#yes this is a reference to that one fanfiction

[tossawary]

I don't have a solid plot attached to this idea, I don't currently really have the desire to drop everything to go write "The Hobbit" fanfiction, but for a while I've had the idea of *gestures vaguely" some post-canon story (probably some form of fix-it) taking place before, during, and after a grand dwarven opera performance in Erebor.

Because I am absolutely certain that the Lonely Mountain had an absolutely stunningly beautiful Royal Opera House (and plenty of other, less grand performance halls) that, at the city's height, was putting at least one show every single day. Orchestral symphonies, operas and operettas, dramatic plays, dance performances... you name it, they had it and more. The various cultures of Middle Earth evidently ADORE music, dwarves absolutely included. The Company all bring instruments to Bag End to play and sing themselves off before their quest!

Also, beyond the music side of things, with how dwarves are named as master crafters? Smiths and toymakers and magicians? No way that they did not have some of the most gorgeous costumes, sets, and effects on the planet. Dwarves would go WILD with their articulated stage puppets, I know it.

One of my biggest issues with the film trilogy is that it failed to deeply explore the Company as people who had lost their home, beauty and culture included. Smaug not only killed countless people, entire families, and leave many of the survivors poor and desperate, the dragon went on to hoard their heirlooms and life's work and leave these priceless gold treasures UNUSED. It is an additional heartbreak to imagine Smaug tearing through Erebor neighborhood by neighborhood, house by house, so that he could tear out every gemstone in, say, mosaic made by someone's grandmother that sat above the breakfast table every morning. To think that Smaug in the aftermath tore magical lanterns off the walls, the sort that might have been decorated with animals or flowers, to make some daycare walkway just a little more cheery for the children, and in his greed left a dead city in the dark.

The live-action movies put both Smaug and the Balrog in these... absolutely enormous chambers that serve somewhat unclear purposes. The king's treasure vault and a former marketplace, I think? (Moria has been raised by goblins, I can forgive the emptiness.) It's a quick visual depiction of Thror's uncontrollable gold lust to give him a Scrooge McDuck room, sure, instead of anything with an actual organizational system (normally, I assume dwarves are big on sorting their vaults if they have one). Super big columns and hallways and staircases do somewhat effectively communicate the "lost glory" of Moria (I am very fond of these movies!!!), even if I also think it's not as interesting as it could have been. And the other obvious purpose of big, open warehouse-like spaces is 1) it's easier to animate the big creatures moving around in them generally and 2) it allows the films to show off the full-bodied visual spectacle of their big creatures.

But I think it would have also kicked ass to put Smaug in Erebor's former Royal Opera House or something, some enormous theatre decorated across generations. That could be big! The ART (statues, fountains, banners, windows, general architecture) that you could put on the exterior, which has had its face ripped open for the dragon to get inside? The ART that you could put INSIDE (mosaics, murals, and more) as Bilbo sneaks inside? Ohhh, you could include so many potential lore references with thematic relevance!

Also, Bilbo could get jump-scared by old articulated stage puppets or something. IT'S THE DRAGON-! Oh, no, it's some old opera prop. (Yes, we're talking more about an actual adaptation of "The Hobbit" rather than fanfiction concepts now.)

Sure, there's raw material treasure and coins hoarded here in this place, but there would also be musical instruments and toys and household tools and cookware and fancy dishes, wedding jewelry and anniversary gifts and family shrines and festival costumes, fountain statues and street lamps and mailboxes and business signs, and other evidence that people really LIVED here. These are all ordinary objects that Bilbo recognizes from the Shire.

We could tie these objects directly back to objects we saw featured in Bilbo's home early in this adaptation, which he was trying to "protect" from the dwarves during their "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" song. There are half-burned portraits of people's late parents here too. Did he think that there weren't any dwarves who made doilies or handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers? Of course they made things like that too.

It's perfectly symbolic to, say, place Smaug's bed in an area like the king's throne room. The dragon is now the King Under The Mountain. But I think it would be deliciously haunting to have the throne room of Erebor be empty, the throne half-broken, the silver stripped from the walls and moved elsewhere, because Smaug doesn't care about Thror's old audience chamber. What's a dwarf king to a dragon? He burns the same as all the others. The dragon has instead made his bed in a beautiful public place of art and culture that was for the people, by the people, surrounded by the lovingly crafted belongings of the ordinary people he killed. Gold is gold to a dragon whether it's in a coin or a candlestick.

I think if you really want to sell one of the key messages of "The Hobbit", which in my opinion is: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." then you ought to throw yourself behind EREBOR being a place where food and cheer and song had value, not just the Shire. Thorin isn't lost at the end because he's a dwarf and dwarves don't value such things, but because he as a specific person who makes the mistake of weighing pride and gold over people, and he comes to regret that on his deathbed.

So, back to the fanfiction idea, I think that Erebor had music again in it as soon as dwarves started living in it again. It will take decades and decades before the Royal Opera House is half as splendid as it was before, and there is a performance there with beautiful costumes and puppets and sets comparable to those that came before, some traditional historical show that is part of specific seasonal holiday for dwarves. But that very first winter, when the future still looked grim, I think the dwarves cleared out a small stage and cast the roles of this traditional musical retelling of their history among them, based on who knew the parts best, because they aren't just miners and smiths and soldiers, and there was music again in Erebor that winter despite all the damage that the dragon did.

[wyervan]

Okee, I felt like it was time to finally compile some links and stuff

DCA SLASHER AU MASTERPOST

Yapathon about the premise and my Final Girl y/n character sheet

I use dca slasher au tag to refer to all posts, asks, and reblogs about the au in general. If your looking for ONLY my art or writing, try slasher dca (this applies only to my own blog—feel free to use whatever you tags you like if you do fanart/writing)

ART & COMICS

Sun & Moon Character Sheets & Sketches

Halloween comic

Bad Dogs

Moer sketches

The locker comic

Sun

a little cake

WRITING

Halloween one-shot

AU SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

FAQ

What year does the AU take place in / How old are Sun & Moon?

They are in their late 20s-early 30s in the noughties

Are they brothers?

No. They originally met and became friends as kids.

Are they serial killers? Who do they target?

Yes. Generally, people who harm kids in some way.

How tall are they?

Beanpole-sized

Can anybody make an OC / Self-insert for the AU?

God yes, of course. And it doesn't even have to be a "final girl" or even one of their employees.

Is there a fic somewhere I can read?

Currently, there's just the Halloween one-shot. I would love to do more and I am working on the bones of a full fic AND/OR a longer-form comic (haven't decided yet what final form the story will take). BUT this is likely a long way off.

Are you okay with NSFW / Spicy fanwork?

broadly speaking, yes

FANWORK

Other people's final girl y/ns and AU OCs

All Fanart from other amazing people

Fanfiction from other amazing people

Absolutely feel free to @ me in your post. Seeing your work fills me with such joy! Tag your posts however you'd like. Any specific tags I use are for my own blog's organization.

[lavenderclownwritesanddraws]

I Really Want to Stay at Your House (Jamil X V! Reader, Cyberpunk AU)

This fanfiction contains mild spoilers for character interactions in Cyberpunk 2077.

In Cyberpunk 2077, the main character is V. they're currently a mercenary trying to survive in the chaos of Night City.

If you' re wondering about Johnny—well, he’s the personality living rent-free in your cyberware implant. Johnny Silverhand was a legend in Night City, known as both a terrorist and a rockstar, and he died decades ago. Now, he exists as a digital ghost in your head. He can talk to you and even appear in your vision sometimes, which is… an experience, to say the least.

Over time, Johnny and V build an unlikely friendship, leaning on each other to make sense of all the chaos and sacrifices that come with life in Night City.

This fanfiction references the in-game event I Really Want to Stay at Your House and the moment when you let Johnny take control of your body for a day. Unsurprisingly, Johnny being Johnny, he goes overboard—drinking too much, hitting up a strip club, picking up a stripper, and then crashing your car. Yes, all while in your body.

Trust me, listening to I Really Want to Stay at Your House will hit differently after reading this.

I Really Want to Stay at Your House (Jamil X V! Reader, Cyberpunk AU, The Lovers Progression)

The door to V’s apartment slid shut with a dull thud, and she exhaled slowly as if releasing the weight of the entire city from her shoulders. Each step felt like wading through quicksand. The day—or rather, the day Johnny had taken from her—was a blur of flashing lights, noise, and pain. Her head pounded, and the sour taste of alcohol lingered on her tongue, making her grimace. She rubbed her temples, willing herself to focus.

Empty. The apartment was mercifully empty, or so she thought. Relief washed over her. The last thing she wanted was for her partner, Jamil, to see her like this—hungover, bruised, and barely standing. She kicked off her boots, the sound echoing in the stillness. Just a few steps more, and she could collapse into bed and forget this nightmare ever happened.

“Didn’t think you’d make it back in one piece.”

The voice, low and deceptively calm, sent a chill down her spine. V froze, her eyes darting to the dimly lit kitchen. There he was, leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Jamil Viper. His dark eyes, always sharp and unreadable, watched her with an intensity that made her stomach churn. His hair, dark and slightly disheveled, framed his face, casting shadows that only made him look more imposing. The soft glow of his tech implants along his forearms pulsed rhythmically, like a predator’s heartbeat along the oversized jacket she had seen him wear so many times.

