#this one looks MUCH better though his hair does bother me despite being very accurate

[pietrodart]

he's so beautiful .... so beautiful.... but DAMN his thighs are big

[dirt-cup-draco]

In His Touch- Fili x Reader

Prompt: Casually reaching out to play with someone’s hair

The sting in your eyes from the abrasive smoke was nearly as permanent as the ache in your bones but you couldn’t find yourself bothered with either as you sat on the dewy grass, a bowl of Bombur’s stew in hand. The fire before you was raging, casting violent shadows against everyone’s otherwise gentle features. Thorin’s hard expression was made further sinister by the flickering of the light and your heart panged in sympathy for the leader you had come to respect so fiercely. 

The dwarves and hobbit around you laughed, hollered, and hooted. Each of them speaking over each other and sending their voices bouncing off of the tall trees above you. Tonight the weather was mild and there was no danger present or near, so much so that Fili and Kili were not stopped even as they shouted and fought playfully. You sighed happily as you leaned against the felled tree stump at your back. It was nearly as wide around as the horizontal span of your arms and made for as good of a backrest as anything. 

Your contentment could not only be attributed to your, nearly, carefree friends and the fine weather. Nor could it only be Bombur’s stew which was often enough to lift your spirits on even the worst of days, especially when the company’s resources became low and rations had to be cut short. Tonight, your joy was brought upon by the beacon of light who was not quite two yards from you, sweat glistening on his brow as he grappled with his brother. 

Fili’s smirk was sharp at the corner but his eyes were bright with mirth and you longed to see that joy directed at you, because of you. It was no secret to many in the company where your heart was being kept. Thankfully, the dwarf himself wasn’t aware of how twisted around his finger you were. You’d spent many of your nights on this perilous journey frightened that you wouldn’t see the next morning and that Fili would never know of your dedication to him, yet when you found yourself with the words on the tip of your tongue the fear of losing him to rejection became more terrifying. 

You could survive anything so long as you could keep Fili in your life, no matter in what capacity it would be. 

Unaware that you had drifted off into a dreamy state, eyes glued to your loved one, you startled easily when Bombur sat beside you, bumping your shoulder with his. 

“If ye stare much longer, I fear your eyes won’t be able to see anything but him,” Bombur chuckled lowly, keeping his voice subdued so the others around you would not hear. You were grateful for it, even on the off chance any of them tuned into your now private conversation.

A warmth crept into your cheeks and it had nothing to do with the fire that was now quite a bit shorter than the last time you’d taken notice, the crackling of the wood now a pleasant instrument in the night’s symphony. 

“I hadn’t even realized I’d been looking,” You admitted truthfully. You were certainly the dedicated moth, but Fili could never be the flame. There was not a single bone in his body that could ever cause harm to someone he cared for and you were gratefully someone he called “friend”. To be more accurate, he was the sun and the moon. You were dependent on his warmth and his light and without him you were certain you couldn’t go on. 

“I think it’s time to tell him, lass,” Bombur spoke gently but firmly, velvet laid over steel. It was one of your favorite traits of your best friend. He was unmovable in many things but he was also tentative and caring. You were grateful that he hadn’t pushed you more on this subject but you could tell he was growing wary of your pining. 

“Now is not the time,” Your voice sounded weak in your ears, the argument flimsy in the face of Death, whom you met with nearly daily. 

“Let us hope nothing keeps you from the future you wish for,” Bombur sighed, lips curled up in loving melancholy. You knew he didn’t mean for the words to bite at your skin and pierce your heart but you also knew he was not wrong in voicing it. 

You lived an uncertain life and “now” was the only certainty you had. 

Fili and Kili had tired themselves out by the light of the moon, their playfighting dying down into insults wrapped in brotherly love and the repetitive bump of a shoulder and now the two had come to sit at the end of the very trunk you found yourself leaning against. Bombur had left you with your thoughts for the better part of an hour and now the very topic of your worries and hopes and feelings was seated a foot away and you were surprised to find his eyes already on you.

“Gehyith, what is it that has you frowning so?” Fili asked, his mustache twitching at the ends as he smiled gleefully, “Could it be Kili’s stench? I told him we’d all die from the severity of it if he does not find a lake soon,” 

You couldn’t help the laugh the bubbled up from deep in your stomach, your head thrown back with the force of your amusement- especially once Kili let out a dignified and offended gasp, shoving his brother off of the stump before he took his leave with only an eye roll. Fili couldn’t help his own chuckle, knowing Kili wasn’t bothered by his comment. 

Kili’s absence brought you relief and a swirling anxiety all in the same breath. Alone time with Fili seemed a precious gift, yet you feared every second with him would lead you closer to your end. Now, you were certain tonight- this stunning, perfect, night- would be your last. For Fili had taken it upon himself to slide closer to you, even going so far as to slide off the stump and sit beside you, his thigh and shoulder warm against yours. Not sure what to do with your hands, you folded them lamely in your lap. 

“How was-” 

You were cut short, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips when Fili’s fingertips drifted delicately against your cheekbone, a strand of your hair pushed behind your ear. His skin was well-worn leather and your stomach was in knots. 

“Come again?” Fili asked innocently, his brow quirked up towards his hairline. His fingers trailed down your neck, his nails making a shiver break out down your spine despite the balmy air. 

“J-just was wondering how you are fairing today,” You mumbled when his path continued to the ends of your hair, his fingers tangling easily there as he played with the loose and wild strands. 

Those rosy lips of his were upturned, his eyes molten gold. “I think it has been one of the best days I’ve experienced yet,” 

Growing comfortable in his affection, you were able to contain yourself enough to jest. “You are ancient, so that must be quite the feat,” 

Your love’s boisterous laugh was your most favorite noise and you felt your smile grow painfully wider. “Y/N, you are so cruel to me,” Fili teased, pulling the ends of your hair and then returning his hand to your scalp to lightly massage your aching head- another permanent sensation you had grown used to on this adventure. His strong and determined hands eased the dull throb for a short while and the relief was so wonderful you let yourself lean against his open hand. 

It was not strange for you and Fili to be close, he was a dwarf who cared deeply for his friends and he was not above pulling each and every one of them close to share hugs, shed tears, and celebrate. You felt some pride, however, recognizing that you had never seen him play with anyone’s hair but yours. It was a treat for you alone and even though it nearly rendered you speechless every time, you were glad for his continued practice of turning you to mush. 

“You know I love you,” You spoke honestly, but the words themselves were innocent enough to Fili’s ears as you had told him this sentiment time and time again without revealing to which depth you loved him. 

“Aye, I know it, gehyith,” He hummed, head leaned back and eyes closed. The low firelight flickered against his throat and you wondered what he would taste like if you placed your lips there. 

“One day I will get Bombur to tell me what insult you have chosen as my nickname,” You giggled, giddy off of his presence. It surely was no help to you when he brought his arm around your shoulder, only to keep his fingers twister in your hair- his hand now cradling your head. 

“One day I will tell you myself,” Fili said with suddenly certainty, his eyes capturing yours with an intensity that made you feel as if you had missed something. 

“One day,” You mimed back, your gaze only parting from his quickly enough to peak at the inviting curve of his mouth. 

It was a promise to yourself, and him, that one day in the future you would tell him that your chest had been empty for months now, your heart having stole away to find a home in the palm of his hand. 

For now, you could not jeopardize the slice of heaven you found yourself in. 

Your future was not promised, yet in his touch, the present seemed to be a gift worth holding onto. 

--

Gehyith = Little Dove My guide to Khuzdul found----> here

[liddolwhynot2000]

Moments Levi shared with his beloved baby daughter- Kutchel

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aka Levi giving all his 💕Uwu's💕 to his baby girl

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Dadaaa

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It's Levi's day off, and even though he tries his hardest not to look it, he's eager to run back home. He's determined to not waste a second of being off duty.

He's missed his family- you and your calming presence. The stability that he falls into at merely being in the same vicinity as you, is difficult to resist-even for a man like Levi.

Your gentleness somehow meshes well with your child's rowdiness, always laughing and wreaking havoc in the house. He wants to hold his baby brat, even if she'll try to pull his hair out for it.

So he hurries back home, but of course, he has to get past your little guard first. Standing with his cloak still in his arms, Levi craned his neck down to stare at the tiny creature sitting on the floor, blocking his path to his beloved wife. Said creature, wearing a blue dress, is his adorable one year old daughter.

The baby doesn't bother to spare him a glance, too busy babbling as she plays with her blocks. Levi's fine with it, it took him a while but he's learned to accept that babies don't care about, well, anything.

He ponders lifting her up and cradling her in his arms for a cuddle. But, considering the ferociousness with which his daughter is bashing two blocks together, he decides that he values his ability to hear.

Kneeling down, he sets his cloak on the floor and sits in front of her, waiting to be noticed. Kutchel looks at him, her big black eyes innocently blinking at him. She shoves a block into her mouth and gurgles, recognising him.

"Do I have your approval to go to your mom now?"

"Ba da guuu"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

More random babbling. Tiny hands busy themselves with trying to crawl away, so Levi pats her on the head and gets up to go to his wife. He doesn't notice his baby pausing mid crawl to pout at him, wanting him to stick close.

He also doesn't see her little face cutely scrunch up, thinking of ways to stop him and bring one of her favourite humans back to her.

''Daadaaa."

Levi freezes, his heart immediately melting. He can't stop himself from turning back to his child, not when she calls out for him like that.

He cradles her in his arms, unaware that you're watching from the kitchen door, committing the sight to memory.

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Conversations

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You've been with Levi for so long now-so much of your life has been spent with this wonderful man and you have no regrets whatsoever.

You do, however, have secrets. Not serious ones, but pure ones. Small, precious memories you've kept to yourself. They're you're little secrets- events that you look back on with fondness.

Events Levi doesn't know you saw happen.

You remember, when you were exhausted from giving birth, how lovingly Levi talked to your newborn daughter.

'Hey brat, you better keep it down now. Your mom just fell asleep- don't yawn. You're already not listening to me-'

He thought you were asleep. If it weren't for your stitches, you would have giggled and alerted him to the fact that you were listening.

You remember all those times you were never woken up by Kutchel crying-because Levi would wake up before you.

'Go to sleep.'

'oooooh'

'I said; Go. To. Sleep. Don't smile at me-- hey stop laughing-'

You caught on to it very randomly, and the memory warmed your heart to this day.

Levi often had silly little conversations with baby Kutchel, when he thought you weren't in hearing range.

'Yes this is the right way-no what do you mean I can't fold shirts like this-you're pouting you obviously don't agree.'

'Kid- I don't know why you like Eren so much-but this works because he can be an unpaid babysitter-no? Fine, I guess I can pay him a little. Okay fine, I'll pay him more then a little.'

'Do you like this dress? Me neither. How about this one-these socks are awful why the hell do you have these-'

'Yes tea is better then coffee. Coffee is for soulless creatures like Mikasa-Hey, don't cry dammit, why do you have to like the brat that glares at me so much huh? You tiny traitor.'

'So I'm taking you to that military ball tommorow-and I expect you to cry enough that I have an excuse to leave. You cry, I leave and then you get as much milk as you want. We good? Good. Don't tell your mother.'

'You threw up on that military police soldier-I'm proud of you brat. Now, let's aim for throwing up on Erwin. Or at least trying to rip his eyebrows out. I feel like the rumour of them being fake might be true.'

'I know you can't talk much, but make a vow to me that you will, never, ever say yes to anything your Aunt Hange asks of you. Trust me, it's for you own good.'

'Kutchel- stop that-I will pay you to stay still. Here, here's all the money I have, which isn't much. Take it and stay still- why the hell are you still wiggling, you need to put your socks on dammit-'

And so much more. It warmed your heart to think of how beautifully he had bonded with her from the start. And you can only be glad you get to see their entire journey together.

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Cloak

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Levi is a man who values cleanliness above all things-he's made sure his house is so clean that all the rooms are sparkling. Despite having a baby in the house, who had recently learned how to walk and subsequently wreak havoc everywhere she wants to, he still tries his hardest to stick to those standards.

So that's why, here he is, pathetically trying to wash clothes, with a clingy toddler who has made it her life's mission to ruin his life. How is she doing this, one would ask. Well, making sure that he can't even put the damn clothes in the basket was one.

'Kutchel-no-stop it, give that back.'

Levi's a little ashamed of himself, just his hands moving to grab his swords are usually enough to strike fear into the heart of his enemies. Yet, here they are, incapable of winning a tug of war with his one year old brat.

He's really, really glad that Hanji can't see him right now.

He manages to get the shirt out of Kutchel's strong grip, causing her to pout and flail her arms with a whine. Levi refuses to give in and snatches the next piece of clothing before she can. He gives her a stern look.

'No.'

With that, he dumps it in the basket. Kutchel doesn't appreciate it, sitting down and pouting at him cutely. It doesn't last long, because she busies herself with the clothes again. At least she isn't snatching them from his hands this time, and only picking on the clean pile.

He gets up to get some more detergent, smiling to himself at the sound of happy gurgles. Once he comes back, he catches sight of Kutchel, and nearly drops all the powder.

His child is exactly where he had left her, except she's now wearing his Survey Corps cloak. Her black hair, much like his own, is messy and the hood is too big for her tiny head. She looks up at him, and smiles in the face of his horror. On one hand, it's pretty damn cute. On the other hand-

'Oh hell no-'

He starts to take the cloak off of her, ignoring her cries of indignation. His child won't have anything to do with the Survey Corps. Ever.

Too bad 15 year old Kutchel Ackerman had every intention of stealing his title from him- but that's a story for another time.

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Clapping

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Levi has self control. Plenty of it, actually. One could easily argue that, after Erwin, he's one of the most composed individuals in the military.

He's dealt with all sorts of people-rude, snobbish, arrogant bastards who think they stand a chance against him. His expression never waivers, even as he insults them to the point their ancestors are crying in the graves.

But what's happening right now, it makes him lose his precious self control. His face, so used to being that of an expressionless grumpy old man, is scrunched up in anger. Levi does not like what's happening.

Not one bit.

Levi can deal with people trash talking him, he never falters despite all the accurate short jokes. He can deal with people bashing Erwin without flinching-because even he's wanted to kill the man once and can't really blame others for wanting to do so as well.

However, what Levi can't deal with in a calm and rational manner, is -

'The fuck did you just say?'

'I said, your daughter is just a dumb brat.'

Yeah, this Military Police Senior Officer is dying today. Levi hopes Erwin is ready to deal with an irate Nile

'Shut the fuck up-I'm the only one who gets to call her a dumb brat.'

The Officer moves to speak again but Levi silences him with a soul burning glare. Levi turns to his brat. Kutchel is sitting on the carpet, wearing a tiny, cute red dress you had bought for her on sale. She's surrounded by numerous toys, gifted by his comrades.

'Kutchel-'

The baby pauses in her play time, which is chewing a stuffed bear, and turns to look at her papa. The officer looks confused.

'If you're happy and you know it clap your hands.'

There's a pause in the room. The officer looks surprised, although he thinks Levi just proved his point. Kutchel looks to be only a few months old and Levi has just monotonously stated a sentence that is usually sung. There was no way the brat would actuall-

Kutchel squealed in delight, pressing her hands together slowly. Once she notices her papas approval, she starts clapping happily.

Levi smirks, while the officer sweat drops.

'See that, bitch? No' dumb brat' does that at 9 months old.'

Of course, Levi still had to beat the guy up a little after that. No one picks on his baby but him.

____________________________________

Sorry

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'Eat it.'

Levi pushed the spoon towards Kutchel, who refused to open her mouth.

He had seated her on the table, ditching the highchair. A bib was secured around her neck, and the brat was clearly hungry.

Except since she had eaten three bites, she refused to eat more. Levi was slowly getting more and more frustrated.

'What's your problem? I know you're hungry.'

Kutchel stared at him sadly, and his irritation thawed at the sight. His child was usually pretty well behaved when it came to food. She usually liked eating fruits and vegetables, but for some reason, kept rejecting her baby food.

Levi frowned, before deciding to taste it himself. Maybe if he ate one in front of her, she would want to eat it too-

Levi paused.

He slowly ate, resisting the urge to throw up. He grimaced and awkwardly avoided eye contact with Kutchel, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

There was judgement in her eyes- something he couldn't blame her for.

The hell sort of crap had they been feeing her? It tasted awful. No wonder she wouldn't eat it.

Sighing, Levi shoved the bowl full of food-that-must-not-be-named away. He lifted Kutchel into his arms.

His brat pouted slightly, her small arms wrapping around his neck. Poor kid was hungry, as evidenced by her discontent expression.

Levi smiled at her lightly, tucking her head into he crook of his neck.

'Sorry Kutchel-let's go to the bakery and get some pastries. And when we get back, I'll even mix some chocolate in your milk. Just don't tell your mother okay.'

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A/N: Heyooo. Just randomly thought of Levi being a dad and this came to mind. These are actually only some of the moments I thought of, I have plenty more in mind. Maybe I'll write those out too. Hope y'all enjoyed this! ❇️

[aceofspadegrass]

Now It's an Entire Swap

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Chishiya Shuntaro, Kuina Hikari, Mira Kano (Briefly), Hatter, Morizono Aguni

Genre: Crack. Somehow even worse (better?) than the last one. They're really going for it now.

1.4k words

AKA Part 2 of Hair Day. It's just gotten way more weirder than ever, and it was just on my mind the entire time. Just.... ' How far would these two get?'

Well apparently it meant stealing each other's clothes and being them for a day. There were probably a whole lot more interactions I could have done for the day, but alas.

Niragi watches as Chishiya approaches him, carrying a bag in his left hand. Since two days ago, Niragi’s been keeping an eye on the man as Chishiya went around with his old hairstyle, his own still delightfully bleached blond and kept in the same style as Chishiya’s usual hair. People still did double takes upon seeing him, and maybe it held true for Chishiya as well, but Niragi didn’t care what anyone thought of the sudden change. All he cared about was making sure Chishiya didn’t go ahead and re-dye his hair so soon, keeping a careful eye on him.

Sure, it was a little stalkerish, but it was for a good reason.

Chishiya dumps the bag at Niragi’s feet, Niragi looking down to look at the small opening the bag allowed. “ What’s this?”

“ Well if you’re going to steal my hair, I might as well steal your life for a day.” Chishiya briefly explains, and he walks away without any further explanation, Niragi raising an eyebrow. He kneels down and opens the opaque bag some more, his lips curling at the white mass chilling inside.

“ Is this a joke…?” Niragi reaches in and pulls out the outfit, recognizing it as Chishiya’s favourite jacket, or at the very least copy of it, as well as swimming shorts that matched Chishiya’s. Niragi looks back towards where Chishiya had disappeared towards, and scoffs. “ So be it then.”

He puts the clothes back inside the bag and stands up, taking it and heading back up to his room. He starts stripping once he gets inside, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside. Next came his shoes and pants, and he pulls out the two articles of clothing back out of the bag. There were sandals included inside, Niragi leaving those for last as he slips on the shorts. They were somehow a perfect fit on him, not at all as small as Niragi was expecting them to be. “ So the mayo man got me accurately fitting clothing, hm?” Niragi pulls on the jacket and quickly retracts his earlier statement, staring at his exposed wrist. Curse him for not bothering to get a proper jacket for him.

Still, Niragi wasn’t about to back down from the supposed life swap challenge, slipping on the other sleeve and zipping it up. It definitely was just some spare jacket, the bottom barely meeting with the shorts with his arms extending outwards. Niragi drops his arms and tugs the jacket down as far as he could before moving to the sandals and sliding them on. They were also about the correct size, if not just slightly smaller but still manageable. Humming, Niragi walks around to make sure, catching sight of his rifle.

“ Well…. as much as I’d like to….” Niragi sighs, and tucks the thing into his bed. “ If Chishiya wants whatever this weird role-play shit, then he’s gonna get it.”

Niragi spots Chishiya by the militants a few minutes later, a few loudly questioning and gesturing to Chishiya. Or, from the back, a much smaller him. Niragi couldn’t help but snort at the obvious sheer size of his shirt on Chishiya’s much smaller frame, or the fact that Chishiya was toting around a massive super soaker instead of the real deal, as if he was still semi-aware that he could be killed despite taking on Niragi’s aesthetics.

Niragi didn’t think this was much of a punishment for his hair thievery in the slightest, sauntering away. Just his face still kept people from coming too close, and the talk about him was near pleasurable for him. His reputation continues to precede him at least.

“ Hey! You, slow down, geez-“ A female voice catches Niragi’s attention, and he turns his head to see that lady Chishiya was occasionally by every so often, although Niragi didn’t bother with her too much, down to her name. She catches up to him, her eyes quickly scanning him before she lets out a sigh. “ I really can’t believe you agreed.”

“ Yeah? What’s it to you, huh?”

The lady folds her arms, letting out a sigh and chews on the stick hanging out of her mouth for a bit. Niragi was about to turn and leave her there when her hand reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, Niragi whipping around and slapping the hand off. She recoils, but otherwise was unperturbed, looking at him with a hint of displeasure. “ Okay listen. Chishiya told me that since you stole his hair he was going to….. apparently take over a day of just being you, saying that…” She pauses. “ Well, that’s not important right now. What is important is to ’sell’ this, is that I have to follow you.”

Niragi blinks, raising his eyebrow and unconsciously flicking his tongue across his lips, leaning onto one leg. “ Why, does the toilet bowl not trust me?”

“ I wouldn’t trust you with a barrel of green tea left in your care, so you can figure out what Chishiya’s opinion is. Look, we can do this peacefully, no violence required, okay?” She extends a hand as if it were a peace offering, Niragi staring down at the hand.

“ Yeah, uh….. no. I do what I want, cinnamon stick.” He turns and walks away, said cinnamon stick’s footsteps coming up behind him.

“ Rude, but I really can’t expect anything else from you, wig snatcher.”

Niragi ignores her, although he didn’t bother to push her away today either. She was at least mindful of their positions, and kept her distance as she should.

It wasn’t long until she invited him to at least watch a movie with her, Niragi agreeing since he was technically absolved from doing his patrols for the day.

( Niragi wasn’t allowed to in any way touch her, and the one time he tried he got his toes crushed by her foot, so he had to behave the rest of the movie. Not worth it, in his opinion.)

Even at the meeting nobody really mentioned the sudden switch, although Niragi swore he thought he saw Mira’s smile become a little wider, and her eyes glitter in interest at the two. Hatter had to do a double take at the two, before sidetracking into what they were up to this time. Chishiya, surprisingly enough, just sticks his tongue out at Hatter like Niragi would’ve done, and Niragi had to suppress a laugh when he caught a glimpse of a stain on Chishiya’s tongue.

“ Oh my fucking goodness, did you seriously eat a fruit roll-up with those tongue tattoos before this?!” Niragi howls, bursting into uncontrolled laughter. Chishiya slips his tongue back in and just smirks. Aguni shakes his head slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, Hatter just watching and waiting with amusement.

It takes a while before Niragi finally reins in his laugh, and that was only because one of Hatter’s pretty boy kimono men handed him water to calm the fuck down. Hatter grins, clapping his hands together.

“ Well, either way, this is an absolute rollercoaster that we’re all seeing today, aren’t we. One day I’m greeted with a hair swap, and the next you two are becoming each other! Aren’t you just… two peas in a pod?”

“ Tch, no. I’d rather burn.”

Chishiya glances at Niragi for a second, his lips curling ever so slightly in disgust. “ Not to be rude, but I decline that as well. I’d rather be shot instead. This is merely payback.”

“… How though.” Aguni questions. Chishiya turns his attention to the man, and leans back casually.

“ Because it leaves him practically defenceless in order to be me. Me, on the other hand….” Chishiya gestures to the super soaker lain on the table. “ Have temporary access. Even if this is merely a substitute.”

“ I will strangle you in your sleep anyways, you naked chicken nugget.”

Chishiya doesn’t react to the threat, Niragi glaring at him. Hatter looks between the two of them, then smacks his hand against the table a few times to get the meeting back to focus on him.

“ Like I said last time, grab a martini or something you two. Now, as much as I love a good drama and an enemies to lovers trope, we have to get back to real matters-“

Niragi huffs, leaning back slightly as Hatter starts his usual spiel. His glances couldn’t help but look towards Chishiya every so often, just glaring him down. Occasionally he’d lock eyes with him, Niragi smirking and miming random ways that Niragi could murder him with his bare hands.

If anyone else was watching their little act, they certainly didn’t bring it up. At the very least it kept Niragi occupied long enough.

The moment it was done, Hatter simply watches the two leave the meeting with a little more haste than he’s ever seen, and he leans towards Aguni. “ Think they’re gonna fuck it out with a nice martini?”

“…. Beats me.”

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that. 

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching. 

Taglist: @lemonzoey​, @babayaga67​

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder. 

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record. 

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you. 

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try. 

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent. 

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google. 

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals. 

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead. 

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water. 

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you. 

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind. 

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities. 

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night. 

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!" 

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in. 

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous. 

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me." 

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great. 

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest. 

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you." 

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?” 

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar. 

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?” 

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction. 

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization. 

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?” 

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?” 

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.” 

“S-stop it.” 

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.” 

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“ 

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop. 

“-You might be.” 

“Shut it, shark bait!” 

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?” 

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?” 

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.” 

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” 

“Prick.” 

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should. 

You lean forward. 

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.” 

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game. 

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl." 

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all? 

“How old are you?” 

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?" 

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs." 

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction. 

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!" 

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales. 

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case. 

Some things are universal, it seems. 

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice. 

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows. 

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water. 

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious. 

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw." 

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?" 

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?” 

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa." 

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that? 

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.” 

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you. 

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to." 

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity." 

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?" 

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.” 

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow. 

“Thanks…  I think?” 

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please." 

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on." 

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. 

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.” 

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?" 

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention." 

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!" 

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman." 

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close." 

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me." 

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard. 

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything. 

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much. 

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

[prophetparadox]

DMC OC Week Day 1: Introduction

(I made this image in a picrew, so it’s not totally accurate to her design but it’s the best I could do with limited options)

It’s officially midnight so fuck it, time to make my first post for this prompt week! I may have just gotten into this series, but I do have an OC and since I plan on writing a fic soon I figured participating in @dmc-oc-week​ was a good way to start! So it’s time to meet my girl Kay! So I’ve filled out an infographic for her, and wrote up a little drabble to go along with this, get ready to learn more about her as the week goes on! Though if you read my stuff on AO3, you’ve probably already seen her a little bit, but let’s get this ball rolling!

Name: Kay [Real Name REDACTED]

Age: Mid-20’s (24-26) (as of DMC5)

DoB: September 26th

Race/Species: Human, mostly...

Height: 5’6”/167 cm

Weight: 117 lbs.

Appearance: Kay has medium length brown hair that goes just above her chest, her left eye is brown but no one knows what her right eye looks like as it’s covered by a dark purple eyepatch and hidden further by her hair covering her right eye. She wears a purple sleeveless top, black capris, a gray hoodie that is usually tied around her waist, light gray boots, and fingerless fishnet gloves.

Personality: Kay is a cheerful albeit socially awkward girl, but she has a stubborn side and isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind. Emotion wise, she wears her heart on her sleeve and isn’t good at hiding how she feels unless she bottles it up. She tends to be optimistic, but there might be something darker lying deeper... She’s very affectionate towards the people she cares about. That being said, Kay is also rather secretive. She doesn’t open up about her past, being vague and only bringing up as little as possible. It’d take a lot of trust for her to open up about such things. Due to being around Dante for so long, she’s developed a bit of a sarcastic attitude.

Quick Facts/Abilities: Kay primarily wields her axe Fenrir, a Devil Arm, in battle, but she does have firearms training courtesy of Lady and carries around a pistol. Despite her right eye being covered up and hidden, she doesn’t seem to be handicapped by this and behaves as if it weren’t hidden at all. She has a good sense of intuition, being able to know if someone is trustworthy or has demonic power. 

---------------------------------------------

It was always strange when the office was quiet. If it wasn’t a song blasting from the jukebox filling the space with noise, it was the chattering of its employees. Even more rare was when the quiet wasn’t because the power had been shut off. But today seemed to be a rare moment where the power was on but not a sound could be heard. But in all honesty, that didn’t really bother the sole occupant of the office at the moment.

Sitting down on the couch with a book in hand was a young woman known simply as Kay. Without any “work” to do, she had time to finish yet another book she’d had on her long pile of things to read. And with the others still asleep, she could enjoy the peace of the lazy April morning. Though admittedly, she was having trouble focusing on the words. Perhaps it was too quiet? Or maybe it was because she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet? She wasn’t sure. All she knew is that the peace and quiet had quickly lost its appeal. Maybe Dante would wake up soon and then they could-

The phone on Dante’s desk began to ring, sounding louder than usual thanks to the deafening quiet. The sudden noise made her nearly fall off the couch. Quickly stuffing her bookmark into the novel, she leapt up from her seat and dashed for the phone. No one else was around to answer, and it might just be a job! She had to take this chance. She picked up the phone, holding on to the possibility that this would be big.

“Devil May Cry!” she answered, as she had many times before. She listened intently to the person on the other end, unable to hide the grin on her face when they gave the password. “Alright, I think we can help you. What’s the issue?” she asked, grabbing a pen and piece of scrap paper so she could write down the details. This was perfect! She could take this job and-

“I’ll be taking that, thank you!” The voice behind her and the sudden stealing of the phone from her hands snapped her out of her good mood. She didn’t even have to guess who it was, she knew that voice all too well.

“Dante, what the hell?!” Kay shouted, turning to face her “boss”. From the looks of it, he’d just tumbled out of bed and was woken up by the phone ringing. He didn’t bother answering her, simply giving a cocky grin in response.

“Sorry about that, mind repeating what you said there?” he said, responding to the client on the phone. Dammit, he was gonna steal the job for himself! She seethed in silence as Dante attentively listened to the client. “Alright then, I’ll be there asap, we’ll discuss payment afterwards,” He put the phone back on the receiver and grabbed Rebellion. “Duty calls, Kay! You know the drill, hold down the fort while I’m gone!”

“Of course you won’t let me come with,” Kay sighed, sitting down in the chair already aware this would be a losing argument. But it was still worth a try, maybe he’d come around for once? “I don’t see why, this assignment isn’t that tricky.”

“Which is why you’re staying here. Besides, someone needs to hold off Lady and Trish if they come knocking! And if there’s anyone I trust the office with, it’s you.”

She knew that was meant to be a compliment, but she’d heard it too many times and was getting tired of it. “Come on, Dante, I’m not a kid! I can handle myself out there, you’ve seen it with your own eyes!” she argued.

“Sorry Kay, but my mind’s made up. This is a one man job, you wouldn’t be able to do much if you came. They’d all be dead before you could swing your axe,” He leaned down to tousle her hair, earning him a groan of annoyance from her. “I’m sorry, but I have my reasons. You’ll understand one of these days. Just trust me, would ya?”

There it was, the excuse he always pulled. He always had his reasons that he never explained and one day she’d totally understand it all. That was usually a sign the conversation was over. “Just go already.” she said with the wave of her hand at the door.

“I’ll make it up to you, kiddo. I’ll treat you to something when I get back!” he said as he walked towards the door, trying to make her feel better. It was hard when by treating her he meant they’d get pizza from a fancier joint than usual and she’d be the one stuck picking it up.

“I’m still not your kid, Dante! I’m a grown woman!” she called out as he made his way out the door. Once again, she was left alone in the office.

Kay stood up and made her way over to the kitchen, unable to ignore her hunger and resigned to eating alone. She was so tired of being left behind with no explanation. She’d been fighting demons long before she met Dante, but he just seemed content to make her watch the office and pick up pizzas or coffee. She was getting tired of this, she wanted to see some action again! Go out in the field and kick demon ass! But noooooo, she was stuck here.

Maybe one day she’d be able to head out there again, prove to Dante that she was just as capable as him or the girls, take down demons like she used to. But clearly that wasn’t today. But soon, something had to happen soon. They’d get a job so big that he couldn’t leave her behind and then he’d see! Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

But for some reason, she felt as if that hope would become reality soon enough. She could just be getting her hopes up, but she wanted to believe her intuition was right. If only she could see the future and know for certain… Until then, she’d just stay here and hope that someone would walk through the door or dial their number and change everything.

[asclepius-erebus]

Nevarro

Title: Personal Eden (Ongoing)

Chapter 3: Nevarro

Rating: Mature (17+)

Word Count: 4.3k

TW: mentions of abuse (lmk if I should include any more!)

The next day, as anticipated, you land on Nevarro, where upon disembarking a flurry of droids scurry up to the ship.

“Hey!” Mando yells, paralyzing all the droids, “No droids!”

You learn that the baby is not in fact Mando’s, but a foundling he’d taken up first as a quarry but then adopted. You’re not sure what’s so special about this child, but for it to have a bounty over it’s head before it can intelligibly speak seemed cruel enough, and you don’t ask any further questions.

You also learned that Mando is a man of few words. He tends to keep his responses curt and to-the-point; and never straying away from the subject of conversation. From your observation, he has not gone onto tangents or disclosed any new information, willingly, that did not immediately pertain to the topic. It made it even more difficult for you to learn anything new about him, his character, humors, and appearance. He is a complete mystery, and yet you find him fascinating all the while he continues to intimidate with both his outward appearance, and lack of openness.

The day on Nevarro is grey despite the sky being totally clear. The landscape isn’t strikingly beautiful like some of the other planets you’ve been on with Malsifer. It’s gritty, dusty, and terribly suffocating. The air feels dense and warm, that kind that made you feel sticky and uncomfortable. The sky is a dull blue, but blue nontheless.

Since joining Mando on his ship, he’d allowed you the time to wash off the caked on makeup from the other night, some of which you’d cried off, like your ruby red lips. It was a nice color, you were fond of how well it complimented your skin and the shape of your lips- but it had overstayed its time on your face and it was time for it to go.

However, upon stepping onto the rough planet, you realize how out of place you appear to be. Not only is the green alien child perched on your hip and babbling to himself, but you’re still dressed in what Mando had rescued you in a few days ago. The wispy fabrics fluttered in the subtle warm breezes, carrying with them the muted but bright colors of an oceanside sunset of lavender, magenta, and gold. You felt exposed among the muted and dark colors that Mando and his child limited themselves to, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Mando’s child begins to fuss, deciding that he wanted to meander around in the dirt as Mando took a few steps towards an unfamiliar man. The man is of a darker complexion, though his beard and hair suggests he is of a wiser age, and extended a friendly hand to shake. They must already know each other.  

The child giggles and laughs, grasping and tossing any rocks he finds on the ground. You crouch to his level, structuring his play by tossing him back the rocks he’d thrown. From this, he giggles excitedly.

~~

“Greef.” Mando greets the aging man, Greef Karga, approaching him at the opening to the city, densely lined with clay houses and open markets. It teems with a unique variety of inhabitants and passersby- like Mando, who does not stand out in the crowd as obviously as the brightly colored dresses his new acquaintance was dressed in. That, was something he’d address soon enough.

“Mando.” Greef smiles, eyes lighting up upon seeing the familiar helmet, “How are you old friend?”

Mando looks over his shoulder at his companions before returning his attention to Greef, “Surprised to be back. What are you doing out here?” He asks with a tired sigh.

Greef raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “I’m just as surprised to see you out here… Tying up a few loose ends. Who’s your new friend?”

Mando hooks his gloved fingers at the top of his chest plate, resting his arms casually over himself and relieving some of the weight of the Beskar on his shoulders, “That’s who I’m here to find some information about. She’s one of Malsifer’s.”

“Malsifer?” Greef’s eyes widen, “What is she? A quarry?”

Mando’s helmet shakes, “No, Malsifer was. Malsifer had an indentured servant situation and I need to know more about her… Anything would be useful, but especially any bank records.” Mando says quietly, sliding a small note with the name of his newest crewmate scribbled onto it.

Greef looks down at the note inquisitively, “Malsifer, huh? Doesn’t surprise me… He always rubbed me the wrong way… Though I’m not surprised that his luck, or lack of it, finally caught up to him.”

“She’s got no where to go. Is there any way you can find out anything about her that’s useful…?”

Greef looks between Mando and the cooing child and woman behind him, and then down at the name on the note, “Get back to me in an hour or two.”

~~

Mando turns to wave yourself and the baby to his side, the man with whom he was conversing with turning away and headed into the city.

“What was that about?” You ask, the baby occupying itself with a metal ball he’s produced from his bundle of clothing.

“Business.” He says briefly.

Business. You think to yourself, the most colorful response I’ve gotten since I boarded.

With the baby balanced on your hip, Mando navigates you both through the streets of a busy marketplace. Vendors line the streets and advertise their products and produce, crafts, and other items for sale, all ranging in complexity and beauty that you admire from a distance. The baby on your hip is thoroughly entertained with all the sights, sounds, and colors, teething on a pastry he managed to swipe off a vendor when they weren’t looking.

Of course you attract some attention. Not only did it not help that the baby you tote clearly is not yours, but your impractical and fluttering dresses had other passerby step and trip on them as you went- sending you a few gross side-eyes and raised eyebrows. You clutch what you can in your hands as you follow Mando’s glistening helmet through the crowd.

He approaches a stand fluttering with colorful fabrics, handcrafted designs embroidered to the hems of cloaks, dresses, and shirts. They’re all so pretty and wonderful to look at.

Mando begins a conversation with a middle aged woman at the stand in her native language, her weathered face and dark eyes glancing at you from time to time as Mando continues to explain something to her. She raises her hand and counts on her fingers as she explains something to him in response, Mando filling her palm with a few coins. Pleased, she nods and produces a neatly folded up wad of fabric. She extends it towards you with a forced but friendly smile.

“Something to cover yourself with for now…” Mando explains, “Later, on the ship, I can find you some clothes.”

Accepting the folded fabric, you briefly study its particular shade of purple. It’s dark and neutral, almost barely detectably purple should someone care enough and stare long enough at you. You unfold it to find an opening, and you slip it over your head, a hood catching on you as the rest of the fabric settles on your shoulders and over your torso. The baby gets caught in it too, but frees himself with a shake of his enormous head. It is a cloak, the fabric feeling pleasurably heavy on your figure and comfortable on your bare shoulders. It feels protective and warm, but breathable and completely functional as an everyday garment. Not only does it feel well, but it conceals you much better amongst everyone else.  

“I buy my cloaks off her.” Mando responds simply, the first time he’s shared a new fact about himself, “She’s also going to find you a pair of shoes.”

He’s right. Perhaps the pair of sandals tied at your ankles aren’t the best fit for a shoe to be blundering around planets with. It was certainly enough for the occasions you accompanied Malsifer to meeting his clients, and the extent of your time out in the elements was limited to barely nothing. Malsifer concerned himself more with whether you appeared to his liking and aesthetics.

The older woman returns, producing a short pair of dark brown leather boots of a matte finish. They are simple and easy to slip on, with no intricate buckles, zippers, or ties. They hug your feet comfortably and accomplishes all the criteria necessary for being a practical piece of footwear.

Mando glances around and hands the woman a few extra coins, nodding in thanks as she accepts them and waves kindly at the child on your hip.

“Thank you.” You tell Mando as the three of you walk away from the stand of fluttering fabrics. He doesn’t react, at least as far as you can observe from the faceless helmet that you looked at when speaking to him.

“We have some time before we meet up with Greef again.” Mando says, ignoring what you’d said, “We can-“

“-Take a look around.” You interrupt, your curiosity about the rest of the market piqued. Surely there were other useful and interesting things the three of you can look at other than the four metal walls of Mando’s ship.

Mando agrees, but you’re not necessarily sure if it was from acquiescence or genuine concurrence.

It is difficult to read him, you’ve noticed it bothering you, without any facial expressions and other visual cues to clue you into his mood. His body language was often also very grey and difficult to deduce. This is unlike what you’ve relied on in the past to understand and predict other people’s behaviors. Malsifer was an individual very prone to giving himself way via his expressions and tone of voice, which made it easier to clue you into how you should respond, if at all. It’s natural to rely on social cues in order to know how to respond to a given situation, but with Mando, it feels quite the contrary.

He strolls with you at a relaxed pace, his hand firmly placed on the hilt of his blaster he keeps attached to his waist.  

Your eyes flicker between his helmet and his hand. You’d seen him use his blaster with deadly precision, it drove you to tears to see the barrel trained at the space between your eyes. You hadn’t heard of stormtroopers being as accurate, and you question what he is, and what he represents. You can already deduce that he’s a bounty hunter, why else would he be looking for quarry? But why the child? Why the armor? And why the ship you’d finally observed to be very Old Republic.

“Mando-“ You begin to ask curiously…“Can I ask you a question?”… cautiously.

“Sure.” He says simply, his helmet turning to observe a long blaster rifle on display at a vendor.

“Where are you from?”

Mando’s helmet continues to follow the long rifle as he walks away, “No where. I was a foundling.”

“A foundling from where?” You ask again. “Who found you?”

“I don’t remember.” He says dryly, his gaze returning forward as he scans the vendors again till something catches his eye… visor.

“So then what’s with the armor?”

He stops midstride, and you sense that you’ve either said something wrong or insulted him in some way.

Your cheeks immediately feel like their burning despite the chill that raced down your spine. You blink back a million-and-one thoughts and possibilities on how he might respond. Was he mad? Dumbfounded? Absolutely furious? It’s too hard to tell. By the way he’d stopped and now turned his head towards you, your hands clench into a fist- not prepared to strike, but to brace.

He chuckles. He chuckles. Warmly, softly, and bemusedly, his modulated blitheness is musical and so incredibly comforting. You’re not sure how you should react. It’s not the reaction you’d braced yourself for. After all, you’d insulted him, didn’t you?

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never seen Mandalorian armor before?” He asks, resuming the slow pace he took beside you.

You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you resume walking a few paces behind him. The child, unbothered, continues to chew on the pastry and inquisitively looks between yourself and Mando.

“I’m surprised Malsifer never let you see one.” He says, “No wonder you seemed pretty scared when I was there.”

You’d kept your gaze down at your feet as you walked, feeling ashamed to ask a dumb question in the first place. Of course you knew what a Mandalorian was, but you’d only ever read about them in flimsi books you’d managed to smuggle in and out of Malsifer’s library. They seem downright fictional, down to their very demeanors of being militant and mute. It didn’t help that the only information accessible to you came in bound flimsi books that in itself was probably older than yourself or Malsifer’s combined existence. You’d never seen their armor, at least not the kind that Mando was sporting in pure Beskar and with a helmet that looked too much like a storm trooper’s. You’d sooner expect he was an ex-trooper, or someone who simply stole or bought their armor.

“It was terrifying.” You admit softly, “You, pointing a blaster in my face. Doesn’t help that you’ve got all that armor.”

You see his boots stop moving and turn towards you. You still keep your gaze down, distracting your hands with the child’s robes as the crumbs of his treat fell from his face.

“Look at me.” He says sternly, and you obey, looking up into his visor, “You need to… unlearn whatever this is.”

You chew your lip, intimidated by his presence so close and so powerful over you. You fight yourself and your nervous glances away from the glare of his visor.  

“I don’t know what Malsifer put you through, but here, with us… none of it.” He continues, “Can’t have you walking behind me like some shadow, not with my kid.” He takes a step back from you and turns away, but stops.

His shoulders drop and his demeanor softens, “You were walking next to me.” He says, awaiting for you meet him at his side, “You were saying…”

Meeting up with him, the child in your arms coos and reaches out to Mando, who scoops him up from your grasp and you hide your arms under the cloak. He is right, it’s different with Mando and his kid. This is an equal playing field where you’re a part of a cohort of other individuals just like you. Of course, Mando is the leader, he provides, flies, and protects. The new dynamic is refreshing, but old habits are hard to beat. Which isn’t a natural nor healthy response. But neither was being caned across your knees and shins if you didn’t do so.

Mando stops at a vendor selling a wide assortment of things. They all seem extremely random, from switchboards to datatapes to bacta kits. Perhaps these are things the vendor was able to scavenge off broken ships and droids, this isn’t the first time you’d seen scrap collectors try to sell off what they can’t trade at a refinery. You’ve heard of such beings called Jawas who are infamous for such scavenging, but you also know that they’re not entirely open to the idea of selling what they find.

Mando strikes up a conversation with the vendor, a tall and slender specimen with small black eyes and three digits on each of their four arms. They’re haggling, is what you can assume, as Mando shakes his head and points to a well-stocked bacta kit on the table. The vendor insists on a certain price, counting it off on his palms before accepting a deal with Mando’s budget. He swipes the bacta off the table, and tosses it.

You catch it and immediately hide it under your cloak. Mando notices, walking away from the vendor saying, “Keep that there, don’t want him noticing he let me take the wrong one.”

His dry friendliness is welcoming, it made you feel like you were walking with a friend rather than a tank. The child giddily had finished his snack and entertained himself with his metal ball, which now you’d deduced was from a switch or lever, likely coming from the cockpit of the ship.  

“So… your armor. Mandalorian?” You ask, keeping pace with him.

He nods, “Mandalorian.”

You think back to what you’d read about in the flimsis, “If I recall correctly, some Mandalorians choose to keep their helmets on? Or do all of you have to wear it all the time?”

Mando nods, “When I swore to the creed, I swore to keep my identity secret. It’s part of our code.”

“So ‘Mando’ isn’t your real name?” You ask.

“No.”

“So what is your name?”

“Mando.”

You furrow your brows, not wanting to press further. You admire the devotion, despite it frustrating you further. You wanted to learn more of him, but now you know that such learning can no longer pertain to his appearance, and you must now learn his character. Though it wasn’t the only thing weighing on your curiosity, you’ve already begun building his profile.

Like you’d learned during your time in hyperspace that he is a man of not-so-many words. He isn’t aptly good at beginning a conversation, and usually such conversations are limited to small talk on the basis of his work and ship… But that had been debunked when he disclosed that he gets his cloaks from the woman at the colorful stand, and joked to you about the bacta-kit hidden away under your cloak. You hope he will reveal more of himself to you with time. You’re patient enough for that.

You respect that his physical appearance as an extension of his anonymity. It’s not the only instance where you’ve experienced the sort of veiling that came with particular religions, cultural identities, and personal choices. It will be up to him to disclose what he wants and when- it would be rude of you to pester. It’s not your place.  

The three of you walk leisurely, stopping occasionally to look at something interesting at a stall before returning into the direction of the ship. In the distance, you observe the man from earlier standing and waiting for you, Greef, you remember Mando mentioning the name.

Mando hands you the child back into your arms, “Get back on the ship.” He instructs, and you nod, the baby beginning to doze off to sleep in your arms.

~~

“What did you find?” Mando asks taking a few steps towards Greef and out of earshot from his new crewmate.

Greef’s usually friendly smile is thin, “I found one result for her name, one that appears on an obituary. According to the systems, she’s technically dead.”

Mando exhales sharply, disappointed, and curiously tipping his head to the side, “So, what? How long has she been ‘dead’?”

“Five years.” Greef says bleakly, “And she has no digital footprints anywhere. No record of her ever even having an account to hold credits, or receipts from anywhere that she’s spent credits.”  

Mando looks back in the direction of his ship, watching you board the Razor Crest with the child in your arms, how tenderly you hold his head and attend to his sleepy babbling. This is unfortunate news, that Mando would need to tell you sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando admits quietly, your silhouette disappearing in the ship.

Greef clears his throat, “I know this is none of my business, but the baby seems to like her, it’s pretty obvious… Until she can figure things out on her own, she can stick around, learn a thing or two, and you’ll have someone who can take care of the kid when you have jobs.”

Mando nods, “This isn’t the first time Malsifer faked someone’s death just to drain their accounts?”

“It’s also not the first time he’s trapped pretty young girls into being his personal assistants.” Greef says, raising an eyebrow in Mando’s direction.

“He abused them.” Mando says, “If it wasn’t for their money, what else did he need them for?”

Greef shrugs, folding his arms across his chest, “Malsifer seemed like the controlling type… He liked being in control of anything and everything important to him which is money and power. I don’t think she was a part of anything more sinister, but I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”

“I’ll find that out more when she feels like talking. Right now… I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando crosses his arms.

Greef looks back at the ship behind Mando and back to his visor, “Let her stay until she can figure something out for herself. She can be useful while you work, keep the ship and the kid safe while you’re out…”

Mando nods again in agreement, “It’s my only option right now. Thank you… for your help.”

Greef smiles, “Anytime, old friend.”

--

Mando appears on the ship shortly after you’d put the child to sleep in his shiny egg-like crib. He’d tired himself out from the morning shopping and was happily full of whatever pastry took him the entire walk to eat.

You’d put the bacta pack in the bacta kit soldered on the metal of ship and managed to clear out some of the dust that had blown into the hull while the door was open. You’d observed Mando’s ship to not only be Old Republic but also just old in general. Though it is in excellent flying condition for its age, it lacked in amenities that more modern ships had like touch-pads instead of buttons and actually finished floors and walls. Either Mando is a man of old fashion, or simply too preoccupied to take care of his ship like others do.

He is quiet, walking up and down the hull checking lights, buttons, datapads, and other things. While he did that, you patiently sit on the familiar wedge prepared to strap into the metal wall and prepare for take-off. Your hands occupy themselves with the hang nails that plague your fingers.

You see, from the corner of your eye, something tan and grey. Looking up, it was Mando, handing off to you a pile of clothing he’d gathered in his quiet pacing around the hull.

“Thank you.” You say softly, standing to get to the fresher.

Mando nods, “Meet me in the cockpit, we need to talk.” And he turns before you can ask any questions. He disappears up the ladder.

The cockpit? You think to yourself curiously, what in the worlds does he want to talk about?

The mirror in the fresher is just reflective enough to call itself a mirror. It clearly once existed as a piece of scrap that Mando had repurposed to decorate the blank wall above the sink. But it fulfilled its purpose in reflecting back the visage of yourself you present every day.

Today, you look tired.

Dark circles around your eyes hint at some much needed deep sleep and the tired squint you gave to yourself only emphasizes this.

You look at the clothing Mando handed to you, consisting of a large white shirt and some pants that definitely needed to be tailored to accommodate your height and lack of… lower… masculine features. These are clearly articles of clothing Mando has no use for, and you’re thankful for them despite Mando’s somewhat apparent reluctance.

You undo yourself from your dress, somewhat sad to see the magical colors fall to the floor in a wispy heap. This was healthy though, a transition into a different person. After all, you’re fulfilling the prophecy you’d begun to brainstorm the first night aboard the ship: a change of clothes.

The shirt is square, harsh but hemmed edges of fabric for sleeves, a collar, and buttons to secure said collar closed. It sat rather high on your neck, so you keep the first two buttons undone, one side of the collar falling open to reveal the raw edge of the hem. The sleeves were of a comfortable length, also squared off with a button for cuff-links that you undo and gently fold up your forearm.

Looking back up at yourself in the mirror, you look like a little girl trying on her father’s clothes. It’s clear that they’re too big, but you make do with tucking and folding where you can. But the broad and structured shoulders the shirt gave you made you feel… bigger? Something about it made you feel more robust.

The pants are… another story. Of course they sat a little low on your hips and were too loose around the area where you lacked the facilities of a man. But the utilities of having so many pockets and places to stow away small items brought you some small joy as you cuff the pants around your ankles and tuck the shirt into them.

You style your hair simply up, anything to keep it away from your face and off your shoulders till it’s time to wash and you think what to do about them then.

Looking back into the crusty mirror, though your eyes see themselves, a whole new person has taken shape behind them. It felt foreign to you to appear so fresh-faced, neutral, and unassuming in a world where Malsifer demanded you always looked your best as an extension of himself and his appearance. That usually translated in wearing makeup on a near-daily basis, and extravagant colorful gowns to even the most casual of events.

The dress is a pastel mess on the floor of the fresher, and looking down at it, you feel a twinge of guilt for having to abandon it. It’s pretty…

You bundle it up and head out from the fresher.

You walk quietly across the hull, your bare feet making light patting noises as you went. Sitting at the wedge in the wall, you ditch the dress behind you and slip on your boots again before standing up, and head towards the cockpit like Mando told you to.

[thevoilinauttheory]

The Funeral

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 29: Debonair ]

[ Content Warnings: passive suicidal ideation; death and blood mentions ]

[ Just want to note here... that this started as one thing and ended as another and don’t have the energy to change it because it ended up being so long lol I wanted to try something different, but then it went *way* different, so. Uh. Here you go! 😂 official video not posted due to the fact that it was flashing enough to bother me, so it might bother someone else. ]

==

“He’s a strange one, that’s for sure. Have you seen him ever show an onze of emotion?” “He may be the eldest, but do they really think he’d be the best heir?” “He’d run the family into the ground, if given the chance.”

He could hear them through the walls, the jabs at his character. How dare they? Was he not the perfection the rest of the noble community sought? Or was it his perfection that made them think as such? His ears twitched. Someone was coming, and by the weight of the footsteps…

“Cedre, Mother wishes to speak with you.” Sylvain gripped at the hem of his shirt - nervous. All of his siblings were intimidated by him. All of the people he would call his friends did the same. Cedrenaux stood from the bench he sat on, waiting for his parents to call him in. This gathering was supposed to be one of levity, other houses joining them for a single night of enjoyment. It was always too bright in here. The bright blues, the bright reds, the bright violets and whites and lights. Dear gods, the lights. He spoke no words to his brother, passing by him in some furied silence. Or, what Sylvain would think as he passed by.

“Cedrenaux, dear! Look at you, dressed to the nines~.” His aunt was the first to applaud him - for what, exactly? He never knew. All of them praised him for some unholy reason. “Well, it is only proper for him to be dressed so.” His mother was a walking contradiction. Doting, and yet, not so easily impressed. She brushed some of his stray hairs down, the wavy near-curls springing up to their own liking. Despite the fact that he was old enough to do so himself, old enough to speak for himself, he did not. “I want you to meet this lovely girl,” She turned him towards a beautiful woman, slightly older than him; fair skin, chestnut hair, what wondrous green eyes. “This is Cassandra Babineaux, under House Dzemael. Cassandra, this is my eldest son--” “Cedrenaux. A pleasure.” His voice was dry, it said anything but. He offered her a formal bow. “You two are to spend much time together, in fact, why don’t you get to know each other a bit more now?”

==

“Cassandra is to be your bride, Cedrenaux, you must compose yourself well.” “Yes, Mother.” He stood still as his mother fussed over his appearance, brushing lint from his shoulders, straightening his jacket. While it was infuriating to be coddled like a child, he let her do her thing, letting out a short sigh when she stepped away. “While this marriage is arranged, you two have gotten along so well - we thought it best that you would propose to her in a traditional fashion as well. I am certain it would mean a lot to her.” “Yes, Mother.”

He couldn’t stand her. There was always something off about the woman. To be married to her was going to be a long road, one that would likely never end - not until he was at the end of his days. The temptation was there - death would be far preferable, but he knew that his family needed this. After the accurate accusation of his grandmother as a heretic by the Dzemaels - his mother’s mother, worse off - they needed to make amends to the House. To prove that just one was enough. Once his mother left him, he took himself to the closest mirror. His hair was tied up in a bundle of wavy curls, not quite untamed, though no less annoying. He pulled the band from it, letting it fall loose; using his fingers to comb it out. Princely, straight from a faerie tale - that’s what Cassandra had called it. Disgusting.

“Cedrenaux?” A soft voice peered through the door, nervous and shaking. “Isabelle, is something amiss?” “N-No, not… not really. You look upset.” “...I am.” “Is it the marriage?” “...” He nodded slowly as he strode to the door, opening it fully for his youngest sister. She was easy to talk to, she had no room to judge anyone else, nor did she have a habit of doing so. “It’ll… be okay, I think.” Cedrenaux shook his head. “No, it will not. I do not like her in the slightest.” “But you got along so well…” “Because I was forced to… I do not want to marry, and especially not her.” “Why is that?” “Aside from a bad feeling…? I… I cannot say.” He muttered to himself, eyes to the floor, a crack in his usual expression. “...I simply do not like any aspect of her.” “Have you found another lady that caught your fancy?” “....” How was he supposed to answer that? He opted for another shake of his head. “No. I have had no interest in any of them. I have been putting my focus into my studies.” “I see.” She needed no other words to explain, she only smiled. “It’ll be okay. I can feel it. In the end, it’ll be okay.”

==

“I… am at a loss for words.” “Cedre, dear, please, I didn’t mean--” “Did not mean…? For what? To take on another man, force him into marriage? We have two children, Cassandra - that something like this happened is beyond me.” “You’re not… leaving, are you?” “Your kind are not wont to change.” “B-But.. the kids-” “Are in your capable hands. Perhaps you will no longer find your eyes wandering when you are pressured to do the job I have been doing whilst you were galavanting about with another man. The poor sod better be thankful he got away when he could.” “...Not without stealing the better half of our funds…” “Of your funds. Good riddance too.” “Cedre y-you sound so…” “Pleased? Gods be, I am. I had been looking for years for a way to get you far from me.”

Those words were heartbreaking to anyone who would hear them - and a relief to the one who said them. Cedrenaux finally felt a weight off of his shoulders. Such a relief to breathe out. “Since we are on that topic, I had never liked you to begin with - we were only together thanks to our parents.” “L-Love, I--” “Do not address me as such, lumping me in with the Brume rabble you called your lover. Of course, I side with him - the abuse you have fed both of us.” “You would punish our children over this?!” The shock wore off, it turned to anger. “Hm? I am sorry, did you say “our”? No, no. They are your children now. You can disclude me from the picture. Of course, I did already speak to them. They are old enough to understand how rotten you are, and thankfully, old enough to know how to ruin the rest of your days. Of course, in the end, you will have wonderful heirs to your house and name. Seeing as I taught them as such.”

“What would your mother say once you came home? She’d be disappointed, angry. She’d make you come back.” “Oh, do not worry. Your backstabbing name will be littered upon the ears of others, I am certain my mother will be just fine with it.”

==

“Please, wait! Wait, I have evidence!” Cedrenaux tried to push his way past the Templars which guarded the Vault. Guarded the trial - the trial against his parents. He held above him the papers, the ones that showed their innocence. “They are not guilty, you must hear me!”

“Lord Voilinaut.” One of the clergy approached him - a tone that made his heart sink. She took the papers from him, a slight twitch of shock. “I apologize, my lord, but you are too late. Their sentence was held a quarter of a bell ago. These papers, however -...” She shook her head. “This would not be enough, though I will see to it that these are filed properly so that no future mistakes will happen.”

“Y-You… admit… it was… a mistake?” He could feel it, it boiled under him, made his skin itch. He bared his teeth in a scowl, words sharp with his shouts. “You would murder for your own sakes?! They were not guilty! If I could find the evidence, why could you not have?!” The Templars struggled to keep the young lord from attacking the clergywoman, having to catch him by his collar and arms. “I apologize, my lord. I do not oversee the investigations, but I shall apprise them of the situation so that no others will have to face an injustice like this.” Cedrenaux managed to settle himself, composing with a sigh. “...Very well… so long as it does not happen again. You will regret the next time it does.”

He could hear the papers burning in the room she had left to.

==

“I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. If I could ask a favor of you…” An Elezen, far taller than he - though who would not be? Even the hyurs in the city were taller than him. Dressed in nobles’ clothes, light hair, fair eyes. “And you are?” “Tristan.” “...Tristan.” “My… full name is rather long, and this moniker suits me well.” “I see, and what can I do for you?” “...It…” Tristen looked about for any passerbys. “Perhaps we could sit over here, it… concerns a rather personal matter.” He gestured to the gazebo of the Voilinaut’s estate. Cedrenaux nodded, leading in taking a seat.

“I… have heard many things. I would clarify if they are true or not, and if they are… perhaps you could listen to my plight. I have heard that upon your divorce with Cassandra, your parents were tried for heresy.” “...That is true. You know of Cassandra?” “I know that she is behind it - ah… I know… from personal experience, as she has done the same with my family. They are currently in a gaol awaiting their sentence.” “How do you know?” “...She screamed at me as such when I pushed myself from her.” “You were…?” “Also married, yes. At the time you were.” “You certainly do not look the part of the man I had found her with. Do you mean to say she was doing as such with three individuals?” “I am, yes.”

Cedrenaux folded his arms over his chest, inhaling sharply. He closed his eyes to think, ears twitching to the sounds of other gossip from down the road. “...And what favor would you ask of me.” “That I may remain in your estate as a guest, until I am given my home back after the investigation. I am without one, currently.” “....” He wasn’t keen on sharing his home with strangers, especially since they were in the process of moving furniture out; sorting through paperwork and memories. How could he not lend aid to another who has shared this pain - who will share this pain. He knew that Tristan would not see his family again. Cedrenaux nodded slowly, bringing a bright smile to Tristan’s face. “I thank you, sir,” “Cedrenaux.” “I thank you, Cedrenaux. For your kindness.” He shook his head. “...Do not worry of it. My family will see to it that you will have a place to stay. Do excuse the mess.”

==

With a heavy thud, Tristan had his back trapped against the wall. Such brashness was rewarded with the second heavy emotion he had shown - first anger, now… Cedrenaux sputtered under his words, some semblance of fear on his face as his fingers clutched into the hem of his own shirt. Tristan let out a bright laugh, that perfectly playful smile. He was so forward, how could anyone act without shame - or at least thought to their actions. Or, perhaps he did think it over and--

“You’re so adorable like this!” Tristan pushed off the wall to let Cedrenaux have some breathing room. “L-Like what? What do you mean?” Despite the blatant display of emotion, and the catch of his teeth on his lips, his voice still stayed dry and even. “C’mon, I know you’re not that much of an idiot.” Silence. There was no response - he definitely was not that much of an idiot, still--

“Why?” “Why not?” He was nudged with an elbow. “The moons I’ve stayed here, you have shown nothing but care and kindness to your family - and myself. Of course, not everyone would call it that, but… you really are adorable.” Tristan leaned forward to pinch his cheek. His smile faded as he lowered his voice. “You have a lot of qualities about you that no one else does, something the rest of Ishgard needs. You exude safety, protection, you’re diligent - strong.” His smile came back with something softer. “They don’t see it, but I do.”

“...” Cedrenaux looked down to the floor - he was tense from the surprise, but it was relief that came from his breath. “Thank you.” It took a bit, a little moment, but he smiled. Nothing as bright as the man’s in front of him, but it existed. He took a careful step forward, hesitant, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing… but he wrapped his arms around him, tucking his head into Tristan’s chest. “....” He smelled of Starlight - he wouldn’t forget that. Pine and cinnamon, a fresh fire, winter air. It was… it was comforting. It reminded him of the times he could truly be a child with no worry of others’ thoughts. “...Thank you…” His voice was soft now, afraid to speak aloud. Gods, if his siblings saw him.

Even Tristan was surprised by the forward action on Cedrenaux’s part, but he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he placed his head atop his. “Just one night?” “...Just one.”

==

One night turned to moons - moons of a fleeting emotion.

“Is Lord Tristanaireux in? We received word that he would be staying with your house.”

Several Templars were at their door. Cedrenaux knew exactly what that meant. “The investigation is over then? Should he return home?” “...He is, yes.” Their hesitation said otherwise. He saw that too. “Is that right, then? I will escort him then, to make sure he arrives safely.” “There is no need for that, we will-” “I do not trust you. After the last time, I refuse to.” “My lord, we have found relics of heresy amongst his belongings. He needs to be turned in--” “You would lie to me, on my estate?” Cedrenaux’s voice got low, deep, something dark.

“A-Apologies, m-my lord…” “Leave. Come back when you have hard evidence that it is his, and that it was not planted by you nor anyone else.” “Sir, you will be tried, too, if--” “Learn your battles, boy.” The Templars at his door were armed, and yet they made no moves against him. As if they truly were afraid of just him alone.

“Lord Cedrenaux, is aught amiss?” Another lord from the Dzemael house, when would they leave him alone? “No, in fact, these kind gentlemen were here to let me know that my friend is allowed to return home. ...Yes?” His glare pierced them. He made these fools stand straight, near threatened into admitting so. “Is that so? I had heard just the opposite. Are you housing a heretic, Lord Cedrenaux?” “On baseless accusation. Show me the evidence, and I will turn him over.” “The Vault is already in the possession of the evidence, s-sir…” The Templars spoke up again. “Then tell them to show me.”

His continuance on their argument was cut short, with Tristan looming over his shoulder. “What’s going on now?” “Back inside, now.” The sound of his voice turned to urgency, he was thankful Tristan understood - the man took a hefty step back, just before the sharp cry. “Grab the heretic, now!” Without so much as a second thought, the Templars trampled over Cedrenaux to seize Tristan from the hallway - dragging him out to the streets as he kicked. “Let go! I know naught of what you speak!”

As Cedrenaux found the strength to pick himself up off the floor, his eyes turned to the door - to the road - to the people across from his home - to the smile of the woman standing there. Her.. this was her fault. “Tristan!” His boots skid along the stone as he broke into a sprint. “Cedre!” The sound of his name was cut with a cry and grunt, a chained elbow smashed into his face - thrown into the ring in which the trial was being held. “Stop! I beg of you, please think before you act!”

It felt like the trial held for his parents, another mistake - another intentional mistake.

“The evidence was planted, my lords!” “By who.” They spoke to him, they addressed him. Gods be, he had a chance. “Cassandra Babineaux. She admitted to accusing not only his family, but mine as well, of baseless heresy. I had word that investigations would be thorough.” “What motives would she have to do this?” “We are both her ex-husbands, having committed adultery against us both - she seeks revenge for our leaving.” “Have the guard fetch this woman then.”

He could hear it, the sigh of relief from his love.

==

“I do not know what you speak, my lord! Why would I take the risk of being accused, myself? If I had planted it, I would have had the evidence on me at some point!” “Anything for revenge… first my grandmother, then my parents, now this…”

She lied through her teeth, she lied, and they both knew.

“Lord Cedrenaux, why would you accuse this woman of--” “Why would you believe her words over mine? Do you think me a liar, my lord? I have stood by and watched countless of my family die at your hands on false accusations - the truths brought to light, and still, you would do this?” “Why would you accuse me? I have found my love, I do not need yours nor his!” “Be- Because… I saw that look on your face, when I was on my way here, that smile of yours.” “Can I not greet you on the street?” “...” His jaw clenched. “Not when you just witnessed this man being dragged off.”

“Lord Voilinaut.” “Check her home, then, if you dare will! There’s plenty more evidence to plant, isn’t there?! One at a time, you will pick off those I love… who next, then? Sylvain? Valera? Isabelle?” He saw the corner of her mouth twitch at the mention of his youngest sister, that little detail. “Snake, impudent hag - you would harm such an innocent girl for your petty spite against me?!” Everything in his body could not stop him from lashing out, jumping on her in an instant - he only landed a single blow to her face before the Templars snatched him away from her.

“Calm yourself this instant!” The loud thud of a hand against the table snapped him from his rage. “You would conduct yourself in this manner, Lord Cedrenaux? Your accusation of your ex-wife is paranoia, that she is out to get you - she has clearly moved on. We will consider your evidence null.” “N-No, please! Do not harm him! He is innocent!” It was the first time he had ever cried, even as a baby; he screamed, but never shed a tear - he choked on his sobs. “Please…” He would resort to begging if it made it so, he sunk to his knees - he did not expect to hear the scream so close to his ears, so loud, it took up the room. He heard nothing else. The thump of the body on the floor, the spill of blood. The tile was stained with it.

Even as the room cleared, he did not move - he could not move. He cried, coughed, sobbed, screamed and yelled and begged what gods there were to make it stop.

In the end, all he could do was make certain that his family was safe.

[twinvictim]

your opinions on each of the post team silent games and a rating out of 10. hand 'em over

YEAHHHHHH FINALLY CATERING TO ME!!!

Uh really long post oops. for reference, my rating for the first 4 sh's are as follows

Sh1: 9/10 Sh2: 7/10 Sh3: 9/10 Sh4: 9.5/10

Silent Hill 0/Origins

overall score: 7/10

Alot of the games issues can of course be attributed to it being a psp game, and while i won't excuse everything bc of that, j have to be honest and say I think it had so much potential as a (very) late ps2 game. Not to mention, the game ON THE PSP functions as it should. (The ps2 port does fucking not tho..oops) ans you'll see that this is...a rarity post team silent.

The story has alot of potential, Travis as a character is interesting and sympathetic and j think his dynamic with alessa js super fascinating to dig into, both of them being abused children and there was alot of intrigue regarding his powers, the game feels like a smaller more watered down she, and for that I can't fault it too much. The weapons system isn't my favorite but the combat itself is reminiscent of 1 and 2 and I really like a good chunk of the monster design, there was clearly thought and care put into it, nurses and strughtjackets/lying figures be dammed. The unlockables are pretty cool though and alot of the environments look pretty cool for a psp game, hell i LOVE the theater level its super unique, I would love to see it in (actually functional) better graphics. I also think the puzzles are pretty solid, not hair pulling like sh1 even if they're not quite as clever as say sh3.

My biggest criticisms come from the reuse of sh1 characters (just alessa and Travis would've been fine, maybe dahlia and some more org characters would've been better) the bad ending being straight up bad writing. Not to mention they did the sh3 thing of "kill too many monsters and get the bad ending" which is...stupid. The foreshadowing of the butcher being? He's just kinda there, I like the lead up but it would be more interesting if the butcher represented something from those years between Travis' father dying and him being an adult. And while there's more replayability imo than sh2, it doesn't have difficulty sliders and that makes it kinda hard to come back to quite as often. Not to mention unlike sh1, 3or sh4 there's not as much horror focus and random events.

Overall, solid game its fun to play, very silent Hill and if you're willing to look past a few continuity errors and accept its a little different and slightly derrivitive at the same time, I like to say I had alot of fun with it and still do. (Maybe I just like Travis alot...idk)

Silent Hill: Homecoming

Overall score: 6/10

Once again most of the issues here are gonna be corporate fuck ups, but I'm also not gonna beat around the bush, this game isn't like...good. its bad actually. "But you gave it a 6/10?" Yeah bc its not NEARLY as bad as some other games I've.. experienced.

The negatives here are, many and vast, so let's run them down. Firstly the games performance is janky on console (ps3 at least) and abysmal/unplayable on PC, what with framerate issues that are detrimental to game play on pc and make the third boss impossible. That said on console it is completable and not even too terrible...usually. Scarletts boss fight however is terribly unbalanced and broken on all skews so :/. The combat is...functional but not anyone's favorite, it's difficult to use any actually strong weapon and you can pretty much strong arm ur ways through shit with just the knife (except scarletts first form..don't try it, it won't work) for some people this will be borening (not my opinion but w/e). Most of The puzzles...leave alot to be desired. I hate sliding block puzzles. Also no run button? At all?? No easy mode? Ok... also what is this.. wheel design for the inventory...im accidentally using my serum..what is serum also? And why is the item pickup noise like...bass boosted.

The character models look awful most of the time, and comically unfinished other times, some human models are just grotesque, (judge halloway, Adam shepherd, mayor Bartlett. .you get it) and yes...there are sexy nurses. Bc of course there are. (Whole ass out???) They did straight up have some terrible endings for this game (ph ending for one, the way you get the ufo? Hell the ufo ending is kinda boring. I like the in water ending here too but. Yeah.) the story has some, problems. To say the least.

However, while the performance is bad its not the worst I've played (on the ps3 once again..unplayable on pc) and I hardly noticed the framerate when I was just running around, I personally found the combat kinda fun, between trying to dodge accurately and still attack and not use all my health items (bc those and ammo are actually rare! Unlike some games...) it is kind of a challenge and reminds me of a much worse sh4. And hey, the health items both heal an understandable amount of health that i can easily read with a bar (unlike 1-3) and they're not a complete joke (unlike sh4...) i find the exploration really fun and sure the characters look shit but the environments are Fucking great. The church is one of my fav sections, short as jt might be and yes it stole the confessional scene but its pretty well written and acted I think. The monster design is pretty fucking rad too honestly, I like the schism, siam, I like the DESIGN of the needlers even if they make me so mad to fight, and hey the nurses and ph don't show up that much to be too aggregious. The boss monsters are also fantastic design wise, very unsettling and the boss rooms are interesting as well.

The story has problems but it also has alot of potential, the concept of people sacrificing ther children for silent Hill and being overcome by their own pain and guilt is pretty fucking cool, and alex is a good character they did a good job of giving him personality, ppl bitch about him being a soldier but a) he's not and b) soldiers are people too, and a sh game that could tackle toxic masculinity, be critical of the military, and also tackle abusive religeious parents is pretty intriguing, not to mentions themes of brotherly love that's complicated bc of how they clearly favored Josh . Sure, it misses the mark, but I like taking the potential and thinking about it bc its compelling to me. And like I said, i like alex alot.

Overall, bad game yes, but not the worst as it has enough good for me to honestly really enjoy it, besides it is pretty funny when it is bad. Don't play the pc port tho

Silent Hill Shattered Memories

Overall Score: 8/10

Unpopular opinion im sure but honestly? I find this game ALMOST on par with the team silent games. Its really that good, yes its a wii game, so this is my score taking into account the motion controls BTW.

For the good, man where do i start. Its BEAUTIFUL for a wii game and esp for a post team silent game, the graphics are nice and Constsitent, the environments are pretty and it has a pretty nice cold color pallet to contrast the warmer tones the series tends to skew towards. The acting and intrgrige are all on point and the WRITING is fantastic, its one of those games you play the first time not knowing the twist and play the second time picking up more and more clues and things that strengthen that twist so much more. Like sh2 its a simple story told in such a clever and interesting way that you'll probably be too invested to put it down, I beat it in one sitting in 6 hours bc i was so engrossed in the narrative. And the Puzzles man! The puzzles are phenomenal and fun to accomplish and there's even a little bit of variety in a few places on repeat playthroughs. The level of detail in this game is insane really, the things that change with the different psychology answers are pretty cool too and tho it all plays out relatively the same its still fun to see the different things you can get to happen. The gimmicks like the phone as an object, taking pictures, sneaking and zooming in, they're not too intrusive as to take away from the exploration or other game play but not completely useless and have some pretty fun Easter eggs too. The game plays sort of like a worse outlast with good puzzles and for that I do have to commend it. Oh and the fucking MUSIC is INCREDIBLE idk something ab this soundtrack has alot of heart put into it clearly.

Now, it's not perfect. The thing is, it is a WORSE outlast type game, in the running and hiding sense but well, the hiding is completely useless, its a run away game, which is ok, but I understand that people aren't gonna be a big fan of that when silent Hill has always balanced combat ad puzzles and exploration. The running segments are..aggravating, mostly bc its hard to figure out where to go, not to mention using motion controls that don't like to work half the time to fight the monsters off of you. Also, the monsters are not scarey in the slightest and the raw shock scream is actually enragaging if you've died one to many times, there's also...not really any penalty for dying. And once you're out for these running segments,there's no danger, no monsters, nothing to hide from despite having a hiding mechanic. Its not really a horror game more of a psycological thriller and I understand that the fact that its not horror can be disappointing. The psychology things might be a bit overhyped And yeah fine, the wii foreplay scene...well yeah its weird but it IS also funny as fuck.

That said, there's still alot thats good and alot thas unfair criticism lobbed at this game. Harry didn't have much of a personality in sh1 bc he's a ps1 character and sm really fleshed him out well, not to mention giving cybil some nice characterization, and they did some interesting things with dahlia and kaufmann. And Lisa.. well I'm gonna be honest I never found Lisa all that interesting in sh1..so it doesn't bother me that she's the way she is in this game. I know people hate the "horny" aspect of it but to be completely fair, YOU choose to make the game that way, don't answer in a sexual manner or look at boobs or anything else and you won't have an overly sexual game, its...literally that easy. Its given as an option for the play id they want to go for what is arguably another joke ending. (You cannot tell me sleeze and sirens is meant to be a real serious ending to the game. Cmon) and you can complain about the innacuuracies if you want but its a spin off, a retelling of the original game. Its not canon, and it didn't change the original game. It just took the ideas presented there and made them more human and lest fantastical, there's some supernatural elements but it takes a backseat to the human moments. And its honestly really cool.

Overall, great game, i reccomend it if you don't mind some slight jank with the motion controls and honestly? Look up directions on where to go for the running segments and you'll have a pretty good time overall.

Silent Hill Downpour

Overall score (so far): 7.5/10 *to be noted i haven't finished actually playing it yet but I know the basic plot and some of the details so I doubt it'll change

And so for the final silent Hill Game, I have to say, i don't think it deserves NEARLY the hatred it gets, there's alot about it that i find really cool and even fun and I think its a solid entry, a little better than origins in some parts and its downsides are both unfortunate and once again, mostly Konami's fault . That said, I'm also not gonna kid and say its a good game, just that I like it alot and we should be nicer to the last silent Hill game were probably ever gonna get.

Downpour has a pretty good, original story overall, there's alot to it, alot of intricacies and intrigue to it that honestly make it a pretty sold silent Hill game. Its different enough from the others to stand out but not super far removed from its themes and messages. I like that it doesn't try and lean into the cult aspect and tries to do something else with it, it doesn't try to explain silent Hill, but just use it to torment the characters, as it should be. There's tragedy ad human feelings here and some of them aren't the most...sensitive but they are pretty reasonable reactions id say. Playing as someone who's odds are stacked against him from the beginning as he's a prisoner is a cool way to open the game, someone convicted and you must discover if he is a good person or not. Themes of revenge explored more than in sh3 which is pretty cool. The environments look pretty nice, and i like the look of the otherworld, once again being unique with its cooler color pallet, but without the ice so it really feels like its own thing. The EXPLORATION is awesome with an actual open world which I think works well, there's alot to do in town (unlike sh1 and 0 on limiting hardware and 2 which just pretends you can explore to town but you cant) there's alot for cool little stories and sidequests to do, my favorite so far being the cinema (which has a section of ACTUAL fixed cameras like old Resident evils which is smth SH has never done and its super fucking cool!) And all the sidequess help strengthen murphy as a cheacter and argue for his innocence or complexites. The weapons system is pretty cool, picking up items and attacking with whatever you might find, finding cool Easter eggs with exploration and having fun noticing things. And it does honestly have the strongest side characters outside of SM. The puzzles are pretty solid and fun to figure out with some cool mechanics and the seperate difficulties is a great thing to bring back (actually done well like sh3) I also kind of like the method of triggering the night world/rain/monsters, and silent Hill really feels likes its constantly punishing Murphy, as it should. The music might not be Akira but its still pretty damn good, and fuck yall I like the Korn song, and you CAN press start and skip it yknow. (Thx tomm hewlit)

The negtitives tho, well they are there. For one it has the worst performance of any sh game outside of pc homecoming and like...the hd collection, the framerate like to shit itself alot lmao, its not usually detrimental bc I've played re2r with similar framerates but, yeah its not great. Not to mention while the models look better than hc they don't animate well or often at all, and the game has trouble loading in the models as fast as they should. The sound mixing could use...some work too, poor murph sounds like he's eating the mic. While I find the games exploration really fun, murphy also has the issue of not running very fast so it can be a little annoying to get back to a place you want to be when you can't run that fast, not to mention the loading times. The monster design is def the worst in the series, maybe on par w SM. Which is disappointing bc there's some pretty good moments here and there, but not nearly enough to make it scary and there's so much you can do with monsters with this premise. Also, the running sections in the otherworld are better than SM ad even more engaging than the brief ones in 2 and 3, but still, I'd prefer to do puzzles or fight a boss or smth. I will also say, the endings are, iffy while the main 2 endings are really good and Anne's bad ending as well as the joke ending are great, murphys bad endings are weird and ooc for the muphy you come to know in the game (even more so than Origins) plus, idk that the writers knew all that much about prison andbprison culture, nobody in a real prison would be mad ab Murphy killing a pedo (there's some racist implications here and there too which is. Unfortunate and disappointing. I like Howard and Robbie but they are a bit tropey, esp Howard) that said Anne is a compelling albeit unlikable character and thas pretty cool to see pulled off.

Overall, while it has downsides, I don't think Downpour is worthy of all the scorn it gets, this can have problems and you can point them out without disregarding the good parts and while it is unfortunate it doesn't run better and have some extras and didn't handle some things great, I still think its worth a playthrough, esp if you go out of your way to do the sidequests.

Bonus round

Book of memories is not a game I intend to play bc I don't wanna get a vita and can't imagine I'm missing much. It doesn't look bad pwr say but I'm not interested tbh

Fuck PT. :)

[nyotasaimiri]

Guests

“Mind your head,” Eldie told her guests as they stepped through the hatch. She offered a hand to steady them, just in case. Marcy could hear something snoring nearby as she accepted the assistance.

Arjun snorted and set his coffee down on the work table. More accurately, on one of the dozen books covering the table. “You’re the only one who needs to duck.”

“Oh.” Eldie looked back and down as if only just realizing the height difference. Even Mihre only came up to her shoulder. “I suppose you are right on that. Did you raid the library, Arjun? This is quite the collection. I hope you didn’t try moving them all by yourself.”

“Looking out for my old bones, huh?” It sounded like a familiar topic. “Grabbed some muscle this time. Don’t worry about it.”

Anticipating the question, he reached behind the largest book stack and thumped something. The little raspy snores broke off with a sharp snort and Namina sat up, glowering blearily.

“Why ssmack?”

“Look sharp, our guests are here.”

“Floran is alwayss sharp,” Namina grumbled, but he smiled at the sight of Eldie, and got immediately headlocked by Mihre.

The older floran chuckled wickedly as Namina squirmed. “Ssso, used to hugging floran? Sprout owes me some stories, yes? Whoa!”

Marcy laughed as Namina stood up, Mihre dangling from his neck like a very surprised scarf. “Nyota pulled that trick with me once. Rule one of headlocking: don’t try it if they are bigger than you.”

“Shall we let them catch up, then?” Eldie asked. The offer was perfectly polite, but her green eyes glittered with surprising mischief. “Do try not to damage the furniture.”

Mihre scrambled up onto Namina’s shoulders in an impressive display of agility as he tried to shake them off. “Ah, so you have knowledge of floran greetings.”

“Much knowledge.” Arjun dove forward to rescue his coffee. “Hey, mind the books!”

“I did see you shoot him with a paint ball,” Eldie remarked. She gently shepherded Marcy toward the ladder and away from the wrestling florans, adding helpfully, “The sparring room is upstairs. You are welcome to join us later.”

Mihre managed a thumbs-up before having to reassert their grip as Namina accepted that offer for them.

Marcy laughed at the little incident as Eldie guided her down the ladder. “Does that happen often around here?”

“Well, usually it is Namina and Hadley, or sometimes Nyota,” Eldie admitted. “We don’t often have guests, you see. We do not usually stay in one place long enough for that.”

Marcy went quiet, thinking. “Is it because of the Miniknog?”

Eldie paused, considering that. “Yes and no. Not directly,” she said at last, though Marcy could tell that the question sat heavily on her. “We have managed to stay off their radar and out of space that they control. But Nyota does not want to stay still, in case we attract their attention too well and bring danger to the people we visit.”

“Fairly correct,” Nyota said. She was sitting up in bed, a comfortable shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and smiled in welcome as Marcy entered the medbay. “We have also found ourselves quite busy lately. Hello, Marcy. Oh—” Her smile warmed and softened as Marcy abandoned ceremony to wrap her arms around her friend. “I suppose I should open with ‘it’s not as bad as it looks’.”

“I know. You’re tough.” Marcy’s voice was muffled again, and the so-familiar, so-missed feeling of Nyota’s strong arms around her brought hot tears to her eyes. “Just humor me. I needed this.”

Nyota pulled her close. “I did too.” She rubbed Marcy’s back a little, then reached up to bounce a curl that had escaped Marcy’s hair-tie despite Mihre’s best efforts. “You dressed up for me. That’s new.”

“A girl’s got to have fun sometimes, right?” Marcy quipped to cover her vague embarrassment. Mihre was probably right after all, she shouldn’t have bothered looking fancy for this. She felt silly now.

Nyota let go and sat back to get a better look at her. “You look nice.”

Marcy felt a lot less silly now. Or a lot more, it was hard to tell. She swatted Nyota’s arm lightly. “Why are you like this? You’re teasing me.”

Nyota laughed. “Perhaps. But I do mean it. Have fun, and don’t forget to stretch your legs every now and then.”

“If only that would make me taller,” Marcy said, earning another laugh. One of their oldest shared jokes, and it felt so perfect now, just sitting and trading words with her old friend. But it wasn’t quite perfect; Nyota’s hands were cold. Marcy pulled a chair over and sat beside her, pressing the apex’s huge hand between her small hands in an effort to warm it.

Nyota hummed softly and curled her fingers.

Marcy paused. “Am I being rough?”

“No.” Her hand stayed curled, but Marcy could feel her relax slowly, all of the tension fading out of her. “That feels nice.”

[kiliinstinct]

Hand of Sorrow - Reverse Bang Event

This is my Third and Final submission for the @ftguildevents Reverse Bang! (You can find the first two over on @rougearts ).  This story was written for the Erzajane art piece done by @pan-princess-levy  .  I’ve never written for Erzajane before, but this lovely piece of art pushed all my buttons for a story. (I’ve always been a sucker for fantasy au’s after all!)  You can find the event art here!:  https://pan-princess-levy.tumblr.com/post/629906397135601664/and-here-is-the-second-one-not-going-to-lie

---

‘Your life is not your own. 

To defend, to battle, to guard: that is your purpose. 

Born without a name; your identity is what we make it. 

And by the oath you swore,

You will defend your charge until death takes you. 

Above all else…

Duty comes first..’

“No more excuses, Oracle.”  Mirajane flinched at the elder’s reproachful glare. His demand sliced through months of planning and silent hopes and a foul taste filled Mirajane’s mouth. She knew convincing the elder’s against tradition would be near impossible, but the slim chance she would succeed had filled her with determination to meet the day. 

Now - she held back a grimace- Mirajane wished she’d never left her chambers that morning.  With brows furrowed, she tried again, “Do the words of your oracle carry so little weight? I already proven that my lack of a spouse will cause no damage to the valley. Is my foresight not enough?”

The hidden valley held no true name, but was full of vast riches and wild forests. The small village housed within had kept a delicate balance between nature and humanity for centuries with rituals and traditions meant to curry favor with the Gods. Marriage once of age, was one such tradition for all men and women alike. In the past, it was an eventuality that hadn’t bothered Mirajane to consider, but presently the mere thought chipped away at her heart. 

She wasn’t ready. No, unwilling. Despite her gifts of prophecy and supposed connection with the unknown forces of the world, the elders refused to bend. One deserving of reverence and respect. Mirajane had grown through life accustomed to the people of her realm fearing and loving her simultaneously and yet somehow, she couldn’t break free of this one ritual. The answering grumble among the men she argued with was proof enough. Though her insinuation they lacked respect for her title caused an uncomfortable squirm among the men, it did little to change their minds. The eldest of the counsel, a tall, spindly man with a beard as long as he was tall, gazed at her in the way a parent does when scolding their child. 

“You should know better, White Oracle.” He admonished her, using her full title. “Your words and insights are always taken seriously, but it does not exempt you from the law. Your life defender and companion will be chosen tomorrow, whether you like it or not. I suggest you check in with your suitors to better make your choice. Arguing with us is only a waste of time.”

“.... I see.” Mirajane looked to her feet, teeth gnawing against her lip while her pale fingers trembled against the silk of her dress. It took every ounce of willpower to keep her ire contained. I don’t want any of them. She thought, eyes clenched shut as the sting of tears burned them.  I want who I already have!

That. Was a dangerous thought. One she could never say out loud. Not without intense punishment towards herself and the very woman that flashed through her mind. No, no, she couldn’t dare say that. She couldn’t risk endangering either of them with the truth. 

 She steeled herself, lifting her gaze to face the eleven elders.  “I see your point, Gran Doma. This clearly was a waste of my time.”  She said coolly and turned toward the exit. A rising murmur followed, but The White Oracle, Mirajane, saw no reason to grace them with a respectful parting. 

If she was to be frustrated, then they could handle a little disrespect. She had done everything she could, from reading tea leaves to allowing a magic seer to bring her prophetic dreams to the minds of all members, proving her claims. An oracle was tied to Nature, they did not need marriage to continue that careful balance held between them and the Gods for all these years.  Her dreams were always accurate, never wrong. Previous white oracles could only dream to boast of such accuracy, and yet the old men were so bound by tradition, that all amount of proof meant nothing to do to them. Anger simmered just beneath her skin. And when the eyes and ears of the elders could no longer witness any misconduct, she let out a frustrated scream that echoed off the walls.

“If I wasn’t already here,” A voice came from the side, hidden behind one of the many marble pillars that circled the temple, “that scream would have convinced me you were being attacked.”

Mirajane clamped her mouth shut, heat fanning across her face in an instant. Looking towards the column, she sighed. “If you weren’t already here,” She started, a tired smile slowly curling her lips once her surprise wore off, “you’d be slacking on the job.”

Huffing, the owner of the voice stepped out. She stood decked in armor, standing tall as she frowned at Mirajane. The stern expression didn’t meet her eyes, however, and Mirajane caught the amusement with ease. Though Erza did her best to appear aloof, her careful facade held rare cracks that were unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Mirajane was more than trained.  For years, Erza had served as Mirajane’s silent protector, her scarlet hair gleaming from the shadows the only hint of her presence, seconds before she would disappear from sight.

It was law and tradition for an oracle to be given a guard since birth. One who would stay by their side until coming of age: a silent protector from the shadows. Mirajane reveled at the knowledge she and Erza had broken that unspoken rule for most of her adolescent years.  After all, it was near impossible to stay hidden from an Oracle’s sight. 

“Tch, are you saying you doubt my conviction?” Erza asked, gripping the pommel of her sword from habit. Her gaze turned icy, but her voice cracked from silent laughter. “As much as I can afford taking breaks, you know I would never slack in my duty. Don’t insult me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mirajane simpered, giggling behind her hand as she grinned devilishly. The sight of her secret friend helped ease her frustrations, though they were still close to the inner chambers. Nodding towards the hallway, Erza fell into step beside her from a distance and began a hasty trek towards Mirajane’s chambers. 

The further from the Elder’s rooms, the better. They couldn’t risk Erza being seen. 

“So,” Mirajane began again as their steps echoed in sync of the other, “Can you afford to slack off because I’m not in danger or,” And her eyes gleamed with a scintillating mischief as she added quietly, “is it because it would be foolish of anyone to assume they can get the drop on me?”

Erza snorted, “You’re the oracle. Figure it out yourself.”

“That’s no fun,” Mirajane pouted, disappointed at Erza’s obvious refusal to take the bait, “I wanted to hear you compliment me.”

“Don’t fish for it then.” 

“So rude! I should have you sent away.”

This broke Erza’s fast clip, stumbling over her own feet as she looked incredulously towards her charge. “Y-you would rat me out for not paying you false endearments?!” She had to resist slapping Erza’s shoulder as her reaction offended Mirajane. “After all these years, you’d think that low of me? You really are rude. I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day!”

This mollified Erza’s concern as sheepish guilt filtered across her face. “Sorry. I didn’t think things through.” “Hmph.” Mirajane gave no further reply, following through with her threat. Or, at least, she attempted it. 

As silence fell between them, the trek from the counsel chambers to Mirajane’s private quarters felt as if it took longer to reach. Guards made the rounds from room to room, inspected the gardens full of large trees, thick vines and giant blossoms. Each new approach sent Erza slipping back to the shadows, carefully unseen. It was a special skill that few could learn. They were destined to protect Oracles and seers like silent shadows. To be caught conversing with their charge, was to be stripped of their title and thrown out of the valley: a dishonor none wanted to face. Though she had teased it, Mirajane never considered revealing Erza’s misdeeds to the counsel or anyone else. She could never do that to the woman that became her closest confidant. 

It was her own fault that Erza was pulled from the shadows, after all. To give her away would be unfair. Admittedly, Mirajane hadn’t considered the repercussions of calling Erza out in the darkness of night, begging for a friendly face to speak with her, but she never regretted the choice either.  These thoughts and memories swirled in her mind and Mirajane cast her gaze back to Erza when she returned from her hidden vigil once again to open the first set of doors to Mirajane’s chamber.  Trickling water became their background noise as the room opened to a circular outcropping, surrounded by fountains. Her room was opulent, full of white marble, budding moonflowers and a skylight over her cushioned bed.  She stopped at the entrance, neither stepping in or staying out of it.

This was her life and by tomorrow evening, she would share it with another. 

“... are you all right?” Erza’s query echoed in Mirajane’s ears, but she didn’t respond, staring into the large space with an ever growing sickness in the pit of her stomach. 

A new guardian… who would also become her life partner… someone to share her bed and the rest of her life. Mirajane’s gaze turned to Erza and her resolve to ‘not speak’ crumbled. 

“They wouldn’t listen.” She said hollowly, voice cracking as her eyes stung with tears. “After giving up my life to serve as the Oracle, they didn’t care at all what I had to say. It… it didn’t matter… none of it did.”

She didn’t want to share her life with the group of suitors currently basking in the gardens and enjoying the comforts of the temple. She didn’t know them. They were strangers. The only one who knew her, understood her and filled her lonely room with banter and smiles was…

How could I want anyone else… when I have Erza?

Mirajane’s mind and body were in turmoil. She stood frozen in the doorway and didn’t acknowledge when Erza pulled her into the room, hands rough and calloused, but gentle with their hold. She moved quickly to shut the doors, returning to Mirajane’s side to ease her into a chair, expression frozen. What was she thinking? Did she feel the same impending sickness that Mirajane did? These were questions she feared to ask, and refused to use her gifts to learn them. That would involve delving into Erza’s heart. A severe breach in trust and privacy at that. “There are a few upsides to the change.” Erza said quietly, kneeling down to look into Mirajane’s eyes. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and shook her head causing a curtain of silver hair to fall over her face. 

Mirajane’s heart stuttered when Erza brushed the hair from her face, gaze holding fast with her own. 

“One,” She continued, not waiting for Mirajane to prompt her, “The counsel will stop pressuring you to choose a lover.” Her fingers paused before she continued playing with the tendrils of hair that unruly stayed out of place. “Two…,” she pulled her hand away, “Your brother and sister will finally be allowed to live with you. You’ll have your family back.”

Mirajane’s heart clenched, smiling despite the tug-o-war she was suffering. The mere thought that her siblings could be with her again, separated after she’d become the White Oracle, was enough to ease the weight off her shoulders, but she wasn’t an Oracle for nothing and she felt an impending darkness with what came next. “And?” She urged Erza to continue, though she felt the third positive would not trump the second, “What’s the final one?”

“Third,” Erza said, voice growing cold as her demeanor turned to stone, “you won’t have me stalking your shadows anymore.”

Mirajane hated being right. 

Rocks fell into the pit of her stomach, weighing Mirajane down by the second. She felt as if she’d been punched and all the air in her lungs refused to return as she exhaled sharply. Erza’s words rang true, but the third was a hollow truth. A consequence more than anything. Mirajane’s eyes clouded, became blurry and she wondered what would happen if she allowed the soft mask she carefully constructed to fall from her face. Erza’s reaction was instant, eyes widening at the sight of Mirajane’s tear-filled ones. Sputtering, she stepped closer and reached to grasp Mirajane’s shoulder.  Her hand wavered inches away, hesitating to follow through. “What’s wrong?”

Oh, Erza - Mirajane sighed,- how you missed the point entirely. This was not the positive outlook she was looking for. “Is that what you really think?” She asked, tone miniscule compared to her Guard’s. “That I would be happy with you gone?”

“Well, I- “ Erza managed to look abashed, swallowing thickly while her gaze turned towards the outdoors, “You never asked for a protector in the shadows.” “No,” Mirajane agreed, closing the gap between them to take Erza’s hand between her own. The delicate touch made the other slightly flinch, but she held fast. “I didn’t ask for it. Which is why I began talking to you instead.”

Her guard looked conflicted. Stuck between a small smile and stern glare. Her fingers twitched over Mirajane’s, tempted to return the hold, but stayed still. “I shouldn’t have responded. If I’m ever caught, it will ruin the reputation of my order. Choosing your intended will protect us both from that consequence.” “Yes, of course…” Mirajane bit her lip, a multitude of feelings and actions boiled under her skin. She struggled with which to act on. Grasp tightening on Erza’s, she sighed and looked to the floor, mustering up her courage. “But I don’t think just any intended could replace you.”

Her pounded in her ears, heat flared over her face and she wondered if her words crossed the line. If Erza understood the hidden meaning and would react negatively. The silence between them buzzed louder than true sound and their entwined fingers twitched and fell away. Mirajane looked up, horror filling her as Erza stepped away. .

Erza’s face was red. Too red. As if she’d forgotten to breathe, but her eyes cast over with hidden emotion and her fingers clenched to small fists. A brief fluttering of hope settled in Mirajane’s heart. Had she got the message? Did she understand now? “Mira,” The shortened name rolled from Erza’s lips with ease, but her gaze flickered in all directions, refusing to lock on her, “This isn’t…. I’m not supposed to-”

Words stopped. Erza breathed deep and Mirajane’s hope fizzled to a mere ember. She knew that reaction. It was Erza’s way of calming herself. Bracing herself to make a decision that she felt was correct, even if it ultimately wasn’t what others wanted to hear. “Don’t get attached.” She said, stepping back to the door. “I told you that when we first spoke. I’m temporary, Mira, and you WILL replace me. That’s how it must be.” “- Erza, wait,” Mirajane interjected, tried to advance before the other could follow through with her decision, but Erza was faster. Exiting swiftly, she turned her back and spoke with a cold finality. “Enjoy your evening, White Oracle,” Erza said, her voice echoing as the door shut behind her, “tomorrow will be a happier time. I promise.”

The shut door’s echo beat in time with Mirajane’s heart and she answered. Her answer was a choked sob.

For being gifted with the ability to see into the future, Mirajane couldn’t handle the difficulty that was explaining her emotions to a Knight whose sole purpose was to stay true to duty.  Why can’t I foresee into my own future? It was a thought she had wondered many times before, but the wish increased with every passing day. Now, there was no time left to find the answer. 

That’s it then, she realized, sinking to the floor. Misery soaked through her as fast as her whirling emotions struck through her in a roaring storm. Erza has made her peace and we’ll never see each other again.

Unseen, standing feet away from the doors, Erza grit her teeth, fists clenched by her side as she heard the soft cries in her charge’s room. It was painful, doing what was best for the other. What was best for all parties involved. There was no question towards Mirajane’s intentions by the end of their conversation. Erza was no fool.  Their years of secret talks in the dark, emotional bonding and care, did not leave her an oblivious woman. “I’m sorry.” She muttered, knowing Mirajane would never hear it. It’s for the best I don’t give you hope for something that’s not guaranteed.” She’d considered her options for weeks, but this was her fate. This was law. Who was she to go against it? Flinching as another sob echoed through the door, Erza bit into her lip enough to bruise it.  Every ounce of willpower was pulled from the depths of her resolve to keep her from rushing back in. 

“To protect your future, I must damage your heart,” She muttered, regret oozing from every word as she forced herself to escape through the halls, “Please forgive me for my inability to save you from this pain.”

Words spoken to unhearing walls: empty. What point did they serve? Nothing. And it sickened Erza to realize she spoke more to ease her own mind than to truly apologize. Her armored fist slammed against the wall and she cursed. “I’m pathetic! What good are my words when they change nothing?!”

Something would happen Something would have to give.  And tomorrow would either be the start or the end of whatever bond lie between Oracle and Shadowed Knight. What could Erza do? What could either of them do? She continued on through the shadows of the marbled halls, certain Mirajane’s cries would haunt her sleep. 

Morning came too quick.

Mirajane refused to leave her chambers that evening. Through the night her rest was full of fitful dreams and racing thoughts. Her gift of foresight showed her many things.  Her family was happy and smiling. The elders pleased as they passed through the village with cheers from every onlooker. A good harvest and mild winter. Many things flashed through her mind in rapid succession until she thought her soul would burst. 

She didn’t want to rise with the sun. The tap on her door was an alarm of dread and she burrowed into her blankets, eyes swollen from tears and a pounding head. A childish hope that staying beneath the covers would protect her from time advancing clung to her, but she knew the maids would burst through to dress and clean her anyway. There was nothing that could stop the day from coming. 

In silence, Mirajane allowed them to lead her to the springs for her morning meditation. She followed listlessly to the baths, and tasted nothing during breakfast. Her voice carried no emotion when she picked out her clothes for her choice of intended protector. They all looked nice, but why should she care for intricate details when her choices of suitor meant nothing?

“My Lady, Oracle,” One of the newer maids questioned her as they left her wing to enter the great hall, “have we displeased you? You’re awfully quiet.”

Guild swelled in her throat like bile. “N-no. Don’t worry yourself. You’ve done nothing wrong.” It was the first time Mirajane forced a smile since she woke, hoping to ease her caretaker’s concerns.  Her emotions were no fault to the ladies in waiting and she would not stand for them feeling inadequate in any way. The girl sighed, relieved, but leaned close to whisper so only Mirajane could hear it, “Thank you, M’Lady, but I still feel as if something has upset you. If there’s anything we can do to help, let us know at any time.”

A bit of warmth filled her chest as she tapped the other’s shoulder, “You’re too kind. I’ll keep that in mind.”

For a brief moment, she felt like her old self again, but as she stepped into the Great Hall, those fleeting emotions melted and her feet felt weighed down by lead.  The elders and her suitors beat her to the halls and all eyes looked upon her as she entered. Her silken threads gleamed in sunbeams that shone from the upper skylights and she walked with a timid grace that bellied her true feelings. I don’t want this. Her feet tapped down the steps to the hall, and her eyes swept over the faces of her chosen suitors. I don’t want them. 

Reaching the center of the hall, she stopped her approach. Mirajane’s emotions were masked behind calm expression and spoke of wisdom gifted by a higher power and a kindness that could ease the most troubled of minds. Through the years she perfected this appearance and it would be of great use to her now. 

“Good Morning, Oracle,” Gran Doma greeted, followed by the others in practiced unison.  He swept his arm towards the men before her, long sleeves swinging from the exaggerated movement. He was all pomp. Nothing more than traditional and set in his ways. Mirajane forced her smile to stay.

“On this day, we celebrate you coming of age. No longer shall the Whie Oracle of the Gods be locked within the confines of these halls. Now, you are free to visit those you serve and confer with the realm, with your new Chosen by your side.”

Another grand sweep of his overly large sleeves to the men before her and Mirajane resisted rolling her eyes. These were words spoken from memory, said to Oracle before Oracle. No matter the year, the words stayed the same. She could recite them from memory without the use of her gifts. The Elders who stood behind Gran Doma looked on in quiet apathy and her suitors….

It was difficult not to choke. Some looked upon her with hopes of being chosen. Being the intended for the Oracle was a high honor that many would fight to have, but others…  She felt a sad empathy for them. They matched her own mask, hiding their true emotions behind their need to follow duty. Did they have others they loved, as she did? Or were they forced to show interest? If she chose to focus, Mirajane could have learned much from them, but she didn’t pry. 

The minds of the village were private and sneaking a glimpse inside for her own curiosity would not make up for what was soon to happen. She swallowed, tuning in to the end of Doma’s speech and the dread clutched her lungs until breathing became difficult. 

She wanted to scream. 

“Please regard these men, carefully, Oracle,” Elder Yajima chimed in, earning a stern gaze from Doma as his speech ended, “Each one has their own strengths and all are more than capable of defending you should the need arise. There’s no need to be hasty.”

No need to be hasty, and yet she had to choose today. The irony was not lost on her. A few snorts in the line of men revealed she was not the only one to catch this. That revelation eased her troubled heart, if by a little.  It was hard to choose, hard to willingly look at them. Many blended into the scenery, while others partially stood out. Tall and broad shouldered, small but eyes blazing and another full of passive indifference with dark eyes. She felt something from them. Camaraderie, perhaps, but little else. Mirajane tried to focus, considering each man before her. They were more than just men chosen to serve her. More than just the shackles that would lock away her heart. They were people, just like her, forced into duty, just as she was. 

That thought, alone, made it easier to reach out for a blade one of the guards held before her. A traditional sword gifted to an Oracle’s chosen and she’d have to bequeath it sooner rather than later. It was heavy. Too heavy. As if the very steel knew of her misgivings. “For the one who will have my heart,” She recited, emotions failing to come through the words she had practiced for months, “I give this sword to-...”

To… who? All she had to do was approach her chosen with blade held for him to take, but her feet refused to move. 

Silence filled the spaces between them and Gran Doma cleared his throat. “To whom, Oracle?” His words carried pressure. Mirajane grit her teeth, biting back a sharp, angry reply.  What happened to no haste?

Panic rose, causing Mirajane’s eyes to wildly fall upon her choices, casting over them in hopes to settle over one to choose. Anything to make it end, to make the stares and the pressure go away. Anything to move on and away from the realization her choice would put her that much farther away from the woman she wanted above all overs. “I- I give this sword to-” Erza’s voice rang from the stairs, “Me.”

Pandemonium broke and many voices spoke at once. Gran Doma sputtered and the Elder’s rose from their chairs, bewildered. The men looked between each other, confused while Mirajane’s despair vanished to hope and wonder.  She spun to look behind her, fearing she had misheard, but viewing the bright red of Erza’s hair and determined set of her jaw, brought immediate relief. Mirajane beamed through the salty sting of tears. She breathed Erza’s name like a prayer and clutched the blade to her chest. Erza’s steps echoed with each stomp, and her gaze never left Mirajane’s. “I swore today would be a good one,” She explained, “but I realized stepping aside would break that vow. Above my own oath and duty, I couldn’t allow that.”

“Does that mean,” Mirajane’s voice filled with awe, her words dying in her throat before she could finish her sentence. 

Gran Doma chose then to break from his stupor, sputtering as he stopped Erza from answering Mirajane’s unfinished question. “You! You’re just a Shadow Guardian, what right do you have to be here? The Oracle shouldn’t even know of your existence!”

Mirajane’s mouth clamped shut. The implications were clear. Speak and give away Erza’s transgressions or stay silent, feigning ignorance? Apprehension covered her relief and threatened to drown what hope she regained. Erza paused, considered the Elders with disdain and began her trek again. Each step brought her closer to Mirajane, but her eyes, now narrowed, looking beyond Mirajane and towards the Elders who grumbled in offense. “Whether she knows of it or not is irrelevant.” Erza stated, daring them to stop her advancement. “I have watched and guarded the White Oracle for years. I have shed blood from her pursuers, from thieves in the night. I have kept watched and observed her more than anyone can claim and with this being my final day as her secret protector, I’ve come to offer myself as more.”

Kneeling paces away from Mirajane, Erza’s voice rang out with the strength she carried behind every swing. “Oh, White Oracle, as unworthy as I am, I am here to offer up my services, not as your guardian from the shadows, but as your chosen… If.. If you will have me.”

Her words faltered in the end, giving way to the obvious anxiety that plagued her thoughts as her cheeks and ears grew red. It endeared Mirajane to her more, seeing Erza breaking through her range of comfort to make a stand. 

“This is unheard of!” Gran Doma shouted, “You weren’t among the suitors picked for our oracle. You have no ground to stand on here!”

“And yet,” Yajima, echoed by a few others, interrupted, “I find the idea intriguing.”

“Excuse me?!?”

“Well, yes. What reason is there, really, to say a Shadow Guard cannot become the Chosen of an Oracle?”

The Grand Elder grew red in the face, his anger and outrage boiling through him. “It breaks tradition. The order would never allow her to-”

“You’re right.” Erza said, voice cold. “They would not. Which is why I’ve abandoned my title and my vows. They can no longer hold me.”

His shock left him gaping like a fish, but before he could argue, another voice interrupted, coming from one of the very men waiting for her hand. The tallest of the bunch, grumbled his agitation and turned to face the elders. “I see no issue with this,” He said, “why would a man as great as myself want to be paired with a woman who cares nothing for me anyway? Perhaps you’re too strung up in tradition to accept it, but if this is what the Oracle chooses, then who are you to disagree?”

A low murmur of agreement followed the line of supposed suitors and tears dripped from Mirajane’s eyes. They agreed! Others, against the elders, felt the same as her!  Oh she could have sang! Instead, she smiled warmly and stepped towards Erza. Her voice no longer wavered or masked the emotions she held inside her. “No longer will the White Oracle be held by tradition,” Her voice rang out clear, echoing through the hall as if powered by the spirits who blessed her. “From now on, they will be free to choose whoever they see fit for themselves.  My dearest, Erza, you’ve given me more than I could have ever hoped for and for that…”

She held the sword out towards the Knight at her feet, “I gift this sword to you. For the one who has my heart. Will you accept?”

Through the outcry of rage behind them, Mirajane looked to Erza and Erza looked to Mirajane. No longer did duty and misunderstanding come between them. There was only a connection far deeper than any oath could overcome. Erza reached for the sword, fingers grasping the hilt of Mirajane’s. Stepping swiftly towards her, their lips met in a meeting Mirajane had dreamed of for years. Between them, their hopes and secret dreams came to light, flashing through Mirajane’s eyes before she could stop them. Tears streamed down her face as they opened themselves to the other and when they broke apart, it was only to breathe and rest their foreheads against the other. Erza’s smile was as bright as the sun as she gazed warmly at Mirajane. Squeezing their fingers together, she sealed the deal that would change their village for years to come. “I accept.”

[remywrites5]

“You’re a slacker and I’m a straight A student and we were paired together for a group project and I just want you to get out of the way and let me do everything but you insist on helping for some odd reason ” AU with wolfstar please

           Remus froze in horror as he reached into the bowl of names to pick his partner for their history project. He looked out at the sea of his classmates and prayed for someone good. He knew no one in the room would really mind being his partner, because Remus was studious and took his academic seriously, so being his partner for a project basically guaranteed a good grade.

           His hand wrapped around a piece of paper and he lifted his up. “Sirius Black,” he said as evenly as he could while his heart sank. Sirius Black was a notorious trouble maker who barely did any school work and only got decent grades because he was smart and was good at taking tests. Most days he didn’t even bother handing in his homework and he spent most of class lounging back with his feet on the desk and his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

           Remus risked a glance over at Sirius and he found Sirius beaming at him. It was odd to see Sirius look so excited about anything school related. The only time Black got excited about anything was the stupid pranks he liked to pull with his friend James. At least Remus hadn’t ended up with Potter as his partner. James was even worse than Sirius but it seemed that misfortune had landed on Lily Evans.

           Taking his seat again, Remus began jotting down ideas for what point in history they should do. He immediately dismissed World War Two as he figured most people would be drawn to that era. He didn’t want to pick anything too obscure, knowing he’d be doing everything himself. There was no point in making things harder when it came time to research.

           Remus had been so busy with his list that he must have missed the teacher telling them to meet up with their partners. He was startled when Sirius Black dropped his books onto Remus’ desk and sat backwards in the chair in front of Remus to face him.

           “Hi there!” Sirius said, running his fingers through his shoulder length hair. “How’s it going, Lupin?”

           Remus jotted down a few more ideas before he forgot them and then glanced up at Sirius. “I’m fine, you?”

           “I’m fantastic,” Sirius said, leaning in towards Remus as if they were sharing a secret. “I was hoping I’d be paired with a cute boy for this.”

           Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius Black was a shameless flirt, everyone knew that. “I was thinking maybe we could do the Victorian era,” Remus told him, chewing on the end of his pen.

           “I was thinking ancient Rome,” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows. “You know with all those orgies and stuff.”

           Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes once more. “We’re not presenting on orgies to the class.”

           Sirius grinned, putting his arm on the back of the chair and resting his chin in his hand. “You want to do the Victorian era where seeing someone’s ankle was considered scandalous.”

           Remus quirked an eyebrow at him in response. “You do know Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for sodomy during this era, right?” he said, making Sirius’ eyes go wide. Probably from the use of the word sodomy. “And Lord Byron was off fucking pretty much anything that would move.”

           Sirius hummed softly. “I guess that could be cool.”

           Remus sighed. “So glad you approve,” he said with a hint of annoyance. He was going to have to do the whole project himself anyway. He didn’t really need Sirius’ input anyway.

           “Wanna meet in the library after school?” Sirius asked, gathering up his stuff as the teacher announced the end of class.

           “Why?” Remus asked, frowning as Sirius stood up.

           Sirius laughed. “To work on the project?”

           “Oh, um, sure.”

           “Perfect!” Sirius said, beaming at him. Remus gave him a tentative smile in return. He was surprised to see Sirius so enthusiastic about a school project. “’I’ll see you there!”

           “See you.”

                                                           ***

           Remus got a few books about the Victorian Era and spread them out over the table he’d picked at the back of the library. He thought maybe Sirius would bail on their plans to meet up, which honestly suited Remus just fine. He’d get along better without having Sirius interrupting him. He chewed on his pen cap as he jotted down some notes.

           “Hey Remus!” Sirius said, sliding in the chair beside him. “Sorry I’m late. Peter got his hand stuck in a peanut butter jar…again. I swear it’s like being friends with Winnie the Pooh.” Sirius laughed and slung his arm over Remus’ shoulders with a familiarity that just did not exist between them. Remus wondered if it would be rude to shake Sirius off him.

           Remus cleared his throat and decided to change the subject back to school. He didn’t want to get to know Sirius Black. He didn’t want that kind of trouble in his life. Sure, Sirius was gorgeous, vivacious and intriguing, but he also had a tendency to get bored of people easily. It seemed like every month there were rumors of Sirius with another bloke. Whether they were true or not was another matter and Remus didn’t know Sirius well enough to be sure. At one point Remus had cared a great deal about the goings-on of Sirius Black but he’d more or less gotten over his stupid crush.

           “So I was thinking we could talk about the evolution of the English novel starting and it’s reflection of society at the time,” Remus said, writing down the names of a few authors he wanted to mention.

           “Sounds very swotty,” Sirius teased, reading the list over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m not going to have to read all those books, am I?”

           “No,” Remus said, shaking his head. “I’ve read most of the ones I want to touch on. Dickens, Conan Doyle, Austen, Bronte, Wilde.”

           “I have read Hound of the Baskerville,” Sirius offered, glancing at the list again. “I’ve seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice. Does that count for anything?”

           Remus chuckled despite himself. “It’s more accurate to the book than the Kiera Knightly one.”

           “I mostly just watched it because Colin Firth is hot,” Sirius said with a shrug. “And I know about a Christmas Carol, even though I’ve never read it.”

           “Let me guess, the Muppet version?” Remus quipped, turning his head to look at Sirius and noticing just how close their bodies were. Their breath was actually mingling together.

           Sirius grinned. “It’s still the same story.”

           “I knew it!” Remus laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “What am I going to do with you?”

           “I don’t know…” Sirius said softly, bringing his other hand up and brushing his fingers over Remus’ cheek. “What are you going to do with me?”

           Remus felt his cheeks go red and he quickly turned away back to the safety of his books. “I’m thinking maybe we should talk about the poverty of the time and the classism at work in British society. Maybe talk about how a lot of novels had protagonists trying to improve their social standing – Great Expectations, Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, Oliver Twist.”

           Sirius listened to Remus ramble with a bemused smirk on his face. When Remus glanced back over he noticed Sirius was staring at him intently. It made Remus’ stomach clench uneasily.

           “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

           Remus’ jaw dropped. “I don’t see how that’s relevant – “

           “Is that a no?”

           Remus flipped the page of his notebook just for something to do to continue ignoring Sirius’ question. “It’s none of your business,” he finally responded after Sirius didn’t let it go.

           “I could make it my business,” Sirius said, licking his lips and smiling. “Why don’t you give me your number?”

           “Why?”

           “Because I want it.”

           Remus scowled at him. “Sirius, I’m not interested –“

           “Bollocks.”

           Remus’ frown deepened. “Not everyone is interested in you, Black. Y-you’re annoying and selfish and reckless.”

           “Flatterer,” Sirius said, his grin showing that he didn’t really believe Remus. “Come on, I’m not that bad, Lupin. I’ve got some good qualities too.”

           Remus huffed out a breath. “I don’t know you well enough to say if that’s true or not,” he informed his project partner. “We’ve never exactly spent any significant amount of time together.”

           “Let’s change that then, hm?” Sirius said, grabbing Remus’ notebook and scribbling down his number. “Text me tonight and we’ll pick a time this weekend to work on the project. I’ll come over to yours because my place is a nightmare.”

           “What?” Remus asked, blinking in utter confusion at Sirius. He wasn’t sure but he thought Sirius Black had just invited himself over to Remus’ house on the weekend.

           “I’ve got to get going but don’t do the whole project without me, okay?” Sirius said, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I promise I’m not completely useless.”

           Remus could do nothing but stare up at Sirius with a puzzled expression on his face. Sirius smiled at him and then went bounding out of the library. Remus looked down at this notebook and the number scrawled over the middle of the page. Remus tore the page out of his notebook since it was ruined anyway. He considered throwing it into the rubbish bin but shoved it into his pocket instead. He thought about ignoring Sirius’ request and just continuing on by himself. Instead he took the books up to the front desk and checked them out so that he could continue his research over the weekend. Even if Sirius didn’t show up to help him, Remus would be prepared to finish the project on his own.

                                                           ***

           Against his better judgment Remus texted Sirius later that night. He had talked it over with his mum during dinner and she had agreed to let Sirius come over on Saturday. She had been a bit surprised that Remus had asked to have a friend over. The only friend he’d ever had over before was Lily and they were such good friends that Remus didn’t really have to ask if Lily could come over anymore, she was always welcome at the Lupin house.

           You can come over tomorrow if you want.

           You texted me!

           Well yeah. You gave me your number.

           What time should I come over?

           Around lunchtime? My mum said she’d make us something if you want to eat here before we get started.

           I can eat anything I want?

           I mean as long as we have it.

           Can I eat you?

           Shut up. I’ll see you at lunchtime.

                                                           ***

           Sirius arrived at Remus’ a little before noon and he seemed energetic, practically bouncing off the walls. He ate his lunch with gusto, munching on the ham and cheese sandwiches Remus’ mum had made. Sirius had kept the conversation going with Remus’ mum and Remus just sat there eating his food, kind of in a daze. He hadn’t expected Sirius to put so much effort in to talking with his mum. Sirius was alarmingly charming and it seemed like he was attempting to make a good impression. Remus had no idea why.

           “Uh, Sirius and I are going to my room to work on the project,” Remus said, grabbing Sirius by the arm and hauling him up out of his seat. He practically dragged Sirius down the hallway to his room and shut the door.

           “Anxious to get me alone, huh?” Sirius asked, biting his bottom lip.

           “What are you doing?” Remus asked, searching Sirius’ face for some kind of hint that he was lying or being a prat. Instead Sirius just smiled at him.

           “I don’t know what you mean,” Sirius responded with a shrug. “I was just being polite. Am I not allowed to be polite to your mum who made me lunch?”

           Remus huffed, the air puffing out his cheeks for a moment and then causing the curls on his forehead to move when he released it. “You never put it effort for anything.”

           “That’s not true,” Sirius said softly, reaching out and playing with one of Remus’ curls.

           Remus worked his jaw for a moment. “This isn’t – you don’t –“

           “I don’t?” Sirius challenged, twisting his hand into the front of Remus’ jumper and tugging him forward slightly. “How do you know?”

           Remus stared at Sirius for a moment and then shook his head. “Why are you trying so hard, Sirius?”

           Sirius grinned. “Because you’re making things difficult for me.”

           “And if I stopped?” Remus asked, crowding in closer to Sirius.

           “Then things would be remarkably easier.”

           “You’d get bored of me,” Remus said, glancing down for a moment at Sirius’ mouth and how very, very close it was. “Probably quicker than all the others – “

           “Ugh,” Sirius groaned, dropping his head back against the door. “Is that why? Remus, come on. I thought you of all people would be above listening to that gossip.”

           Remus frowned. “Lily told me she saw you snogging Evan Rosier.”

           “Yeah, well, we all make mistakes,” Sirius grumbled unhappily. “I dated Evan for a month and when I dumped him the stupid prick started making shit up about me. He has been for months just to get back at me. I guess I really am unforgettable.”

           Remus placed his hands gently at Sirius’ waist, slipping his fingers under Sirius’ t-shirt to touch his skin. It was warm and soft and Sirius made a cute little gasping noise at the contact. “So I’m not just your latest conquest then?”

           Sirius shook his head emphatically. “I fancy you,” he said, pressing his nose against Remus’ jawline in a gentle, sliding it up towards his ear before playfully biting the lobe. “I have for a while now but you don’t exactly make it easy to get to know you.”

           Remus smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Sirius’ temple. “I suppose I don’t,” he agreed quietly, shifting his hand to splay against the small of Sirius’ back. “I’ll let you close, if you want.”

           “I want,” Sirius breathed out. “Fuck Remus, kiss me.”

           Remus turned his head and captured Sirius’ lips, pressing Sirius back against the wall. Sirius’ mouth dropped open and Remus took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Sirius moaned and carded his fingers through Remus’ curls until his hand was fisted in Remus’ hair at the back of his head.  

           Remus broke the kiss after a few life-altering moments and pressed his forehead against Sirius’. “Sirius…”

           “Does this mean you’ll stop making things so bloody difficult for me then?” Sirius asked, his kiss-swollen lips twitching into a smirk.

           “Absolutely not,” Remus said, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Sirius’ mouth. It would do Sirius good to keep having to put in a little effort. “Still interested?”

           “Fuck yes,” Sirius said, pulling Remus into another kiss. “If we get a good grade on the project will you be my boyfriend?”

           “We’re guaranteed to get a good grade,” Remus informed him, nipping playfully at Sirius’ lower lip. “I wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

           “Well then?” Sirius asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at Remus.

           “Yes,” Remus agreed to their proposed deal, sealing it with a kiss. Even though they were going to get a good grade on it, Remus knew Sirius would continue to work extra hard on it for Remus. Renowned trouble maker Sirius Black was going to put in effort into something school related because of Remus - because he wanted Remus. It was the best thing that had ever happened to Remus in his life.

           And if the project took twice as long to finish, because they couldn’t help interrupting their work to snog each other, well that was pretty spectacular as well.

[bnha-mha-imagines]

Oh? Angst? All might gets a crush on a fellow hero before fully losing his powers. Someone convinces him to confess and he does, the hero agreeing to go on a few dates (only knowing all might in his buff form) and things seem to be going well until he works up the courage to (or accidentally) reveals his small might form and the hero doesn’t seem too bother. They leave and then just,, will not return all nights texts or calls completely ignoring him

All Might x Reader

Warnings: Angst, angst, angstttt! 

Word Count: 2336

Summary: Toshinori catches feelings and starts dating a fellow hero, (Y/n), and things don’t go over well when he shows them his true form…

Hey, whoever requested this, you’re a genius and I loved this idea but you also destroyed my heart and I’m crying in the club on a Monday afternoon.

Toshinori knew that being a hero was never going to be an easy job. Being the symbol of peace demands certain sacrifices, often at which come at the cost of his happiness. For instance, no one could know his true identity or the nature of All For One; and, while Toshinori was more than happy to make sacrifices for the good and protection of the people…it was a lonely existence to live. 

Knowing this, he never had much hope in finding love. Sure, he was surrounded by the love and adoration of his fans and fellow heroes, but there was no one who actually looked at him, not as an idol, but as an equal. That was, until he met you. 

You were a newer hero on the scene, but you were powerful and did the job right. Not only that, but in all the times you interacted with him, you never held him up on some golden pedestal. When you spoke to him, you held him to all the expectations that you did to any other person. For one of the first times, he felt truly seen by someone. 

In the teacher’s lounge, he would talk about the recent battles you both fought earlier in the week. The way Toshinori would go on and on, it was obvious to everyone he spoke to that he had fallen for you. After a few weeks of this, Aizawa had heard enough of his friend’s sickeningly sappy stories and demanded he confess to you, take you on a date, ANYTHING to get him to shut up about it. 

While Toshinori was hesitant–how could he possibly have a personal relationship with someone without compromising the secrecy of his work life?–he knew that his time left as the symbol of peace was becoming increasingly short. Perhaps with his inevitable retirement, he would be allowed this sliver of happiness that had been so absent during his long-held career? 

And so, with as much confidence as he could muster, he asked you out the very next time he saw you. Despite his enormous, towering form and confident, loud voice, you could see the slight tremble in All Might’s arms as he asked you on a private date. And, with a blissful smile on your face, you agreed to meet him that weekend for dinner. And then again. And again.

Truthfully, All Might was astonished at how well things had taken off. You both got along swimmingly, and he never felt as though the relationship was off-balanced. You were equals, partners even. He had never felt more safe and unconditionally loved before. You made him feel all kinds of ways, and he drank in all of your attention like a drug. How had he gone on for so long by himself? To say he was emotionally dependent on you wouldn’t be completely accurate; it was more so that he finally had someone he could relax and share his vulnerabilities with, something he had swallowed down with a smile for decades. 

It was for this reason that he felt the need to share with you his true form. With how safe and loved you made him feel, it seemed only fair that you should truly and wholly know who you were loving. Maybe then, once you saw him, he could treat you to some better dates; take you out in public, and show everyone how much you meant to him. He knew you couldn’t possibly be satisfied with strictly private dates, and besides, he wanted the world to know how he felt with you. He couldn’t do that for you as All Might. 

So finally, after much planning, he invited you for a date at a fancy and well-known, public restaurant. He could practically hear your excitement over the phone when he told you he made reservations. He didn’t even feel all that nervous about the upcoming confession; how could he, when he was so full of excitement about your future together? No more hiding behind closed doors! No more secret, longing looks at one another during battles. Once you knew his true identity, you could live your life together without worry from the fans or the dangers he faced as All Might. You could finally live normally as equal, every-day people, and he could give you all the love you deserve. 

As Toshinori dressed himself in a suave, navy suit, he eyed himself in the mirror. There he was, his true form completely unrecognizable from All Might: he was gaunter, his limbs longer, and his eyes more sunken into his face. At the fault of his declining health, he appeared a smaller and weaker man than All Might portrayed; yet, looking at himself in the mirror, he stood tall. His face and posture was relaxed, radiating a hopeful confidence for the evening. You had never treated All Might any differently, you had always seen through him; this, in the reflection of the mirror, was the man you loved.

Holding a small, sweet smelling nosegay, Toshinori entered the restaurant and was directed up the glass staircase to the upper patio seating. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as the cool night air greeted him. The lighted skyline of the city lit up the waters below in an array of colors, but the beauty of the view couldn’t compare to what he saw next. 

You sat at the candle-lit table, dressed formally and adorned with jewelry. Your chin sat in the palm of your right hand as you waited for him, a faint smile on your lips at you gazed at the night skyline. Swallowing any nerves that could possibly surface in the moment, Toshinori made his way over to the table. He only seemed to catch your attention as he pulled out the chair opposite of you, extending the flowers across the table toward you. 

Your eyes held all of your confusion, and he felt himself chuckle nervously as you did not receive his flowers. “I’m sorry,” you begun to speak as you blinked at him. “I’m saving this seat for someone.” Seeing as you weren’t going to accept his flowers anytime soon, he set the nosegay gently on the table. 

“Ah, (Y/n),” Toshinori began, a sheepish and awkward smile beginning to set onto his face. “It’s me.” He lowered his voice so that only you could hear. “All Might.” He stared at you for your reaction, and the fact that you didn’t have one made his previously absent worries hit him all at once. “I-I know it’s a lot to take in–”

“You’re not All Might,” your voice cut him off sharply. Your eyes stared at him, firm and calculating. Toshinori reached for your hand, placing his on top of yours. He could feel the slight tremble in your fingers. “N-No, this can’t be. I-If you’re…Toshinori?” As your voice said his name, he felt his eyes crinkle in a soft smile. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “This is who I really am. It’s a…a secret I’ve been holding for a long time but with you, you make me…want to share everything with you.” He stared at your touching hand, a pang hitting his heart as you pulled yours away to your lap. His eyes widened, looking up to find your face. 

You were biting your lip, eyebrows knit in an unreadable expression. “You were lying all this time,” your voice was barely above a whisper, but they cut deep into him. “You were catfishing me for months! You look pathetic! W-Were you lying when you told me you loved me too?!” The anger and betrayal behind your words caused a deep feeling of panic to settle into Toshinori.

Quickly he tried to explain himself, coughing a bit of blood into his napkin as he struggled to speak in his haste. “No no, of course not! I do love you, everything between us was real. (Y/n), my love, you’re a hero too. You know what it’s like, the dangers of the work, the need for secrecy. The man you loved as All Might is still the man you love sitting before you.” 

At this, you said nothing, and the dread sitting with him only seemed to deepen. But, after a moment, your face relaxed and your hands folded themselves on the table. “Right,” you said, your voice even, a tight smile forming on your lips. “Of course. I’m…thank you for showing me.” Hearing these words from you, Toshinori released an audible sigh.

“I know this is a surprise,” he said, closing his eyes as he forced himself to relax. “But, (Y/n), you know me like no other. You don’t see me for All Might, you treat me as an equal. I want to love you as the man I truly am, it’s what you deserve. Thank you for understanding.” When he opened his eyes to smile at you, you reflected his expression, though the smile didn’t seem to quite meet your eyes. 

“Let’s not worry about that and just enjoy dinner,” you said once more in an even voice. The rest of the night you were quieter than usual, and Toshinori couldn’t ignore how stiff you seemed to sit. He wasn’t stupid; he knew his confession was hitting you more than you were letting on. After he walked you home for the night, he paused at your doorstep. 

He turned you to face him, placing his hands on your hips. Gently, he leaned in to kiss the lips he’d come to adore. He pulled away after a few seconds, feeling how you hardly kissed back. “You can tell me if anything is bothering you,” he said softly, hands moving to pull you into a close hug. Your own arms hung loosely around his back. 

“I know,” you said quietly, voice low. He hugged you for as long as you would let him, an ache in his heart as the cool air replaced where you had once been. 

“Call me tomorrow and we can talk more about it,” he said again, moving to tuck a stray piece of hair behind you ear.

You didn’t pull away from his reach, but you also never met his eyes. Pain swelled in his chest. “Okay,” you said dully, moving to open the door and step into your house. Without another word, you closed the door and left him standing on your porch. 

As Toshinori walked back to his own home he couldn’t ease the stress ripping at his stomach. He wanted to punch himself, pull his hair, cry into his balled fists, and run back to your house to try and explain himself. But instead, he forced himself to focus on walking with a clenched jaw. 

The next day, you never called. He kept his phone on him during class and checked it feverishly every time he had a chance to in the teacher’s lounge. No notifications. You just needed more time to process it all, he thought, and tried to ease his worries.

The next day after that, there was still no news from you. You didn’t even respond when he texted you to ask how your day was going. By the third day, his worries got the better of him. He called you on his break, and then after he got off work, and then once more before he went to bed. Each time was the same response: three rings, and then straight to voicemail. 

By the time a week and a half went by, he knew it was deliberate. During battles, you would hardly spare him a glance and would leave before the press even had a chance to swarm him as All Might. Not a word from you, not a text, not a response. It was as if he had ceased to exist or matter to you completely. 

One month. That’s how long he had pathetically tried to reach you. Aizawa told him to cut things off, that you weren’t even worth the effort anymore. And, as hard as he tried, Toshinori still couldn’t help himself. He knew things with you were over. You were in love with All Might just like everyone else, not in love with him; and, while you treated All Might as an equal, you felt you deserved better than his true form. You thought he lied to you. You thought his true form was so hideous that it wasn’t even worth dating All Might for.

For the tenth time that night, Toshinori called you, wiping at his tear-stained eyes as he sat on the kitchen floor, leaning against cabinets. The call was sent straight to voicemail, a sign that you had long since blocked him. 

“(Y/n),” his voice cracked as he left the message he knew you’d likely never hear. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you want. I-I…I know you’ll never open this voicemail, but…just know this is the last time I will bother or contact you. But, thank you for showing me what it felt like to be seen. Thank you for the opportunity to feel all of life’s gifts: love, security, heartbreak, and sorrow. Now I know what love is and…I know now that I don’t want it. I should be alone. It seems that the world likes it better that way. It was foolish of me to attempt to have the best of both worlds, but…it was nice while it lasted. I-I wish on you every happiness… goodnight.” 

His finger trembled as he pressed the end call button. His grip loosened and the phone clattered onto the kitchen floor. Leaning forward, Toshinori pressed his forehead to his knees and hugged them as he quietly sobbed. He begged some unseen force to come remove the pain tearing through his insides. In a world full of so many people who loved and adored his name, how was he so alone? Surely, it was because he was just…unlovable. 

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

the words you drown (3/3)

season 11 fix-it fic

Read the first chapter on tumblr, AO3, or ff

Read the second chapter on tumblr, AO3, or ff

Read this chapter on AO3 or ff

_____________________

Throughout the course of Ziva’s visit, something seems to be… building. Everyone is happy for her and happy for Tony—they all say they’re not surprised—but the question of what now? sits unspoken in the back of each person’s throat. Tony and Ziva hardly have any answers to give, and though they’re both aware of the gossip going on all around them, there’s little they can say… so they try their best to ignore it.

Instead, Tony tries to go about life as usual and Ziva attempts to make time for everyone she has missed in the last few months. In between, she shoves aside the tension she feels lurking between herself and Tony because they’ve decided so little in the way of logistics; she’s not sure when that tension will reach a boiling point, but it will be soon, she’s sure.

It’s only a matter of time.

_____________________

With a few days left of Ziva’s trip, she meets Ellie for lunch like she promised earlier in the week.

She settles uncomfortably into a booth at a little cafe near the navy yard, rubbing her aching back. Her hotel room doesn’t have the most comfortable bed she’s ever slept in; though several of her NCIS friends offered to host her, appalled to know that she’s staying alone when she could be catching up with family, she said no to them all, and now she’s paying the price for her stubbornness. 

Truth be told, while being back here and seeing her loved ones is undeniably sweet, the dark cloud that led her back to Israel in the first place is still hovering above her. She’s not confident anymore on how to interact with the people who matter most, and, avoiding awkward moments, she holds onto the solitude of her hotel room as a safe place in case she needs to escape.

She’s interrupted from her musings about it all by the arrival of Ellie Bishop, a sunny smile on her pretty face. “Hi, Ziva!” she chirps, sliding into the booth across from the former agent. 

“Good afternoon, Ellie,” Ziva greets; her smile is smaller than the blonde’s, but it’s no less warm. 

“How are things going? Is it nice to be back?” Ellie wants to know. She picks up the menu in front of her and idly scans the first page, making her tone light as if she’s not burning with curiosity.

Ziva catches on anyway, and she keeps the little smile on her face, shrugging. “It is… mixed, yes?”

“Now that is something I understand,” Ellie agrees softly. 

They’re interrupted briefly by a waitress who arrives to take their orders, and it gives Ziva a little time to think. By the time she’s given her order—tea and toast and nutella and eggs, a particular craving today—she has settled on just how open she wants to be.

“I am sure you are curious,” she starts after the waitress departs. “Do you have questions?”

It has been a long time since she’s had many female friends, and this new agent comes across as entirely trustworthy. If nothing else, Ziva could use an impartial confidant.

“It doesn’t bother you to talk about… everything?”

Ziva shrugs noncommittally. Some things still bother her, but she’s trying to be better about not keeping everything to herself. She’ll never heal if she doesn’t process things.

“Alright,” Ellie says, raising her eyebrows but not arguing. “I do have questions, if you really don’t mind.”

“Fire ahead.”

Ellie grins, suppressing the urge to correct Ziva’s English—she’s pretty sure the other woman meant ‘fire away’—and she nods. “So, you and Tony, were you always…?”

Ziva chuckles. “You are not the first person to ask, and the answer is… complicated. Tony and I have cared deeply about one another for many years now, and that is all I can say with certainty.”

Ellie nods, accepting this and comparing it to her own experiences in seeing the team as it still grieved her predecessor. “Tony, he… he missed you a lot.” She’s uncertain whether she’s betraying Tony by sharing, but she saw him in the weeks and months after Ziva’s departure. She knows how much it hurt him—how much it probably still hurts him, though he’s gotten better at hiding it. 

“I know he did.” Ziva’s voice is soft, maybe a little apologetic. “He has been the hardest part of all of this.”

“Are you going to… or is he going to…?”

Despite the questions being incomplete, Ziva gets what Ellie is asking. “We have not figured it out yet,” she admits. “When I return to Israel, Tony will prepare to take an extended trip to Tel Aviv, too. He will fly out shortly before my due date and stay with me for at least a few weeks after Tali’s birth… at least until we make more permanent decisions.”

The thought makes Ellie smile. “That’s in, what… a month or two?”

“Six weeks, if my due date is accurate,” Ziva confirms.

“He’s going to make a good dad, isn’t he?”

“The best.”

Ellie considers the other woman, hesitating. 

“What is it going to do to him when you leave again?”

Ziva shakes her head; that very question has been troubling her. “I do not know,” she confesses.

_____________________

Ziva is awoken shortly after two in the morning her last night in Washington by a knock on the door of her hotel room. Instantly alert and suspicious, she creeps out of bed—a knife held loosely at her side—and peers through the peephole in the door. The knocker is Tony, standing out in the hall and looking kind of… wild.

Bewildered, Ziva opens the door. “Tony, what are you doing here?—it is very late, yes?”

“How’s this going to work?” he asks, ignoring her question and brushing past her into the room without waiting to be admitted. 

“I already said that I do not—”

“I know, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Should I move to Israel? Should I quit my job? I mean, I’ve got a kid coming. I’ve got a kid coming in six weeks. I’m going to be so bad at this! There’s a lot to—”

“Slow down,” Ziva interrupts gently, getting over her mild surprise and closing the door. She gestures to the bed, trying to get him to sit, but he seems to have worked himself up... he completely ignores her; instead of sitting, he starts to pace. 

The boiling point has been reached, apparently.

“There’s no time to slow down, Ziva!” Tony informs her, shoving a hand through his hair as his feet wear a hole in the carpet. “I don’t know the first thing about babies. I have so much to learn. How do you change a diaper? How much do they eat? How often do they eat? How do you know what they want if all they can do is cry to tell you—”

Seeing that the gentle approach will not work for now, Ziva interrupts again, this time by standing directly in Tony’s path and placing her hands firmly on her shoulders. “Stop walking and stop talking,” she commands authoritatively. 

Maybe remembering that he’s talking to a real human and not to himself, Tony does stop, and something in him seems to relax a smidge when he meets Ziva’s steady gaze. “Now that I have your attention,” she starts, a smile appearing on her face that’s a touch too amused for Tony’s liking, “I have some things to say. Sit first, however. Please.”

This time, he does sit, perching on the edge of the bed, and Ziva sits beside him. She’s had some of the same fears about herself. “You are not the first new parent to feel unprepared,” she promises her old partner kindly, empathetic, “and you will not be the last. Do you want to know what I think?”

Tony considers her for a moment and then nods.

“I think that you will be a wonderful father. The fact that you are worrying so much… well, that only means you care, and caring is the most important thing you can do.” They both know that her own father didn’t care nearly as much as he should have, the repercussions of which they’re still dealing with to this day. “You are right to feel a little anxious—it is a big responsibility that we are taking on—but I am not at all worried about your ability to parent.”

“You’re not?”

Ziva finds herself growing tender, believing her own words even more as she speaks them aloud. “If I could choose anyone in the world to be Tali’s second parent, it would be you.”

A bit of a smile turns up the corners of Tony’s lips, something like budding pride and maybe hope growing in his expression. Ziva can see at once that her confidence in him is precisely what he needed—as much as he may put on an arrogant front about most things, this is something he can’t fake. “You mean that?”

“More than you will ever understand, I do.”

She thinks back to the years they’ve known one another—how many times has he rushed selflessly to her aid without a thought to the consequences? How many times has he stood up for her, believed in her, staunchly disagreed with anyone who questioned her? How many times has he challenged her when she was bullheaded, how many times has he pushed her to be a better version of herself?

It would be impossible to add up, but the math is clear: Tony DiNozzo is a man capable of great love and loyalty, and there’s not a doubt in Ziva’s mind that he will adore and protect their daughter with every bit of strength he possesses. The rest is just… details. 

“Thanks, Ziva.” Tony pauses and then takes Ziva’s hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. 

She squeezes back and—after a slight hesitation of her own—she leans in to kiss his cheek. He smiles at her, and his expression becomes a little sheepish. “I still don’t know how to change a diaper, though,” he admits.

Ziva can’t help it—she giggles. “I can teach you,” she promises.

_____________________

Half an hour later, they’re at the nearest 24-hour Walmart, slap-happy with sleeplessness as they roam the aisles looking for something. 

“What are we here for?” Tony asks for the third time, greatly amused by the single-minded way Ziva is searching.

“You will understand in a moment,” she dismisses, perusing the toy section.

“I thought you were going to teach me to change a diaper.”

“I am.”

“I know you’ve been out of the country a while, Ziva, but kidnapping is still frowned upon.”

“Hush, Tony.”

“Hushing.”

Less than a minute later, she’s handing him a Cabbage Patch doll. “Hold this,” she says imperiously.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” Then she’s marching off again—waddling, really, though Tony knows better than to say that word out loud.

“Is that your mom voice?” Tony wonders aloud, trailing after her.

“Maybe.” That makes her grin.

Tony finally understands what Ziva is going for when they arrive at the baby section; they’re going to buy diapers, and she’s going to use the doll to teach him what to do with a real baby. When he figures it out, he laughs. “So…” he glances at the ‘birth certificate’ visible in the box, “Shelby Noelle is going to be a stand in for Tali?”

“That is the plan, yes.”

“Innovative,” Tony compliments, amused. 

“I have been known to come up with good ideas every now and later.” She grins back and ushers him to check out.

“Now and then.”

_____________________

As it turns out, changing diapers is a fairly straightforward process, and it only takes Tony a few tries to get it down once they start practicing back in Ziva’s hotel room. Ziva does it once first and then stands over his shoulder, barking orders like a pregnant drill sergeant and making Tony laugh as he learns the proper way to do what he’ll be doing regularly in a few short weeks.

Ziva watches his progress and gravitates closer once he’s done. “See? Easy queasy.”

“Easy peasy.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.” Tony laughs and Ziva shakes her head. 

“Easy peasy, then. This hurdle was a small one, but you managed it with no issues, yes?”

“I guess that’s true.”

“You will handle the rest with just as much aplomb, I am sure of it.”

Before Tony can respond to this, he catches sight of Ziva wincing and sees her hands moving to her abdomen. “What? What is it, what’s wrong?”

She laughs, though the expression on her face is still slightly pained. “Tali kicked me. Of course, she kicks often, but this time, it was rather forceful.”

Though he feels for Ziva, Tony has to grin. “She’s strong. She’s a DiNozzo.”

“That she is, and a David, too,” Ziva agrees, though she sounds a little put out about it, making Tony chuckle. 

“What does it feel like?”

“Like…” Ziva screws up her face, trying to think of the right way to describe the sensation, but she comes up short. It’s very late—or early, depending on how she looks at it. It’s nearly five in the morning and she didn’t get much sleep before he interrupted. “I cannot find the words to tell you. Here, you can feel.”

“Wait, really?”

Ziva laughs and grabs his hand, using it to tug him closer so he can lay his palm flat against the left side of her belly, right where Tali is still kicking on and off. “I don’t feel anything.”

“That is because she is not moving. It is not constant. Give her a moment to decide to kick again, yes?”

They wait another few beats, but Tali has gone curiously still. Tony opens his mouth to ask a question, but Ziva cuts him off. “Remember what I said she likes?”

“Voices?”

“Precisely. Talk to her and she may very well move for you.”

“What should I say?”

Ziva laughs. “I have never known you to struggle for words, Tony. Just say whatever comes to mind.”

“Okay.” Tony looks glances from Ziva’s belly to her face with a little hesitation, but then he seems to decide something to himself and he nods resolutely. “Okay,” he repeats. “Hi, Tali. This is your dad. I know we haven’t, like, met or anything yet, but… I can’t wait to get to know you. You’re half me, which is crazy—I’m afraid to see what you’re going to inherit from my side of the family. I just know that given who your mother is, I’ll have to be careful not to piss you off, little lady. You’re going to be a force to be reckoned with.”

Ziva’s chin starts to tremble—for some reason, hearing Tony talk to their baby girl is giving her a surge of emotions that she wasn’t expecting. It’s going to be so damn hard to leave him again.

Fortunately, Tali seems moved by his words as well, because as he finishes, she gives one hard kick in the direction of Tony’s hand. His eyes widen and he immediately looks up at Ziva, floored. “I felt it!” he cries, an expression of almost childlike excitement appearing on his face. “She kicked me!”

Ziva’s answering laugh is shaky but quietly happy all the same. “That she did,” she agrees warmly, looking down at her bump. “I think she may be saying that she is excited to know you, too.” Then she looks back at Tony, and he’s close to her and he’s so clearly thrilled and he has her heart.

It’s so natural to lean in and kiss him.

It’s hesitant but sweet, and he kisses her back with exactly the same pressure. After a moment, he breaks away a little. “Is this a bad idea?” he asks. 

“Maybe,” Ziva concurs cautiously, but it’s as if the last seven and a half months of longing have built something up inside of her; suddenly, she wants him very badly.

She can see in his eyes that he feels the same way. “Maybe not, though,” he hazards.

“Maybe not.”

Then he’s the one kissing her and she’s sighing into his lips and his hands are falling naturally to her sides and the bump between them is strange but more than good... It’s wonderful. For the first time in many months, all Ziva feels is peace and desire.

That’s true until Tony breaks the kiss and leaves her side, though, picking up the Cabbage Patch doll and leaving to put it in the bathroom. As he comes back, he very seriously says “Shelby Noelle does not get to watch.”

Then all Ziva feels is peace and desire and the strong desire to laugh at the ridiculous man who still has her love after everything they’ve been through.

When they kiss for the third time tonight, she lets go of all her worries and starts unbuttoning her shirt.

_____________________

The sense of deja vu when Tony takes Ziva to the airport a few short hours later is so strong, sudden, and painful that it takes Ziva’s breath away. Her hands fall to her belly, and she drops her gaze to the ground in front of her, avoiding letting Tony see the way her eyes have filled with tears. She feels an exceedingly gentle hand land on top of hers, though, and she knows that he knows anyway. 

Kindly, he doesn’t say anything, instead simply leaning in to kiss her temple.

After a moment, Ziva’s emotions settle out, and she takes a deep breath. “Thank you for, um…” her voice dies for a moment before she finds it again. “Thank you for driving me to the airport. Again.”

She knows that she’s not the only one remembering other airport scenes.

“Any time,” Tony answers firmly, a promise in his voice—he absolutely means what he’s saying, and it isn’t limited to airport runs… whatever she needs, day or night, here or in Israel… he has her back.

It’s something of a pity that though he has her heart, too, she’s still getting on a plane to leave him yet again.

“I will see you in—”

“Six weeks, give or take,” he finishes for her.

She nods, looks up at him and then away again. Saying goodbye feels daunting, especially after all the progress that they made last night. Tony seems to feel the same way, because he doesn’t interrupt her thoughts with chattering like he might any other time. 

“I will call you if anything happens,” Ziva promises finally. 

“You’d better call me regardless,” Tony teases. “I let you go once, okay? You’re not getting away from me that easily again.”

“I will call often,” Ziva corrects herself dutifully, drawn to smiling despite herself. 

“Good. Well, you have a plane to catch, right?”

There’s something in Tony’s voice that Ziva can’t quite decipher, but she can guess nonetheless—he’s not happy that she’s leaving. Frankly, she’s not thrilled, either, but though her heart wants to stay, the darkness still swirling in the back of her mind reminds her to go. “I do,” she agrees softly.

“Then you’d better get going.”

“I should.”

Still, neither of them moves for a long moment. Then, ever-so-gently, Tony catches Ziva’s chin in one hand and brings her face up to meet his own, giving her a soft kiss. This is less fierce than their last kiss in Israel as he left to get on a plane, less… questioning. He’s accepting her departure, she realizes. He’s giving her permission to go, letting her do what she needs to do.

Somehow, that breaks her heart more than when he begged her so many months ago to come home again.

“Bye, Ziva,” Tony murmurs. His voice breaks a little, but there’s no hesitation in his words. “See you soon.”

“Bye, Tony.”

Tony’s other hand, still resting on Ziva’s on her belly, gives one last caress and falls away. “Bye, Tali,” he adds.

Ziva gives him a shaky smile, equal parts affectionate and pained, and turns to go before she can change her mind. It’s now or never.

“One, two, three, four—”

She turns back, only a few steps away, to see Tony counting and grinning at her. “What are you doing?” she asks, frowning.

“Counting to a million, of course. Figured it would make the next six weeks pass quicker.”

Her mind flashes back, just as she’s sure Tony meant for it to. Count to a million. I’m on my way. It was texted to her right before he spent months tracking her down, following her all around the Middle East as she tried to resolve the pain and self-doubt that had plagued her for months. 

“What am I doing?” she murmurs to herself, shaking her head.

“What was that?” Tony questions, looking mildly confused. It’s only then that Ziva realizes she was speaking to herself both out loud and in Hebrew.

“I just said…” she pauses. “What am I doing?”

“Getting on a plane?”

“Leaving you.”

A little surprise registers on Tony’s face, afraid to hope. “Not so sure you want to go?”

“Tony,” Ziva answers softly, “I have never been sure.”

“But you—”

“I am sure of what I need, but I am not sure how to obtain it.”

“What is it you need, then?”

“I need… peace. I need space to figure out what is happening in my head. I need to find a way of life for myself that does not involve taking the lives of others.”

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but Ziva raises a hand to silence him. “Just… a moment, please, Tony,” she requests quietly.

She knows what he wants to say—why can’t she have those things here? He tried so hard back when Tali was conceived to convince her that she could, to convince her that no matter what, she was better off at home. 

After a week here, she realizes quite suddenly that some of the tension she’s been feeling is internal—it’s a nagging sense that he might be right. 

In many ways, Ziva is better here amongst those she loves; the solitude of the past months has been wonderful, and she has certainly made some steps in the right direction, but here… here, she would be pushed to grow. She’d be gently nagged into going to therapy, into talking it out, into not becoming a recluse who was fearful of the world around her. 

Maybe Israel was where she needed to be then, but maybe Washington, D.C. is where she needs to be now.

And Tali? 

Tali already seems to love the sound of her father’s voice. She kicks more when he’s around and talking than Ziva has known her to do for the rest of the pregnancy, and Ziva has no doubt that she’ll be wrapped around his little finger as soon as she’s born. Tali deserves to have her father around, even if Ziva is afraid of staying.

Honestly, what is she doing?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling her flight ticket from her bag and tearing it into shreds.

“Ziva?”

“I am not going. I cannot go. I cannot leave you, not again.”

The look on Tony’s face says he’s not sure he believes her, and without another word, she drops her bag carelessly to the ground and crosses the short distance between them. Then she’s standing on her tiptoes and putting a hand on the back of his head to pull his face down toward hers, and she’s kissing him.

She doesn’t know how it’ll work. She’s not even sure it will work. But one way or another…

They’ll figure it out together.

fin.

[meetthefantasticmrfox]

The Librarians Chapter 2

Holy mushrooms this took off quick. Special thanks to all of you who have liked and reblogged, even to my first follower! This really made my day!

Anyways! uhm Chapter 1 is here...

The Librarians Chapter 1

Hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it and if you have gone and read my other posts this is not the story I was talking about in my Intellectual Genius post, that one I am still writing and haven’t really found time in my surprisingly busy day. 

Have fun and here are some warnings and other do-dads!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Jeremy has ended up in the hospital, somewhere he cannot afford finacially to be and his employee Logan Constell has been running the library between very frequent visits to his sickbed along with Jeremy’s parents and little brother.

Pairings: Loceit, and Parental Remile.

Warnings: Swearing, hospital scenes, mentions of sexual abuse and alcohol, very angsty chapter this one, and just let me know if I need to add.

Alternate Universes/Headcannons: Human Au, Vitiligo Headcannon for Janus, Sibling Headcannon for Virgil & Janus

Janus=Jeremy for you first time readers

Virgil=Victor (middle name is Virgilius or Virgil so he goes by that)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last thing Jeremy remembered was falling from that ladder and the sunset following him down to a sure injury. He didn’t know if Logan’s confession had made him fall or the distraction of the sun in his eyes but whatever had caused it had led him to cause nerve damage in his left leg.

“You’ll need extensive physical therapy and a brace with crutches, maybe even a wheel-chair for a while afterwards.” That’s what the doctors had told him at least. Nothing about any heart or bodily problems other than his leg unfortunately. 

“The bills are far too high for anyone with your lifestyle and salary to afford.” Logan said in one of his visits. Jeremy hadn’t said a single thing to him out of all the week he had visited. He was aware he wouldn’t be able to afford his therapy or medical care and the thought of being a crippled on the streets of Florida seemed to have paralyzed his tongue along with his leg for the time being. Jeremy hadn’t been able to move it even a centimetre in over thirty-six hours which wasn’t exactly a good sign according to the doctors. Now it was seventy-two hours which was even more concerning. So concerning that Jeremy hadn’t even really slept the past few nights.

“I...I’m sorry for what happened with the ladder.” Logan said pointlessly.

“I knew better.” Jeremy said in response quickly, despite the dried lips and hoarse vocal cords for not have spoken in over three days.

“Pardon me?” Logan was shocked to have heard him speak.

“I. Knew. Better.” Jeremy repeated slowly and louder. Logan stayed quiet this time having sensed a sharper tone in his employers voice. 

The two sat there in silence for several minuets before something miraculous happened. The door opened and instead of a doctor walking in a man with summer green eyes and hair in a sand colored over coat with a cotton candy pink undershirt and glasses. He wore equally sand colored pants and sleek black shoes. In followed another man with pitch black hair and eyes like the night sky wearing a simple white shirt and leather jacket with dark jeans and tennis shoes. The man in black had smooth milk chocolate skin much like Jeremy.

“Oh my!” The man in tan had a higher pitched voice than Logan had expected and he had covered his mouth as soon as he saw Jeremy. His face paled just the slightest bit and tears began to coat his green irises.

“Em, calm down the doctors said he was fine for the most part.” The man with the night-like eyes muttered to the one named ‘Em’ and touched a broad hand to the other’s shoulder.

“That’s our boy Remy! How can you not be upset right now?!” Em looked at the other with a hint of anger in his teared eyes.

“Dads please don’t fight right now.” Jeremy snarled before the one named Remy could reply.

They both paused and stared at the librarian.

“Logan, meet my parents. Emile is trans and got surgery after having me. He’s a therapist for the recently traumatized and this is Remy, my birth father. He’s a businessman for a string of coffee shops known as Sleepy Time Teas and Wonderful Morning Coffees.” Jeremy sighed and gestured towards the two men. Emile shyly waved at the man sitting down while Remy barley gave him a single glance.

“Is he your...?” Before Emile could finish the question Jeremy cut him off abruptly.

“No, he works for me at Hawthorne.” 

“Oh, well it’s nice to meet you...uhm Logan was it?” Emile scooted over to shake hands with the intellectual who politely took the gesture.

“So what’d you do?” Remy said dully and waved a hand towards the non-moving leg.

“I fell.” Jeremy said simply and didn’t show signs of enjoying this visit.

“Y’know we’re your parents and you should show a little more respect with that voice of yours.” Remy snarled at his son. 

Jeremy just glared at Remy with such intensity flames might as well have burned in his dark green eyes.

“Remy calm down, he’s hurt and probably under a lot of stress with the library and the medical bills. He might never walk right again.” Emile hurriedly said before a fight broke out.

Logan checked his watch, sensing the building tension between Jeremy and his family. “Well I must go back to the library. My lunch break is nearly over.” and with that Logan rushed out. Jeremy would never admit he was kind of ashamed that his family feud drove his employee away.

Once Logan was gone the flood gates opened. Emile started truly crying and stifling it best he could while Remy fumed about how disrespectful Jeremy had always been.

This continued for a few minuets before Jeremy broke.

“JUST SHUT UP!” His voice stopped everything. Remy’s eyes widened in shock and Emile had jumped so hard he had stood up.

“I am PARALYZED in my bed and you are complaining on my TONE?! I have medical bills piling up to my neck while I have a salary of barely a thousand a year and you don’t even bother to ask me how I feel!” Jeremy lid off the sheets and moved best he could, dragging his numb leg with him as he attempted to stand. 

“Jeremy ju-” Emile started.

“Don’t get involved Emile. It’s about time he showed some backbone.” Remy snarled.

“No! Let him get involved. He’s the therapist for trauma and you’re just a coffee and tea maker!” Jeremy shot at him.

“Jeremy you shouldn’t speak to your father like that!” Emile hurriedly said before Remy could say anything. “And you shouldn’t be standing, for Christ sake sit back down you look like you’re about to faint!” 

“I’m fine.” Jeremy said through gritted teeth and just about that time there was a high pitched ring and Jeremy staggered and nearly fell but gripped the railing of his hospital bed. His numb leg drug on the ground and he looked down at it with the remainder of his vision before the door opened again and a doctor and nurse rushed in.

“Why is he standing?!” The doctor and nurse immediately gathered Jeremy and laid him back down on the bed as sleep claimed him again.

~ Time Skip ~

Logan came back a few days afterwards when Jeremy was supposed to start physical therapy. Apparently Emile and Remy had covered . Emile had sent Remy away and someone new had arrived. The new person was much smaller and younger than Jeremy and Logan suspected maybe a close cousin or even brother. He had jet black hair and big deer-like brown eyes. He had stared at Logan strangely when he first came in like he was analyzing him looking for a threat. The boy had eventually calmed down and looked back at his phone. Jeremy was busy talking to Emile about something Logan could not hear.

“He’s my employer.” Logan said abruptly. The boy next to him jumped at the sound of someone talking to him.

“H-he’s my brother. Uhm adopted. I am.” The deer-eyed boy said shakily and made staggering eye contact with Logan. 

“Logan.” The intellectual introduced himself quietly.

“Virgil.” Virgil answered back quietly. “My real name’s Victor, Virgilius is my middle name.” 

“Like the Roman Poet?” Logan asked slyly. Logan had always been a bit looser around people younger than him. He had been a teenager once, he understood them a bit better than adults. He was just now getting to be one.

“I guess. I write poetry in my spare time but it’s pretty dark.” Virgil shrugged and seemed to relax just as Logan had.

“Do you have your notes?” The librarian slowly asked.

Virgil slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small purple notepad with a hand-drawn skull with a stormcloud with a lightning bolt behind it. Before Virgil could flip the notepad open Logan spoke again.

“Did you draw this?” He seemed amazed.

“Uh....yeah actually. It’s a therapy method Jeremy taught me. Channeling your feelings into art or words. Poetry and art are kinda fun I guess.” The boy said slowly.

“It’s astonishing accurate for a high school student.” Logan complimented.

“Yeah.” Virgil looked down at his realistic drawing and seemed to smile slightly.

“Were you and Jeremy close?” Logan asked warily.

“Yeah, I’d say so. He used to go on walks with me and helped me with homework. On the weekends he would take me on drives at night once he got his license. Then he went to collage and dropped out because of tuition. Remy thought he had gotten involved with alcohol or something and had lost his job. Jeremy told me he had gotten sexually harassed so he quit. Remy wouldn’t listen though. He never does.” Virgil explained quietly.

“I...I never knew.” Logan turned back to where Jeremy was slightly smiling with Emile now and his eyes occasionally drifted to Virgil sitting in the corner.

“He wouldn’t have told you. Jer has always been kind of closed off. As far as I knew I was the only exception.” Virgil stated blandly.

“Hey Vee!” Emile smiled brightly and waved him over. Logan suddenly felt out of place. He considered leaving but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He needed to talk to Jeremy.

Jeremy embraced Virgil best he could and ruffled his brightly indigo streaked hair, messing it even more. They started talking and Jeremy smiled brighter than Logan had ever seen. That smile made his palms sweaty and his heart skip, Logan wanted that smile to stay forever...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay yeah this chapter was angsty and Remy is way out of character but I needed a reason why Janus was always so bitter. I managed to include some fluffy heartache bits though so I’m proud of myself. Next chapter I think I’ll include the library again, and I can’t decide whether to put Janus(Jeremy) in a wheelchair or put him on crutches SO you my dear foxlings get to help me out. Crutches or Wheelchair and should he be permanently paralyzed in that leg? Let me know via a dm or just comment (reply) on this post.

 Until next time my dear Foxlings!

[princessselene126]

So Much Blood

This took me a hot minute because I had to go back and look at some of the chapters in Winter to make sure I was getting this as accurate as I could. For the people that I know haven’t actually read or finished tlc yet this fic does contain Winter spoilers. Don’t read past this if you haven’t read Winter. Someone requested “Kai’s perspective when he found Cinder with the knife in her chest and how he was acting until she woke up.” 1873 words of lots of angst. Literally only angst. TRIGGERS: Blood, mentions of death, mentions of surgery, 2 swears?

masterlist

Kai raced back through Artemisia Palace when he heard a gunshot echoing through the halls. He should have gone through the tunnels with Luna’s nobility, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave without Cinder. She’d probably get mad at him, say he would be more of a liability than a help, but he didn’t care.

The sash across his chest bounced into his face  with every stride. Annoyed, Kai ripped it off and tossed it behind him. He only vaguely remembered where the throne room was, but he knew it was close. He could only hope he was heading in the right direction.

Kai rounded a corner and saw Wolf carrying Cress in his arms. Thorne and Scarlet followed right behind him. The closer Kai got, the more he afraid he became. Cress was drenched in blood, her skin already turning pale from the loss. Throne cradled his hand to his chest, he too was bleeding. Scarlet and Wolf both appeared unharmed for the most part.

Kai’s stomach sank. They were supposed to be with Cinder.

He stopped in front of them, heart pounding so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. “Where’s Cinder?” he asked. He tried sounding nice about it, but it came out more like a demand than a question. He couldn’t help it. 

He was panicking.

There were very few times in his life that he felt true panic, true helplessness, and this was at the top of his list. He was on a different planet, in the middle of a revolution, and his wife was trying to kill his girlfriend.

“She’s in the throne room still. Wolf get Cress to a doctor,” Thorne said. He looked as scared as Kai felt, but there was determination there too. Thorne turned, starting back the same way they came. “I’m going back with Kai.”

Wolf nodded without hesitation then swiftly carried Cress through the hallways.

Scarlet grabbed Thorne’s wrist to stop him. “Don’t. You’ll distract her.” Her eyes shot to Kai. “Both of you. She needs to do this alone so Levana can’t use us against her. We don’t need what happened to Cress happening to either of you.”

He sensed an “especially Kai” in there because he was the emperor, but she didn’t voice it. He was grateful for that. Kai was tired of everyone acting like his life was more important than anyone else's--everyone else’s. When it came down to it, he was just… human. He wasn’t special because he was royal.

Thorne tensed for a moment, looking guilty.

That look was all Kai needed to understand what happened to Cress. Throne shot her, but it wasn’t him. It was Levana. Throne couldn’t possibly feel responsible for that...

“Scarlet, I have to,” Kai said. What if there was something he could do to sway the odds in Cinder’s favor? He couldn’t live with himself if she died and there was something he could’ve done to help.

“We won’t get in the way,” Throne said. Though he sounded confident, his expression and posture was uncertain.

It was promise.

Kai wasn’t so sure he could say the same.

Pursing her lips, Scarlet let go of Thorne’s wrist with a sigh. She looked back at Kai. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“As much as I want to, we don’t even have time for me to ask ‘what about me?’” Thorne looked at Kai. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Never am, but I always have to be. Let’s go.”

Thorne nodded. “This way, Your Royal Majesticness.”

Kai didn’t bother correcting him about how wrong that title was. Scarlet went toward the medical wing while, they sprinted in the opposite direction. Turning right when they came to a split, the throne room finally came into view. One of the large double doors was wide open, but they couldn’t see anything inside.

Thorne stopped as they drew nearer, signalling for Kai to do exactly as he did. Together they leaned against the cool wall and snuck closer and closer to the doors. There wasn’t any sound coming from the room. 

Did they go somewhere else? 

Were Cinder and Levana both dead?

Kai shook that thought away. He had to believe that Cinder was alive, that she would make it out of this alive. She’d beat worse odds before. She escaped his entire army in the Farafrah, and from her prison cell in New Beijing, and… and she had to escape this too.

Thorne moved to the closed door, keeping his back against it as he looked inside the room. “Shit,” he breathed. He rushed through the door, not giving Kai time to ask what happened.

Kai followed him, confused and frightened about why Throne was so eager to get inside the room. “Thorne, what are you--fuck.” He rushed ahead when he saw two people on the ground.

He barely even glanced at Levana as he went straight for Cinder. There was a dagger sticking out of her chest, right where her heart was. 

Kai knelt down where her blood was pooling, tears streaming down his face, and pulled Cinder into his arms. Her mousey brown hair had fallen out of her ponytail and over her eyes. He brushed it back so he could see her face better.

Her eyes were open for only a few seconds before they closed.

She was dying. She lived through a fire and a terrible stepmother and nearly drowning in the lake, but she couldn’t live through this. There was no way.

There was so much blood.

He looked over his shoulder at Thorne and yelled for him to get help.

“Don’t pull the knife out,” he said before dashing away.

Kai turned his attention back to Cinder. He sobbed, burying his face in her hair. “You’re going to be okay,” he said more to himself than to her. “Just hang on, Cinder. Please don’t leave me now. N-not after all this. Not when we’re so close to everything we’ve fought so hard for. Please.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he cried like this. He was too young to understand what death meant when his mother passed. And he was too focused on keeping the peace with Luna and the rest of the world to grieve when his father passed. But now… Now Luna wasn’t a threat and he could breathe for the first time in months. 

Only Kai couldn’t.

Cinder was dying in his arms and all he could think about was how much he wanted to talk to her, celebrate that they’d won with her.

Kai didn’t know how long he sat there with her in his arms, but it felt like ages. He talked to her the entire time, telling her it would be okay, that she was the strongest person he’d ever met and that she would make it out of this alive.

When the doctors showed up, he backed away and let them do what they needed to do. They rolled her to the medical wing on a gurney. Kai stayed with her as long as the doctors allowed him too. He didn’t want to leave her side, but knew he had to when she went in for surgery.

Though it was a drastic wound, the doctors were confident that Cinder would be fine. The knife penetrated one of the cybernetic heart chambers, not her heart itself.

Nevertheless Kai anxiously paced back and forth for the hours she was in surgery. Iko joined him not long after Cinder went in, carrying a tray of food for him to eat. She set it down on the little end table next to the couch. He politely declined it.

Iko didn’t have lungs, but she dramatically sighed as if she did. “She’d want you to eat, you know.”

Despite himself, Kai’s lips tugged up into a small smile. “I know, but I can’t right now. I will when she gets out of surgery.”

Iko raised an eyebrow at him.

“I promise. And if I don’t, then you can force feed me.”

“Alright.”

They waited and waited and waited together. Neither spoke until one of the doctors emerged, pulling her bloody gloves off as she walked toward him. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she greeted.

Kai eagerly walked over to her. “Is she okay? Is she awake?” 

“Her Majesty will be fine. We repaired the tear in the cybernetic chamber without any trouble. As you requested Doctor Nandez will be here in a few hours to work on the damage to Her Majesty's limbs and any other damages there may be to her systems.”

“Thank the stars,” Kai breathed. “Can I see her?”

“We’re moving her to a recovery room now and you’re more than welcome to see her.”

“Show us the way, please.”

The doctor took Kai and Iko through a maze of hallways and finally opened a door for them. “She’s being monitored 24/7 so if there are any unexpected problems we’ll be in right away.”

Kai nodded. “Thank you.” He hesitated to enter the room, maybe he should let Iko go first. She was such a big part of Cinder’s life.

Sensing his reluctance, Iko squeezed Kai’s hand. “You go ahead, I’m going to check on Cress.”

“Okay.” That was all the push he needed to enter the room. Cinder was hooked up to a few IVs and he could see the heavy bandaging across her chest beneath the hospital gown she wore. Her skin looked slightly ashy, but better than when he found her in the throne room. 

It finally clicked in his mind that she was safe.

She’s alive.

They were all alive.

Cress was in suspension, but her recovery looked hopeful. Thorne lost a couple fingers, but was otherwise fine. Scarlet got a minor concussion. Wolf… well they were trying to figure out if they could undo the changes they made to him, but that was unlikely. He seemed fine with it though. Jacin had some injuries, but seemed to be doing fine. Winter was the only person that they were still concerned about.

They didn’t know how to get her mind back in the right place.

Kai spent the entire night in Cinder’s room. Any political work that needed to get done was brought to him by Torin. Iko made sure he ate after she got back from checking on Cress. At one point he accidentally fell asleep, but was woken when a nurse came in to check Cinder’s vitals.

A few hours after that Dr. Nandez arrived and started working on Cinder’s cybernetics. Kai asked questions about what she was doing and how long she thought it would be until Cinder woke up.

Once she replaced something in Cinder’s head, Dr. Nandez started working on her hand.

Seconds later, Cinder’s eyes sprang open and her hand jerked away. The doctor fell to the ground, some metal tool in her hand clattering next to her.

Kai rushed to Cinder’s side, helping her to sit up so she didn’t accidentally pull her stitches. “It’s alright,” he assured her. Her hands immediately went to her chest as if feeling for the knife that was there last time she was awake. She looked panicked and flustered and ready to fight her way out of she had to.

Recognition slowly melted into her features and she relaxed against his arms.

Kai had never been so relieved in his entire life.