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bloodywankers · 24 days

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Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

Masterlist

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maarrgarr · 11 months

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The Unknown Heir.

part seven

masterlist of the Unknown Heir.

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader.

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warnings: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, some plot changes.

You felt too nervous. On the other side of the door were all the people you had left behind when you ran away.

"I've called you here to introduce you to the new teacher of Tokyo Metropolitan Magic Technical College, Mochizuki Y/n". When you heard Yaga calling you, you went inside. There were: Ieiri, who gave you a supportive smile, Mei Mei, who looked at you a little surprised, both had been friends, maybe not so close but they got along well, Ijichi, who didn't bother to hide his clear surprise to see you there; there was also a blonde dyed girl you didn't know but she gave you a little smile. And finally there was him, Satoru, who didn't even turn around to see you.

"She will work with Gojo first, as an assistant teacher and depending on how she does she will become an official teacher". You and Satoru glared at your former teacher upon receiving the news, but he ignored you. You knew perfectly well what he was doing, it was practically forcing you to spend time with Satoru and tell him about Ryusei. "That was all I wanted to tell you, you can go back to your jobs, except for Gojo and Y/n". Everyone present left, as Ieiri passed by you she whispered a "good luck" and you gave her a small grimace that was meant to look like a smile.

"I know your relationship is a little-" Yaga had started to speak as everyone walked out, but Satoru interrupted, "We have no relationship". You lowered your head without saying or showing anything, but inwardly it had hurt. Masamichi cleared his throat and spoke again, "Well, I don't care. I just wanted to tell you that this doesn't have to affect the education that you give to the students, you are here to teach future wizards, not to fight about your personal problems, do you understand me?" you both just nodded, "well, I leave you to talk and come to an agreement on how you are going to work" before leaving Yaga looked at you, you knew it was what he wanted, but you still weren't going to do it.

But, there was something Yaga forgot to mention and that was that you were allowed to leave in the middle of a class if for some reason Ryusei needed you. While Ieiri would take care of him, as she said she could do it without a problem, Ryu was too attached to you and you to him, you couldn't go even two hours without seeing your son. And that was something that, being Satoru's assistant, you had to tell him.

"Satoru..." you mentally beat yourself up for calling him by his name. "Don't call me by my name" he blurted out seriously and coldly, still not addressing you. "Sorry" you said, feeling, for some reason, inferior to him and you hated it. He wouldn't look at you and that made you feel that you didn't have the right to receive his gaze, he treated you badly, making you feel that you didn't deserve his good treatment.

You took a breath and spoke: "Yaga didn't say it, but I have permission to leave even if I'm in some class", he finally turned his head towards you and asked "And why is that?". Your mind went blank, what could you answer him, that you could leave some class to see your son, who is also his? You thought of multiple excuses to tell him, but none of them were coherent.

"I-I can't tell you", you muttered, but he heard you anyway. Tense silence reigned again, until he spoke, "Then no" you frowned, "What do you mean no?" he stood up from the floor, walked past you and approached the door ready to leave, "Without a logical reason, you're not allowed to just walk out of a class. You're here to teach, aren't you?", "But Yaga did give me-" he interrupted you and approached you, "Yaga also said that you are my assistant, so if I don't give you permission to leave, you don't leave", he said and before you could object to anything, he ended the conversation by saying:

"And if you don't like it, you know what you can do, you're an expert at that".

TAG LIST: @nyfwyeonjun , @lenasvoid , @yyxy27 , @staygoldsquatchling02.

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x you #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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twiceasfrustrating · 7 months

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Who's to Blame?

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Lucifer & Mammon & Asmodeus & Beelzebub Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Beelzebub, Asmodeus Additional Tags: fluff, threats of comedic violence (it’s Lucifer my dudes), Cerberus (mentioned) Summary: Lucifer is determined to figure out which of his brothers managed to unleash Cerberus, but they all deny any involvement. A/N: I wrote this months ago and never shared it publicly. I refuse to go back and edit it. Word Count: 811

“Which of you did this?” Lucifer’s voice was distressingly calm. The same kind of calm that told each of his onlooking brothers that he was exactly two seconds away from tying one of them up in the basement and seeing how long it took for them to starve or go mad – whichever came last.

“Did what?” Asmo asked as he finished buffing his nails to a perfectly rounded tip.

Lucifer held up a frayed leash, covered in mud.

“I don’t get it,” Beel said as he looked at the leash.

“One of you managed to let Cerberus out and had to leave my meeting with Lord Diavolo to go searching for him. Whoever it was will find themselves strung from the basement ceiling as a new chew toy for him."

"It wasn't me," Mammon immediately shouted in his defense. "I wouldn't go near that basement."

"You literally tried to rob one of the tombs down there last week because you thought someone may have been buried with their jewelry," Asmo huffed.

"I only suggested it. Don't go making me a criminal when I ain't one."

Everyone in the room stared at him in uncomfortable silence.

"Why aren't the others being asked?" Beel finally broke the awkwardness.

"Satan has been out nearly all day," Lucifer clarified, "Leviathan hasn't left his room in just as long judging by the trash built up in there, and Belphie won't wake up for me to interrogate him. Now, which of you is responsible?" His magic swirled around him, threatening to ruin whichever one of them didn't own up to it.

"I'm hurt that you'd think I'd do anything to endanger poor, sweet Cerberus like that," Asmodeus said in an exaggerated tone. "I could never."

Beel tilted his head in confusion. "I thought you didn't like Cerberus?"

"And that's why I clearly couldn't be the one at fault." Asmo's face twisted into a sneer from even thinking about the possibility. "Imagine the horror of smelling like dog. It doesn't match my aesthetic."

It was terrible logic, but Lucifer had to admit that it was very Asmoesque logic.

He turned to the other two. "And your excuses?"

"It wasn't me!" Mammon quickly reiterated his last defense. "I would never go to the basement."

"You think that's enough logic to defend yourself?" Lucifer glared, his magic cracking the air around him so harshly that it sounded like a bullwhip.

"You don't believe your sweet little brother?"

"We're all his little brothers, idiot," Asmo muttered under his breath.

"Shadup!"

"I haven't heard a reason why it couldn't have been you." Lucifer's voice grew darker and darker by the moment.

"It just couldn'a been!"

"Mammon is afraid there are ghosts in the old tombs," Beel said as he held his stomach, obviously thinking about sneaking away to grab something to eat. "He never goes down there."

"I'm not afraid!" Mammon barked. "I just dun' have a reason to go down there."

Lucifer shut his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose. At least this particular incident wasn't Mammon's fault, but that only left one last suspect.

He turned to Beel. "And you?"

Beel seemed to think about the question, but shook his head. "I didn't let Carberus out. He was sleeping when I went into the tomb this morning."

"Beel," Asmo sighed, "That means you were the only one that went to the basement."

"Oh…" The pieces finally seemed to click into place.

Lucifer's rage seemed to reignite. His demonic form overtook him instantly. "Why were you in the tombs?"

"You were gone all night at Diavolo's place, so I was checking on him to make sure he had food and wasn't lonely." Beel looked downward at the ground like a scolded puppy. "I didn't realize he got out."

There was a beat of silence before Lucifer folded his wings back and dropped his demonic form. "I see. Make sure you clean him up. He managed to make a complete mess of himself."

"Okay…"

"Is that it?!" Mammon yelped. "You would'a hung me from the rafters if I did it!" Not that he wanted that for Beel, but it felt unfair.

Again, Lucifer's form shifted and his dark aura circled around them. "I still could, if you're volunteering."

Mammon winced. "Ehhh… Nevermind."

"Good." He went back to his human face and turned his back on the lot of them. "I have to get back now. Ensure that Cerberus doesn't get out the next time you check on him."

Then he was off, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

Asmo laughed lightly as soon as Lucifer was out of range. "You really got off light there, Beel."

Beel looked at him in confusion.

"Nevermind." He looked at his nails, admiring his work once again. "Let's just say that Lucifer really does have a soft spot for big puppies."

#mine #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me fluff #fluff #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub

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extraorminary · 4 months

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Okay but have you ever sat down to contemplate the possibility of Orm ever thinking—no matter how fleeting the thought—that he was partly to blame for Atlanna’s unhappiness?

I have reasons for this. Hear me out. I’m going to focus on comics!Orm here.

This is a man who grew up witnessing horrifying fights between his parents. He had to watch his mother, who was most likely the only person to ever show him any sort of affection, get beaten by the extremely abusive man she was forced to marry (and then get beaten himself in turn). He grew up with the knowledge that he had a brother, whom he idolized and loved deeply, on the surface world, and you can’t convince me it took long for him to realize his mother had been forced to leave her surface family in order to fulfill her duty to her kingdom—to marry a cruel man she didn’t love in order to have Orm, the heir Atlantis needed.

And it doesn’t matter if Atlanna never did anything that even remotely implied she felt any sort of negative emotion towards him. Pretty sure it was the opposite: if anything, I’d say she doted on him quite a bit. Because even if she wasn’t always the best of mothers in the comics, I have no doubt she loved her son. In fact, nobody can tell me Orm wasn’t a complete mama’s boy as a child. But look me in the eyes and tell me that teenage Orm, left to be a king with no living family left in the entire ocean, never had even the vaguest feelings of shame and guilt at the sudden reminiscence of his mother, badly hurt after a rough encounter with Orvax, glancing at him and forcing a smile with her face bruised and the most exhausted look in her eyes. Tell me that, despite the memory of his mother’s warm embrace and her gentle whispers of how much she loved him and how special he was to her, there wasn’t a small voice in the back of his mind suggesting that every time Atlanna looked at him, she was forced to recall all the times she ever suffered at the hands of Orvax—that she was forced to see Orvax every single time her eyes fell upon him.

Tell me he didn’t grow to believe, and accept as pure fact, that in his mother’s heart he was always second-best. He was his mother’s biggest treasure, sure, but deep down he was convinced that Arthur had claimed ownership over the biggest part of her heart. I’m sure Atlanna would have told him, entirely honest, the complete opposite time and time again every time she mentioned his brother, but it’s also not hard to picture Orm having trouble accepting her words after hours spent ruminating. In his logical mind, it was simple enough: Arthur was the child her heart wanted, born out of love in a union of sweet passion with the love of her life, while Orm was the child her body was forced to have, out of duty and obligation to Atlantis, in a deeply unhappy marriage she’d had no choice in.

And I’m not saying it troubled him. Not always, at least. I’m sure it was difficult to come to terms with it at first; he was probably deeply hurt the first time his brain created the idea during his adolescence. However, with time Orm would have gone from viewing things emotionally to analyzing everything rationally. It is the only way for an Atlantean king to withstand the pressures of the crown without going mad, after all. As a teenager, the idea that he had a role in ruining his mother’s life was an insecurity. As a fully grown adult, it was merely one of the many ugly realities of life. His mother’s torment had begun with the monster she married, and it culminated with the child that finished tying her to Atlantis. And Orm had no choice but to learn how to adapt, to ignore the ache in his chest every time the thought popped up, because otherwise it would have broken him.

And in the end, it all played perfectly into his father’s plans: he wanted to raise a king who would not be affected by something as ridiculous as emotions, and finally he was successful.

#sad hours #someone tell me im wrong #because this hurts #but also i can totally see it #at first it would hurt him #then he'd get used to it and accept it as truth #and he'll never think otherwise #because he thinks his mother is dead #he can never be truly happy can he #orm marius #ocean master #aquaman #dc comics

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fandom-shitposter · 4 days

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Tech logic

I appreciate that fandom doesn’t always lend itself well towards logic, emotions run high and get in the way of detached thought, but it’s overdue in this case

When Tech chose to fall he was on Eriadu, but that’s not a location under Hemlock’s control. We know this because Tarkin has a good bitch at him when he turns up late for the meeting there

Hemlock may have had Tech’s goggles in his possession later on, but it wouldn’t have been *his* people who went looking around the site of the monorail collapse, it would have been Tarkin’s

Tarkin makes it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t piss down Hemlock’s throat if his lungs were on fire, so he certainly wouldn’t have handed him anything that he thought he might have been able to gain any sort of advantage from, regardless of the condition it was in

So he gets the smashed up goggles and a ‘that was all we could salvage, such a shame. Anyway’ and gets packed off back to Tantiss

Not only does Tarkin dislike Hemlock but he couldn’t care less for the project he’s working on, he’s solely focused on his own work and considers Hemlock’s an unnecessary drain on the limited funding available

That doesn’t help to clear up where Tech is now, but he was never in Hemlock’s possession

***

But if Hemlock didn’t have Tech how come CX-2 used the same words and cadence when he talked?

For the same reason so many of the Knights of Ren background CX units had so many of Tech’s design features, with goggles, visors, and helmet shaping repeating amongst the crowd

Distraction and fan baiting, for the sadistic joy of stringing people along until the last possible moment and then spitting in your eye. To make you think that Tech is gone with zero hope of ever returning. To try to put off any fans who've shown themselves to be getting close to working it all out

But CX-2 sounded like Tech for the exact same reason Tech sounds like Tech. Because that’s the way he'd been programmed to speak. Which is also the reason Omega speaks with a space NZ accent

Just because all of the focus on reprogramming clones is put on Crosshair, the CX units, and Hunter (briefly) doesn’t mean it doesn’t go back much much further than that, back to before we ever met CF99. Hemlock is using the technology and data the Empire took from Kamino. The progress on his projects only stalls once Nala Se stops assisting him

Experimental Clone Force 99. Emphasis on the Experimental. Just because they give us a few details about one aspect of that work doesn’t mean they told us everything

Just like Hemlock juggling multiple projects on Tantiss, Nala Se was doing the same thing under Kamino, with her own female clone medical assistant by her side. And on Bora Vio before that

***

This show has taken scenes from multiple other franchises all the way back to the Clone Wars arc, but what it uses most of all is The Lord of the Rings & The Hobbit

They keep repeating an overhead circle motif – a ring or a set of concentric rings. Coming back to it more and more often the closer to the end we get. It even appears as a design on the shoulder of a street seller on Pabu in the finale

CF99 dying with Tech is the SW equivalent to the Fellowship of the Ring being broken. They’re no longer together but the quest goes on regardless. Just with a focus on some of the other characters and in a show we won't be supposed to think is related to Tech because it isn’t a clone centric show

Not only is Tech still vital to the resolution of the bigger story, but there’s still so much plot that's been set up and then left hanging, and they continued to set up new things to come back to later on right up to the finale episode so it’s clear that this story is far from over

There may not be any more clone based shows, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be shows with clones in them. Like Rebels. That wasn’t clone centric, but they were still a key part of the overall story

#the bad batch #tbb tech #I'm not a Tech stan or a shipper of him #but I hate a story that makes no sense #or has only been half told #he'll be back

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a-very-mere-mortal · 8 days

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A Review of In Stars and Time

If you're seeing this, you've probably already played In Stars and Time. I'm not exactly bursting with followers from before I became obsessed with it. But this is still worth making, just in case I can convince one person to pick this game up. So, to give you fair warning, there will be some (hopefully) light spoilers in this. If you want the basics, just skip to the last two paragraphs, but if you want an idea of my emotional impression of the game, try this on for size:

In Stars and Time is an RPG about the power of friendship in which you play as Siffrin, a quiet and introspective rogue out to save the country of Vaguarde from the evil King, who seeks to freeze the world in time. With them are their friends Mirabelle, Odile, Bonnie, and Isabeau, and they all draw strength from the wonderful bonds that their little group has. Arriving in the town of Dormont, you and your friends charge up the House of Change to meet the King, ready to defeat him using the magic of...

Uh oh. Something seems to have gone wrong here. I'm pretty sure that you weren't supposed to die this early. If it was the final battle and this was some kind of grand sacrifice I would get it, but as of right now... let's just try this again.

In Stars and Time is a game about time loops. Specifically, the one that you, Siffrin, are stuck in. It turns out you may have been less prepared to fight the King than you thought. Don't worry though; you have all the time in the world to figure it out, even if it's a little more difficult than it first appeared. Just remember to rely on your helpful guide Loop, who's here to help you make it through the best they can, even if they don't know how or why the loop started in the first place. But as if getting through the House of Change wasn't hard enough, what with its traps, locked doors, and vicious Sadnesses standing in your way, you have to manage your party members too. As it turns out, they aren't looping with you. But don't worry! While you may have felt a little lost at first, eventually you discover the perfect things to do and say to make them like you even more than the first time around. With your bonds stronger than ever and your route through the House perfectly memorized, you charge up to face the King in a heated battle with the fate of Vaguarde on the line! It's difficult, but in the end you triumph over the King and head into the final room of the House to celebrate with your friends- no, your family.

That's odd. You've defeated the King with the best possible ending, but there's still another 3 Acts left in the story. What's going on here?

In Stars and Time is just another trash indie game. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but it's true; this game should be 10 hours shorter and cut right after you beat the King with your family in tow. It hurts to play because now that things have gone wrong, things seem to have gotten worse in your head, too. Where's the resolution to this story? When does it end? You said all the right things, you made all the right moves, and your family members have never been happier! By any other game's logic, this would be the endpoint. You may have struggled to make it through the time loop, but since you managed to keep your sanity intact and be nice to your friends, you get a gold star and the true ending. For some reason, this game refuses to let you have that success, and I'm infuriated on your behalf. I suppose you'll have to keep looking for a solution somewhere within the House, even though I know you're getting a little sick of it by now. Try not to get too frustrated by all this, okay? It would be quite awful if you did something you'd regret because you were feeling...

Ah. Well.

That changes my opinion of things, I suppose. I have no words that could do justice to what we just experienced. What a finale, eh? Let's try this review one more time, with a more...complete view of things. No more of this "describe what happens in the game step by step" malarkey. Everyone knows that's bad practice anyways.

In Stars and Time is an RPG about memory, communication, and the mortifying ordeal of being known. (It'll make more sense when you play it). With a lovely sound track and both beautiful hand-drawn and pixelated artwork, In Stars and Time manages to convey one the best stories I have ever experienced in the history of gaming. If you're the sort that likes comparisons, I would describe this game as a combination of the the humor and surprising depth of the Stanley Parable, the intense emotional characters and tight writing of Undertale, and the incredible worldbuilding of Harry Potter (without having to suffer through J. K. Rowling). I felt genuinely mystified by the unexplained and had a strong desire to learn more about the world during my unfortunately brief time within it.

3 weeks after completing the game, I'm still stewing in the things I felt and the realizations I came to while playing it. This is one of the few games I can say genuinely changed my life; after playing it I found the strength to reach out and connect to the friends I have in the real world on a level I never thought I'd be able to achieve. I feel a moral obligation to recommend this game; if it can do the same things for you that it did for me, it would be evil of me to deny you them. For the incredibly modest price of 20$, you will experience approximately 20 hours of soul-gripping gameplay that might stick with you for the rest of your life. This is something worth your time.

#isat #logoffspeaks #review #game review #pc games #video games #steam games #gaming #videogame #game recommendations #switch games #in stars and time #it's way easier to write if you pretend to be a different character #if anyone can guess who i'll be shocked

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girl-next-door-writes · 9 months

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Just Because

Characters: Mycroft x reader

Summary: Mycroft hires himself a companion to show his family that he is entirely capable of making friends, but when the lines blur between the fiction and the reality is he heading for heartbreak?

Word Count: 1714 words

Prompt: Fake dating and a kiss without thinking.

A/N: This little angsty piece is for the incomparable @achromaticerebus who always sends me the most interesting Mycroft plot bunnies. Now, I know this was an angst request, but you all know me, so…

This was not where he had intended to be. In fact, if he had been in his right mind then this would be one of the last places he would wish to frequent, but he had not been in full control of his faculties for some time now. It was as if his body held some kind of autopilot, as if you had installed a homing device within his nervous system. It was infuriating and maddening and totally beyond his powers of logic, but it was the only thing that still connected the two of you and so he clung to it.

Mycroft found himself wandering around the places the two of you would go whilst in the midst of your masquerade. These were establishments he would never have set foot in previously, and yet they were perfectly you. The echoes of you were still there, causing his skin to tingle as if you had brushed against him, driving him to distraction.

Somewhere in his heavy woolen coat, his phone vibrated, alerting him to a new message. The leather gloves covering his hands made the task of opening said message more cumbersome than he would have liked and Mycroft swore under his breath, his eyes moving from the alert to his lock screen where you beamed up at him. He really should remove your picture from his phone, it was dangerous to appear so sentimental, but each time he tried to delete any traces of you he found himself entirely unable to press that final ‘delete’ button. Perhaps he should have Anthea do it for him. Mycroft knew he wasn’t really going to let that happen, but it somehow made him feel more in control pretending he had that option. His eyes flitted back to the image of you on his phone, standing in his parents garden, glancing at him over your shoulder, your eyes twinkling as you laughed. Anyone looking at this photograph may have believed the moment had been real, however, Mycroft knew the truth.

The situation was ridiculous, and he should not have allowed himself to feel inadequate, yet here he was. The Holmes family were gathering for Christmas upon his mother’s insistence and knowing that Sherlock had a whole entourage attending with him made Mycroft feel… not lonely, never lonely, but, well, alone. He had seen the joy on his mother’s face whenever Sherlock brought home a ‘friend’, and his heart ached to see that look aimed at him. That was when he had the great idea to procure a companion for the few days he would be at his family home. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult.

It turned out, that for Mycroft Holmes, it really was that difficult. He had a long list of qualities he felt required to be met by anyone he was to be spending so much time with and that person, most likely, did not actually exist.

He had just about given up and was considering paying someone to play the role when Anthea strode into his office and dropped a folder on his desk.

“I think this might solve your problem.” She gave him a knowing smile and left.

Mycroft eyed the folder suspiciously before flipping it open and raising an eyebrow as he read the content. Yes. A perfect fit.

And it really had been. He had arranged an initial meeting and the two of you had gone for afternoon tea to discuss the details. You were a professional companion, not to be confused with an escort, you simply provided your company, nothing more. You had attended family functions, weddings, work events with various men who felt they needed someone on their arm, all for a very reasonable fee.

“And so it would be for three days and two nights? Am I playing the role of friend or significant other?” You had asked so casually Mycroft nearly choked on his tea.

“Friend, simply friends.” He managed to splutter, although he could feel a heat rising up the back of his neck. “If my mother believes there is more to it then she will be planning the wedding by New Year.”

“Then I shall get the contract drawn up and send directly to you, Mr Holmes.” You gave him a polite smile and he nodded.

“I think, perhaps, given the current situation, Mycroft would be more appropriate.”

“Mycroft.” Your smile became one of amusement, but it wasn’t cruel or teasing, and it made his heart do a strange swoop.

That would not be the last time your smile had a strange effect on Mycroft Holmes. In hindsight he wondered if he should have cut all contact after that first meeting, after that first rush. It would certainly have saved him from all these ‘emotions.’

Christmas had been a roaring success. His mother loved you. His father loved you. Sherlock… was suspicious of the two of you but found you rather delightful. Of course, this then led to a whole other problem Mycroft had not anticipated. Whenever his mother decided to visit, Mycroft found himself in need of your services once more. This often led to covert meetings, somewhere convenient for you, to make sure you had your stories straight. Walks through the park, tea at tiny little coffee shops he would not ordinarily step foot in, a rendezvous at a small second hand book shop which smelled more like mold than paper… not the usual place for a business meeting, but Mycroft found himself looking forward to discovering these places which were obviously part of your world, not his.

Things had been going well, this arrangement between the two of you working perfectly for just over nine months, so when his parents insisted the two of you join them at the theatre, Mycroft saw no reason to decline. He didn’t know that accepting this invitation would be the beginning of the end.

“I really thought Roger was the murderer.” His father was muttering, still flipping through his program as if searching for a clue he may have missed earlier about the huge plot twist that pretty much everyone in the theatre had seen coming.

“It’s okay dear, I think that was rather the point. Roger was there to throw us all off.”

Mycroft saw you dip your head to hide your smile, an action that caused butterflies to cascade around his stomach. You seemed really fond of the relationship between his parents, and it warmed his heart to see that.

“Well, I had best be heading off. It was lovely to see you both again.” You gave Mr and Mrs Holmes a warm smile and Mycroft watched his mother pull you into a tight embrace.

“Next time, we should have a girls afternoon.” She beamed, cupping your face and looking at you meaningfully.

“That would be lovely, Mrs Holmes.”

“Righto, be seeing you.” Mr Holmes gave you a hug and Mycroft rolled his eyes, although there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“What is it with you two and hugging people?”

“Oh, you know you like it, Mycroft.” You had teased and he had found himself pulling you into a farewell embrace too.

“Just don’t go telling Sherlock.” He chuckled, loosening his grip but not quite breaking the hug.

“Damn it, that was the first thing I was going to do as soon as I got in the taxi.” You smirked.

“Minx.”

“Posh boy.”

“Right, off with you.” He chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“Goodbye, Mycroft.” You had given him that smile of yours that made the corners of your eyes crinkle and he had instinctively, without any thought, leaned down and placed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. It was an action he had never undertaken before, and he felt the shift in you before he’d even fully pulled away.

You had given everyone a wave and then hurriedly bundled into a taxi… and that was the last time he had seen you.

The next morning he had received an email formally stating that you could no longer offer your services to him. It had pointed out a clause within the contract he had originally signed that stated any physical contact was to be agreed upon prior to the event and that he had breached this.

He had sat at his desk for a long time that morning, just staring at the email. It was so cold, so clinical, so unlike the person he had come to know. Then again, he had hired you to play a role. It was his own fault that he had allowed himself to believe in the lie.

For weeks Mycroft wallowed in a malaise, wanting to throw himself into his work but unable to concentrate. When the invitation to his brothers Christmas ‘do’ came through, he initially ignored it. Then his mother asked him repeatedly if he would be attending. Then he got a text from Greg Lestrade and another from John. It appeared that his presence was required, not merely requested, at this event and Mycroft’s heart sank as he realised it wasn’t him they wanted to attend, but you as his plus one.

After an entire day miserably touring around the places the two of you would meet, Mycroft found his feet had indeed brought him to his brother’s flat. The sounds of merriment could be heard spilling from the window and Mycroft let out a deep sigh, might as well bite the bullet.

Mrs Hudson gave him a strange smile as he entered Baker Street and headed to the stairs, she was practically vibrating with excitement, and he wondered just how many sherries the woman had drunk already. As he reached the top of the stairs, the door to 221B flung open and Sherlock grinned.

“Merry Christmas, brother mine.”

“Please tell me this is not going to become an annual event.” Mycroft sighed, already itching to leave.

Sherlock stepped to one side, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and revealed the party inside his flat. There was John, talking to Molly and Lestrade, there was his father rearranging ornaments on Sherlocks tree, and… and talking to his mother was…

Mycroft’s eyes widened and his jaw fell slack.

“Merry Christmas.” Sherlock said softly, patting his brother on the back.

#mycroft holmes x reader #gndw fic

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beauspot · 1 year

Text

the anger towards Amber Bennett makes no sense and i’m gonna tell you why

Most of the anger directed at Amber stems from misogynoir let’s break it down step by step.

The most used argument for hating Amber is that she’s an awful bitch for being upset with Mark because she knew he was a superhero. I’m gonna explain why this is stupid, so stay with me 🙏🏾 cause we’re actually gonna have to start before Mark

When Nolan met Debbie. These two have been together for decades and it’s explained very clearly why. From the start Debbie knew Nolan’s secret, not because she found it out and then confronted him about it, but because Nolan told her. In her words “all their cards were on the table.” If Nolan was gone she wasn’t in the dark she knew what he was doing because he trusted her enough to share it. The reason they worked is because they had trust.

While obviously we know their relationship didn’t work out it wasn’t because of a communication problem, it was because Nolan was keeping secrets from her and also didn’t value her as a person with valid feelings. It’s almost like they’re meant to be a parallel to another couple on the show.

So with that information we get to Mark and Amber

Mark is a new superhero having gotten his powers a few mere months ago. He’s just started training and picking up hero duties and we know he’s not the strongest or best right now. We’ve seen him fail in his training and in his combat but for some reason Mark’s ability to fail stops at his relationship because he’s trying his best.

Amber finds out Mark is invincible a month or so before Mark tells her because quite frankly Mark is not good at hiding his identity, all she had to do was pay attention. When she does find out she doesn’t press him to tell her because she is waiting for him to reveal that he trusts her. He doesn’t and she finally reaches a breaking point when after ample enough time to tell her Mark disappears again and when she asks him for like the third fucking time what he was doing, he lies. AGAIN. THATS why amber broke up with him, because she opened the door for him to be honest again and again and he chose to lie.

An argument that you guys love to use is that Mark was doing this to protect her. I’m sure he thinks that’s what he’s doing, but amber knowing his identity doesn’t put her in danger, other people knowing marks identity would. if someone who wanted to hurt mark, say i don’t know his father, they could then find amber and hurt her. amber not knowing wouldn’t keep her safe, it would keep her ignorant of the danger. that’s not the same thing.

Then the excuse is that mark is a teenager so he’s not obligated to tell amber about his identity because they’re not serious, ignoring the fact nolan told debbie right at the beginning of their relationship. fine, but then amber isn’t obligated to be understanding that her boyfriend is constantly flaking and disappearing on her.

Amber is also a teenager but this fandom has decided she’s a vicious evil bitch for wanting honesty and attention from her boyfriend. Mark can keep his identity a secret but amber has to tell mark she knows the secret he’s been keeping from her?? just say you’re a hypocrite and go.

i don’t find it strange at all that you all love comic book amber who’s basically a white npc just there as a standin until mark gets with eve, but you hate tv show amber who’s black, assertive, and wants to be treated like a human being.

There are so many of you who think comparing a teenage girl to a literal genocidal maniac is perfectly logical and of course you do because you see all black women who aren’t docile and meek as a threat, it always just so happens that you hate black female characters.

Then of course you’re all pitting her against eve saying you can’t wait until amber is gone and i do see it as malicious, because without fail every time amber is brought up the discourse turns racist. i don’t care if mark and eve end up together in the show, they will never find a fan in me because of you racist weirdos.

Everyone in the show knows Mark was wrong, including mark and your precious eve. the show doesn’t agree with you because your wrong, if you still hate amber after reading this just know you’re doing it against logic.

#invincible #amber invincible #amber bennett #mark grayson #omni man #invincible debbie #debbie grayson #atom eve #mark x amber #mark x eve

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annoyinglandmagazine · 8 months

Text

If I Were Not Myself Would This Be Easier

My entry for @halfelvenweek featuring Celebrian grappling with the daunting lack of knowledge there is about peredhel and Elrond being reminded of his own years spent trying to figure out his identity.

C/W: Brief mention of periods if you’re particularly sensitive to that.

Elrond sectioned one pile of archivist notes into three more separate piles with a sure certainty that he would not remember the criteria by which he’d done it by the end ‘that was if they were in anyway separate by then,’ he thought as the soft midsummers breeze lifted a page and the entirety of the makeshift library was jostled as he shifted his legs under the sheets to catch it. This certainty was solidified as he found himself intrigued by a transcript of a debate that was civil only in the lack of profane vocabulary on the matter of the Quenya Ban and on where to categorise it. A new pile it was.

He knew logically that the very depth of the night was far from the best time to be doing this, at this time of year he should not have to wait far longer for better light than that of the lamps in their bedchamber, and a desk would be a more ideal work environment but nonetheless he found his productivity improved greatly when it was least convenient to be brimming with a thirst for knowledge.

He was so engrossed and enthusiastic that he did not notice the return of his wife through the swaying curtains until the mattress dipped beside him as she collapsed face first onto the sheets as if intending to sleep right then while still in her dressing gown and slippers.

He carefully slipped the papers from beneath her and set them on the floor before they were creased too severely and she stretched her arms up and shifted to rest up against the pillows with long yawn, ‘Elrond?’

‘Hmm? Yes, dear?’

She barely restrained a snicker as she rolled to watch him affectionately ‘What exactly are you doing?’

He looked down at the papers in front of him and started to tidy them off the bed ‘Well you were gone so I thought I’d read while I waited for you but then I noticed the book wasn’t compiled correctly, someone had put the Nirnaeth Arnoediad before everything about Gondolin Celebrian, which makes no sense so I started reordering things and-’

He cut off awkwardly and turned to face his wife once he remembered the reason for her absence and that no matter how patient she was with his sleeping habits this was probably not a time she wanted to be hearing about his archiving.

‘Oh, is Arwen alright? She’s not upset is she, I swear if one of the boys said something to her-’

Celebrian settled into the crook of his arm and kissed his neck soothingly before replying.

‘There’s no need to worry to yourself Arwen is perfectly alright. But, well,’ she scrunched her face up in contemplation as if not entirely sure of the truth of her words.

‘But there is something. What troubles you?’

‘Well she seems in good health, she- she started her bleed,’ she whispered that last bit with surprising distress for an elleth who had never shown much reservation in such simple matters.

‘I’m not sure I follow the problem?’

‘She’s not yet thirty Elrond! There should have been another decade before we had to worry about this, even accounting for her perdhel blood!’

‘Celebrian, I’ve said it’s not an exact science with these things, there’s no way to really anticipate….. anything really,’ he spoke haltingly, the nature of his own blood and his children’s by extension was always a complex topic and deserved to be considered with care.

She clenched her eyes tightly together in the way he knew indicated tears welling up behind them and that her unease was not a sudden thing but something that had been building.

‘I know that. I do and I try to get used to it but, oh Elrond they’re my children and I feel as if I know nothing at all about them! I have no understanding of so many things they go through, when I was trying to reassure Arwen she kept talking of symptoms I’ve never even heard of before and I told her it was all perfectly normal because she seemed alright but I don’t know.’

She lowered her voice to a soft earnest whisper, ‘I sometimes feel that you could do this better yourself. You just understand all of this in a way that I never can, it seems as if anything could happen with them and it’s terrifying!’

Her concerns brought to mind memories he knew his wife would not enjoy a comparison to, of the battle hardened kinslayer, with the voice of silk and raw power both, fervently conversing with his brother over the latest incident that left him feeling so thoroughly out of his depth both as a caretaker in general but especially one to two who were the only of their kind as a direct result of his actions.

‘Don’t say things like that my love, you are an excellent mother and the children love you so very much, as do I, you do not need to understand everything to make them feel safe and loved, which is the important thing and you do it so well,’ he definitely wasn’t thinking of how said kinslayer had held him to his chest on sleepless nights and gently teased knots out of his hair while two who may not have been as out of depths in regard to the nature of half elves were certainly too so in other ways to do so. Neither blood, nor good character make a good parent in all cases and one with arguably neither may be one in others. Celebrian was a good mother, there was no question about that and it would not do for her to think otherwise.

‘It’s terrifying for me as well. I know I may come across as if I know these things but I have scarcely more idea than you a lot of the time. They are the only children of that exact genetic combination of elvish, edain and Maia blood that ever has or ever will exist and while that’s a daunting a prospect and not in the slightest simple for us or them there’s a beauty in it all the same. They will discover and shape themselves in a way none ever will again, each in their own way.’

He knew the fear that she speaks of, how could he not when it is one he felt his whole life, not for his child but for himself? Waking up in the morning and not knowing what may happen to him, if his skin should turn to fire or ice, if plants should grow at his feet or the rocks should crack at his voice, with none he spoke to having anymore idea. He hit adolescence at fifteen and in a peculiarly staggered manner, Elros in an entirely different pattern as well.

He still doesn’t know when he was an adult and no one around him did either. Following logic he supposed it should have been in and around his fifties but whether that was true or not he’ll never know, he reckons it came a lot earlier and could convince enough people of that to let him bear arms at twenty three. Whether Elrond was in all truth still a child- it’s hard to be entirely sure. A childhood such as his would make it hard to tell.

What he did know was that callouses formed over his fingertips while he weaved sweet clear music to bend starlight, rivers and flame with naught but a harp. He knew that many didn’t know what to make of him or the seemingly endless contradictions. He’d had more than one conversation in which he’d been oh so politely asked to ‘tune it down’ a bit, that he was unnerving people and if he looked and sounded enough like an elf and chose to be one why did he have to keep complicating matters for himself. He supposed it would have been ‘easier’ if he were in elf but the fact remained that he wasn’t, and he had no illusions that when they asked why he kept complicating matters for himself what they meant was complicating matters for them. How could it be confuse him to be what he was?

He supposed that vein of questioning may not have frustrated him so if it hadn’t been exactly what he’d heard over countless other things, his gender, his inclinations, his parentage and loyalties. They did not truly want to help him they wanted to be able to know which little box they should put him, if they should condemn him, pity him or embrace him as their own but this was a very difficult distinction to make when he insisted on being both their’s and their enemy’s kin and did not have the decency to pick one. When he did make the Choice many people were confused as to why he kept making a point out of being a Perdhel because he ‘was an elf now’ as if that was what the Choice had been about.

They did not actually wish to understand, they wished for things to be simple so he made a point of continuing to challenge them as much as possible. He strode about Lindon in swaying elvish gowns holding piles of books and scrolls, gathered herbs in the folds of an edainic skirt and apron, sparred with all the Feanorian techniques in a Beorian tunic, sung the work of Maglor in the unmistakable sweet tone of Luthien Tinuviel, flirted shamelessly with whoever caught his eye and laughed among the tips of trees with his floor length dark hair streaming behind him arrayed in robes of Nolofinwean blue. He outraged all with every manner of braid and insignia and above all refused to comprise on any facet of himself to assist any other’s comfort with his existence.

The place in the world for him and his children did not exist but they would make one. The way he had created one at Gil Galad’s side and again in Imladris. The way Elros had among the Numenoreans, his parents had with each other all the way back to Luthien defying the laws of death itself to create what had previously been impossible. They would make one and it would be glorious.

#silmarillion #tolkien #lotr #halfelvenweek #elrond peredhel #celebrian #arwen undomiel #genderfluid #eldritch peredhel

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astromechs · 9 months

Note

9 for rebelcaptain from the Taylor lyrics? 👀

remember the han ships rebelcaptain and is also massively behind the 8 ball on it fic from like two weeks ago? here's a sequel. (prompt is six months gone and i’m still reaching, and i interpreted it oh so loosely ghdjks) now also on ao3! taylor swift lyric prompts ; still accepting!

Five months, twenty-eight days, and six hours have passed since he's last had contact with Echo Base.

There have long been operational reasons for Cassian to be in the practice of keeping track of these things: for the anticipation of any potential extraction timeline, for the eventual debrief and report to follow, for the purpose of planning future missions. He’s risen through the ranks in a short period of time, especially compared to the average, for being nothing if not exceedingly thorough — because that’s what the rebellion needs. His attention, his effort, as much as he can give.

It’s only in the past year and a half that any of the reasons have turned personal, that, well, if he’s being honest with himself — many of them have.

When time had meant nothing to him once, other than the operational logging, it seems like his solo assignments tend to drag on for eternity now. He’s given this one no less attention, no less effort than he’s given any other, but in quiet moments between when that’d been needed and in the seconds just before he’d drifted off for a requisite few hours of sleep just to be able to keep going, he’d felt the absence, acutely, of a soft hand in his, of a warm presence by his side. He’d missed the way her nose always scrunches just before describing something particularly annoying, and the way that he’s always rewarded with the most beautiful smile when he throws in the right kind of dry agreement, so fucking much that it had ached.

But, finally, after five months, twenty-eight days, and six hours, he’s securely on a ship, cleared atmosphere, and is enough within hyperspace, away from Imperial territory, to risk a transmission.

Echo Base, though, isn’t his first one — at least, not base command. He’ll report in, of course, when he has a better sense of his ETA, so they’ll have a precise window to lower the shields without incurring unnecessary risk.

His first transmission is in code, for an additional layer of security, to the channel that can only be accessed by Sergeant Jyn Erso. Just one word, which she’ll be able to understand, if she’s reading (because they’d worked out that code, together, not long after Scarif): alive.

Intellectually, he knows there will be a lag (there always is when communicating from hyperspace, among other perfectly logical reasons), so not getting an immediate response shouldn’t, in and of itself, be a cause for concern. Still, in the idle moments — when he’s had so many in the past five months, twenty-eight days, and six hours, so he’s primed to dwell in them — the thoughts begin to circle, heavy in his mind and even heavier when they settle in his chest. They hold possibilities, worst case scenarios. Fears.

For a long time, he’d pushed down fear to the point of nearly forgetting it ever existed. Here now, though, in the waiting, the memory of it is sharp, painful like a blade to the gut.

The line buzzes; the waiting doesn’t have a chance to linger for long.

Two words, in code, bring him all the relief that maybe he still doesn’t deserve to actually have, but that he accepts, allows to wash over him all the same: welcome home.

It’s been five months, twenty-eight days, and seven hours, and he finds that the hours that remain are their own form of excruciating.

Jyn’s there at the exact moment he steps off of the ship and out into the hangar. Of course she is; he hadn’t doubted that for a second. He hadn’t doubted, either, that she wouldn’t wait whatever seconds it would take for him to actually approach her, that she’d take matters into her own hands and run toward him, cutting the time in half.

And he hadn’t doubted that he’d be practically knocked over by the force of their collision, hadn’t doubted that she’d take his breath away with their first kiss in almost six fucking long months.

No, it’s easy, natural, right, the way they fall into each other like no time has passed at all, the way they exist, for this one moment, away from the chill of Hoth and the even colder complexity of their reality. Where he can hold her and she can hold him, and nothing but the fact that they’re together and they love each other.

Except —

Out of the corner of one eye, Cassian is fairly certain that he sees someone moving — when up to this point, as far as he knows, people have done this reunion a courtesy of giving it a wide berth. He pulls back from Jyn, not far, but enough to study the movement, to pinpoint the identity of the person doing the moving with a pretty high degree of certainty; the man in question isn’t exactly subtle, even on his best day.

A crease forms between his brows. He asks, "What's Solo doing here?"

The effect on Jyn is instant. All traces of her smile, her relief, her anything else are all gone; in their place, her jaw sets and her eyes harden in the way that Cassian knows means danger for someone. Her hands fall away from him, curling into fists, and her whole body tenses like she’s gearing up for a fight.

"Leaving," she growls. "That's what he's doing."

She turns away from him, then, in a blink, stalking toward Solo’s direction with single-minded purpose across the hangar. The man is clearly only aware of what’s happening too late, because he doesn’t manage to get away before she’s shoving him, before she’s yelling out a lot of things — most of which Cassian can’t hear, because of the whir of machinery that sounds behind him then, but a very clear “Get fucked!” does manage to reach his ears.

There’ll be a debrief to attend, and a report to file, because the intelligence he’s gathered is valuable. But for now, he’s content to watch this play out in front of him, and allow the ghost of a smile to tug on the corners of his mouth.

#rebelcaptain #cassian andor #jyn erso #* fic #* prompt fic #asks #andorerso #finally circling back to these again a literal million years later LMAO

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talshiargirlfriend · 4 months

Text

E² wasn’t finished with me, so Just let me be your friend… got another chapter.

“I’m trying to give you space, but I really don’t want to be alone,” Trip blurts out when he unexpectedly appears at her door again.

He’s close enough T’Pol can smell his usual assortment of scents including his soap, and sweat, the cream he’s oddly defensive about putting in his hair, and also grease from the injector assemblies and … whiskey. “Have you been drinking?”

“Nah… well, just a few sips. The captain poured us a toast to Lorian,” his voice cracks.

Lorian. Some of the panic she suppresses must be apparent to Trip because he puts up a hand, “I don’t want to talk about it. I was just hoping for some quiet company.” Sadness and resignation permeate his voice. He is half-turned away from her in anticipation of rejection. She wonders why humans deliberately punish themselves in this manner.

Sorrow seems to roll off of him in waves. His need calls out to her. How alluring it is to be needed by someone - how beautiful and dangerous. That she wants to be wanted, needs to be needed, by this particular someone, she can scarcely consider. She should send him away and meditate on her temptation.

“I was about to make some tea. You’re welcome to join me,” she steps back, inviting him in.

He looks a little startled before smiling softly and stepping over the threshold.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Trip slumps down onto the padded bench where he has lain so many times for neuropressure, and T’Pol finds herself reaching to light her candles by rote. She pauses, feeling his gaze on her, before committing to the action. He requested quiet company and her plans had been tea followed by meditation, so lighting the candles now is perfectly logical, she reasons.

“That’s nice,” Trip pipes up. “It always feels so cozy in here, so… peaceful.”

T’Pol occupies her hands with making tea lest they reach out for him of their own volition. A foolish notion, perhaps further evidence of how much living amongst humans has changed her.

He smiles tiredly at her when she brings him a cup of tea. Their fingers brush in passing, an electric little thrill. She sits beside him, just out of arm’s reach.

“Thank you,” he says, gesturing with his cup. “Not just for the tea, but … y’know, letting me crash your evening.”

T’Pol’s brows further slightly at his turn of phrase and she nods in acknowledgment. She knows if their positions were reversed he’d tell her “it’s no imposition” or “that’s what friends are for.” She’d like to tell him something of that nature. She’d like to run her fingers through his hair and tell him her heart has decided what it wants. She’d like to straddle him and bite his lip and distract him from his sorrow with more immediate, physical feelings. She’d like to hold his hand and exchange emotions and support like a Vulcan mate would. Instead, she grasps her cup with both hands and sips her tea.

“What kinda tea is this?”

“It is a Vulcan blend intended to promote relaxation. I thought it might be beneficial. If it is not to your taste, I—“

“No, no, it’s good. I like it,” he takes another sip.

He seems committed to his stated request for quiet company as they pass a few minutes in silence.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” she eventually feels compelled to ask.

He hesitates, “I don’t want to break down on you again. I just… I feel like I let him down. I know it doesn’t make any sense! But he was my kid, sort of, and I barely got to know him and now he’s - gone.” He blinks rapidly and conceals his face in his cup.

llogically T’Pol feels guilty that she can’t share his pain. The loss of life is tragic, but she lacks the strong personal connection he was able to forge so quickly. In truth, she was terrified to acknowledge Lorian’s existence and the possibilities it represented.

“I don’t know what to say,” she tells him honestly. She feels inadequate.

“I don’t think there’s anything to say. That’s why I wanted to be with you - one of the reasons anyway,” there’s a hint of his usual smirk behind that. “I don’t want to hear that he was brave and noble and his sacrifice saved our mission and possibly all of humanity or that maybe the timeline reset and now he never existed. Like that’s better? We got what we needed and now we can forget all about him. Nothing new there,” he says bitterly. “I love Jon like a brother, but I had to get away.” He drains his cup and sets it aside, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

It’s the closest T’Pol has heard him come to mentioning Sim and the complicated feelings he has about his clone.

“Survivor’s guilt,” she says carefully.

Trip looks at her and sighs, “Yeah, there’s plenty of that to go around. I’m just so tired of losing people, T’Pol.”

The urge to touch him, to offer physical comfort and connection is overwhelming. She sets her cup aside to lean toward him and tentatively reaches out her hand. He scoots closer and grabs her hand in a tight squeeze. Trip looks from her eyes to her lips and back, then opens his mouth and closes it again. He clears his throat and shifts his gaze to the candles on the table nearby and they sit in silence again while he lazily rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. T’Pol finds his actions frustrating and endearing in equal measure.

An odd inclination to rest her head on his shoulder like she’s seen humans do in films crosses her mind, but she dismisses it. Instead she draws her legs beneath her and focuses on the flame before her, breathing in tranquility and exhaling tumult.

Some time later Trip’s low chuckle rouses her attention, “What did you put in that tea? It’s hit me good.”

“Are you unwell?” T’Pol asks in concern. She makes note of his dilated pupils, his heart rate and respiration. None of it strikes her as concerning. She rests a hand against his neck and his temperature also seems to be within the normal range. “Are you experiencing dizziness or other symptoms? I’ll contact Dr Phlox.” She moves to reach for the intercom, but Trip pulls her back toward him.

“No, no, I’m kidding. Sorry. I’m not hallucinating or drunk or anything. I’m just… really relaxed. Kinda forgot how that felt.”

She eyes him skeptically.

“You look like you’re questioning my sanity right now.

She raises one eyebrow at that. He deserves it.

“You know, T’Pol, you’re really pretty when you’re worried about me,” he grins crookedly at her. He has no right to be this charming. As a Vulcan she should absolutely be immune to it. “Hell, you’re always really pretty.”

“Perhaps I am always concerned for your sanity.”

He laughs then, a true laugh; it’s a bright and beautiful sound, and she privately rejoices in illiciting it.

“I should get out of your hair.”

“Your presence is not an imposition,” she’s able to tell him honestly, surprising herself a little.

He smiles warmly, “Well, good, but it’s getting late. I should go get some sleep and let you meditate in peace.”

She nods in acknowledgment of his logic.

Trip pats her leg affectionately as he stands up, “Thank you for… being here. If you ever want to talk or y’know, not talk, you know where to find me.”

T’Pol nods, “I do.”

He smiles a sweet little smile and bids her goodnight.

Once he has gone T’Pol stares into the flame again, pondering how his presence can be so agitating and yet also comforting.

#star trek enterprise #trip x t'pol #fanfic #tnt #my fic #Just let me be your friend #ao3

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asukamood · 10 months

Text

Flirts x 2 = Mess

***

Previous part — Next part

This post is part of the Bad things happen series

***

Ships: Past Hue (Hacker x Blue), Hinch (Hacker x Finch, mentioned), Drueswap (Dream x Blue, mentioned)

Warnings: Nothing I think?

Synopsis: Though as careful and cunning as Blue was, in the end, he too craved affection like anyone else. So before he aimed for the head of the infamous Justice Reigns, he had a couple of boyfriends.

One of them in particular, was quite the character and while their personalities matched, the relationship had gone to mush as both had issues of their own that made them simply unable to have a stable and healthy relationship with one another.

That ex in particular just so happened to be standing right in front of him.

***

It was almost common sense that Blue turned heads his way. Ever since he managed to get out of the endless white of the antivoid to a real place, he had noticed that people usually eyed him in a certain interested way.

Perhaps some would say that it was uncomfortable. To have people watching you in the corner of their eyes while you walked ahead, to have them asking you for your number before greeting you or sometimes even just full on gawking at you as if you were the most beautiful piece of art they have ever seen.

But for an attention-starved man like Blue, it was Heaven. He felt like he was noticed and there, not just a piece of the landscape. Maybe the logic behind that reasoning wasn't easy to get but when was Blue ever easy to understand?

To have anyone know how you behave was weakness, to have anyone being able to predict your next actions was weakness. Blue was perfectly content not to have to worry about any of these things.

Though as careful and cunning as Blue was, in the end, he too craved affection like anyone else. So before he aimed for the head of the infamous Justice Reigns, he had a couple of boyfriends.

That ex in particular just so happened to be standing right in front of him.

“...” Blue stared at him, his eyes wide in surprise.

“...” He stared back, not expecting to run into him too it seems.

“... Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?” Blue questioned at one point, a teasing smile twitching at the side of his lips. The man in front of him returned the smirk.

“I am yes, but Finch somehow managed to convince the big boss to let me out.” Hacker said, making sure not to let the content of the bags in his hand being reviewed by Blue. “Though, I suppose you already knew about that, didn’t you?”

The other, being himself, of course noticed that suspicious behavior and decided that only a fool would challenge him in that way. He was definitely going to know what Hacker is hiding by the end of their conversation. “Of course I did.” He answered as innocently as possible. “Wasn’t really hard to figure out.”

Hacker chuckled a bit. “Yeah, as expected from Mr.Know-it-all. I’m saying that affectionately of course, don’t misunderstand me here.” Oh he definitely knew Blue was onto him.

“No need to worry about that.” Blue said, waving off his concerns with the back of his hand. “So apart from escaping from jail and everything, how are you going?”

Hacker hummed in thought, playing with the bag in his hands. “I think I’m doing pretty good, But well, how can you not feel great after eating Randy’s pancakes?”

“Touché.” Blue and Randy had met a solid three times when he and Hacker got together but each time, the freakishly tall man had been nothing but a sweetheart. So much, in fact, that one would wonder why he was wanted in the first place. Because really, it would be more likely that he was wanted as a father figure than a criminal.

Blue knew why of course but he wouldn’t tell anyone that, it wasn’t his place to do so after all.

“Thinking of it, you haven’t seen him in a while have you?” Hacker suddenly asked. Before Blue could answer, he followed it up with another question. “Wanna go hang out at my place? We’ve got lots to catch up after all.”

He blinked in surprise at that, vaguely thinking that it has indeed been a while since the two of them had the chance to really relax and chat at their heart’s content. Though, there was still a slight problem. “Would that really be okay though?” As Hacker raised his eyebrows, he quickly sighed before explaining briefly or rather, giving a hint on what the problem was. “I mean, isn’t Randy upset with me?”

Their relationship was anything but healthy and as caring as Randy was, he didn’t doubt that the latter would hardly accept someone who had hurt one of his unofficial sons showing up at his house.

And frankly speaking, Blue had no intention of squaring up with anybody and especially not a 6 '6 foot tall person who would probably be able to swing a claymore just fine.

However, the other shook those worries away with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. A small conflicted smile came up to cover his face. “Don’t worry about having Randy mad at you, all of his hatred has been focused on [Jasper] for a while now.”

“Is that so?” Well, that was a relief, somewhat. Though, he couldn’t blame Randy for being mad at him specifically. Compared to Hacker’s relationship with that guy, theirs were the definition of happy and healthy. “It would be a pleasure then.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” He replied, playfully winking. Blue rolled his eyes with a smile, hitting his shoulder as he did so. Maybe being boyfriends didn’t work out, but that didn’t mean that the two of them couldn’t be good friends!

***

They were both standing on the house’s varanda when screams coming from inside the house suddenly rang out, startling both of them.

“FUCK THAT WIFI!” A certain feral teenager yelled, the loud thud of an object colliding with the wall closely following that shout. Hurried footsteps were then heard before the sound of a door opening reached their ears.

“Language son! Now, what is the issue exactly?” An older man’s voice spoke, soothing the other one. As witnesses, the duo of flirts could only chuckle in vague amusement before Hacker was finally able to turn the keys in the hole and swing the door open.

“I’m home!” He shouted amidst the chaos, not bothering to turn the volume up more than necessary. A distant ‘Welcome home!’ was heard within the halls but no one paid much attention to it, if we don’t count Hacker’s small smile on his face.

“The house didn’t change much from last time I came here, huh?” Blue remarked, plopping on one of the couches of the living room. The same furniture, the same unidentified mound of clothes on the dining chairs, messy but that somehow added to the already very homey atmosphere of the building.

“Yeah, we usually don’t have any visitors so tidying everything up is like, the least of our concerns.” Hacker sat down next to Blue, instinctively reaching for the remote control that was (for once) free from anyone else’s grip. “Fancying watching any movie?”

Blue stared at the empty screen for a little bit, humming, before he shook his head. “No, I think I would rather talk. Plus, turning on the TV is just a wish for Bobby to come out of nowhere and steal the remote.”

Hacker chuckled, throwing it where it belonged. “You’ve got a point there. I don’t really want to deal with him as of right now anyway.” He kicked his feet to the coffee table, slumping a little more as he did so. From the two of them, it was clear by posture alone who was more comfortable in this house. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

“Well, we have so much to tell each other that I doubt we can really choose that easily.” It has been a solid year since they’ve really got to talk face to face after his detention after all. “But I’ve heard that you found yourself attached to someone new?” He asked with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Hacker scoffed, amused. “Yeah, though I’ve also heard you weren’t bad in that department either. Like really? Dream Von Licht himself? You’re really the only one who would ever think of attempting something like that and actually succeeding.”

“What can I say? I just have that much charisma.” Hacker nudged him with his elbow for that, earning a half-hearted ‘ow’ from the other. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you reaching for high ends too. Trying to get the captain of the Justice Division, a direct subordinate of Dream, while you’re a literal criminal.”

“A criminal, yes, but a hot one!” He replied quickly, performing an exaggerated wink that almost had Blue bursting out laughing. “Besides, we gotta keep that enemies to lovers trope going you know? I’ve been scrolling for a good while online but these are starting to get rare.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night my friend.” Blue started to relax, slightly leaning a little more on the couch behind him. “I’m quite relieved actually, I would feel bad if I were the only one to find myself someone before our 40’s.”

Confusion passed on the other’s features before realization dawned on him. “Oh right! I almost forgot about our deal. It’s true that we haven’t thought about that possibility. What would happen if only one of us were to find a partner? Because like, we can’t really share, that would be slightly unsettling.”

Blue raised a questioning eyebrow. “Only slightly?”

“... Yeah, you’re right it would be weird as fuck.” Hacker’s face scrunched.

“Have you ever imagined yourself snogging Dream?” At the sentence, the other’s eyes widened as he choked on his spit, doubling over from the shock as Blue started laughing uncontrollably.

“Oh my fucking- sTOP!”

Truly, what good friends they were.

#dreamswap #fluff #ds blue #mentioned DS Dream #mentioned Finch #Hinch #Mentioned Hacker x Finch #mentioned Blue x Dream #Hue #Past Hacker x Blue #help

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mixelation · 1 year

Text

speaking of time travel, here's a random adventure from my tobirama/oc soulmate fic. time travel inside of time travel

It started the way many Senju family disasters started, with a large bottle of sake.

Shizune had unearthed it from one of Tsunade’s hidden stores, and Ren had managed to steal it from her in turn. She’d poured Tobirama a glass when he’d refused to put down the ongoing research ethics board policy review. Then three glasses later, she’d somehow coaxed him out into the moonlight flooding the engawa.

“Here’s how you guarantee no one’s going to fuck anything up,” Ren slurred, waggling her eyebrows at him. “We invent time travel. Then, we know nothing we’re doing is too fucked up because– because–”

Tobirama squinted at her as she struggled with her words. “Because our future selves would stop us?”

Ren slaps the single sheet of wood that made up the Senju family engawa. “Yes! If you really cared about the future, you’d help me–”

Tobirama drains the rest of his cup. There is already sealing paper out in the next room, from a different project Ren had gotten frustrated with and abandoned earlier that afternoon. Time travel seemed like something she’d have a much higher success rate, as she’d already done it once.

Alcohol was the root of many Senju problems, as it destroyed wisdom while leaving all cleverness perfectly intact. That was to say, “invent time travel to prevent disaster” seemed like perfectly fair logic to Tobirama, and also completely doable.

Two hours later, Tobirama was in the Hokage’s office, and Ren was falling on top of him.

“Ah…” Hashirama says, blinking up from his desk.

Tobirama is on the floor, knocked off his chair by his soulmate and feeling deeply disoriented. He can feel the hum of Hashirama’s chakra clear as day, still young and strong, and of so many old faces he’d never thought he’d see again. He blinks. It’s the middle of the day and he’s no longer drunk. He’s in his old body. No, his… young body.

He’d managed to catch Ren when she’d crashed into him, and she blinks down at him. Her eyes are a little crossed and her elbows are digging into his ribs. She's also in a younger body, but Ren hasn’t been born yet in this time… perhaps the jutsu had tried to resolve a paradox, and it had had strange effects?

“Are you okay?” Hashirama asks, peering over the desk Tobirama has in the corner of his office. Hashirama’s voice is casual, but his chakra is tense and Tobirama can feel the telltale curls of chakra in the walls that could bloom into trees at any moment.

From Hashirama’s point of view, Ren had just spontaneously appeared in their office and knocked Tobirama out of his chair. They’re lucky Hashirama hadn’t outright attacked.

“It’s okay,” Tobirama says, carefully rolling Ren off of him. She seems out of it, her pupils too wide for the light. “She’s with me. Experiment gone…. odd.”

“Uh-huh,” Hashirama replies, but he does relax.

“I think it went really well,” Ren says, waving vaguely in Hashirama’s direction. “Hello, I’m fuckballs.”

Hashirama’s face lights up. Tobirama buries his face in his hands.

They explain the experiment. Hashirama’s eyebrows raise further and further up his forehead as they go. Tobirama’s future life is… complicated. But Hashirama knows him well, and so “my other half broke time and space, and then I broke it right back to get here” seems perfectly reasonable to him.

When they’re done, Hashirama cocks his head to the side and asks, “So then how long are you planning to stay?”

Tobirama pauses. He blinks. Horror creeps up his spine, as his sober brain realizes that they absolutely do not have a plan to return.

His thoughts must be painfully obvious, because Hashirama leans conspiratorially into Ren, who’s propping herself up on Tobirama’s desk, and says, “So then you really did get him drunk?”

She leans right back into him and in a stage whisper replies, “I got him so drunk.”

Hashirama tosses his head back and laughs, full and loud, and the shock of it nearly makes Ren keel over. Tobirama catches her before she teeters too far off balance.

“I know I’m sober again because I’m in a different body,” Tobirama says. “Why are you still drunk?”

“Oh, I’m almost definitely poisoned,” Ren says brightly. She holds up her arm to reveal a small but nasty cut along the backside of her forearm, which has gone green around the edges. “Behold!”

The grin slides off of Hashirama’s face, even as Ren assures them it didn’t kill her before and it wasn’t going to kill her again.

They haven’t agreed on who they’re going to reveal the time travel conundrum to, if anyone, and that means not calling random assistants or healers in without a conversation first. Fortunately, Hashirama himself is an accomplished healer, and so Tobirama ends up being the one to step out of the office to fetch water and clean bandages.

Normally he wouldn’t want to leave Ren alone in an unknown situation while she was injured and her wits compromised. But Tobirama would trust Hashirama with his life, and so he very confidently steps out into the hall.

Hokage tower is still partially under construction, and there’s hastily put up boards covering large chunks of the walls. Tobirama feels oddly out of his element, walking the familiar path down to a breakroom and kitchenette set up on this floor. He remembers thinking this was a wonderfully modern space, to store food and get fresh water without a well, and to have a gas stove for tea. He also remembers, years from now when he’s Hokage himself, a younger kunoichi remarking that his life would be much improved if he’d just get with the times and drink bagged tea.

He’s pretty sure that the current iteration of this room keeps a refrigerator stocked with bottled water. Under his own tenure as Hokage, he’d had a young and cocky chunin whine at length about the old-fashioned ice box.

There’s an older shinobi already making tea. Tobirama hasn’t thought about this man in years, and the nods he offers him is stiff. The man smiles back and says a generic, respectful greeting but doesn’t otherwise demand Tobirama’s attention.

Good, Tobirama decides, opening a cabinet where they keep first aid supplies. He feels weirdly out of his element, and he doesn’t want any surprise conversations right now.

The Hokage’s office already has its own first aid kit, but Tobirama pulls a few clean bandages to restock. He then finds a pitcher in another cabinet– chipped and probably someone’s donation, rather than bought new for the office, like most of the glasses and the two tea kettles in the room– and fills it with water. Someone has brought in hand-made sweets, and he grabs a few of those and an apple.

When he gets back to the office, Ren is seated on his desk while Hashirama’s hands glow green over her arm. Hashirama is telling Ren a very detailed story about Tobirama licking a frog and poisoning himself when he was ten. Ren looks up at him with laughter in her eyes, even as they’re glassy from the effects of poison.

“Here,” Tobirama says, interrupting Hashirama’s impression of whatever he’d said when high off of frog toxins. He pours water into a drinking glass. “Stay hydrated.”

“You’re really making mountains out of molehills,” Ren says, even as she accepts the glass. “I’m pretty sure I just had a fever for a couple days over this.”

“Better safe than sorry!” Hashirama booms.

Tobirama has nothing else to do to help, so he watches his brother carefully smear a salve Mito had lovingly packed into his first aid over Ren’s arm and then bandage it tightly. Tobirama is sure Ren would make fun of him, standing over her with both arms crossed and brows furrowed like a strict teacher, if she weren’t distracted quizzing Hashirama over the salve’s contents– alliums for their antimicrobial properties, honey for wound-healing, and some herbs for analgesic purposes and to improve smell.

Ren really does look like she’s just staggered off a battlefield. She’s obviously younger, without the soft laugh lines just beginning to take root in her face, but she’s thin and lithe in a way that screams to Tobirama too many nights in the field and not enough nutrients. Her clothes are loose, patched with brand new frays from battle, and there’s mud on her knees and a blotch of blood across her midsection. She has no apparent pain besides her arm, though, and he assumes the blood is someone else’s.

The cut on her arm is clearly from blocking a kunai. Why weren’t you wearing arm guards? is a chastisement on the tip of Tobirama’s tongue, but he already knows the most likely answer. She simply wasn’t provided with them.

He remembers a story she told about never having shoes that were the right side and having to make them stick with chakra, and his eyes drop to her feet. Her sandals are indeed too big.

“Here,” he says, holding the apple out to her. “You should eat too.”

Ren wrinkles her nose at him, and Tobirama reflects that perhaps it is a bit humiliating to have your introduction to the past to be injured and having people trip over themselves to help you. Fortunately, Hashirama breaks any tension there might have been by grabbing one of the sweets and shoving it into his mouth.

“So are you spending the night?” he asks, mouth full.

Tobirama is forced to admit that they had essentially no plan for what they meant to do in the past. They’d simply wanted to see if they could do it, and they’d picked a time of peace to prevent the urge to get involved with things.

In other words: yes, they're spending the night.

“No ominous warnings of wars to come?” Hashirama asks, squinting down at Tobirama. Tobirama had gotten used to being the tallest in the room, with his brother gone.

“No spoilers,” Tobirama tells him.

It’s tempting, though, to grab his brother’s arm and sequester him off to make moves to prevent tragedy. But he knows there’s a risk of making things worse. It’s not worth it, at least not when he and Ren still don’t know exactly how time travel works and what the dangers of introducing paradoxes are.

If they figure it out… there will be all the time in the world.

Tobirama tilts his head at Ren. “What year is that body from, anyway?”

Ren blinks a few times and pats herself down as if looking for clues. In the end she holds up her bandaged arm and says, “I think this happened when I was twenty. March, I think.”

When she says the actual year, Hashirama’s eyes bulge and he shoots Tobirama a disapproving look.

“Such a young bride, younger brother,” Hashirama tsks. Ren snorts.

“It’s okay,” she says, “the time travel evened things out.”

“Come,” Hashirama says, hopping onto the balls of his feet with the energy of a teenager. “Mito is about your size. She will have clothes to borrow.”

xXx

Ren tries and fails to contain her open curiosity as they walk through the Konoha of old. It’s certainly smaller, but compact enough it feels just as busy. The streets are dirt and unpaved, and most buildings are still actively under construction. The trees still give off the air of being old growth, and she wonders if this is Hashirama’s strange jutsu or the Senju preoccupation with trees had moved them to leave some intact.

She gets a few looks, but no one pays much attention to her when she’s firmly sandwiched between Tobirama and Hashirama. This, she thinks, is fair. She wouldn’t gawk at her either.

The Senjuu complex is the same layout as before, but crawling with more life. She can feel that there’s even little children running around inside. Ren thinks there’s less wiring in the walls, but she’s glad the indoor plumbing is still firmly in place.

Hashirama pauses at the gate and shoots Tobirama a nervous glance. “What do you want to tell Hisako-san?”

Tobirama frowns, and his lips part in confusion. Then his eyes widen in horror.

“Little brother,” Hashirama breathes out, matching Tobirama’s horror but also looking like he’s fighting back a laugh. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“Who?” Ren asks. “Who’s Hisako?”

Hashirama’s eyes widen with understanding, and then turns his whole body away, covering his face with one hand as he goes.

Tobirama grits his teeth. He looks unhappy, but in a way where he’s clearly aware the fuck-up is entirely his own.

“Hisako is…” He pauses. He shifts on his feet in a way that seems uncharacteristically nervous. “My wife.”

Ren stares. She waits for the punchline.

“We had the marriage annulled after eight months,” Tobirama assures her.

Oh, so there was no punchline.

“Eight months?” Ren hears herself squeak out. She’d known Tobirama’s family had tried to set him up with a series of increasingly disastrous brides-to-be, because as the second son of an important family, Tobirama was both prime marriage material and also apparently completely insufferable. But he’d never mentioned… ”Eight months?!”

“I forgot,” Tobirama admits. He sounds both ashamed and frustrated, and his face is mean and grumpy as ever. “We never consummated it, so it didn’t seem important–”

“Oh, Little Brother,” Hashirama groans, and Ren half-shrieks, “Eight months!”

Hisako greets them almost as soon as they step onto the engawa. She’s a pretty woman, soft and curvy with the heavy steps of a civilian, wrapped in a kimono nicer than anything Ren has ever owned. Despite her hair being pinned up perfectly and her lipstick being immaculate, there are bags under her eyes. She has a certain desperation about her, greeting Tobirama with overly formal language even though they’ve been married six months.

Tobirama spares her no affection, and says, “This is Ren. She’s my soulmate. Don’t ask any more questions.”

Hashirama does a sort of microscopic grimace, but he doesn’t chide Tobirama for being the worst husband on earth. He’s probably too used to him.

“Er, I know this is awkward,” Ren hedges. “I hope we get along.”

She gives Hisako her friendliest smile, and Hisako only looks mildly like she wants to scream.

“Hisako-san,” Hashirama says gently. “Ren needs some new clothes. Don’t you think she’s about the same size as Mito?”

Hisako tries and fails to smooth over her frazzled expression. She leads Ren further into the house.

“Will you be staying with us long?” she asks Ren, sounding very stressed.

They had decided Hisako probably needed to know Ren was Tobirama’s soulmate to explain why a strange woman would be glued to Hisako’s husband. They did not decide whether or not Hisako needed to know about time travel.

“I’m not sure,” Ren says delicately. She feels really, deeply bad for Hisako.

Mito is seated at a desk in her room, calligraphy brush in hand when Hisako opens the door, getting down on her knees to do so like a proper lady.

“Yes, my husband sent word,” Mito says, smiling tightly at Ren. “Why don’t you leave us, Sister?”

“O-oh…” Hisako stammers out. “Alright.”

Hashirama, by whatever shinobi art he’d sent a message ahead of them, had chosen to fill Mito in on the time travel thing. She’s very no-nonsense, tossing open her closet to pull out items of clothing, holding them up to Ren’s face with apparently the intended purpose of finding a good color for her.

Ren and Mito might be the same size, but Mito is all delicate pale pinks and vivid red hair. They do not look similar in the least.

“Do you have anything…” Ren trails off when Mito turns sharply to her. “Um, I don’t really wear kimono very often.”

“Really?” Mito asks, eyebrows raised.

“It’s less common in my time…” Ren explains, halting and awkward. Mito’s clothes are beautiful. Ren would just be so uncomfortable.

“I have some kunoichi clothes,” Mito offers, turning away from her closet for a trunk. “Are you really sure you’d prefer them?”

Mito’s battle-ready outfits involve a lot of actual armor, both metal or leather. She seems scandalized when Ren offers up the idea of just wearing the cotton bottom layers.

“Wear the kimono for today,” Mito decides, “and I will ask some of my cousins for other options.”

Ren turns her back to change, and Mito abruptly lets out a laugh, unrefined and barking. Ren freezes, thinking maybe she’s being mocked but then Mito wheezes out her soulmark: “Your timing is shit. Leave it to my little brother to be just as rude as fuckballs.”

She laughs again, clear and filled with good-will. Tension melts out of Ren’s limbs. Mito is Hashirama’s soulmate. She might come off as an overly serious person, but she’s perfectly equipped to put up with Hashirama's exuberance. She can deal with Ren being a little weird.

“What on earth is this?” Mito asks when Ren discards her mesh undershirt. It clunks to the floor louder than it probably looks like it should, being laced with metal.

“That’s what most people wear instead of armor in my time,” Ren answers, slipping her arms through the sleeves of a dark purple kimono. Next to her, Mito dips gracefully to pick it up. “Although that one got repurposed a bit.”

Mito sets the mesh shirt aside to help Ren arrange the kimono on her body and tie a matching lavender obi. It’s not nearly as uncomfortable as Ren was anticipating, although she wouldn’t want to fight in it.

“It’s not an undergarment, then?” Mito asks, turning back to the mesh shirt. Her eyes glimmer in interest. “May I show my husband?”

“Uh,” Ren says. She has no idea how her shirt could be that interesting. “Sure?”

The Senju brothers are having tea on the engawa, overlooking the gardens. Hisako sits nervously next to Tobirama, and she hops to her feet to fetch cups for Ren and Mito the moment they appear.

“Darling, look,” Mito says, holding up the mesh shirt. With Hisako having left, she says, “This is what armor is in the future.”

Hashirama seems equally fascinated. Tobirama rolls his eyes affectionately.

“Does it work?” Hashirama asks, rubbing it between his fingers.

“It’s more like a trade-off,” Tobirama says, very authoritatively even though he has largely rejected any new fashion trends. “It’s not as protective as full armor, but it allows for easier movement.”

“Why is this fabric different?” Mito asks, reaching over her husband to point at two strips of gray fabric going up the sides of the shirt.

“Oh, usually you have to get them well-fitted,” Ren explains, “and I… didn’t have that option.”

Ren had, in fact, pulled that particular shirt off the corpse of a kunoichi she’d killed herself. She remembers because she’d circled back specifically because she’s thought the woman her size, and that she could maybe get some clothes she didn’t have to take in or out. She’d been wrong.

Hisako comes back with a new steaming pot of tea and two more cups and a plate of dried fruit, and she gets paler and paler as Ren talks about peeling a shirt off a dead woman and then being mad it was too small. The actual ninja nod along, unbothered, and it occurs to Ren that not only does she have no idea how to talk to civilians, neither do any of the other people here.

God, I must really sound like I wandered right out of the Warring Clans era, Ren thinks, running the pad of her thumb over the stumps of her missing fingers. Usually village-born ninja were a little more surprised by her complete lack of regular supplies, but Tobirama had told her his family had suffered through some of the same problems.

(Just, you know, with familial love and dependence on one another, and not a crabs-in-a-bucket feeling of desperation.)

“Resourceful,” is Mito’s only comment on the matter. She holds the shirt up again, eyeing the way the fabric moves. “Can we see if it really works?”

“If you can fit into it,” Ren replies, “I would be happy to throw things at you.”

Mito laughs again, although outside of the privacy of her room she makes an attempt to be dainty about it, covering her mouth.

“Um, Ren-san,” Hisako titters out, seated folded perfectly. “Tobirama-sama said you were unwell, so I made a medicinal blend…”

Tobirama-sama? Ren thinks. She knows some people call their family by such formal titles, but she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face trying to call him that…

“Thank you, Hisako,” Tobirama says, lifting his cup to his own lips.

Tobirama’s tone is clipped and dismissive, which Ren knows from experience is just what his casual tone sounds like, but Hisako wilts ever so much. Ren wonders if they’ve ever had a real conversation. She wouldn’t be surprised if twenty-something year old Tobirama was too socially unaware to think to engage with someone else.

When they’ve drunk and eaten, Hisako gathers their cups and shuffles off. Ren makes the conscious choice to thank her and smile, but Hisako doesn’t look any less stressed.

“Ren took over the garden,” Tobirama says conversationally. Or, at least, conversationally for Tobirama, which means he sounds like he’s interrupted your conversation specifically to tell you off.

“Do you like flowers, Ren?” Hashirama asks, an indulgent smile spreading over his face.

“Edible plants, mostly,” Tobirama answers for her. “Ren likes practical plants.”

The garden as it currently stands in front of them is indeed mostly pretty flowers, with only a small portion set aside for an herb garden. Tobirama didn’t want to word it like she thought growing flowers to have flowers is pointless though!

“I like flowers too,” Ren protests, pushing one foot forward to nudge Tobirama’s thigh. “I’m still waiting on sunflower seeds, remember?”

“Can you not eat sunflower seeds?” Hashirama asks.

“No, she didn’t want the edible kind,” Tobirama replies. “She got fixated on rumors of a variety used as an antimalarial–”

Ren feels her cheeks go pink.

#'don't you hate the founders era--' LEAVE ME ALONE #the tobirama/oc au #<- click the tag for more stuff about this au #tobirama is. horrible #my writing

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thelampisaflashlight · 8 months

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I come from a family of very superstitious individuals, though I, myself, do not put much credence to the paranormal.

This isn't to say I doubt the experiences other people have had -with a few exceptions due to personal reasons- but I follow much the same logic as, say, Houdini or Ghost Files' Shane Madej, in that I need proof.

There's the old saying, "Seeing is believing" and have I seen things?

Yes.

Shockingly, yes.

And you might be saying, "Lamp, if you've seen something supernatural, something that you couldn't explain, then why don't you believe?"

It all comes back to the human imagination.

Now this isn't to say I think people are imagining things when they see ghosts and other otherworldly things.

However, there already exists several known phenomenon that can scientifically explain how or why we might be seeing them.

Pareidolia, for example, in which we find faces in objects, is a very normal quirk of how our brains are wired.

We are also more susceptible to seeing/hearing things when we are tired or stressed.

Our minds are wired to help us remain vigilant in situations where we might encounter danger, because while we might be perfectly safe, even imagined dangers can trigger a real fear response.

It's why when someone has a dream that someone did something mean to them, they might be angry/upset when they wake up.

But I digress.

So, what did I see?

Well, first things first, I think it's important to give you some context.

When I was ten years old, my mother passed away quite suddenly.

She had been sick for some time, but had hidden it well enough that by the time her symptoms were impossible to hide anymore, it was already too late to help her.

Without going into too much detail on how she died, I can tell you that it was incredibly traumatic for me.

So much so that I spent the ages of eleven to seventeen in therapy, and I still, to this day, have not wholly unpacked the entirety of that day with anyone.

The night after her passing, however, is when this event occurred.

Now, as I said a moment ago, the human imagination -the human mind- is a fantastic thing.

And when we are tired and stressed, as I was, we are perhaps more inclined to see things that aren't truly there.

My mother, for as long as I knew her, always sat at the same spot at our dining room table; In a well worn wooden chair in front of a chest that I never got to see the contents of -not an important detail, but a far gone curiosity now- and her sweater, a gray and pinkish-purply thing made of that yarn that always seems to go to fuzz, was draped over the back of it.

To my mother, one of the most important things to do when someone past, was to view the body in order to say goodbye.

When my paternal grandmother passed two years prior to my mother's own death, she'd taken my hand in her own and we stood by her bedside and said our goodbyes.

I did not get to say goodbye to my mother.

And I think, perhaps, that's why I saw what I did.

I had reached out, placing my hand on the back of the chair, and turned to look out at the window... and there was my mom.

Sitting in the chair beside me.

I need you to understand when I say this, it could not have been a person standing outside, and before anyone says, "Well, it could have been your own reflection staring back at you."

I do not look like my mother.

Or at least I didn't look like her back then.

I was a very pale, blond child, and my mother was a brunette, who, quite infamously, resembled Frida Kahlo.

In fact I've played a game with my siblings a number of times called "Mom or Frida Kahlo", the resemblance is that uncanny.

But what got to me the most was the expression on her face.

She was angry.

And it frightened me.

In that moment, I had felt real fear.

I was so taken aback I went to go find my father, and when I told him what happened, he just said, "That makes sense."

That makes sense.

I didn't tell him that she looked unhappy.

And, for a long time, I forgot about it.

But every so often the memory comes back to me.

I can write it off a million different ways.

Yet...

#lamp rambles #death mention tw #talking about ghosts #but not ghost #I remembered something and felt like rambling

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madseance · 1 year

Text

My Broadchurch posts have been getting more notes lately, which is a great excuse for me to point people to some of my favorite Hardy/Miller fics:

Loneliness (in F Flat Minor) by TreacleA — T, 50k

“I think I was a bit jealous of your date last night.” Hardy’s leant back in his seat, his hands resting on the wheel and he turns his head slightly to look at her. If he’s surprised he doesn’t show it, his dark brown eyes reflect the dash lights as they rest calmly on her face. “Well,” he pauses minutely, allowing space for the nuance in what she’s said, “You’d no need to be.”

Jump in the River by bitboozy — M, 8k [part 1 of Domesticated — M, 700k]

All the while he was gone, she tried not to think of him. She tried not to wonder what he was doing, where he had gone, why he had left. She tried not to make it about her. Logically she knew it couldn’t be. But perhaps that was problem. In her alone-est moments, she wonders why she wasn’t enough to keep him here. He thinks of her unabashedly. Like a dream he replays in his mind, a memory that is just the slightest bit different each time it passes through. He misses many things about her but chief among them is the freedom of arguing with her. He can yell at many, he can chastise anyone. But only she fights back. He has always liked the fight of life. The challenge of breathing, the unmistakable strain of human interaction. It reminds him he’s moving forward. With her, the fight is a game he can’t win but loves playing anyway. Maybe because he can’t win, and neither can she. It is infinite. As time passes she wonders if he ever happened to her at all. If she had just altered her own memories to make those days seem bearable. To remember something from those years besides her own personal tragedy. When he shows back up in Broadchurch she could kill him.

Empty Spaces by ShirleyAnn66 — T, 70k

Ellie recognizes his voice with the first word and spins around, mouth gaping, eyes wide. A part of her knows she must look ridiculous and only more so when she gets her first look at him. Gone is the scruffy unkempt man she remembers so well. The man standing before her is clean shaven, his shirt crisply pressed and buttoned to his throat, his tie perfectly knotted and straight. His hair is shorter than it was in Broadchurch, and smoothly combed. She barely recognizes him, his face all unfamiliar angles and sharp edges that could slice paper, but the overall impression is one of almost-vulnerable boyishness. Then she meets his eyes, and they’re as wide as hers, watching her with a mixture of uncertainty, nervousness, happiness and some indefinable something that gives her a burst of fear mixed with excitement mixed with the sense of finding something that had been lost. “Miller,” he says with an obvious effort, “finally got that promotion, then, aye?”

Tea & Happiness by MrsNoggin — E, 16k

Daisy wanders off and returns a few seconds later with the throw that usually lives on the back of the sofa, for exactly times like this. Instead of covering her father, for some reason she hands the blanket to Ellie, and for some reason Ellie takes it, shakes it out and lays it over him before even thinking to question why it’s her job. The stairs creak in an obnoxious way, as those in new build houses that have been rather half-heartedly constructed tend to do - Daisy disappearing upstairs. The noise disturbs Hardy, and he turns over slightly, giving a graceless, twitching kick and a snort, before blinking his eyes open sleepily. "Hey love, you have a good time?” Love. She’s not sure who his sleep-addled brain has decided she is, so she strokes his hair back from his forehead. Watches it flop disobediently straight back down again. “Go back to sleep.” “Aye. Night Ellie, get home safe.” Oh.

Ricochet by paintedvanilla — T, 8k

She looks more unsure now than she has all evening. “I’ve just— been thinking is all.” “… Thinkin’.” “Yes,” Miller says, giving him a look. “And our job, it’s quite stressful.” Hardy stares at her. “Sure.” “Sure. You say that like it didn’t almost kill you,” Miller says immediately. “But that’s— nevermind, I just thought— I mean I had this… look, just tell me if you think it’s a stupid idea, and I’ll never bring it up again.” “Love to, if you’d bring it up in the first place,” Hardy says before he can stop himself.

The Same Stuff by Lemur710 — M, 11k

“He was on a plane to America with his daughter Easter weekend, Ellie. And he still called you when he landed, didn’t he?” “He had to check in. We work together.” “Don’t always talk about work, though, do you?” “So what? We’re partners. Mates.” Lucy nodded. “Yeah. Mates who talk every day, who work long nights and sleep at each other’s houses, mates who make each other dinner and help each other’s kids with their homework. I barely see you without him anymore.” “So, he’s my best ma—oh, god.” She frowned in disgust, a chip half-way to her mouth. It was true, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

like night needs morning by svpportive — T, 2k

She rewinds the tape, rubbing at her eye. When nothing of import shows up, as suspected, she sighs and closes out of her computer and starts packing her things. Hardy still hasn’t moved. Definitely asleep then. She huffs and pulls the bag around her shoulders. “Goodnight, sir.” She says, loud in the empty quiet of the dark office. When he doesn’t stir she chuckles, and kisses the top of his head before making her way out. It’s only until she’s in the car that she realizes what she’s done, meaning she completely missed how Hardy had startled awake then stilled in shock.

#broadchurch #former detectives club #broadchurch fic #I have fixed the formatting on this so many times... h8 the new post editor :)))#paragraphs just appearing and disappearing as they please

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holly-fixation · 6 hours

Text

Damaged Doll: Ch12

Summary: Angeal and Zack discover a man in all black trapped under boulders in the mountains near Icicle Village: Cloud, a doll created by Jenova for reasons currently unknown.

Cloud's mystery is beginning to shatter.

Inspired by the prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please Enjoy!

Chapter 13: A Change of Scenery

Genesis listened with a nearly satisfied expression. Finally, Sephiroth regained his legendary control. Finally, his friend started to see how right he was.

“Look at me,” Sephiroth's stern voice was music to his ears.

“SOLDIER First Class: Genesis Rhapsodos.” That voice was not.

“What do you want, Turk? Despite my looks, I am quite busy.”

“Sephiroth can handle the interrogation.”

Mako eyes met brown ones sharply.

“We've been summoned to secure payload transport. Hollander’s orders. It's landing soon. No time for negotiation.”

“Why do they want a First?”

“The payload is highly classified.”

Genesis nearly groaned. “Which means highly valuable. Are you sure you can't get Angeal to do this?”

“He's on a mission with Zack. We can talk on the way.” She nudged her head toward the hallway. Genesis reluctantly followed. With Hollander’s new found role, there was no telling what kind of punishments could result from direct disobedience.

“Why couldn't Sephiroth do this again?” He asked for the first time, very much reminded of Hojo from his own train of thought.

“Hollander specifically requested Sephiroth not be involved. And the more answers he gets out of Cloud, the better.”

Genesis silenced as he tried to understand the reasoning behind that.

At the peak of Shinra HQ, the helicopter had already landed, security clearing the way for the mighty vessel. Scientists waited at the ready, Doctor Hollander bearing a grin similar to that of Hojo before it even hit the ground.

Genesis couldn’t help his expression of disgust, although he certainly did not try to hide it.

“I have a question for you.”

“I'm not exactly here for small talk, Turk.”

“Neither am I. What do you know about Cloud?”

Mako blues turned to ice. “Why.”

“Hojo initially assigned me to teach him about the modern world. But I think he's hiding things from me.”

Genesis scoffed in agreement. “Of course he is. What do you want to know?”

“What is he writing in that book?”

“Supposedly, his origins.”

As the payload moved into the building, cylindrical case completely sealed as security followed, the SOLDIER and Turk far behind to observe any unwatched corners and entry ways.

She hummed, crossing her arms.

Genesis attempted to read her expression. “...That's not what he told you, was it?”

“It's none of your concern.”

“It is exactly my concern and do not pretend to hide information now. I want to know everything, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. My friend, the fates are cruel.”

* * *

Cloud was warm. Comfortable. Safe. He wanted to stay perfectly still. He nearly purred under the sheet, adjusting within. The cold of the further section confused him. He slowly opened his eyes. Before him laid the empty medical room. He looked around, but no one remained.

His prince was gone.

Cloud looked down, slowly, sadly. Why didn’t his prince wake him? Was he still not trusted? Actually, that was logical. His prince questioned him and suddenly fell dormant. He didn’t have an explanation, but his prince was intelligent. Even while succumbing to the fogginess, his prince questioned him, accused him. Cloud exhaled. What would he do if-

A nurse knocked at his door while opening it quickly. “Oh, you’re awake. Good. You’ve been dispatched. Change, grab your stuff, and leave the gown behind. You’re free.”

His head tilted, not making a move. “Where am I going?”

“Your guardian is in the waiting room. They’ll take care of you. I believe you know the way.”

Cloud nodded. “I do. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Don’t forget anything.” As swiftly as the nurse came, she vanished.

Cloud pushed himself off the bed and looked through the plastic bag filled with black leathers. His clothes. He was warned not to wear the pants until his leg healed and opted to only wear the coat, closing the zipper and latching the crossed straps in protection, it was finally time to return. He sighed again at the memory, glancing down at his permanently damaged leg.

Though he never learned how to repair the holes, his clothes felt perfect. He almost felt whole again. He grabbed the book and slipped it into the laptop bag the Turk gave him. He balanced the strap on the opposite shoulder of his injury before taking his cane and leaving the room for good.

Once reaching the waiting room, his heart soared once more. “My Prince.”

“Come with me,” Sephiroth’s words were still cold, but Cloud was too relieved to see him again so soon.

“Lead the way.” His gaze was shining and awed as he followed. He said no word unless spoken too. He simply enjoyed the content silence, the memory of an hour before, as they stood in the elevator. His prince did not approach him, never even looking in his direction. That was okay. Something told him it would be okay.

The doors dinged and they stepped into yet another reception area, though this one lacked the seating and decor. Sephiroth simply walked past the woman at the desk. Cloud followed, gaining a glance from the receptionist but nothing more. The Silver Soldier scanned his ID card and opened the door to another hallway, holding it for the blond before continuing to walk.

His prince did not slow down for him, and despite his best efforts, Cloud fell far behind. He tried to hide his breath as he struggled to follow. Thankfully, the hallway never bent. He never lost sight of the soldier. Sephiroth stopped at the final door on the left.

Holding a plastic piece to the lock, a beep and a click sounded before Sephiroth walked into the numbered door and waited.

A small part of Cloud expected a prison, an empty chamber to keep him in until all his prince's questions were answered. But upon entering, he was confused. There was a couch, a cushioned chair, a coffee table, bookshelves, a television, a display stand for a massive weapon, and a kitchen on the opposite side. Instead of darkness stood floor to ceiling windows allowing the mako glow of many reactors to fill the large area.

“Forgive my intrusion, but where are we, Sephiroth?”

He closed and locked the entrance. “Sit down.”

Cloud moved without thinking, placing his bag on the floor near his feet but keeping a loose grip on his cane.

Sephiroth sighed before explaining, not daring to look at the man on his couch, “This is my apartment. I want to keep an eye on you and I'm tired of scheduling around the whims of medical and the labs.”

Cat-like eyes widened. “Sephiroth, I couldn't possibly-”

“You will stay here until I say otherwise. I'll have a copy of my fob tomorrow. You will come and go as you please.”

“I… I don't understand… I told you I killed Hojo but you aren't turning me in…?” Cloud regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth, but he needed to know. After all the pain it caused despite his best intentions, he couldn't hide the thought.

“...Forget about Hojo.” His words were icy and dark, directed at someone else.

The blond nodded, ending the subject. He knew he shouldn't be questioning his prince, but he was completely befuddled. “Why your apartment? I can adapt to any lodging. I don't want to intrude.”

Sephiroth sat in the chair with a deep sigh, eyes lowered and away. “There is an… ulterior motive.”

Cloud's head tilted at the innocent his prince spoke with.

“It's…” He adjusted, gripping his sleeve.

A pause passed. “...If you don't want me to know, I understand-”

“Can I ask something of you?”

The injured blond snapped to attention. “What do you need?”

“At ease. You're allowed to deny me if you do not wish to obey.”

Even the very idea Sephiroth suggested was unthinkable to Cloud, but Cloud did not mention it. “What is your request?”

Another awkward pause. Brushing a hand through silver hair. “I want to test something. And I need you to do it.”

To be useful to his prince? How could he ever say no? But why was his prince so hesitant? “I will do all I can.”

“You will answer honestly.” Sephiroth's sharp eyes met his twinkling ones. “I will not make you if you don't want to.”

“I understand. Please, what task do you have for me?”

Disappointment filled his gaze before his eyes closed and his head fell.

Cloud turned away, timid and hesitant, his hand tightening against the cold wood of his cane. “What else have I done wrong…?”

“...I need to test if…” Sephiroth inhaled sharply, dispelling his hesitation long enough to reveal his truth, “I need to see if your proximity has the same effect tonight.”

It took a moment before Cloud understood, not a single hint of judgment on his face. “I am at your service. Always.”

“I won't ask this again. Only tonight.”

Cloud nodded, though he did not believe the words to be true.

“Until then, I need to return to the SOLDIER floor. That book will be finished when I return. No lies. No half truths.”

Cloud winced but nodded again. “Understood.”

“Good.” He stood, and Cloud followed hesitantly. “Let me show you around.”

The man followed to the kitchen.

“The top two cabinets on the left have food. The fridge has cold water. Obviously you may use the bathroom on the right. Down that hallway is my room. You will not enter.”

It was spacious but so bare. Three chairs at a blank kitchen table. No trinkets. No spoils of victory. No memories. No… personality, as if this place was simply an extension of the lab. His prince deserved a palace but lived in emptiness.

Hojo deserved to die.

“You are free to make yourself comfortable while you write.”

“I cannot thank you enough, Sephiroth.” Cloud bowed, one arm across his chest and the other supporting his body with the cane. But his prince turned away. “Shall I contact you once it's ready?”

“No. I will return later. Then it's time. I want to know everything. Even that which you hid for my protection.”

Now it was Cloud's turn to look away. “...You have my word. I will not let you down.”

To be continued…

Chapter list

Thanks for reading!

#ffvii #final fantasy vii #ff7 #sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife #genesis rhapsodos #cissnei ff7

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