“Jamil…” V’s voice cracked, and she winced at how pathetic it sounded.

He pushed off the counter with a grace that belied the tension in his movements, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. His gaze swept over her, taking in every bruise, every unsteady breath. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, forcing a weak smile. “Really needed to hear that.”

He stopped a few feet away “Care to explain?�� His tone was deceptively mild, but she knew better. Beneath it lay a storm waiting to be unleashed.

V ran a hand through her hair, wincing as the motion sent a fresh wave of pain through her head. “It’s… a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” He tilted his head slightly “I’ve had plenty of time, actually. Watching your biometrics spike and crash in real-time tends to do that.”

Her heart sank. “You were tracking me?” She should have known better. The Top Netrunner for the Asim Corporation’s Counterintelligence Division didn’t just sit idle when his partner was out self-destructing.

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act so surprised. I had to know you weren’t dead.” His voice dropped, soft but deadly. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you spiraling into alcohol poisoning, adrenaline surges, and then flatlining in a crash. Care to enlighten me?”

He was close now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. His dark hair fell around his face, framing eyes that burned with a mix of fury and hurt. She’d seen him angry before—sharp-tongued, sarcastic—but this was different. He was quiet and controlled, and that made it infinitely worse.

V took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I… let Johnny take control.”

Silence. The kind that felt like a knife pressed against her throat.

“Ah,” Jamil said finally, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. “So, you handed your body over to that ghost in your system. To drink, to gamble, to crash your car. Am I missing anything, or is that the whole highlight reel?”

V stepped past him, moving towards the couch, needing to sit before her knees gave out. She dropped onto the cushions, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

Jamil followed, his footsteps slow but deliberate. He stopped in front of her, then leaned down, placing his hands on either side of her head. “Then how was it supposed to go, V?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and his breath brushed against her ear. “Tell me.” Each syllable turned into ice piercing through her.

She didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze head-on. “I thought he needed a break. I thought giving him one day would… help.”

Jamil’s jaw tightened, and he pushed off the couch, pacing. The controlled movements betrayed his simmering rage. “Help? Him?” He turned back, eyes blazing. “At what cost? You come back like this—hungover, bruised, and broken—and I’m supposed to accept that you did this for him?”

“It was a mistake,” she said, her voice firm. “One I won’t repeat.”

“Damn right, you won’t,” he snarled back, but there was no satisfaction in his tone. Slowly, he returned to the couch and sat, inches away from her, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” His eyes softened, the harsh lines of his face relaxing ever so slightly. “Every time you throw yourself into these situations, you drag me along for the ride. I can’t… I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself.”

V nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. And I’m sorry. I can’t undo what’s done, but I can promise it won’t happen again.”

Jamil leaned closer, his hands resting on the back of the couch, effectively caging her in. “Do you think I want your promises?” He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping. “I want you. Alive. Here. Not a shell.”

“I’m here now,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “I’m here, and I’m listening. I’m not running.”

He studied her for a long moment as if searching for a lie hidden in her words. Then, slowly, he leaned back, giving her space. “Good,” he said, his tone softer. “Because I’m tired, V. Tired of chasing after you, tired of feeling like I’m one step away from losing you.”

V reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining. “I know.” Her grip tightened. “I’m tired too. But I’m still here.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Next time, you think about him, think about what you’re risking.” He glanced down at their joined hands. “Because I won’t let you go without a fight.”

—————————————————————

The kettle’s soft whistle broke the silence, a subtle contrast to the rain pattering against the windows of the dimly lit apartment. Jamil moved precisely, pouring the boiling water into a mug. The faint aroma of spiced tea filled the air, warm and calming, in sharp contrast to the tension between them. V sat on the couch, her head resting against her hand as exhaustion clung like a heavy cloak. She’d endured plenty of rough nights, but tonight felt different—heavier somehow.

Jamil approached her, the mug in one hand, a medkit in the other. His gaze, sharp and discerning, flickered over her face, taking in the bruises and shadows under her eyes. He handed her the tea, his voice low but firm. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

V took the mug with a quiet thanks, the warmth seeping into her fingers as she sipped. The tea burned her tongue slightly, but the spice and heat soothed her. She glanced at Jamil, who was already settling beside her, opening the medkit with practiced ease.

“Let me see your arm,” he said, not waiting for her to comply. His hands, steady and meticulous, worked to clean and dress the scrapes on her forearm. His movements betrayed no hesitation, but she could feel the weight of his focus—a quiet intensity that always made her chest tighten.

As his fingers brushed against her skin, she winced. “You don’t have to patch me up every time, you know.”

He didn’t look up. “Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do it yourself.”

“Ouch,” Johnny’s voice broke through, sarcastic as ever. His flickering hologram appeared in V’s peripheral vision, leaning nonchalantly against the edge of the coffee table. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a regular househusband here. Never thought I’d see the day.”

V sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Johnny, not now.”

“What? Just calling it like I see it,” he replied, smirking. “Guy’s got more patience than anyone I’ve ever met. Even if he does look like he’s plotting your funeral half the time.”

V shot him a glare, muttering, “Says the man who got us both into this mess.”

Jamil let out a soft sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with the movement. He’d long since learned that addressing the engram only prolonged the chaos. Instead, he fixed his gaze on V, his expression calm but with a hint of weariness.

“You’re talking to him again.” It wasn’t a question.

“Occupational hazard,” V muttered, taking another sip of tea. She glanced at Jamil, her eyes softening. “But he’s not the one here. You are.”

Jamil’s gaze flicked over her, and though his expression remained composed, the faintest trace of a smile ghosted across his lips. “Let’s get you to bed before your occupational hazards get the better of you again.”

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

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the soft, amber glow of a shaded lamp on the bedside table. The rain outside drummed gently against the windows, its rhythm a calming counterpoint to the ever-present hum of Night City’s neon chaos. The air was warm, tinged faintly with the herbal scent of Jamil’s tea from earlier. V stood by the wardrobe, shrugging out of her jacket and letting it fall onto the back of a chair. She glanced over at Jamil, who was already in the middle of changing.

He tugged off his oversized jacket first, hanging it with practiced precision over the arm of a chair. Beneath it, his tank top clung to his lean, muscular frame, revealing the taut lines of his shoulders and the faint definition of his arms. He moved with the same fluid grace that always caught her attention—every gesture measured and precise, betraying the discipline and control that defined him.

When he reached for the hem of his tank top, V couldn’t help but watch as he pulled it over his head, revealing smooth, dusky skin and the faint sheen of sweat from the day’s tension. The sharp contours of his back shifted as he stretched, and her eyes caught on the small, dark insertion port at the base of his cervical spine. The port gleamed faintly in the dim light, a stark contrast against the unmodified perfection of his skin.

He pulled on a clean black T-shirt, the fabric stretching briefly over his broad shoulders before settling into place. The outfit—a plain tee and loose joggers—was startlingly casual for someone who always seemed so put together, but it suited him. He looked comfortable, a rare sight that made her chest tighten.

Jamil glanced at her briefly, raising a brow. “Done staring?”

Caught, V smirked and turned away to finish changing. When she turned back, Jamil was already lying in bed, his back propped against the pillows, a datapad resting on his lap. His legs stretched out beneath the covers, his body relaxed as he scrolled through updates. The glow of the screencast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the elegant curve of his jaw and the faint hollows beneath his cheekbones.

The neon light from the city outside slipped through the curtains, fracturing into streaks of red and blue across his face. He looked almost otherworldly in the mix of colors, his sharp features softened by the cozy surroundings. V took a moment to study him—this rare, unguarded version of Jamil. His brow furrowed slightly as he read, his lips pressed into a thin line of concentration.

Something in her stirred. She crossed the room quietly, slipping into bed beside him. The mattress dipped under her weight, and he glanced at her, his expression softening as she settled against the pillows.

“Work updates?” she asked, nodding toward the datapad.

“Just catching up,” he replied, his tone as even as ever. “I returned early today to… make sure you came back. Now I’m behind.”

The faint rebuke in his voice made her wince, but she saw the flicker of relief in his eyes when he looked at her again. She wanted to say something—something light, something to dispel the lingering tension—but instead, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her forehead to his side.

Jamil froze for a moment, caught off guard, before setting the datapad aside. His hand rested lightly on her arm, his thumb brushing idly against her skin. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her words muffled against his shirt. “For scaring you. For making you worry.”

His hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle motion. “You say that now,” he said, his tone tinged with a faint bitterness. But there was no anger there—only a quiet, aching vulnerability. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

“I’m trying,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ll try harder. For you. For us.”

His arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He tilted his head slightly, resting his chin lightly on her hair. For a moment, the only sound was the rain outside and the faint hum of the city beyond the glass.

“Just… be careful. I don’t care how hard things get. Just come back.” he said after a long pause.

V tightened her hold on him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll do my best,” she whispered. “I promise.”

He sighed, his body relaxing slightly against hers. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the glow of the city painting the walls around them in fractured light.

Eventually, Jamil shifted, pulling the covers up over both of them. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice a murmur. “Tomorrow will be better.”

“Get some rest, V,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. She nodded against him, letting her eyes close. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside faded away, leaving only the steady rhythm of Jamil’s breathing.

[mediocreswanwrestler]

Randy, I the when you are the after today yesterday the them you woe armadillo yes???

`` I feel like my head is going to explode and I haven't e-even picked at the bandy-aid in a few days! ``

`` Holding s-sweet, sweet, Oliver's hand has been helping me break the habit...``

[ri-afan]

Soulmate au - first words on skin

“Woah, hey, you probably shouldn’t be doing that.”

“…Are you my conscience?”

Person 1 is a vigilante helping someone with a probable concussion after an attack of some kind.

Person 2 is a person who’s had many a philosophical debate on whether or not the words on their skin made them reckless or if they were reckless all on their own.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

I don’t always make Feng Xin suffer, but when I do? God do I make that man suffer. He’s just my little meow meow and I want to see him cry 🥸

[lennsart]

Hi

I published a new serie centered around Fable :D

If you want to see a Zelda replace her Link in the Linked Universe adventure, and if you like the idea that Fable and Legend are siblings, that Ravio and Link are planning a wedding, and that the queen of Hyrule, too, can get caught up in shenanigans, you might enjoy this fic !

(Was this ad good ? I hope it was)

I did add this to the collection of the challenge Sepfember, by @rebornofstars :D check it out if you want the LoZ girlies to have their time to shine !

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 28: Collecting Objects

The pack has a beach day, and Mountain and Rain spend it looking for a keepsake to take home.

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making us the dividers <3

"Will this do, tadpole?" Mountain asks, holding up something small between big fingers, covered in their human glamour.

Rain chirps curiously, straightening up from where he's been combing through the sand. Behind them, the lake laps at the shores, water stretching off to the horizon, sky and water the same bright blue.

The band's on an off day, Papa deciding that a lake day would be good for all of his ghouls. Mountain's grateful for it, eager to take off his shoes and sink his toes in the sand, connect to his element. Rain, Dew and Aurora had happily dove into the water the moment the bus had pulled to a stop, even though Rain is a saltwater ghoul. Any water is good enough for their magick.

Cumulus and Cirrus wade through the waves, up to their knees, talking to each other in quiet tones, while Aeon and Swiss playfight and tussle in the water. Swiss keeps saying something about planting palm trees, and Aeon rolls their eyes, splashing water at him every time.

Papa's on the shore, under an umbrella, eyes shut behind sunglasses. Should they approach him, Mountain knows the old man will insist that he isn't sleeping, just resting his eyes. His face is slathered in sunscreen that smells strongly of artificial coconut and zinc.

Rain trots over, squinting in the summer sun at what Mountain's holding. It's cobalt blue and about the size of a fifty cent gumball, just slightly translucent and glowing where the afternoon sun hits it. "Shit, sunflower, it's perfect," Rain gushes, holding his palm out.

Mountain gives him a crooked grin, depositing the bit of sea glass into his outstretched hand. He watches as Rain rubs his thumb over the wave-smoothed edges, a bit of glass buffered and polished into a pretty little gemstone. It'll get tucked into one of the nooks in Rain's bunk, along with all of the other stones the two of them have collected together, until they get back to the Abbey.

The collection gets split evenly between two places. Half of the rocks will line the shelf above the desk in Rain's room, organized by color. There's a pile for each tour Rain's been on, can name every body of water he took them from.

The other half will go to the greenhouse, to the bed of flowers that Mountain keeps, one plant for each of his packmates, former and current. They line the edges of the raised bed, curling around the snapdragons and jasmine, the baby's breath and catchfly and daffodils. The stones circle the morning glories climbing their trellis, tucked around the petunias.

It's theirs, the same way Cirrus and Cumulus buy magnets from every rest area and truck stop the band stops at.

"Did you find one for me?" Mountain asks, watching as Rain inspects the sea glass.

"Mhm," Rain hums, reaching wordlessly into the front pocket of his shorts and pulling out a stone. It's flat and almost perfectly round, and if the lake were calmer, water glassy and still, it would make an excellent skipping stone. It's a slightly marbled grey, basalt, if Mountain had to take a guess, but he's more than willing to bet that Rain selected it for its shape rather than any unique coloration.

"This is perfect, Rain," Mountain beams, auburn hair glinting copper in the light. Rain gives him a grin back, and even through his human glamour, his teeth are just a little too sharp.

"How about I put these with our stuff, and we actually get in the water?" Rain offers, shifting on his feet.

Mountain's brow furrows for a moment, poker face nonexistent when it comes to his water ghoul. "Shit, didn't mean to keep you from the wa-"

Rain reaches up, pulling Mountain down by the shoulders to press a quick little kiss to his lips, effectively shutting him up. "Don't apologize. I needed to get a rock for you."

Mountain smiles again, unsure if the warmth on his face is just the sun or a blush. He waits until Rain's back is turned, depositing their stones in one of the pouches of his backpack over by Copia, before calling out. "Last one in is on dishes duty when we get back to the Abbey!"

Rain splutters, scrambling through the sand, and Mountain just laughs.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Rewriting what was the old chapter 22 of TBBW (1920s Dance, Woo Woo!) and the last half, the klaroline half, has become a chapter all on its own. It's really building up to be one of my favourite chapters in the entire fic, and it's partly because I read @kirythestitchwitch's Crash Course which made me crave a cheeseburger so badly I wrote it into this fic. So here's a sneak peak --- don't let the fluff fool you, this chapter has its fair share of angst hehehe

“You know, I’m really surprised you didn’t insist on paying,” Caroline commented, unwrapping the paper around her cheeseburger as she settled back on the bonnet of Klaus’ car.

Klaus sat beside her, unwrapping his own burger as he stretched his legs out in front of him, one leg hanging off the side and resting on the upwards curve of the rim that snaked above the front wheels. Caroline leant back against the glass of the windscreen, relaxing into her spot as the sweet, steaming smell of the burger hit her — two seasoned patties topped with melted slices of creamy, cheesy goodness calling out to her from their package in a perfectly toasted, soft sesame seed bun, stuffed with crisp, curly lettuce and slices of fresh tomato. Up above, the light pollution from Mystic Falls was less intense so far away from the town, parked outside a quiet diner just off the Jackson highway. The stars were beginning to peak out from behind the clouds, the moon a quarter-full and shining down on them from the night sky above. Behind them, the warm glow of the diner spilled out onto the parking lot, employees wiping down tables and serving the odd exhausted truck driver behind the glass, like one gigantic, square-shaped fish bowl. The neon lights of the diner’s name, Wayback Burgers, flashed and flickered in the dark, reflecting red and blue light onto the wet pavement. 

“And why’s that?” Klaus asked, licking his thumb where the various condiments and sauces had leaked out of his large, triple stacked bacon cheeseburger and onto his hand. She’d felt weird ordering him nothing at the drive thru after she’d asked for the cheeseburger and fries, impulsively buying a milkshake to wash it all down with too. So she’d turned to him and asked if he’d wanted anything, and with some hesitancy, he’d ordered one of the meatiest burgers on the menu.

It was weird. The choice prodded something in her brain, seeming familiar. It was only when they got their burgers, Klaus eyeing his with a hunger that looked out of place on a vampire, that she realised why.

Tyler always ordered the meatiest thing on the menu too. Burgers, ribs, steak, chicken wings — it didn’t matter where they bought lunch, if there was an option to eat like a hungry pack of hyenas, he’d take it. Klaus had slightly more decorum, but the look was exactly the same.

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be ancient?” she shot at him, setting the wrapping in her lap and taking her first bite of her burger. She sighed in bliss the moment the taste hit her tongue — it was truly a magnificent burger. The patties were seasoned to perfection, falling apart in her mouth, cheese melted onto them. The tomatoes and lettuce were fresh but not soggy, and the pickles buried beneath it all had an acid tang that balanced the whole thing out. “Old people are always moaning chivalry is dead,” she finished, holding a hand up to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food.

“And I seemed like the type?” he asked, glancing at her with a raised brow. His voice dropped to a dry drawl. “Why? Because I’m old or because I’m dead?”

She grinned, cheeks full of food. “Both,” she informed him happily, before chewing the last of it and swallowing. Klaus grunted, finally taking a bite out of his burger. Like her, he seemed to melt into the taste, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. She shrugged, eyeing him consideringly before turning her gaze back to her burger, folding down the wrapping. “Most guys get weird when I offer to pay.”

Tyler normally did. Matt had. Since both boys were on opposite sides of the financial spectrum, she kinda figured it wasn’t because of the money.

He looked at her then, searching her face for something. He swallowed his food before he spoke. “Did you want me to pay?”

She shook her head. “No. It was my idea to drag you out here. And you’re giving me a lift home after my car broke down even though I’ve rejected you like, a bajillion times. Least I could do was buy you a burger,” she teased, smile strained.

They hadn’t spoken about it, on the drive here. This thing between them; his jealousy towards Tyler and cruel actions earlier that night; the dozens of hesitant advances, if unwanted on her part. They weren’t friends.

Problem was, Caroline wasn’t sure if they were enemies either. 

Enemies didn’t show each other their personal artwork or unfinished sketches that were hidden away from even their family’s prying eyes. Enemies didn’t sit on a public bench and discuss lost dreams. And they certainly didn’t buy burgers at drive-thrus and eat them together under the starlit sky.

Klaus sighed, but didn’t seem offended. “I don’t think it was quite a bajillion times.”

“Yet,” she corrected cheekily, taking a big bite into her burger.

Instead of the scowl she expected, Klaus smiled fondly, following her lead and taking a bite too.

[idalenn]

Day 12 - Quarry

Following victory over the primal Titan, the Warrior of Light and fellow Scions set out to celebrate. (2.0)

Major characters: Warrior of Light, Thancred, Y'shtola Note: Bit of MtF angst in this one.

Full text below the cut

“In the presence of good company and pleasant song, I find myself growing rather bored with the idea of sitting and demand a change of pace, as it were. These Lominsan bones desire a dance, and a drink or partner on each hand.” With a wink, Thancred tilted back his head and upended the tankard, pulling down what remained of the ale in two swigs. “As it so happens,” he gasped, “I’ve no drinks, but two suitable partners to choose from.”

“Really, now?” Y’shtola’s eyes only flicked up from her book as his tankard clattered back onto the table. “One brush with mortality was not enough for you?”

“My dear Y’shtola, have you intent to wound me?”

“Only should your intentions include separating my hindquarters from this chair will you face injury; by tome or inability to maneuver two right feet.”

“All is well. Scorn only fuels this roguish heart, and reaffirms my decision to whom I would first proffer my hand. Sadly, my cattish friend, ‘twas not our time this night.” He turned to Lillian instead who was hurriedly dunking a torn crust of bread into her soup. “Our lady of the hour should have the first dance.”

Raising her mask just enough to expose her mouth, she bit into the hot, dripping bread, soup running down her chin across skin and scar. Garlic, shallots, popotoes, ham…pepper, she thought… and other green leaves not quite identifiable by sight. A multitude of flavors danced upon her burning tongue. She sucked up the drops wetting her gloves so fish and butter from the previous course entered the mixture. Her tongue darted out to catch the droplets at the corners of her lips.

Trencher in hand, she ripped another hunk from the black-dusted bread for introduction into the soup, the popotoes softened enough by the heat for pressing into the grain until resembling a chunky paste to be topped with strips of pink ham. Relish radiated up into the tips of her ears and down her charcoal length of tail, wagging like a hound’s as it welcomed home the hunter.

His voice meandered down her twitching ear; the question slowed her chewing until her jaw hung open. The trencher’s last half slipped from her grasp and landed on the table with a solid thunk.

Was I just asked to dance? Surely it was some mistake. Y’shtola was, after all, right in front of him, and the Mizzenmast was full to bursting with patrons mid-celebration.

“You do recall her accompanying the van into Titan’s abode, do you not?”

“My, my – that old adage holds truth for you as well. ‘Miqo’te of a certain fur will together purr’ as I remember. Such sweet concern from you is altogether foreign to my ears, but lovely as I’d believed it would be.”

“Tis not concern I urge, but to remind. We have, all of us, survived the day’s excitements relatively unscathed. Some would prefer to enjoy a modicum of peace while they have it.”

“Perhaps I shall ask her.”

“Perhaps you should. I am not her keeper nor seeker, nor am I yours.”

“A pity, but I shall await any change in disposition, nonetheless.”

Thancred snatched Lillian’s hand before she could retrieve the bread and pulled her to standing, a yelp escaping around her full mouth. Her free hand yanked the mask roughly back down. Too hard. She tilted her head down to peer through one crooked eyehole, chewing faster, hoping to get a word in, and saw she was being led into the jubilant press, and the chew turned into a rattle. Turning to look at her – presumably over the chattering of teeth – Thancred returned a smile, bright and victorious, if a little smug, before pulling her toward him into an embrace, the crowd swallowing them both in a sea of bodies. One hand deftly slipped around her waist. The other kept her hand in his own. His white crop of hair tickled against the scars marring her throat. As the mouthful of food traveled down in a hard lump, she for a moment feared it would bump against Thancred’s head.

“This is not a strength of mine,” she panted. “Dancing, I mean.”

“As is strangely the case, I’ve found, with every woman of exceptional stature.” Thancred laughed, his fingers twiddling against her own, warm and riddled with knife-borne callouses. “But, since you are so in need, this once I will be the one to lead.”

She tried to laugh also. All was distracting: the people, the music, the danger of crushing Thancred’s foot, where to place her eyes; high so she avoided bumping heads with Roegadyn and Elezen, or low to avoid gifting any Lalafell a noseful of knee?

Some gyrated their hips, others flailed their arms while hopping on one leg, a few slipped around with fluid motions, bodies like ripples in tumultuous water. Stiff-armed and dipping low to kick out legs. Held up by partners to avoid the restrictions of being bound to the earth. From where would they begin when every style was unique?

“For a start, you should place that hanging arm about my shoulder.” Her arm lay flat at her side, limp like a dead snake. Under the mask her face flushed hot; not that he or anyone else would see, of course. And it’s probably for the best.

“And if I were in your position, about to be taught by an eminent instructor, it would be most pertinent if I were capable of, how I should I say this…observing?” His hand separated from hers and traveled up to the mask taking the chin between thumb and forefinger. “May I?” he asked. Once her neck tensed, he rotated the mask to the proper place with a quick tug. “Good, now I can meet both those golden eyes, much as I’d prefer the mask’s absence. What lies beneath must be a valuable indeed if needing to be kept constantly guarded away from us all.”

Lillian blinked dumbly. A brief sensation grazed the underside of her chin while his hand was outstretched; light; faint; an ember of a wizened, crumbling dream to arouse her heart. And lower, too. Thancred chuckled as she worried into the arm around her waist, but he allowed the gap between their bodies to live.

“Now, my homely, towering maiden, unless you wish to bash aside everyone present, try to imitate my movements as though I were your reflection in the looking glass.” He urged Lillian forward, his movements slow, methodical, and – most importantly – easy for her to follow, steering together through the press by manipulating her arm like a ship’s rudder.

One foot here, another there. Turn this way. Step toward me, now away, and now back. Spin. Canter forward with loud stomps, half-step, weight on the heel and pivot right – I’ll catch you.

Faster. With gusto, but keep your hand in mine. And now. We. Leap! Excellent, but watch the tail. My shin can only endure so much punishment. Turn, turn, turn as if caught in a waterspout – a twister, then, if your Gridanian imagination will permit. You picked that up quicker than I’d hoped.

Sweat rolled down her temples and beaded along her upper lip, gathered in the creases between nose and cheek and in the valleys of her scars. Exhaling was the enemy, Thancred’s praise’s only pushing the temperature further into the unbearable. Her face moistened with humidity only found in tropical storms, and she was growing acutely aware of the rising bog in her gloves that would escape down their arms if she raised her hand even slightly.

“You truly have not danced before?” he asked between directions.

“A little,” she breathed, swallowing air, “When I –” An ache in her cheek stopped her; the limit of words fast approaching. “Younger.” Single-word responses wouldn’t overtax the already-aching scars on her face.

“All that lost time. I tremble to think how long exactly given the hesitancy you’ve displayed against giving us proper answers. If not for Y’shtola tempering the Scions to more reclusive sorts, well, Minfilia might have seen to task me with wheedling the answers from you myself.” Lillian’s head whipped to face him. “Now don’t give me that look, I’ll have you know I would have been the kindest thought extractor you’d ever had the fortune to deal with.” He gave her hand a rough squeeze. “What say you to upping the complexity?”

“Joy,” she said.

That gave Thancred pause. His eyes ran her over until settling on the wobble in her legs. “Perhaps Y’shtola did have the right off it after all. My apologies for the haste. Hopefully you’ll forgive this bard his inclinations for merriment in the face of wonderous company.”

“Forgiven. Table.”

Thancred’s arm slid around her back to provide support, grunting as Lillian’s towering weight bent him low. Returning through the raucous press now seeming a single mass of heads and limbs she left up to him. Little will for the task did she possess still, but the Archon was a trained hand. Navigating the sea of bodies appeared second nature to him. It must have been no more difficult than swimming. Lillian would drown if she tried on her own.

 A curious sight greeted them both when they finally broke through the crowd. Beside Y’shtola buried in her book sat another: a Miqo’te toying with a necklace not unlike a collar about her neck, gem the color of night in place of the loop for a leash. One of the Mizzenmast’s serving girls – if the red doublet, fraying black rag containing a mane of golden hair, and skirt long enough to barely conceal a Lalafell’s legs were any evidence. Three full tankards sat on the table beside her. One foot tapped impatiently on the stones as if she were waiting for someone, anyone; any at all capable of pulling themselves away from a book. As she caught sight of the approaching pair, the girl sprung to her feet and swiftly bowed, her face alight with joy when she came back up.

Y’shtola pointed a finger at the new arrival. “Thancred, I believe this one waits for you.”

“Does she now?” Surprise registered on his face for only a moment before a sultry grin took hold. Lillian felt herself lifted higher as his back straightened. “I – I must say this is a pleasant surprise. Only earlier had I jested of a companion on each arm and now a second arrives, and bearing gifts I might add.”

“She possessed a name as well, I believe,” Y’shtola added, “but pray, forgive me. I was too distracted by half when first it was mentioned.”

“Pay no attention to our bookwyrm acquaintance here.” Thancred helped lower Lillian into her seat before turning back to the girl. “Only moldy tomes can hold her attention, but you will be delighted to know such failings are unpossessed be me – the one so cordially referred to as Thancred, thank you – particularly with one so pretty as yourself.” The serving girl giggled, one hand at her ample chest, voice bubbly and so sweet as to drive one’s teeth itching. She was, unfortunately, by opinion of anyone with eyes, quite pretty. Thancred stepped closer mirroring her gesture, his hand surreptitiously unfastening one button at his neck in the blink of an eye to expose a puffed chest. “And you would be called?”

“I am Lavinia, if it pleases you, but she is right in that I have waited for your return.” Her head dropped, angular ears flattening to her head, and she stepped even closer to Thancred before returning her eyes to his. “Will you share in dance with me as well?”

“I believe I still have some reserve of vitality to draw upon for such an occasion. That is,” he said aloud, “if none present have any objections.”

“You will hear none from the ‘cattish friend’.” Y’shtola replied.

Thancred rolled his eyes. “Never one to be outstripped in timely responses,” he muttered before returning his attention to the serving girl. “So long as your absence will go without grievance. Becoming the target of wrathful seamen promised refreshment would dampen this evening ever so.”

He held out an arm for Lavinia’s taking. Batting kohled lashes, she accepted the offered limb into her hands. Thin little things, thought Lillian. Easily bruised like Lominsan apples, lithe and gainly; they cut a snug fit inside Thancred’s own. Her tail, furred in cloud-like fluff, swished back and forth against his leg with each step.

Probably feels soft as cotton.

Nearing the edge of the sea of flesh Lavinia turned to Thancred, arched toes granting extra ilms to reach his ear, some indistinguishable promise written on her lips that summoned a triumphant flash to his face. He’d been pulled closer: his arm now rested in the nook where bosom flowed into underarm, held by a starving animal – his own appetite unsatiated.

Before long they were gone, tumescence having spirited bard and serving girl into the chill of night.

Lillian shook with a feeling she did not wish to name, the cold emptiness of her chest prickling against the grey of her robes, fur along her tail’s length rising to needlepoints. The trencher became the target of her cruelty. Some satisfaction was found tearing into the bread while imagining it as those fragile hands, their covering stretched paper thin over the skeleton, those hands that had never held belief of their own incongruity.

“Fallen for his charm, have you?”

Lillian halted her shredding to find Y’shtola brushing crumbs from the tome’s pages, a strained line where her mouth should have been. “Hardly the first, and far from last – he exudes allure with nary a thought given for restraint. You would do well not to let reach his ear our Warrior of Light has been made available quarry, lest his ego grow unbearable.”

Looking up to discover Lillian’s head ducked to her chest, she let slip a sigh, deciding instead to stretch across the table to push the fullest tankard within easy reach.

[alphashley14]

Readers, you know how much I would love to update my fic, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped.

[robin-with-a-pen]

Okay yall do I have something here?

One of these is just straight up stolen from someone else, but idr who they are (Whittbell)

Anyways im going to name them poor girl, she’s featured in at least two fics, three if I ever write it, babygirl has earned a name damnit

[wallflowerwritesstuff]

Snap necks (and snap back)

Simon hated the idea of you, a newbie, at first.

Now, he's focused on making sure you don't run yourself into the ground despite your obvious distrust in him and the others.

TW: Minor Implications of PTSD, Slight Hurt/Comfort (In a Simon way), One shot (for now?), Minor Injury mention

****

Simon loved when you kept eye contact. 

“Don’t test me today, Riley.”

It was a sign. 

A sign of what, he wasn’t sure just yet, never having been the type to care if people saw him or saw what had been molded by years of life attempting to drag him down both physically and mentally. 

Not many could handle it—avoiding his eyes entirely or folding in order to show they were the farthest thing from a threat. 

You, however, were not intimidated by his size or the sound of his voice. You never bothered to pry into why he always wore a mask, taking Johnny’s explanation for face value and moving on swiftly from the conversation. Even after hearing about what he looked like through the grapevine, you hadn’t attempted to sneak a peek just to say you’d gotten one over on him. 

In fact, you might have done your best to avoid it—and him—entirely. 

Which made the situation at hand all the more tense: a storm in the making. 

“Ain’t a teacher to be givin’ exams, Spitfire.”

Your jaw rolled as you debated addressing the smart ass comment vs. the unwelcome nickname. 

While everyone had taken to trying out new names every so often without much response, he’d been dead set on what he’d wanted to call you from the get go. Perhaps it would have landed better if not for the fact you and him had never once seen eye to eye on anything, even the smaller things such as what to eat or drink. 

Neither of you had started off on the best footing, if on any at all. 

The idea of a newbie on an already solid team had come as a surprise to them all, for Simon more irritating than helpful. He’d expected a person full of nerves: pure deadweight that wouldn’t last longer than a week, if even. And if he were being honest, seeing you for the first time had barely changed his opinion despite the cold demeanor you’d had.

You didn’t look like much of a soldier even under all the gear: if anything, appearing better suited for a desk or office rather than a borderline field servant like the rest of them. 

“Name?” Price had asked, more for the others to know than himself. He’d no doubt already gotten your file prior to your addition. He wouldn’t have accepted you so graciously if not for that insight.  

“Hitman,” You’d answered, earning a snort from Johnny which he choked down after a scathing look from Price. He had tried his best to pass it off as a cough, Gaz shoving him with an elbow before smiling and taking over to avoid the other from shoving his foot in his mouth any further. 

“Hitman, huh? You must be pretty skilled to have a name like that.” 

You hadn’t reacted to either comment made, staring directly at him with an almost eerie calm that had the room’s light atmosphere faltering. 

“Dunno,” you’d said dryly, scanning the area before doubling back to scan each of them, “Not like I picked it.” 

While half true, Simon had learned through Johnny, with his shit-eating grin and all, that you most likely knew very well why you’d gotten that name pinned onto you. 

“Pure dead brilliant, ‘at one,” he’d said while cackling to himself, not even attempting to hide how pleased he felt at the information. “Bet th’bastard deserved it an’ mair. Shuid o’ called ‘em Hook or Boxer instead!”

That knowledge, along with how well the first mission had gone despite all the unexpected issues which had nearly ended the task force altogether, was the beginning of a partial shift in his perception of you. 

You’d gone from possible deadweight to a person of interest after hauling ass with Johnny back to safety, Gaz hanging off the two of you with a broken leg and a hell of concussion. He had still managed to cover you as you ran, later admitting he had just shot and hoped for the best with his slowly darkening vision.

You had proven dependable both alone and while working with the others despite being a practical stranger to them all. That was more than he could say for most people. 

The confusion on your face afterward when Price and Johnny had offered their praise had been comical, held down only by the fact that the medic had kept you longer than intended. Simon had expected you to accept the praise and finally smile for once, but instead you seemed almost angry as your ankle was being flexed back and forth. 

The fuck are you all on about? Give me some fucking quiet and go check on Gaz if you want to hover someone. He’s worse off.

The response had only earned a slap on the back from Johnny, a slew of curses leaving his lips when you nearly buckled where you sat from the action. Your expression had shifted as you nearly let out a gasp, only to swallow it down and force that same cold expression back onto your face. Price had dragged him away and wished you a speedy recovery, Johnny following but not without a final apology and only earning an icy look in response.

How you’d avoided a scolding into next year for such righteous indignation against your superior was beyond Simon. What should have been a write up instead had earned a smirk and almost proud expression from Price, the reason why only hitting Simon once he’d taken his leave and finally left you alone like you’d seemingly wanted. 

You had been worried. 

For Gaz, specifically, considering you had no reason to mention his state if you truly just wanted to be left alone. 

But you had also been hurt somewhere along the line, embarrassed by it for some reason. Simon had nearly turned back once it had clicked, but he stopped himself before he could. He understood why you’d lied about your status, the memory of you barking out orders for a medic while holding up Gaz as he went in and out of consciousness burned into his thoughts. 

Besides, you hadn’t pried in his personal life, so he wouldn’t in yours, either. 

That didn’t mean he’d forget that you were surprisingly soft when you wanted to be. 

The sensation of being shoved brought Simon back to the present, you standing in front of him with a raised brow. He huffed out a breath in amusement, it coming out as more of a sigh. Not because of your shove itself—you were military trained, after all—but because of the fact he had already been leaning against the wall when you’d entered, meaning there wasn’t much point in it apart from essentially hitting him. Even if he had been standing without the wall behind him to support him, you wouldn’t have been able to so much as make him flinch. 

He supposed you using him as a punching bag was a vast improvement from pretending he wasn’t there at all.

“Fuck you.” 

The rest of the laugh from earlier threatened to escape, and part of him debated whether or not to let it. Your face would twist in a rage at the sound, no doubt, but maybe he wanted that. 

Maybe he wanted to see you lose it for once: let out the emotion you kept inside and away from them all despite the months working together. He had learned early on that while emotion on the job was a liability, processing outside of it was what allowed for a clear head on the battlefield. 

Your frustration had already festered and bubbled over, obvious by how you were attempting to pin him down with your sharp gaze alone. 

 (you’d never be able to, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy seeing you try.)

He tilted his head, scanning over you slowly before working his attention back up to your tense expression. If he wanted, he could defuse this situation. He could leave without feeding into your anger and allow you the time alone to decompress from whatever had left you shaking in front of him. 

In the time it took to consider his options, you seemed to have had enough and wandered off toward the cabinets. Simon watched you slam them open and shut, grumbling under your breath about something he couldn’t quite catch. What he did catch was what you were gathering: two mugs. tea packets, a pot. 

Pushing off the wall, he moved to a stool, sitting at the island separating the both of you instead. 

Your body tensed as he grew closer, but you didn’t snap at him or remove your attention from the water. That was an improvement considering how he’d seen your hackles raise the first time you two were so much in a room together. He always assumed it was due to training, but a part of him had a feeling that was only a small part of it. 

A calm slowly settled over you as the water began to boil, Simon catching the exhaustion and contemplation more clearly without your anger masking it. You didn’t move a muscle which was odd in and of itself, as no matter how much training you’d had, when on base, you’d always be fidgeting somehow. 

Finger taps, leg bounces, lip or cheek chewing, skin picking, lash pulling. 

Something.  

“You’re off.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t move. You didn’t even look up at him. 

“How so?”

Simon squinted at the tone, crossing his arms as he exhaled deeply. “Quiet.” 

“I recall that being something you hated when we first met. Something about scurrying about like a mouse. Or rat.” 

You finally lifted your head after shutting off the stove top, meeting his gaze once again as the steam from the pot rose before disappearing entirely. Simon grunted, recalling his harsh words and owning them rather than attempting to recall context. 

Had he been aware of how good your memory was, he might have been more careful about what he’d said to you early on. 

(he wouldn’t have. but you’d been around long enough to know he wasn’t exactly known for tact.)

“I hate lots’ve things. That ain’t one’ve ‘em.” 

A whistle echoed as you tilted your head. “Getting mixed signals here, Riley. Keep this up and one might think you actually like my presence.” 

“Whatever it is,” he stated, not breaking eye contact and ignoring the attempt at avoiding the conversation, “Solve it. Soon.”

The last thing they needed was to lose one of the few competent people that actually meshed well with them all. Maybe not off the field, but that didn’t matter nearly as much at the moment as on it. 

“Worried about me?” you said with a chuckle as if laughing as some sort of inside joke, turning your back to him and pouring the water into the mugs as the tea began to steep. 

“Depends on what it is makin’ you so…” 

He paused, attempting to find the word for what you looked like. 

Burnt out. 

No, you were full of energy as he’d seen earlier. Not the kind of energy you usually were, though. This was more subdued yet intense. 

Like you were watching and waiting for something to happen, almost. 

He squinted as you turned back around, a mug in each hand as you stepped closer for once, placing them both down on the kitchen island and pushing one toward him. He didn’t look at it as a single word slipped from his lips. 

“Nervous.” 

Your eyes widened a fraction, barely noticeable but enough so that he could clock it. With a clenched jaw, you swallowed hard and stared down into your mug. 

“I don’t do nervous.” 

He didn’t respond, knowing a lie when he heard one. The room dove into silence, somewhat more suffocating than the anger you’d ripped into the room with as he was attempting to relax. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“Do you do nervous?” 

You shifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, holding it as you always did. This time didn’t feel as amusing or interesting, threatening to cause a frown to slip onto his lips. You cradled the mug in both hands, eyes flickering down when he didn’t respond immediately, as if it’d give you whatever answers you were looking for. 

“It was a stupid question, sure, but you don’t have to think so hard ab—”

“Every day of my life.” 

Your head snapped up at that, but before you could say anything else, he stood, moving toward the door. You didn’t need more than that—you weren’t looking for anything other than that, he knew. 

All you’d needed was something (or one) to relate to after months of being unable to do so. 

An olive branch, if nothing else.

“Thanks for the tea.”

He wondered what you looked like as he walked out of the room. If your eyes were about to bulge from your skull, or if you were irritated all over at the fact you’d made him something and he hadn’t even touched it. 

(He would have never guessed that you were left staring at the untouched mug in confusion, expression darkening at the realization that old habits truly did die hard.)

[dolphingirl1234]

10 points to the person who can identify every single musical I reference in the chapter titles in the new fic I'm writing

[feathersflurry]

Fractal-Chapter 3

SephirothxFem!OC

TW:Angst, light yandere, see tags Disclaimer: teasing, bdsm, budding dom/sub dynamic, childhood friends, yandere!Sephiroth (Light), Mirror Play, Edging (Sorry babes), Exhibitionism...sort of? [Quick links to previous and future chapters can be found at the bottom.]

[*Side Note* I would like to apologize for using the wrong name, as my foolish ass forgot to do my due diligence with properly bringing up the Wu Tai. I will do my best to ensure that I don't repeat my mistakes moving forward.]

So, Who’s the lucky girl? She couldn’t be that stupid. He knew when she was playing the fool and that was the most obvious act she could have ever displayed. And she'd displayed many in the time he knew her. Frustration built as he stood beneath the heavy droplets, and he couldn’t help but stare at the water as it circled down the drain. His long silver hair clung to his back and legs as he slid it away from his face. Long fingers embraced his shoulders and he jumped, circling and reaching for the owners throat. A threatening look flashed for a brief moment as a low and menacing growl escaped him. A gust of cool air blew past him as his feet brushed into an empty stall. Before he knew it, the other parties back was slammed against the wall. A loud and manic laugh echoed throughout the shower room and Sephiroth’s eyes widened. A shorter man with shoulder length spiky brown hair gazed up at him with ease as his chest rose and fell with every breath. He licked his lips and his eyes fluttered. Sephiroth could only sneer in annoyance towards his friend for nearly risking his life just now. But judging by the wanting look in the other man's eyes, his actions were not simply proceeded on the whims of a prank. 

             “That was dangerous, you know.” Sephiroth chided. His grip loosened on his subordinates throat as he moved back and heaved a sigh. “What the hell were you thinking? We’re supposed to be fighting the Wu Tai, not eachother.” The commander rolled his eyes, jutting his hip to the side before turning the nozzle to the spout beside his compatriot on blast. The cold splash was enough to cause Sephiroth to jump back with a glare. “Sorry to disappoint you, sourpuss.” Genesis tsked. “Unfortunately I know how to have fun.” Fun, was it? Sephiroth furrowed his brow. He clicked his tongue at Genesis's idea of fun. Fun was when Mia took paints to her mirror to draw silly little faces or play tic tac toe as children, or just sitting down and invited him to watch a movie on a tiny little box television that he could barely see in her bedroom lest all of her lights were turned off. He would have given anything to go trick or treating with her in little costumes, or have little make believe moments where they fought with her styrofoam swords. He would have loved to have a normal childhood with her in the pursuit of fun without the denial of innocence and to atleast have the opportunity grow apart and back together over and over until they matured as normal children would. Sephiroths fists slowly curled and tightened at the smaller man. He envied the privileges that Genesis afforded. For any hint of mischief, any toe out of line for Sephiroth would be met with severe punishment. His eyes drifted down as the memory of Mia in her prom dress. The way she'd altered it to compliment her features and dance with the light as she moved made him move away from the other man as quickly as possible, turning his water to a freezing temperature so things would go unnoticed. A mournful sigh escaped him as he looked at Genesis and studied his hair. It was similar to her hair color.

“Damn it…” He mumbled to himself, sighing and dipping his head further into the water. Genesis watched him with intrigue and a mercurial laugh echoed throughout the locker room. Sephiroth winced, frowning at him. “You're thinking about her, aren't you?" He mocked. " The little thing you’ve been jacking off to in our tent?” Sephiroth could hear the ire beneath Genesis’ words. The corner of his mouth twitched in agitation and his shoulders squared.

“I assume you have a point, Genesis?” Genesis grinned up at him, his eyes gleamed with malice as Sephiroth watched in scrutiny.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the shorter man sang. “When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s end, the goddess descends from the sky.” 

On the surface, one could see that the waters of Sephiroth's ocean were calm, yet beneath the surface an undercurrent rushed as monsters thrashed through its tempest. The General's rage boiled as he did his best to quell the dark thoughts spurring toward his friend in that moment. And a lump formed in Sephiroth’s throat while he did his best to remain still. His breathing was steady as he stared at the wall and continued to wash himself. Genesis watched him patiently.

“It seems I've stricken a nerve .” The smaller of the two teased, growing more and more amused by the passing second.

“No, my friend.” The general laughed, “Unfortunately, I’ve grown too familiar with your little theatrics.”

Theatrics. Such a funny word to describe a funny man. Sephiroth smiled and ebbed towards the last of his shower routine. He'd begun to allow his friend too much freedom with his emotions. He breathed and slowly rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax. Were he to act on his rage, Genesis would be granted the satisfaction he'd been so eagerly waiting for.

   “Are you sure you can trust her?” Genesis warned. His face was placid. "She might betray you like Glenn did.”

Sephiroth’s eyes snapped open and his jaw set. He slowly turned his attention back to Genesis with a cold and calculated expression as steely eyes fixed on the smaller man, stopping him cold in his tracks. Saying nothing, he moved to rinse himself off, struggling to remain calm. Adrenaline rushed through him. He couldn't even think. And to bring up someone who just disappeared in and out of his...his thoughts trailed off. He didn't even realize he'd gripped onto the corner so hard that he'd broken the tiles. Blood smeared onto the locker room wall and the smell of copper permeated through the air. A hand fell on his shoulder and his voice called out to him before he spun around and the sound of shattering broke him out of his trance. Soon the smell of copper and iron was overwhelming as Genesis slid to the floor, groaning as he cradled the back of his head. Sephiroths eyes widened and his breath hitched.

He realized that he'd made a terrible mistake.

Mia curled against the mirror and waited for him. She’d been locked in her room most of the day and did not like the idea of going outside. She’d applied some makeup and wore a red mini dress so as to apologize for playing the fool. She wanted to talk about that once they spoke again. However, given that she waited as the minutes ticked by, she found herself…waiting. 

And waiting…

And waiting some more….

“What’s taking him so long?!” She shrieked, finally tossing a pillow from the bed. She’d gone through the process of setting the ambience, the music, everything just to apologize and the window hadn’t opened as of yet. She couldn’t just say open sesame like in Aladdin and the Forty Thieves. 

“Quite the ensemble, Starling.” 

There was the voice again. She remembered hearing that very same voice when Leah came to her. A black fog consumed the room. A ghostly presence surrounded her, capturing her as though it’d found it’s lost bride.There was a certain mixture of joy and sadness as flames of blue and vibrant green floated in tiny balls.Yet the presence remained a shadow as it approached. As if She was not permitted to look upon their face. Soon, the flames faded one by one, and the candles soon faded and the room shrouded in darkness. A sudden weightlessness took hold, and a shiver ran down Mia’s spine as leather clad fingers brushed the small of her back.Cool flesh and trimmed leather brushed along her exposed flesh. Hot breath tickled her ear, while warm lips left a trail of butterfly kisses up her shoulder and down her neck. An involuntary moan escaped her, drawing a deep rumble from her captor and the tickle of long hair brushed along her shoulder.

“I have waited for so long to do this…” Her eyes widened. Alarm bells went off in her head as she struggled to break free. It was almost as though her body were being carried through a vast ocean and there was little control as to where it took her. Cool air brushed along her skin as the presence held her steady, patiently soothing her until it was time to let go. She closed her eyes, unsure if she had fallen asleep at some point. That is, until she heard her name Being called. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a barack, standing in a puddle full of water and looking up at a tall silver haired man wrapped in a towel. His eyes were wide as he was tense. Her body wasn’t sure how to react to him beyond moving to leap and press her lips to his. He reacted in kind, swinging her onto his cot. His fingers traced along her thigh, hooking beneath the lace band of her panties as she held him close, unwilling to let him go. He pulled away, looking into her eyes for a few moments, a thousand questions mirrored her own. Yet he didn't know how else to address them as he felt his body press closer.

"So much for asking who the lucky girl was." Sephiroth growled, brushing his lips past hers and moving to bite into her shoulder. His tongue laved along the mark, clearing the blood from his claim. "Do you know now?" Mia whimpered in delight as a soft shudder erupted through her body.

“Let me stay.” She begged between breaths.

His eyes darkened as he pressed himself between her thighs and curled his body so as to move himself along the middle of her chest, slowly beginning his journey as he lowered himself between Mia's thighs. He wasted no time tearing away the thin barrier that separated him from his prize and Sephiroth’s eyes gleamed a bright chartreuse as a malicious smile played on his lips at the surprised yelp that escaped from Mia in that instant. Excitement brewed beneath the surface as a silent vow to take his time ticked away at his brain. He wanted to savor her. His tongue swiped along her folds,breath hot against her flesh as his fingers curled around her hips. Her red dress curled up to her belly and her ragged breaths bounced off of all four corners of the room. He’d needed this. They both did. His eyes flashed up at Mia who'dbeen gasping and twisting beneath his torment, jerking as he gently grazed his teeth along that little nerve that swelled to attention. The tast of her drove him mad, and he found himself diving deeper, wanting to hear more of her. He was completely unaware that she had other plans, unfortunately. Mia pressed her lover away, pulling him up so that he was hovering above her and moving to close the distance between the two. Their breaths intermingled and his arms wrapped around her waist as she tasted herself. Her body pressed against his while she held on to him for support. The fact that they dove into this scenario was unexpected. She more or less thought that there would be talking. Not vicious necking like a pair of horny late bloomers at a rave. She didnt even know how she got here in the first place and...her thoughts trailed off. She pulled back and quivered, drawing a breath. She did her best to gather herself before coughing and looked up, only for his lips to crash against hers once more. She felt like she was losing herself to the moment as they melded back onto the cot. His teeth grazed her neck and shoulders and his fingers caressed every part of her body.

"Seph..." Mia gasped. She was trying to compose herself. "Sephiroth wait we..." She was cut off again. This time not from him, but from the entire world fading into the abyss as the thick black fog from before consumed her once again before his very eyes. She reached for him and he tried to catch her in a panic. Her heart beat in her chest and a pleading look mirrored his. She didn't want to go.

His lips were still covered in her violet lip gloss. Her perfume still lingered where she’d lain. She was real….She was real…right? A sharp pang went through his chest. He could remember her warmth. Mia’s taste still lingered on his tongue. He looked at his cot and saw remnants of her undergarments. So no. He couldn’t have been going mad. He pleaded to himself, begging some part of his brain for it not to have been a dream. 

Mia’s loud blood curdling shriek broke through the entire house as she banged at the glass of the mirror. She clawed at the flat surface begging pleading to be sent back. Her eyes were wide with rage and she recalled the feeling of his damp hair creating a curtain around them. Sephiroth’s weight against her body and her begging to let her stay. She could feel another set of eyes watching her as she banged against the mirror. Not in malice, but in sorrow this time as she sobbed against the mirror. As though this was not something he’d planned. She looked down at her wrinkled dress and clutched the edges. The window had long since closed and she could hear Leah calling her name as her sobs slowly reduced to soft and mournful cries. She had no energy to clean herself up. Though to some, it would make her look like some kind of drama queen, she would resign to falling asleep in her smeared makeup and red dress, just to prove to herself that what she experienced was real. That he was never fiction. Then maybe…just maybe, she could put the delusion to rest.

Mia wasn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep. All she’d really known was that the sun had burnt her eyes when she heard the soft hum coming from her closet. Sephiroth was looking over a briefing with a cup of coffee in hand.His eyes were focused and his brows were knit together while he pressed the rim of the mug to his lips. His trenchcoat flowed with his movements as he slowly paced back and forth.An untouched bagel rested at the side of his desk and she tilted her head.Does he ever take the time to eat? Mia thought to herself. She pondered how long the window’d been open but never bothered to ask.Her eyes followed him for a long while before toddling over to the mirror and slid against the glass. Her head was still pounding and her stomach twisted for reasons unknown. Her eyes slowly blinked as she continued to watch him. He glanced in her direction for a brief moment as if to say good morning before going back to studying the file in hand. . 

“It feels like I had a party with a bunch of squirrels last night.” She groaned.Seph gave her a small laugh. 

“You’re telling me.” He began.. “When I woke up this morning, there was this lingering scent of perfume. I think my troops are trying to pull a pra-” There was a brief pause as though he wanted to say something lewd, yet firmly held his tongue. “So it was real…” he breathed. Mia slowly turned her gaze up as several papers fell to the floor. She wondered what he was looking at and then looked down at the ensemble she’d fallen asleep in. Her eyes traveled over to the vanity and took notice of the smeared makeup. Hickeys peppered her from her neck and down to her breast and crinkled dress. The bottoms of her breasts were slightly exposed. Her stockings were riddled with holes. Memories of him softly grinding between her legs caused her belly to clench. She remembered that he was only wearing a towel around his waist and  that his hair was damp. Her voice was rough and the memories of her screaming and wailing as she banged her fist against her mirror echoed in her brain. “Y-yeah.” she croaked. 

Let me stay. Mia remembered herself pleading. She felt her entire body flush as her mind raked through all of the possible questions that needed to be answered. How did she end up on the other side of the mirror? If it were possible in the first place, why couldn’t he be there with her? She rose to retrieve a makeup removal wipe from her cosmetics drawer. It would only take a few moments before the smudges of the night before were gone. She could feel Sephiroth’s eyes watching her every move as she made her way back to the mirror, sitting before him as she sat cross legged before him. His brow rose and his arms folded. The corner of his mouth quirked. He crouched low, tilting his head. A predatory expression loomed on his face as though he were some kind of leopard, eager to pounce. His bright green eyes seemed almost calm had it not been for what he’d been seeing in that moment. 

“Are you sure you want to sit like that?” Sephiroth purred, licking the back of his teeth. Mia couldn’t fathom what he could’ve possibly been talking about until he nodded to the large gap in what used to be her lacey black panties. It took her a moment to process until she slowly closed her legs and wrapped her arm over her belly. She could see the good officer press his fingers against the glass with ease. His knees now rested on the ground as if to move as close as he possibly could to her. 

“And you called me the pervert.” Mia mumbled beneath her breath, averting her eyes as if to hide a dirty secret that only her expressions could reveal. 

“Look at me when speaking, Starling.” Sephiroth commanded. His voice was low this time. “Repeat to me what you said, just now.”  Her voice quivered and her body quaked, visible enough for him to see as an overwhelming sense of vulnerability claimed her. Mia rubbed her legs together as tension began to build and her eyes met his. For a moment, it nearly felt as though he were reaching forward and taking her by the chin. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and opened them as the tickle of hair fell over her shoulders. There he was, leaning over her on his hands and knees. His eyes were no longer predatory but widened as she breathed in his scent. She reached up to touch his chest, sliding along the leather straps and beneath his trench coat with intrigue. His hand reached for her wrist and firmly squeezed as if to warn her what would happen if she continued. It wasn’t painful, not in the least. Rather, she laid beneath him, pulling Sephiroth toward her in invitation as her fingers curled around the back of his neck. And soon the predatory smile he had with her earlier came back in full force. He dipped down, claiming her lips, releasing her wrist and pulling her by the waist so as not to free her of him. She spread herself out more and made quick work of unfastening his belts and bracers, grinding against him to coax him further. 

