the tower and onto the ground. He waits until she’s completely out of sight, gives it an extra few beats in case she turns back. When he’s reasonably sure that she’s gone, he cautiously approaches the wardrobe with his frying pan and pulls the chair away. The body falls out. The man is still unconscious. Luke frowns. Well, that wasn’t part of the plan.

“What do I do?” He hisses to Petunia. She seems to shrug at him, before pointing at the chair. Oh! He can tie the man to the chair using all of his hair. He makes quick work of it, securely wrapping him up.

He steps back, proud of his handiwork. Now just to wake him up. He’s still pondering how to do it, when Petunia creeps up onto the man's shoulder and sticks her tongue into his ear. He screams, jolting awake with a cry. He looks down around himself, around the room, and then back up at Luke.

“Is this hair?”

“Hey! I ask the questions here!” Luke says, trying to make himself appear imposing. The man smirks. Luke draws himself up to his full height. The man just raises an eyebrow at him. “I know why you’re here and I’m not afraid of you!”

The man cocks his head to the side, a look of confusion on his face, “Let’s say for argument's sake that I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you think I’m here for?”

“My hair. Mother warned me that people would try to come and take my hair from me. So what are you here for and how did you find me?”

“Well, I was just wandering through the forest on the run from some people when I came across your tower. Honestly, I thought it was empty and it seemed like a good place to hide. Didn’t expect to find a lovely young man such as yourself here.”

“Stop changing the subject. You have to have known about my hair!”

“What is so special about your hair? Just because it’s long? And where did you put my satchel anyway? If anyone has been wronged here, it’s me!”

“You broke into my home! I’ll keep your satchel until you tell me why you’re here!” Luke yells, pointing his frying pan at the man.

The man looks down, sighs and takes a deep breath. He looks up at Luke, smiling widely, “The name’s Michael. Michael Clifford. I’d shake your hand but, well. You have me tied up and all.”

“Shake my hand?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing people do. To greet one another? Jeez how long have you been up here; Princess?”

“Twenty-one years. This is my home, where else would I go?”

“Do you have anyone here with you?”

“Just Mother.”

Michael blinks at him. “Sounds fucking depressing.”

“It is...lonely sometimes. But I have Petunia here.” Luke lifts her up, grinning. Michael looks concerned.

“And do I get a name to go with your lovely face?”

“Luke. Just the one name. You really don’t want my hair?”

“Not particularly. The only thing I want to do is get out of it, take my satchel, and leave. People really want your hair that badly?”

Luke decides not to tell Michael about the magic in his hair. It’s better to keep it a secret. “Mother just tells me that. She says it’s why I have to stay up here.”

There’s a pause as Michael and Luke study each other. Luke’s not really sure what to make of Michael. He supposes he looks nice, but then again he’s never really seen someone else before. He’s got some kind of hoop in one of his ears though and some metal stuck in his eyebrow. He seems like a reasonable enough guide to take Luke to the floating lights.

“So can I take my satchel and go? I promise I won’t tell anyone about this place.”

“I have a deal to make with you.”

“I’m not giving you the satchel.”

“I want you to take me with you.”

“Come again?”

“Do you know where the floating lights are?”

“You mean the lantern thing the king and queen do for the lost prince?”

“I knew they weren’t stars!” Luke exclaims, clapping his hands.

“Focus. What do they have to do with this?”

“It’s my birthday in a few days. And every year on my birthday at night, they release these. I want you to take me to see them and then bring me back here. Safely. And then I will give you the satchel back.”

“The only problem with that is that I can’t exactly uh, go back to the kingdom. Sort of the people I’m running from.”

“Well that sounds like a you problem, Michael Clifford. If you want to get your satchel back, that’s my deal.”

Michael grins, “You’ve got some attitude, Princess. I’ll help get you to the lanterns and back safe and sound for my satchel.”

Luke cheers in happiness, clapping excitedly, “Oh will you really? Oh thank you so much! This is the best gift ever!”

“Alright, calm down. It’s just some lanterns, Princess. Tone down the happiness or I’ll leave you here anyway.”

Luke sticks his tongue out at him. Michael huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes, “Alright, enough chit-chat, Luke. We’ve got a journey ahead of us if you want to get to the lanterns in time, so you’d better untie me.”

Luke smiles. This is the best gift he’s ever gotten. 

[markscheeks]

Lucky Accidents

Pairing: San x Reader

Genre: fluff, barista!au, (kinda) friends to lovers!au

Word count: 1667

A/N: I got this idea from a "who is your boyfriend from the boyz" quiz question haha, all credit goes to the original creator! I just took the scenario and made it into this mess of a story.

Assignment Successfully Submitted

You eyed these three beautiful words as you stretched your arms and let out a soft sigh of relief and victory.

Looking around your surroundings, it seemed as if you had been transported to a whole another world. Finally you could comfortably sit back and instead of staring at the fiddly digits on your screen, you could nonchalantly observe the peaceful movements of the small café.

Everything in the little coffee shop screamed coziness. There was the old-fashioned fireplace that radiated warmth in the midst of the crispy autumn afternoon and whose mantel was decorared with knick-knacks like animal figurines and vintage picture frames. There were the gigantic armchairs - one of which you were currently sprawling on - that were covered with throw pillows and fuzzy blankets to the point where you couldn't see the original colour of the chair itself. And there were the golden fairy lights that were scattered throughout the room. They were definitely your favourite pieces of decoration in the entire café - they cast and unexplainably uplifting and scenic glow on every object.

You loved this place. It's not that their coffee was the greatest in the world or that their prices were extremely student-friendly. You just enjoyed the atmosphere and the fact that you could snuggle up in one of the room's hidden nooks and feel at ease while working away on something. These were the reasons why you frequented the café so often. Well, about 70% of the reasons.

You glanced over your shoulder at the counter where two of the employees were chatting joyfully. One of them, the blonde one was leaning on the wall next to the kitchen entrance and fiddled with a tea towel, throwing it up in the air every now and then. Seonghwa - you wondered if you had remembered his name correctly. You could only see the back of the other boy as he was occupied with the large coffee machine, pulling levers and juggling mugs full to the brim as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. San. In this, you were certain.

Turning back to your table, you slightly shook your head, trying to chase off every unwanted thought. However, they were way too intrusive to shake off that easily. You started packing up your things to distract your mind.

You only knew him because of a small project for a class you had in common - the name of which you couldn't even dig up from your memory. Your interactions were limited to brief texts exchanged regarding typos in your essays and quick meetings in the library to discuss some details.

He was always nice to you. But then again, he was always nice to everyone. He was the type of person who would lighten up the mood of a room as soon as he stepped in, and who treat everyone kindly, not for his own benefit, but because of his genuinely warm-hearted personality. You knew he was the kind of guy everyone falls for - if not for his charms then for his looks. Therefore you promised yourself that you would just appreciate his kindness and move on. But some promises cannot be kept.

"Done for today?" you suddenly heard a husky voice from above you. Whipping your head - perhaps a bit too sharply - you saw San towering above you, with a giant tray balanced perfectly on one hand.

"Y-yes," you replied and gave yourself a mental smack on the head for stuttering. Warmth pooled onto your face and you felt slightly ashamed for falling so deeply into your thoughts about him. Nonetheless, you tried to keep cool. "Another assignment down... only hundreds to go."

He chuckled softly. You could swear that his dimples could be seen even from miles away. A strand of his dark hair fell into his sharp eyes as he bent down slightly to take a look at your textbook.

"Are you taking this subject as an extra credit?" he asked with honest curiosity in his voice. Your stomach turned a bit, just like every time you entered the café.

"Yeah, it seemed interesting."

"I never know what class to take as extra credit," he mused, straightening himself. He pursed his lips and stared off into the distance in over-dramatic contemplation before he turned back to you. He looked in your eyes. "I'm always afraid that I would be alone in the whole class."

"Well... this is a pretty cool one, I definitely recommend it. The professor's nice, too..."

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, a customer from the other side of the room called for his drink. San shot you an apologetic look.

"Excuse me for a moment."

It took him only three long strides to get through the café to the other table. Then he proceeded to distribute the orders swiftly, never forgetting to accompany the beverages with a sweet smile.

You were not sure if San wanted to tell you anything else, so you suspended your preparations to leave until you were sure of his intentions. Nevertheless, you decided to visit the bathroom before you set out on the trek back to your dorm room.

But then, disaster struck.

You hardly took two steps before your hands and chest collided with the floor harshly. What the hell happened? Did you leave your shoelaces undone? Was there an unseen bump on the ground?

Although the culprit's identity was unknown, one thing was crystal clear - you were lying on the floor, hands helplessly pressed between your body and the hardwood floor. And also, everyone was looking at you.

You felt the deepest of crimson blushes creep onto your cheeks. You had never been more envious than at that moment of the people who could play off tripping in a funny and cute way. You wished you could just jump up or do a push-up to make everyone laugh. But you were so struck with embarrassment that you couldn't move at all. And that just made things worse.

You suddenly saw San hurry towards you with one of his hands extended. You wished the floor could sink and swallow you whole.

You thought San would just step next to you to help and of course think to himself how big of an idiot you are. But instead of that, the strangest thing happened.

All of a sudden, he stumbled and fell besides you with a small yelp of surprise. After clashing with the hard surface of the floor, he growled and slightly turned his head back in the counter's direction.

"Seonghwa, get a mop! I think I spilled something here," he exclaimed and the other boy grabbed the tool immediately. San turned back to you and his face changed. Just a moment ago his features were morphed into a painful expression, his brows furrowed and his nose scrunched into a grimace. But as he looked at you, a mischievous smirk appeared on his face.

The soft murmur that filled the café but broke because of your accident returned and suddenly nobody seemed to pay attention to the two of you, casually lying on the floor. You finally collected yourself and started to stand up, along with San. He was faster and after he was back on his feet, his strong hand was intertwined with yours as he helped you stand still.

Seonghwa emerged from behind the counter and appeared next to you, his eyes already searching for the alleged spill that caused the mishap. However, San gently took the mop from him and smiled at him thankfully.

"Thanks, I'll do it. I was the clumsy one, I should clean it up."

You stood there and watched him mop up the perfectly dry floor diligently, with a serious expression on his face.

"Huh, done," he motioned his hand as if he was wiping off sweat from his forehead. "I'm sorry you tripped because of me. I'll be more careful next time."

Then he winked at you and started to walk away. You were dumbfounded by everythig that had happened in the past few minutes. Automatically, you turned back to your table and continued to pack up your things, your thoughts jumbled up into chaos. Why would San do that? Is he seriously just that nice to a random person like you? Or does he just think that you're a complete ass but he felt too uncomfortable to do nothing?

As all these questions were racing through your head, you didn't notice him turn on his heels halfway through the café. He scared the living soul out of you when suddenly he was standing next to you again.

"You know, I didn't save you for free," he said, his hands folded in front of him. His face was blank to an unreadable extent, and for a second you were startled by his frank exterior. "You could at least thank me."

"T-thank you," you answered.

"Hm... this is not enough," he stated with the same flat tone. But then out of the blue his face softened and the most brilliant smile spread from one of his cheeks to the other. "Maybe you could invite me to dinner?"

For a moment you wondered if there was something stuck in your ear. Did you hear that correctly? Did San suggest what you think he suggested?

You blinked at him in shock. As you were frozen in front of him like a statue his confident demeanor slowly melted along with his merry smile.

"I-I'm sorry, you don't have to, I was only kidding..."

"Okay," you finally blurted out.

He was quicker with his reaction than you were. He grinned and raised his hand to give you a high-five. You clumsily gave into his gesture. He turned around and left you standing there, flabbergasted. Before he reached the counter, however, he turned and winked at you again.

"I get off at six."

A broad smile finally found its way to your face as well.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5032 Chapter: 2/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 2

In the wake of the monster’s departure a deep silence stretched out for a long time. Izuna rested his head between Madara's shoulder blades knowing there were no words that could help either of them feel better at the moment. Neither of them said anything until his body began to shake with coughs and Madara spun to gather the other in his arms, helping him sit and patting his back gently until the fit passed.

“You’ll die in here,” he whispered, horrified. “I failed. I…”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Aniki. It’s not your fault.”

Madara shook his head. Logically he understood that the chain of events had not started with him but if he could not blame Izuna then there was simply no one else to carry that burden. How could he ever blame his sibling for running towards the only visible beacon of safety if he were being chased by wolves? In all the years Madara had lived he’d never heard of wolves actively attacking humans, generally they stayed away as most other wildlife did, so he could understand why someone might panic in that situation.

“We made our best attempts to stop him!” a voice cried from nearby. Madara lifted his head to look around but despite the candelabra still sitting just outside the barred door he couldn’t see anyone there.

“Show yourself! Who’s there?”

“I am here in front of you!”

The light before them flickered but the dancing shadows revealed no new faces even when he squinted.

“Quit hiding,” he growled. “I don’t see anyone.” He rubbed Izuna’s back soothingly as they both craned their necks side to side in search of whoever was talking to them. That was definitely not the creature’s voice.

“Down here, good sir!” the voice tried once more and this time when the light wavered Madara noticed the candelabra was moving.

He also noticed there was no one there to move it.

The candelabra was waving at him. And the longer he stared the longer it continued to wave, some of the filigree near the top of the main post shifting as if to form what looked like an honest to god smile. When both he and Izuna failed to so much as move, staring with equally wide eyes and frozen bodies, eventually the candelabra stopped waving and bent both of its secondary arms down in a mockery of the way a human might set both hands on their hips.

“Well I must say, how rude,” it seemed to scold them. “Not even allowing for a proper greeting. Where are your manners?”

“Izuna can you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it…is it talking to us?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we dreaming?”

Without warning the entire candlestick holder bent as though to toss its head back and began to laugh. “Oh, how rude of me! I’m so terribly sorry. It’s been so long, I quite forgot how strange I must appear to you! I assure you that we are all quite real!”

“Merciful gods above, Aniki, are there more of them!?” Izuna moaned with despair and Madara reached back to pat him on whatever he could reach, possibly a leg.

“It must be something in the magic of this place driving us mad. Maybe we should play along?”

He jerked when his brother struck him weakly. “Are you nuts? It’s a talking stick of wax! What are you going to do, talk back?”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone else in this entire castle to talk to. Did you notice all the dust? It’s like no human has been in here for centuries.” Madara shrugged. “I’ll take a candlestick delivering my meals over whatever the hell that beast is!”

“Simply no manners at all; continuing to ignore me.” They looked over to see, of all things, that the candelabra had crouched down on to the floor and curled in to itself. As they watched it began to shake with dramatic sobs. Madara considered just waiting to see what would happen but the damn thing just sounded so pathetic and he had to admit he was curious. This place was full of strange magics. If he could ask a few questions and understand even a small bit of his own situation he would appreciate it.

“Uh…sorry about that. It’s…I’ve never talked to a candle before.” Even Izuna cringed over his awkwardness.

The candelabra, however, popped back to its ‘feet’ as though it had never been sad in the first place. “Quite alright! You may call me Hashirama! May I know your names, good sirs?”

“I’m Madara. This is Izuna. What…is this place?”

“Ah, it would be hard to explain here. Come, come, come along. I will gather the others!” With ringing plinks and plonks he began to hop away down the hall, the metal of his body echoing on the stone floor.

He didn’t get very far before Madara called after him in a dry tone, “Thanks but I think I’ll stay here. Doesn’t matter how much weight I’ve lost this past year, I still don’t think I’m going to fit through these bars!”

With a startled exclamation Hashirama turned and hopped back in their direction, leaping up to pop the latch and then backing away to gesture for them to come out in to the hallways with him. Still they both hesitated. If seeking shelter was the only crime that got Izuna locked up and trying to find his ill brother got Madara locked up as well then who knew what that crazy animal would do to them if he discovered they were wandering around freely? Seeing their hesitation, Hashirama shook what might have counted as his head.

“I beg of you to believe me, he is not a terrible person. Circumstances have made him distant and wary but inside he is a good man. If only he believed it of himself.”

“You’ll forgive us if we don’t believe that,” Izuna grumbled.

“Please, come along! He is possessed of quite a temper at times but rest assured he would never hurt me. I will convince him to see sense about locking the two of you away in this drafty tower, don’t you worry.”

Still smiling cheerfully he began to plink away down the hall again, pausing every few hops to beckon them along. The two brothers traded long dubious looks before finally Madara muttered under his breath that they might as well. If the monster was unpredictable enough to lock them away then he probably wouldn’t hesitate to eat them or something for making his magic candle thing cry twice. Either way they were going to catch hell so why not explore a little bit and get their answers before death found them?

Hashirama was an incredibly enthusiastic guide unhampered by his tiny size. The sounds of his incessant hopping were thankfully muted as soon as they exited that particular tower and returned to carpeted hallways but it hadn’t mattered much anyway as he chattered incessantly about the history of the castle and how long ago it had been built. Madara and Izuna shared a doubtful look, both of them knowing such massive grounds as it would take to house a castle this size would definitely have been noticed by at least one villager in the past few hundred years, but neither said anything. With a terrifying monster in charge of things there was obviously some kind of magic at work here, they could have deduced that much even without being told.

And to think Madara hadn’t even truly believed in magic until tonight.

Their chipper guide being the only source of light, they were sort of beholden to his long-winded tour but from the sheer amount of words spilling out of him it seemed like he hadn’t had anyone to talk to in a very long time. Madara found he didn’t quite have the heart to interrupt such earnest happiness. At least the history of the castle was quite interesting; on the rare occasion he found time for himself Madara had always enjoyed slipping in to their village’s very small library and reading up on the history of the land around them. He was proud to say he’d read at least half of the books in the library. His favorite were always the lurid battle descriptions and the long explanations of tactics or favored weapons.

“Oh but you must be weary after such a fraught evening! Allow me to show you gentlemen to your room, of course!” Hashirama paused at yet another juncture in the endless hallways and beckoned for them to come along before hurrying off in another direction.

“Room?” Izuna muttered quietly in Madara's ear. “He’s not sticking us back in the cell?”

Madara could only shrug. He was hardly going to complain about being offered more comfortable accommodations. For a fleeting moment he considered waiting until they were unsupervised and making a break for it. There didn’t seem to be any sort of guard rotation or security posted. He would bet that two able bodied men could escape if they could find their way out – as long as Izuna didn’t have any coughing fits and draw attention to them.

The moment he began to think about such things, however, he felt a twisting down deep in his soul that cried out with a sense of wrongness that he understood immediately, though he could not have said how. He was still recovering from how oddly winded the feeling had left him when Hashirama finally came to a stop in front of a door carved with the same simple design many other doors had been. Madara was startled to realize it was the same symbol burnt in to the monster’s chest across his collar bones.

“Here we are! You need only ask and I will see to your every comfort! Oh, we will have such fun together, I am so sure! Wonderful to have guests again! Come, come!” With a double hop Hashirama leapt straight up off the floor to grasp the door handle with both hands, wriggling his entire metal body back and forth.

“Do you…want help with that?” Madara asked hesitantly.

“I am most capable, fear not!”

And so he was. The door unlatched with a soft slick and swung open, carrying Hashirama's light away so they couldn’t see the inside until their guide dropped down to the floor and hustled inside ahead of them. There he went around and bent his head to light a few candles so they could get a first glimpse of their massive room.

Both of their jaws fell open as they stared in open wonder at the opulence around them. Thick carpet at their feet led the way to matching beds, each with their own heavy canopies and bedding so decorated Madara would have expected to find them being displayed as wall hangings in the mayor’s home. A matching wardrobe and vanity set stood between the two beds, all four pieces shaped from the same dark wood and intricately carved, any one of them more expensive on their own than the entire contents of the Uchiha household back home. Dust covered every inch of the room and still it was not enough to stop the two brothers from thinking it was a room fit for two princes to stay.

Yet Hashirama hemmed and hawed, tapping at his chin with one arm candle and wondering out loud if this was truly fit accommodations for them. Madara wondered silently how there could be anything better.

“If you would prefer separate rooms we could move to the apartments in the southern wing,” he offered.

“No, this is…fine. This is great.” Madara swallowed thickly. “We can really stay here?”

“This is incredible,” Izuna declared without reservation, daring to step forward and brush his fingers over the intricate patterns stitched in to the bedding. Hashirama tutted at them.

“Serviceable at best. However, if it pleases you then I shan’t keep you awake any longer than necessary. Oh we really should shake out the dust at least – but you do so look tired. I simply cannot decide!”

The metal idiot looked so distraught Madara could only lift an eyebrow in bemusement. “We can shake out our own bedding.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s just dust. Dust never killed anyone. Except you, Izuna, just sit down or something and let me get yours.”

While Izuna rolled his eyes and Hashirama continued to fret, Madara stripped the duvet off both beds and snapped them in the air a few times each, cringing for having to be so rough with such beautifully crafted pieces of art. After they were both tucked back over to the beds again he turned and flopped backwards on to the one he arbitrarily decided would be his own.

Then he moaned like a cheap lady of the night.

“Oh sweet flame…I’m floating on a cloud…”

Silence followed his statement for a single heartbeat. Then he heard Izuna scramble towards the other bed and the muffled thump of another body sinking in to layers of luxurious bedding. His brother immediately let out a moan just as he had.

“Is this what heaven feels like?” Izuna asked in a dreamy voice.

“Nnn…”

“Ah ha ha ha!” Hashirama's tinny little voice somehow managed to boom all throughout their massive room when he laughed. “I shall leave the two of you until morning then, shall I? Rest well! Tomorrow the tour continues!”

Madara gave very little thought to any sort of response. He managed to crack one eye open to see that Izuna had slipped under the blankets and disappeared, no more than a slight lump among so much fluff, then his eyes slid closed and the comfort of a real mattress under his body carried him down in to slumber as quickly as the snuffing out of Hashirama's candles.

He slept so deeply he did not dream. Or he thought he didn’t. Unless the impression of endless hours in the darkness, cool and comforting, counting as a dream.

Waking came slowly, a gradual drift from one darkness to another, and it took a long time for him to realize he couldn’t see anything because he had rolled over in his sleep and buried his face in what felt like a cloud of happiness. Upon lifting his head he determined it to be just a pillow, albeit the softest pillow he had ever encountered in his life. Which, to be fair, was a very limited number.

Slowly pushing himself in to a sitting position, Madara looked around and took a few minutes to let it sink in that everything from the night before had not been some fancy of his own imagination. He really was in a far too opulent room fit for kings and queens with Izuna just barely struggling his way up out of sleep on the far side of the room. With sunlight spilling in through the open drapes he saw beautiful details that he hadn’t been able to in the dark. Each wall was hung with incredibly delicate artwork and the edges of the ceiling looked as though they had been painted by hand. Underneath the dust he could tell that the carpet was woven with a repeating pattern of rich red and golds.

“This place is insane,” were the first words out of Izuna’s mouth as he too took in the spectacle of such grandeur in the light of day.

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my life. Which is weird since, you know, prisoners and all that.”

Izuna sat up a little straighter and coughed a few times, settling his face in a serious expression. “I mean, it’s nice and everything. This is cool. But we can’t stay. We have to get the hell out of here, you know? There’s no telling why that thing wants to keep us!”

Running a hand through his hair, Madara hesitated.

“Look, I didn’t want you to worry last night. It’s been a long time since you slept well through the night and I just wanted…anyway. Here’s the thing. I can’t leave.” When Izuna opened his mouth Madara interrupted him. “I don’t know how to explain it but I can’t. You remember that creature made me swear that I would stay here and not try to leave? He said I was bound here. And…I think he meant that more literally than we knew.”

“Bullshit! Come on, we can just slip out while that candle thing isn’t here!”

“Hashirama has nothing to do with it. Look, the creature said that ancient magics were listening when I swore not to leave and now whenever I think about escaping I get this twist inside me that- I can’t go. It makes me feel wrong to think about it. I can’t say how I know but I don’t think I would survive leaving.”

Izuna slumped back down when he had been about to stand up. His entire body looked wilted with defeat and Madara could not have felt more terrible.

“You’re not the one who is bound,” he tried to offer. “I don’t think he meant anything bad would happen if you were the one that left.”

“Like hell I’m leaving without you!”

“Great. Wonderful. I knew you’d say something dumb.” Madara rolled his eyes.

“The only dumb thing here is this stupid castle!”

It was all too likely the two of them would have taken out their infamous tempers on each other if left to their own devices for much longer, something that happened all too frequently at home. Luckily they were interrupted by a knocking at the door and treated to the sight of Hashirama's metal smile as he popped his head in to the room.

“Best of mornings to you both, I trust you slept well?”

“Decent,” Madara grunted.

Hashirama tittered, unoffended. “I’ve come to fetch you for a morning meal!”

Afraid that if he refused he would have to stay here and listen to Izuna have a meltdown over the fact that he couldn’t leave, Madara hopped off the bed and gave a sharp nod. He waited until Izuna followed along and then allowed himself to be trudged off down twisting hallways that looked so different now after the shadows had been chased away by the sun.

Last night the castle had given the impression of being forgotten by time, a gloomy space caught between worlds, but now it resembled more of an abandoned mausoleum. Suits of armor and statues and expensive pottery provided decoration to keep them busy gawking in every direction until they were led down to the first floor by the same sweeping grand staircase Madara had climbed on his own in the dark. What he had taken for an empty atrium looked more like a grand receiving room well suited for social gatherings and the like. A strange place, for sure.

The kitchens, at least, had a modicum of normalcy. Madara supposed it didn’t matter how much money was involved, kitchens the world over were bound to look at least slightly similar. It didn’t matter that there were a dozen stoves instead of one or that the counter for preparations ran several times as long as his own handcrafted wooden counter at home. What mattered was that he felt some of the gathering tension drain away to know that here was a place he belonged to more than the fancy frippery covering the rest of the castle.

“My dearest, my darling,” Hashirama called in to the cavernous room. “Oh love of my life!”

“If you think to flatter me in to some favor you are sorely mistaken,” a new voice answered.

Madara almost thought his eyes might fall out when a tessen fan drifted around the corner with no hand to guide it, gliding along several inches above the floor seemingly of its own volition. When it stopped in midair he was startled to see the ribs snap open to their fullest extension, giving him a direct view of the pattern inked in to lacquered paper, and he very nearly fainted dead away when the pattern shifted across the paper to form a face with pinched lips and narrow eyes.

“Our guests, I presume,” the fan declared. It was a woman’s voice and not very warm.

“Yes my sweetest.” Hashirama blew the fan an ostentatious kiss which lit one of his candles and then gestured to the two men with him. “This here is Madara and there beside him is Izuna. Brothers from the nearby village.”

“I suppose you wish me to cook for them.”

“Would that I had any other to ask,” Hashirama responded softly.

Amazingly, the pattern-woman unpinched her lips until her expression had relaxed in to something more pensive than irritated. Dipping in the air like she was nodding, the tessen fan drifted away without another word to stoke the embers back to life under a nearby stove. Madara watched her go with his brows up near his hairline. When he looked back Hashirama was wearing a besotted expression.

“My wife Mito” he explained. “A braver woman could never be found in any kingdom.”

“How exactly does a talking candlestick end up married to an animated war fan?” Madara blurted, immediately dropping his face in to one hand at his own lack of tact. He felt a fist impact his shoulder but couldn’t bring himself to scold Izuna; he did sort of deserve it.

Luckily Hashirama took no offense, though he did fall somber once more.

“We were not always this way,” Mito said as she slid her body under a loaf of bread and bore it over to the closest countertop.

“It is a curse laid upon the castle. Once we were as human as you are.” Hashirama leapt up to the counter and looked up at them with arms folded behind his back. “I trust you know of the Sannin, the Great Three who guard the ancient magics of the lands?”

“Yeah,” Izuna drew out the word with curiosity. Every child in their village had grown up on such fairy tales.

“The strongest of the Three was once a patron to this kingdom–”

Madara interrupted without thinking to point out, “This isn’t a kingdom.”  

He did not expect Hashirama to tilt his head back and let out a laugh more bitter than one as cheerful as he should be capable of.

“It was and is, no matter that the people have forgotten their lord. There were…two brothers. As is custom, the duty of ruling these lands was meant to fall to the oldest. Unfortunately illness had laid him low in the prime of his life and the throne fell instead to the younger brother who promised to hold it only until his sibling recovered. However…” Hashirama trailed off with pain in his voice.

“However, instead of recovering the illness spread,” Mito took up her husband’s tale, pausing a moment to spin through the air and remove several perfect slices of bread from the loaf. “All across the kingdom people fell ill, dying faster than messengers could seek help from the younger brother. Though he did what he could there was no stopping what nature itself can never stop.”

Feeling a chill run down his spine, Madara shuddered. “The plague.”

“Yes,” Mito agreed. “The black plague, a nightmare to behold and hellish to contain. When the death toll rose to its heights the younger brother was forced to drive all of the ill together and abandon them lest they continue their spread of death.”

“Really the only way to deal with that,” Madara nodded in sad approval.

“Yet he did not see his own actions that way. Tasked with ruling a kingdom that should never have been his own, cursed to make decisions while his people fell around him, the younger brother took responsibility onto his own shoulders and he himself held the torch when they burned the quarantine zone. It is impossible to say if any inside were still alive. Though he understood the necessity still he could never forgive himself for what he had been forced to do.”

Hashirama shook his head. “A monster he called himself and locked himself within his rooms, emerging only when it was necessary to perform the duties he owed to the kingdom he had sworn to watch over. The elder brother recovered, as some with the plague do, but it did nothing to ease his guilt. Nothing could be done to console him.”

“Sounds whiny,” Izuna muttered. Thankfully it seemed like neither Hashirama nor Mito heard him.

“We worried. That was all. We were worried for the state of his mind after what he had done.” Hashirama looked away. It was hard to tell in a face made of metal filigree but his expression took on a distant quality. “We appealed to the Sannin who watched over our kingdom and beseeched her to intervene. Forgetting, of course, her wicked temper and her utter lack of patience for fools. She revealed that she had indeed already intervened, saving the life of the eldest brother and all within the castle when the plague began, and she did not appreciate having more asked of her. It was never our intention- We could never have predicted- I believe that I will always regret, though not for my own sake.”

He closed his eyes and Mito drifted across the kitchen to hover at his size. She danced out of reach when he held out an arm to embrace her, wary of the flames, and Madara wondered if it was maybe too intimate a moment for him to watch the sadness in both of their gazes to be denied a simple touch. Finally Hashirama went on to finish his story.

“She cursed him out of temper. If he felt so strongly a beast, she said, then a beast he would be. His form changed to that which you witnessed last night and the residents present here in the castle were changed to whatever form suited her whim. Many became furniture, some became animals, a few became clothes or drapery. In a fit of pique for the lord’s self-pity the great Sannin removed us from memory across the Kingdom and hid us away from curious wanderers in the forest, trapping us in time. And so here we have been ever since, alone and lonelier by the year as one by one our numbers dwindle.”

“You’re not dying as furniture?” Madara cried out, shocked.

“Not dying, no. They simply give in. I will show you.”

Hashirama murmured to his wife and she dipped her blades, returning to whatever simple meal she was preparing for breakfast. With a wave he turned and beckoned them to the hallway they had come in from. Madara expected to be taken on a journey but he found Hashirama stopped just outside of the kitchen where he stood on the floor staring up at a massive portrait hung to face inside the kitchens.

The woman portrayed was beautiful, though severe. Her hair was long and caught up on the top of her head in a simple style. Both hands folded across her lap, eyes closed, her shoulders remained straight and stiff in a way that spoke of royal blood.

“My cousin,” Hashirama told them with regret heavy in his words. “Our beloved Touka. She was always the strongest among us and yet even she grew tired of this endless existence, closing her eyes and going to sleep the way so many others have. Now you wouldn’t know them from true furniture.”

“Well…shit.” Madara couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Incredibly, that seemed like the right thing. After a moment of incredulous blinking Hashirama began to laugh that impossible booming laugh until it echoed up and down the hall, filling one small part of this massive castle with happiness once again.

“Very well put, my good man.”

“Just…call me Madara.”

“Indeed. Well, Madara. Izuna. Shall we dine? It’s been a long time since any of us have prepared a meal. You will let us know, I hope, if there is any part you find undesirable and we will hasten to remedy that for you!”

“Right. Sure.”

Despite Hashirama's mood swinging back up as hopped away to check on his wife Madara found himself feeling saddened as he stood out in the hall and stared up at the portrait hanging before him. To know that this was a real person trapped in the oil and the canvas, a woman who despaired of her own state so strongly that she had chosen to fall asleep indefinitely rather than go on and wait for an end, he couldn’t imagine living like that. He was grateful for the hand that slid on to his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“You know he’s not telling us everything,” Izuna said in a low voice and Madara nodded.

“Hearing what we have though…do we really want the full story?”

Izuna shook his head with an expression just as sad as Madara felt. Together they looked up at the painting and Madara wondered if maybe the beast had taken them prisoner not out of cruelty but to be kind to those left awake. He supposed he would be pretty lonely too after so many years watching everyone he knew go quiet and still.

Whatever the case, there was obviously more going on here than he had originally assumed even after discovering the place was run by a horrific man-beast and a talking candelabra. Madara tore his eyes away from the portrait and spun his brother around by force to march them both back in to the kitchen. If someone wanted to tell them more about what was happening he had to admit he was curious enough to listen but until then the best thing to do would be to keep their heads down as much as possible. It had kept them both alive this long. Hopefully it would keep them safe long enough for him to figure out how the hell he was going to get Izuna to a doctor for the cough that started up again as soon as they left the hallway.

[cloudfiveclub]

age is just a number ➵ z.d.j.

Summary ; Zabdiel’s always had a thing for older women.

Warning(s) ; swearing

Word Count ; 2.2k+

Author’s Note ; hey everyone! this is the first part of a collab series @dimelomamii and I have written together. pretty basic of a plot with cliches, but hopefully you guys enjoy it! let us know your thoughts and if you’d like to see a continuation x

masterlist

disclaimer | these are only based on my own opinions and imagination and are purely fictitious, as such they in no way accurate or true

When the hell is this meeting going to end?

You had been stuck in this meeting for about three hours discussing the designs for a skyscraper your company got commissioned for another in Shanghai. You loved your job, but this project was just so boring. Your boss was just droning on and on about all the unimportant stuff, and the details that were crucial were not being discussed. You had tried bringing it up a few times, but it seemed like nobody was quite interested in that just yet.

“Alright everyone, we will pick up where we left off tomorrow,” your boss finally concluded. You sighed quietly in relief, gathering my materials and making a beeline for the elevator, dodging attempts at conversation from your coworkers as politely as you could. You packed up your stuff at your desk, before exiting the building, making your way to the train station nearby. It was the evening rush hour, and the subway was jammed pack with people all eagerly rushing to get home.

Along the way, you came across a poster of that one boy band your younger sister, Camila was in love with. CNCO, they were called. You didn’t know them very well, you just knew they were talented and attractive. Camila, on the other hand, was ready to die for them. She’d emphasised that fact on numerous occasions; swooning over their “ridiculously good looks”, more particularly the one with a curly mop of black hair who always wore a bandana. Joseph or Jacob or something.

Still, while you weren’t a huge fan, Camila still was, which was why you had taken the liberty of getting VIP tickets for the both of you for their concert in the city the following month. Lucky for her too it lined up right on her 19th birthday. You still remembered the absolute joy on her face when you told her she was actually going to get a chance to meet the “loves of her life”. She’d screamed at the top of her lungs, immediately pulling you into a crushing hug. She claimed you were the “best sister ever”, in which you responded that she didn’t have a choice on that seeing that you were her only sister. Nothing made you happier than seeing her happy.

You weren’t going to admit it out loud, but you were pretty excited to meet them too, even if you didn’t particularly like them as much as most of the other girls. You’d seen some interviews, and listened to a few of their songs, and they seemed like great, talented boys. You really were looking forward to meeting them, but for now, there were more important things to take care of.

Like that boring project.

-

“Just go straight to your left and you will find the room with a sign that says meet and greet and just join the queue,” the guard informs the both of you as he scans your tickets. You thanked him, and Camila and you make your way inside. She was practically buzzing with joy, excitement evident in her large eyes.

“God, I know I’ve said this a million times by thank you so much, Jen,” Camila said to you once again. Her hand gripped your arm tightly, squeezing in gratefulness, and over-excitement. “You’re seriously the best sister anyone could ask for.”

“I know,” you responded, laughing lightly.

You reached the designated room backstage, and you were immediately struck by how chattery everyone was. Girls of all ages were abuzz with excitement and talking to one another, whether or not they personally knew each other or not. You could barely remember the last time you’d seen so many fangirls in one place. This was a young people thing, you’d told yourself. You remembered coming for meet and greets and going to concerts when you were younger, but you were a grown working adult now, you barely had the time.

“I’m really nervous Jen, what will they think of me?” Camila blabbered nervously. She ran her hand through her hair in attempt to make herself look better, although she already looked perfectly fine. “Do I look ok?” she asked, turning to face you.

“You look great and don’t worry, they will love you. Just be yourself, but don’t jump onto what’s-his-name. Bandana guy. Give him some space, alright?” you tell her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. You look back up, and screams sounded out suddenly as the boys came backstage. You swore you saw someone faint, but you couldn’t quite tell from all the chaos.

“Oh my god, look at Joel,” Camila practically squeals in your ear, grabbing onto your arm and shaking it vigorously. You wince when she yells, but you laugh her enthusiasm off. “Fucking hell, he looks better in person,” she adds on, fanning herself dramatically with her other hand. You snort, rolling your eyes at her reaction. He was kind of cute, you figured.

Security calms everyone down as best as they could; slightly redundant but still a solid effort before they started the meet and greets. The two of you wait in line patiently - well, you did, you couldn’t say the same about Camila - until security motions you to pass through a curtain that leads to the stage where the boys were standing and talking to one another.

Grace and composure, you’d reminded Camila, but that piece of advice seemed to fly out of her head as she skipped over to Bandana guy and pulled him into an eager hug without so much of a “hello”. Or “hola”, since they were latino.

You trailed behind her, greeting them as Camila moved on to the other members to do her round of hugging and fangirling. Standing next to Bandana guy was a particularly tall member. She wrapped her arms around him and he returned the hug warmly, and when he looked back up to say hello to you, you swore he did a double take.

“Hola,” he greeted, his tone a little off. You raised your eyebrows in confusion, but gave him a friendly smile. You let Camila have them to herself, and you kept your eye on her to make sure she didn’t do anything particularly stupid or invasive. But in your peripheral vision, you could see the tall one eyeing you. 

Damn, was he not going to take his eyes off of you? Was there something on your face? Did you put too much blush on by accident?

You glanced at him briefly, making eye contact awkwardly for a split second before you moved your gaze over to your sister again.

A little awkward... but at least he’s good looking.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you inwardly thanked the heavens for saving you from a mildly awkward situation and instead giving you something to do to make yourself seem preoccupied. You fish your phone out of your back pocket, opening up the lockscreen to see a new text from one of your coworkers regarding work. You typed a response to her, but as your fingers were moving across the keyboard, you started to get a feeling that someone was moving towards you.

You look back up, and realise it’s the tall one from earlier making his way towards you. You stood awkwardly in place as he approached you. He wasn’t that far away, but it seemed like he was taking forever to get to you. It was like some intense scene from a movie, and you couldn’t help the nerves that had started to creep up on you as he walked towards you.

When he finally reached you, he stood awfully close. Maybe even a little too close. He had an intense gaze, and you felt instantly vulnerable simply just by looking at him. He looked even taller up close too, and he towered over you intimidatingly.

“Uh... Hi?” you said, your tone making it sound more like a question rather than a friendly ‘hello’. “Can I help you?”

Zabdiel’s POV 

“Perdona, sabes dónde está la tierra? Porque desde que te vi ando en las nubes,” I spoke as lowly as I could.

I noticed how a visible blush crept onto her face when I said that, and it definitely only fuelled my ego. It must have worked. Not one of my best pick-up lines, but if it made her blush, it means it really wasn’t that bad.

She was absolutely gorgeous, and had quite a nice looking rack going on in front. I let my eyes rake down the length of her body quickly, slow enough that she noticed it but fast enough to seem like I was merely doing a quick once over of her. I didn’t want to seem like such a creep.

She mustered up a pretty smile, though I did get a feeling she was midly uncomfortable. “I don’t really know you guys, sorry, aha,” she told me, her tone still light. “My sister’s the bigger fan,” she added, gesturing to the other girl. I looked over, and saw her sister almost draped across Joel, but still simultaneously talking to Richard and Chris. I had to hold in a laugh. Joel was always one of the more popular ones amongst the fans.

“Uh- what’s your name, by the way? And how old are you?” She asked me.

I stuck out my hand, prompting her to shake it. Her hand was small and smooth against mine, and the differences in our palm size almost had me distracted for a second.

“Zabdiel, 21. You are?”

“Jennifer and I’m-”

But before she could finish her introduction, the security guards had started guiding both her and her sister away, an indicator that their time was pretty much up and had to leave. My heart skipped a beat, panicking momentarily when I realised I only knew her by name and physical looks, and didn’t have a number or anything. I didn’t have time to ask for any of that, but thankfully her sister delayed their leave for a little.

“Wait! I didn’t get a picture!” She exclaimed. She handed her phone over to a guard, and pulled both me and Jennifer into the frame quickly, pushing Jennifer between me and Richard while she stood between Joel and Chris. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, and put on a grin like always.

“I’d love if I could have your number, cariña,” I whispered to her quietly through clenched teeth while the guard snapped a few shots. “I’d like to get to know you more.”

“No offense, but I’m not that interested,” she whispered back. My heart dropped a little when she said that, shoulders slumping slightly. Disappointing, but I wasn’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get to know a pretty girl that easily.

“Can I at least have your Instagram?” I murmured, stepping away as the guard gave a thumbs up, indicating the picture had been taken. She looks at me skeptically for a few moments, before she nods. She gives me her user, and I fish my phone out of my pocket hurriedly to type it in and find it. It was private, so I sent in a request, but before I could thank her properly, she and her sister were ushered away.

“Gracias mamita, enjoy the show!” I shouted after her anyway.

-

Jennifer’s POV 

Goddamn, you still had zero idea what happened.

You still couldn’t quite believe your luck; having a man as attractive as that ask for your number?

Zabdiel, his name was, was performing on stage with the rest of his bandmates. And you were pretty much salivating. He was a guy who knew how to move those hips, and you didn’t understand how he could feel zero shame doing something as sinful as grinding into the air like that. It was ridiculous. Guys your age were nowhere near as good looking as him.

You blushed furiously when his eyes met yours, and his left eye dropped into a wink. The few girls directly in front and behind you went wild instantly, and you knew they were screaming because every one of them thought he had winked at them. But you knew it was directed at you. His hand moved down towards his crotch for a brief second, and he grinded against his hand and you didn’t know if it was possible, but all the girls around you screamed louder.

You could barely take your eyes off of him the entirety of the show, completely in awe and starstruck even though you weren’t a fan. Well, you were definitely one now.

The time went by way too quickly for your liking, and before you knew it, you were back home after dropping your sister at your mother’s place. You were still in a daze from what had happened, and all of Camila’s swooning and rambling went in one ear and out the other the whole car ride.

Jesus, you didn’t even have sex with him, Jen, all he did was hump the air and you’re already dying.

You huffed as you threw your keys into the dish on the table, ready to collapse into bed after such an eventful day, but before you could do anything else, you got a notification from instagram.

You opened it up, and it brought you to the ‘requests’ section in your DMs. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when you saw who it was from. Zabdiel.

[keyboardpunk]

Where the Ocean Meets the Sky [part 2/?]

Chapter 2: You’re My Greatest Journey { Sora x Kairi }

A continuation of my retelling of the KH3 ending, where Sora goes looking for the pieces of Kairi’s shattered heart. I hope you like it and thanks for reading!

Chapter Rating: T(13+) Chapter 1 ► Chapter 2 ► (more coming soon)

…

… …

…

Throughout his youth, Sora always saw the ocean as a friend. It was an object of much affection: a place where he played for hours on end, that cared not if he was alone or in the company of great friends. It was refreshing in the summer and forgiving in the winter. The ocean was vast and beautiful. It smelt like home and caressed like a lover.

Yet, tonight, it felt like more of an enemy.

Sora might not have expected his return to this world to be easy, but he never imagined it would be quite like this. He landed on an abandoned ship mere moments before a storm violently crashed into them. She was a worn down ship, but sturdy enough to endure the intense waves and fierce winds. Sora, however, quickly began to doubt that he was sturdy enough to endure.

The wind aggressively pummeled at his body, whipping sharp blows against his face. He tried to tuck his head into his arm to provide some protection, but had no choice but to look back up and face the water with the hopes he could maneuver the weather, with nothing but the occasional zaps of lightning to give him light.

The rain poured down cruelly, unwavering in its assault. Droplets fell heavy over the edge of his hat, which did little to protect his eyes from the rains descending attacks. The waves lapped against the ship in disorder, sometimes coming in from the right, sometimes from the left, sometimes aggressively shoving at the underbelly and bringing the ship high into the air, other times tossing heavy over the edge and dislodging Sora from the wheel. Not trusting his feet, he always used airsteps to bring him back. No matter how tight he held on, the waves were always stronger, knocking him around with ease.

For the first few hours, Sora clung to the wheel and did his best to navigate the waves, holding on so tight his fingers ached painfully until numbness set in. He could almost hear the words of the more seasoned pirates: "the sea is an unforgiving mistress", or something to that extent, and now he understood what they meant. On his last adventure, she was kind to him, and allowed him to easily journey about her waters. This time, Sora felt like an unwelcomed guest.

He could taste the salt water heavy on his tongue. He could also taste the metallic sting he recognized as blood. Had he bit his tongue during one of the collisions with a wave? Had he unconsciously chewed a hole through his lip whilst trying to concentrate on navigating the violent waters?

"What's the point of this?" he thought to himself. His heart had brought him here, to this turmoil. Was Kairi lost out there on the open ocean? Was there a piece of her heart being tormented in his storm? Desperation pushed Sora to seek an answer, even if it seemed bleak in that moment. He tried to ignore the aches in his body, the pain of bruised flesh and torn skin, spit out the salt water and blood, and stepped away from the wheel.

His body cleared the distance between where he once stood and the main mast in the blink of an eye. He stood at the base, his feet still firmly planted on the deck, and his hands gripped the cylinder for dear life. The ship violently jolted as a wave crashed against it. Sora barely caught sight of the approaching water as lightning flashed around him. He smacked his mouth shut and squeezed his eyelids together tightly. He pressed his body against the mast, cheek flush with the wood, just in time as the wave knocked against his body.

The force was enough to nearly drag him away; but, he held on long enough for the wave to pass by. He could feel the sting of the rain into a new wound on his cheek, as the wood likely sliced a cut into his skin.

Sora tilted his head back and looked up the mast. He let go to airstep his way to the top, clearing the distance in less than a second. He stood at the very top of the mast, struggling to maintain his balance. Water droplets fell heavy onto his face and the wind blew at the strands of hair that stuck out of his hat. They slapped against his cheeks like sharp wires.

He took a deep inhale, accidentally sucking some of the raindrops into his mouth, before shouting into the night, "KAIRI!" There was no clarity in his calling. The storm remained just as violent, the a sea an angry tempest, black as an endless abyss and unruly in its wake. For a moment, lightning flashed and illuminated the surface of the endless darkness, where the night sky and the dark waters were merged into one.

For the first time in his life, Sora feared the sea.

"KAI-" he tried again. The ship jolted again, struck by another wave. One of the masts gave into the pressure and snapped with a loud crack that was not very different from the whip of a lightning strike. The ship trembled violently and the resulting shudder compromised Sora’s balance.

He fell silent and heavy as a brick from the mast. Failing to break his fall quickly enough, Sora slammed against the edge of the ship as she twisted and turned with the sea. The pain subdued him immediately and he lifelessly fell into the dark waters. He felt the sting on his body when he hit the surface and felt the tightening sensation in his chest as he slowly descended. His right hand reached up and he touched nothing but the empty water.

…

… …

…

Sora woke when the current whipped him from one direction to another and his body dragged along the sandy bottom. He found his footing and burst out of the water gasping and choking, limbs flailing, yet limping and hunched over like a zombie.

He coughed aggressively, and water spewed from his mouth. The sea’s salty water also dripped in heavy buckets off his clothes. Through stinging eyes and blurry vision, he whipped his head around rapidly, searching for dry land. He immediately spotted the shore and dragged himself the rest of the way that the current didn’t.

With his clothes soaking wet, lungs brought to the brink, limbs exhausted and aching, skin sore and flesh stinging, Sora felt heavy as he took long footsteps through the water, dragging his legs with all the strength he could muster. It felt like a very long few feet until he was on dry land and collapsed on the soft sand with an uncharacteristically guttural moan.

He landed flat on his back, limbs stretching out like a beached starfish. He felt the warmth of the sun pounding on his skin and it felt amazing. The heat scorched through him, drying his wet clothes and heating flesh that had been chilled to the bone. Sora panted like he hadn’t breathed in hours, which was likely true all things considered. His chest dramatically rose and fell in swift swoops.

In his moment of exhaustion, sprawled out on the shoreline, Sora drifted into something comparable to sleep. It wasn’t a typical type of sleep, but more in the sense that he floated away. He lost focus of what was going on around him and could feel little beyond that bubble. He could feel the waves gently smacking against his right shoe, felt the welcomed heat of the sun, felt the cool sand beneath him. All thoughts for a moment ceased beyond that.

But, then, he was woken, almost violently. He jolted up and gasped as if someone had nudged at him. However, often placing a hand in the sand so he could balance and rotate his body, scanning around real quick, Sora confirmed he was alone.

All alone... on an island... without a boat...

... in the middle of nowhere.

“Great,” he grimaced, his posture slouching and his eyes moving down to his lap. He ran his right hand through his hair, feeling the soft strands poke at cuts and gashes that had been formed from his encounter with the storm. Some particles of sand fell out of his hair and landed on his lap. He grimaced as he felt the collection of sand and sea sediment his hair had collected during his adventure in the water. It was only then that it occurred to him that something was missing.

He probably should have been a little angry, but he was too exhausted to really care in that moment. At least, he wasn’t particularly concerned over his missing accessory, but more concerned over the fact that he had accomplished nothing since his arrival. Sora pushed back his bangs and used his fingers to rough up his hair, digging into his scalp and pushing out particles of sand and other tiny things from the ocean that found their way into his spiky locks, which included moss and a tiny seashell.

He exhaled once, a brief puff of air through his nose, fast and sharp to express his frustration. His heart had brought him here and the ocean chewed him up and spit him out. He pouted at the ocean as if she had scolded him. He stared at the endless waters and mumbled to himself, “now what?”

…

… …

…

Sora wandered the island he had found himself on, in a stupor almost as though he was drunk on salt water: maybe, he was. He felt dehydrated, maybe even a little sick, on the brink of exhaustion, pushing himself on with willpower and what little strength he had left. Determined to see this through, he seemed unperturbed by the state of his body, unwilling to recognize his weaknesses and completely oblivious to his fatigue.

There was a large rock formation on the center of the island that towered into something like a small mountain. No trees or brush grew here, however. Any existing plant life seemed like it belonged to the ocean. The island’s outer rim was sandy in some places, rocky in others and swallowed up by shallow waters.

Sora walked the shoreline, airstepped his way to the top of the rocky hills, and even swam around some of the shallow, rocky areas of the island. To his dismay, there was nothing here: not a mysterious, conveniently placed ship, or even a piece of wood that could float with him on it. Even something small and simple would make due.

There was no hint of Kairi, no hint of what direction he needed to go, leaving him to fear that this was nothing but another misstep.

In his time on the island, Sora didn’t immediately realize that the tide was closing in fast. With the sun beating down on him, his feet busy making tracks in the sand, he lost track of time, of how quickly time was passing him by. He was focused on finding something of value here - something to give him hope that he was on the right track. It all felt wasted, especially when he returned to the shore he washed up on, and realized it was gone. The water was now lapping against the rocks and all the sand was buried by the ocean.

“Huh!?” Sora gasped. He squinted as the sun beamed down at him, shining bright and yellow melting into orange. It was then that he realized that sunset was a measly few hours away. Had the day truly passed by that quickly? How long had he laid on his back on the shoreline? How long had he wandered the island asking the universe for guidance?

Sora paced the island, asking himself - or whatever entity would bother listening - what to do next. He could retreat to the gummy ship; but, then what? Point the keyblade at the wall and ask for an easier set path? Tch. No way. But, what if... what if his heart had led him astray?

“I miss Donald and Goofy,” he thought, staring down at his feet as he walked. Donald almost always had the answer, or at least an idea to lead them on the right path. He pushed Sora to be wiser, to make better decisions. Goofy was always the voice of reason when times got tough. He encouraged Sora and Donald to never give up, no matter what.

Nothing-

Without-

Them-

Sora shook his head rapidly, so much so that it made him dizzy. His hands smacked against the sides of his face and he roughly patted his own cheeks. He dragged his fingers across his face, digging into the creases around his nose and eyes and pulled rough on the skin before letting go with a harsh exhale. “That’s not true,” he reminded himself. “I can do this... I can do this..”

As the sun drew closer to setting, the water also closed in on the island, threatening to swallow it up. At one point, Sora plopped down on the edge of an elevated piece of the rock formation. His legs dangled over the edge and he watched the sunset, taking a moment to relax. “Kairi, are you out there somewhere?” he thought as he soaked in the basking glow of the gold and pink sky.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and felt the warmth of the sun heat up his face. “Let’s take the raft and go - just the two of us.” Sora opened his eyes at the sound of that distant voice. It was spoken clearly, yet quiet, like it was coming from far away. It sounded familiar to him, yet almost unlike anything he had ever heard before. “I just can’t wait... Once we set sail... It’ll be great.”

For a moment, he was convinced he was hallucinating, simply reliving a moment from his childhood. But then, he felt something move next to him. He turned to his right in time to see a pink form stand up. Little black boots rested at the end of the rock, facing out towards the setting sun. His eyes moved up: long legs, a hooded, pink dress, and red hair. She was staring forward, bangs covering her eyes, hands clasped behind her back.

Sora almost choked on his own spit.

“Kairi-!?” Immediately, Sora bolted upright, nearly stumbling in the process. She turned away from him and started a steady paced walk. “W-wait!” he hollered, immediately on her tail. He charged into a jog and almost tripped in an attempt to catch himself so he wouldn’t run into her full force. “Kairi, how - what-” he sputtered. She continued walking, ignoring him entirely. She seemed almost ethereal, walking gracefully, dead silent, and unnervingly distant. He reached out to try and touch her. “Kai-” He froze when his eyes caught what it was she was walking towards.

Imperfectly cut logs were lined up and secured with a combination of nails and thick ropes. Some boards ran horizontally across the top, a pathetic attempt to make the makeshift ship more secure. There was a single mast in the center, adorned with a large, thick, white sheet to act as the sail. He was wise enough now to know it wasn’t even close to being tall enough to actually catch the wind. The bottom was too light and would likely roll over before they even made it a mile out.

Yet, something nostalgic swelled inside him. He’d recognize Highwind anywhere. They had slaved over that ship for over a year: snuck out power tools in the dead of night, spent countless hours gathering wood and supplies, found all sorts of odd jobs to do around town so they could gather munny to buy supplies for her. She was their pride and glory.

She was going to be their vessel to another world...

She was floating in the water, rocking gently with the waves, and Kairi was walking towards her. “Wait, Kairi,” Sora called out to her, breaking into a jog to catch up with her. Kairi continued to ignore him and kept her gaze directed away from him. She hopped onto the raft with a light “hmph” and picked up one of the oars and moved to push off against the shore and dislodge. Sora hopped onto Highwind before she could leave the shore.

“Kairi... are you mad at me?” Sora asked, almost hesitantly, staring at Kairi’s back as she maneuvered the ship away from the island. Sora was met with nothing but silence. She wouldn’t even look at him. He stared sadly at her as Highwind slowly moved away from the ever fading island and gently coursed through the ocean’s graceful waves.

Kairi remained standing, at first, and so did Sora. When she walked to one corner of the boat, he maneuvered around to the opposite, almost as if he was avoiding her. This continued on for some time, like a dance as they balanced out the raft. It gently rocked with each footstep, moving whatever the direction the wind decided to carry it.

The sun continued to dip lower and cast sharp rays of light over them. Kairi’s hair was glowing in the glare of the sun, bright red with hues of magenta. Sora swallowed roughly, his throat dry and aching. He lifted his arm before immediately bringing it back down to his side, resisting the desire to reach out to her. The breeze gently blew, fluttering Sora’s clothes and making Kairi’s hair dance.

Once the raft was on a steady path without the need of assistance, Kairi set down the oar and walked over to the mast, continuing to keep her eyes distant from Sora. Kairi sat down and leaned her back against the oar, staring out into the vast ocean, where it touched the horizon line and carried on seemingly endlessly. Sora sat down, as well, mimicking Kairi’s positioning, but on the other side of the mast. He leaned against the wood and silently winced, as though pained by the barrier between them. He had one leg outstretched, slightly bent, and the other curved in towards his opposite knee. He kept his hands occupied by twiddling his fingers, tugging at the hem of his pants, or dragging his palms over his knees.

For some time, the silence continued, and Sora felt like was drowning in his thoughts. He could hear himself thinking loudly, thinking about Kairi, about what to say to Kairi. His thoughts ran wild and a memory crept up on him unexpectedly.

Suddenly, Sora let out a boyish giggle. “Remember that time I got a splinter in my thumb?” He barked out, leaning his head back until it thumped against the mast. He stared up into the sail that was being dragged by the breeze. “It really hurt and I was too chicken to pull it out. So, you got it for me... I was being real dramatic about it, huh? I remember you said that...” Sora trailed off and resisted the urge to turn around and look at Kairi. She was dead silent and it stung him.

Sora looked down sadly at his hands, placed delicately in his lap. He tangled his fingers and twiddled his thumbs, briefly chewing his lip as he thought about what to say to her. Then, another memory floated by. “Oh! Remember when you fell and twisted your ankle? And I carried you home? I-... I lied when I said Riku couldn’t do it. It’s cuz I-... I wanted to. But, you already knew that, huh?”

A second or so passed, and Kairi still said nothing. “Nothing ever gets past you,” Sora added on with a brief laugh that unintentionally sounded nervous. How old were they back then? Maybe twelve or thirteen. It really wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like it. They had both changed so much since Xehanort dragged destiny islands into darkness. A few years had gone by like decades.

“You fell when we were working on this...” Sora added on, playing the memory through his thoughts like an old recording. “You were always trying so hard. I guess I-... I sometimes forget that it wasn’t just me and Riku’s dream: it was your dream, too...” As Sora trailed off, he finally realized why Kairi was ignoring him. He blinked rapidly, clarity striking him almost like a slap to the face.

“Kairi... I’m sorry,” he began, pausing to take a deep breath. Sora stared down at his lap, lips chapped, the skin on his hands blistering, and eyes peering sadly into the emptiness in his palms. “Me and Riku - we’ve been to many worlds. We’ve met so many different people and seen so many different places. But, you... you were forced to stay behind.” Sora paused and licked his lips. “-waiting for us to come back for you...”

“I tell myself that-... -that I did all this because these worlds needed saving, and that was true, but... But, it wasn’t always just that. It was the adventure I always wanted... All this time, I’ve learned so much... experienced so much - and it wasn’t always bad things. I’ve met people who changed my life - I made friends I will never forget...”

Suddenly, Sora dragged the knuckles on his right hand across his eyes, quickly catching the tears that threatened to fall. “I forgot that this was your dream, too. I’m so sorry, Kairi - for leaving you behind and not realizing it...” Sora lowered his head apologetically and squeezed his eyes shut. She was safe at home, and that was all that mattered to him back then. Had she been lonely all this time? She walked to the shoreline every single evening and stood there for hours, waiting for them to come home. But, he never-

“Sora.” He snapped his head up and saw Kairi standing before him. With the sunset directly behind her, she was glowing in the gleaming light of dusk. She reached for him and Sora reached back, entwining their fingers. She felt like nothing. She wasn’t warm or cold. Her touch felt nonexistent, and it left a pained ache in his stomach.

Hands clasped together, Kairi slowly descended onto her knees in front of him. Still, she was a little taller than him with him seated and her somewhat upright. “You’re my greatest journey,” she whispered, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

Now kneeling, Kairi had moved out of the way of the sunlight, and it blasted Sora in the face. He squinted, blinking rapidly to try and avoid its harsh rays. Yet, he didn’t want to close his eyes and look away from her. “Kairi?” Through his rapid blinking, trying to avoid the sun’s glare, trying to see her through the blaring light, Sora thought she smiled for a second. “You always promised... you’d come back... I know you will.”

Before he could reply, before he could utter another word, she was gone. The sun dipped over the edge of the ocean and disappeared behind the waves. The sun left behind an orange hue in the sky, but the light was dim and distant, ever escaping.

Just as it did so, Kairi’s form also disappeared and Sora’s hands grasped at emptiness. For a moment, Sora panicked. He jumped to his feet, shaking the raft in the process. He felt dizzy as he stood there, staring at nothing as though there was something he could reach for and capture. As he stood there in a stupor, he felt something barely solid pass through him. It felt almost the same as the sensation of a wave rocking against his body. He knew, somehow, that fragment was now safe inside his heart.

Sora pressed his dominant hand against his chest, right over his rapidly thumping heart, and bunched up the fabric of his shirt in his fist, so tight he almost ripped it. He was another step closer. Just a little closer. Standing there, alone in the open ocean, Sora wondered if he should have felt some relief. Instead, all he felt was crippling loneliness.

It hurts.

…

… …

…

“S-...”

“...-RA.”

“SORA!”

Cold water splashed on his face, stinging a cut on his cheek, and Sora finally woke up, flailing and coughing dramatically, though it was hardly all that much water. His right hand unconsciously came up to hurriedly wipe the water away and dig it out of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to restore his blurry vision. He could see people looking down at him; but, he didn’t immediately recognize them.

The sun-... The sun was up already? He could it’s glaring light beaming down on him, burning bright and warm. The sky was bright and blue with hardly a cloud to be seen. Sora blinked slowly, confused. But-... But, he was just-... Had he fallen asleep again?

“-the hell are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked. Sora felt a large hand press against his back to hold him upright. “Huh?” he exhaled, his gaze following the extended arm to whoever was kneeling beside him. A few blinks later and he finally realized who that person was. Sora’s mouth hung open for a second before morphing into a grin.

“Leon!” he proclaimed loudly, his voice briefly raising in pitch for a second. It seemed that the magic that allowed him to blend in with distant worlds was also in Leon’s possession. He was dressed quite unlike himself, done up like a rather reputable pirate, aside from the fact that he still had three heavy belts hanging around his hips. His hair was tied back, with a few loose strands heavy and greasy around his eyes, and a single dangling braid that hung by his left cheek.

“What are you doing out here?” Sora asked, completely forgetting the question Leon just asked him. The taller man rose to his feet and backed up to give Sora the chance to stand. The spiky haired pirate climbed to his feet, wobbling for a quick second before grounding himself.

“Me? What the hell are you doing out here?” Leon questioned, his rough voice a bit accusing, aggressive, even; but, Sora recognized it as worry. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, unsure of how to answer Leon, who crossed his arms and stared back with the expectation of an answer.

“Passed out a raft - we thought you were dead,” another voice chipped in. Sora’s eyes moved away from Leon, and he realized that he wasn’t the only familiar face. “Huh?” Sora gasped. “Yuffie!?” She smiled brightly at him, showing off a row of very crooked and chipped teeth.

“I spotted this raft and thought, maybe it drifted off somehow and then saw a body on it - talk about giving us a scare when we realized it was you!” she babbled on. Even she blended in flawlessly, wearing a rugged outfit that looked like it had been spit out by the ocean itself. Her short hair was pushed back by a faded green bandana. A few braided strands of hair hung over the front at her right temple.

“We’re glad you’re okay. You really seemed out of it,” Yuffie said, placing a supportive hand on Sora’s shoulder. “Oh. Sorry to worry you,” he replied, sincerely. “It’s - I - uhm...” Sora trailed off, looking back and forth between the two of them with an apologetic look. “I’m looking for Kairi... She’s-...” Sora trailed off, wondering where to even begin. Yuffie carefully retracted her hand, looking sadly at him.

“We heard,” Leon explained. Sora looked up at him with an almost startled expression. Leon remained unmoved at Sora’s expression, suppressing his urge to wince as those blue bright eyes beamed up at him. He could see it written all over Sora’s face: confusion, fear... how bad it hurt.

“Mickey and Riku filled us in,” he clarified. A moment of silence took them over. Sora looked down at his feet and tightened his lips, silently grueling over what Leon might say to him. He could almost feel it coming. His fists clenched at the mere thought. He wouldn’t have it. No one could stop him from-

“I understand what you’re going through,” Leon suddenly stated, almost quiet, voice like a rough whisper. “Huh?” Sora blurted, whipping his head up to look at Leon. He stared at him, wide eyed and almost in disbelief. Leon wasn’t looking back at Sora, but rather had his eyes directed elsewhere, staring off into the abyss of his own mind.

Oh.

A crease formed on Sora’s forehead and his expression grayed. That part of him - the part that never gave up, that always saw the good in others, that was warm and soft - wanted to comfort him, then. But, it was obvious that Leon didn’t need it. Whatever happened, it was ancient history, now.

“With the help of Merlin-” Yuffie suddenly chimed in, slicing through the tension. “-we were able to split up the Heartless Resistance - cover more ground, y’know? We’ve been clearing them out since kingdom hearts was opened. Lucky we found you - haven’t been stationary for weeks.” Sora directed his gaze at her and smiled.

“Thanks, guys,” Sora said, glancing between the two of them. “We’re gonna port soon to stock up. Are you coming or what?” Leon asked, his tone right back to the casual gruff Sora was familiar with. Sora’s heart swelled and he knew, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t say no.

[lukin08]

Nontraditional Family Traditions

Happy, merry, holly, jolly season's greetings here @frenzy5150!  I’m your Secret Santa!  I hope you’re in the mood for some extra floofy, fluffy family holiday times.

Rating: K 

Words: 3000

A/N- A series of intertwined holiday events taking place over several years.

The bell tower struck its loud distinct claps, signaling the top of the hour.  Anna rocked back on her heals in anticipation.  Everything was in place and ready to go.  All she had to do was be patient, but the thought of having to wait even one second longer had her ready to burst.  

“Anna?”  Kristoff called out from the courtyard near the main doors.  He was where she told him they would be waiting and she could hear the confusion in his voice.

“We’re over here!  By the stables!”  She yelled so he wouldn’t head back into the castle to search her out.  Anna quickly ducked her head inside where Sven was waiting.  “Okay Sven.  As soon as you see Kristoff, come on out.”

The reindeer straightened up in preparation and Anna hoped he understood what she told him.  She turned back to face where Kristoff would come from around the corner.  Just then a small hand tugged at her hair, reaching for her braid and the pieces around her neck.

“You stinker,” Anna rubbed her nose against her son’s eliciting a giggle from him.  “We have to watch for Papa now,” she said and pointed where Kristoff would emerge.

Kristoff appeared from around the corner with a slightly frustrated look on his face.  He walked with a purpose, eyes down to the cobblestone. “What are you doing over here?  I thought you-“

“Surprise!”  Anna called out merrily.

Kristoff stopped dead in his tracks.  “…What are you doing?”  He finally said after scanning her up and down, trying to gain some understanding of what was going on.  

“Happy, happy, merry Flemmy Day!” Anna exclaimed.

On cue Sven pranced out from the stables pulling the small sled.  He stopped next to Anna with a proud look.  Kristoff’s confusion turned to a look of wonder.  A smile pulled at his face as he looked at them.

“Wow,” he said as he walked up to her.  “Anna. You look amazing.”  He stopped and ran his hand along the moss cape she was wearing.  Then his gaze moved to the small version their son had.  “Where did you…  How did you…”

The baby was reaching for Kristoff and Anna handed him over.  “Bulda helped me sneak them out last time we visited.”  

Kristoff raised an eyebrow at her then he lifted the baby over his head to a fit of giggles.  “You hear that Lukas?  Your mama’s a big sneak!”  He brought his son down and tucked him into his arms.  When he looked at Anna again, his face had turned serious. “But I thought we don’t celebrate here. I mean, we haven’t after the first year when Elsa banned me from making the stew.”

“She didn’t ban you. You just aren’t allowed to bring the stew into the castle.”

Kristoff chuckled.  “Same difference.  But really, what brought this on?”  

“It’s Lukas’ first holiday and he needs to know about everything we celebrate.  It’s important.”

Kristoff placed his hand gently on her shoulder.  Anna followed from where his hand was and along his arm until she was staring in his eyes.  The look on his face showed his absolute adoration.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  

Anna brought his hand from her shoulder and placed it in hers.  She smiled back at him then tugged him over to the sled to show him the Flemmy troll she had made with Olaf, his cape, and some of the other things they could bring with them to the trolls.  Then she bent down, and when she popped back up she had Kristoff’s lute in her hand.

“And now it’s time for the gathering song!” she proclaimed.

“Anna,” Kristoff started. “We’re going to do this again in a few hours.”

“For Lukas,” she said, then reached up to kiss him.  “And for me.”

Kristoff sighed, but took the lute from Anna and handed the baby to her.  He strummed a few chords before starting into the song.  

There once was a troll held in highest esteem

For his manner was kind and his fungus did gleam

The Ballad of Old Flemmingrad

Beloved by each troll girl and every troll lad.

 Kristoff took his finger and lightly touched Lukas’ nose as emphasis on the last line.  As he went through the song, Anna danced around him with Lukas, laughing and babbling his baby noises and Kristoff thought his life could never be happier.

 Two sets of eyes peered around the door frame.  They had managed to make it down two flights of stairs and through several hallways undetected and now they were so close to completing the mission.

“Almost there.  What do you think, bud?” Kristoff said, looking over at the three year old.  “Think the coast is clear?”

Lukas took another look into the room.  He hung onto the wood of the frame as hard as he could as he slowly stuck his head farther in.  After a moment he seemed to lose his confidence and pulled back.  

“You check, Papa,” he said.

Kristoff mimicked the boy, poking his head in the room and then back out.

“Seems quiet,” he said. “You know what I think?  I think we need a plan.”

Lukas looked at him excitedly.  “Like what?”

“Well, we can go in really really fast or slow and sneaky or we could send our scout in first to see if it’s safe.”

“Yeah.  Because we don’t want to get caught.  Then we won’t get to make the stew,” Lukas agreed and stuck his head past the door again.

Suddenly there was a sound of pots clattering and Lukas jumped back to hide behind the safety of the wall.  From being on his hands and knees, Kristoff was about at eye level with Lukas and he could see how large the boy’s eyes and he was breathing hard.  Kristoff gestured if Lukas was okay and his son gave him a big nod that was accompanied with an even larger smile.  

Lukas inched as close to the edge of the doorframe as he could without revealing himself.  “Papa,” his said in a mock whisper.  “Send the scout.”

Kristoff reached behind him for his daughter who was on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. She squealed and clapped her hands when he set her on her feet next to him.  

Brite looked into the room and immediately started toddling into the kitchen.  Kristoff let her walk a few steps on her own and was about to follow her when she fell back on her bottom, giggling and looking around the large room.

“Think it’s safe?” Kristoff asked.  

Lukas nodded his head, but didn’t move.  Kristoff pulled himself off his knees and up to a standing position.  “Tell you what.  I’ll go in first, just in case.”  

A pair of feet were on his heels as he entered the kitchen and lifted Brite up off the floor.  He stopped at the counter and pulled out a high stool for Lukas to sit on.  Once Lukas was situated, he held out the small sack that was in his hand for his father to see.  Kristoff tussled his hair with his free hand and smiled when Lukas called out “Flemmy Stew!”

He leaned down to get a little closer to Lukas.  “Do you remember what we need?”

“Carrots!”  

“Carrots!” Kristoff called back, grabbing several and handing them to Lukas to put in the sack. “What else?”

“Potatoes!” Lukas yelled, sending Kristoff in search of them.

They rummaged through the kitchen finding all the ingredients.  When they were getting close to the sack being full Kristoff kneeled down to see under one of the counters out of site from Lukas.  “Comfortable?” He asked.

“Quite,” Anna shot back. “Now get out of my way. I have a performance to put on.”

And with that she jumped out, “I am the dragon and I’m here to take your Flemmy stew!”  

She went over by Lukas with her dragon gloved hands.  He was smiling and trying not to laugh, holding the sack as far away from her as he could.  When he wouldn’t give it up, she tickled him until he couldn’t hold on anymore and she grabbed the sack triumphantly.  “Ha-ha.  Now you’ll never get to make your stew!” She proclaimed and raced out of the kitchen.

Lukas looked over at Kristoff, his eyes wide again, but so full of joy and excitement.  Kristoff pulled him off the stool and with Brite in one arm and Lukas holding his other hand, he gave his order.  “Get Mama!”

 “Is it done?”

“No.”

“When will it be done?”  Lukas threw himself down on the workbench for dramatic effect.  

Brite watched him and followed suit.  “Now Papa?” She asked as soon as she laid down.

“Not yet.”

“But its taking foreeevvveeer,” Lukas whined then slumped back down on the chair.  He scooted down sideways to where his back was on the seat and he was able to arch backwards, letting his arms and legs hang down to the floor.

“You can’t rush perfection,” Kristoff answered back.  “If you want something to do, go play with Sven or go see how Mama and Reidar are.”

“But that’s boring,” Lukas protested.  “Reidar’s a baby and I’m five and he’s too little to be any fun.”

“And I’m three!” Brite exclaimed.

Kristoff walked over to Brite and tapped her nose gently.  “You know, Sven hasn’t had any snacks today.  I bet he’d love you extra if you gave him some.”  

Sven, huffed in the background and stomped his hooves on the floor of the stable agreement.  Brite’s face lit up and she bounced over to the bin where Sven’s carrots were.

“Lukas, you can stay in here if you want, but I know Mama would sure like your company.  With the new baby, she hasn’t been able to spend as much time with you as she’d like.”

Before Lukas was able to answer, the door to stable flew open.  “It sure isn’t the holidays until it smells like wet fur around here!” Anna rushed in, closing the door behind her.  She looked over at the pot on the fire.  “Wow!  That’s some batch!”

“As popular as ever at the ice tree lighting ceremony.  I made double this year, and we’ll still run out tonight.  It’s a real crowd-pleaser, I tell you.”

Anna walked up to Kristoff, wrapping her arms around him.  “At least it tastes better than it smells.”

“And to think you doubted me once on how good it is.”  He kissed her forehead.  “How’s he doing?”  

“So good.  I just got him down for a nap and I figured I’d see what the three of you were up to.”

“You should be resting.”

“I’d rather be with you for a while.  I’ll have time to rest before we head out tonight.”

Kristoff reluctantly let go of Anna and walked over to the makeshift table, pulling a chair out for her.  “The stew’s almost done and I promised these two they could each have a bowl now.”  

He grabbed the stacked bowls from the end of the workbench, laying them out and took each one over to the pot, pouring in a helping.  Brite was back at a seat and Lukas was already reaching for a bowl as soon as Kristoff sat the first one down.

“Wait,” Kristoff said, stopping Lukas’ hand.  “They have to cool down.”

Anna looked down at the bowls.  “You should bring one to Elsa,” she laughed.  

Kristoff chuckled.  “That would go over well.”

“Auntie Elsa likes Flemy stew?”  

Kristoff and Anna both turned to see Lukas leaning on the table with a look of excitement on his face. “We should bring her a bowl!”

“Flemy stew!” Brite echoed behind Lukas.

Anna looked over and could see Kristoff’s face morph into that mischievous smirk she knew too well. “That’s a great idea,” he said.

Kristoff handed Lukas one of the bowls.  “Hold it with two hands and walk slow and go straight to Aunt Elsa’s study.”

Lukas nodded and walked away, letting Brite open the door for him.  Their chants of ‘Flemy stew’ rang out from the courtyard as they headed to the castle.

“It’d be a shame if any of that were to spill on the floors.  The smell will be there for weeks,” Kristoff said as he sat down, laughing to himself.

“You’re horrible,” Anna said.  “You know you can’t bring that in the castle.”

“I can’t,” Kristoff agreed.  “No one ever said anything about two adorable small children bringing it in because they want to share.”

“You’re going to be in so much trouble,” Anna said, unable to stop her own laugh now.

“Completely worth it,” Kristoff said sitting back and pulling a steaming bowl to him.

 They loved to watch him roll, roll, roll!

With laughter he would roll, roll, oh!

 Anna chuckled at the words. The song at this point had almost morphed into the children yelling their favorite part over and over as they raced down the halls.  From the sound of their voices, they were probably over at the main stairs, taking a much deserved break from their studies.  There was also no doubt at least one of them was attempting to slide down the banister.

She didn’t mind one bit. God only knew how many times she had done the exact same thing.  And they were having fun, which was the most important thing in Anna’s eyes.  Let children be children she always told the tutors and nurses whenever they voiced a concern.

For Flemy couldn’t roll, roll, roll!

Oh Flemy won’t you roll, roll, oh!

“Children enough!”

The voice was a stern warning, but they didn’t stop singing until there was silence as three sets of footsteps headed Anna’s way.  Ever since the holiday season kicked off, Brite and Lukas had been singing non-stop, much to Anna’s amusement and the consternation of their tutors.

“Watch this,” she said to Reidar, as she adjusted him on her hip.  “You’re about to see Mama explain exactly how she expects your brother and sister to be educated.”

--

Kristoff walked down the hall to the family wing, whistling a familiar tune and happy to be done with work at such an early hour.  As he turned the corner, he ran straight into Lukas and his instructor.  Instead of his usual greeting, the instructor only gritted his teeth, saying “Not you, too.”

“Hi Papa,” Lukas said with a solemn wave before he was led away.

He entered the family sitting room to find Anna and Brite sitting on the floor, encouraging Reidar to take his hand off the chair and take a step.

“What was that about? Kristoff asked, hitching his thumb back towards the door.

“Just a difference of opinions,” Anna said.  “I took care of it.”

Kristoff sat down on the floor next to Brite.  She climbed into his lap and gave him a hug.  “Where’d Lukas go?  He looked like he was taking his last walk.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Anna said.  “He started music lessons.”

“Music lessons?  He’s six!”

“I’ve been fighting it for a year.”  Anna lifted her head, speaking as snooty as she could.  “Apparently it is proper for royals to take up music at a young age.”

Kristoff shrugged.  “Seems unnecessary.”

“He’ll be fine,” Anna assured him.  “It’s only once a week and I told him he didn’t have to practice if he didn’t want to.  I figured he’ll either like it or his instructor will eventually give up.  Either way it works itself out.”

Kristoff turned his attention back to Reidar.  “So what instrument is he learning?”

A screeching airy sound like a dying cat pierced the air.  Brite held her hands to her ears.

“Really?”  Kristoff questioned.  “The violin?”

“My bet’s on the instructor giving up,” Anna said trying to hold back her laughter.

   “And that’s why we have this tradition, kids.”

Kristoff looked around at his family.  He took a moment to admire Anna.  She had Reidar in her lap.  He was fidgeting, trying to get comfortable and clearly not understanding that in a few months it would be even more difficult for him to sit there.  Brite was idly tracing the swirls in her cape with her finger, following the softer moss as she watched Lukas stand up.  

Lukas slowly took a few steps up to Kristoff.  His face was already red as he looked down at the rug.  Kristoff bent down and spoke softly to him.

“Are you ready?”

Kristoff waited until Lukas gave him a nod.  He reached behind the couch and picked up with care the instrument that was sitting on a footstool.  He handed it to Lukas and sat on the arm of the couch as to not be so imposing next the boy. Lukas adjusted his cape, making sure nothing was in his way and set the violin under his chin.

Kristoff plucked at a string of his lute until Lukas joined in, pulling his first note.  The sound was shaky, but he hit the correct note and held it while Kristoff strummed the chords to match.  

Every December we all gather round-

His words were slow and deliberate as to not rush his son.  

To pay our respects for a troll so renowned-

The notes changed to match the lyrics, stronger and more confident each time Lukas’ fingers moved on the strings and the bow switched directions.  

In honor of the friend we have-

By the end, Lukas’ confidence increased enough where Kristoff was able to pick up the pace.  Brite had stood up and was twirling, holding her cape out and singing along with her father while Reidar clapped his hands, still in Anna’s lap.  

As soon as the song was done, Lukas put the violin quickly on the couch as to make sure no one would request him to play anything else.  Kristoff knelt down to him and he gave his father the biggest hug he could muster.

“Great job, buddy!”

Lukas let go of Kristoff and crawled over to Anna, giving her an equally large hug.  He sat down next to her, leaning his head against her arm.

“We should get going if we’re going to make it time for the gathering in the valley,” Kristoff said, looking at each of his children before his eyes settled on Anna.  He was about to stand up when Brite leaned forward.

“Papa,” she said, tugging at his cape.  “First tell us about when you and Mama rescued Flemy from the fjord.”

“Well now.” Kristoff gave his daughter a warm smile.  “That calls for a completely different song, doesn’t it?” He said, looking up and winking at Anna.

[elevanetheirin]

Templar Cullen x Erina Amell I haven’t even written anything past chapter 1 but it could be for @cullenappreciationweek Mostly SFW-There’s a kiss :) Summary: It took years for Erina Amell to realize she was in love with Cullen, then her life changed dramatically. 

Read it on A03

My name is Erina Amell, and I was a mage in the Fereldan Circle of Magi, Kinloch Hold. I don’t remember much of my early childhood. I know that I was born to parents who had lived in the Circle themselves. I can only assume they were both mages but that’s because the Chantry denies there are relationships between the Mages and the Templars who are tasked with protecting Thedas from us. As a matter of fact, I don’t know anything about them at all other than the Chantry raised me. My whole life has been spent within these walls. I guess the Chantry decided early on I was at risk of being a mage. I am sure I didn’t live in Kinloch Hold as an infant but Irving may as well be my father for all the time I’ve spent with him over the years.

I hated the tower, I hated being watched all the time by the Templars. Often, I would dart out of the hallways to avoid their gaze that always seemed to be attempting to read into my soul. While none of them mistreated me in the classical sense of the word I never felt I was trusted, not even in the slightest. That was until a Templar recruit came to Kinloch to complete his training.

I can clearly remember the moment I met Cullen. I was twelve years old and had spent the morning studying but I had been scheduled to report to the Chantry for my daily prayers before lunch. When I entered, I noticed Greagoir and the most curious sight I have seen in all my years in the Circle, a boy about my own age, that wasn’t what was so curious, what was interesting was he wasn’t a mage, he was in Templar clothing. I had never seen a Templar so young. If I were being honest, up until that moment I hadn’t even given boys a second thought. Those found within the circle at least so far weren’t of any interest to me aside from being friends. Anders was kind of course but he was always getting into trouble, and I preferred to NOT be noticed by our jailers, and Jowan was just, well, he was Jowan. We literally grew up together he was my brother and there was no way I was going to think of him any other way. I spent my prayer time glancing at the strawberry blonde boy wondering what his name was and where he’d come from.

I spent the better part of the week unable to concentrate. I wanted to know more about this curly haired boy. I listened to the rumors the other apprentices traded back and forth but all I had managed to glean from the inane chatter was his name, Cullen. When we did finally meet it was an accident. I was walking the halls on my way to the library with my nose in a book. I wasn’t really reading it, I was daydreaming of what it might be like to kiss him, even though I knew that wasn’t likely to ever happen, it had become a fantasy I indulged in more often than was prudent. Then it happened. Just as in my daydream I was standing up on my toes, looking into his warm honey eyes and leaning in to kiss him the book I was pretending to be studying slammed into my face, smashing my nose. My eyes teared and immediately I felt the warmth of blood dripping from my nose. The voice I heard was kind and gentle.

“Maker! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to run into you!”

My eyes cleared enough to look up into the same eyes I had just been daydreaming about. Cullen was nearly in tears and scrambling to locate a handkerchief in hidden pockets within his recruit robes. I stood stunned at the sight of the handsome boy in front of me, my nose all but forgotten, that is until he found the handkerchief. When he handed it to me I had been struck dumb and couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he was giving it to me.

“Here, let me do that for you, please, it’s the least I can do.” Sadly smiling at me as he gently held it to my nose and tilted my head back with his other hand.

He led me to the infirmary where I was left in the care of the absent minded elderly healing mage. When he left the room it felt as though part of me had gone with him. It was an odd feeling this attachment to this boy I hardly knew. It wasn’t something I had ever experienced, nor was it anything anyone had ever spoken of. I wondered if there were something wrong with me. I mean how could I possibly feel such a connection to someone I didn’t know not to mention the completely forbidden infatuation with a TEMPLAR. Not just forbidden by the Chantry, or the Circle but even within myself. I had never felt any connection with a Templar, not even a friendly one. I spent my life around them but never looked them in the eyes. No one ever told me not to, it was something I just felt more comfortable avoiding. There were plenty of my fellow mages who were friends with some of the Templars, I just never felt comfortable around any of them.

When I left the infirmary, Cullen was standing just to the right of the door. He was leaning on the wall, waiting for something. My heart leapt, I hoped it was me he was waiting for. He straightened up and smiled as he turned to face me. Unfortunately, Greagoir came around the corner before he could speak and ushered him off to some classes. I tried to get a moment when I could speak to Cullen again but he and I were both busy with studies. All I could manage was to steal glances at him in the halls and the Chantry when he was in the company of his Templar trainer. During services I could watch him during prayer without the fear of getting caught. On more than one occasion I caught him returning the glance, at times when I was feeling brave I wouldn’t look away. Instead I would smile and nod at him.

You would think that over time my feelings for Cullen would dissipate but you would be wrong. The longer Cullen was at Kinloch and the more I got to know him over the years the more I fell for him. Anders, Jowan and I became the best of friends over these years. Often if you saw one of us the others weren’t far behind, well, except for when Anders would run away. Every time Anders ran away it broke my heart, not because he was gone, but because he always seemed to get caught. Jowan and I devised plans and found the hidden passages within the Circle to visit Anders when he was locked up. Every time he’d promise not to leave again, saying it wasn’t worth it getting caught but every few months, the longest he ever waited was a year, Anders would be gone again. Irving would be livid, not to mention Greagoir, if they had known that Jowan and I helped plan some of his escapes. They closed off the unused ferry access under Kinloch Hold after we’d planned his run through that route. We’d spent two months, the whole time he was locked in his own quarters at near the top of the Tower, across the hall from Irving’s room slipping food and clothing into packs down below in the waterway. There was Irving less than 10 feet away and no idea the 3 of us sat together in a room Anders supposedly couldn’t leave from mapping out routes and organizing his next big escape. Unknowingly Cullen helped in this particular escape plan of ours, and it was another way I knew I loved him.

I had slipped several pieces of food from the kitchen’s one night to put with the rest of Anders’ provisions. I was coming out the the kitchens long past lights out when I bumped into one of the Templars in the hallway, as I began stumbling over myself trying to explain not only what I was doing out of bed but why I had an armload of food Cullen appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I see you’ve found the food for Irving’s surprise party Erina” Cullen’s smile beamed and lit the hallway.

“Oh, yes, I did, thank you Ser Cullen. I hope it’s enough, I mean all the Senior Enchanters will be there.” I had managed to reply.

The other Templar peered at me through the slits in his helmet, I could feel his eyes on me. He turned away and nodded to Cullen as he continued on his way as if I had been a bug that had flown away.

Cullen winked and smiled at me as he said, “Right, I’ll leave you to your party planning then.”

He was often in places I least expected but it didn’t seem like hovering and spying. To me it seemed more like watching over me. It was a feeling I had never gotten from the Templars when they were around. Honestly, it wasn’t a feeling I got from anyone. Jowan and Anders were friends, best mates even but they never gave me the feeling of being protected like when I ran into Cullen. Which those two made happen as often as they could. I giggled then and I laugh now at the three of us roaming the halls of Kinloch Hold, the boys scouting ahead to see if I could just “happen” to bump into Cullen. They were as much my spies as Jowan and I were Anders’ travel agents. At times Anders was even known to purposely commit some minor act that caused Cullen to give chase, just so he could run into the Apprentice Quarters and hide under my bed, leaving him to run in only to find me alone, or the time he hid under my desk in the library and Cullen had to ask me if I had seen him. Jowan was always far less subtle, once he pulled me through the hallways to the Chantry and shoved me through the door, laughing like a maniac as I stopped shouting at him when I realized Cullen was inside, alone. My face turned beet red as he looked up from where he was reciting the Chant of Transfigurations to smile broadly at me before I could make a dash for the door Jowan had just closed behind me.

I did my best to look out for Cullen as well as he looked out for me. They were minor things, not like saving me from getting caught in the Anders’ great escape. I was quietly walking the grounds one evening at the age of 16, when I overheard some loud whispering from the behind one of the bushes. I stopped to listen, I didn’t want to stumble upon someone’s well planned tryst, I mean it was hard enough for two people to get a moment alone in this miserable place, I wasn’t about to ruin it. When I recognized one of the voices, it was that snotty little Templar, Carroll. He was always trying to get something from someone. Always sneaking about and blackmailing the mages. I knew he was up to something. He wasn’t terribly bright but he knew how to get something for nothing that was easy to see just by chatting to him. When I heard the name Cullen I listened more closely. One of the fellows, whose voice I didn’t recognize needed them to repeat what they were going to do. This was perfect, since I missed the first part when I was only half listening in my attempt to not be eavesdropping. Carroll had decided that he wanted Cullen’s amulet, the one he wore around his neck that featured Andraste. I don’t know if it was because he really wanted it, or because he thought it would hurt Cullen. They planned on nicking it while Cullen was in the bath. I peered around the corner to get a look at these thieves and cowards. There was Carroll of course and two other Templars who I only recognized by face. After listening to their plan I had a little plan of my own.

I slipped up to the Templar Quarters via one of our found hidden passages in the Tower. I slipped into one of the cabinets opposite of Cullen’s area and waited. I don’t know how long I waited for the scene to play out, it seemed like hours, but that could be because I was hiding in a wardrobe. Cullen came in and began to prepare for his bath. I stood there mesmerized by the muscles on his back as he took off his shirt, his well defined back could only have been the result of working on his sword training. I nearly choked at the sight. Stifling my desire to moan at the sight I turned away before he took off anymore clothes. My face burning from embarrassment. I heard the door click shut when he left and I turned back around to wait for the conspirators. It didn’t take long, they must have been in the hall when he entered the bathing room. I grinned and held in a giggle, as Carroll reached for the amulet I gave him a little shock. He squealed like a pig. He tried again, and again I shocked him a little, just on his hand where he reached for the amulet. One of the other Templars laughed and called him a baby, he shoved Carroll out of the way and reached for the amulet. I gave this oaf a slightly larger shock and he squeaked.

“It must be magic” Carroll so obviously stated.

“Uhh huh, we’re being punished for stealing an amulet of Andraste” the second one wimpered.

The third just said “I am not touching that, I am getting out of here!”

I shocked the 3 of them on their arses as the ran away like scared children and I laughed so hard I fell out of the cabinet just as Cullen returned from his bath. I froze, my eyes met his, they were full of amusement and questions.

“Do I even want to know why those 3 ran out of here like they’d seen a ghost?” Cullen inquired.

“If I told you, you’d have to report me, so, no, you don’t want to know.” I boldly winked at him and ran from the room stopping only once I’d reached the Apprentice Quarters.

Later when I told Jowan and Anders we laughed until our sides hurt. For the next year this was our favorite story to recount when Carroll was on duty to make rounds. He used to get angry when he’d walk by and find us huddle together laughing. I wonder how mad he’d be if he had known it was at his expense, or that he’d been had by a mage of all things.

I may have hated being locked up in the Tower like a criminal but Jowan and Anders made my life a little easier and I hope I did the same for them. I doubt I would have lasted as long as I did if it hadn’t been for my best friends, and I would have given up Cullen if they hadn’t encouraged me to pursue him. The last few weeks of my life at Kinloch Hold was probably the most eventful in all the years I had been there. Anders was locked up again for escaping, this time Greagoir had made Irving put him in the dungeons, and this time I wasn’t about to let him stay down there. I would make sure Anders got out, and hopefully, this time leave for good. I loved Anders and because I loved him I wouldn’t let them do what would come next should he be caught. His next punishment would be Tranquility. Only Irving had kept it from happening before now. As much as Irving’s cowtowing to the Chantry grated on me, he was good at convincing Greagoir not to be too rash. Regardless of Irving or Greagoir I would not let them emotionally murder one of my dearest friends. To enact my plan I needed to complete my Harrowing, so that I would get a little more freedom within the Circle. Lucky for me, Irving had already scheduled it to take place on my 17th birthday.

The Harrowing itself was uneventful, by that I mean it wasn’t as scary as everyone made it out to be and I don’t know if it was just me or if it’s a normal thing, it didn’t seem that hard at all. I found the demons not the least bit tempting. They couldn’t tempt me with anything I wanted. Looking back I suppose it could just be that I was lucky they hadn’t tempted me with what I did want and at the time thought I couldn’t have or would never have. For me, the worst part was afterward, not during. That night after my Harrowing was the last night I was to sleep in the Apprentice Quarters. I would have my own alcove within the Mages Quarters starting the next day. It was a bit exciting knowing I would have at least a modicum of privacy for the first time in my whole life.

I woke hours after dark, the sound of snoring and even breaths surrounding me. When I rolled over facing the doorway I noticed a familiar shape standing in the light from the hallway, as unmoving as a statue.

“Cullen? Is that you?” I whispered as quietly as I could.

The figure didn’t move. He stood there as if he were alone in a world of his own. So, quietly I slipped out of bed, being careful not to jostle it too much and wake the apprentice sleeping on the top bunk. I tiptoed across the small space from my bed on the end of the row to the motionless Cullen. His eyes were glassy and he didn’t see me. I stared at him for a moment and whispered his name again. Still no movement. Without thinking I stood on my toes and leaned up towards him, like that long ago day dream I had as a child. My lips touched his softly, and a thrill shot through my body, from my lips to my toes. In a moment his arms were around my waist crushing me to him. My lips parted when he returned the kiss and one of his hands grasped the back of my head pressing my lips closer, our tongues entwining. Breathlessly it was over quicker than I had wanted to.

His mouth still so close to mine I could feel his breath on my lips as he whispered, “Maker!”

Smiling, I backed up a step, “I…I…I shouldn’t have done that. I should…go back to bed.”

As I started to turn Cullen gently grasped my upper arm, “I love you Erina” then turned and ran out of the room. Leaving me standing there and if it weren’t for the kiss I still felt on my lips I would have thought it was a dream.

When I returned to my bed, still in a daze, I heard Jowan whisper from several bunks away “About time!”

I smiled and fell back asleep dreaming of the kiss and the words Cullen had whispered before running out. My heart had felt as though it would burst it was so full. All these years, I wasn’t the only one who’d felt this way. It was a remarkable revelation, and a wonderful thought. I didn’t even entertain the thought that it was something that could never be. I just wanted to be happy, for once in my sad lonely life of confinement.

The rest of the world would have viewed Cullen standing in the dark staring at me creepy more likely than not, but they don’t understand just how different a world the Circle truly is. I didn’t even know that the world outside the tower was so different until I was no longer confined within the grounds and could actually leave my prison. It was normal for Templars to walk through the sleeping quarters after lights out. They were required to do so in order to “catch the mages” doing only Maker knows what they thought we were doing. Even Irving had no lock on his door and he was the mage in charge of the entire Fereldan Circle. We were never trusted, and never fully alone. What was odd about Cullen’s visit that night, aside from the kiss, was the way he had stood there, unmoving, as if some spell had been cast on him.

The next morning I took my meager personal belongings and headed to my new alcove in the mages quarters. One of the Tranquil would move my footlocker but I had the day off and wanted to get moved so I could spend the day in my own little corner of the tower for the first time in my life. When I reached the mages quarters Cullen was standing outside the door. The hallway was deserted this time of day with all the apprentices in classes and the mages mostly practicing or in the library. We were again alone.

“I…I was hoping to…to…to speak to you Erina.” Cullen stammered

“Let me put my things down and we can chat if you like Cullen. Here in the hallway?”

Cullen blushed the most wonderful shade of red, “Ye..yes I think that would be…for the best.”

My heart sank a little but I was just glad we would be talking. I’d wanted to talk to Cullen for nearly 5 years now, something more than the quick chat and polite “good day”. When I returned to the hall Cullen was still standing there, a bit of sadness in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind Cullen?” I finally spoke, breaking him away from yet another glassy eyed trance like the one I’d found him in the night before.

“I just wanted to umm, congratulate you on your Harrowing,” he managed to get out as his hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. I’d seen that motion a thousand times over the years and it still fascinated me.

“Thank you Cullen, I knew I would. There’s only one thing I want and a demon cannot tempt me with it, for it isn’t real if it comes from them.”

“You’ve always been so confident, and smart. I was tasked with, umm well, I was the Templar tasked with striking the blow should you have failed, I am glad I didn’t have to do that.” His warm eyes filled with tears but he didn’t blink, nor did they overflow onto his cheeks.

At that moment my heart broke, not because he would have killed me, but because I knew he had been chosen on purpose. I’d heard the rumors all over the tower. “I heard Cullen’s in love with you” was the nearly constant first sentence from anyone I encountered in the last several months. It was obvious that although I didn’t take this rumor seriously until the previous night Greagoir certainly did. I knew at that moment that had I not succeeded Cullen would have spent his life knowing he’d killed the girl he loved and that angered me, it angered me more than anything ever had in all the years I had been locked up in this Maker forsaken prison. Was it not enough to lock one of my best friends up until he felt he had no choice but to keep running away? Was locking us all in a tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad and spreading the fear of us mages not enough? They had to punish Cullen for having feelings for a mage because Maker knows we aren’t even human or elves to them. We’re animals and now, now they’d gone too far.

“I..I am glad you didn’t have to do that Cullen” I’d finally said, smiling sadly. “Do you think we could, uhh do you think we could talk sometime? I mean, I promised the Senior Mage in charge of the store room I’d clear out some giant spiders for her, so, I guess, I will need some Templar supervision, if you know, someone wants to know why you’re going. She’s afraid of spiders and won’t be coming in and I know that Greagoir doesn’t trust us so, I thought you could maybe, possibly come by and supervise.” I rambled for a minute.

A tiny smile crept across his face, “I think I’d like that, umm that is I think that would be wise. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be left in that store room with all those magical items without supervision. Is 2 o’clock alright?” He winked.

“Yes, yes that will do fine. I have some things to do before I go. Thank you for agreeing Cullen. I should probably go get my quarters straightened out before we meet up.” I brushed his arm with my hand even though he couldn’t feel it through the Templar plate. We smiled at each other quickly before he walked away his hand on the back of his neck again. I could hear him chuckle quietly to himself as I turned into the mages quarters.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 17

In which Cadsuane and Perrin discover the value of introspection

Chapter 17: Questions of Control

Hello Semirhage.

“You should be more careful,” Sarene said from inside the room. “The Amyrlin seat, we have much influence with her.”

…Really? The first oath allows you to say that? Because um…no, you have virtually no influence with either of the claimants to the Amyrlin Seat at this point.

Also that is never going to work on Semirhage, so you may as well save your breath.

Light only knew what would happen if Semirhage got free.

Oh don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll never find out, and there’s absolutely no reason whatsoever to be concerned…

Cadsuane clearly doesn’t think much of Sarene’s line of questioning either. Nor does she think much of Sarene. Or any of the other Aes Sedai sworn to Rand. But that’s hardly news.

At times, it seemed that half of her allies were only determined to make her job harder.

That goes for pretty much the entire side of the Light, really. They’d do a lot better if they all stopped getting in each other’s way and learned how to cooperate.

Cadsuane herself had yet to address any questions to the Forsaken personally. The other Aes Sedai looked at her as an almost mythic figure, a reputation she had nurtured. She’d stayed away from the White Tower for many decades at a time, ensuring that many would assume she was dead. When she reappeared, it made a stir. She’d gone hunting false Dragons, both because it was necessary and because each man she captured added to her reputation with the other Aes Sedai.

Whatever else she is, Cadsuane is remarkably self-aware. And she makes no apologies for who she is. She tries to see people as they are, and she extends that same scrutiny to herself, and for the most part she’s good at accepting the unvarnished truth. She’s wrong sometimes, but overall she doesn’t lie to herself nearly as much as most.

And this is definitely here to bring back the notion of similarity between Cadsuane and Semirhage. Which is an interesting one to think about – there absolutely are some similarities, but there are some fairly obvious differences as well, and I always enjoy that kind of setup where you can find the common points but also look at where they diverge and why and how.

Also, Moiraine is going to end up with a similar reputation if she comes out of this whole thing alive. Spending long periods of time away from the Tower, torching Forsaken, missing presumed dead but actually in an alternate dimension…oh, and that little thing about finding the Dragon Reborn. Have fun being a legend!

All of her work pointed at these final days.

So there’s one point of difference. Cadsuane may well have started building her reputation purely to satisfy her ego, but she seems now to use it more as another tool in her arsenal as she works towards accomplishing her goals. That’s not to say she doesn’t have an ego, or that that doesn’t still play a part in it, but her focus at least now is on the world, and specifically on the Dragon Reborn. She said as much to Rand, even, constrained by the three oaths: “Whatever I do, it will be for your own good; not mine, not the good of the White Tower, yours.” It’s an opinion statement, so the three oaths don’t guarantee that everything she does will be good for him, but it’s pretty clear on her intentions. She’s not in this primarily for herself. Semirhage, on the other hand, very much is.

She was slowly losing control, thread by thread. Once, something as dramatic as the squabbles at the White Tower would have drawn her immediate attention. But she couldn’t begin to work on that problem. Creation itself was unravelling, and her only way to fight that was to return all her efforts on al’Thor.

And he resisted her every attempt to aid him. Step by step he was becoming a man with insides like stone, unmoving and unable to adapt. A statue with no feelings could not face the Dark One.

Once again she’s spot-on with her assessment of the situation; where she potentially errs is in her approach to addressing the problems she’s identified.

This touches on one of the things that I most enjoy about Cadsuane: she’s a flawed character whose flaws do not render her incompetent or ‘evil’, and yet are not mere token flaws but instead are believable and integral parts of her character. It’s a surprisingly difficult balance to strike with any character, but especially with one as experienced, intelligent, and powerful as Cadsuane is. The balance of partially-antagonistic-but-not-evil is another difficult one to pull off. In combination, it makes her an impressive and rather fascinating character.

Often, in order to create character flaws, drive conflict, and/or make The Hero look good, a character is rendered incompetent (either permanently or momentarily) in a particular area. Too often, this is done in a way that strains suspension of disbelief, or else is just cliché, frustrating, or transparent.

Side characters suffer from this far more often than protagonists – though protagonists are absolutely susceptible – in part because protagonists are a little easier to believably flaw. They’re frequently young, which means things like lack of experience are perfectly believable and legitimate sources of conflict or difficulty. Otherwise, they’re competent in many areas but then dropped into a story they’re wholly unprepared for. They’re also in the spotlight more and often are the primary viewpoint, which can help convey more nuance.

Cadsuane, though, is about as prepared for the Last Battle as anyone of this Age could be. She’s also got a whole host of admirable traits, and knows how to use them. She’s out of her depth only by virtue of the fact that the apocalypse is a little over any non-deity’s paygrade. This, then, all makes her prime villain material – or at the very least, prime antagonist material. Yet she is neither. She leans towards antagonistic at times, but she’s on The Hero’s team and is actively trying to help him, and he respects her even if he doesn’t like her or agree with her.

At this point, if we can’t make her incompetent and we can’t make her evil – or at the very least an obstacle that must be overcome – we have to kill her. She’s the instigator, the Wise Mentor, the ‘there’s the plotroad and here’s the map, now go fuck things up and have an adventure’ character who knows too much and can do too much that they’d break the story if they stick around because what would the heroes do?

Except…she’s not. She’s flawed in such a way that allows her to avoid all of these pitfalls. She’s good at just about everything she does, and she’s good at reading situations and she knows a hell of a lot, but sometimes that’s not enough. Her judgement is sound but her mindset is not perfect, and so you get these interesting situations where her approaches make a great deal of sense, but that doesn’t guarantee that they’ll work, or that she’s made the right choice. And there’s all kinds of conflict that stems from this as well, obviously, especially between her and Rand.

Not to mention the whole issue of morality that comes in where Cadsuane is concerned. It frequently comes down to the question of whether or not the ends justify the means, except then the means only partially succeed, or even fail outright, so it’s more whether or not the aims justify the means.

Anyway, Cadsuane fascinates me as a character. I love characters who inhabit their roles ever so slightly differently than the archetypes say they should, or who raise these sorts of moral questions without necessarily answering them.

Cadsuane itched to go in and confront the woman, but Merise had asked the very questions Cadsuane would have, and she had failed. How long would Cadsuane’s image remain intact if she proved herself as impotent as the others?

It’s a valid question. Again, not purely for selfish purposes, but because Cadsuane’s image is a tool she relies on, and if she breaks it, there would likely be more consequences than simple humiliation.

“Aes Sedai?” Semirhage responded, chuckling. “Don’t you feel ashamed, using that term to describe yourselves? Like a puppy calling itself a wolf!”

“We may not know everything, I admit, but—”

“You know nothing,” Semirhage replied. “You are children playing with your parents’ toys.”

Well she’s not entirely wrong.

She’s not entirely right, true – the Aes Sedai of this Age have discovered some things that were unknown or believed impossible even in Semirhage’s time – but…she’s not entirely wrong.

Cadsuane tapped the side of her tea cup with her index finger. Again, she was struck by the similarities between herself and Semirhage – and again, those similarities made her insides itch.

It’s a really interesting inversion of the classic villain-delivered ‘we’re not so different, you and I’. I really like this whole train of thought, and the way Cadsuane is uncomfortable with it but also forces herself to think about it and figure out how it can be used.

Semirhage throws her food. Semirhage you are three thousand, not three.

They were all so jumpy around the Forsaken. They weren’t deferential, but they did treat Semirhage with a measure of respect. How could they not? She was a legend. One did not enter the presence of such a creature – one of the most evil beings ever to live – and not feel at least a measure of awe.

Measure of awe…

“That’s our mistake,” Cadsuane whispered.

Sorilea all but told you that. Semirhage is human. And if you’re hesitant or visibly afraid or – especially – visibly in awe, the balance of power in the room is virtually never going to be in your favour.

And of course, nearly everyone Cadsuane interacts with regards her with a measure of awe, so she has some experience of how it feels to be on that end of things. That’s certainly something she can use – because one accustomed to being viewed and treated that way may well be shaken by someone who doesn’t treat them so.

It all came back to a single question. How would Cadsuane break herself? The solution was easy, now that it had occurred to her.

Once more with the unflinching self-analysis and self-awareness. How would you break yourself? It’s not a particularly comfortable question to address. Amongst other things, it requires honestly acknowledging vulnerability, which is hard for anyone and especially for someone like Cadsuane, who is regarded as legendary. Not to mention the fact that by acting on any solution, she would be showing others how to break her, should anyone else see the same similarity between them.

“Ah,” Cadsuane said with a no-nonsense attitude. “I see that the child has refused her meal. Sarene, release your weaves.”

Semirhage raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to scoff, but as Sarene released her weaves of Air, Cadsuane grabbed Semirhage by the hair and –with a casual sweep of her foot – knocked the woman’s legs out from beneath her, dropping her to the floor.

And, at least momentarily, definitely upsetting the balance of power. It’s abrupt and it’s surprising and it’s unlike anything Semirhage has likely experienced from just about anyone.

Prior to now, everyone Semirhage has interacted with – including most of the other Forsaken – has been a little afraid of her, and she knows it. So she can stand here confident in her superiority and secure in the knowledge that none of these Aes Sedai can do anything to her. Except Cadsuane shows up and completely breaks that pattern, introducing at least a moment of doubt or uncertainty. After so long of being able to probably predict fairly accurately how everyone would respond to her, Semirhage may not have even thought to prepare for this sort of approach. Because as far as she’s concerned it isn’t possible, especially in this Age.

In saying that, I’m reminded of Elaida last chapter. So certain of her place and of how things would go that she could be shaken by a well-aimed and entirely unexpected attack.

Cadsuane hasn’t won yet, of course, but she’s changed the game. Now, like Egwene, she has to make sure she presses the advantage before Semirhage can recover.

Cadsuane knelt down with one knee on the woman’s back, then shoved her face forward into the spilled food. “Eat,” she said. “I don’t approve of wasted food, child, particularly during these times.”

Quite literally pressing the advantage, it would seem.

I am intrigued by how this parallels Egwene’s confrontation of Elaida last chapter, but with the small reversal of how ‘child’ is used. Last chapter, Elaida was casually dismissing Egwene as a novice, as ‘child’, as insignificant, and that underestimation became Elaida’s vulnerability. Here, Cadsuane holds the rough analogue of Egwene’s position as far as roles in the confrontation go, but is using ‘child’ and the whole idea of underestimation as a weapon.

Semirhage is…not best pleased. And is swearing up a storm, but sadly Elayne is not there to learn the words.

[Semirhage] didn’t fight back. Cadsuane wouldn’t have either; that would only hurt her image.

I like that Cadsuane is continuing to approach this as she would approach breaking herself. She knows how she would react to certain things, and so that gives her a slight advantage in that she can at least sort of predict what Semirhage will do. And therefore how to proceed.

They had tried all measure of torture available to them under al’Thor’s requirements, but each of those had betrayed esteem. They were treating Semirhage as a dangerous force and a worthy enemy. That would only bolster her ego.

Indeed. And I think it probably goes beyond that; it’s an ego thing, of course, but to be stripped of it is quite likely one of the few things that could potentially frighten Semirhage. Her reputation and the fear and awe and respect accorded to her by everyone else help to make her invincible. And so long as people continue to respond to her that way, she knows she has power over them, and she knows how to play them. But when someone treats her as Cadsuane just has, without showing any trace of fear, I think on some level she might fear why Cadsuane is so comfortable. Why is she not afraid?  What does Cadsuane have, or know, that lets her disregard one such as Semirhage? The surprise is part of it, and the…humiliation I guess, is part of it, but I also think the uncertainty Cadsuane’s actions must cause is a part of it as well. If you aren’t sure where you stand, you can’t be sure you’re invulnerable anymore.

“Are you going to eat?” Cadsuane asked.

“I will kill you,” Semirhage said calmly.

OH MAN this is excellent. Ah, what a response. I love her. I love this. Semirhage may have been momentarily shaken by Cadsuane – literally and psychologically – but she’s not going to break quite that easily. Still, while the delivery is calm, it’s not the most creative of Semirhage’s threats. She’s using what she’s used before on all the rest of them, to shake them, but I don’t think that’s going to work on Cadsuane. Not now that Cadsuane has determined to follow through with this approach.

Still, “I will kill you” delivered flatly as a response, especially when in a position of any vulnerability whatsoever, is a Thing that I enjoy. (And yes, if you’ve read Mistborn Secret History and you thought of that one conversation, you’re right, it does indeed kill me every single time).

“I see,” Cadsuane replied. “Sarene, go tell the three Sisters outside to come in.” Cadsuane paused, thoughtful. “Also, I saw some maids cleaning rooms on the other side of the hallway. Fetch them for me as well.”

Does…she want an audience? To completely ignore Semirhage’s reputation herself is one thing, but if she can destroy it in front of everyone else, all the others who previously feared her and looked at her as a legend, all those who play any part in keeping her prisoner…

As they entered, Cadsuane used her threads of Air to turn Semirhage around across her knee. And then she proceeded to spank the Forsaken.

That’s one way to do it, I suppose. It’s certainly not something Semirhage would ever have even thought to expect – though really she should have if she’s read the rest of the series – and it absolutely serves the purpose of demeaning her in front of a crowd of people who once were in awe of her.

Really, I think the only thing keeping me from enjoying this as much as I otherwise might have is the fact that there’s just so much spanking in these books, and sometimes in ways that I find either awkward or uncomfortable. It doesn’t help that I find the whole idea of spanking kind of…weird and vaguely discomfiting – not in the sexual sense; if it’s someone’s kink I can respect that and I’m not judging, but otherwise it’s just…I don’t know. I think in that regard it’s an issue of different times/upbringings/cultural and social contexts/etc between me and Robert Jordan. So, okay.

But in this scene, I can absolutely see the rationale behind it, and as an approach it makes a lot of sense. And sure, there are other ways to accomplish the same effect, but I suppose in the context of this world and story, this probably is the first and most efficient way that would occur to Cadsuane or someone in her position.

Semirhage’s threats turned to howls of outrage and pain. The serving girl with the food returned in the middle of it, adding even more to Semirhage’s shame. The Aes Sedai watched with slack jaws.

So the comparison my brain provided here was Egwene meeting her toh to the Wise Ones. Being spanked in front of a group of onlookers, thus enduring both pain and shame. But in Egwene’s case, it was about restoring her honour and her standing amongst them, and thus was a scene of triumph. This, though it looks almost identical, is exactly the opposite. It’s about humiliation, and about stripping Semirhage of all honour and standing amongst those who watch, and thus is a scene of defeat.

Given my love of parallels and inversions, it should come as no surprise that I really like this notion of two scenes that look almost the same, but serve nearly opposite purposes.

“Now,” Cadsuane said after a few moments, breaking into one of Semirhage’s howls of pain. “Will you eat?”

“I’ll find everyone you’ve ever loved,” the Forsaken said, tears in her eyes, “I’ll feed them to each other while you watch. I’ll—”

If there were an award for most creative and unsettling threats, I think Semirhage would win. Especially if we can add in such statements as “enough to cover the whole Crystal Throne” which may not precisely be a threat but who cares, it’s close enough.

Though. Having said that. She may face some competition from Mazrim “Kneel and swear to the Lord Dragon. Or you will be knelt” Taim. Because you have to award points for shiver-inducing semantics.

The crowd in the room watched in amazed silence. Semirhage began to cry – not from the pain, but from the humiliation. That was the key. Semirhage could not be defeated by pain or by persuasion – but destroying her image, that would be more terrible in her mind than any other punishment. Just as it would have been for Cadsuane.

And Cadsuane has exposed a certain degree of vulnerability in herself by doing this. Not overtly, because you’d have to understand her and also what she’s doing well enough to realise that the same sort of thing would work on her, but she has exposed it. Which takes guts.

As for the rest…yes. It is entirely about humiliation and shame and being made helpless while her reputation as something more – and more terrifying – than merely human is shattered in front of everyone watching. Not just in front of witnesses, but in front of people Semirhage considered so far beneath her as to barely even register. It’s a very long way to fall.

For some reason, though, the image of Semirhage crying tries my suspension of disbelief a bit. I’m not entirely sure why, and I don’t think it would work as well if she didn’t, because the whole point is that Cadsuane is breaking that image and everything that goes with it, but it still feels weird. Maybe I just like Semirhage too much.

Actually no, I think I do know what it is. In which case, it’s just me, carry on.

Cadsuane stilled her hand after a few more minutes, releasing the weaves that held Semirhage motionless. “Will you eat?” she asked.

“I—”

Cadsuane raised her hand, and Semirhage practically leapt off of her lap and scrambled onto the floor, eating the beans.

This feels too abrupt. And yes, I fully acknowledge how ridiculous a statement that is when this is book 12 of 14, but it still feels like it happened a bit too quickly. It feels as if this scene only made it halfway from outline to fully formed chapter, in places.

Oh well. I don’t mind all that much; I’d rather this scene be less than absolutely stellar than other more ‘major’ scenes. And I like a lot of the concepts in this one, particularly the way Cadsuane uses this comparison between herself and Semirhage – she’s not entirely exempt from her own ruthless pragmatism, as it turns out – and how the idea of image and perception is played with here. It’s something the series as a whole has frequently dealt with, in variations, and it’s something I will almost always enjoy.

And now we’re with Perrin. That’s an odd jump, but sure.

Perrin had time. Time to rest, time to limp away, time – he’d hoped – to use gateways to trasnport away most of these refugees.

Time to rest? Perrin. There are two and a half books left. Of fourteen. You’re not going to have time to rest today, or maybe ever.

Thousands upon thousands of people, a nightmare to coordinate and administer to.

I misread that at first as a listing of responsibilities. 1: thousands of people. 2: gotta do some maintenance on that nightmare I’ve been working on.

Why this seemed like a logical reading of that sentence, I have no idea. Thanks, brain.

But Perrin knew he couldn’t push aside his problems for long. Rand pulled him northward. Perrin had to march for the Last Battle. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else mattered? Where have we heard that before…

Though this time, he’s far closer to being right. Still, it’s perhaps not the greatest attitude to have. Just look at Rand.

(In fairness, in Rand’s case it isn’t just single-minded focus so much as single-minded focus plus a dead man’s memories plus evil stabbings that won’t heal plus (minus?) a missing hand plus being locked in a box plus trusting no one plus that small matter of being responsible for the fate of the world. To name but a few).

And yet, that very single-mindedness in him – ignoring everything but his objective – had been the source of much trouble during his hunt for Faile. He had to find a balance, somehow. He needed to decide for himself if he wanted to lead these people. He needed to make peace with the wolf inside himself, the beast that raged when he went into battle.

HOLY SHIT.

SOMEONE GET THE CONFETTI.

HE’S FIGURED IT OUT.

Yes, Perrin. That’s exactly it. Find a balance, make peace with yourself, accept it, and take that into the Last Battle. Rather than approaching it with that focus that shuts everything else out, approach it as willingly as you can (it’s Armageddon, so ‘willing’ is sort of relative). And he’s finally realising that. Realising that if he tries to use it as essentially an excuse to not think, and to hold everything else at bay, he’s just setting himself up for failure. Instead, he needs to find a balance and open himself up to these things he’s been avoiding or trying to deny. The Last Battle isn’t really something you can do halfheartedly, and single-minded focus doesn’t feel halfhearted, but it’s another side of the same coin in a way. It’s a limitation and a handicap, creating division or barriers when really he’s going to need everything he can possibly get. And for that, he needs to accept what those things are, and who he is. And accept that he can be that person.

Grady is too tired to make gateways. That’s not ideal.

Light, but I used this man too hard, Perrin thought. Him and Neald both. That had been another effect of Perrin’s single-mindedness, as he was beginning to see. What he’d done to Aram, how he’d allowed those around him to go without leadership…I have to fix this.

I love all of this. I don’t mind that it’s happening quickly and fairly bluntly, because actually that’s kind of Perrin’s way. Also, he spent the last several books building to this point by doing exactly what he’s now criticising himself for. And then that task was finished and everything just…stopped, and he didn’t know what to do and tried to find some way to avoid all these thoughts catching up with him. But now they have caught up, and he can’t turn away from it anymore, and this brief pause is both forcing and allowing him to look back on those weeks and understand, with all the wisdom of hindsight, what it was that he was doing and the harm it did to himself and others. And to learn from it.

Ah, character growth. This is so satisfying.

And it’s the sort of thing Rand is going to have to face and recognise as well – perhaps not the same exact idea of balance; that has always seemed to be more Perrin’s struggle, what with the man-versus-wolf, violence-versus-gentleness, strength-versus-caution, axe-versus-hammer dualities he’s had to contend with – because he, too, is hurting himself and others in the way he’s allowing his focus on Tarmon Gai’don to take everything else from him. Including such things as his humanity and the very reason he’s fighting at all.

Oops, Perrin can’t send all the refugees home. And some of them – lots of them? – don’t want to go home or don’t have a home to go to. Looks like your kingdom and army are growing, Perrin. Sorry about that.

He took his enhanced senses for granted, now.

That’s almost acceptance. This is good progress.

To them, Perrin Goldeneyes wasn’t a person to fear, but one to respect

I suppose in this, it’s a fitting companion section to the first half of the chapter. Image and reputation and the realities thereof. Not to mention a rather impressive level of self-analysis from both Perrin and Cadsuane.

Had they forgotten that Perrin had grown up with them? What of the times when Jori had made sport of Perrin’s slow tongue, or the times when he’d stopped by the forge to brag about which girls he’d managed to steal a kiss from?

Here, too, it fits well with the previous section, in that it’s once more an inversion. Semirhage goes from being regarded as a legend, as something more than human, as someone to be feared and respected, to being seen as just another person. Meanwhile this shows how Perrin has gone from being just another person, just another member of the group, to being someone worthy of honour and respect, someone set above the rest.

As for the ‘human’ thing…well, let’s maybe not bring that up around Perrin just now. Don’t want to push it.

Sometimes, Perrin wondered if his senses weren’t actually any better than anyone else’s. He took the time to notice things that others ignored.

… ‘I will remember those who have been forgotten’, Sanderson? ‘I will listen to those who have been ignored’?

I like this, though. It’s very Perrin, and while he does have super special wolf senses, he’s also absolutely right that he takes time to notice things. It’s the gentle, careful, methodical aspect of him. And that’s a part of him regardless of what else he is capable of – balance, again.

His senses were better; his kinship with the wolves had changed him. he hadn’t thought of that kinship in a while – he’d been too focused on Faile. But he’d stopped feeling so self-conscious about his eyes. They were part of him. No use grumbling about them.

*delightedly continues to throw confetti*

And yet, that rage he felt when he fought…that loss of control. It worried him, more and more.

Because that’s something he hasn’t accepted, yet. He fights it still, and so he cannot control it. It goes so counter to how he sees himself, and how he wants to be, that he fears that if he accepts it, it will be at the cost of the rest of himself. But it doesn’t have to be. Balance. He can be both – it’s the hammer and axe thing again. The hammer can be used to build or to destroy, to fight. One form of use does not make the other impossible. He can feel rage when he fights and still be gentle elsewhen.

(Why is ‘elsewhen’ not a word? It would be so useful).

He’d pursued Faile with determination, avoiding the wolf dream as he’d avoided all of his responsibilities.

IS HE—

But he knew that the truth was much more difficult.

IS HE FINALLY GOING TO USE THE WOLF DREAM WILLINGLY? IS HE GOING TO USE HIS SUPERPOWERS FOR REAL? He came close a few times, and in TSR almost got there, but then he stopped again and OH MAN THIS IS SO EXCITING.

He’d focused on Faile because he loved her so much, but – in addition – he’d done so because it had been convenient. Her rescue had been an excuse to avoid things like his discomfort with leadership and the blurred truce between himself and the wolf inside of himself.

YES EXACTLY THIS THANK YOU.

And I don’t even remotely care that this part also reads a little like an outline, because it is so very, very necessary. And so very satisfying, after so long.

It’s a little frustrating, still, that this fits rather neatly into the pattern of ‘woman suffers as plot device to further man’s story and/or character growth’ but I’ve spent enough words and energy on that during those chapters that I’m just going to set it aside, here. Because this – Perrin understanding what he was doing and why, and beginning to see what he needs to do about it, and taking those steps – on its own is something that has been waiting to happen almost since the very beginning, and I’m enjoying every minute of it.

I’m out of confetti now, though.

The answers might lie in his dreams.

It was time to return.

FUCK. YES.

*goes to make more confetti for the sole purpose of celebrating that last line*

Next (TGS ch 18) Previous (TGS ch 16)

[thatothercosplayer]

Ikura rolled her neck. It was time to head in. “Alright, ladies. Let’s do this.”

The four pushed their way inside, and quickly found themselves surrounded by....well, AKB48 stuff. The wall with all the portraits of the current members was closeby, as was the front desk.

“Place sure looks spiffy,” Keiko noted, rather impressed. The oak and velvet carpets was....surprising, honestly. She was expecting more...pastels. 

They could hear someone performing from where they were standing. They all exchanged glances, and nodded.

Going over to the doors that led to the theater, they stopped.

Up on stage was a young woman- probably no older than Hikaru- who had chestnut brown hair. Her eyes were pretty distinctly black, and she yellow lipstick on. It matched the rest of her outfit, which was a gold akin to honey. She was wearing fake bee wings that looked....pretty realistic, all things considered.

“That’s her?” Yuna asked. “From the name I was expecting someone a bit, uh....older.” 

“Whatever! She is perverting music for her own selfish gains! I can’t allow that!” Hikaru huffed. “Hey, lady!” She shouted.

Vesper stopped on stage, and looked at Hikaru. All the entranced civilians also looked back. “Did you seriously just interrupt my performance? I just can’t bee-lieve it!” 

Keiko groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose at that pun.

Hikaru ran up front, going up onto stage. “I don’t appreciate what you’re doing!”

“And what would that bee, huh?” Vesper asked. 

“You know exactly what it is!” Hikaru retorted, resting her hands on her hips. “Forcing your music onto others, not giving people a chance to form their own thoughts about it.....unforgivable! Music is expression! It’s not some agenda you can just push onto people!” 

Vesper laughed. “Okay? What are you going to do about it?” 

Hikaru stuck her lower lip out, puffing her cheeks. She held up her left arm, which held a bracelet with a small gem in it. She pressed upon the inlaid jewel. Her image shimmered and rippled before shattering like glass, revealing her true Raptoroid form. 

Immediately, she threw herself at Vesper, who gracefully sidestepped, looking fabulous at the same time. 

“You’ll never bee on the same level as me, honey. Fighting is for brutes!” 

Hikaru rested her talons on her hips. “Really, now? Well, in that case...” She turned to the others, who had just been kind of....watching. “Hey! Everyone! Let’s show her what we can do!” 

Tapping the bracelet on her wrist, Hikaru returned to her human form and joined up with the others again. She counted everyone, then frowned. “We’re....short a person. Who are we going to pick....?” 

Suddenly, a voice called out from one of the balconies in the theater! 

“That would be me!” A spotlight focused on where the voice had come from, revealing a masked woman with mid-length brown hair. She was wearing a Sailor Senshi cosplay, but...it wasn’t of any of the actual characters, as her uniform was pink. She had on a matching mask. “Do not worry! Sailor K is here!” 

Who was this?

Sailor K leapt down onto the stage, joining the rest of the Secret Base Cafe Crew. “With me you have enough people to do the routine you want to do, Hikaru!” She smiled. 

Hikaru, while a bit confused, nodded, smiling back. “Yuna! Can you lead the dance for us?” She asked.

“Yeah!” Yuna nodded, directing everyone into formation. 

Ikura smirked. “DJ, if you would so kindly~” She clapped her hands twice, and music began to play.

Hikaru sang, and the rest followed Yuna’s lead. Ikura and Sailor K, despite not seeming it, were rather professional, arguably having the best timing out of the five.

As the song continued, something began to happen. Energy began to crackle through the air.

“W-what?! What’s happening?!” Vesper shouted out, looking around frantically.

Hikaru couldn’t but smirk at this. 

Mic Check One Two! Kono koe ga Mic Check One Two! Kikoeteru ka Mic Check One Two!

Kotae ga YES nara sakenjatte! 

Mic Check One Two! Kareru made Mic Check One Two! Dashi tsuku shite Mic Check One Two!

Kotae wa YES desho? Wakattenda

The audience, while at first entranced by Vesper’s magic, began to awaken, and catching onto what was going on and grabbing glowsticks and wotaing pretty hard. 

“What?! No! They’re my audience! Mine!” Vesper was beginning to throw a fit as the Secret Base Cafe Crew (plus Sailor K) began dancing Akibahara to freedom.

When the song finished, some pyrotechnics fired off, throwing glitter everywhere, as well and causing a small explosion behind them.

Sailor K twirled away from the group, grabbing onto a weight off the side of the stage. “My work here is done! But, before I go....”  Withdrawing a rose, she tossed it to Ikura, who caught it. “Until next time, ladies! I believe in you!” She slashed the  weight and rode the rope up into the rafters, disappearing. 

Vesper was in the middle of a break down. “No, no, no, no, no! My music is the best! No one is allowed to be better than me! NO ONE! I’m the Queen Bee! Not you! ME!” She stomped repeatedly. 

“Don’t you understand, now, Miss Vesper?” Hikaru inquired. “There’s no point in music if you don’t put your heart into it! That’s why you lost!” She declared, pointing dramatically. The audience cheered in agreement with the beautiful lady on stage. 

Vesper clenched her fist. “Grrr....why....you!!! That’s it! I’ve had enough of this!”

She began twitching, limbs snapping here and there as various insect parts burst through her skin. 

Compound eyes had formed on her forehead, above her ‘human’ ones. Mandibles were hanging off either side of her mouth. Two extra arms had come out of her. A bee’s abdomen had burst out from her lower back, hanging out right above her butt. She was beginning to look like she had jumped out of Monster Musume, or something.

“I’m gonna kill all four of you! There can only be one queen, and that’s ME!” 

“Everyone, scatter!” Ikura shouted, and the four dived out of the way as Vesper began flying at them. 

They got up, and quite suddenly, they were in a rock quarry with no forseeable explanation.

Ikura fixed her hair, then pointed at Vesper, who was looking around in confusion. How had this happened? 

“You! Hikaru already said it, but music is an expression of one’s soul! Perverting it for your own selfish gains.....that’s unforgivable! Everyone, let’s go!” 

“Yeah!” Cried out the other three. 

Ikura crosses her arms, then thrusts them outwards. “Chou kenzoku henka!”

And, just like that, the Armored Avenger has appeared! In .0384 seconds, the Japanium armor has covered Ikura, transforming her into the cool hero that fights evil in the name of love! 

The transformation was so fast, however, we didn’t see what happened. Let’s take a closer look.

Ikura crosses her arms and then thrusts them outwards. “Chou kenzoku henka!”

A satellite dish on top of the Secret Base Cafe fires out a beam that’s reflected up into the atmosphere, which is then reflected off another satellite before it hits Ikura, sending out a small shockwave as she is enveloped in energy. The armor forms, the tech across it lighting up as different parts whir and settle into place, letting out firm ‘kachunks’ when they lock in.

“Armored Avenger…Kyusha!” 

Keiko dug her feet into the ground, clasping her hands together before splitting them, raising one skywards while she brought the other one closer to the ground.

Moving them in diagonally then clasping her hands together again so her hands invoked the image of a lightning bolt, Keiko’s eyes briefly flashed.

“Kurakunaru!”

In an instant, a ring of violet flames developed around her, towering higher and higher before converging on her. A bolt of lightning struck her, and the flames turned monochrome before exploding outwards. Intricate patterns swirled as the area behind her darkened, flames kicking up as the eyes on the helmet lit up to become their signature piercing crimson. “ I am the spirit of vengeance! Dark Paladin!”

Yuna withdrew her katana, unsheathing it and drawing a circle above her head. The Soul Metal armor flew out, latching onto her and transforming her into the Knight of the Lilacs, YUGO.

Hikaru just did what she had done earlier and revealed her true alien form.

Kyusha threw a hand up in the air. 

“Shining in the heavens are four stars!”

The four lined up, kicking upwards and posing. “Secret Base Cafe Offensive Squadron!” 

Colored explosions go off behind them, colored red, violet, black, and gold respectively. 

Vesper scoffs. “Lame! Go get them, my loyal fans!”

Quite suddenly, the Wotajaegers appeared, brandishing their neon weapons and chanting their usual chants. “Cyber! Fire! Tiger! Wotagei, wotagei, wotagei!” 

Kyusha withdrew Starcrusher from one of the slots on her shoulders, Dark Paladin withdrew Hellfang from her spine, and YUGO merely readied her broadsword. Hikaru raised her talons, ready to fight.

The four charged into the crowd of grunts, beginning the battle.

Kyusha roundhoused one Wotajaeger, turning and slashing another across the chest twice. One grabbed her from behind, and she grappled with it before tossing it into another one. “Neurevolver!” She called. A slot on the side of her right leg opened, and she swapped Starcrusher to her left hand. The blaster fired out, and she caught it, kneeling and using the laser blade as a steady for her aim as she fired at several grunts, who were tossed backwards as the shots hit them, sparks raining everywhere.

Meanwhile, Dark Paladin was beating her way through the grunts. She snatched one by the throat, slamming it into the ground. Another grunt tried to sneak up behind her, but she reversed Hellfang and impaled it through the waist without looking. Withdrawing the weapon, she raised a hand and fired out electrical energy from it, shocking multiple grunts. 

YUGO was busy with her own crowd of grunts. She parried the neon blade of one, slicing it down the middle before turning and disarming another one after a blade lock. She kicked it away, stabbing the tip of the blade into the gut of another grunt and hoisting it over head before tossing it at a group of Wotajaegers, bowling them all over. 

Finally, she made one, large circular slash, finishing all of hers off in one blow.

Hikaru swooped down, grabbing a grunt with her feet and tearing at them with her talons. She dropped them, dumping them into a horde of other grunts who got crushed under its weight. She made a pass at them, flying low and slashing each one she passed, tossing them out of the way. Coming back down, she did a bicycle kick on another grunt, before grabbing their head in between her ankles and ripping it off. 

She landed right as the horde of grunts all fell over and exploded in unison.

“W-what!? You defeated them?!” Vesper called out.

“Fine! I’ll just...take care of you myself!” She began to twist and snap even more this time, shedding all resemblance of being human and turning into a horrible, giant bee monster!

Nah, just kidding. It looks like this.

“Oh, fuck this!” Ikura is noping out so hard. “Change Gamma!” 

In a flash of energy, the crimson armor of Kyusha had shifted to a slimmer, lightly armored form. This was Mode Gamma, which Ikura was swapping to because holyshititsagiantfuckingbeethingohmygod

Dark Paladin looks over and completely agrees with this sentiment. Keeping out Hellfang, she shoves a hand into her chest (approximately where her heart is) and begins withdrawing a second sword- the Dark Kaiser. At the same time, violet flames begin engulfing her, twisting the armor even further into the Hell Knight.

YUGO and Hikaru just kind of shrug.

Vesper roars and charges at the group, knocking them over on her first pass. She raises her sharp legs, meaning to slash everyone on the second go, and hones in on Hikaru in particular.

Hikaru isn’t having any of that, so she takes to the sky, leading to massive chase. Vesper begins firing hordes of stingers out at the Raptoroid, which begin honing in on her. The stingers spiral around in the air, leaving behind trails as they intricately weave their way towards Hikaru. She begins deftly dodging them, recklessly flying through them and forcing the stingers to crash into each other.

“Hey, you know what an Itano Circus is?” Kyusha asks, looking up.

“Yeah. First time I’ve ever seen one, though,” Hell Knight retorts. 

Hikaru angles back towards the ground and joins the others again, skidding to a halt. 

“You done hogging all the attention yet?” Hell Knight snarked.

“Well, you know, you could have done something other than, I dunno, stood there and watched!” Hikaru shouted.

“Right, right. Let’s get her!” Kyusha declared, speeding off and kicking off the ground. She lands atop Vesper’s head and grabs her antennae, riding her like a bucking bull. “Come on, you ugly bitch! Let’s go to the rodeo!” 

Hell Knight shakes her head, taking several steps forwards. This fight has gotten kind of easy. The whole ‘hulking out into an oversized monster form’ thing was something they’d fought against before.

Crossing Hellfang and Dark Kaiser, she fired an arc of energy into the forehead gem on Vesper, which lit her up like Tokyo at night. Kyusha leaped off, 

YUGO charged forwards, leaping up into the air and stabbing her broadsword into it, hitting the giant enemy bee’s weak point for massive damage. 

“Hikaru!” Kyusha shouted. “Let’s do a combo attack!” 

Hikaru nodded. “Okay!” 

Kyusha leapt up into the air, Hikaru flying up around her in a spiral. Kyusha caught Hikaru with one arm, whirling her about several times before tossing her at Vesper at high velocity. Hikaru began doing lots and lots of Aileron Rolls, before curling her wings up and holding her arms out so she formed a massive drill. 

“Green Gold Combination!” They both cried out. “Hurricane Overdrive!” 

She rocketed forwards, tearing through Vesper and snatching YUGO’s sword while she was at it.

She went in through the head, tearing through Vesper’s body before emerging out of the abdomen, arcing upwards and unfurling her wings dramatically, the sun reflect off her metallic wings in juuuust the right way to give her a bit of an angelic image. 

“RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAUAUUUUUGH!” Screeched out Vesper, who exploded, leaving nothing behind. 

The extermination was complete. 

-----

Returning to the theater, everyone saw that, thankfully, the people who had been hypnotized had fully recovered at this point. While initially confused at where they were, they recognized the Secret Base Cafe Crew when they saw them and began cheering and clapping.

Yuna and Hikaru bowed, smiling, while Keiko just waved. 

Ikura....Ikura was busy staring at the rose she’d gotten from Sailor K. Just who was she? How did she know all their names? Why give her the rose?

These questions would have to wait- at least for now. Akibahara was safe again.

Well, at least until the next monster decided to show up.