#they’re very light swords! the temptation is so easy!

[mycological-mariner]

I’m gonna invent a style of sword fighting that doesn’t require someone to put their knee and hips into agony for hours

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @tanjhero​

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Being the Flame Pillar’s tsugoku is no easy task; saving his brother, however, proves to be something else entirely. - 

warnings: mentions of blood, angst

words: 2.5k

-

Burning hearts, brilliant eyes, wishes that never come true. There’s almost something beautiful in sorrow, the slight glimpse of light in the vast darkness. To be a demon slayer, one must bury their heart. They have to hide it under lock and key, learn how to forget what crying feels like. You’ve always carried this ideology close to your heart ever since you started your training as a young adolescent.

Six years have then since passed, and the Final Selection is well behind you. Ragged scars cover your arms, chest, and back, all trophies from your brutal battles with blood-hungry beasts. Demons, to be precise; you see ragged, glinting teeth in the night, in the hours of the day when you’re finally allowed to dream. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, these teeth seek to ravage you, to sink into your skin and rip your throat out.

The world is dark. You’ve long since grown cold, refusing to properly feel anything. To be emotional is to be distracted; if you wanted to survive, for others to survive, you cannot afford to deal with such interruptions. This is the very reason why your mentor – the gracious Flame Pillar himself, Rengoku Kyojuro – always struck you as odd. Like the sun itself, he’s full of light and eternal brightness.

You’ve never been more jealous of someone in your life.

You train by his side, let him whip you into proper shape. Being a tsugoku is no easy task; both mentally and physically draining, you’re often left scrambling for any sensation left in your numb fingertips. Although your body suffers from the constant thrum of pain, you are strong. You don’t take your strength lightly, and neither does your mentor.

As time and his persistent nature eat away at your skeptical brain cells, he’s more or less become a friend. Much to your initial displeasure, you allowed him to root himself to you. However, as you grew stronger, wiser, your heart did so as well. Kyojuro, this dear man, has cracked open the safe of your heart. With each rising sun, you envision him, his dazzling smile, his abnormal irises. It’s the first time in your life you’ve been blessed.

The days grow into something long and dark whenever you train with him. He doesn’t give up, refuses to let you to wipe away the sweat at your brow, keeps going and going until you’re a trembling mess at his feet. He’s to make a slayer of you yet.

Some days, you consider yourself lucky. Kyojuro is a soft man despite the hard cording of muscle covering his skeleton. Sometimes, his gaze melts into something akin to honey, dangerously sweet and tempting. He’ll call training off early, opting to massage your weakened muscles and guide you through breathing exercises. You don’t take these treatments lightly; after all, Kyojuro is a Pillar, a highly respected one at that. To have a pathetically weak tsugoku will only bring shame onto his namesake.

And, if he’s really in a giving mood, he’ll insist you spend the night at his residence.

Already well fed and bathed, you dismiss Kyojuro with a tight-lipped smile and a prayer for his safe return. He explained that he and his father were to travel into town and seek out the beloved liquor his father adores so much. Although his face is stoic, you can see the pain and disappointment in the depths of his eyes. Like himself, Rengoku Shinjuro is a man deserving respect – or at least used to be. Since the passing of his wife, he’s been drowning his sorrows (amongst all other emotion humanly possible) until he sees the bottom of the bottle.

You find solace in your room, wet hair unceremoniously thrown over your shoulder. Like your father and grandfather, you wear your hair long; the one true tradition that’s been passed down your bloodline for generations. Even as shorter hairstyles become widely accepted, your clan refused to do so, following the old rule of cutting hair once one was shunned. You lose yourself in thought, mindlessly combing through hair with a comb made out of bone.

It isn’t the first time you’ve stayed in the Rengoku household, but you always find yourself drawing hesitant. Kyojuro’s own room sits right down the hallway, a silent temptation that you never give into. To do so would be disrespectful to your kind mentor, even downright inappropriate. Mentor and tsugoku was a strictly former relation – nothing more. You’d be damned if you stepped out of line.

A slight knock at the door stirs your curiosity. Kyojuro and Shinjuro have yet to return from their shopping trip despite the sky being cloaked in an ominous purple. Instead, you’re greeted by Senjuro, Kyojuro’s younger brother. Like the other two – and the rest of the males in his bloodline – he sports the fire crackle hair, the robust eyes. The entire Rengoku clan has been blessed by the sun, by fire, since the beginning of time. You’re not good friends with Senjuro, by you’re way past the line of casual acquaintances.

You glance to the cheesecloth in his hands, your eyebrow raising itself in a silent question. Senjuro sends you a cheeky smile, though the edges are tinged with nervousness. It startles you just how much he resembles Kyojuro. As you beckon him to enter, you set your comb down and tell him to join you on the futon.

“Aniki and father aren’t back yet,” Senjuro tells you as he sits down. “And I figured… Well, maybe… If it was okay for us to hang out?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Senjuro’s always been like this, awkward yet exceptionally kind. As he unwraps the cheesecloth, you’re greeted by the sight of plump grapes and rice crackers.

“I know we already had dinner, but sometimes Aniki and I sit around with some snacks and talk about everything.” Senjuro’s smile grows at the mention of his brother; you find it extremely endearing. “And you’re always nice to me, so I thought that we could…” His sentence trails off into nothing and he worries his bottom lip.

You promptly pick a grape from the bunch and pop it into your mouth. Its sweet flavor erupts on your tongue and you hum in appreciation. “Thank you for the treat.”

The nervousness in Senjuro’s smile melts away. “I watched you and Aniki train earlier. You’re incredible,” he gushes. “It’s no wonder why you’re Aniki’s tsugoku!”

You wave off his compliment with a dismissive hand. “First you bring me food, then you flatter me; is there an ulterior motive to this?” you tease.

With a slight giggle, Senjuro shoves at your shoulder. “I just wanted to be in your company, that’s all.”

You find the gesture to be incredibly sweet. As you ponder on his words, you realize that Kyojuro must be busy all the time, attending to his work as a Pillar, and Shinjoru spends almost every waking moment getting drunk. “Look at you, being the charmer,” you throw his way. “You definitely take after your brother.”

Senjuro visibly perks up at your words. “Really? You think so?”

You chuckle at his excited response. “Yes, really. I think you’re going to grow up into a wonderful man, Senjuro-kun.”

His cheeks warm up at your praise. “I can see why Aniki likes you so much.”

The cracker you hold stops centimeters away from your mouth. You instinctively lower your hand. “What do you mean?”

Senjuro cocks his head to the side. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? Aniki’s had a crush on you for months.”

The cracker falls into your lap. “He what?”

Something snaps outside the screen door. The hairs on the back of your neck come to a sudden rise; the sharp smell of blood fills the air and your mind kicks into autopilot. Shoving Senjuro away, you quickly grab onto your blade as the door is ripped from its hinges, the sight of bright yellow eyes shining through the dark.

A demon.

“Shit,” you curse, shooting to a stand, drawing your blade from its sheath, and holding it out before you in a defensive stance.

The demon stalks into the room; its body is nothing short of massive, all flexing muscle the color of moss. His head easily brushes the ceiling as he draws himself to his full height, inky, greasy hair falling in his grotesque face. His nostrils twitch as though they’re following a scent. “Where is he?” he growls, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. “Where is the Flame Pillar?”

Your grip on your blade tightens. While it’s fortunate that Kyojuro isn’t home, that means you’ll have to take out the demon and protect Senjuro at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, you can convince the creature to turn around and leave.

“My apologies,” you say, your voice brisk. “The one you seek isn’t here.”

The demon’s yellow eyes stare down at the blade in your hands. His lips pull back in a snarl, his razor-sharp fangs shining in the light. You sharply inhale at the sight, a slight spark of panic traveling down your spine. “Pathetic little slayer,” he hisses, “thinking you can stop me? I’ll rip your head off and drink straight from your neck.”

You shift your weight on your feet. “Senjuro, get out of here. Now.”

Behind you, Senjuro scrambles to his feet. You can hear him gulp, but you ignore the urge to turn around and see if he’s okay. “B-but what about…”

“Get your brother. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

With another drawn out growl, the demon lowers itself, ready to pounce.

“Run!”

A large flash of green fills your vision and you hastily swing your sword. The battle you engage in is fierce, intense, too quick to be seen by the naked eye. Your body twirls and evades the monstrous demon’s attacks, bouncing off the walls and slithering between his legs.

You don’t necessarily realize it as you move the fight outside, the night’s breeze carrying your hair and whipping it into your face. Biting back a curse, you jump backwards just in time for a clawed hand to slash at the space where you previously stood.

“I will kill you!” the demon roars.

“Breath of Ashes: Shimmering Coal!” you cry out. In a great, fantastic arc, your blade grows to an unbearably hot temperature as you slice through the demon’s chest.

He screams in agony at the searing pain, reeling back and clutching at his chest. His eyes scream murder as he charges you; this time, though, you aren’t so lucky. Your back makes a sickening snap noise as you’re thrown into a nearby tree. Struggling for breath, you quickly get back up, charging at the demon again.

Time is lost. A faint hint at a new moon fills the sky; the only light comes from the inside of your room, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Your movements are bold, swift, straight to the point; you slash and strike at the demon, landing devastating blows, but his neck is too thick. You curse and howl in pain as claws rip at your sides, your arms, your face; blood openly flows down your face and the rest of your body, soaking the material of your torn yukata.

You groan from your spot on the ground; the coppery taste of blood coats your tongue, the back of your throat. Struggling to sit up, your fingers claw into the grass and dirt as you fight off the wave of nausea. It can’t end like this – you can’t end like this. You refuse to give up, to die. Even if this demon spills your guts, you’ll slice off his head and take him to hell with you.

Black fills the outer rims of your vision. There’s a harsh ringing in your ears, ready to steal your hearing away from you. Death is creeping up onto your doorstep, waiting, just waiting for you to answer.

There’s a cry of your name and a swirl of flames. Kyojuro comes seemingly out of nowhere; a war cry spills from his lips as he swings his blade and brings it down on the demon’s neck. Although he’s incredibly fast, your trained eyes follow his every move. The muscles in his back flex as he slices the demon’s head clean off. The demon releases an animalistic sound, spittle flying from his mouth as his head lands nearby.

“Fuck you, Flame Pillar! I’ll see you in hell!” he screeches before his head turns into dust.

A ragged breath punches its way out of your lungs as you slump back onto the ground. Kyojuro rushes to your side, worry etched into his features. You see his mouth move, but you can barely hear the words tumbling out. He gingerly slides his arms under you and picks you up, holding you close to his chest. The rest of the world passes by in a blur as he carries you back inside, instead of stopping in your room, however, he continues all the way to his room.

“Can you hear me?” his voice filters into your mind. You nod your head and groan as he places you onto his bed. “Gods, (y/n),” he breathes, pushing the damp strands out of your face. He gulps at the sheer amount of blood coating your face. “Hang on,” he tells you.

Rising from the bed, he fetches an abundance of medical supplies and gets to work at cleaning you up. Both his eyes and movements are gentle as he wipes away the blood, revealing your exhausted face. As he removes your yukata, he averts his gaze and hastily covers your privates up before working at your exposed arms and stomach.

“To do what you did,” he starts, his voice hoarse. He sounds suspiciously close to crying. “You saved him. You saved Senjuro.” His voice shakes as his hands begin to tremble. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Flicking your eyes to him, you notice how he’s biting hard onto his lip, desperate to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen such a pained look on his face a day in your life. His eyes shift between the two of yours, tears welling up and clouding the surface. Your heart jumps to your throat.

“You saved my baby brother,” he spews. Tears rush down his handsome face. “You risked your life to save him. It’s just… I…” He frantically rubs at his eyes with a sleeve. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.” Despite his tears, Kyojuro manages a tiny smile. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if you died,” he confesses.

“Kyojuro-san…?” you croak.

Taking your hands in his, he swiftly brings them to his lips and presses kisses to your knuckles. “I was so scared.” He frantically shakes his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. “You see… I- I love you, (y/n).”

Your breath stills in your throat. He… He loves you? Rengoku Kyojuro, a man blessed by the gods themselves, loves you.

Leaning down, he gently presses his forehead to yours. “I love you with my very being,” he mutters. “And to know that you’ve saved Senjuro… It makes me love you even more.”

Before you have time to register it, your hands link around his neck. This man was the one to melt the ice surrounding your heart; he was the one to make you feel again. You smile weakly at him. “Kyojuro-san… I… I love you, too.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Can I ask for some badass jason moment like maybe he does something badass and people realize wow Jason's powerful and idk maybe percy just drools after his badass himbo boyfriend

Idk I'm not feeling great and just need some badass jason love all mixed in with percy being the one who drools not the other way (I dont mind the other way but I really want jason to be admired)

Hello sweet Anon. I'm so sorry you aren't feeling all good🥺sending you warm hugs and light☀️

Here's some dark!jercy featuring badass!Jason and some badass!Percy too. I hope you enjoy.

And if you're in need of anymore badass!Jase here's some other fics of mine: Dark!Jason trying to save kidnapped Percy; Dark!Jason forcing the gods to save Percy

If anyone else has badass!Jason fics please link them for Anon💖

Masterlist

But onto this one!

TW: dark, murder, blood. This is not for the faint of heart, please proceed with caution.

"On your right!" Someone screams. It's not for his benefit. He is a weapon of mass destruction. The warning is for his opponent.

Percy Jackson slides under a gleaming sword and vaults back up with a wicked smile on his face. “Missed me."

The demigod shrieks, turning back around to face him.

"I will kill you Percy Jackson."

"You know I get tired of hearing that after ten years of this."

"Stop talking and fight me like the hero you're supposed to be."

He bares his teeth, green eyes flashing with anger, "I'm nobody's hero."

"Now that's a lie if I've ever heard one." A deep, clear voice from behind them drawls.

"Now is not the time you hopeless romantic." He laughs, turning to see his godly boyfriend landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"There's always time to appreciate you." Blue eyes twinkle, love and amusement glittering like stars.

"Can you two just shut up for like five seconds?" The demigod he had forgotten about growls, "I have shit to do and I'd prefer if we could get this over with."

"Better things to do than killing us?" Percy raises a brow, "Gee so sorry we're keeping you from your busy schedule."

"What's the problem anyway?"

"Your worthless trash of a boyfriend refuses to die."

"Oh," He winces, "You probably shouldn't have said that."

Jason's eyes flash with something otherworldly, dark, sinister, beautiful, "Why are you trying to kill him?"

The demigod' s expression flashes with disgust, like this simple task is beneath them, "Orders from the boss."

"And who is the boss?" His boyfriend asks quietly.

Percy can feel the air turning electric around them, can see the lightning slowly crackle in Jason's veins. After all these years, he knows better than anyone when his love is going to explode, can read the signs faster than even the blonde himself.

"We're under oath to keep the secrecy of the boss' identity."

"Cowards!" The Son of Jupiter growls, "Tell us and we can make this easy."

The sky above them goes a sickly shade of grey, and there are bolts flashing behind those blue eyes.

The demigod looks between them, fear finally seeping in. But they see Percy's smirk and something becomes visibly stone in their expression.

"Fuck you. I'll kill both of you."

The world detonates and green eyes dance with laughter as the demigod claws at their throat, eating lightning like candy.

"Tell us." The blonde's voice is deathly quiet. Soft with malice.

"Chiron." They gasp. Their body stiffens, hazel eyes freezing in an expression of horror. And with a single flick of his wrist Jason effaced the air from the demigod's lungs, carrying it in his golden fingers, and blew a kiss to the sky with that stolen oxygen.

"Gods you're hot," Percy sighs, looking at him with dark eyes and seduction.

"Later," His boyfriend laughs, "First we got a centaur to kill."

He grabs onto those broad shoulders, nuzzling his nose into his neck. Jason wraps his arms around him and kisses his forehead.

"You ready?"

"Fly me away Superman." He giggles.

And so they take to the skies, Percy clinging onto him with all his might and Jason laughing into the world.

"Why do I let you convince me this is a good idea?" He groans, "I hate this."

"The excuse to hold me outweighs your fear," The blonde whispers in his ear.

"It's your fault for being so godsdamn attractive."

His answer is met with laughter, and happiness, and never-ending love.

"Do we have to kill Chiron?"

Jason's body goes taut with anger, not at him. Never at him. "He tried to hurt you. He will not get away with that."

"I know," Percy winces, "But he raised me in this world. It seems... wrong?"

"What do you want to do instead?" The blonde finally gets out. Compromise. Collaboration. He knew it took a lot to get to this stage.

"Maybe we could—"

The Son of Jupiter gasps, his whole body shuddering.

In an instant Percy knows something is wrong, very, very wrong. A growing pool of blood is growing on the blonde's shirt, and a pretty wooden arrow is sticking out of his back.

"What the fuck?" He yells, looking around for the shooter.

"Perc," His boyfriend whispers, "I can't hold us up for much longer.

And then they're plummeting to the ground, wind screaming in their ears, twin hearts beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

But Percy is not afraid. For below them is the ocean and in his many years of living that great blue expanse has always been a safe place, a comfort, a protector. So they hurtle to their watery end and when they hit the sea Percy feels himself come alive.

He snaps the arrow at his boyfriend's back and puts a bubble of air around him.

"Here," He offers the ambrosia with a stern look, "Eat."

"We have to go out there and kill them."

His smile is vengeance incarnate, "Oh we will.” It was fine when it was just him they were attacking but to target Jason. To target his love. There are no lines he wouldn’t cross, no place too dark to venture to. He is a hypocrite for it. But he doesn’t care. “First you're going to heal. Because this isn't going to be quick. They will suffer for drawing even a drop of your blood."

Jason's eyes widen, darken, fill with desire, "I love it when you get like this."

"Destructive?" He grins.

"Powerful."

And then his boyfriend is pulling him close and kissing him like the world ends today. He can taste the ambrosia still dissolving on his tongue, more than that he can taste lightning and potent love. The kiss is rough and stinging and full of teeth. But it's raw with hunger and relief too.

"Let's go have some fun." Jason breathes.

And he can't help but giggle with anticipation as they rise through the ocean and walk across it.

The destroyer and his healer.

An arrow flies towards them. With a single swipe of his hand Percy shatters the cool metal. Jason gathers the shards in the air and watches as they group to form a broken spear pointing back at their attackers.

With a whispered hum the broken pieces fly across the sea and pierce six hearts perfectly.

Finally the two reach land, grainy sand sinking under their weight as they take in the scene in front of them. Twenty centaurs, four demigods, and an array of bodies convulsing on the ground as their own arrows slice their organs.

"Why?" Percy tilts his head, staring directly at the centaur he had known for so much of his life.

"You are too powerful. We cannot risk letting you roam free. We must keep the balance." Chiron's voice is almost robotic, as if he had rehearsed the words so many times they've lost all meaning.

"Roam?" He laughs, "I do not roam. I'm not a fucking animal. I live." He glances at the crowd, "And you are afraid because you do not know how to."

"Shoot him." Chiron bellows.

They all pull their bows taut, eyes gleaming with misplaced hate. The arrows let loose. Soar towards them.

"I don't think so." Jason smirks. And suddenly those deadly shafts are frozen midair, hanging like gleaming charms.

Someone gasps, another faints, dies from fear.

"Leave us alone Chiron." The Son of Jupiter says softly. It is not a request. It is a command.

"Stand your ground," The old centaur mutters grimly.

"You know you will not walk away from this." Jason's voice is music, and melodies, and opulent demolition.

Percy can't hold in a beam as he stares at the blonde. Now is probably not the time to be drooling over himself with attraction but there's just something about Jason Grace like this that makes him feral with excitement, temptation.

"Stand your ground!" The centaur screams.

And it works because everyone, cowering or not, straightens their backs and sets hard gazes on the two demigods.

They release twin sighs, knowing they tried their best.

"Why does no-one ever listen?" He rolls his eyes.

"You think at some stage they'd learn." His boyfriend snorts. And the arrows still suspended in the air quake, as if trying to break from their hold.

"Shall we then?" He turns to meet that electric gaze.

Jason let's the arrows go and Percy whips his arm in a circular motion, lifting the ocean from behind them and slamming it into the crowd of killers.

Bloodied and choking the diminishing group sprint towards them, arrows bouncing out of their skin.

They don't get more than ten steps before lightning rains down, stabbing their every orifice. And just to make it special Percy feeds each of them ocean water and laughs as their insides fry, electrocuted by the sea and the sky.

It is over in a matter of seconds, not a body moving, twitching, breathing. Except one. A demigod with bright hair, drunk on fear.

"Please," She begs, "Please don't kill me.

"You tried to kill us even when we asked you not to. Why should we give you the courtesy?" He spits.

"Please," She cries, and that's all she says, all she mutters over and over again.

"Lucky for you," Jason shrugs, "We like to have one survivor to pass the warnings on. The stories."

She whimpers, clawing at the sand in an attempt to get away.

Percy laughs, wraps the earth around her ankles. "Not so fast. Tell them. Tell all of them what happened today. And make sure they know that it was not us who started it. But we gladly finished it."

"Nobody ever wants the villains to win," The blonde looks at her sympathetically, "But I ask you this: if we are the villains of your story, who do you think are the villains of ours?"

Her eyes widen, and then she turns on her side and heaves.

"Take care darling," He waves, "And here's some ambrosia for that wound on your side." He tosses her the little bag of golden squares with a wink.

And then Percy Jackson and Jason Grace link hands, glance at the decimation they caused and share twin smiles.

Villains or heroes?

No, that had never applied to them. They had always be something else, something more.

They are gods.

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 13

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

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Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

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Exiting from hyperspace, Commander Fox, Commander Tori, ARC Trooper Dipper, and Riyo Chuchi saw a blockade of Imperial Star Destroyers on Coruscant, along with the lack of electricity visible from space. “That’s a lot of ships out there,” Riyo exclaimed, looking out the window. “I don’t remember Coruscant being like this.”

“Me neither,” Fox shook his head, gazing at the planet’s surface. “The last time Coruscant had no lights was when the Separatists destroyed our generator.”

“I was in the Senate meeting when it happened,” she recounted the incident. “Everyone panicked, and they were shouting at the Chancellor whether the electricity would come back. I was worried too, but I wondered whether the people of Coruscant were alright, especially the ones living in the lower levels. It was already dark for them down there. I can’t imagine how they were when it happened to them.”

Tori nodded, empathising with the former senator. Living without water is one thing, but living without electricity is another. Without heat generators or a light bulb, it’s impossible for people to go on with their life. They could use candles and firewoods, but when living in a city, those things are impossible to find.

She wondered whether Lira and Eva were alright, considering the latter was afraid of the dark. Eva would always sleep next to her twin sister every night, as she claimed she could hear voices surrounding her. Tori was no expert in mental health, but she knew that the war may have taken a toll on her mind.

“Mama, why are there so many ships?” Frieda wondered, pointing at the Star Destroyers. “Are they protecting them from harm?”

Tori pressed her lips and stroked the back of the child’s head, before answering her truthfully. “No, sweetie, they’re only pretending they’re protecting the people down there.”

“Why are they pretending, Mama?”

“The Empire wants to control how people think and act, hence, they lie to everyone by saying that they’re doing this for their own good instead so that people won’t retaliate against them.”

“That’s so evil,” Frieda pouted as she crossed her arms. “I want to fight them, Mama, just like you.”

Fox chuckled at her bravery. “You’ll get your chance, little one. For now, your mom will protect you, okay?”

“Yes, Uncle Foxy.”

His smile disappeared as Dipper burst into laughter, making the former state at Tori with menacing eyes. “You had to teach her, didn’t you?”

“I thought it was cute,” Tori shrugged. “Besides, Uncle Foxy sounds better than Uncle Fox.”

“I agree,” Riyo sided with her. “It’s a fitting nickname for my knight in shining armour, you know.”

The commander blushed, his lips curled upwards. “Well, thank you Riyo. I guess I’m Foxy enough for you then.”

Riyo giggled at his attempt at comedy, much to Tori’s bewilderment. If I said it, then it’s annoying, but if Riyo said it, then it’s sweet and funny. What a sly, cunning fox.

“Anyway,” Dipper cleared his throat. “How are we getting Senator Amidala off the planet?”

“We’ll figure it out once we get there,” Fox reassured him. “For now, we’ll have to stand by inspection and our chain code.”

“Oh, that’s an acceptable way of saying that you don’t have any plans at all,” Tori mocked, blowing a raspberry at him. “I hope we don’t get ourselves killed once we’re done with the mission.”

He held his tongue, resisting the temptation to smack her at the back of her head. Why does she have to be such a prick sometimes?

Before he could say something, the comms on the ship were beeping, signalling him to get into position. “Alright, the Empire is contacting us, so keep yourself quiet and it will be over soon, especially you, Tor. You’re very talkative.”

She gave a nod, holding Frieda closer. “I will not say a single word, Foxy.”

Before he could reply to her snarky comments, he received a transmission from one of the Star Destroyers, prompting him to take a deep breath and press the button on the panel.

“Good day, Admiral,” Fox greeted him with a fake smile. “What can I do for you?”

“This is Admiral Wentin of Armageddon. You are now entering Coruscant. Please identify yourselves and state your business.”

“This is Opi Wihone of the Chaser. I am here with two adult women, an adult man, and a small child for a family reunion on Coruscant.”

“Understood, Chaser. Prepare for scanning.”

As they waited for five minutes, Frieda cooed as she watched the ships entering and exiting Coruscant with silence, pressing her palms on the window. Uncle Fox and Tori told her to keep quiet for a while, which isn’t difficult for the little girl since she’s used to it.

Her biological parents are constantly at each other’s throats, so Frieda learned to not make a single sound, fearing that she would get a slap on the face. She barely remembered what happened whenever she’s alone with her father, but Tori felt it was for her own good. At least Uncle Foxy and Tori made her happy all the time.

All the waiting made Riyo sweat profusely. But at least she’s not alone. Not only Fox was with her, but Tori, Dipper, and Frieda were there as well. She always liked Frieda very much. The little girl reminded her of her younger cousin on Pantora, who shared the same curiosity as well.

Cousin Althea would always visit Riyo during the holidays. She was still in middle school, which made her the youngest in the family. Riyo would always tag along in her little adventures, where they would search for a dragon to slay with a wooden sword. She loved her like a little sister, and she missed Althea very much. If only I could see her again.

Then, the admiral of Armageddon gave them a status update of their ship. “Attention, Chaser. Your scans are now clear. You may now proceed with your business.”

Tori wiped her forehead as Fox gleamed. “Thank you, Admiral. I hope you have a wonderful day.”

“Well, that was easy,” Tori leaned against her seat, with her child on her lap.

“That’s only the straightforward part. We’ll have to standby with our chain codes once we land at level 1312.”

“Well, I hope the droids down there are dumb,” Dipper crossed his fingers. “The last thing I want is to sleep in prison.”

“Speak of the devil, and he will come to you,” Riyo warned him, much to his wincing.

“Of course, Riyo. That’s what General Young used to say whenever something bad was about to happen.”

Tori beamed when she heard Dipper mentioning Lira and Eva to Riyo. He was quite close with the twins as well. They were the ones who encouraged Dipper to read detective novels, which made him love mysteries. He was the only one who watched the girls when she’s not around.

Glancing at Frieda’s adorable face, Tori cradled her like how she did with the twins underneath the summer heat. It was a beautiful day, and the clone commander was sitting underneath an oak tree, with Lira and Eva falling asleep on her lap.

They were playing around the fields for the entire day, and the exhaustion caught them up, eventually. Tori had to carry them all the way to the Jedi Temple after that, and tucked them into bed with their stuffed toys. Looking back, she wished she could spend another day like that with the girls, but that day will never come.

As she snapped herself back to the present, she heard Riyo let out a huge gasp as she saw the entire planet was pitch-black, except for the Senate building and the military complexes. “What happened here? I can’t see anything.”

“I’m not sure,” Fox replied, horrified by his view. “And I’m guessing Dooku had something to do with this.”

“How the hell are we getting to Senator Amidala’s place like this?” Tori expressed her exasperation. “The street lights aren’t even switched on.”

“We’ll have to use our torchlights.”

“On the bright side, though, at least we won’t be noticed by the Imperials,” Dipper cheered them up, which the rest agreed with his statement.

“Dipper’s right,” Riyo said, getting up from her seat. “We should get going. We don’t want to get Padmé waiting for us.”

“Right behind you,” Tori winked, carrying Frieda in her arms. “Come on, kiddo. An adventure awaits us.”

[bat-losers-inc]

Place of Ruins

Summary: Tim Drake is much changed from the boy that Ra's al Ghul remembers him to be and Ra's likes to believe that he played a large role in his creation, for better or worse. Or: Ra's uses the death and resurrection of Damian Wayne as an ruse to tempt Tim again. Tim has other plans. // Set four years after Collisions in the Dark.

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR “COLLISIONS IN THE DARK”, power dynamics, unrequited lust, non-consensual kissing.

Pairings: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Nyssa Al Ghul

Notes: Just something I couldn't get out of my head. The idea that Ra's and Tim would meet again but this time without the power imbalance of the previous fic. Now they're almost equals, but their mind games with each other still continue.

        ____________________________________________________________

Taklamakan Desert

18 mi South of Hotan, Xinjiang

__________

Ra’s waited a good distance from the cave’s mouth in patient silence, content to make his presence known only at the right moment. Better to let his prey come out on his own than try flushing him out with force and risk losing him in the dark tunnels that twisted and forked inside the caves of this region. Ra’s had learned that lesson the hard way the first time and it had cost him nearly everything.

Besides, he very much doubted that his prey would be caught unaware. If he’d risk coming to this place, practically on the back door of the Demon Head’s domain, without anticipating the risk of discovery then he was not the boy Ra’s remembered him to be. Ra’s almost would have been angry at such a brazen move if it hadn’t killed two of his birds with one stone.

Ah, speaking of birds…

Ra’s stepped down from the dry craggy perch that had served as his observation point as two figures— a man and woman—  emerged from the cave’s mouth and into the sweeping desert dunes: dyed a dark blue as the sun slipped below the jagged rock face that towered high above them.

His second daughter Nyssa was much the same as he remembered her; bellicose and as severe in personality as she was in dress with her loose tunic, pants, and long spear rested across her muscled shoulder blades. Since his previous run in with her, she’d continued to evade his attempts to root her out and finish her off for good. Despite how much Ra’s wished to put a sword in her, instead he held back— contenting himself for now with the knowledge of learning her most recent hideout— and focused his attention on the more important prize standing beside her.

Four years had changed Timothy from a eighteen year old boy into a man of twenty two and as far as Ra’s could see it had only enhanced every quality that he’d first found enthralling about him. The day or more of wandering the edges of the Taklamakan desert in search of Nyssa had tanned his skin to a light copper that highlighted the outlines of his muscled arms— a feature of Tim’s that Ra’s had never before appreciated.

He couldn’t stand by a moment longer.

Tim turned sharply at the sound of his footsteps, hand jumping to the dagger handle that rested against his hip. A Uyghur knife. Ra’s noted the locally crafted weapon with interest for he’d never known Tim to fight with a blade in all his years of closely following the boy. Was this a new development with his young detective? He couldn’t deny the temptation to provoke him to a fight, if only to see how he handled the blade and relish in how easy it would be to overpower him.

But Timothy held back and even threw out an arm against Nyssa as she swung her spear around with a hissed curse and the intention of stepping in front of him. His detective fixed Ra’s with his eyes, pale blue beneath the dark headscarf that blocked the ever-whirling sands.

“Ra’s.”

Ra’s smiled. “Hello, Timothy,” His gaze flickered over his daughter half heartedly. “Nyssa.”

Tim half turned to Nyssa, unwilling to pull his full gaze away from Ra’s. Smart boy.

“You can go. I’ll handle him.”

Ra’s smile widened. Oh? You’re going to handle me, are you?

Nyssa seemed to be debating if she cared enough to argue this point. Ra’s decided to help her with her decision. “Yes, run along, Nyssa. Perhaps Timothy will buy you enough time to flee with you life.”

Nyssa growled at that, her grip shifting on her spear, but in the end she retreated back into the depths of the cave mouth with a respectful nod over her shoulder to Tim.  

Tim watched her go, but Ra’s quickly put at end to that. He struck out as Tim’s back was turned, grasping him by the chin and twisted him around harshly into an equally bruising kiss. It lasted no more than the briefest of moments as the younger boy’s hands came up immediately and shoved him off. But like a starved man Ra’s pressed his attack. Tim had barely retreated back a step before Ra’s caught him by the back of the neck and yanked him forward until he stood chest to chest with him, interlocking his fingers at the base of his head to keep him there. Tim gripped one of his wrists and arched his head away from Ra’s questing lips.

“Let go,” Tim snarled. Ra’s chuckled at the hostility radiating off the boy like heat and chose to ignore it like the useless show it was.

“Ah-ah,” Ra’s pushed Tim’s head back to face forward with the heel of one hand. “I want to see you. Don’t you want to see me, Timothy? After all, it’s been so long.”

He yanked Tim’s headscarf down around his neck. “Now, that’s better.”

Tim spat in his face. Ra’s blinked once, his anger flashing as he felt the saliva slide down his cheek. Still he checked his emotions… after all it wouldn’t serve to let his anger get the better of him when he had his prize in hand. He used Tim’s scarf to wipe up the mess and rewarded the boy’s slight with a heated kiss that had him twisting to break free by the time he pulled away.

“Stop,” Tim hissed.

“Make me,” Ra’s breathed against his cheek. “Or do you even want me to? Coming here without that stupid little shit you call a boyfriend to defend your honor. You’re practically begging for it, aren’t you, Beloved?”

Fire lanced up Ra’s body as Tim reached across his body and pulled his knife, slashing him backhanded across his midsection before flipping the knife and coming back with a downward arc to his legs that Ra’s only narrowly retreated from. He pressed a hand to his bleeding torso, breathing heavy as he glared back at the younger man for the move was iconically in the style of the Red Hood.

“You little bitch.”

The wound wasn’t deep, just enough to make a point.

“I don’t need Jason to defend me. I can do that just fine by myself. ” said Tim, wiping the blade off on his pant leg before resheathing it. “So, please tell me again how I’m ‘begging for it’, and see what the next thing I cut is.”

Ra’s dropped his hand and followed after him as he turned and made his way up the dunes, back the way he’d come. The dune buggy he’d used to travel to the caves from the main highway was parked a quarter of a mile off where the dunes gave way to the rugged mountainous landscape around Hotan. Ra’s stared at his back as they walked that distance— the loose shoulder and casual stride— not a trace of tension in his form. Four years of being hunted had made the boy fearless in the defense of his person. Ra’s would give him that. Gone was the boy that hid behind Batman’s cape when the full power of the league and all it’s assassins were thrown at him.

“When did he teach you to use a blade? I’ve never seen you fight with one before.”

Tim stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his dark hair blowing against his face in the strong winds. “That’s because you’ve never gotten close enough for me to need it. Dip yourself in your lazarus pit all you want, a few years of youthfulness still won’t make you strong enough to overtake me.”

Ra’s repeated attacks against him, Jason’s murder, the psychological manipulations… all of it had only served to hone him like a fine blade and now he was ready to cut back. Ra’s was as much his creator as Batman was.

Ra’s smiled. “Never say never, my dear. The day may come when you or some other member of your family needs my assistance, and trust me when I say that I’ll take as much as I can get from your indebtedness. Each year you spend evading me racks up quite a lot of interest to collect on. It might be in your best interest to make a few minor repayments while you can… two nights a year— or even just one… I’m open to negotiating. And poor little Jason never has to know.”

Tim walked back towards him, eying him critically. “And I suppose sending the Heretic to murder Damian was your way of setting up the board for these ‘negotiations’, wasn’t it?”

Ra’s frowned with mock sorrow. “The poor boy, to be cut down so young. I hear that Bruce is devastated… that he’d do anything to bring back his son.”

Tim’s eyes were icy. “You’re a snake. Bruce won’t ever ask you for help after what you’ve done to me… what you’ve done to this family. And for the record, I’m not here to ask you either.”

“Then why, dear Detective, are you here?”

“Because I owe Damian a debt for what he did for me all those years ago. Because my fucked up history with you means that I’m the only one who can make this trip with a modicum of assured safety— if only because of what you want from me. And because you’re not the only person I know with access to a Lazarus pit.”

“Nyssa,” growled Ra’s, turning sharply to look back towards the caves.

Tim stepped up behind Ra’s’ shoulder. Ra’s could practically hear the smile behind his words. “I think I gave her enough time to flee, don’t you? And with the comm link I passed off to her, I have a feeling that by the time you track her down again, we’ll already have Damian back with us. Once again, Ra’s. You lose.”

Ra’s laughed. “Yes, maybe so, but you’re wrong about one thing, Detective. Safe isn’t a word I’d use to describe our interactions, especially when you’re this close to me and so very far from home. I know what you like, no matter how much you try to deny it, and it’s something that Jason Todd can never give you. You’ll never be truly satisfied with a man who gives into you so easily.”

“Maybe, but just because I want something, doesn’t mean it’s good for me.”

“I’m not in the business of being good for you. And like the snake that I am, I’ll always be around to tempt you.”

Tim stared off across the dark dunes and let the silence stretch between them for awhile. Finally he spoke.

“I know something about you as well, Ra’s. You’ve always loved the hunt far more than you’ve ever loved keeping me. If I didn’t fight you, I’d be boring. I’d be just like all the rest. You don’t want a successor to you empire. You want a worthy opponent. And it’s for that exact reason that I know you’re going to let me leave here tonight.”

“Mmm. You do make an extraordinary opponent, Timothy.”

Tim pulled his headscarf back over his face. “Until the next round, Ra’s.”  

Ra’s stood and watched him as he climbed in his vehicle and disappeared into the distance. Yes, he thought to himself with an eager yearning he couldn’t put into words, until the next round. I’ve got my eye on the prize.  

[theclosetpoet7]

Water Tower Waltz

A CloTi fic by theClosetPoet7

Rating: M

Summary: Cloud swears that she had almost died once. Swears that he had failed Tifa in some way. He pictures carrying her in his arms, blood dripping from her chest like a sword had slashed through it. But she's alive and right in front of him. Alive. His head suddenly hurts. [Set during the Original Game].

“No one lives in the slums because they want to. It's like this train. It can only go where the tracks take it.”.

He traces the dips in her back, slowly running his finger through the groove that outlines the curve of her spine. Then, he maps an invisible scar that mirrors the one that he pictures is on her front side. He can't see in this dark room. All he can do is feel. His hand lays itself on her soft skin. Tifa stirs and he almost pulls away when she turns her head to the other side, sighing out a soft breath that innocently stirs his loins.

He observes her for a few seconds, finding himself under temptation again. However, his curious mind overcomes joining her in her deep slumber. Besides, there's time for that later. So, he lays his palm flat on her backside, as if touching her in this way can unlock something in him.

Cloud doesn't know why, but somehow, he feels like it is not the first time his hands are able to hold her in this way, and he doesn't mean in the way they pulled at each others' bodies last night. Not in the way his mind took him to the promised land as he pounded deep into her.

No.

He pictures carrying her in his arms, blood dripping from her chest, like a sword had slashed through it. The young SOLDIER abruptly withdraws his hand. The images he painted in his brain scare him. How could he see Tifa in that light? She is alive and right in front of him. Warm and soft. Strong and optimistic. Beautiful and bright. And Alive. Tifa Lockhart is alive.

He swears that she had almost died once upon a time. Swears that he had failed her in some way, even when she has never told him anything of the sort. Just the fact that they came from the same hometown. Suddenly, his head hurts too much.

"...just like you promised."

A promise?

"You're late."

What promise?

"You came."

"What's wrong?"

Her scarlet eyes bore into his blue ones. Every now and then, he questions their authenticity. Not hers but his. He wonders if his eyes are really the same color as the sky or were they perhaps a darker shade; anything, just as long as they're blue and not the piercing sea green orbs he sees when he closes them. Not those snake-like slits staring back, silently judging him and taking hold of all his weaknesses.

"Cloud?"

"It's nothing."

She turns over and presses the sheet closer to her body. He stares at her ample bosom, yet again contemplating if there is indeed a scar in between her two breasts. He had sucked eagerly on one just hours before, the bruises he must have left on her body would be seeping into her skin by now.

Her soft hand finds itself to his cheek and Cloud blinks, the blurry line of bright red across her chest disappears and he can only see Tifa's face as the clouds part to light his room with the rays of the Planet's moon.

"It doesn't seem like it's nothing."

Cloud stares at her intently, asking himself if she is who she says she is. He knows Tifa. It is the one thing he is certain about since arriving at Midgar. They were friends years before. But it still seems like there is a missing piece to their story.

"Don't worry about it."

Settling back into his confident exterior is easy and it comes naturally that he doesn't miss a beat when he pulls Tifa to meet her lips with his. He had wondered for so long what it would be like to be with her. To be in her. He doesn't even know if he's had sex with anyone else before, granted that he can't remember any other woman's face. Except hers for some reason.

It doesn't take much to ready her for him.

And it takes little to have him hard for her.

Cloud enters her moist crevice again and allows his worries to fade away. Drown those thoughts out with the sounds of her moans. Listen to nothing else but the music of their bodies coming together again.

And again.

And again.

Tonight is the first time they fuck.

But he doesn't think it will be the last..

________________________

"Did you sleep well last night Cloud?"

"Next to you? Who wouldn't? "

'Pfft, seriously? You think that sounds cool? I think you're better than that Cloud.'

.

Once in a while, he feels like there is someone who controls his every action. Like his thoughts are not his own. As if there is an invisible person watching over him and talking to him like it's a distant dream. But he's Cloud right? He's an ex-SOLDIER, First Class, recruited by the group AVALANCHE to take down the Shinra Corporation.

He honestly doesn't care about what these people are doing to the planet. He's contemplated about leaving too. But then, where else would he go? Besides, the money is good.

He thinks that perhaps this is the purpose of his life; to fight and fight and fight. Wasn't there more though? But he's good at killing monsters, and he's excellent at accomplishing missions. What else is there?

"Listen Cloud, I'm asking you. Please join us."

"So! You're really leaving?! You're just going to walk right out ignoring your childhood friend?!"

So he stays.

________________________

He's afraid to light the fuse again; to start the fire once more.

But when her heart opens like this, he thinks he's ready to fall for her.

.

Her legs wrapped around his hips has always been a kink he had ever since they've reunited. With her thigh-high socks and her short skirt. Tifa pulls him closer as he keeps up the momentum of their mating. It is a sinful act, one that shouldn't occupy too much of his mind considering that their bombing mission tomorrow is the most dangerous one yet.

But she feels soft,

and she feels amazing,

and she wants him too.

Hard for him to believe but fuck he's been wanting her even more since that first night. She takes him in with such care and consideration that he can't help but indulge himself in her sweet taste.

It's an affirmation for himself, granted that so many of the patrons in the bar have obviously lusted after this woman. Not that it is all he wants from her. There is something about their friendship that gives him some semblance of comfort. She has that quality about her that tells him that she's reliable, and he can count on her during their adventures. Damn she was sexy though. He would be lying if he said that being inside her like this does not make his pride swell. And it does, along with a certain part of him.

The very thought sparks another level of desire within the blonde and he increases his pace to bring her closer to the brink of ecstasy.

"Cloud."

Her hometown smile and that look in her eye, reassure him that everything will be alright. ________________________ "You can't die now Cloud! Please! There's so much more I need to tell you!"

What did she mean by that?

Those are his last thoughts as he falls.

When he opens his eyes, he sees green orbs.

But they are kinder.

And beautiful. ________________________

Aerith reminds him of a kind sister. But the way she playfully tells him that she'll reward him with a date teases his emotions and briefly gives him the desire for something more.

It is easy being with her. As if nothing else matters. Like he can be himself without having to look towards his past that is still too foggy.

But the sight of Tifa in that blue dress, entering the well known red-light district, makes his blood boil. And he doesn't hesitate in following her in.

.

"Cloud, not here."

He should be disgusted with himself but he can't help it. It will only take a few minutes. What's wrong with two adults fucking anyway? It's not like they won't make it in time.

"Tifa."

Maybe it was the way her dress clung to her figure, or maybe it was the fact that someone can walk in on them at any moment that turns him on. But he swears that he can't wait for much longer. He wanted to cut off Don Corneo's dick so bad. His lecherous eyes didn't deserve to run themselves over the two innocent women's body. Or any woman for that matter.

And Tifa.

Tifa is his.

So he shuts the bathroom stall behind him and he clamps a hand over her mouth when she gasps too loudly. Unzipped pants gather around his legs while Tifa's panties bunch up on the bathroom's floor where he had tossed it aside as he finally sunk into her.

It doesn't take him long to get into a rhythm that is both harsh and hard. She takes it all in stride, as if the mere idea of him losing control stirs her insides and allows heat to pool in her belly.

His grip on her thighs tightens and it doesn't take much before he's losing the tempo he had set seconds ago.

In and out.

In and out.

That's all he does until he empties into her, chest heaving with bated breath. Heart pumping loudly until he can hear it pulse in his torso.

She wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer. ________________________

"Sephiroth's strength is unreal. He is far stronger in reality than any story you might have heard about him."

.

Why?

Why is he still alive?

Didn't he kill him?

There's blood everywhere.

Everywhere.

But it doesn't scare him.

What scares him is that Sephiroth is here.

And he has to get Tifa, Aerith and Barrett away.

The Shinra building shakes and it takes minutes before he's slashing through monsters again.

But the real monster.

The one he has to face is gone. ________________________

When he tells his story, he has an out of body experience.

As if he's not moving his lips on his own.

As if he knows his accounts are not the truth.

But he keeps telling it anyway.

Because this is his current truth.

And he tries to convince himself that Tifa's troubled eyes don't bother him at all.

'You said that you'd never forget. Hey, are you doing okay?'

"Alright everyone, let's mosey."

.

"Oh Cloud! Your hair looks like a Chocobo!"

The rest of the party laughs. Aerith hooks her arm around Tifa's and whispers something into the other brunette's ear. They both giggle to themselves.

Cloud tosses some hay into the stable. Trying to ignore his friends' teasing.

'Wark!'

The enormous bird leans in to him, affectionately resting its feathered head on his hand.

'Such beautiful creatures.' He thinks.

The very thought of racing with them has him excited. And he pays the farmer a substantial amount of gil so he can take this particular chocobo to Golden Saucer.

.

.

.

He doesn't regret the purchase, especially when Tifa volunteers to do the race one night and he is rewarded with the sexy sight of her climbing onto the bird. ________________________

"Oh, and you are...? It can't be! You're that ex-SOLDIER, childhood friend, and sexy playboy! A, and... a murderer!"

.

It irks him when Johnny says it with no hesitation. Almost as though everything the other man says holds some truth to it. And since when has he been regarded as a sexy playboy? When there was no one else but Tifa Lockhart. That is, as far as he can remember.

Images flash through his brain again but he doesn't spare it a second thought.

Still so confused.

Yet still so determined.

Tifa's blush later on catches his attention and he can't for the life of him stop himself, especially when the red-head tells his girl to be happy. He claims her lips behind the closed doors of the cabanas in Costa Del Sol.

He can make her happy.

He can.

Can't he? ________________________

They go around the world.

Always in search of Sephiroth.

But the longer he evades them,

The more anxious Cloud becomes

Because he carries this burden on his shoulders.

And it is his fault for not finishing him off in the first place.

.

She takes him in her mouth. Cherry lips moving up and down. Cloud threads his fingers through her long brown hair, nails digging deep into her scalp when she tilts her tongue in just the right way. His eyes focus only on the stars above as he leans his back on the surface of the smooth rock.

They are meters away from the rest. The thought of getting caught yet again makes him twitch as he involuntarily pumps his hips into her. She engulfs him in more and the sight of her carmine eyes staring up at him becomes his undoing.

He comes, whole body quivering as the mind-blowing pleasure has become too much. But she puts a hand to her mouth and wipes out the remaining sticky moisture while simultaneously swallowing. Then, she gets up to press a kiss to his lips, making him get a taste of his own essence.

The buggy should be repaired by now but with the way the desert land has stirred something in his childhood friend, Cloud doesn't mind staying in Cosmo Canyon a little while longer.

________________________

Nibelheim isn't the Nibelheim he remembers.

None of those empty faces mean a thing to him.

Because all he remembers are flames consuming his hometown,

Fire lighting up the sky, and the cries of the people he once knew.

Tifa seems even more bothered by it than he is.

What exactly happened here?

He thinks that the answer is beyond the plains of Mt Nibel.

That the truth is buried deep within it.

Sephiroth tells him that he is part of the reunion.

And the very thought makes him sick.

The very thought makes his mind crack.

.

.

.

"For the both of us... you're gonna... live. You'll be... my living legacy."

.

"My honor, my dreams... they're yours now."

.

He's between her legs now, the Highwind's shaking adds to the pleasure he is invoking within her. He laps his tongue against that sweet pink pebble and has her puty in his hands. She spreads her legs wider, and she arches her back higher. Then she gasps out, voice held in because the rooms in the airship are thinner than any hotel they've stayed in.

He pulls her thighs to the edge of his bed and fucks her with abandon. At least within her he knows exactly who he is. At least he knows who he is to her. Not the puppet he is beginning to feel like. Not the First Class SOLDIER with too many expectations placed on him.

Just a man.

Just a man who is fucking Tifa Lockhart. ________________________

"Cloud, I want to know you. The real you."

.

Sometimes, Aerith's presence breaks down the walls he's built around himself. On board the gondola, under the lights of the amusement park, she looks stunning. He wonders if these emotions are really his, or if they come from another person. But, like he's been saying to himself, it is his current truth. He really does care for her. He admires her for seeing the world with so much love and kindness despite every wrong that she's been dealt with. Despite being the Last Cetra, she keeps hope alive in her.

Unlike him.

Her bright smiles and her sweet scent play at his senses. And she herself teases him with a fairy tale that feels too enchanting to be real. Yet, when he starts to feel like they can potentially become more than friends, something within him makes him feel guilty. Because not only does it feel like a betrayal towards Tifa, it also feels like disloyalty to someone else.

But who?

It's merely potential.

Just potential.

He reaffirms this later on when the first thing he does when he returns to the hotel is knock on Tifa's door. The hurt in her eyes is almost indistinguishable but it is still there. So he spends the rest of the night telling her with his body that he's hers.

And he apologizes in his head, for almost straying. ________________________

Kiss me once.

Kiss me twice.

Kiss me three times.

Cross the line.

.

He takes her on her knees. Their bodies are concealed behind the trees. He enters her with such precision and such need. They've fucked too many times to count now. But he wants to mark her as his more, wants to etch himself deep within her more. Wants her more.

More.

He is aggressive and unyielding, hands coming up to cup her breasts to press her to him.

More.

He loses himself in the wetness, the sounds of his front slapping against her pretty ass, the pleasure. He tilts her head to plunge his tongue deep into hers; hips going faster when she moans out. Her fingers press onto the grass, nails digging into the soil. And he knows. He knows that she will only ever scream for him.

Only him.

No one else.

Not Johnny.

Not that bald Turk.

No one else but him.

"Cloud!"

________________________ He feels enormous shame.

Because he has failed everyone again.

And he blames himself for handing off the Black Materia.

For allowing Sephiroth to prove that he is indeed a puppet.

He almost attacked her.

He almost attacked Aerith.

He really is scum.

.

She runs among the trees in the Sleeping Forest deep in the depths of the Forgotten Capital.

She hides like she's playing with him again, teasing him as she always does.

But this time, he can't catch up to her.

She's disappearing to a far away place.

A land he can't reach.

.

.

.

"...Shut up."

"The cycle of nature and your stupid plan don't mean a thing."

"Aerith is gone."

"Aerith will no longer talk, no longer laugh, cry...or get angry... "

"What about us...what are WE supposed to do? What is this pain? My fingers are tingling. My mouth is dry. My eyes are burning!"

.

.

.

They fail to stop him.

And just like that, every good in the world is gone.

.

.

.

She smiled til the end. ________________________

No.

No.

Everything he's believed in.

Every memory he has.

Everything shatters.

And all he can do is apologize to everyone.

Apologize to Tifa for being a fake persona.

All he can do is clutch his head.

All he can do is scream.

His mind reeling.

An experiment.

A fabricated past.

Their memories.

It's not his.

Everything belongs to someone else.

.

.

.

The last thing he remembers is the crater shaking violently,

And his body falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Into the Lifestream.

And then,

Total darkness.

.

Her voice calls out to him in the deep recesses of his mind.

She appears before him like a dream.

And she goes through this journey with him, slowly piecing the puzzle together.

She lets him recall bits of it himself as if she's also unsure, asking him of his motives, his dreams, his life's meaning.

"Who? You. That's who."

And she stays by his side.

He is real.

She makes him feel like he is real.

She tells him that he is real.

She makes him real.

And they leave this place with hands and hearts intertwined.

Closer than they've ever been before.

"So, we meet again." ________________________

"Cloud, do you think the stars can hear us? Do you think they see how hard we are fighting for them?"

.

"Words aren't the only way to tell people what you're thinking."

.

He's free falling in.

All in her.

Because he knows who he is now.

Knows that he's Cloud.

She straddles him with a shyness in her eyes that he's never seen before. As if this is their first time. And it feels like it is. He feels like he has taken off the mask and now she can see him clearly. No walls. No shields to block his true form. He supposes that it is the same for her.

He sees the scar for the first time.

It's a sight that pains him but gives him comfort all the same.

Because it is proof that they're both real.

Tifa's cheeks are adorned with rose colored hues when she takes him inside her.

Fuck.

Longer.

A little longer.

Can they stay like this a little longer?

"I wanted to hold your hand."

She gasps out as he's fully sheathed within her.

"That night we made our promise underneath the stars. I wanted to hold your hand Cloud."

She pulls him in closer.

"I wanted to hold your hand and never let go."

His upward thrusts are gentle. Easing into her carefully, like she'd break along with him if he got rough like the way he always did. So he grants her wish and laces their fingers together. He holds her hands.

It is a connection so simple yet so intimate.

He tightens his grip when a wave of euphoria washes over him. But no, he doesn't want it to be over too soon. So he stops their movements. And he embraces her.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

He murmurs into her chest.

"I wrote those words into paper, but I couldn't send it. I didn't know where."

Her soft voice, albeit hesitant touches his heart. And it beats harder than ever, to the cadence of the waltz they were in just moments ago. But he holds in his desire.

Just so he can hear her breathing.

Because she's alive.

And he's alive.

He can't stop himself long enough before he's turning her on her back. Knees harrowing into the grass as he moves again. They're below the Highwind, spending the night with one another because it could very well be their last. He finds her amidst the chaos of Meteor's eventual arrival. And he sees her. Really sees her.

"Cloud."

"I'm here."

He thinks that she was made to be his.

That everything they've been through since that night on the water tower led them to this very moment.

Their very own reunion.

"This is probably the last time we can be together."

He picks up the pace and embeds himself deep into her soul, the same way she has crawled deep into his. And there are no words needed then.

None.

Not with the way their bodies cry out in absolute ecstasy.

Not when she's lying beneath him, flushed and panting.

Not when he swells inside her and pours out all his feelings.

.

.

.

They may die tomorrow.

They may die.

But tonight.

With just the two of them.

On a night that reminded him of their shared promise.

With the vastness of the sky...

...and the billions of stars above them,

Tifa beckons him home, with her lovely smile and her heart full of acceptance.

A ghost of a smile makes its way to his lips as he holds her.

They may die.

If they do.

He'll keep her close.

He won't let her go.

If they die...

It won't matter.

Because tonight.

.

.

.

The world is theirs.

.

.

.

fin

________________________ Author's Note: Did anyone ask for some smut? Not really, but oh well. :D This is a compliment to my other fic "A Long Way from Nibelheim."

Some scenes are inspired by the following songs:

"Timebomb" by Walk the Moon

"Hometown Smile" by Bahjat Etorjman

"Falling All In" by Shawn Mendes

"Don't Think Twice" by Utada Hikaru

and of course by the quotes throughout the game.

Some of the lines were ones I wrote in my Cloti content on my Tumblr: theclosetpoet7 :D

R & R!

[ah-geez]

Héloïse Adelaide Letissier - Self Portrait

“For the longest time, my body and my civil state were something I had to forcefully reconcile through faded forms- I remember the thickness of some fabrics, the excuses I came up with to avoid knocking at any door.   So my self-portrait starts here, with yet another sidestep : I simply cannot collect myself.

Can’t get myself together. Won’t set myself straight.

I disintegrate, Like the slow explosion of an idea.

Smells and names do define. I hardly own any.   I spent hours in shops, desperately breathing perfumes. I still regularly fantasize about identity theft.   My smells, my names,   Since my early childhood, I lost them constantly, in nosebleeds or in friends’ tears - I simply forgot about them. Some love to reminisce ; I already melt with the stream that runs ahead. And yes, I found some solace in lying, for there is a softness in the way stories harden ; in them lies a burning accuracy - I’ve been more sincere in my novels than in any other conversation.   I only exist ahead (desires!), which quickly made me see myself as a spear, a mist, a projectile.

It wasn’t a first, but this time,   with naming myself came some different wind.   Christine. I kept on whispering it with awe.   In the subway, in the streets, in my small flat in Lyon : Christine.   I jubilated, I knew something they were still unaware of : I became.   All the pieces of advice thrown at me over the years tasted like iron in my mouth ; you should try to be, better not to, you could after all ; I was told to endure through it, to deal with it, I was told to let white musk drip on my wrists for it was a healthy, luminous smell.   And then,   Christine.   One of the first songs I wrote, built over musical loops on my computer, was a curious rhapsody on the will to be saved by my own fluids, all odorous : sweat, blood, saps, everything they carefully try to scrape off young girl’s skins. Deafening angers as I was skimming through our magazines ; is that all that we’re destined to ? I only saw in there some cruel manual on how to properly disappear.   My room always had empty walls.   The window was the only appeal ; I glanced at the pavement below.   And I envied them - the boys - with their embraces.   Foreheads touching as if they were about to merge, hands on the back of their neck : everything could settle with a kiss - the lips are already so close - but they always chose the violent assent of a fight. Something was promised in their breathlessness - something that pursued me until nightfall. That was already Christine at the window, with burning, curious eyes.

Now,   I’m done with assenting. I’m done with pleasing the eye.   My face, at the time, was ribbed with fury ; it was acne melted to my own scratches. I then tried to make myself up in tears, bended over the mirror, with lights so dim I could hardly see. I felt deeply impure, and along with impurity came fears - dreads of being sick, dreads of zenithal suns, dreads of being up close. Christine was a detonation, a brutal irruption of light in my tiny flat. I suddenly appeared, rough and brave in that same mirror, but now with another face : one of an upset little squire.   If it felt impossible to play by the rules, I’ll infect them all ;   My disease would became chaos, and this chaos would became highly contagious.   Sun hurtling down everything, almost vibratile in its intensity, My flat upside down, reveled in the brightness of a different spring.   Any chaos will trigger two seconds of pure joy.   I repeat : any chaos will trigger two seconds of pure joy.

Outside, kids with hoarse voices, scars as stains of their own power. I would eventually belong there.   My perfume is already on my skin.   And now, I’m one with the stream !

Their women don’t exist. They suck the idea of their women out of their very neck -  then it bleeds. My eroticism is precisely what sets me free of those skimpy limits, this gender I’m assigned to ; I desired them all, but never with the same sex.

(Of course I’m not going to make it easy on you with lazy definitions. I plan to enrage you, to always escape. Here come the winds ! )

I don’t know how to keep myself together.   I only make sense when I move - look at my fluttering hands ! They’re telling the truth ! And when I dance,   my face arrives.

The calmness with which muses parade their faces infuriates me. They’re made of fragile milks, nested in our hands.   Note of the 12th of February 2016 (I think I was in Paris) : can’t stand faces anymore.

Mine keeps on contradicting itself, sometimes of a juvenile smoothness, sometimes rumbling with doubts ; brutally damaged even, under indirect lights — I’ve got the face of a young skateboarder who’s just ploughed into the city, holding a beer with his fingertips. I’m nowhere, if not for the teenagers.   Pockmarked face, Purple blemishes near the mouth, pinkish reliefs on the temple, the terrible cruelty of the day they bravely dive into, the sweetness of their ass, and the roughness of their cheeks, and those dreadful mugs at daybreak that all of us together decide to ignore, the sheer beauty of their pitted faces, so fragile during cold spells, tremendous outbursts which further confirm the silent truth of emotion. I want them all, and I’m in all of them at the same time.

My lips are red and full in the early morning; my tired eyes squint under the twilight sun. If I were your friend, you’d find something handsome in my wounds. You’d take me down by the riverside, and you’d try to get me to fight you. For a second, you’d be surprised by my agility ; you’d let me take a few swings before the knockout.  There and then, with my head in the wet grass and blood on my lips, I’d understand just how much you love me.

Amongst our clique, I’d be the sickly one, who’s arm’s only half-twisted ; the one who gets to talk late at night, fidgeting a story that excites all of the others.   See, what I’m obsessed about is to liberate, stitch by stitch (cause the embroidery’s intricate and flecked with their own blood), all the girls of the proper way to be a girl.

It’s unescapable : very early, words and attitudes cluster you ; the female is always threatened, either by enclavement or pure dissolution. The most stinging punishment of all is to be casted out of what is fuckable. The criterions are narrow and cruel, to maintain us as inactive as possible. Our clothes are shaped to refrain our bodies from expanding, our pills are swallowed in the name of what must be regulated, our hygienes are yelled as necessary ; as for our desires, they’re suffocated the very moment they arise - remember the insults thrown at the face of those who kissed eagerly !   Facetuned Pythias. Such a turn on.   What do instagram’s goddesses do ? They’re anointed - there’s always new pigments.   Cautiously sticking some flowers on the craters of their cheeks, they ornate the ravages of youth as much as they can Daydreams of runway   Loaded.

The temptation’s always there, because this hurling void never stops ; it calls at you, and it’s so very hard to escape its force-field :   They must love what they see.   And what about me ?   Do you even think I love thee ?

If I’m a sister to women that carry the sword,   I’m also the sister of the hungry ones.   Madonna, in this documentary of the nineties - keen muscles, undulating under her skin. Immense hotel suite, cutting carves. She devours a salad specially concocted for her, then shuts the tupperware down with authority only after a few agressive bites - she is predatory, she is alone, she is being watched, but more importantly, she is filled with desire. In bed with her dancers, both maternal and famished, she asks for the goodnight kiss to be on her lips.

I’m a mutant. What I swallow can’t be traced. Overexcited by the street’s metallic views, nose up in the winds of december, I allow myself to stay out, without any clear purpose. I kept for myself masculine delights, such as strolling and wandering about ; I occupy now the public space with the relaxed muscles of those whom rule, unthreatened.

See how lions move.   This is precisely what I crave for :   the leader’s liquid gait.

I, a tennisman who clutches his fist shortly after match point ; I, a footballer who sways his index nonchalantly after scoring a goal. Watch me steal the time-worn parades of your manhood, and turn them into something way more suspicious.

My horizon is Orlando’s wild surges. In the secret of my room, my dancer’s muscles roll forward whilst something else unfolds. I silently train to escape.   I only sit on chairs close to the door, I ditched heels, I aim for speed, emergency exits, shortcuts - it’s not that I feel guilty, but like Genet’s infamous thieves, I wish to remain free.

Women with a sword, women with an appetite, women with a revenge, bloody witch : everything she’s asked to buy, she just told you she doesn’t want it.”

Extract from magazine EGOISTE N°18 - TOME II, MARCH 2018

[notbigondoors]

MUNDAY FACT SHEET.

NAME: Silence Leaflin (pen name) NICKNAME: Si, Fallen, Doot-doot (you know who you are who call me this! XD) SEX/GENDER: female/cis PRONOUNS: she/her EYES/HAIR: brown/brown dyed black HEIGHT/WEIGHT: 5′3″/148... currently targeting a goal weight of 135 (dieting is fun! *flops and faceplants*) BUILD: tiny angry smol potato TATTOOS: No, but I’ve had two in mind for a long time and I might just actually try to make them happen... SCARS: a teeny dent on my forehead from where I fell into a bannister as a toddler; a jagged one on my right ankle from when I ran in the house barefoot in summer as a child and clipped the metal screen door; a large round one right on my chest from a big dark mole I had removed as a child PIERCINGS: three in right earlobe, one in right cartilage, four in left earlobe, industrial in left cartilage.

MYERS-BRIGGS: INFJ-T, the Advocate

The Advocate personality type is very rare, making up less than one percent of the population, but they nonetheless leave their mark on the world. Advocates have an inborn sense of idealism and morality, but what sets them apart is that they are not idle dreamers. These individuals are capable of taking concrete steps to realize their goals and make a lasting positive impact.

People with this personality type tend to see helping others as their purpose in life. Advocates can often be found engaging in rescue efforts and doing charity work. However, their real passion is to get to the heart of the issue so that people need not be rescued at all.

Advocates indeed share a unique combination of traits. Though soft-spoken, they have very strong opinions and will fight tirelessly for an idea they believe in. They are decisive and strong-willed, but will rarely use that energy for personal gain.

Advocates will act with creativity, imagination, conviction, and sensitivity not to create an advantage, but to create balance. Egalitarianism and karma are very attractive ideas to Advocate personalities. These types tend to believe that nothing would help the world so much as using love and compassion to soften the hearts of tyrants.

Nothing lights up Advocates like creating a solution that changes people’s lives.

Advocates find it easy to make connections with others. They have a talent for warm, sensitive language, speaking in human terms, rather than with pure logic and fact.

It makes sense that their friends and colleagues will come to think of them as quiet Extraverted personality types. However, they would all do well to remember that Advocates need time alone to decompress and recharge, and not to become too alarmed when they suddenly withdraw. Advocates take great care of others’ feelings, and they expect the favor to be returned – sometimes that means giving them the space they need for a few days.

Really, though, it is most important for people with the Advocate personality type to remember to take care of themselves. The passion of their convictions is perfectly capable of carrying them past their breaking point. If their zeal gets out of hand, they can find themselves exhausted, unhealthy, and stressed.

This becomes especially apparent when Advocates find themselves up against conflict and criticism. Their sensitivity forces these personalities to do everything they can to evade these seemingly personal attacks. When the circumstances are unavoidable, however, they can fight back in highly irrational, unhelpful ways.

To Advocates, the world is a place full of inequity – but it doesn’t have to be. No other personality type is better suited to create a movement to right a wrong, no matter how big or small. Advocates just need to remember that while they’re busy taking care of the world, they need to take care of themselves, too.

ENNEAGRAM: Type 6 - The Loyalist, Wing 5 - The Investigator 

The Loyalist 6. Conflicted between trust and distrust

People of this personality type essentially feel insecure, as though there is nothing quite steady enough to hold onto. At the core of the type Six personality is a kind of fear or anxiety. This anxiety has a very deep source and can manifest in a variety of different styles, making Sixes somewhat difficult to describe and to type. What all Sixes have in common however, is the fear rooted at the center of their personality, which manifests in worrying, and restless imaginings of everything that might go wrong. This tendency makes Sixes gifted at trouble shooting, but also robs the Six of much needed peace of mind and tends to deprive the personality of spontaneity. The essential anxiety at the core of the type Six fixation tends to permeate the personality with a sort of "defensive suspiciousness." Sixes don't trust easily; they are often ambivalent about others, until the person has absolutely proven herself, at which point they are likely to respond with steadfast loyalty. The loyalty of the Six is something of a two edged sword however, as Sixes are sometimes prone to stand by a friend, partner, job or cause even long after it is time to move on.

Sixes are generally looking for something or someone to believe in. This, combined with their general suspiciousness, gives rise to a complicated relationship to authority. The side of the Six which is looking for something to believe in, is often very susceptible to the temptation to turn authority over to an external source, whether it be in the form of an individual or a creed. But the Six's tendency towards distrust and suspicion works against any sort of faith in authority. Thus, two opposite pulls exist side by side in the personality of enneatype Six, and assume different proportions in different individuals, sometimes alternating within the same individual.

The truly confounding element when it comes to typing Sixes is that there are two fundamentally different strategies that Sixes adopt for dealing with fear. Some Sixes are basically phobic. Phobic Sixes are generally compliant, affiliative and cooperative. Other Sixes adopt the opposite strategy of dealing with fear, and become counter-phobic, essentially taking a defiant stand against whatever they find threatening. This is the Six who takes on authority or who adopts a dare devil attitude towards physical danger. Counter-phobic Sixes can be aggressive and, rather than looking for authorities, can adopt a rebellious or anti-authoritarian demeanor. Counter-phobic Sixes are often unaware of the fear that motivates their actions. In fact, Sixes in general, tend to be blind to the extent of their own anxiety. Because it is the constant back drop to all of their emotions, Sixes are frequently unaware of its existence, as they have nothing with which to contrast it.

The Investigator 5. Thinkers who tend to withdraw and observe

People of this personality type essentially fear that they don't have enough inner strength to face life, so they tend to withdraw, to retreat into the safety and security of the mind where they can mentally prepare for their emergence into the world. Fives feel comfortable and at home in the realm of thought. They are generally intelligent, well read and thoughtful and they frequently become experts in the areas that capture their interest. While they are sometimes scientifically oriented, especially with the Six wing, just as many Fives are drawn to the humanities and it is not at all uncommon for Fives to have artistic inclinations.

Fives are often a bit eccentric; they feel little need to alter their beliefs to accommodate majority opinion, and they refuse to compromise their freedom to think just as they please. The problem for Fives is that while they are comfortable in the realm of thought, they are frequently a good deal less comfortable when it comes to dealing with their emotions, the demands of a relationship, or the need to find a place for themselves in the world. Fives tend to be shy, non-intrusive, independent and reluctant to ask for the help that others might well be happy to extend to them.

Fives are sensitive; they don't feel adequately defended against the world. To compensate for their sensitivity, Fives sometimes adopt an attitude of careless indifference or intellectual arrogance, which has the unfortunate consequence of creating distance between themselves and others. Trying to bridge the distance can be difficult for Fives, as they are seldom comfortable with their social skills, but when they do manage it, they are often devoted friends and life long companions.

Fives are usually somewhat restrained when it comes to emotional expression, but they often have stronger feelings than they let on. Few people know what is going on beneath the surface, as Fives have an often exaggerated need for privacy and a deep seated fear of intrusion. Because of their sensitivity and their fears of inadequacy, Fives fear being overwhelmed, either by the demands of others or by the strength of their own emotions. They sometimes deal with this by developing a minimalistic lifestyle in which they make few demands on others in exchange for few demands being made on them. Other Fives make their peace with the messiness of life and engage it more fully, but they almost always retain their fears that life is somehow going to demand more of them than they can deliver.

ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good

A lawful good character acts as a good person is expected or required to act. He combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. He tells the truth, keeps his word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice. A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished. Lawful good is the best alignment you can be because it combines honor and compassion. However, lawful good can be a dangerous alignment when it restricts freedom and criminalizes self-interest.

TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic

The melancholic temperament is fundamentally introverted and thoughtful. Melancholic people often were perceived as very (or overly) pondering and considerate, getting rather worried when they could not be on time for events. Melancholics can be highly creative in activities such as poetry and art - and can become preoccupied with the tragedy and cruelty in the world. Often they are perfectionists. They are self-reliant and independent; one negative part of being a melancholic is that they can get so involved in what they are doing they forget to think of others.

KINSEY SCALE: Predominantly heterosexual, only incidentally homosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: demi-romantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demi-heterosexual IQ: I actually have no idea, heh. I should really take one of those tests and find out... OCCUPATION: Currently? PTL (part-time lecturer... basically meaning I teach both in-person and online classes for a university on a semester-by-semester basis instead of under a permanent contract) RELIGION: Wiccan/atheist PETS: a hamster named Muffin SCHOOL: Biological sciences, environmental science, environmental microbiology LANGUAGES: English, some German, some Japanese MEDICAL: Still’s Disease (what JRA - juvenile rheumatoid arthritis - is called when you’re no longer a juvenile heh; generalized anxiety disorder) NEUROLOGICAL: I don’t think I have anything...? ETHNICITY/RACE: White, mostly Irish, German, and Italian with smidgens of English, Portuguese, and Austrian HOBBIES: writing books and fanfiction, roleplaying, video games, jewelry-making, gardening, hiking, going to Renaissance faires INTERESTS: science (microbiology, environmentalism, physics, chemistry), nature photography, writing & fantasy (magic systems, creature creation, medieval settings, world-building, character creation) BLOGS: TOO MANY! XDDD

SOCIAL MEDIA: Just Tumblr and Discord

TAGGED BY: @warwearysoldier​ TAGGING: Anyone who wants to do this!

[sawamura-daichis-thighs]

*appears from the void to deliver a late af birthday fic*  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

@l1nkp1t this is entirely too late but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! i was going to write you a MH fic but the idea was too involved & you know my Muse 😅

ilysm & hope this somewhat makes up for the tardiness 😘

*This was written prior to seasons 6 & 7, so please consider this more or less an AU. I imagined Shiro to be only a year or two older than Keith, who is around 17 here.

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Pairing: Sheith

Rating: T

Words: 1,932

Tags: canon-divergent, pre- Kerberos, younger!Shiro, confessions, first kiss

————————————————————

Keith knows he’s impulsive. It’s not a secret, least of all to himself, and he’s never been especially interested in curbing this particular trait of his. Being quick to respond, letting his body act before his brain can catch up, has saved his ass more often than burned it, so he’s content to think of it as an occasional double-edged sword.

Until it nearly has him kissing his superior officer in the middle of a grappling match.

They’re alone, thankfully; it’s one of their late night training sessions because Keith’s too wired to sleep and Shiro is a saint who’ll suffer sleep deprivation for him (though Keith can’t fathom why). Plus, he’s the only one with the authority—and willingness—to unlock the gym at ass’o’clock in the morning. He knows Keith struggles with insomnia—he knows more about Keith than anyone, really, and sometimes he still wonders how Shiro managed it when Keith knows he’s as easy to befriend as a defensive porcupine—so he doesn’t feel the need to ask questions or pry. He just flips on the lights, drags out the mats, and waits with an easy smile on his handsome face.

Keith will never tell him, but many nights he can attribute his insomnia to thoughts of the man himself. And after tonight, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to find some other activity to wear himself out because he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to look Shiro in the face again.

Keith isn’t great at subtlety; it kind of goes hand-in-hand with his impulsiveness. So he knows it’s painfully obvious exactly what’s on his mind when he freezes in the middle of a move. He’s got Shiro pinned to the floor, trapping him in a push choke with one hand and holding one of Shiro’s securely above his head, and he’s hyper-aware of how it feels to have Takashi Shirogane trapped between his thighs. Their chests brush with every harsh panting breath and Keith finds it impossible to look away from those dark eyes—until Shiro licks his lips. They’re perfect, Keith thinks dazedly, a cupid’s bow over a full lower lip just made for biting. And Keith very much wants to have a taste, to nibble his way from that flawless mouth to that square jaw until he’s trailing down Shiro’s neck, until—

Heart hammering in his throat, Keith realizes he’s only centimeters away from acting on those thoughts, and he flings himself none too gracefully away. His face burns with embarrassment and shame; Shiro’s friendship is the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time and he almost ruined it—may still have ruined it—over stupid teenage hormones. He groans, hiding his face in his palms.

“Shit,” he mutters, the only sound in the vast gym aside from the shuffling from Shiro’s direction as he presumably sits up.

“Keith?” Shiro calls softly, and oh, wow, his voice is way closer than Keith expected. He peeks cautiously between his fingers, just enough to see that Shiro has crawled over so that he’s kneeling right in front of Keith, before drawing his knees up to further shield himself.

“Sorry, it’s nothing,” he rushes to assure, knowing everything about his posture is screaming in opposition to his words. “Just give me a minute.”

“Keith, it’s fine,” Shiro says gently, which only makes him squeeze his eyes shut. Of course Shiro would say that; it’s not in his nature to be cruel. His quiet understanding only serves to make Keith feel worse.

There’s a moment of silence between them as Keith tries to collect himself before Shiro sighs. There’s more shuffling and then Shiro’s hands are encircling Keith’s wrists lightly; not pulling, just resting as he softly requests, “Hey, will you look at me, please?”

Keith wants to shake his head, to refuse until Shiro drops the subject and pretends it never happened, but he can’t. He knows he can’t run away from this, and truthfully he doesn’t want to run away from his feelings for Shiro—he just doesn’t want to drive Shiro away from him. He takes a few deep breaths to steel himself, then slowly lifts his head from his hands, but avoids meeting Shiro’s eyes directly.

It makes Shiro chuckle, releasing one of Keith’s wrists to poke his cheek playfully as he teases, “That’s not exactly what I meant, you know.” Keith huffs, sliding his gaze to Shiro with intent for it to be quick, but he finds himself staring again at the fond expression he’s wearing. Shiro smiles warmly at him, eyes soft with understanding, and Keith jolts when he feels a hand cupping his cheek.

“There, that’s better,” he murmurs, voice low as if he’s afraid he’ll spook Keith. He rubs his thumb over the curve of Keith’s cheek, throwing his heart into overdrive.

“Shiro, I’m sorry,” he manages to grit out between his clenched teeth, twisting his fingers anxiously. “Just forg—”

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll think you didn’t mean it.” Shiro interrupts, grinning cheekily. Keith stares at him for a moment, trying to process what he means versus what Keith wants him to mean, trying to decide if it’s possible they’re the same thing. He’s pretty sure Shiro can see the way his brain is short-circuiting right now, if the amused snicker is anything to go by.

“I—but you—we can’t,” Keith stammers weakly, feeling dizzy. Shiro is his superior officer, he’s supposed to be the one enforcing rules and keeping unruly, hormonal cadets in their place, not encouraging fraternization.

Shiro breaks through his spiraling thoughts with a hum, tucking loose strands of hair behind Keith’s ear as he says nonchalantly, “I mean, I understand if you don’t want to…”

“Oh come on,” Keith snaps irritably, because really? He’s going to try to play dumb now? “Clearly I want to, I think that much is obvious. I just...I mean…” The sudden bravado drains out of him, replaced with what feels like shyness. He glances away only to look back again from beneath his lashes as he continues quietly, “You don’t have to.”

Shiro’s eyebrows raise almost comically high as he replies incredulously, “Are you kidding? What part of tonight has made you think I don’t want to?”

“I don’t know,” Keith huffs, dropping his knees so he’s sitting cross-legged instead. Shiro drops his hand from where he’s been cradling his cheek, but slides his other from where he’s been holding his wrist until they’re touching palms. He interweaves their fingers painstakingly slowly, giving Keith plenty of time to pull away should he want to.

Keith really, really doesn’t want to.

“Keith,” calls Shiro, voice low and husky around the edges; it has Keith meeting his eyes effortlessly, drawn in like a siren song, and he vaguely notices that they’re leaning into one another’s space. He sees the exact moment Shiro decides to challenge him, the way he quirks a brow expectantly before saying in a faux-instructor tone, “It’s important to finish the things you start.”

And nothing, not alien abduction or Commander Iverson’s wrath, could have stopped Keith from taking the bait.

All doubt erased, he surges forward the few remaining centimeters to press his mouth to Shiro’s with an urgency and hunger even he hadn’t completely understood until now. Kissing Shiro is everything he’s imagined it might be, and more; now that he’s had a taste he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be satisfied again.

Despite his teasing, Shiro meets him halfway, the slide of his lips slightly crooked with the smile he can’t quite hold back. He sighs through his nose happily, releasing Keith’s hand to trail warm fingers up his neck until he’s cradling Keith’s jaw in his hands, angling him just so. He pulls away only to dive in again, and again, a similar need evident in the grip of his fingers against Keith’s cheeks, in the desperate press of his mouth.

Keith hums, parting his lips in invitation that Shiro is eager to accept. They explore one another languidly, the urgency melting away into a need to savor, until Keith gives in to earlier temptation, tugging Shiro’s bottom lip between his teeth experimentally. The sound it pulls out of Shiro has him grinning but, before he can go any further, Shiro pulls away.

The noise of protest Keith makes sounds suspiciously like a whine; he opens his eyes to frown bewilderedly at Shiro who gives him a sheepish smile.

“You really do go all-out in everything, don’t you?” he laughs breathlessly, pulling Keith in for a more chaste peck before retreating again. Keith isn’t even ashamed at the way he tries to chase after, just miffed that it’s all ending so soon which Shiro seems to sense given the smirk on his significantly redder lips. Satisfaction and pride bloom in Keith’s chest; he did that, made Shiro look mussed and pink-cheeked, breath coming just a bit too quickly.

He hopes he’ll get to do it again, preferably repeatedly and often. Which, judging by the way Shiro is beaming, he thinks is highly probable.

“Well, can’t just half-ass it, right?” Keith finally replies, quirking a brow cheekily. Shiro’s answering laughter echoes through the gym, deep and full of affection; it soothes the fire burning in Keith’s chest into a homely warmth, makes him feel sappy and gooey inside and all manner of hopelessly moonstruck. He knows the look on his face is probably dopey, revealing entirely too much, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. Not if it’s Shiro who sees.

And he does see, sees Keith for everything he is and everything he’s not and everything he hopes to be—he’s seen it all and still chose to stay by Keith.

So maybe Keith is being selfish for wanting Shiro in this way too, maybe he’s being impulsive and reckless like everyone has always chastised him for, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

"C'mon," Shiro swoops in, dropping another quick kiss on Keith's lips, before pulling back to stand. He holds out a hand to help him up, continuing, "We should head back. Next patrol is due soon and we wouldn't want our secret lovers' den discovered."

"Oh my god," Keith groans, slapping a hand over his rapidly heating face, "Please shut up." He takes Shiro's hand anyway, choosing to ignore the way Shiro does nothing to muffle his laughter.

"What? It's true, isn't it?" he asks, tone too amused to pass as innocent, though he tries. His smug grin doesn't help. "We meet under the cover of darkness, in a forgotten gym with shitty security cameras, and—" Keith shoves his shoulder as he passes, trotting across the mats to gather his water bottle and towel as he urges the blush in his cheeks to fade. Shiro snickers behind him, but takes the hint, and begins gathering the mats to return them to their storage closet. It's not long before they've properly cleared the gym and are locking the doors behind them.

There's an easy quiet between them as they walk back to the dorms, slower than usual though neither remarks on it. Their hands brush a number of times until Shiro reaches out and links their pinkies, face turned away in a surprisingly shy gesture that makes Keith’s heart pound. He tightens his grip with a soft smile, looking up at the stars.

And if he chooses to rely on impulse again, pulling Shiro off the path just before reaching his dorm and into the shadows for another (entirely less chaste) kiss, well, he’s never been especially interested in curbing that particular trait of his.

[individuationfic]

The Soundless Room/An Endless Song

AO3

Summary:  The man with the long nose in the blue elevator calls Arisato the Wild Card.

In 1999, a twin becomes an only child.

Arisato Minato does not look at what horrors surround him. He’s used to it. He just hums to drown out the oppressive silence around him.

Arisato Minako screams when the pretty girl in the pink sweater points a gun at her.

Arisato summons Orpheus a few nights later. Thanatos rips Orpheus open and roars. Arisato collapses.

Yukari tells Minato about her father, how she can empathize with him. He scoffs to himself. She only lost one parents. He lost both his parents and his sister.

Junpei moves into the dorm. Minako can’t stop grinning. She thought he was cute in a dorky way when they first met, and now her chances have increased.

Arisato becomes the field leader.

Arisato sees tarot cards after battle.

Arisato can summon multiple Personae.

The man with the long nose in the blue elevator calls Arisato the Wild Card.

Minato reluctantly joins the kendo club. He’s not really interested in clubs or socializing, but his teacher and Mitsuru won’t stop bothering him until he joins something and it’s either kendo or swim club. At least kendo can help with is sword work.

Minako joins the volleyball team. She wants to get stronger so she can be a good leader and Rio seems nice enough. Plus, the uniform looks pretty good on her.

Igor tells his attendant to not get attached to their current guest. He knows how this fight will end and he doesn’t want more heartbreak than there needs to be.

Elizabeth, Minato thinks, is very much like the person his sister would have been, had she not died many years ago. She’s loud and cheerful and charmingly dumb, just like his sister was when they were children. She finds magic and wonder in every aspect of the world around him. Sometimes, he wishes she was bland and dour, because, like this, he can’t resist the temptation to be near her.

Minako likes taking Theo out. He’s always so intrigued by the human world. Walking with him helps her find her way around the city better, too, and she quiet likes the mystery it surrounds her in. Her friends start asking about the handsome guy they see her with on the weekends and all she does is smile.

They get attached.

Minato hates the way he feels after the July full moon battle. Even though Yukari was absolutely in the more vulnerable position there, he feels violated. He wonders if he would have felt this bad if he was trapped with Akihiko or Junpei instead.

Minako follows after Yukari in Yakushima. Yukari yells at her for always saying what people want to hear, but Minako knows she’s not really angry. She’s just hurt. So Minako tells Yukari about her brother, and the hole his death left in her heart, because she feels like Yukari would understand.

Arisato is just as confused as the rest of S.E.E.S. is by Aigis’s sudden appearance. Agis doesn’t care.

Minato doesn’t really care if Aigis sleeps in his room or not. She’s a robot. But he also doesn’t care enough to fight Yukari on it, so Aigis does not sleep in his room.

Junpei comes home one day with a lovestruck look on his face. No one comments on it, so Minako thinks they don’t notice. She’s not as upset as she expected to be.

The Velvet Room has always been a haven. Guests come and go as they need, and the room changes to suit their hearts. But it is not a destination. It is a pit stop.

Elizabeth is getting on his case about strengthening his bonds, so Minato invites Kaz to the film festival. He hasn’t really talked to Kaz since the summer tournament, and he’s surprised at how happy he is to see his teammate. Maybe there’s something to this whole friendship thing after all.

Minako tries to sneak Koromaru into the film festival. It doesn’t work.

Arisato wants to protest when Ken joins S.E.E.S.. He’s just a kid! He shouldn’t have to fight monsters and see bloodshed! But there’s a strange hardness in his eyes, and Arisato thinks of a lost childhood.

Aigis comes to school. Her blunt words immediately cause a misunderstanding during her introduction. Minato wonders why Yukari always gets so mad when Aigis is around.

Shinjiro isn’t the kind of person Minako expected Akihiko to be friends with. He’s gruff and cold and unwelcoming. He only agrees to join the team when he finds out about Ken. Something about him intrigues Minako. Maybe she’ll try to get to know him.

The journey is more than halfway complete. Igor can tell his attendant is growing restless. He knew this would happen. This is why he doesn’t like it when they get attached. It only ends in misery.

With the school festival coming up, Minato escapes school as quickly as he can to avoid helping with set up. He helped once, at his first middle school, and he hated it. Thankfully, Maiko is willing to put up with his presence as long as he buys her takoyaki, so at least his afternoons aren’t completely wasted.

Minako convinces Yukari to let her and Aigis help her practice her maid routine. Yukari’s face is bright red the whole time. Aigis reveals Junpei has talked to her at length about his maid kink, and Yukari stops being embarrassed and becomes enraged. Her face now promises brimstone and hellfire.

The festival ends up getting cancelled because of the typhoon. Arisato falls into a deep sleep and dreams of another festival, of a fated partner and dark labyrinths and another group of Persona users.

The Lost are increasing. Minato feels like he should care more than he does.

Minako sleeps with Shinjiro because it’s easy. She’s by no means a virgin—the foster system took care of that—and sex is way easier than emotions. She doesn’t feel bad about it until Theo cooly tells her her moon social link is weak due to how she formed it. He’s never sounded more upset with her.

October 4th comes. Shinjiro dies. Arisato wonders how things could have gone differently.

Minato actually likes hanging out with the old couple that runs the bookstore. They don’t push him to talk, content to chatter themselves, and they shove food in his hands when he leaves. Maybe, he thinks, this is what it feels like to have parents.

Minako meets a man at Club Escapade while she’s visiting the old, creepy monk. He has frizzy black hair and five-o’-clock shadow and is staring into the bottom of his glass of rum. He’s just drunk enough to complain about his woman problems, about his current lover and his ex-girlfriend and the children he wants but can’t have with his current lifestyle. He says he wishes he’d just stayed single and warns her to not rush into things. She thinks of Shinjiro.

Igor sees his guest struggling with grief. He remembers his guests from Sumaru, how much they struggled and fought and how many tears were shed. But he knows they’re happy now, raising families and pursuing successful careers. He hopes these children will be similarly content.

Minato isn’t too surprised when the chairman turns on them. He’s never really trusted adults too much in general, so he didn’t let himself get attached. But now he knows Mitsuru has seen two loved ones die, and he finds himself concerned.

Minako forgives Aigis immediately. She didn’t choose to attack them, after all, and her growing empathy swamps her with guilt. So Minako sits next to her on the couch and speaks quietly with her, to show her she’s still a friend.

Mochizuki Ryoji arrives.

Minato is drawn to Ryoji like he’s never been drawn to anyone before. He’s typically annoyed by overly-cheerful people like Ryoji, but Minato can barely stay away from him. It’s like he’s a magnet, not just to Minato, but to everyone around him. He tends to focus his attention on Minato, though. It makes him strangely happy.

Minako is drawn to Ryoji, but she hangs back. Aigis follows her almost everywhere now, hovering at the edges of her vision or clinging to her arm every chance she gets. Aigis doesn’t trust Ryoji. Minako also keeps thinking about Theo’s reaction to her relationship with Shinjiro, how he’d never been so upset with her before, and how most of her relationships with guys eventually lead to sex. So, with Aigis and Theo in mind, she stays as far away from Ryoji as she can.

Arisato, on a trip to the mall, wins a Jack Frost plushie from the arcade’s claw machine. A young boy with frizzy black hair and gunmetal grey eyes watches, astonished. Arisato gives the boy the plushie and ruffles his hair. The boy rushes to two older men standing by the fountain to show off his new toy.

Minato sits by the river with Ryoji in Kyoto. Here, away from their classmates and in such a liminal place, Ryoji drops his ladykiller front and becomes sincere. His voice is soft as he speaks and Minato feels a foreign, unfamiliar warmth fill his chest. When their hands brush together, neither of them pull away.

Theo’s face lights up when Minato gives him a souvenir from Kyoto. He loves getting stuff from the human world, so any little thing, even this stupid little clover charm, makes his day. Igor cuts her an unreadable look when she gives Theo gifts like this. She wonders if he knows something she doesn’t. Then she decides he probably does.

The truth finally comes out. About Ryoji, about the accident, about Arisato. Ryoji gives S.E.E.S. the hardest choice they’ve ever had to face.

Minato asks Igor if he knew about Ryoji. Igor says he knows many things.

Minako brings Theo to her dorm room. No one else is around, thankfully. She doesn’t know how she would explain Theo to them. When they’re in her room, Minato tells him she likes him—really likes him more than she usually likes guys. He lets go for one afternoon, makes love to her, makes her feel like it’s her first time all over again, but tells her the next day that they can’t go on dates anymore. She’s there to see Igor, but she turns right back around and leaves, eyes burning with shame.

S.E.E.S. decide to fight.

Minato kisses Ryoji. It’s not the first time he’s kissed someone, but it’s the first time it’s meant anything. Ryoji clutches at him like he’s an anchor and kisses back with an all-consuming hunger Minato didn’t know was possible. Before they head back downstairs, Ryoji gives Minato his scarf to remember him by when he’s gone. Minato loops it around his neck and buries his nose in it. It smells like Ryoji.

The group climbs Tartarus more quickly than ever. Minako avoids going to the Velvet Room even though she knows she needs better Personae. She just feels so ashamed. She can’t face Theo after everything that happened.

Arisato goes into the battle against Nyx accepting death. The world is worth dying for. Tatsumi Port Island is worth dying for. S.E.E.S. is worth dying for.

Minato’s getting more and more tired every day. No one in the dorm remembers anything about Tartarus or Personae or Nyx. That’s probably for the best, he thinks. The less they remember, the less it will hurt.

Minako spends graduation on the room with Aigis. Her limbs feel heavy and her mouth is full of cotton, so she lets Aigis comb her fingers through her hair and chatter in her ear. She wants to tell Aigis she’s sorry for leaving, but she’s so, so tired. Her eyes close.

Arisato goes to sleep seconds before S.E.E.S. come running onto the roof, ready to celebrate their victory.

The Sea of Souls is black, but not dark. A million stars illuminate the space, revealing swirling blues and purples and pinks, entire galaxies unknown to the eyes of man. It is empty but for two people. A boy with blue hair and grey eyes. A girl with brown hair and red eyes. They stand an immeasurable distance away, facing each other. Each sees a faint recognition flickering in the other’s eyes. As one, they say, “Who are you?”

[willandlyra]

when i rise i see you falling

a couple of anons have requested something with will being the insecure one, or a bit of a mess, in the relationship. so: 

in which will is sad, and neither of them really know what to do but they’ll try.

::

Will’s main problem is – well, actually, that’s a part of it. Will doesn’t know what his problem is.

He knows Nico likes him. He knows it because he knows how Nico is when he doesn’t like someone. And this isn’t that. He knows Nico likes him because he doesn’t shadow travel midway through a conversation just to piss Will off, because he knows that the whole ‘fading out of existence thing’ still gives him the shakes.

He knows that Nico likes him because they sit together at the campfire and Will teases Nico, and his face glows hot and pale scarlet underneath the light of the burning. He knows it because their fingers brush together and Nico’s eyes widen like little moons, and he knows it because Nico fakes inexplicable, uncontrollable zombie epidemics so as to sit with the Apollo table at meal times.

And, you know, there was the whole thing where Will asked Nico out in the most awkward way possible, and the two of them tend to hole up in Nico’s cabin or behind a tree or lie down in the tall grass (Will’s pick, not Nico’s. Nico claims to have had enough experience with Demeter’s overgrowth, whatever that means) and make out until their lips are sore and their eyes are bright.

Yeah, that too.

But there’s this other thing.

There’s this horrible thing inside of him that crawls out at inconvenient moments. When he can’t sleep or when Nico’s stuck in the underworld with his father, and he hasn’t had a chance to talk for a while. When Percy Jackson makes a joke and Nico laughs and like, not a big deal, but also.

Percy Jackson saved the world a couple of times and jumped into Tartarus after his girlfriend, and how do you compete with that?

So it sneaks up in the night, this little black feeling, like bed bugs or stupid monsters. Not big enough to do anything huge, like cut open the skin and scar, but enough to leave a sore spot.

::

Starts sort of like this:

So Nico and Jason will spend hours duelling, just for the fun of it, with swords and their weird ass powers, and campers will literally fill out to watch, placing bets on which Son of the Big Three is gonna win this one.

Piper joins in, putting her bets on Jason – sometimes, like a supportive girlfriend – or Nico if she’s feeling like that’s her lucky call. Hey, she goes where the money is, much to Jason’s indignation.

But then Piper also had a part in the whole saving the world thing. Piper hasn’t sat on the side lines helplessly, unable to save a single soul when your friends are saving everything around you.

These thoughts aren’t fun, and they make Will feel a little queasy, guilty for even letting himself think of them. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment and when he opens them he catches Nico looking at him from where he’s in the midst of dodging Jason’s attacks.

Will plasters on a big smile, cheers him on. Places a bet.

After the duel, Nico ignores everything else and makes headway straight for Will, who may or may not be hastily trying to make an exit. Because he’s got that feeling again.

Nico is sweaty and his hair is tangled, and he’s breathing a little more heavily than usual, shoulders shuddering with the weight of extra breath.

“Grace, you lost me the last of my drachmas!” Leo screams from afar. “How could you do this to me!”

Nico raises an eyebrow and smiles a little.

“Giving into the temptation of gambling, and at such a young age too,” he says. “So sad.”

It’s a Will-type comment, one meant to make him laugh, and it makes him realise that Nico doesn’t really know what to say because he knows something’s up.

A few years ago people were weary of the death kid who glowered from the other end of the room, and now he’s reading feelings from across ocean spaces.

“Yeah,” Will attempts. “I’m getting a little worried – I’m pretty sure Drew Tanaka is going to end up with his cabin at some point, with the way this is getting. Time to tell Chiron?”

“Oh, Mr D already knows,” Nico says. “Totally approves, of course. Says it reminds him of his ventures to Vegas. I don’t even wanna know.”

“Not sure I do either.”

Nico laughs, and then pauses, and then reaches out and grasps Will’s hands squeezing his fingers lightly now that all but the last few dregs of campers are left in the area.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Will smiles and says, “you worry too much.”

::

Nico isn’t perfect, and Will knows this better than anyone.

With glory comes a whole bunch of other things. Dark matter and memories that don’t belong in any living person’s skull. Dreams of dying and thinning away on only pomegranate seeds, feeling yourself slide away into shadows.

There’s a haunted look in Nico’s eyes, sometimes, and the same ghost mask is thinly veiled over the faces of the Seven, and Will wouldn’t trade that for anything.

But people died trying to do the things they did, to save the world and fight off the monsters, to stop the bed bugs biting, gnawing at the ankles of the youngest campers there. So when Will bandages up the broken wrist of an Ares camper, or dries the hot wet tears of a little girl in his own cabin, when they thank him in small, tinny voices, Will can’t help but shudder.

Because they shouldn’t be thanking him.

They aren’t thanking the right person.

::

It comes out of nowhere sometimes, a little like things that go bump in the night.

Each and every demigod at this camp has some sort of scars attached to their skin. And some of these are more obvious than others. Will spends so much time patching people up in the infirmary, not only physically, after duelling incidents or general illnesses that come and go, but soothing his patients when they wake with night terrors.

Like clinging to tidbits of light to stop someone from fading out of existence.

Will’s the head medic. The rest of his cabin look up to him like some kind of icon, in awe of his healing powers, his focus on a patient and the way he keeps it together. But that’s a whole other problem. They don’t realise that just like the rest of them, he’s damaged goods.

Nico looks at him the same way.

Says in awe, reaches up with soft bony fingers to drag a light touch across Will’s cheeks. He breathes things like, ‘you’re amazing’ when he’s healed someone, and the colour has gone from his skin. In awe, like he doesn’t understand how Will has these fingers that are perfect for fixing things up.

If Nico called himself damaged goods, then Will would hit the roof and he’d come down with a smart ass answer and a scowl, listing reasons why that’s not true, why Nico kicks ass, why that’s the dumbest thing he could ever ever say. Wait til his eyes are closed in thought, because Nico can’t always pull all the self hatred out of him, no matter what Will says.

Gently kisses the thin skin of his lids.

Says, “you’re fine, Death Boy.”

And yet – when it’s his own face he’s looking at and his own heart he’s stabbing at with rusted arrow ends, none of that comes to mind.

And there’s just this Nothing in front of him – this big white blank space. And so in spite of all the love he feels off the backs of his family and his friends, and the boy that kisses him before he goes to bed, it reads with just a few little words that hurt like bee stings: you’re not worth it.

Not worth it, not worth them, not worth him.

::

It’s not always this bad.

It comes and goes like coughs and headaches. Sometimes he falls asleep and it’s gone by morning. But sometimes it sticks in the back of his brain, thick and black and ugly. Sometimes he can’t stop thinking about it and he can’t sleep at night and he thinks dark thoughts like:

Not worth it. Not worth him.

After all, he lives in a camp full of heroes and if he isn’t one of them, what does that make him?

Nico picks up on his silence, a few days after a particularly bad spell has been leaving him in all these different kinds of blue. They’re at the campfire, and people are singing some dumb songs, taking the piss out of quests and destiny and the joke life of each and every demigod. About dead beat parents.

Merriment and red cheeks, but there’s something really heavy holding down Will’s heart.

“Are you okay?” he whispers. His hand reaches out and takes Will’s, threading their fingers together. Nico’s hands are always cold but it feels kind of good against the heat of the flames.

“Yeah,” Will tells him.

Flashes a bright light smile, but of course, Nico doesn’t buy it.

“I’ve been worried about you. These past few days, something has been off. I can tell.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nico sighs.

“Whatever, Will. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. But you don’t always need to be the Camp Medic, you know? Or the big brother, or the head of the Apollo cabin. It’s okay if you’re not sometimes. That’s – it’s fine.”

Nico’s cheeks are a little aglow, and Will is touched. He knows that Nico doesn’t find these kind of things easy. That words plucked from the bottom of the heart are as easily accessible as flowers blooming in Tartarus.

But he’s trying and Will’s tired because he’s just not really sure if he’s worth those words, or that smile, or the hands soft and warm and holding his own.

::

His little siblings love him because he can patch up wounds in a flash and he’ll make them laugh, poke their noses and muss up their hair. His older siblings laugh with him, and he teases them about other campers who their cheeks go red around, and makes sure they get enough sleep.

But they’d love Michael more, if he was here. If they could hear the jokes that Lee used to make.

And this is a primary difference between the heroes of Camp Half-Blood and Will: they don’t always save the people that they love. In fact, very often, they lose them. But they at least get a chance.

Will’s brothers died and he never even knew they needed him.

::

Will has had bad days before.

When he’s not wanted to get out of bed but he does anyway because he has to. And he snaps and snipes until Kayla demands he take a break from working the infirmary.

He’s curled up with Nico and fallen asleep on thick duvet covers. Especially warm because Nico is almost perpetually cold except to Will, who often thinks he feels like he’s the warmest person in the world.

But he doesn’t often have bad days like this. And it’s obvious, because neither of them know how to deal. Nico wants to help, yet doesn’t know how – doesn’t know whether to reach out and touch or keep his distance, and Will can’t tell him either way because his head is swimming and he doesn’t know what he wants.

He just wants this sadness to stop – the third bad day this week. Or, bad night, because it’s in the midst of the night when his voice cracks and the words spill out, the things inside of his head trailing like weird slime and leaving stains. And Will hates this, the kind of vulnerability that shows.

He's usually so okay – made of stone and built not to break. Each and every demigod has this sometimes, when something inside snaps and subsequently, everything crumbles. Will is particularly good at ignoring these waves. At least, usually, not now.

Mouth down-turned into a small frown, and Nico scratches at his head.

“But I don’t understand,” he’s saying. “You shouldn’t – you shouldn’t feel that way. You’re not – you’re worth more than that, Will.”

Will makes a small sound.

“You’re worth everything, and you don’t need to go on – on stupid, dangerous quests to do that. Not going on a quest doesn’t mean you’re not a hero.”

“Pretty sure it does, di Angelo,” Will says, with a little bit of humour in his voice, but it sounds kind of empty. Like fish in the underworld.

Nico shakes his head. “Look, no, listen to me. It sounds – gods, it sounds so lame – but like. If anyone is gonna be a hero here, it’s you. You patch up the Stolls like, every day. And put up with the Hermes cabin and work overtime after Capture the Flag. I don’t even want to know how many times you’ve healed Leo and Jason and Percy after duelling. Especially Leo – him and his stupid fire tricks – but like. See what I mean. Or where I’m going, at least?”

“Yeah,” Will does. He gives Nico a slight smile. “It’s sweet.”

“No, it’s not. It’s true.”

“I don’t know…”

“Well I do,” Nico huffs a little impatiently this time. “You don’t know your own worth. Well, I do, and so does Kayla, and so does Austin. And it’s a lot, so this sadness you’re subjecting yourself to – it’s bullshit. I get it. Really, I do, but…”

“Nico,” Will says gently. “I appreciate what you’re saying. But I don’t think you can make this go away.”

Nico looks at him.

Nods, slowly.

“Okay,” he says. “I guess I can’t. But I can stick out with you, right?”

“What do you mean?” Will asks, and despite himself he’s got a little smile forming on his lips at the determined look in Nico’s eyes. Light, fiery – like very much living things.

“I’m just gonna stay here – as long as you’re cool with that – until this shit gets out of your head. And if you want me to say stuff and like, tell you over and over that you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, I will. So… yeah.”

“We’re in your cabin,” Will reminds him.

Nico blushes. “And you’re lucky I like you. No one else is allowed to spend so much time in here.”

Will lets out a little laugh, a bit wet, like there are tears caught in the back of his throat.

“I’m lucky you like me,” Will says. “I’m lucky I have you.”

He lets himself fall against Nico, lets his head fall against his lap as Nico’s hands reach out, his fingers running through the crown of blonde curls. And it feels good, nice, soft. Safe. Nico bends down a little, presses a cautious kiss on his temple.

This is unfamiliar territory. But they’re learning.

And the black stuff around Will’s heart is starting to thin out like ice on a warm morning, on a sunny day, though it might take a while longer to thaw entirely.

They fall asleep near like that, half snoozing and falling onto each other, wrapped up in one another and exchanging sleepy kisses, and Nico whispers, when he’s not so sure Will is still listening, is still even awake, “you’re really, really, really worth it.”

::

In the morning they wake before the sun has fully risen, dregs of pale light streaming into the cabin.

Nico’s already holding Will’s hand.

“You were as cheesy as me last night,” Will tells Nico, and there’s a little smile on his face when his cheeks pinken.

“Yeah, well,” Nico mutters. “You bring out the worst in me.”

“I kinda like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Nico?”

Nico looks at him, raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Mm?”

“Thank you.”

::

Will still doesn’t know what his problem is, or why he gets so sad sometimes, or why the shadows seem to whisper around him that he’s not good enough, and he’ll never be a hero, and he’s not worth it.

But the good thing about having a boyfriend with weird, cool, underworldy powers?

He’s very good at chasing those shadows away.

//

note: lame and random, but i’m really unsure about this one, just bc i wrote it whilst a bit of a Mess and the structure is a little weird. im not sure whether i like it enough to put it into my canonverse series on ao3 so please let me know if you think i should or shouldnt do that.

[tipsycad147]

How To Use Tarot For Your Love Life

Julie Hopkins

Your tarot deck is a tool for divination, spellwork, and guidance. Personally, I’ve used tarot cards to help me in all areas of my life—particularly love. Drawing cards and creating love tarot spreads has really helped me stay grounded in my romantic relationships. It doesn’t matter what your relationship status is—tarot cards can help you stay connected to your intuition through all phases of your love life.

How To Use Tarot For Love

There are lots of ways to go about this and believe me, I’ve tried just about all of them. I’ve learned that some techniques work better than others, and I recommend you experiment with whatever feels natural to you.

Generally speaking, you can ask your tarot cards whatever you want. For example, if you are waiting for that special person to contact you, and you want to draw a card to find out when you’ll get his or her text, go ahead! There’s no harm in exploring the scope of what your cards can do. Follow your intuition, and be open to the answers. You might not get a clear answer, or you might not get the answer you want. Still, each time you interact with your tarot deck, you’ll get a better sense of how to use your cards and what to ask to get the best results.

There are two main ways I recommend when using tarot cards for love guidance. The first is to use your cards to learn new information about yourself that can help you move past any issues or blocks you may have developed around love and relationships. The second way is to ask your tarot cards about the nature of your relationship (or potential relationship) drawing cards for each person in the same reading.

Using Tarot For Self-Knowledge

The tricky thing about love and relationships is that there are a lot of things outside of your control. That’s why these tarot spreads are my go to’s when I start to feel ungrounded in my love life. You can’t control the other person in the relationship, but you can control yourself. There’s a lot of power in that.

Tarot Spreads For Self-Knowledge

Here are tarot spreads you can use to get more insight into who YOU are in the context of love and relationships.

Personal Attraction Tarot Spread

For this spread, don’t draw cards as you normally would. Sit quietly for a moment. Then take some time to look at each card in your deck (face up) and select one card to answer each of these two questions.

Card #1: What do I value in a partner?

Card #2: What attracts me to a partner?

Don’t over think this exercise. Go with your first impulse. These two cards represent the thoughts of your conscious mind.

Next, shuffle your cards and draw two more cards from your deck. Don’t look at these cards before you draw them. Pick these cards the way you’d normally draw your tarot cards.

Card #3: What do I value in a partner?

Card #4: What attracts me to a partner?

These two cards show the thoughts of your subconscious mind.  

After you’ve selected your cards, take out your journal, and write down what each card means to you. Look for patterns between the first two and the second two cards. Do you see any similarities? Are there any surprises? Does this spread seem accurate? If not, sit with the cards longer. Hold them in your hands and examine the images. You can use the traditional meanings of the cards, or pull from your intuition. The point of this spread is to get more information about what you’re attracted to and what you desire in a partner.

You can also use the general relationship meanings of the suits as you analyse this spread.

Swords cards can represent similar worldviews and thinking patterns.

Wands cards can represent similar activities, passions, and hobbies.

Cups cards can represent similar ways of expressing emotion.

Pentacles cards can represent being physically close to someone or the material benefits he/she brings to the relationship.

Major Arcana cards can represent similar spiritual values.

Defining Love Tarot Spread

Separate the Major Arcana cards from the rest of your deck. Look through the twenty-two cards one at a time and pick the card that represents what love means to you.

Next, shuffle the rest of the Major Arcana cards and draw a card as you normally would. This is how you subconsciously define love.

Journal about these two cards. How are they similar? How are they different? What thoughts, feelings or memories come up as you gaze at the images on the cards? What new insights has this tarot spread given you?

Thinking and Feeling Tarot Spread

Use this spread when you need some mental clarity around your relationship.

Shuffle the cards and draw two cards.

Card #1: What do I think about the person I’m in a relationship with?

Card #2: What do I feel about this person?

Journal about your thoughts as you analyse your cards. This spread is fine to repeat as often as once a day because our thoughts and feelings change so quickly with every new interaction. Keeping track of these cards in a journal will help you see patterns or major changes in your thoughts and feelings over time.

Fears and Blocks Tarot Spread

This is a spread I use in all areas of my life, but it’s especially effective in the area of love. Many times, we self-sabotage ourselves because of old wounds that show up as fears or blocks that we carry with us for years.

This spread helps shed light on what could be holding you back and how to overcome it. You can use this spread for any phase in your relationship, whether you’re just beginning to flirt or you’re ten years in.

Shuffle the deck and draw six cards.

Card #1: What is the current energy of my relationship?

Card #2: What are my fears around this relationship?

Card #3: Where am I self-sabotaging?

Card #4: Why am I self-sabotaging?

Card #5: How do I release this block?

Card #6: What can I expect to experience after I release this block?

Journal about these cards using traditional meanings and your intuition. Jot down anything that comes to mind without judgement. Card #6 can be positive or negative. It actually doesn’t matter what that card is because it is only showing what you’re likely to experience right after you release your block. If it’s positive, great! Enjoy that energy. If it’s one of the more grim-looking cards in the deck, don’t sweat it. It’s totally normal to feel upset or moody after releasing a difficult block or habit.

Using Tarot For Relationship Guidance

Choosing a Lover Spread

This spread is helpful if there are several potential lovers in your life and you’re trying to decide which relationship to put energy towards.

It’s a very simple spread. Just ask your tarot deck what you’ll likely experience if you were to pursue a relationship with each potential lover.

The temptation with this spread is to keep re-drawing your cards, especially if you don’t get the answer you want.

If this happens, take notice of your feelings! How you feel when you analyse your cards can be just as helpful as the actual cards. If your heart sinks when you reveal a more negative card for a specific person, pay attention to that. Now you’re starting to get to the bottom of what you’re really feeling. You’re connecting to your emotions through the hypotheticals you’re exploring with your tarot cards.

Type of Love Tarot Spread

Do this spread for guidance on how to better love and connect with your lover (or potential lover). This is a wonderful spread to do with your significant other present because as you go through the cards, you can open up a dialogue around your relationship.

Card #1: How do you show up in this relationship?

Card #2: How do you prefer to be loved?

Card #3: How do you naturally give love?

Card #4: How does your lover show up in this relationship?

Card #5: How does your lover prefer to be loved?

Card #6: How does your lover naturally give love?

Using Oracle Cards For Love

You can substitute oracle cards in any of these tarot spreads. Some oracle decks will work better than others, so feel free to experiment with different ones until you find one that works for the spread. Another way to use oracle cards is to pull one along with each tarot card. If you’re drawing a three-card spread, draw six cards instead—three tarot cards and three oracle cards. Use the oracle cards to clarify the tarot card in each position.  

There are also several love-themed tarot and oracle decks on the market right now. Though having a love-themed deck is great (I’ve used them and enjoyed them myself), they’re by no means necessary for an accurate and insightful love reading.

Unclear Love Tarot Readings

If you start to notice your love readings aren’t making much sense anymore, or if they’re just not resonating like they used to, don’t get frustrated! You might need to charge your tarot cards.

There are many different ways you can go about charging your deck for the intention of doing a love reading.

Here are three of my favourite methods:

Method #1: You can use a few drops of diluted rose oil (or any other love oil) on a cloth and wrap your deck in the cloth for a few hours.

Method #2: You can hold your cards while listening to your favourite love song. As the song plays, visualise sending all your happy, fluttery love feelings into your tarot deck. If you’re charging the deck for a relationship reading, use a song that is significant to you and your lover.

Method #3: Set a rose quartz stone on the deck. This crystal is great for cultivating self-love, romantic love, and unconditional love.  

Final Thoughts On Using Tarot For Love

It can be really easy to get dependent on tarot readings. If you find yourself drawing cards for every little question or concern you have around your relationship, take a break from readings for a day or so.

Try using your cards in a spell or meditation, rather than in a tarot spread. Remember: your tarot practice should support your power, not take it away. The energy of the Magician card is a perfect card to meditate on when you need to connect to your power again.

Tarot cards are just ink on paper. The magic comes from the intention you place on the cards. No matter what the cards say, you have all the power of the universe at your fingertips. You’re a witch!

Do you know how to get the best readings from your Tarot yet?

If the answer is no, then you’re missing out on one of the most useful tools in the craft!

Getting started with Tarot can be intimidating. There are a ton of rules and a bunch of them contradict each other and then there’s memorising all those cards… it’s too much! Not anymore though.

In my Intro To Tarot class series, you’ll learn step-by-step how to become a confident, spiritually attuned Tarot reader so that you can make the most of this amazing tool for yourself.

Learn More Here >>

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/2018/8/26/how-to-use-tarot-for-your-love-life

[thegeminisage]

TODAY’S ZELDABLOGGING, which has ENDGAME SPOILERS (yes i beat it):

all right i got about ~3 hours to get my shield and beat zelda lets fucking do this

the temple of time music is breaking my heart

this is one place where i'm mostly ok with them not using a classic tune for it tbh

like this music has so much grief and tranquility

i used to think the plateau was SO huge and really it's almost miniscule

i know it's a bit of a waste of time but i'm making the final trek on foot, no fast travel, temple of time to the castle

So Many Guardians

i can fight them now but only if theyre in the right place too close or far away and i cant do it

on a side note: yesterday (?) i found a beautiful pink spring i took many pictures of

today i saw that glowing spot on the map and realized i'd never figured out what it was!

dropped a pin bc i was curious, and it's the pink spring

temptation to warp over, check it out, and warp back: astronomical

but i'm on both a mission and a time limit, so it'll have to wait

ok. ok. im Here. its Time. lets go. shield first. that is My Shield, and the stalnox Cannot have it

there's a door i can't figure out how to open :/

ah, i see the stalnox

but i want that door!

google isn't helping me so i guess i have to leave it??

ok, all abilities fully charged, 3 fairies, plenty of food. i can do this. i almost killed one by accident once. that is MY SHIELD.

oh my god its got SWORDS stuck all in it jesus FUCK

my first shot did a lot of damage! but im wearing the atk+ armor which i can't keep on, it's a glass cannon

oh my god that was so EASY?

i kicked its ASS LMAO

YESSSS THERES MY SHIELD OH YES

holy shit when my swoprd strikes something in here it sounds like cannon fire! steady glowing too

i don't think there's one right way to go here so i'm gonna try to explore as much as i can

i've been spoiled by the fact that zelda has a diary laying out somehwere so i wanna find it for myself

ohhh the remains of the red carpet in here

i'm actually next to the tower i climed before, apparently i was just shy of exploring all there was to see up there...i'll see if i can have another look

lol i decide that and it IMMEDIATELY begins with the lightning storm

i found it!!! oh god was this her bedroom ;_;

AAAH SHE TALKS ABOUT LINK

he's quiet and persostent and can't resist a good meal

and it talks about why he never speaks ;_;

I LOVE THIS HE HAS A PERSONALITY!!!!

omg she even talks about her mother ;_;

A WOMAN NOT OF THIS EARTH

the goddess hylia or was it fi?? oh my god.......

WORTH IT!!!

found the guard chambers ;_; this all hurts my heart, so much was just Lost

oh my god no THE BLOOD MOON...

huh. no cutscene here

honestly fighting my way thru moblins in hyrule castle...haha man

ohhhh the library ): i bet zelda loved it here

oh my god they even had docks under the castle!!!

oh NO i found the king's journal

he hated being cruel to her and was gonna be kind when she got back but instead the last time they really saw each other they were fighting!!!

still doesn't give him an excuse tbh but i can find a SLIVER of sympathy now

okay so........now i've explored all the insides. i go out?? i.......fight ?????

oooohh god im scared again ))):

oh shit oh Shit i found it oh god

im looking up a walkthru to read after the fight starts i dont need any more surprises

ZELDA?

OH MY GOD HE'S DISGUSTING HE'S SPIDER LIKE I AM SHRIEKING WHY IS IT ALWAYS SPIDERS

YEAAHH BOY HALF HEALTH FUCK YOU GANON

I HAVE COURAGE!!!!

ooh he has guardian weapons

ok yes walkthru

GOD LMAO if you dont free the divine beasts you have to fight the minibosses here

oh god this is gonna be tough

haha "guardian weapons will break your shield" NOT MY SHIELD

i mean yes it can break but its Highly durable and replacements can be made if it does

OH GOD HE'S GROSS HE'S BUGLIKE WHY WHY

GANON THE MAN WOULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH BETTER

i mean i know. they had us fight a manlike thing in ss AND tp but. i miss him

oooh down to 25%

YES FUCK THERE HE GOES

eeeew

im ready for phase 2 baby

there's gotta be one right there ALWAYS is

YES here we go

AAAH I GOT THE BOW OF LIGHT

oh no i dont have epona though just a different horse im sad i should have left her out

BUT HE LOOKS JUST LIKE GANON THAT I KNOW

OH MY GOD THE FINAL BOSS MUSIC IS THE TRAILER MUSIC

THE MAIN THEME AT LEAST

WE'RE ON HYRULE FIELD NEVER DID I SUSPECT THIS WOULD BE OUR BATTLEGROUND

I DID IT!!!!

ZELDA

BEAUTIFUL SWEET YOUNG BRAVE ZELDA WITH HER MUDSTAINED DRESS

oh my g o d

"may i ask, do you really remember me"

oh my god...oh my god

ANSWER HER?

AND NOW CREDITS? IM DYING

ohhh the credits showed a bit of everybody and despite myself when they played the trailer song and showed the old man/the plateau i welled up we've come so far

HEY THERE'S SHIGERU MIYAMOTO'S NAME HEYYYYYYYY

awww that was the last song of the trailer

A STINGER

THANK GOD

ohh my god 

IF THE SPIRITS OF THE CHAMPIONS AND THE OLD MAN WATCHING LINK AND ZELDA WEREN'T AN OOT NOD....

OH MY GOD ONE MORE SECOND AND ZELDA COULD HAVE MET EYES WITH HER FATHER

jesus christ, old man disappeared last too, my HEART

theyre gonna restore hyrule!! they're gonna travel together again!!

okay i GOTTA load my file and see what's what

awww it's the one i saved right before the battle i thought there was post-game content...?

it does have a little star next to it tho

ah well

that was.......incredible

and i cried

so there's that

man!!!!! im so, so glad

what a good game

honest crit: no, it wasn't PERFECT

i could have stood more classic tunes to punch me in the feels more often and give us more of that old #aesthetic since they changed SO much about everything else - at times it didn't even quite feel like a zelda game, though the reminders that it WAS were always heartbreaking and wonderful

also maybe this was just my playstyle but i feel like there could have been more than just the four dungeons since they were so short...i know the dungeon-y puzzle stuff was spread all around with koroks and shrines, but is One big dungeon too much to ask? even hyrule castle had 1000 ways you could have gotten through

could have stood a little more acknowledgement of who you were and what you were doing as the divine beasts started waking up? like from npcs and shit, not even for Glory or whatever but just because the story felt reeeeeeally spread out, even with the memories scattered everywhere

and again a little bias here but some of the battles once you began getting Up There were a little TOO fake-difficult...i saw white bokoblins in old old places so i know it has to do with You, not your location, and i could have lived w/o it tbh

would have loved some form of new game + or postgame content, but maybe i'm just sad bc i misunderstood a spoiler or w/e it was that happened

things i loved:

the music

the cinematics, holy shit

the voice acting

when they DID use classic tunes it was to INCREDIBLE effect, same with the castle style, the ruins, even the nostalgic armor

obviously the open world gameplay was delightful and addicting, i literally couldn't get enough

the final boss battle wasn't too hard but VERY climactic and wonderful, just difficult Enough - could have maybe been a BIT harder but then i did start with him at half health!!

the dungeons, while there weren't enough of them, were EXTREMELY cool, i felt DWARFED by those beasts, after i saw the first one i never called them jaegers again

actually kind of liked the weapon durability thing bc then i could just pick them up during combat when i was running low and steal them or fight with them, throw them, etc

did not like the BOW durability, all my bows broke VERY quickly, that and running out of arrows always was totally urgh...even with my weapons inventory upgraded i STILL couldn't hold all the cool ones the game threw at me, it needed to be like that for players that favored the bow - more of them that were OP, more arrows, etc

anyway i could go on and on but

i gotta sleep, and

i'm so happy zelda is free

it would have been so cool to have her as a companion in post-game, Somehow

or at least see her reunion with all those who missed her

or see link get his memories back

it ended a bit too soon but it was beautiful and i loved it

goodnight