“Sephiroth?” Called a voice. The two immediately stopped in their passions as heavy footfalls echoed through the chamber. Sephiroth and Mia sat upright and straightened themselves to see who’d entered the General’s barack. A man with a red trench coat and black pauldrons strode in with heavy lidded eyes. His lips were pursed into a thin line and he seemed to be looking around as he sat down on the rolling chair of his Generals desk. As Mia watched, Sephiroth’s fingers tickled along her lower back and his hair fell over her like a curtain. His trench coat was completely unfastened and his voice sunk into a low groan as he spoke softly into her ear. 

“We were busy, Mia.” Mia yelped in surprise when a single digit prodded at her entrance. His other hand held her fast by the belly as tender kisses were peppered along her shoulder. She spread her thighs further for him as he stroked along her passage, adding a second finger as she squirmed and bucked beneath him. Her voice echoed throughout the room in sheer and utter bliss. The man above her couldn’t help but laugh as he gazed down at her with playful reprisal. He slowed his strokes, tormenting and teasing her as he slowly added a third finger to his ministrations, licking his lips as she pleaded for him to continue. It was adorable how she thought he was going to stop. His fun was only getting started. He slowly pressed further into her passage and repeated his strokes a few more times before bringing his attention to the small bud just before the passage. A cruel smile appeared right then and there. He could continue to torment her…or….

He recalled all of the times when she was playing with herself and she thought she was alone. The times where he would watch her and cry out his name in their year apart. As though he wouldn’t know about her secret hide away places. He knew everything. Oftentimes, when he was waiting in a transport vehicle he would need to cross his legs next to Genesis or Angeal just to hide his frustrations from seeing her with a vibrator and some artificial cock between her thighs. And she would be crying out for him while doing it. During those days he would feel his throat go dry and the heat rush to his cheeks. All because he couldn’t do anything. But now he could. And as he rose to his feet he went to her drawer and pulled out the toy that would grab her attention the most. He studied it’s contents closely, raising his brow as he drew his thumb over the smooth surface of the piece. It’s base reminded him of one of those tentacles on the creatures he’d often encountered in the mountains, and yet he found himself enamored with the numerous functions presented to him each time he clicked the button. He’d never really considered the concept of toys in the past. In truth the idea never particularly caught his attention. However, in this moment, as he struck a particular pulse setting, he couldn’t help but raise a brow. From what he could feel when his fingers were inside of her, she’d been well lubricated and he knew that if he proceeded the way he was planning there would be no going back for either of them. 

He watched as she moved to a sitting position and immediately strode behind her and fell to his knees. Mia took notice that one of his gloves had been on the floor, only to have her face cupped by his free hand so she could look at the mirror. The window, it seemed, had closed for a brief moment. She could see everything as he nudged both of her legs to open further. Mia’s eyes met his as he studied her closely, apprehension continued to build as his fingers brushed along her body. As though he were silently worshiping her for a brief moment. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back for him, gasping the moment the vibrators sensations met her folds. She wanted so terribly to close her legs, yet his free hand only held them open, sliding over her belly and her breasts. He guided both of her arms to reach back and hold onto him so not to fall forward. The feeling of teeth sinking into her shoulder sent her into cries of pain and ecstasy. 

“Look at the mirror, starling.” He growled. “Look at the mirror, or I stop and our fun is over.” The way his voice rumbled in his chest made the hair rise on the back of her neck. His orders were clear and she bit her lower lip as she slowly opened her eyes. The vibrator was firmly pressed against her. His length had just barely penetrated her and the heat had only begun to rise between the two. His breaches had just barely sunken below his knees, while the leather trench he wore acted as a protective blanket around her. She studied every part of him as she did as she was told, not realizing the building frustration that she was inducing. She leaned further against his body and looked up at him, drawing her tongue along his neck in affection before nipping at his jaw. His pleased smile was short-lived. As the moment it faded he proceeded to thrust himself as deep and hard as he possibly could. Continuing the cycle as she cried for him. Praising her, stroking every part of her body as she begged for more of him. Unaware that the window had opened once more. All he could hear were voices. People who were possibly looking for him as Mia fell forward and he lost himself to her, flipping her over so he could see the adoration and pleasure on her face. He wanted this. He stayed alive for this. He pulled her legs up and folded her into a mating press, thrusting harder and faster. Stimulating her deeper as she whimpered beneath him and pulled him closer to her, claiming his lips in earnest. He took her in with each thrust as their tongues intertwined, battling for dominance as he braced himself over her. 

“JUST WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT SON OF A BITCH?!” Someone shrieked. The scream made the two of them jump and Sephiroth shuddered in recognition. His body tensed as he looked up, and immediately stopped Mia from glancing up. He quickly moved away and fastened himself, fixing his hair, reaching for anything that would keep him inconspicuous. When Mia moved with him and began to turn he stopped her once more.

   “You don't have to.”

Another cry of displeasure resounded from the mirror. 

    “I must.” He choked.

    “You can stay.” Her hand moved to tighten around his and he couldn't help but take her in. Not because of the fact that they’d practically had sex and were in a pre-euphoric state, but simply because she wanted him as he was. A loud crash echoed from the halls beyond his barrack. 

    Panic set in. The man who shrieked was not one he wanted to go anywhere near her. And he knew that if Mia asked if she could come, he would figure out a way to bring her with him.

     “You know I can't.”

There was a pained expression that reflected his own. He knew what was going to come next. His silly, stupid and crazy girl would open her mouth and beg to go with him to a man who would pluck her apart in an instant and subject her to unethical experimentations. If she survived, her mind would never recover. If she didn't, he would have to go into a ditch to search for her body. Neither possibilities were things he wanted to see come to fruition. 

The further Hojo stayed away from her, the better. 

      However, he was a weak man. If she begged him to take her now, he would never be able to leave her. Therefore, before she could utter another word-he pressed his lips to hers. His hand kept a firm hold of her waist as he soon lifted himself from her, saddened eyes whispered silent pleas and apologies as Sephiroth faded into the abyss. 

He crashed into several cleaning utensils and well sealed chemicals. It seemed that for some reason this newfound ability of his was heavily tied to emotion and desire. Yet he pondered whether or not he could return on a whim. He sighed and touched his temple, checking for bruises and feeling several strands of his hair. Several seconds passed before he realized that something on him was missing. A vital part of his uniform that one would deem as important, and yet…he chuckled. And yet…his imagination did not stray from the possibilities of what she would do with that tiny bit of leather he’d left behind. Good god he hoped she would make proper use of the thing. If not, he would be sorely disappointed. 

It took a moment before he properly adjusted himself and slowly walked out of the utility closet, making his way down the corridor to find a decrepit old man with dark hair waiting for him. The old man's beady eyes were severe as they peered up at him through circular lenses. The rest of the old man's uniform was mostly unkempt as his mouth remained upturned, dissatisfied at his test subjects' lack of punctuality. Sephiroth’s face remained placid as his hands remained firmly at his side, counting the seconds as this little man still seemed ten feet tall to him. Doctor Hojo could potentially drag him back to the lab if he so desired. Or worse, pick a man from his platoon to test on, since Sephiroth had been so bold as to be away for so long. A young man stood in the corner, fidgeting in place as he jostled from one side to the other. 

“Is this a new recruit?” Sephiroth asked. His voice was cool and collected, completely void of any intrigue or emotion. The perfect product of Shinra as Hojo would want. That was all Hojo wanted. 

Sephiroth tucked his arms behind his back and squared his shoulders. He was obviously putting on an air of authority as his eyes trailed around the room and landed on Genesis, who’d been sitting at his desk. His eyes were trained on his mirror for a brief moment as they then moved over to him. They looked to his ungloved hand and squinted as he clenched it for a moment and pointed at him. As if to say, Not a fucking word. Genesis curled the corner of his mouth and rolled the corner of his shoulder in a subtle shrug. His eyes were trained on the situation despite the knowing glance he kept in the corner of his eye. Sephiroth knew that once the two were alone, there would be an eager conversation. He prayed that Angeal, another first class, would intercept at some point. 

“Yes,” Hojo said lowly. “And I would like very much for Lazard to arrive as soon as possible, so that I may return to my work post haste. Either him or that Heidegger head of security bastard…” Seph did his best to maintain the eyeroll that threatened to come to the surface. Fearing that it may just cause him issues in the long term as-his thoughts were interrupted as a gruff voice called from around the corner. 

“Apologies for the late arrival.” A man with blue eyes and stubble on his skin in the standard Shinra first class uniform entered the fray. His muscular frame resembled that of someone of a more spartan like stature with a more sun kissed appearance. His dark hair was split down the middle. Another man, much smaller in stature with a well fitted suit followed closely behind him. His gloved hands held a file tightly to his chest. Hojo sneered as he bore his teeth to the two for their lack of punctuality. And a sense of sick satisfaction washed over his test subject at the scientists displeasure. The much younger individual in the room seemed to know him. No doubt a student of his. Sephiroth straightened and the other man gave him a look, noting the missing glove. Seph subtly shrugged and continued to stand at attention until the briefing was over.

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[redsong]

Fanart of my fave fic by @ahsokathegray that feels like it’s being written with my very own headcanons: