#advent dark force

[demonlordcosnime]

lets play fairy fencer F advent dark force part 28

[contact-guy]

I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

[on-the-clear-blue]

What if Danny didn't die? He does open the portal but for the first time in their lives the Fentons followed OSHA regulations.

He doesn't have the powers, but he was right there when the portal opened, he saw the tear in reality and it...it did things.

It wasn't something that a humans mind was supposed to see, while the Infinite Realms are the in-between dimensions, and what is in-between the in-between?

Elder gods, slumbering calamities, fallen angels hid from their gods ever present eye, righteous spirits who reached nirvana, monsters beyond imagination...

The crack before the Realms snapped to his dimension was only open for a mere moment, a single millisecond but to the young boy it was eternity, and he could only watches as all those beings turned their attentions to him, they saw him, observed him as much as he did them.

He had fallen, screaming as he clutched his eyes, his eyes and ears were bleeding, his brain pounded so hard it felt as if it was going to knock out his eyeballs, Sam and Tucker, spared from it all as they had turned their heads when the lightning flashed and rent the portal open could only rush to the boy, trying to help him but all he could do was scream. Because what was beyond had saw him, and gave him a gift.

---

Far away, in a tall tower, a man with a gleaming gold helmet shuddered as the ankh of light in front of him shattered.

He fell to the floor, the minor magic he used failing as the more complex spell fizzled and broke, leaving him painfully wheezing on the ground, clutching at his chest.

"N-no...T-this can not be...T-The order...it...it failed...it can not fail!" Dragging himself across the Tower of Orders floor, Dr. Fate forced himself over to a lone summoning circle, falling onto it with an exhausted groan, the Gaurdian of Order muttered a soft word, and the circle flared, and in an instant he was gone, leaving the Tower shaking it it's wake.

---

On the couch of the House of Magic, John Constantine was feeling as if the world had fucked him so hard in the ass he would never be able to walk straight ever again.

And with the pounding in his skull from a truly deadly hangover wasn't helping either.

Nor was the half dead Dr. Fate puking up his guts in his living room.

"Argh" which translated to "What the bloody fuck are you doing in my house you daft shiny headed prick" but John didn't really have the strength to say that.

"Blugh" was what the ever regal Dr. Fate responded with, which obviously meant "The border between realities have been broken, the Beyond Dark knows of our existence and has seen our world, they have come to either eat upon our existence and reality or defend agaisnt the others that seek to only fill their own unexistance."

John of course, carefully and gracefully pissed himself.

---

In Faccuet City, a young Billy Batson screamed as his head exploded with noise, the gods and heros alike were all suddenly the strongest they had ever been, their powers flooded and overwhelmed his mortal form, and to save his life, the Champion of Magic forced itself into being.

Even in the Champions form the sudden influx of godly might was almost too much, steam charged with lightning billowed off him in great plooms, sparks zapped from his finger tips to the ground, and the air stunk of ozone all around him.

The gods were ranting, each talking over each other, debating in so many dead languages Billy's mind could keep up the translations.

It wasn't until Solomons voice boomed over the others that the voices fell quiet. "ENOUGH! NOW IS NOT THE TIME OF IN FIGHTING, THE BEYOND IS AT OUR DOOR..."

Taking a breath even if he didn't need it, the ancient king looked all the years he had lived and then some, "Young William...oh dear precious boy...our dear son. A great advent has begun, a door which should never been opened has been thrown wide...the beasts you face, the abominations of teeth and tentacles are just the mites that have slipped under the door...waht is to come will make all that you have faced look like mice...we will not have enough time to prepare you with what is to come..."

Solomons voice broke at the end, and he hung his head in the mental image in Billy's head "Seek out others, join forces with any. All those in touch with the arcane shall know of what just happened...as Champion you will be the spear head, the general of them all...you will lead them agaisnt the Beyond."

---

It took a week for Danny to come back to himself again, at least a little bit, he still had a haunted look in his eyes, and was far to quiet. He barely spoke at all, but when he did it was in ramblings of things not understood by any of them.

His parents assumed it had been a ghost that left in this state, their hatred for the ectoplasmic beings growing more and more as their son, their boy grew worse.

Jazz, unlike her parents listened to what Danny described, studied what she could and figured out what she couldn't, at each dead en she pushed, with Tuckers help she gained access to computer systems that held secrets of the occult, and with Sam's freely given credit card? Oh she dived deep into spell, trying desperately to find any kind of cure for Danny's predicament.

As time went on the boy only got worse, he had begun seeing the beings in the Beyond, some whispered wisdom, of long lost ways to calm the millions of mutterings in his gray matter and the pounding of his heart, while others screamed, in jubilation and rage, as it is only in being seen did they become real, and becoming real meant they had a foot hold in existence.

The wise figures, while helping had also steered him to their own goals, some told him to hate the jabbering hordes, others said that the only way to truly to be rid of them was to be nothing as well, to go far past being a person, into being one with the Byond.

Some of the mutterings lead to more questions, they spoke of Gods long forgotten and recent, of their betrayals and what they did to fall, others claimed that they were not fallen, that they were there to protect him from those that were.

The more and more he listened the more and more he saw of them, until Danny began to not understand what was real and what wasnt.

So he didn't even flinch when a group of imposing figures were in his room when he came up to his bed, hoping that the voices of Parathax the Unbeliever would be quiet enough for him to sleep.

Oh he did scream quite a bit when the sad trench coat man with a multi fractured sould reached out and touched him.

[yugsly]

No pressure but do you want to explain why you like Noroi so much? Im a huge horror movie nerd and i would love to learn more about it because im sure if youre a fan you saw a lot of details i didnt get when i watched it once like 5 ears ago :D And i love to hear people geek out

I love Noroi for a lot of reasons, but I think the thing that makes it stick with me the most is because it feels so real. It's very low-key, it's not flashy, it's not overly dramatic. It's very grounded. It is done in the style of a 'found footage' documentary- and it's done so well, you forget you're watching a movie sometimes. You feel like you're just watching a documentary. The acting is incredibly candid. It makes you believe in what you're seeing. The sense of dread builds over the course of it's run-time very slowly. It has no jumpscares, no cgi, no horror makeup- that is not where the horror comes from. It imbues a dark, gut-twisting feeling in you as the movie reaches it's climax. And that feeling doesn't go away. It follows you into the night long after the movie has ended. The images flash in your head as you're trying to sleep, you reflect on that woman's actions, you feel a little ill. The scary imagery in the movie is barely decipherable, buried under the lens of low-quality video footage. It forces your eyes to try to make out what you're looking at, and when you fail to fill in all the dots, the fear and dread hits. It's a very unique feeling, one we are rapidly losing due to the advent of high-quality camera footage at our fingertips. Long gone are the days of 280p shitty 'real ghost footage' on youtube. I truly believe "low-quality" footage to be far scarier than any high definition scary makeup, cgi, etc- nothing wrong with those things of course, though. That's just another reason why Noroi sticks with me (along with the director Shiraishi's other work). Then, there's the historical aspects of the film that I love, that also lend to the realism. The old religious village that was forced to evacuate to make room for a modern dam, leaving their centuries-old homes sunken under a man-forged lake. A very sobering reality for many old Japanese villages in real life (also a theme in the Higurashi series). The religious practices & traditions we learn about from the village, the footage of the Kagutaba ritual, the scrolls, it's incredibly detailed and realistic. I just love stuff like that. You can tell the director is a huge history nerd and it rules. This movie makes me feel sick. I won't get into it for spoiler reasons (I truly believe everyone should see this movie), but the contents are truly harrowing, and made all the more harrowing with how realistically they are presented. God it's so good. EDIT: IT'S ON YOUTUBE FOR FREE GO GO GO

[advent-if]

DEMO TBA 🌑 CHARACTER INTROS (5/5)

A fine line separates civilians from saviours, saints from sinners; it was never a line you expected to cross, but one you did anyway. Now, the fate of Advent City’s clueless citizens or cunning criminals rests in your hands… best not to let it slip from your fingers, mm?

Thirteen years ago, your life changed. Thirteen years ago, you swore requital. Now, the opportunity has arisen for you to either defend the city from the dark or rid it from the rot spreading throughout its core. 

Now, it’s your turn.

Play as Advent City’s saviour, a daring vigilante here to protect those you love or ruin those you hate — the choice is up to you. Learn to inspire fear, earn respect, fall in love, or even become the greatest superhero this city has ever known.

ADVENT is rated 18+ for explicit language, violence, explicit sexual content, substance abuse, and more. It deals with heavy themes; discretion is advised.

Customise your character’s appearance, personality and intentions: are you a hero spurred by the desire to protect, or an anti-hero propelled by the promise of retribution? Does your alter-ego vastly differ from your day-to-day life, or is it an extension of your nature? Are you ruthless or compassionate, ingenious or Machiavellian, courageous or psychopathic?

Choose your origin story: were you a rich orphan à la Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark, a Regular Joe turned hero on being given powers by a mysterious force, or born with them for reasons you’re desperate to find?

Fight villains who threaten the safety of the city and its inhabitants, and maybe even a supervillain who happens to be your foil…

Romance 1 of 5 characters, each of whom come with their own hefty baggage, and have interesting(?) reactions to yours…

Manage your new life and all its nuances. Who said being a saviour was easy? Try to separate your old life from this new one by keeping your identity a secret, maintaining old relationships, forging new ones, keeping your loved ones safe, etc. etc… damn.

the Head of Police: Luis/Luz Aguilera (m/f): Stern, sexy, moody. Relentlessly hardworking and caring to the point of no return. They want to be the one to clean Advent City’s fucked up system, not for glory, but simply because it’s the right thing to do. Unfortunately for them, that also means putting up with your whole shebang… maybe try to keep the arguing to a minimum?

the Journalist: Vincent “Vinny” Jacobs (m): Cheeky, suave, opportunistic. Inordinately ambitious and impressively dedicated to their cause. He’d never miss an opportunity to investigate something deeper if it intrigued him enough. Unfortunately for you, he’s now focused solely on the up and coming vigilante stalking the streets. Uh oh.

the Childhood Friend: Arya Anand (m/f): Sweet, thoughtful, kind. Patient to a fault and excessively trusting. You guys knew each other really well, once upon a time. But now that they're back, years later, you’re not quite convinced by the “I’m okay”s and forced smiles they seem to be hiding under. Surely it has nothing to do with you, right?

the Other One: Nian (f): Unpredictable, flirty, mysterious. Fast to arrive and quick to disappear. She’s someone you meet often in your… line of work… and curiously, she’s always ready to help you. Behind her mask and catsuit is someone you suspect is dangerously similar to you. As long as you two have the same goal, it shouldn’t be a problem…

the Heir: Josephine/Joseph Bieri (f/m): Arrogant, cunning, brash. Annoyingly haughty and odiously elusive. They were an asshole when you first met five years ago, and seem to be an even bigger one now… worse, they’re in the way between you and taking down their Mafia kingpin dad. Although, getting close could give you an advantage - just try not to punch them.

reblogs are appreciated! thank you so much for your interest <3

[mrsarnold]

im begging for another sevika fic for the advent thingy PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE IDC WHICH PROMPT JUST PLEASE

021. underneath the tree ! . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

syn : decorating with sevika

pair : sevika x fem!reader

warn : fluffy fluff, mix of two prompts

note ; muhahah

It’s a chilly evening in Zaun, and the dim lights of your shared apartment cast a warm glow across the room. The faint sound of holiday music plays in the background as you string up garlands and fairy lights, much to Sevika’s chagrin. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, an unimpressed look etched into her face.

“Do we really need all this?” Sevika mutters, eyeing the glittery decorations with mild disdain.

You pause, hands still tangled in the string of lights. “Oh, don’t be such a grinch,” you tease, shooting her a playful grin.

Sevika lets out a deep sigh, her expression unchanging. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Of course, I was going to say that. Look at you,” you say, gesturing dramatically to her sulking figure. “You’re standing there with that pouty face, acting like this is torture. It’s festive, Sev. You could at least try to enjoy it.”

“I’m not pouting,” she grumbles, shifting her weight. “And I’m not a grinch. I just don’t see the point in all this… fluff.”

You roll your eyes, setting the lights aside as you approach her. Placing your hands on her shoulders, you force her to look down at you. “The point is to have fun. To make this place feel cozy and… I don’t know, cheerful. Zaun’s dark enough without your brooding adding to it.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back a smirk. “Cheerful, huh? You think stringing up lights and hanging garlands is going to make me cheerful?”

“It’s a start,” you reply, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Besides, if you help me finish, I’ll make your favorite hot chocolate after. Extra marshmallows.”

That earns a small huff of laughter from Sevika. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Sevika shakes her head, the faintest smile breaking through her tough exterior. “Fine. But if I step on one of these damn ornaments, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” you say, dragging her toward the pile of decorations. “Now grab those baubles and start helping. And try to look like you’re having fun.”

Sevika groans but picks up a garland, muttering something under her breath about how you’re lucky she puts up with this. But the way her eyes soften as she watches you laugh and hum along to the music tells you that maybe, just maybe, she’s not as grinchy as she pretends to be.

[mysticstronomy]

WHAT IS A DARK MATTER STAR??

Blog#490

Welcome back,

Saturday, March 22nd, 2025.

In a first, the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST) might have glimpsed a rare type of star that astronomers aren’t even sure exists. These stellar objects, called dark stars, might have been fueled not by nuclear fusion but by the self-annihilation of dark matter—the invisible stuff that is thought to make up about 85 percent of the matter in the universe.

Scientists will need more evidence to be able to confirm the candidates seen by JWST, but if these dark stars are real, the finding could change our story of how the first stars formed.

Contrary to their name, dark stars could have glowed a billion times more luminously than the sun and grown to a million times its mass. Dark stars have never been definitively observed, but cosmological simulations suggest that they should have formed soon after the big bang from clouds of pure hydrogen and helium that collapsed at the centers of protogalaxies rich in dark matter.

In July 2023 researchers reported in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA that at least three far-off objects observed by JWST and previously identified as galaxies could, in fact, each be a single, supermassive dark star. “If you find a new kind of star, that’s huge,” says study co-author Katherine Freese, an astrophysicist at the University of Texas at Austin.

The researchers can’t yet prove that the objects are dark stars—only that their characteristics are consistent with their being either dark stars or galaxies populated by regular fusion-powered stars. JWST’s technology is sufficient to do that job, however, says study co-author Cosmin Ilie, an astrophysicist at Colgate University.

All researchers need is more observation time. “We hope we are going to find one of these dark stars with the Webb within its lifetime,” Ilie says.

There are two possibilities for how the first stars in the universe formed. The conventional wisdom is that these early stars were “Population III” stars. Such stars would have been powered by nuclear fusion, like stars today, but they would have had very little to no metal in them—in astronomy, that means elements heavier than helium—because those elements had not yet formed in the early universe.

There is another possibility, though. In 2008 Freese and some of her colleagues proposed that the universe’s first stars could have been powered by dark matter. Dark matter is a mysterious form of matter that does not interact with electromagnetic forces; scientists know it exists only because of its gravitational effects, and they don’t know what it’s made of.

In the early universe, dark stars could have formed from the collapse of helium and hydrogen clouds made in the big bang. If dark matter particles are also their own antiparticles, as many dark matter theories posit, then within these collapsing clouds, those particles would have collided with one another and self-annihilated.

The collision would have kicked off a chain of particle decay that ended with the production of photons, electron-positron pairs and neutrinos. Only the neutrinos would have really left the cloud because they barely interact with matter. The other particles would have hit the hydrogen and helium and transferred their energy to that matter, which would have heated up the cloud and fueled the star’s formation and continued growth.

These stars would have formed at the center of “minihaloes,” which were early protogalaxies that existed 200 million years after the big bang, before the advent of elements heavier than helium and hydrogen. These minihaloes consisted almost entirely of dark matter, making conditions within them ripe to power dark stars. This high concentration of dark matter is why dark stars could form only in the early universe, Freese says.

Originally published on https://www.scientificamerican.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, March 26th, 2025)

"WHAT IS THE OLDEST KNOWN GALAXY??"

[bridenore]

HD eight year fic recs : 50k+ words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are between 30k and 50k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

You can access my rec lists for eight year fics that have less than 10k words here, between 10k and 20k here, between 20k and 30k here and between 30k and 50k here.

Arms Wide Open: Hogwarts by Sita_Z [28k]

Harry did not expect his Eighth Year to involve any more investigations of abandoned bathrooms. Nor did he expect to come across Draco Malfoy there, alone, bleeding and in late-stage labor. Arms Wide Open: Grimmauld Place by Sita_Z [36k] After leaving Hogwarts, Harry and Draco face an uncertain future, raising Scorpius and dealing with the wizarding world’s reaction to their situation. Sequel to Arms Wide Open: Hogwarts.

At Your Service by @faith2wood [95k]

Hogwarts students are in danger; Harry is determined to save them all. There’s only one thing he knows for certain: Draco Malfoy is somehow involved.

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic [88k]

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Beholden by @faith2wood [123k]

Draco Malfoy might not be a killer, but it turns out he's an effective painkiller. If stopping pain was all Draco's touch did, things might not be so complicated, but either way Harry can't afford to be choosy.

The Changing Lights by lazywonderland [142k]

Harry returns for an eighth year following the end of the war and realises that although he's put his own animosity towards Malfoy aside, no one else seems to have done the same. When a hex leaves his oldest rival in the body of a female and ridicule doubles, Harry discovers that his hero complex is a difficult thing to fight.

Exceeds Eggspectations by Elle Gray (LGray) [61k]

Eighth year. Winter. Christmas has been and gone. Harry’s just been dumped and so has Malfoy. There’s a stupid fake baby assignment to be done, and what’s the harm in doing it together, really, when life is this shit already? This is not slow burn, this is a roman candle pointed at a pile of dry twigs that represent your heart.

Firebond by Oakstone730 / @i-didnt-wanna-do-it​ [94k]

Draco is forced to tutor Harry in potions. A slight problem occurs.

Golden Age by @lol-zeitgeistic [52k]

The Celtic druids once made a decision that kept magic in abundance in Britannia, but they couldn’t account for the technological advances Muggles would make centuries later. Now magic is dying on the isles, and this is not a dark lord that Harry can fight. OR: Harry Potter doesn’t save the world this time, but he does get a lot of hugs.

Graceless Heart by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony​ [132k]

Harry is lost and broken after the war. He has gone to countless funerals, broken up with Ginny, moved back into Grimmauld Place—which feels darker and dirtier than ever before despite how much he tries to fix it. He feels lonely and desperate, but he won’t ask for help, and he still can’t cry. When he agreed to help the Aurors at Malfoy Manor over the summer, he thought that he would be breaking dark curses. Harry never thought that he would actually spend his days sorting out dusty books with Draco Malfoy, or teaching him how to cook. Little by little, as they begin to navigate their life post-war, Harry and Draco become intimate…in more ways than Harry could have ever expected.

Helix by Saras_Girl [92k]

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again. [2014 advent fic]

It’s No Great Mystery by @agentmoppet​ [57k]

Who on earth decided that bringing back the Yule Ball for their eighth year would be a good idea? It feels like the worst day of Harry’s life, watching everyone get glammed up like the war never happened, like the last Triwizard Tournament wasn’t such a colossal failure. And then it happens again. And again. And again.

Manticoria by @lol-zeitgeistic [70k]

In the dangerous days after Voldemort’s fall, Harry struggles to find a way to be with Draco—again. But as the magical world threatens to die all around them, it might be more difficult than he thought. Includes dying wards, dying beasts, and love struggling to live; sentient magic, wandlore, Founder lore, potion lore, and ward lore; and of course there is Zacharias Smith to ruin everything, as usual.

Mental by sara_holmes [156k]

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

My Little Berserker by @aelys-althea  [105k]

Eighth year was supposed to be calm. Moderated. Peaceful, even. Draco returned to escape the chaos wrought upon his shambles of a life and Harry to flee the responsibility of a world that sees him as something greater than was truly possible. Hogwarts was a safe haven, right? At least it was until Hagrid comes up with the wonderful idea to introduce some additional members to the student body of the fluffier variety. Hagrid doesn’t do moderated - where’s the fun in that?

The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray [85k]

Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn’t. Harry hasn’t decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he’s responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don’t worry, there’s tea!

Not in the Hands of Boys by @fourth-rose [130k] *incomplete

Once the final battle is won, life must go on, although it can be even harder to master than death. Back at Hogwarts for his final year of school, Harry tries to cope with everything he's been through. As the world around him struggles for a way back to normality, he is forced to realise that in the long run, living takes a lot more courage than dying.

Objects of Desire by Azrael Geffen [400k+]

The dream team sign a magical contract promising to lose their virginities within the year, they soon fix on the objects of their desires, but will the bitterness left in the wake of the war prove too hurtful for love to exist?

Ocean of Storms by Bounding-Heart [113k]

The war is over and Harry has returned to help rebuild Hogwarts. He longs to move forwards, but the past refuses to let him go. The castle is full of ghosts: haunting nightmares, the deaths he couldn’t prevent, and the age-old rivalry that Draco Malfoy seems determined to maintain.

Owl Was Well by @fencer-x [66k]

Draco Malfoy is not an owl, really he isn’t. He simply assumes the shape of one on occasion when he wants to find a bit of privacy—a goal entirely thwarted because Harry Potter doesn’t understand you can’t just grab any old bird from the Owlery and force it to send your missives and deliver your packages.

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy [66k]

How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out. When they are drawn together to heal the castle, Harry doesn’t just find Malfoy - he also finds himself.

red and green are complimentary colours by  ace_0fhearts [88k]

After the war Hermione manages to convince Harry to go back to Hogwarts for his eighth year. Expecting an uneventful year of classes and rooming with the other Gryffindor boys, he’s surprised when McGonagall tells him he’ll be sharing a room with Draco Malfoy. Now Harry has to get through a year of arguments and awkward silences. Or he would, if Malfoy would stop ignoring him and moping around the castle alone. Or: Draco and Harry fall in love through sleepless nights and late night quidditch games

Reparo by amalin [84k]

Voldemort’s final defeat does not mean Harry Potter’s troubles are over; far from it. In the aftermath of war, he returns to a Hogwarts that is fractured and divided, but this is no break that can be fixed with a spell. New owls, fading scars, surprising alliances—and along the way, the hardest task of all, to live with it. 

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks [73k] 

Harry felt Malfoy’s breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory. Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

The Silent World Within You by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [95k]

Harry only wanted Malfoy for one night, one birthday. It wasn’t meant to be anything more.

spins madly on by asofthaven [56k]

As part of his probation, Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts to complete his N.E.W.T.s. Gobstones, the political machinations of the Hogwarts student body, and one Harry James Potter captures Draco’s attention instead.

Things Worth Knowing by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [164k]

After the Battle, Harry thinks he’s left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors. Draco’s just grateful not to be in Azkaban. Or the Manor. He’s hoping he can steer clear of Potter this year and grapple with his own problems. Unfortunately for him, Potter appears to be one of those problems. And that’s not even addressing the fact that Potter’s got serious issues of his own, which Draco realises as he’s forced to share an Eighth Year dormitory room and several classes with the Gryffindor Git. If only they can make it through the year without killing each other, it should be all right, shouldn’t it?

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop [113k] 

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him. When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

You’ve Got Owl Post by @slyth-princess [50k]

After discovering muggle romantic comedies during winter break, Pansy Parkinson and Luna Lovegood decide to launch an ambitious project called You’ve Got Owl Post which matches up students through an enchanted notebook so they can send letters to each other without knowing who is at the other end. It is an instant hit. Harry, without his friends knowing, is one of the first to join. And he rapidly finds a kindred soul on the other side of the pages. In real life, however, he is once again plagued by Draco Malfoy. After fighting in class, McGonagall has had enough. So, as punishment and a lesson, she assigns them the running of that years dueling club. Everyone, including Harry and Draco, assumes it will be a disaster. However, sometimes the people you think you know the best are the ones who can surprise you the most. A story of letters, bets, friendship, love, forgiveness, and discovering who you really are.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

The hot tub | Rafe Cameron x Reader

Advent calendar day three: Ski trip

Summary: Rafe invites you to spend the week with his family at their cabin in Aspen. Things may happen when you get in the hot tub after a long day going down the slopes

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p + v, slight choking, semi-public (outside), impact play (spanking once)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

As expected, the Cameron’s cabin in Aspen was breath-takingly beautiful. The walls of the living area were made of round wood, making it seem like you were living inside a tree…with a luxury decor. There were large windows, massive couches, cherry-wood tables, and a classic bear skin in front of the large fireplace. 

You felt like you were standing in a holiday Hallmark movie. 

‘’How many properties does your parents own?’’ You brushed your hand over the plush throw at the end of your and Rafe’s bed, smiling at how soft it felt. ‘’Don’t they have a house in the Bahamas?’’ 

‘’A lot,’’ Rafe replied while putting away some things in the closet. ‘’I lost count, honestly. My dad collects estates and Rose decorates them, it’s their thing,’’ he explained. ‘’I rent the ones we are not using...except the Bahamas house. We keep that one for family only.’’

You nodded, secretly wishing your parents were that rich. You could get used to vacationing in the mountains during winter break. It’s a weather contrast compared to South Carolina. 

‘’Do you come here often? Have you mastered a winter sports during your lavish vacations?’’ 

Rafe chuckled, closing the door of the large closet. ‘’I can’t ski, if that’s what you’re asking me. Or skate. Ice skating is Sarah’s thing.’’ He grabbed his toiletry bag from the suitcase and placed it in the en-suite bathroom next to yours. ‘’My dad forced me to take snowboarding lessons since I was a kid, but I was better at flirting with girls at the ski resort.’’

Shaking your head, you laughed quietly. ‘’What am I not surprised?’’ 

After everyone had unpacked, you bundled in your winter layers and headed down to the ski resort for some winter activities. You and Rafe rented equipment to go down the slopes while Sarah and Wheezie went to the skating rink. 

The afternoon was spent mostly falling on your ass and watching Rafe showing off. He was no professional, but you were impressed as you watched him do stunts — something you could never see yourself doing. 

When the sky started to go dark, you returned to the cabin to warm up and eat dinner. Rose’s cooking skills pleasantly took you by surprise, not expecting her to be much of a chef since she and Ward had a lot of money, but she made a mean baked mac’n cheese. 

‘’Are you sure?’’ you said when Rafe suggested you try the hot tub. 

You had never used a hot tub in the winter — with actual snow around. It sounded cold, but Rafe assured you the warm water would keep you warm…or else he would.

The sky was fully dark outside and snow was falling at a slow pace, creating a beautiful picture as you stepped out in your bra and underwear. When you packed for a trip to Aspen, you didn’t think you would need a bikini. Now you were regretting not bringing one. 

While the warm water sounded pleasant, you couldn’t help but think about how the chlorine of the hot tub will ruin your nice bra, so Rafe came up with a solution.

‘’Just take it off.’’ 

‘’I’m not gonna get naked in the hot tub,’’ you replied, shooting your boyfriend a glare as steam rose from the tub into the cool air. ‘’What if your family comes outside and wants to join?’’ 

‘’I’d rather they don’t. The sight of you in that bra and panties got me so hard,’’ Rafe said, his hand wandering up your thigh. 

You glanced down and through the bubbles of the underwater jets, catching the outline of his cock through his boxers, strained against the material. A light flush covered your cheeks, matching the color of your bra. 

‘’But if you’re that worried about anyone coming,’’ he continued, taking your hand and helping you step in. ‘’My dad strained his back when skiing so Rose is taking care of him. Sarah is probably trying to contact her boyfriend who was not invited on the trip, and as for Wheezie…I don’t know. She’s in her room, reading or watching a movie.’’

You sat on the edge and raised your gaze, eyeing the sliding doors. 

‘’No one is gonna come out here,’’ Rafe promised, reading your persistent worry. ‘’Except maybe a bear.’’

A new fear was unlocked. You turned to the other side and looked over the deck and into the dark forest. ‘’A bear?!’’ 

Rafe grinned, messing with you. ‘’I’m joking. There’s no bears here at this time of the year. They’re hibernating.’’ He hooked a finger underneath the delicate band of your panties, holding back from taking them off with his mouth. ‘’So…will it be with or without the panties?’’

Fuck it. 

You removed both items and let Rafe pull you in the water, the ripples from the jets causing sparks to tingle up your spine as they hit your bare cunt. It felt like using a nice shower head directly on your clit, but less strong. The pleasure was short-lived as Rafe settled you on his lap in a straddling way, a groan leaving his throat when your ass came in contact with his stiff cock. 

You bit back a giggle and loosely slid your arms around his neck. He was so beautiful.

‘’That wasn’t so difficult, wasn’t it?’’ Rafe asked, his hands sliding over your thighs and up your sides, making you feel a bit exposed. 

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his well-defined shoulders and chest, appreciating the time he had been spending with Topper and Kelce at the gym. They were always ruining your and Rafe’s plans, but those gym sessions gave him a body you wanted to bite into. 

You lowered your mouth to his, slowly kissing as the water moved around your bodies. The cold air had caused your nipples to peak, not yet submerged in the warm water. A shiver ran through you and, as if he had read your mind, Rafe’s hands moved to your breasts and began to toy with them. You sighed at the touch and ground your hips against his, relishing the feeling of his hard cock through his boxers as it rubbed against your clit just right. 

‘’I need you. Now,’’ you urged, breaking the kiss and reaching under the water to pull at Rafe's only piece of clothing, your earlier worries about someone catching you naked leaving your desire clouded mind.

Rafe nodded and pushed you off him, which left you confused. You opened your mouth to ask why he had pushed you off, but he motioned for you to turn around and grab the edge of the tub. A moan threatened to slip, realizing what he was doing. He was going to take you from behind. 

You heard the water swish as he moved behind you, and parted your legs so everything was exposed to his view. 

‘’That ass is so perfect,’’ Rafe groaned, giving it a hard smack, eliciting a pained squeak from you, before lining himself at your entrance, a mischievous smirk spreading on his face as he pushed the tip in — only the tip. ‘’Is that what you want, baby?’’ His tone was teasing, playing with you. ‘’No, that’s not enough, uh?’’ 

You whined, pushing back against him. ‘’Please, Rafe, don’t tease.’’ 

Giving in to your demand, he grabbed your hips and slowly pushed until he was all in, feeling your tight walls squeeze him. He moaned at the sensation, giving you a few seconds before starting to pull out until only his tip was inside you and slowly pushing himself into you again, doing this a few times. 

‘’Rafe,’’ you warned again, your core starting to ache, just wanting to be fucked senseless. 

Then, his thrusts were hard and fast as you gripped the edge of the hot tub, water splashing over the edge from the movements. You were holding back your cries, trying to be quiet, but the pleasure was too intense for you to remember. 

Rafe molded his front to your back as he kept pounding into you, kissing your shoulder as his hand was coming around your neck. ‘’You like this, baby? You like when I fuck your tight and pretty pussy?’’

You moaned louder, forgetting about the other Camerons inside the house. 

The next morning was going to be very awkward.

—

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All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @Shasta89 @sierraluvz @specialk6802  @CZARINERA @katherinejess

[softpascalito]

Christmas Baking for Three - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You're tired, pregnant, angry and you mess up the cookies meant for Joel. He gets a full blast of your hormones - and still manages to surprise you.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas, Pregnancy, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Fights, Mention of normal pregnancy struggles, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Nicknames, Kissing, Crying, Joel Miller in an apron Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: another lil calendar piece that is also dedicated to steph's winter writing challenge (@toomanystoriessolittletime) with the trope baking <3 i also wanted to mention a very short but very lovely pregnancy piece by SwiggitySwagNightmareStag with peña that i found really inspiring in regards to p characters and how they handle pregnancy. you can read it here! <3

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You swore under your breath as you opened the oven door, only to be met with a gush of heat and the smell of burnt dough. The cookies that you had so carefully prepared, cut out in the shapes of christmas trees and hearts, had taken on a dark brown color, the furthest row from you already smoking slightly.

“Fuck-” With a quick move, you maneuvered the try of burnt cookies onto the sink to let them cool off. Looking at them in broad daylight, it was clear that they were barely edible and in no way as enjoyable as they should be.

You ignored the surge of anger inside of yourself, anger at the oven for being so damn unreliable, at the timer that you’d meant to replace ages ago, at yourself. You’d been too distracted with cleaning up, then being forced to take a quick trip to the bathroom upstairs and getting sidetracked with laundry.

A groan left you at the realization. The laundry was still soaking in the bathtub, abandoned the second you’d caught a glimpse of the clock and realized how long the cookies had been baking for.

Angry tears shot into your eyes. It felt like a never-ending battle between you and your ever-growing list of things to do, to prepare, to keep track of. And this had been the one thing you’d wanted to do for him, to thank him for taking over so many of said things now that you were in your third trimester. Maybe you could start over, hide the failed cookies, to spare your another embarrassment in front of-

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door of the small mudroom bordering the kitchen opened with a creak. Merely a second later and clearly alarmed by the smell, he was hurrying into the room, eyes raking through the kitchen until they landed on you. His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in your form, checking you from top to bottom.

“Are you okay?” Joel's voice was soft, despite him being a little out of breath. You could see the basket filled with firewood behind him. Another task that used to be yours before your stomach had grown too big.

He watched your reaction, carefully making his way around the counter, glancing at the burnt cookies in passing. It was enough to make the tears finally spill from your eyes, rolling down your face and landing on the shirt that was already stained with flour. And the anger inside of you? It had finally found an outlet.

The poor man didn't even have time to brace himself before you started yelling.

“You arent supposed to be home, what the fuck are you doing here?!” He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. Then his face seemed to relax. You didn't want him to relax. You wanted him to be as angry as you were and in as much pain and misery. You knew it was a horrible, horrible thought, but you couldn't help it. You wanted him to have to run to the toilet upwards of twenty times a day, to have him woken up by a human kicking inside of him at the most ungodly hours.

“You said you'd be at work until five! You're not-” Another sob escaped you as the knot in your chest seemed to grow exponentially, “You're not supposed to be here yet and-”

You couldn't find a single trace of anger on his face. Not in the crease between his brows, not in the corners of his mouth, not even in his eyes. All you could find was concern.

“Hey-” Joel whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks. They were cold but you leaned into the touch regardless, “What's going on, darlin? Talk to me, please.”

You hiccuped slightly as you tried to speak, the words fighting hard to not get outside. As far as your body was concerned, there was no point in telling him, in making him a bigger part of your currently miserable experience than he already had to be.

“Burned- I burned the cookies-” You mumbled, “I wanted- wanted to surprise you.”

Your arms finally wrapped around him, your body fitting snug against his, even with your baby bump between you. Joel pulled you closer, one hand supporting your back while the other gently stroked your hair, “Shhh, it's okay. You're okay.”

He held you like that for a while, occasionally whispering words of gentle encouragement into your ear until the sobs had stopped. Then, he nudged you towards the living room, guiding you to sit down on one of the armchairs next to the window. He stayed by your side, kneeling down in front of you as he kept his hands on your legs, gently rubbing your thigh.

“There we are,” Joel mumbled softly, producing a handkerchief from nearby and wiping the last of your tears from your cheeks. He gave you a few more moments of silence before he spoke.

“Wanna talk about it?” You opened your mouth to decline, to push him away and deal with it yourself. It's what you would have done a few months ago. But, as he kept reminding you, you were a team now. No, not just a team. Parents. Soon-to-be-parents. He-was-once-before-but-you-were-new-to-all-this-parents.

“It's just been a lot,” you mumbled, watching as Joel nodded along, soft brown eyes radiating understanding. “And I'm already putting so much work on you on top of your normal duties so I thought- I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel hummed quietly, his thumb pressing into your thigh a little, “You do nice things for me all the time, darlin’.”

“I don't. Not with-” You helplessly gestured to your stomach. You could practically see Joel's expression getting a little more serious at that, “Baby, I promise you do. You're here when I come home, right? You fall asleep next to me. You kiss me when you wake up in the morning. Don't need more than that, baby.”

Almost instantly, the tears were back. A thick one rolled down your cheek and Joel reached up just in time to catch it.

“I appreciate you wanting to bake for me, godda-” He stopped himself from cursing, a habit he’d picked up in the last few weeks, with the due date coming ever closer and him insisting that you should at least try to bring up a civilized child. You had a feeling it had less to do with your child and more with the amount of curse words Ellie dropped on a daily basis, but if it made Joel happy, you wouldn't argue against it.

He sighed, “I really do appreciate it. And you know I think your cookin’ is nothing short of magic,” he mumbled quietly. Then he shook his head, his hand wandering to gently rest on your round stomach, “But it's not why I'm with you.”

“Besides, you're already doin’ a whole lot of baking in here,” he added with a small smile, gently patting your stomach and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“I wouldn't exactly call it baking.”

Joel raised a brow, “No, ‘m pretty sure it is. I made a real nice dough, put it right in here, turned up the heat and now I just gotta wait for it to be done.”

“You're such an idiot, Miller,” you offered weakly as you leaned down towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smirked against your lips, “If being an idiot gets you to stop crying, I'll do it more often.”

The kiss barely had time to get more heated before you gently pushed back against Joel's chest, “Gotta finish the laundry upstairs.” A small frown built on his face, “We agreed I'd do that. Ain't good for your back, baby.”

“I told you, I've been-” He actually cut you off this time, squeezing your thigh a little to make you fall silent, “Remember what I said? When you told me you were pregnant?”

You raised a brow, “Before or after you almost fainted?” Joel sent you a playful glare at that, causing you to sigh, “You said we were in this together. That you- that you'd be here for it all.”

“That's right,” he mused softly, his thumb still absent-mindedly caressing your thigh. 

“Now, let me go take care of the laundry and you take a nap, yeah? You look-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to find a nice way to say it, “You look real tired, darlin’.”

You drifted off to the sound of clothes being washed in the bathtub in the next room and to Joel's soft humming of a lullaby he’d been practicing. If this works just half as good on our baby, you thought right before falling asleep, we’re not going to half a single sleepless night.

When you wake up, the rays of afternoon sun are filtering through the windows, giving the house the warm glow you like it so much for. Stumbling into the kitchen, you're met with a sight that you've never seen before.

Joel Miller, an apron tied around his front, kneading away on a piece of dough. Your small laughter alerts him to your presence and you swear you can spot the faintest blush on his cheeks as you practically skip towards him.

“If you wanted an excuse to wear that, you could've just said so,” you tease, leaning against the counter as you watch him. Joel grumbles softly but the small smile on his face isn't lost on you, “ ‘bout time you wake up. Wanna help?”

You frown slightly- and then you realize what he’s doing. Baking bread is something you do often, but this isn't that. The cookie recipe you'd been using earlier is placed next to him, the dough looks exactly the same yours had before you’d burned it.

“Figured we both like cookies. Plus it doubles as a Christmas activity and, well.”

You kiss him. Once, twice, only stopping when he forces you to. He's perfect.

You bake together this time, with you showing him how to get the cut-outs just right, him sneaking a few pieces of the dough into his mouth when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s cozy and relaxing and for the first time in weeks, you seem to forget all about the struggles of being a pregnant woman.

You both sit in front of the oven afterwards, you in Joels lap, your bodies intertwined, both watching eagerly as the cookies slowly turn golden. He kisses your head, his nose nuzzling your hair a few times.

“Next time you’re overwhelmed like that?” He mumbles quietly, “Just let me know, yeah? You know I'm here. For you and the little one”

You nod softly, resting your head against his chest, “I know.”

notes: as always, thank you for reading. i adore each and every one of you. if you enjoyed this, feel free to give me an early christmas present by leaving a comment or reblogging <3

[celaenaeiln]

Okay but you can’t just say “I'm not going to get into their brother relationship because that involves how Alfred treats Dick as a son rather than a grandson and is opening a whole new mansion of stuff so I'm going to wrap this up here” and not follow up with another post because that’s just cruel 😔😞 (aka this is me saying I really like & enjoy reading your interpretations and I need more of them HEHE)

😂😂😂😂😂😂

Thank you!!!! <3333

I love thinking about how Alfred treats Dick more of a son than a grandson because their relationship is different from Alfred's relationship with the other kids. Furthermore, it also explains a bunch of his actions.

First of, I know when everyone saw that Alfred had left Dick his entire inheritance they went "What the fuck." There were a bunch of jokes and questioning about why Alfred would do that and a lot of people have wrote it off as Tom Taylor's writing. But here's the thing. Tom Taylor has done a lot of stupid stuff in terms of characterization but he's done quite a few things right and one of them was adequately explaining Dick and Alfred's relationship.

I don't know how many people can read cursive but it says, "I invested much of this wisely and ethically...In fact, I planned to come to you for advice. Like Bruce, your mind is astonishing. You are a problem-solver and the world is full of problems." (There's actually panel during one of Dick and Slade's fight I have saved so lemme know if you or anyone is interested in Dick's innovativeness and how it makes his a terrifying opponent.)

Let me pause right there. This is Alfred's life savings. It's every piece of penny he's saved and every minute of his life is in that money. On top of what he says about Dick's intellect-and I agree and can prove it-he must've loved and trusted Dick an extraordinary amount to do this.

Alfred goes on to say, "I couldn't think of better hands to leave this fortune in. I believe you will see this, not as a personal gain, but as an opportunity. Because I believe in Dick Grayson."

He continues praising him and- HERE IT IS- "I am so very proud to call you my son."

DICK IS ALFRED'S SON.

This is the cleanest, clearest panel where he explicitly says it.

Hold on-this is the cleanest panel that says it? Wait a minute, let me retract that:

"Master Bruce was my son for a while. And then there was you."

THIS MOMENT HAS BEEN BUILDING UP ON US FOR YEARS. Tom Taylor wasn't doing lip service, he was just writing the inevitable!

I swear there's a panel where Dick refers to Alfred as his dad...

*Record scratch* WHAT DID ALFRED CALL DICK? WHAT DID DICK CALL ALFRED?

THIS IS WHY I LOVE THEM!!! THEY ARE GLORIOUS, BRILLIANT, UNDERRATED, AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS THE FULL EXTENT OF EITHER OF THEIR ABILITIES, LOVE, OR DEPTH OF EMOTIONS.

THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ON A DIFFERENT LEVEL.

Take the Ric Grayson arc for another example.

Background context: Dick-Ric-was sleeping on the counter and all of a sudden he was startled out of a nightmare thus accidentally ending up bumping into the guy next to him who was drinking. Of course the guy doesn't mind only because it's Dick but anyways, here Alfred makes his entrance. Another thing I love about about this interaction is this is one of the few times Alfred has ever admitted to being in the military. The only other time I can think of him openly saying that is when he's slapping Bruce around.

The worry in the man's eyes for his wayward son...when Bea is snarking with Dick about his tab Alfred decides to pay for him instead.

LOOK AT HIS EYES AS HE SAYS GOOD NIGHT! THE AMOUNT OF EMOTION HE HAS IN THEM IS PURE PERFECTION. THE MAN JUST WANTS HIS SON TO COME BACK.

Not to mention, Alfred adores Dick in a way he didn't even with Bruce.

"For a long time I would dread coming down to this dark hellhole. But the advent of young Grayson has forced an alteration in my attitude. The masters have made much progress in these few short months. I was opposed initially to the recruitment of the lad in Master Bruce's self-appointed 'War on Crime.' But I am prepared to admit my error. Master Richard has mad a difference for the better to our lives."

This is HUGE. Coming from Alfred, this is massive because Alfred LOATHES Bruce's "War on Crime." How much?

So much that he slapped Bruce bloody for it.

The pseudo-father and son beat each other to pieces over it. So after years of Alfred hating Bruce for what he's done, for him to say he only accepts it because of Dick-because of Dick's personality-is enormous praise and accomplishment.

Alfred loves Dick in a way he doesn't love anyone else. And before I get flamed by people for suggesting Alfred loves Dick more than Bruce, I want to say he loves Dick as much as Bruce but in a different manner. He doesn't see Dick as a grandchild who needs to be coddled and softened, he sees Dick as a son he can spoil and cherish.

Him paying off the tab was not only an act of kindness, but it mimicks the way a rich father gives everything to his youngest son. Bruce was the first born he raised but Dick was the baby of their family. This also ties in with how Bruce doesn't see Dick as just him son like he does with the others. To Bruce, they are just as much brothers as anything else.

When Bruce fires Dick from Robin after two-face, Alfred couldn't take it lightly. Dick wasn't just the light of Bruce's life, he was the fucking sun to Alfred's.

I started crying when I read this because the emotions and the pain he's feeling is so visceral. A man who has been MI5 and SAS (Special Airforce Service), who has fought wars, who has fought his son, lost his best friends, is breaking down alone at the top of the stairs over not having Dick as Robin.

You might think that's not all that sad. Worse things have happened. You're overreacting.

Tears are literally streaming down my face as I'm writing this review. Rudolph nose and ugly bloodstained eyes complete with it.

Can you ever imagine loving someone so much?

Crying in silence with a steady voice to never let them know your sorrow?

But sure, sure, he's cried when others were killed like this so I'll go into other special things.

Some of his best moments are with Dick:

The pure adoration in his eyes as he watches his young son go 'flap' 'flap' 'flap' with his older brother's too big cloathes.

He's laughing! Do you know the only times he laughs or grins like that?

That's right-with Bruce! With his other son.

With Dick, he laughs, gets angry, and actually shows interest in things not related to people's health. Dick humanizes Alfred.

Who is the only other person Alfred has gotten mad at? Oh yeah. Bruce.

There's another panel where Alfred just sits by his bedside holding his hand.

It's the little things that matter is a lie. When it comes to Dick, Alfred does things in fighter jet air shows level of affection which he learned just for this during his SAS days.

Their shared interests & mutual understanding

People always think Dick and Alfred have nothing in common between them. Dick is excitable, bouncy, and some other adjective while Alfred is calming, stoic, and butler-y. They actually forget that Dick and Alfred canonically bond of plays. Dick, as I said before, is a massive theater nerd. He loves plays. He really wanted to see that shakespeare play and Alfred said he would take him because he knows people there and then went on to complain about how his brother didn't even drop by to see him. I love their interactions because Dick brings out a different side to Alfred.

Das Rheingold was a German musical drama that was performed as a single opera at the National Theatre Munich. This is the link if you're interested in reading a short synopsis of this complicated play by the Metropolitan Opera. It's like a mix of "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Rings of Power."

Also the fact that Alfred is tying his tie like a father would tie his son's.

I know they make a crack out of it by using Bugs Bunny (Bugs Bunny is a fantastic cartoon! I grew up on it!) but Alfred knows that Dick loves opera and theater and is only asking if this particular play will suit his interests. Okay, great, we know Dick likes theater. You've said that and posted about it before. But how do we know Alfred likes it too and not just because he's British and posh and whatnot?

He has preformed at the London Theater, and this is another way he connects to Dick emotionally. When Dick complains about being Batman, Alfred is the one that tells him:

This is something Alfred understands about Dick that absolutely no one in the family does.

The two of them are show people. They know how to play the role they were given, and they know how to play it well. No one suspects Alfred the Butler of ruthlessly using firearms and no one suspects Dick the Light of the Universe to ruthlessly to manipulate allies.

Dick knows this about Alfred too and never presses for any answers. When Alfred's pulling out a bullet from Dick and performing high level medical techniques he should know nothing about, Dick asks him, "Where did you learn all this, Alfred." To which Alfred responds, "You would be amazed at what you can pick up by watching the Discovery Channel." Dick just gives a pained laugh retorts about his wonderful bedside manners.

They know.

What Alfred sees in Dick is a pure goodness that can't be emulated. He loves his son for how absolutely good he is and is devastated when Dick can't be with him. Of everyone, Dick is the one Alfred is closest to. Other members have their moments with him but no one continually seeks out his presence just for the fact they like him aside from Dick. The rest treat him as an important side character, not a parent. And Alfred responds to that devotion with overwhelming love of his own.

Alfred and Bruce's optimism comes bundled up in the form of Dick. It's stunning how it's always Alfred of all people who admits this. Alfred who isn't supposed to show favoritism or bias is the one that consistently acknowledges how important Dick is to the family and him. This solidifies the fact that Dick is Alfred's favorite.

Other moments that differentiate Dick and Alfred's relationship:

We're pretty familiar with this and many of us have laughed it off when Alfred scolded Dick (also Dick looks hot af here). But can you imagine even anyone else playfully mocking Alfred? THIS. BOY. IS. SPECIAL. Alfred doesn't even blink twice at the address, indicating how typical it is for Dick to act that way with him. You only do that to people you're best friends with.

Casual comfort, the two of them.

Dick and Bruce were brothers and how that ties into Alfred:

Adding to my "Light of Bruce's life" Robin Dick canon, Alfred told Dick that Bruce "would have self-distructed if he hadn't met me and learned responsibility. I made him laugh, and he was like the greatest big brother you could ever imagine...it was our town."

Bruce and Dick are so damn codependent.

Bruce would not have survived without Dick. That's all there is to it.

Robin Dick was the light shining through rain clouds, the glitter in the air, the angel with golden wings, the giggling sweetheart to Alfred and Bruce. He was sunshine, love, and joy and the men both adored, thrived, and cherished him for it.

And if Dick and Bruce were brothers then Alfred was Dick's father and he was Alfred's son.

[demonlordcosnime]

lets play fairy fencer F advent dark force part 24

[vetteltea]

Daniel Ricciardo and Trying to get a Family Photo [no warnings]

Day 12 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

Note: This one was such a pleasure and so, so fun to write and it is solely dedicated to my soulmate, @a-distantdreamer. It is a genuine pleasure to speak to you every single day; thank you for having a whole notion board with me, dedicated to Danny Ric, Baby Badger & Bingo. I love you so, so much.

The sand of the beach felt warm underneath your feet, the Australian sun dancing across your features. Christmas cards were portrayed with layers of snow across quaint little villages, a stark contrast to the scenery which you were currently standing in. 

It had been a whirlwind choice to attend the holidays alongside the Ricciardo clan; having barely been dating four months, official for two and public to the world for zero, your stomach had originally dropped at the idea of being so far away from home for Christmas, instead surrounded by faces you had only briefly interacted with over a FaceTime call. 

Daniel would never have forced you to come, hands cradling either side of your face and dark eyes boring into yours, making you promise him you were okay with coming home for the holidays. He knew the risks; even though his parents were adamant you were such a lovely girl and were crawling the walls more than him to meet you, it meant traveling the world publicly; the followers were far from stupid, the moment they saw a beautiful young girl stood alongside him, everything would fall into place. 

Standing on the soft grains of Leighton Beach now, you couldn’t understand why you had been so nervous; Grace’s arms had pulled you so tightly into her chest when arriving to the family home, Issac tugging at your arm, insisting he had to show you his new bed because ‘Uncle Daniel had already seen it!’

You’d found out on Christmas Eve, whilst Joe was packing up one of the people-carriers, that it was a Ricciardo tradition to spend Christmas Day on the beach, with presents in the evening and tender kisses when Michelle and the children traveled to be with her husband’s family on Boxing Day. You’d been quick to jump up and assist with packing up the car, the patriarch of the family passing a loving comment that you had slotted into the family perfectly already. 

The fact was only highlighted further when you had been curled underneath a blanket alongside Daniel later on in the family room, glasses of wine held by most whilst you listened intently to the stories they felt you had to know. 

Come Christmas Day, the sun was glowing across the horizon, Daniel’s fingers had barely unlaced from yours, his family knowing he had never been this smitten from his previous partners and they could not seem to find a single fault with the wonderful girl he had brought home as his partner. 

“Everybody stay put!” Daniel’s voice had struck you from the traces of memory you had from the past four days. He stood further up the beach than the rest of you, attempting to set his camera up on a makeshift tripod, determined that after last years’ lack of a family photo, he would make up for it now. 

He’d planned it oh-so-meticulously; Grace and Joe stood in the middle, their new puppy that his father had gifted his mother sat at their feet. Michelle stood on one side, her husband’s arm wrapped around her waist. Issac and Isabelle stood either side of the new puppy, fighting every will they had not to bend down and cuddle the new family member. 

You had stood just out of frame, unsure of whether it was overly pushy to place yourself alongside the family; after all, it had only been a few months, the relationship wasn’t even public to the rest of the world. If Daniel had the desire to post this to the public, it would open an entire new world for you. Besides, even if your heart melted at the idea of being nestled into the family, there was no way-

“Timer is set! We’ve got ten seconds!” 

Your head snaps upwards, seeing a mass of dark curls and a gaudy Christmas shirt, identical to his father, nephew and brother-in-law sprint at you. A tanned hand snatches at your wrist, pulling you clumsily across the grains of sand and slipping into the gap on the opposite side of his sister. Daniel barely has time to adjust himself, wrapping both of his arms around you tucking you neatly underneath his chin, his grin sparkling as the shutter snaps, both of you smiling as if your childhood-self had found a room stocked with an infinite supply of candy. 

The moment after the photo is taken, the children are chasing after the puppy, Grace turning to Michelle to continue their previous conversation. Daniel’s hands are hesitant to unwrap from your frame, instead opting to look down, seeing your widened eyes and mouth slightly open. A look of concern laces across his face, one hand gently reaching down to trail against your cheekbone, taking in your appearance. 

“All good?” He cradles you closer, brushing the hair out of your face oh-so-delicately. “I didn’t…you’re all good, yeah?”

“Yeah-” You’re quick to respond. “I just…I didn’t think you’d want me in with…y’know, the family photo-”

 There’s zero chance of you finishing your sentence when your boyfriend leans in, pressing a hard kiss against your lips, almost as if he could convey everything he had felt for so long into one action. He’d never believed when his mother had told him he would know. That feeling never came with the previous girls he had bought home. It had lingered when he first set eyes on you, and now stuck like adhesive when you had slept in his arms for the first time. 

When he pulls away, his tanned forehead rests against your own, content as your breathing patterns synchronize, his grin returning, voice low; his next sentence is to be treasured by you, and you alone.

“You are family.” He murmurs. “You’re my family.” 

There’s no words that can fall from your lips, instead letting him pull you back into his chest, feeling him press a butterfly kiss to the top of your head, both of you tilting your gaze when seeing the two children sprint into the sea after the new puppy, his sister beckoning you over to come and look at something, Joe patting a hand onto his son’s back. Only 365 days until the next Christmas with your family.

[the-fiction-witch]

House Of Christmas

Media - House Of The Dragon AU Character - Gwayne Hightower Couple - Gwayne X Reader Reader - NONE Rating - 12 Word Count - 978

Fictional Advent Day One

Gwayne yawned a little, feeling the fatigue of the long drive settling in. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, the rhythmic drumming a distraction from the monotonous journey. He longed for just another sip of coffee, but his last cup was long empty, and he highly doubted his ability to get a decent one within a good twenty miles. The snow fluttered down outside his small car, creating a mesmerizing dance as the delicate flakes landed on the windshield and melted away. The radio played another remix of the same four Christmas songs that had been playing since Gwayne was sixteen, with the occasional squeak of the windscreen wipers cutting through the music.

As he pulled the car up to the tall house, Gwayne found himself the first one there. He happily took the chance to park up in front of the double garage.

Gwayne sighed, taking a moment to clear his mind and force on a smile before he climbed out of the car. He quickly made his way to the trunk, the cold air nipping at his cheeks as he retrieved his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He jumped in surprise as he saw Daeron standing beside him,

“Ah!” He gasped, “Here you go kiddo.” he said handing Daeron his bag from the trunk,

“You forgot I was in the car didn’t you?” Daeron asked pulling out his headphones with his guitar on his back,

“No, I did not, you were just very quiet I assumed you were asleep and didn’t want to wake you,” Gwayne smiled doing his best to lie given he had completely forgotten he had Daeron in the car with him. “Come on then let’s go see the family,” He cooed,

“Must we?” Daeron sighed,

“I’m afraid we must yes.” Gwayne nodded,

The two headed up to the door and knocked on the dark silver knocker in the centre of the perfectly decorated wreath.

The door soon opened revealing Alicent in her long green dress, knitted cardigan and a red and white striped apron.

“Daeron. My darling.” She immediately wrapped her arms around the unwilling boy,

“Hi Mom.” He grunted out,

“Ohh my darling, I have missed you,” she caressed his face softly, “Go on put your things in your room.” She cooed pushing him gently to the stairs,

“Greetings sister,” Gwayne smiled,

“Hello Gwayne,” She softly smiled giving him a hug,

“Good to see you,” He smiled, “But uhh coffee?”

“In the kitchen,” She playfully rolled her eyes before heading to the very cluttered kitchen herself, heading back to the island where she was working on preparing very watered-down mocktails in a pitcher.

Gwayne followed her making a beeline for the coffee machine pouring himself one and trying not to grimace as he sipped it. “You seem uhh…” he began,

But Alicent met his eyes with a glare,

“Sorry.” He chuckled as he opened the stocked fridge, “Holy -”

“Language.”

“Did you build a Costco in your fridge?”

“Talysa did it all before she left for home.”

“You do not pay that girl enough,” He chuckled, “So what is the arrangement then I got kinda lost in the group chat.”

“I did send out an email.”

“And I failed to read it so…”

“Since Aegon moved up into Daeron’s attic room, they will both be in there.”

“Right.”

“As well as Aemond, Luke and Jace.”

“...Are they all going to fit up there?”

“There are two king-size beds and a sofa bed I am sure the boys will be fine.” She says,

“And your room?”

“Myself of course, as well as Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.”

“Can’t they just stay in Heleana’s room?”

“They usually do but I thought I’d take them, cause then the twins can share Heleana’s room.”

“Makes sense I guess.” Gwayne nodded, “What about Aemond’s-”

“I gave up my room.” Aemond spoke up having appeared in the kitchen as tall and imposing as usual, “Mummy deemed it necessary so I was more than willing to.”

“Yes thank you Aemond,” Alicent nodded,

“Hey Aemond, how’s your eye doing?” Gwayne smiled,

“I am well.” He snapped back with a glare, before he took an apple and headed back to the living room,

“So who’s going in his room?”

“Rhaynera and Harwin.”

“Right, Okay… The ground floor room?”

“Usual it’s Otto but he decided he would give up his room and go down into the basement with Viserys, leaving the ground floor room for Daemon and Leana,”

“Cause you think he’s gonna get drunk and punch the stairs again?”

“Leana is pregnant I was being considerate.” Alicent snapped,

"Okay, Okay just asking," Gwayne said as he refilled his coffee for the second time. "And I?"

"The den or the couch your choice."

"I'll take the den. I'll go see Dad." With his coffee in hand, he made his way to the impeccably decorated living room, taking in the festive atmosphere. "My god, it's like a set," he muttered to himself as he leaned on the back of the sofa where Otto and Viserys were engrossed in a conversation, the classic movie 'It's a Wonderful Life' playing on the TV in the background. The children were running around with excitement for Christmas, their laughter filling the air. Heleana sat at the window, gazing at the snow-covered landscape outside, lost in thought. Meanwhile, Aemond sat at the kitchen table, meticulously peeling an apple with a knife. "Hey, Dad," Gwayne greeted as he entered the room.

“Ohh hello Gwayne, I thought you’d gotten lost out on those roads.” Otto laughed,

“Yeah well snow, you know what it does to people.” He chuckled,

“Rhaynera will be here in ten minutes,” Helean a spoke up,

“Ummm she is a mystery… however do you always guess these things, my dear?” Viserys asked,

“Jace texted me.” She answered,

Gwayne chuckled having another sip of coffee as Alicent entered drying off her hands,

“Aemond where’s your brother?” 

[bardic-tales]

The Red Thread of Godhood, a FF 7 / FWC fic

Summary: Sephiroth tends to Bianca, stitching her wounds and binding their fates together as they prepare to escape a haunted forest toward an uncertain future.

Pairing: Bianca (f!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Characters: Chocobo (unwilling companion), implied Shinra scientists (not directly present but referenced), Hojo, Diana Ravenscroft (mentioned in memory), Unnamed stable boy (deceased)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Blood, body horror, child loss/miscarriage, gore, graphic injury, implied torture, manipulation, non-consensual experimentation, violence, death, necrosis, forced impregnation/harvesting, unsettling imagery, animal use (chocobo under magical control), trauma, abandonment, stalking/pursuit

Author’s Note: This piece contains major spoilers for the original Final Fantasy VII and associated extended canon (Advent Children, Crisis Core, etc.). If you're only familiar with the Remake series, please be advised of spoilers and read at your own risk if you’re avoiding deeper lore until future installments of the Remake.

The forest beyond the Nibel Mountains breathed with a silence so complete that it felt unnatural. Not the stillness that comes with sleep, but a deliberate hush of a hunted world. Trees loomed like skeletal watchmen. Their bare branches clawed at the violet sky, and the moon, bloated and jaundiced, glared down through a fog that reeked of stagnant magic.

Sephiroth walked through the frost-hardened grass. The chocobo’s pale feathers had taken on a ghostly hue in the moonlight, and it followed mutely behind, led by a frayed rope scavenged from the stable where he had slit a stable boy’s throat before absconding with the beast. Presently, the boy's corpse still lay crumpled in the stable's hay, cooling beneath the straw like a discarded piece of trash. The stable had been silent when he left it, save for the whisper of gurgling gasps and the scent of blood.

She lay limp across the chocobo’s padded back. She was no more than a dark smear wrapped in a woolen blanket he borrowed from the stables. Her black hair spilled in tangled ribbons, sticky with blood and dirt, trailing around her. The weight of her unconscious form pulled at the saddle unevenly, but the chocobo remained calm under his spell. Its instincts shackled beneath the suffocating pressure of his will.

He reached the clearing by instinct, not memory: a place beyond the reach of the Nibel Area. This place was deadened and forgotten. The ground was soft here, as black loam split by veins of iron and ancient roots. He tethered the chocobo to a branch. Its eyes vacant under both the calm and silence spell and turned back to saddle bag on its side and the crumpled figure on its back.

She slid easily into his arms. Her body was too light. Too cold. He laid her gently on the blanket again. The thick wool cushioned her broken body, and for a moment, he knelt beside her as if in prayer. His coat fanned out around him.

Her wings were ruined. Once glorious and white, the velvet-black limbs now clipped and seeping from the joints. He did not look at them long.

Her wound. Sephiroth had seen it in his mind long before his eyes confirmed it. A grotesque, stitched mockery of her divine form: carved from her side, across her belly, looping up to rest beneath the swells of her pale breasts. This vivisection was not meant for healing but for harvesting. They had cut into her to find divinity, to breed her, to bleed her, and to fill her veins with Mother.

Sephiroth did not mourn.

He opened his pack and withdrew the bone needle he had also stolen and, now, carried since his emergence from the Lifestream, and thread boiled in antiseptic that reeked of mako and copper. His hands were steady. Of course they were.

He began to stitch.

Each pass of the needle through her flesh was a sacrament. No, a rite. Her hot blood soaked his fingers, as he longed shed his gloves at this point, and though her body remained still, his own nerves lit with phantom agony. The soulbond did not dull over distance or death. It never had. Her pain became his pain and was multiplied fourfold across their cursed red tether.

The string of fate was not romantic. It was never romantic. It was a glorious, godless parasite woven from the marrow of forgotten titans. It allowed him access to her mind, her history, her anguish. It whispered her memories into him like lullabies soaked in ether.

Even now, flashes assailed him: the scent of burning antiseptic, Hojo’s gloved hand pressing into her abdomen, Diana Ravenscroft’s laughter echoing through sterile halls, needles, IV drips of monster blood, and the loss of their unborn children—a flutter of warm cells torn from her and swallowed into cold glass.

He did not look away. He drank it in. When the final stitch tightened, he sat back. Blood matted her skin, painting her navel like a ritual brand. Her eyes remained shut.

He whispered, “Not yet.”

From the Lifestream, he summoned Masamune. The blade did not scream when it appeared. It sighed. It shimmered into existence like a lover arriving late with its black and silver length curved and terrible, gleaming with the memory of the massacre.

He only extended the blade enough for what was needed. With a motion that betrayed neither hesitation nor the pomp of ceremony, he dragged the edge across his right palm. The skin split with ease. He turned his hand and allowed the blood to fall, slow and thick, onto her pale, plump lips.

Bianca stirred. Barely. A flicker of breath swept across his palm as he pressed it against her lips and the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Drink,” he said. It was not as command but decree.

She did not respond.

He tilted her head with his left hand hand, as his fingers slipping beneath her hair which was clumped with dried blood. Her fangs were slightly exposed. Those delicate, beautiful razor-sharp teeth designed to tear and consume glittered in the moonlight with his gore drizzled upon her teeth like thick caramel. He pressed his hand harder against her mouth.

The connection flared like wildfire across their bond. Her lips parted reflexively, and the moment she tasted him, her body jerked. A convulsion shook her body against the blanket.

His blood was power. His blood was memory.

Through the tether, he felt the flickering storm of her thoughts, as images bled into him in fractured flashes: her first breath under Shinra Manor’s labs, the giddy voice of Hojo naming her ‘specimen N01’, the walls etched with her own blood, the sound of her wings breaking and being bound, and the scent of his coat when she fell into his arms after her escape.

A god does not weep, but something inside him buckled. She was his.

Not in the crude, possessive sense of mortals, but as the final constant in an equation that spanned worlds and stars. She was the marrow in his spiral into divinity and the thorn that refused to be burned away. He had tried, once, in the Lifestream. He had tried to purge the memory of her body, of their last moments, and her name. But Bianca had remained. As if the universe itself conspired to keep her tethered to him. Even now, she anchored him.

He lowered her gently back to the coat, smoothing her hair behind a pointed ear. Her pulse fluttered beneath her throat. It was faint but there.

Above them, the trees creaked.

He did not sleep. Gods did not sleep. Instead, he sat in stillness, the weight of the shortened Masamune across his knees, and watched her breathe.

Night wore on like the dying moans of a planet that had long ceased to care. The wind moved strangely here like it carried voices just beneath the threshold of hearing, whispering things that remembered him from before but that was blocked from his own memories.

At dawn, a sickly grey light filtered through the canopy. He stood, wordless, and returned to the chocobo. The spell still held. The bird blinked slowly as he untied it and led it to her.

Lifting her again, he felt the full measure of her fragility. Her body, though marked by celestial lineage, had been dragged to the brink. Her weight was less than it should have been, and her skin too pale. He wrapped her tighter in the blanket and placed her across the saddle again. The chocobo made no sound. It’s ivory feathers now streaked with her blood.

They continued to move west. The broken mountains loomed behind them now, and ahead, Rocket Town waited: an obsolete town, a corpse pretending to breathe. Beyond that? The sea. And, then, the Northern Continent.

His body would be waiting there, reforming in the Northern Cave, as he fed upon hatred and was being rebuilt from Mother's cells, dreams, and vengeance. Bianca would be safe once they reached it. He would make it so.

And if the world burned like Nibelheim in the process of keeping Bianca safe, it would be a small price to pay for Sephiroth. After all, she had already paid a far more terrible price.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[riaki]

knitted hearts | kento nanami x reader

pt.3 of christmas event! i wrote this for u genie ily 🤍 cw: established relationship, he (over)works at that financing company from before, two (2) petnames

the lights are still on.

that's the first thing kento immediately notices when he gets back; the office clocked him overtime, and so he's late. regrettably, again.

in the past, whenever that's happened, he'd have sent you a text beforehand and came home to a dark apartment; eaten something quick before getting into bed and slipping beneath the soft covers where your resting warmth melts away the stress of the day between his shoulders and his eyebrows.

tonight is different, it seems. the city buzzes with a quiet hum, light snowfall blanketing the roofs and muffling the sound. the holiday season is in full swing; normally, he wouldn't care to know. or remember. if not for the lame decorations around his workplace and the chocolate advent calendar you've been diligently (force) feeding him every night, he wouldn't've noticed at all.

he closes the door quietly behind him, careful not to make excess noise in case you're asleep as he slips his shoes off and hangs his jacket up. after all, you might've just been absentminded or tired, and forgot to switch the lights off. and you blame him for being lost to time.

it's quiet in the house; not dead silent, though. there's soft, ambient winter jazz flowing from somewhere in the house, and the faint sound of the fridge humming, paired with something that's baking in the oven. the scent of soft vanilla and orange settles gently over his shoulders, as if to welcome him home. his half finished coffee sits in a porcelain mug on the stained counter; you'd accidentally made too much for him, leaving you with a puddle of bitter caffeine that couldn't even be finished with your combined efforts. you'd promised him you would chug it over text, but clearly that didn't happen.

he's ready to go through the motions of a quiet night spent unwinding alone when he hears your voice— after endless hours of aching at a desk, clacking away on a mechanical keyboard in the dreariest environment imaginable, it soothes him like no vacation fantasy he's ever known.

"nami? is that you?" you called. your voice is coming from the shared bedroom; you sound tired, and kento can just imagine the sleepy look on your face. he's never been inclined to use the words 'cute' or 'pretty' to describe someone before, but if he had to choose, then he'd use them for you.

he walks down the length of the hallway, undoing his tie and gently tugging it off his neck as he reaches the threshold to your room. the air is warm and soft; it seems so much easier to breathe the closer you are. like the crushing weight of work he puts on his lungs dissipates into a cloud of melting frost.

"i'm home, sweetheart." he's surprised at how rough his own voice sounds; it's almost unfamiliar. he needs your rejuvenating touch; at least, that's what he decides the instant he sees you. you're sitting right in the middle of the mattress, something lumpy, tacky, red and green bundled up in your lap. with something between a sinking realization and a fluttering in his chest he recognizes it as the sweater you've been making for him. you're finishing it up, it seems, from the formerly-wide bundle of soft thread that's been reduced to a meek little crimson string on the white sheets.

it's one of your new interests. you seem to be taking up a lot of those, lately; kento feels as though it's his fault, for never having the time to take you out. yet you're always so patient despite his busy schedule, adjusting to portion out a chunk of time from your own just to accommodate for him. it's unfair, and so one night he vowed to do more for you over a glass of red wine and a fancy white table cloth, freshly cleaned and pressed. that was one of the rare times he'd been able to take you out like you really deserved. "and don't call me by my last name. you're allowed to use my given," he sighs, rather exasperated, but you both know there's only affection behind it.

you perk up, a bright look in your eyes that melts the last of the frost buried in his chest and beneath his eyes. he crosses the room to stand at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt a few to let himself breathe. and he doesn't miss the way your eyes linger, so he clears his throat, and you spring to action.

"i finished your sweater, ken. can you put it on?" you ask eagerly, and he's briefly reminded of a young boy with pink hair like raspberry chocolate and a golden retriever demeanor. a soft feeling pushes at the back of his heart, sending mushy gushiness through his veins at the sight.

you scoot close, holding it up for him to examine. in all honesty, it's not terrible; you get an A for effort, at the very least. the five reindeer look more like those urban folklore creatures, and the tree looks as though it could use seven more centuries under the sun-- but other than that, it's a perfect first try.

"i'd love to, darling, but i..." he doesn't get to finish, because you seem to wilt a little, and it already feels like that crushing burden over his diaphragm is back, but this time it's exceedingly and guiltily unpleasant, so he retracts his words.

"alright." he succumbs with a tired sigh, letting his eyes flutter shut and removing his glasses to rub the spot where the frame has been digging into his skin; normally you'd do it for him, but you're busy adjusting the fluffy pom poms (he didn't see those before) on the sweater's cuffs, so he does it himself.

he hears the tell tale shift of the soft bedding and he opens his eyes again, only to be met with a very expectant look on your face.

"put your hands up."

"...pardon?" a small amount of resistance to your antics is always present, at first. by now he knows you expect it. but this time, it may be much worse.

"you heard me! arms to the sky." he likes your laugh, a lot. it jingles like a gentle wind chime.

"i can put it on myself. i'm not a child," he says, a little cross, but you're undeterred. as per usual. not like he minds.

"please?"

kento doesn't particularly view himself as a man with a great many ambitious, or zealous ideals. still, he isn't a pushover and has a strong resolve. unfortunately for him (fortunately for you), when it comes to you, it doesn't take much for him to crumble. if you willed it, he'd get down at your feet.

with resignation, he kneels down on one leg, as if you're about to knight him. he waits patiently, holding his arms up, and he can practically feel your giddy smile.

soon enough, you're slipping it over his tangled blonde hair— with a little bit of effort and a lot of scratchy fabric. it's too big here and too tight there, hanging off his shoulders oddly and the sleeves are uneven. but it's cute, too-- in the way that a toddler's crayon doodles are endearing, so are your amateur efforts. what matters to him the most, is that you've handmade it for him.

nothing an industry company factory could achieve.

"so? how do you like it?" you prompt as you start to mess with the collar, pinching and pulling the fabric so that it suits his form appropriately. he doesn't ever remember you asking for his size, but you seem to know it anyway.

"it's warm," is his only input. he knows you'll complain— but it's fun to hear you whine.

you frown. "is that all?" there it is— a small, sweet little pout; the minute down tilt of your lips. your fingers dance over his collarbone as you pull the collar of his button up over the rim, and his breath hitches in his throat. kento wonders if you can feel his heartbeat or notice the way his adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

before you— or he— knows it, he's pulling you down to sit on the knee that's still propped up, catching you by the rest and meeting you halfway to press a gentle kiss to your lips. he's met with a muffled sound of surprise that quickly melts into a laugh; he can feel you smile against his lips and he wants to devour it.

"so i take it you like it?" you whispered as you lean in, hands leaving the unwieldy sweater to thread through his hair, messing it up to your heart's content after he slicked it to the side. you taste sweet, like chocolate and caramel-- he must've missed the advent sweet for today.

his only response is a small hum— you can feel the vibration, so you chuckle again and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling away breathless from the kiss to knock your forehead against his, gazing into his eyes. there's an undeniable well of warmth behind your gorgeous irises; if he had the time, he'd get himself lost in them.

"good, because i have socks on the backburner and you'll be getting a scarf next."

whenever the lights are off, kento knows you've gone to bed already, without him. but he thinks he could get used to scratchy, hand-knit clothing if it means they'll always be on and waiting for him after a long day of dreaming in front of a desk, all about your smile.

not proofread my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !