#they can both be a little self-endangering about it too

[fore-seer]

i believe with all my heart that chrom and celica would be friends

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[dicenete]

I repainted his face more times than probably necessary but something always caught my eye and still does, but it is done. is done. It's fine. xD IkePri Tagteam:

@scummy-writes @goustmilk @solacedeer @m-mmiy @mxrmaid-poet

@pawnkyyy @ludivineikewolf @violettduchess @floydsteeth @wistfulwanderingone

@sh0jun @lorei-writes

A little bit of rambling of him below the break, spoilers (Keith's route, and little bit of Nokto's route) and such :0 so you have been warned.

TL;DR: I enjoyed the route despite its questionable elements. MC is too forgiving at times, but other than that, romanctic route was cute. Licht, the third wheel, was funny but sad.

Okay first about Keith's visual design: I really love how his design is the most asymmetrical from the suitors. Like the jacket and the vest he has. The jacket is very interestingly layered, almost like you aren't sure which part is the main thing and what is the accent. The green or the gold? The host or the alter? : D Same with his vest. His duality is battling in his clothing too hahaha

Keith's route was interesting. I had heard lots of differing opinions about it and I had my own reservations.

One mainly about the portrayal of DID and how the route does it. First things first: I'm not an expert at all. I won't even humor the idea that I had any say in anything regarding it. But overall, it could have been worse? Of course it might be very extreme in the way Alter Keith is hostile towards Host Keith. And of course you shouldn't take this as the only way the alter systems work. But as I said: I'm not an expert.

I had heard that the dramatic route follows Alter Keith and romantic route host Keith. I picked the romantic one. I had my personal reasons for that tho. But aside from that, it was nice to be with Keith that who struggled with self-worth. It was nice to see him grow as a character and find that strength to stand up for himself. (The fact that the host Keith seems to think that he is inferior to Alter Keith and that people would prefer the alter over him. The amount of stress that will bring. )

Keith's uncle was your very generic villain/antagonist without any real depth. He was a spoiled noble and so on. But since this was more about Keith inner journey I thought it was fine that it was like that.

The drugging scene… Well. That's a… a topic. Hmm… Host Keith himself felt very guilty about it and was full of remorse. Not that it was his choice to do it. Alter Keith well… He might justify it because he was gathering information about a rumor that might endanger his home country and people if it were true. I kinda can see where he is coming from, but also...IT CERTAINLY WAS DESTROYING OF TRUST. Like that time when Nokto "accidently" gets MC drunk. but hey ho. Since there is limited time frame for the chapters, I do understand they can't really jam all the things there, but I wanted Belle be more angry with him with Alter Keith for longer.

Maybe that's what bugs me sometimes. That Belle/Emma/MC is sometimes too forgiving and too much of a doormat. It works in routes like Yves and Licht (from the routes I have played, Leon seems like the most respectable gentleman too), because they are not being insulting towards her. I would even think that she works with Clavis, tho I would love to see him with someone who shares his chaotic gremlin energy. But with characters like Chev, Silvio or Alter Keith the their "power" doesn't feel balanced. MC seems to be completely on their mercy even if they stand up to them in some way. (Gilbert is another can of nasty things.)(With Chev's route, well, that is also a rambling for another time. But I haven't finished his route yet. so I will keep my ramblings to myself for now.)

Is Keith's route more about acceptance then? Accepting the good and the bad of a person? Possibly. I would think that is a good way to put it. Both Keiths have good and bad sides. And it seems that they are working on them.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

05| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: As you settle back into the Quarter, you juggle your personal and new professional life—but with the Mikaelsons, it was almost as if there was no difference between the two. Warnings: none Words: 5.6K

Masterlist | Part 6

a/n: i see this series getting long, guys; just letting you know. btw, i'm pretty much unoccupied, so u can expect new posts for this series and possibly other imagines like every 2-3 days. and tysm for all the support! anyway, i'll let you get to reading now.

I walked into the Abattoir with a façade of confidence. I was now completely sober, facing the repercussions of my drunken actions. It'd been about a week since my agreement with Elijah and he'd only just called me in to speak with him yesterday.

I was currently cursing my drunk self, but at least Marcel was now allowed back into the Quarter without any fuss. Of course, he wasn't allowed back into the slaughterhouse, but he did compel himself a nice little townhouse a few minutes of human-walking away from my place.

In New Orleans, it was always better to live in the Quarter than anywhere else. This was the heart of the city's supernatural happenings. You were both safest here and also at most danger. But I guess, if you had enemies, you wanted to be in the Quarter because, if you had a crew to roll with, then nobody would really try you.

That's how it used to be at one point in time, and that's what the factions were trying to achieve now.

I was immediately greeted after making it past the gates. "Y/N," Elijah said, walking towards me, hands held out. He wrapped an arm around me, walking me to the couches in the middle of the courtyard. I tried not to show any discomfort at the physical touch. "It's lovely to see you."

I chuckled a little. "Feeling's mutual," I replied, causing the nobleman to let out a little laugh himself. I sat down on one of the couches while he sat on the other. "So, what have we got today?"

He sighed, "The withes are unhappy because of- all due respect, Marcellus' actions."

Right. Marcel forbade anyone to do magic. While I understand his reasoning, trying to protect a little witch by the name of Davina Claire, it was cruel. To ask a witch to go without magic was like asking a human not to breathe; it was damn near impossible.

Even though I get what he was trying to do, I still didn't agree with it—but that didn't mean that I agreed with what the New Orleans witches were doing either.

"So I've heard. But I'm sure you're aware of why he did what he did." He was; otherwise, I wouldn't have brought it up. I wouldn't do anything to endanger Davina; she'd become like a family to me. I knew that the Mikaelsons knew all about Davina, the harvest, and whatnot.

"Yes, of course. To protect Davina, I understand. She is special, without a doubt." Elijah's voice with filled with nothing other than conviction; I'd expect nothing less when people were speaking about Davina.

I smiled thinking about her. "Yes, she is."

"However, it still hasn't done us any favours on a community-wide scale." Elijah ran a hand through his hair. "The witches' spokesperson, Genevieve, is just about furious with the treatment they've received." A look suddenly appeared on his face. "And considering the... interactions my family has had with her, I wouldn't want to anger her further, especially since Hayley is with child."

This was the first time my heart didn't stop at the mention of Klaus' unborn baby. Instead, I was too focused on the witch Elijah named: Genevieve. Now, this was a name Marcel had somehow neglected to inform me about, but I was well aware of who she was.

From my understanding, Rebekah Mikaelson killed her the same year the Mikaelsons fled New Orleans, sometime in the early 1900s. Marcel spilled the whole story to me one night when he was drunk.

Genevieve died. Yet, according to Elijah (and I know this is not a coincidence) she's alive leading the NOLA coven.

Great.

I responded after a beat, bringing my hands together. "Okayyy, so what are we doing?"

"Making the witches happy, love."

Now my heart stopped.

I turned my head to see Klaus just finishing walking down the stairs. "Elijah tells me you're our new... fixer." He shrugged, making his way to the minibar. "So fix it."

"Niklaus."

"Get a grip, Elijah. I don't think I'm offending the young woman," he said before turning to face me. "Am I offending you, love?"

I skipped the whole processing bit of this situation and dived straight into my persona. "Not at all."

Klaus made a gesture to me with his hand, turning back to his brother. "See, Elijah. Marcel's right hand has tough skin." Elijah responded with a much more exhausted sigh than before, rubbing his hand on his face. Klaus ignored this, turning back to me with a bottle of bourbon in his hand. "Want me to pour you a glass, Y/N?"

"It is ten o'clock in the morning, Niklaus."

"All the more reason," he quipped back. "Y/N?"

I tried to loosen up, but my smile probably came out a little more tense than I originally intended. "I'm good; thank you."

Klaus looked at me for a few seconds before shrugging and pouring his own glass. Elijah took this opportunity to continue, but not before letting out another sigh. "As I was saying before my brother so tersely interrupted us, Genevieve has agreed to meet with us after I told her that you—Marcel's right hand, as Niklaus put it—were going to be representing us."

I tried to focus all my attention on the task at hand instead of my absent father who kept looking over at me periodically. I remembered what this was like when I did it for Cellie; I just had to get back in the game. "So, if you are looking to make an agreement of some sort, what are you willing to negotiate—give up, even?"

Just as Elijah was about to answer, Klaus briskly cut him off. "Oh, that's all on you, love." I narrowed my eyes slightly and he elaborated. "You decide then and there what you think is fair." He shrugged again, and although he looked carefree, he also had a smug look on his face that I doubt he was even trying to hide. "Ball's in your court." This was a test.

I didn't ponder on that for too long, nodding to him. "I can do that."

Klaus nodded back. He looked like he wanted to say something, but a quick look from Elijah seemed to make him want to hold his tongue. Thank God.

While I seemed like I was coming a long way, just the mere idea of holding a conversation with this man was terrifying. There were so many things I was holding my tongue about. It was just lucky that I so happened to be 500 years old. A few, quick conversations with my dad who had no idea I was his illegitimate child would not break me. Maybe it fucked with my head, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

I'm here after all, aren't I?

Elijah cleared his throat. "Well, it seems to me that we've discussed everything we needed to discuss for today." He stood up and I followed suit. "Again, it was lovely seeing you, Y/N."

"Likewise." I shook the hand he held out, once again ignoring the weird original rush I felt. "I'll see myself out." Couldn't get out faster.

I walked toward the exit before Elijah could say something gentlemanly about escorting me out and before Klaus could say something that'd boggle my mind even further. I assumed he'd text me the details about the meeting later.

I took a deep breath immediately once I was far enough from the compound that I was sure they wouldn't hear me. I had no idea how I was going to get used to any of this, but it was too late to go back now.

In the meantime, I decided to take my mind off the Mikaelsons for a bit by visiting someone who I've yet to see.

I walked into the old church with caution. It wasn't like I had a problem with Kieran; I just felt awkward whenever I talked to him, so I'd rather avoid him. I've had enough awkward situations in these past few weeks to last me a lifetime.

To my luck, he was absent and so I just walked straight upstairs, dodging cobwebs as I went until I made it to the attic's ajar door. A girl sat on a stool in front of an easel, painting a landscape. She was so focused she didn't even notice me push the door the rest of the way open.

I smiled, leaning on the door as I looked around the room that'd changed since I last saw it, now more decorated and screaming it'd been touched by a teenage girl. "So Marcel's still got you holed up in here, huh?"

She instantly spun around with her jaw dropped. "Y/N?!" She ran toward me, engulfing me in a tight hug that I'm sure would've broken some bones if I was human.

I chuckled, "Hi, Davina. I've missed you, too."

She pulled back, looking over me with disbelief visible on her face. "Oh, my God- when did you get back?"

"A little while ago. I'm sorry I couldn't come see you sooner, but I've been absolutely swamped. I promise, though—going into the future, I'll make time to see you." Davina smiled, pulling me back in for another hug. Her happiness spread to me and I started smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. I think this might be the first time I've been this happy since I got back to New Orleans.

Davina was an amazing kid. I was supposed to meet up with Marcel the night of the harvest when he saved her, and so I ended up meeting her a few months before I left. She just so happened to be one of the few people who know my secret. She was incredibly gifted and reminded me so much of my younger self. I felt like I owed it to her, to myself, to be there for her. In the short time I've known her, she's become something like a little sister to me, if not a daughter.

When we broke from the hug, we both ended up sitting on the bed. I let her catch me up on what's been happening, even though I already more or less knew it from Marcel's summaries. "Okay, so if the witches aren't trying to hunt you down anymore, why are you still hiding away in this attic?"

"Well, I'm not hiding away anymore," she replied. "Marcel just figured it'd be safer for me to stay here instead of with them. He still doesn't trust them and, honestly, neither do I. They've been acting kind of weird since the witches were resurrected, but I just deal with it and go there everyday to practice."

I hummed. I understood Marcel's reasoning; keeping Davina at the church was actually pretty smart. I wouldn't trust her with a bunch of vengeful witches, either, especially after they tried to kill her once. But this attic was far too small for a little girl to spend her days in.

I looked around the cluttered room, thinking before I said screw it and decided to propose my idea to Davina. "What if you didn't have to stay here?" I asked, looking back at her.

She furrowed her brows. "What do you mean? It's not like there's anywhere else I could go, besides with the witches."

"Not necessarily true." I sat up straighter. "I mean, my townhouse has three rooms, and only one of those rooms isn't empty." I shrugged, gesturing around the room. "It's bigger than this place, so all your stuff would fit."

She sat up too. "Wait, are you being serious?"

"Hell yeah, I am. And the protections on my place are a lot better than this church's, trust me."

"You want me to move in with you?"

"Yeah, Davina, that's what I've been sayi-" I was cut off when she threw her arms around me in the tightest hug she'd given me since I entered the attic, and that was saying something.

"Oh, my gosh! Yes, of course!" 

I giggled at her enthusiasm, hugging her back before pulling away to pull my phone out of my back pocket. "Okay, I'll drop you off at the apartment now and I'll text some people to come pick up your stuff and bring it to you." I glanced back up at her for confirmation, looking back at my phone when she giddily nodded. "You can just make yourself at home and get settled in. I'll be home a bit later; I just have a business meeting first."

"Yeah, sure." Davina then stood up, looking around and clapping her hands. "I'll start packing!"

I laughed for what felt like the umpteenth time since I've seen her, standing up too. "Alright, D. I'll see you later," I said, but she was already far too engrossed in packing her things, giving me a distracted goodbye. I shook my head, the corners of my lips going up even higher as I left the room.

Thank God I wouldn't have to come back to this creepy ass church anymore. I really hadn't even thought of asking Davina move in with me; it was such a spur of the moment kind of thing, but I had no doubts then and no doubts now. She'd be safer with me than here, with the witches, or even Marcel.

At the though of my friend, I went to text him about this new development, coming across a message from Elijah along the way.

Elijah M. We'll be meeting the witches at 7:00 PM at the compound.

You OK, I'll be there.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket after responding to Elijah and texting Marcel about Davina. Seven was two hours away, so I had time to go home and freshen up before the meeting.

I wasn't nervous; I'd already been here before, already done it all, but I did feel a weird pressure to do this well. Something in me said Klaus was counting on me to fail, so it was my job to prove him wrong.

I walked right into the compound later without standing out front for ten minutes like I did this morning. I was gonna have to get used to this all eventually and I'd prefer that'd happen sooner rather than later. 

I was apparently earlier than everyone else because there wasn't a Mikaelson or red-haired witch in sight. I checked my watch: 6:30, it read. Earlier than I expected, but that was fine with me. I wiped the imaginary dust off my outfit: slacks and a tight white dress shirt that I'd unbuttoned just enough to not look like a female Elijah. Resemblance to the Mikaelsons was not what I needed right now.

I was just about to pull out my phone to keep myself busy when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, my eyes meeting the mother of Klaus' kid. "Oh, hi," she greeted, a surprised look on her face. "What are you- oh, right, Elijah told me you guys were meeting with the witches tonight."

"Yeah- it, uh, appears that I'm a bit early." I chuckled, making small talk even though I really didn't want to have any unnecessary conversations with anyone that lived in this building.

"No, it's a good quality. Elijah's like that," she told me. I nodded, ignoring my thoughts which were questioning her relationship with Elijah. Something told me it was a lot more complicated than it seemed. "I wanted to thank you, by the way."

My brows furrowed. "Hm? For what?"

"For covering me that day with Elijah- and for saving me from that vampire that day, too," she expressed with an almost bashful look on her face. "I realize I was pretty rude to you, but I was really just having a bad day, and-"

"And I'm a vampire, so you were just being careful." She let a small, embarrassed smile form on her lips which I reciprocated. "It's fine, I get it. I'd do the same if I were in your shoes."

"Thank you for understanding; I really appreciate it." I told her it was no problem, resisting the urge to be nosy and ask why she didn't wanna tell Elijah what happened; I didn't want to risk her growing suspicious of me.

Before Hayley and I could fall into an uncomfortable silence, Klaus and Elijah strolled in through the gates into the courtyard. Klaus' eyes narrowed between me and Hayley, probably in a protective manner, while Elijah greeted me. 

"Y/N, sorry to have kept you waiting-"

"Oh, no, it was no biggie." I gestured to Hayley. "I had good company, anyways." Hayley smiled, excusing herself after wishing us luck with the witches, but I doubted I'd need it.

I was good and I knew it. Half a millennium alone in the world taught you how to negotiate, how to get your way when you had no one else on your side. Really, I was less worried about the witches and more worried about being in Klaus' presence.

Speak of the devil.

"The witches should arrive soon," Klaus announced, glancing down at his watch then up at me, a smirk arising on his face. "And then you'll be able to play your hand."

I stopped myself from narrowing my eyes or doing anything that showed I felt the shade he was so obviously throwing my way. Clearly, without even having really spoken to me, dear old dad has decided he doesn't like me, much less trust me. I don't know why that hurt because I don't even want to be talking to him period. I guess there's just a part of me that disagrees with that.

Like this morning, Klaus didn't waste a second before walking over to the bar. "Can I interest you in a drink whilst we wait, love?" He poured himself a glass. "Some... liquid courage, if you will."

He's being a jackass on purpose.

I declined, "No thanks." I shook my head. "I don't need it." And I also don't need to be under the influence around the Originals.

Klaus chuckled in an almost sardonic manner. Like the night I met him, he had a dark air around him that he barely cared to conceal. Klaus wanted people to notice that about him; he wanted people to be scared. And I was, but for entirely different reasons.

However, I'd sooner die before letting him know that. If he wanted to play hard ball, then I'd be the best damn batter he's ever seen.

Klaus turned around, tipping his glass to me. "You're quite confident."

"Well, I can back it up," I quipped back. In response, he sarcastically smiled, taking a sip of the brown liquid in his hand. From the corner of my eye, I saw Elijah glancing in between us watchfully.

"So I've heard- and you know, it got me thinking, what exactly is it about you that makes you so special?" This-

I was given time to pause by Elijah's interjection. "Niklaus."

He held his hands out in the air. "What, Elijah? I'm just curious," he reasoned.

I cut Elijah off before he could say something more in order to respond. "No, it's alright, Elijah; I understand the skepticism." I looked back to Klaus whose eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. "The reason why people are more inclined to listen to me is because I don't operate with a desire to instill fear in others, just respect." I maintained eye contact with Klaus, hoping he was picking up what I was putting down. I knew he got the message when I saw his jaw clench.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, the gates to the compound opened. All three of us looked toward the entrance to see Genevieve and two other witches walking beside her, like a little entourage.

Elijah seemed to let out a sigh of relief at the intrusion. "Genevieve," he greeted, walking toward them. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Please, take a seat. Can we interest you in any beverages?"

While Elijah was clearly doing his best to mediate, Klaus didn't say a word, only burning a hole into the side of Genevieve's head with a hard glare while he drank his scotch.

The three of them sat down on one couch as Elijah and I sat on the one parallel to it. "No, that'll be alright," she said, crossing her legs. "I know you appreciate verity, Elijah, so I'm gonna be honest: I wouldn't have agreed to this meeting if it weren't for the woman sitting next to you."

Elijah nodded. "Yes, I'm completely aware. Y/N is here to make sure that we both get what we want and to ensure that the future of the Quarter, and everyone in it, is prosperous."

I smiled, holding my hand out. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you. I've heard many good things about you." That was a lie.

Shaking my hand, she responded, "Likewise. The elders of the coven are practically smitten with you. I've never seen witches so eager to deal with a vampire."

"Well, I hope that, after our discussion, you will also be more eager to work with the Mikaelsons."

Genevieve almost scoffed at what I said. In my peripheral, I saw Klaus roll his eyes—at me or her, I'm unsure. "Please, Y/N—I'm sure you're aware of who exactly these people are and what they've done. Even though you're a vampire, you have to admit it's outrageous." Her voice was incredulous.

I really don't understand what she was making a big fuss about. From the way the story was told, Genevieve used to have a huge crush on Klaus back in the day—ew—but I wasn't gonna actually use that against her. I didn't want her to resent me; I actually needed her to like me for this to work.

"I understand where you're coming from," I told her, managing to muster up a sympathetic expression. "But we all want the same thing: peace. That is the final destination; there are so many stops along the way to get there, so if peace is where we truly want to be, then we need to be willing to put aside our differences."

The redhead sighed. "I hear what you're saying, but how can we expect peace while working with these people? How do you expect us to trust them?" Now, Klaus scoffed, causing both Genevieve and Elijah to look over at him, Elijah with a more stern look in his eyes. I, on the other hand, ignored him altogether, focusing completely on the witch in front of me.

I said her name to get her attention back onto me, thus causing Elijah to look away from his brother, too. "I am, in no way, asking you to trust blindly. We're willing to negotiate; just state your terms." I knew this was dangerous, giving her the opportunity to ask for whatever she wanted, but the witches had been recently oppressed; giving them the chance to ask for what they wanted was like an apology of sorts, one that I felt they'd appreciate.

Genevieve looked hesitant, glancing at both of her associates, to Elijah, Klaus, and then back to me. Even without looking at him, I could feel Klaus staring at me, probably questionably. None of them were expecting that move. 

See, because I was representing the Mikaelsons, Genevieve expected me to state their terms first then negotiate since they were more powerful. So, of course she was surprised.

After a beat of silence, she finally spoke up. "We want to practice freely."

"Done."

"And we want to celebrate our festivals without a hassle."

"Of course."

"And we want to reclaim witch territory for ourselves and ourselves alone, like the Lafayette cemetery." 

"Reasonable," I noted, waiting for her to say something else. When she didn't, I asked, "Is there anything else we can give you? You don't have to answer right now; we'll take some time then I'll get a contract drafted-"

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire." At her interjection, the room went silent. I didn't even wanna know what Klaus looked like right now, but Genevieve sure as hell seemed to have regained her confidence. "We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire." That was one ballsy request.

"Are you out of your mind?" For the first time since the witches walked into the compound, Klaus spoke. I looked over at him to see a look of shock adorning his face as if the redhead just tried to kill him—and, I mean, was he that far off?

You don't ask for the Original Witch's spell book without wanting to kill or at least having the ability to kill if you so need it.

Elijah seemed to recover from a shock of his own, trying to calm his brother down. "Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire." Klaus had set his drink down, walking toward where we were all sitting. Smoke might as well have been coming out of his ears. I knew that, if I were one of the three witches sitting across from me, I'd be shitting myself. "After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Elijah cut him off, but more firmly and this time Klaus actually listened, turning to look over at Elijah with hard eyes. His eyes flickered to me for a split second before looking back at Genevieve—or glaring, rather.

While Genevieve looked slightly startled, I saw the dead-set expression on her face. It'd be hard to try and convince her that Esther's grimoire wasn't what the witches wanted, but it was possible.

Gears turned in my head as I thought it over until a quick idea popped into my head. At that moment, I began, "I'm sorry, Genevieve. We can do everything else you mentioned, put it in writing, but Esther Mikaelson's grimoire is a no-go." I saw her shaking her head before I even finished.

"Then no deal-"

Elijah cut in, "Genevieve, please-"

"I can give you the next best thing." I caught Genevieve's attention easily, along with everyone else's in the room. In seconds, I had come up with a quick fix; it was a gamble, but if you aren't willing to go big, then go the fuck home. "I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." I paused, gauging her reaction. Clearly, this night was full of surprises. 

I suppressed the urge to glance over at my relatives; I had a feeling that I already knew what their faces looked like.

Genevieve struggled to compose herself, so I continued, "It's yours, so long as you accept." I understood what was happening here: the witches or the spirits or whatever were already decided, and they wanted the Mikaelson grimoire, but how could they be upset with what I was offering? A Bennett spell book was a damn good replacement if I ever saw one, and if anyone knew that, it was Esther's children themselves.

I knew the history—I've spent my life learning it. Ayana taught Esther everything she knew; the Bennett bloodline was one of the strongest, maybe even stronger than the Mikaelsons. And although I doubt Genevieve knew the lengthy Bennett history, she quickly got her bearings and responded, "I- we accept-"

I cut her off, smiling, "Great. Now our turn." I clasped my hands together. "You guys can keep your sanctuaries, the cemetery and whatnot, but in shared areas like the rest of the Quarter, we ask that you remain peaceful and avoid altercations with other factions. We're asking the same of the other factions, as well. Similarly, the Mikaelsons don't want conflicts, so we'd also like to avoid altercations in that area." 

It seemed pretty simple because it was. It was like what Elijah said to me that night in Rousseau's: everybody wants power, and the witches were no different. They didn't agree to this meeting for peace; they agreed because they wanted power, and the Mikaelsons struck this deal for the same exact reason, even if that's not how the nobleman would've phrased it.

While I didn't provide the witches with the same prepared list of terms, what I was asking for would have the same effect. The Originals were already on top, so what more did they really need to ask for?

Genevieve, once again, looked over at the two girls sitting next to her who both nodded at the silent question she was asking. When she turned back to me, the smallest of smiles was on her lips. "You have yourself a deal."

I reciprocated her expression as we both stood up. I shook her hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll work on getting that contract drafted in more detail, so please, come to us with any other requests you may have."

Genevieve nodded, letting go of my hand, and Elijah took the pleasantries from there, walking them out of the compound. This left Klaus and I alone momentarily.

I looked over at him to see that he was already staring at me. I felt a chill go down my spine from how intently he was looking at me, my mini adrenaline rush dying down. It looked almost like he was picking me apart with his gaze.

I didn't want him to think I had something to hide, so I held his stare. We were both silent until Elijah walked back. This time, he didn't seem to sense the tension in the room—that, or he just chose to ignore it. 

"Thank you, Y/N," he said. I looked away from Klaus to smile in response, but the second I did, he broke his vow of silence.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" Klaus' voice was cold and accusatory, just as his eyes were. Elijah just might have frozen had he not been a thousand-years-old; hell, I probably would have, too, but I'd already been crafting an explanation as soon as the idea popped into my head.

Not the real explanation, but one that made more sense.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

Klaus didn't look sold. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?"

"Well, to be fair, she wasn't in touch with her family at that time," I retorted. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

Klaus didn't reply to me, instead choosing to continue staring me down. However, his glare was now lessened, so I knew he sort of believed me, even though he had doubts.

In the time that Klaus wasn't saying anything, Elijah cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. When I looked over, he smiled and tried to further de-escalate the situation. "Thank you, again, Y/N."

That was my cue to leave. "No problem. Are you okay with meeting up tomorrow to discuss the contract?"

He nodded. "Of course. Lunch?"

"Sounds great," I said, grabbing my bag that I'd left on the armchair next to me. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Elijah bid me farewell while Klaus remained mute, but I still felt him staring at me, even as I was walking out; only when I'd walked two minutes away from the compound did I finally let go of that feeling

I didn't speed all the way home this time like I had been doing recently after exiting the Abattoir. Instead, I decided to take this time to think since I really haven't gotten a moment alone all day.

The excuse I gave Klaus wasn't too far from the truth—I only warped it slightly. I didn't know who he knew or how well he knew my mother before he slept with her, but I knew that if I gave him the real story, there was a possibility that he'd find out who I was.

The real story was that my mother was best friends with a Bennett. Almost like history repeating itself if you thought about it; Amelia Bennett was to my family what Ayana was to the Mikaelsons. She was both a mentor to my mother and me.

In reality, we were a lot closer than I made it sound. She was a lot closer to my mother than she was with the rest of her family. We were in Salem; the witch trials were just beginning, so any witch in the area was either preparing to leave or to die. She was anticipating the latter, so before she died, she made sure to leave the assets she had to my mother. 

The other Bennetts didn't dispute this, fleeing west. The rest of the story, I try not to think about. I needed to be strong, for Davina, for Marcel, for Amelia, for my mother, and for myself; otherwise, everything I've sacrificed would've been for nothing.

With that thought, I had a new resolution.

This, what I was doing here in New Orleans, could not fail. I have not lived the life I've lived just to fail. So from this moment forward, I decided to be better, to be stronger. No more quivering at the mention of my father or his baby, no more getting shaken up by conversations with the Mikaelsons.

Walking toward my apartment, I made myself a promise.

This city will not break me, no matter what.

[arthenaa]

commissionned by @localravenclaw !

nsfw content !! (read at your own risk)

seb x fem!reader (you are married in this one <3)

Sebastian had always been observant when it came to you. Ever since your friendship with him and eventually getting married to your very own best friend for about 6 years now, he was always casually observing you and your body language. You never had to say anything for him to do things for you. Endearing and a habit of his made your poor little heart fall for him even more.

He had hair ties tucked within his pocket, an extra handkerchief in case you forgot yours, and a hand to assist the trail of your dress whenever it seems to be positioned to be a hindrance in your steps. Ominis often teased you both; How Sebastian always seems to project you to perfection by always sticking close and assisting you in whatever you need.

Sebastian only laughed and proudly acknowledged for being too ‘whipped’ for his wife. You felt warmth bloom into your chest.

This goes without saying that Sebastian was a marvel in your bad days. All it took was a look and he was already on his feet and pulling you into his arms. You wonder what kind of endangered world you saved from your past life for you to be gifted with such a person so in tune with your whole mind and body.

You honestly felt like he was way out of your league but his praises of your beauty, skills, and talents washed away those lingering thoughts of self-doubt. You were his and he was yours and he loved being the reason for your smiles and laughter in all the days that he woke up beside you.

In short, the man absolutely loved taking care of you. Physically, mentally and in more ways than one.

It’s been hours and you don’t know how long you can endure him. Naked physique laying listless on the bed from the number of orgasms, you stare hazily at the man above you whose eyes seem to overflow with love and desire. It was a cold Saturday night and the fire from the hearth seemed to only add on to the heat shared between your bodies.

“Still there, pretty girl?” He asks with a soft voice. He gently caresses your face. Your body responds to his touch as you lean your cheek against the palm of his hand. Today had been a stressful day. Sebastian knew the moment you stepped inside the humble abode of your home that you needed him and so he went. 

You clung like a child in need of affection. Gripping his arms like you haven’t seen him in months. Sebastian only cradles you close as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

“I’ll take care of you.” His promise lingers into the air and within a few hours, he kept his word. You were distracted and engulfed in the essence of Sebastian Sallow. A presence you warmly welcomed anytime. 

He hears your whines of need despite being riddled with oversensitivity. He smiles down fondly at you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he leans down to pull you into another kiss. His cock is still inside you albeit softened from his previous orgasm. You feel his release leak out as he slowly grinds against you, further extending each other’s pleasure.

“You did so good, little dove.” He whispers against your lips with a smile. You only looked up with half-lidded eyes, distracted by the moving length inside you. He feels your body flinch and hears a squeak of a moan escape your lips as he hits an overstimulated spot within your walls.

“S-Seb– S’too much,” You whine as your fingers claw at his arms. You seem to be in a daze as Sebastian pulls away to assess the state of your being. You were still clearly in your subspace, judging from how you pulled him closer, the incoherent babbling of words, and the dazed look on your face.

Your husband knew better than to allow another round to start. With a strong arm wrapping under the small of your back and gripping the side of your waist, he hoists you up from the bed and into his lap. The motion causes you to moan loudly as his length pushes deeper into you. 

The brunette smiles as you let out soft whines, arms wrapping around his neck as you pepper gentle kisses all over his cheek, neck, and jaw. He feels your hips grinding against his length, stimulating it enough to incite pleasure but not enough to result in another throe of passion. He allows it for now.

“Baby,” He mumbles, hands moving up to move your hair from your face. He cups your cheeks with one hand, chuckling as a pout forms with how your cheeks squished up within his grasp. He drops a wet kiss against your swollen red lips. You moan in response as you grip his wrist softly. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

His hands move down to settle on your hips, stilling you on his lap as he prevents you from moving. Your head plops down on his chest, arms encircling his lean waist. Sebastian could almost coo at how adorable you were. With a hoist of his arms, his length slips from your pussy as he stands up from the bed. You whine at the loss of his length filling you up and within seconds, you feel his release leak down from your entrance.

He walks with purpose, one arm holding you up and close against him while the other grabs at your essentials needed for a bath. You dazed off into his shoulder as you let him do whatever he needed to do. You suppose the amount of physical training he endured to become an Auror, eventually paid off judging from how he effortlessly carried you in his arms. The results definitely showed from his leaner physique. 

You feel yourself getting lowered into the bathtub and warm water engulfs you in an instant. It was enough to keep you distracted from Sebastian’s missing presence but the addition of another body within the confined space allows you to sigh in relief. He pulls you close with an arm around your waist as he begins to clean you with gentle movements.

His fingers delve into sore spots– thumb rubbing the skin in concise movements as you allow the massage to ease the tension in your body. The sweat and ick from earlier activities eventually disappeared from your body as the water’s warmth washed them away. You feel sleep eventually knocking on your bones.

“So fucking adorable,” Sebastian mutters to himself as he grips your chin in his hand, your head resting back on his shoulder. He chuckles, placing chaste kisses on your lips. You eventually had to gently push him away as it had pulled you from your short slumber. 

“Sebastian,” You call out to your husband as he carries you once again in his arms, gently putting you down on the floor as he pats you dry with a towel. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as he wipes your legs and thighs.

“Yes, my love?” He replies offhandedly as he makes sure to dry you up before moving up to your hair. He stops to stare at your face riddled with sleep before grinning widely as he pulls you again to place a firm kiss on your lips. You whine at the abrupt gesture.

“S-stop– Mmph!” You’re unable to deflect his onslaught attack of kisses. He seems to enjoy the annoyed look on your face before pulling away as you stumble in his grasp. He watches with amusement as you blink sleepily, eyebrows furrowed before pouting.

“I’m sorry, darling. You were too adorable not to kiss.” He cooed, placing a peck on your pouted lips before inhaling your scent from the safety of the crook of your neck. 

“Annoying.” You mumble, eyes drooping. The brunette laughs at your remark before he continues to dry you off. He then dries himself before grabbing a fresh set of clothes. He dresses you first with a shirt, too large for your form (obviously his). He assists in putting it on before dressing himself.

He then grabs your hairbrush and carefully combs your hair, gently pulling the strands with the bristles of your brush. There was something in the domesticity of the sight in front of you reflected by the mirror that stirs a range of emotions in your heart. The day started off bad and ended wonderfully with the care of your husband. You can’t help but smile as your eyes meet one another in the mirror.

He grins cheekily before pecking your cheek. You love this man.

He casts a wind spell to dry both of your hair before the man carries you once more to your bedroom. Sebastian stops in his steps as he looks at the bed, his nose scrunching at the mess. He kisses your forehead as he places you down to sit on one of the chairs near the fireplace.

“I’ll just fix the bed, darling. A fresh pair of lines are needed, I’m afraid.” He quips as he notices your apprehensiveness in letting him leave your side. Eventually, you allow him to rearrange the bed. You watch with calm interest as he pulls off the bed sheets stained with fluids you were far too sleepy to remember. Your eyes follow his precise movements as he grabs another set of fresh sheets from the cabinet. Love overflows your chest at the sight of your husband who seemed hellbent on not allowing you to move a single muscle.

“Like the view?” He pulls you from your reverie as he wiggles his eyebrows in the midst of pulling the sheet under the last corner of the mattress. You roll your eyes at him as he seemed to be in a jolly mood despite cumming at least 3 times inside you. The man had incredible stamina.

“Just do your work, Mr. Sallow.” You croak in an attempt to tease him back. A cough escapes your throat as the exhaustion and sleepiness had taken a toll on your body. Sebastian notices, of course, and with a wave of his wand, a pitcher of water levitates from the table in front of you and pours a glass of water. You accept the drink as it floats toward you. You give him a look of appreciation as he seemed to only smile in return.

By the time you’re done drinking, the bed had already been made and your husband is already walking towards you. You glance up at him as he leans down to place his hands on the armrest on both sides.

“Ready to rest, my wife?” He mutters, faces close to yours. You hum in agreement, your arms encircling his neck as reaches down to pull you up into his arms. He carries you over and settles you down on the soft and warm feeling of fresh linen. You immediately feel the gentle lull of sleep overcoming your senses. 

The sounds seem to tune out as your eyes gaze over your husband’s very being. He moves with gentle motions, his rough callous hands hardened from battles that feel so different against your skin. Your eyes move up to his face, admiring the constellation of freckles that you’re sure not only litter his soft cheeks but also the body of the man you’ve come to know and love.

Sebastian Sallow was a marvel and a blessing that you’re continuously grateful for. From the times he saved you from danger to that wandering hand of his, that seemed to always dust off any speck of dust from your figure or tuck any wandering hair from your styled locks. 

Your heart overflows with love whenever your eyes meet the familiar pools of brown that always seem to light up at your very presence.

You love him, dearly.

And so you call out to him, hand reaching out in need of his presence. He’s busy tucking you comfortably underneath the blanket before noticing your flushed face contorted into a look of desperation and need. He smiles softly as he delves in your arms, pulling you close as he presses soft kisses against your temple.

“I’m here, my love. No need to fret.” He whispers in a calm voice. His weight gently pins you down against the bed while the two of you bask in the night’s silence.

“I love you.” You whisper against his ear, voice slightly breaking from the adoration you have for your husband. His grip around your frame grows tighter.

“The things you do to me, love. You should be sent to Azkaban.” He jests with a laugh before pressing another kiss to your cheek. You whine in response, arms pulling him close.

With how tight you’re clinging onto him, it’s a surprise that he was even able to pull himself slightly from your grasp. With only a few centimeters between each other’s faces, Sebastian tucks a stray curl framing your face back into the safety of your ear. He smiles with fondness emanating from the gentle glow of his turned lips. The backs of his fingers gently caress your cheeks as his eyes seem to trace over your features. You would normally be flustered by his blatant staring but you were far too distracted by his looks to even care.

“Hi.” He mumbles, teeth showing as he grins.

“Hi.” You respond softly as he leans close to rub his nose against yours. The two of you giggle at the gesture before he moves back once more to admire you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, eyes locked onto yours as his hand caresses the side of your head. You hum in thought.

“Better.” You blink slowly as a smile graces your features. “Thank you, ma chérie.”

Sebastian nods in understanding before moving up to place a soft kiss on your forehead. He pulls away to sit up on the edge of the bed beside you. 

“Merci, mon amour.” He responds smoothly to your endearment. A grin graces your lips as you watch him stand up from your side of the bed before walking over to his. With a raise of the blanket, he slides in beside you.

Within the speed of light, your body moves to cling to him. You couldn’t possibly sleep tonight without having your emotional support of a husband within your arms. He laughs at your adorable nature, pulling you close as your bodies fit one another like a glove. You tuck your head against the crook of his neck while his chin gently taps the top of your head.

You hear the gentle wisp of the wind outside and the crackle of the fire from your fireplace. You feel the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the small of your back and his breath brushing the strands of your hair on top of your head. You feel his warmth encompassing yours and the rise and fall of his chest.. The blanket on top barely does any work in keeping you warm and yet you feel perfectly fine and warmed up in his arms. 

Every night, you feel and see everything about Sebastian Sallow. His addicting scent of wood and musk, the feeling of his callous fingers against yours, and the deep baritone of his voice. Your mind always seems to make its home into the thoughts and memories of the brunette beside you. It seems as if your mind had already marked him as your safe haven.

You desire to be a part of his very being. To be intertwined in his fate here and thereafter. Longing to continuously be the foremost thought in his mind. You know that this might be selfish of you but you know that Sebastian’s the same way about you as you are to him.

The man worships you. He praises the ground you walk on and sing at your very presence. Like a moth to a flame, he can’t help but fall into the pits of your darkness with you and somehow despite all that you’ve been through together, he follows you into the light as well. He'll follow you everywhere and vice versa.

A perfect pair. That’s what others often called you both. Normally, you’d brush off those comments but out of all the things said about you, this one you agree with the most.

You both crave each other at any time or minute of the day. Some may call it overbearing but being with Sebastian never bothered you. You both still respected each other’s time and space but overall, you were stuck to each other’s hip.

You faintly hear Imelda’s groans of disgust at the back of your head, claiming how you both couldn’t live a day away from each other and if you had spent one more hour with each other, she'd bet her broom you'd both merge into one person already. Natty opposes, claiming that it was adorable and that Imelda should just mind her own business. The former Slytherin didn’t take that quite nicely.

A giggle erupts from your lips at the thought which prompted a curious hum from your husband. “Preoccupied aren’t we?”

You shake your head, placing a peck on his neck. “Sorry, I just thought of something funny.”

He chuckles. “Is that so? Well, I hope it isn’t me.”

You decide to tease him as you stay silent in  response. The man above you pinches your side at your teasing, causing you to squeak at the sudden infliction of pain. He laughs at your reaction before your palm slaps his arm in retaliation.

“That hurt!” You whine as your arm returns on his waist, hugging him close. A few giggles escape his lips.

“Aw, poor baby.” He mocks affectionately as he runs his fingers through your hair before placing a kiss on top of your head.

Silence lapses between the two of you before you hear his voice once more. " I wasn't able to say this earlier but there will be better days, my love. And with every bad day that comes your way, I'll be here to make it better."

You fall silent then your head moves away from the crook of his neck. Suddenly, you're met with warmth as he peers down at you with those brown pools of his. Your hand reaches out to cup his face and the familiar dimple appears on his cheek as a smile erupts from his face by your touch.

Gods, he was beautiful.

"Also, I love you too." He hums before leaning down to place his forehead against yours. Your eyes never leave him as you allow this moment to swallow you whole. His skin against yours, his breath brushing against your cheek and his eyes locked on you. You don't know how much you've repeated this in your head but you'd gladly do so for the man in front of you.

"I'm so fucking in love with you its not even funny." You mutter nonchalantly as you continue to caress his cheek with your thumb. Sebastian raises an eyebrow at your words.

"How … How is that even a funny situation?" A laugh slips from his lips that infects a smile on yours. 

"I don't know. Imelda says your face is quite funny," You whisper in response, fingers running through his curls. "I agree… sometimes."

He gasps dramatically which prompts a giggle out of you. "Are you saying I have a laughable face? Your very own husband?"

He makes a point by grabbing your wrists and pulling them together to encase in one hand. "I'm sorry!"

"No take backs. Consider me offended and horrified." Sebastian dramatically replies before he delves down to shower you in kisses. Rather exaggerated actually. You squirm and squeal in his grasp as you try to avoid his affection.

"S-Seb!" You try to wiggle your wrist from his grasp. Curse his wicked strength for being able to easily manhandle you whenever he wants.

"I'll stop if you tell me I'm the most handsome face you ever saw in your whole entire life and that Imelda is just a bloody idiot who got hit too hard on the head by a bludger," He tilts his head in a teasing way, awaiting his request. "Also, a kiss."

"You can't have both, Sebastian." You retort, causing a pout to appear on his face.

"You're at my mercy, Mrs. Sallow. I suggest you fess up and give in, or else…" There's a warning tone evident in his voice which prompts a breathless laugh to erupt from your lips. You knew better than to fight against him in a situation like this. Last time you did, you ended up on the floor almost tickled to death.

"Please okay!— Y-You're the most handsome man I've ever seen and—" You lean your head to place a kiss on his lips. "There. Happy?"

He squints his eyes, humming suspiciously in thought. "You forgot the Imelda part."

"I'd get cursed if I said that. You know better than to say her name in vain." You place another kiss on his lips as compensation. It seems to have convinced your husband as he flopped on top of you.

"Alright. You gave me two kisses anyway." He mumbles on your chest like a child. There's a moment of reprieve before you feel hands wandering under your shirt. It creeps on your stomach before nestling on your ribs, close to the underside of your breasts.

"Seb." You whine as you feel his teasing touch. "Are you trying to even make me go to sleep?"

The man above you chortles before replying. "I can't help it. Your boobs are right in front of me."

You snort at his boyish thoughts before grabbing his wrist and moving it up to rest his palm on your naked chest. He hums in satisfaction as his palm moves in squeezing motions, reveling at the soft plush of skin within his hands. 

"Is this your version of destressing?" You jokingly ask, voice laced with sleep. His fingers gently rub your nipple before gently squeezing the fat of flesh in his grasp. It pulls a sigh out of you.

"Yeah." He mumbles, distracted. Despite stimulating you once more, it feels oddly calming and even begins to lull you back into the warm void of slumber.

His free hand moves the hem of your shirt up, freeing one breast as his other hand continues to grope the other. Your eyes meet one another as he looks up for consent. Your hand moves up to entangle in his curls before you gently move his head to where you want it to be.

His mouth encloses your nipple, sucking the nub while he continues to provide gentle squeezes on your other. You let him suckle on your breast while your fingers twirl his curls. 

"You're so pretty." He mumbles against your nipple as he gives it kitten licks before putting it back in his mouth. You let out a quiet moan before closing your eyes as you allow the stimulation to lull you back to sleep.

Sebastian notices your tired state, not stopping his gentle attacks on your breasts. Your hand seems to hold him still against your chest while he continues to suckle on your nipple like a babe. 

"Sleep," He mumbles. Your eyes softly blink open. He pulls away and you shiver as the cold air hits your wet nipple. His other hand continues its mission with your other breast.

"Stay with me." You mutter, allowing one last look at him as he moves your shirt up to your clavicle. A handsome smirk graces his features as he moves back down to continue his ministrations.

"Don't worry, darling." He replies, blowing down on your hardened nubs. You shiver before a soft sigh escapes your lips. "I'll make sure you're well rested."

Then his lips wrap against your nipple once more, face tucked into your mounds. You watch as he busies himself with you as the stimulation further drags you down to the depths of deep slumber.

You watch as his face flushes and his eyes close whilst suckling on the soft flesh of your chest. As you make gentle motions on his curls, you heave a sigh of pleasure before slumber completely pulls you down under.

Sebastian feels your breath even out before pulling away from your swollen nipples and gently rearranging your shirt. The nubs peek out from the thin material and he makes a move to press a kiss on the protruding nipples.

He moves up to brush any stray hair that fell from your face before placing one last kiss on your forehead. He smiles fondly. "Sleep well, my love."

And just as before, he pulls you in his arms and engulfs you in the familiar warmth you've come to know and love. 

The gentle crackling of the fire, the sounds of the night outside your window and the sound of breaths evening out from sleep was all that could be heard in the room.

Everything was just perfect.

husband seb aftercare was something i didnt know i needed tysm for commissioning ari 🥺🫶

© arthenaa 2023.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv, do you have any hurt/comfort recs for me ?

Thank you, you’re the best and I love you and your blog.

Thank you, anon! I hope you’re taking care of yourself ❤️ here are some h/c reads for you, I’ve tried to include a little bit of everything so you can find something special to your tastes:

Is This Love? by @phdmama (E, 4k)

Draco wouldn’t call himself a tender man. He fights the forces of evil for a living, trying his best to pay penance for the evil he’s done. He’s fought and killed in the name of duty, and when he’s not on duty, he tends either to play hard or retreat alone. He doesn’t lean on anyone, and he knows he’s not the first person anyone goes to when they need care. Comfort. That all changes tonight.

To know the pain of too much tenderness by @cibeewastaken (E, 6k)

Harry is in love with Draco, and Draco sometimes goes on dates with other people, but it’s not like Harry could be bothered by it when he never told Draco about his feeling, right? Right. So Harry isn’t that bothered by Draco’s dates, what bothers him is when one of those dates knocks Draco up and doesn’t want the baby.

Solve Us Like a Mystery by tryslora (T, 12k)

When Harry stops in at the bookstore where Draco works, they find a surprising shared interest in mysteries. Draco doesn't expect to see Harry again, and he definitely doesn't expect to become the subject of unexpected investigation that may endanger the life of his unborn child, and at the same time, may bring him the kind of happiness he never thought he'd have after the war.

The Body Keeps Score by amorsindolor (E, 13k)

Draco cries during sex. A story about touch, intimacy, and the healing we find through mutual trust and love.

Between Myth and Man by slytherco (E, 16k)

Draco, lost and a little broken, navigates post-war reality convinced that people like him should not be allowed to make their own choices. To solve the problem of his self-sabotaging tendencies, he starts taking a few drops of Veritaserum every morning.

Can’t Fight the Moonlight by sunsetmog (M, 16k)

Or: the one where Harry accidentally gets Draco pregnant, both of them fail to talk about their feelings, and in the end, there's a baby.

Scenes of Surrender by Rasborealis (E, 16k)

Draco just wants to keep his head down and finish his last year at Hogwarts. He's not supposed to let his mask slip, and Harry isn't supposed to care.

Savage by marguerite_26 (E, 18k)

In a post-war world that lives in fear and ignorance of werewolves, Draco Malfoy has taken every step to keep his condition hidden. When the delicate balance of his life shatters in a single moment, it is Harry Potter alone standing in his defence.

Vale Sanare by RurouniHime (M, 23k)

Draco’s world gains a new component just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

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[weyrwolfen]

Caveat Emptor: Chapter 3 - Suppressio Veri

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Commanders Fox, Thorn, Thire, and Stone, Quinlan Vos, Coruscant Guard

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm and suicidal thoughts, injuries, loss of autonomy

Previous chapters can be found here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

Fingers bit into CC-1010’s face, pulling him forward painfully to look directly into cruel, yellow eyes.

“Nala Se’s reports never mentioned anything about the implant degrading over time,” said a man’s voice, cold and dangerous, terrifyingly familiar.

The grip on CC-1010’s face tightened, fingers squeezing skin and muscle painfully against underlying bone. He did not move, did not protest, even though inside some part of him was screaming to fight, to run. To do anything instead of just stand there.

“What a pity,” the voice said, and the hand abruptly released CC-1010, then returned in a mocking parody of a fond pat on his cheek. “You’ve been my favorite tool, but don’t worry. When you’re all used up, I have three more just like you.”

“One of those had better be for me,” Fox said when he walked out of the shared commanders’ quarters, bucket tucked neatly under one arm, to find Thire waiting in ambush in the hallway with two thermal canteens in hand.

Thire snorted loudly enough for his external mics to engage, but he also, demonstrating commendable survival instincts, immediately held out one of the canteens and said, “They both are, I’ve already been awake for six hours.”

Perhaps there’d been a reason why Fox had promoted Thire after all. Even if he was often a complete pain in the shebs.

The barrack’s caf had a burnt, metallic aftertaste, but it was strong enough to wake the dead, which was exactly what Fox needed at that moment. He hadn’t slept particularly well, not that he ever did these days, and his oddly vivid nightmares had left him feeling particularly unsettled and distracted. Once he was awake and alert enough to get picky about his morning stimulants, he could always steal some better osik from one of the Senate breakrooms.

Once they reached the lifts, Fox was feeling mostly human enough to ask, “Sitrep?”

“The CSF is in a snit,” Thire said, pressing the button to call one of the lifts. “Apparently the Jedi confiscated several cultural artifacts from the Chancellor’s private rooms under SB 1468-28.”

The kriff? SB 1468-28 had to do with regulating imports and exports in Republic space. It had thousands of sections and subsections, covering everything from negotiating tariff rates to pages and pages of non-sentient species deemed too endangered to be legally traded. Not that Fox imagined that the Jedi would be risking setting off major political waves by publicly seizing something like a smuggled kanthra skin rug from the Chancellor of the Republic.

Former Chancellor of the Republic?

Kriff, it was going to be another karking long-shebs day with an unending chain of more of the same on the horizon. The caffeine couldn’t hit Fox’s system fast enough.

The lift finally arrived, and when Fox and Thire stepped inside, Thire hit the button for the hanger floor instead of the one which would have taken them to their offices. Straight back into the belly of the beast then.

“The CSF has determined that at some point after you left the Chancellor’s office, the door to his emergency turbolift was opened twice,” Thire said once the lift rattled to life.

Well, that explained why nobody had tried to arrest Fox yet. “Any leads on who?”

“No,” Thire answered, a little too quickly. Fox kept his suspicions to himself, but something cold coiled in the pit of his stomach. “It’s not even clear which side the door was accessed both times. Someone wiped the system with one of the Chancellor’s personal codes.”

Okay. That was slightly more unexpected. Fox had his own security access codes. He didn’t know the Chancellor’s, so CC-1010 shouldn’t either. Right?

Stop. Suspicions weren’t facts. He could suspect all he wanted; he didn’t know anything.

“The CSF is working the angle that the Chancellor himself opened the door, even though nobody has a working theory as to why,” Thire continued. “The Guard has been tasked with excluding other points of ingress from consideration.”

Of course. Of course, the CSF would try to ice the Guard out of the real investigation. Shabuire.

Except Thire knew the risks of this investigation getting out of the Guard’s hands as well as Fox did, but he wasn’t acting particularly concerned about being dismissed from the primary crime scene. And that had some significant implications.

Stop it. Stop speculating. Stop working the karking case.

Fox was compromised. His officers would tell him whatever was safe for him to know. He had to trust them on this, because there weren’t any guarantees that CC-1010 wouldn’t report everything that was done and said here back to kriff even knew who.

So Fox kept his questions behind his teeth and tried, with very limited success, to put them out of his mind as well.

The lift doors opened out onto the Guard’s hanger bay. Fox managed to not wince, but only just. There was something about the lighting in the space that always exacerbated his headaches. The pain tabs he’d downed before kitting up for the day weren’t quite doing their jobs, but Scav was firmly against upping the dose or changing the type of medication until it became absolutely unavoidable. Something about not wanting the Marshall Commander of the Guard to be wandering around the Senate, armed to the teeth while also tripping balls.

As if all of them didn’t already occasionally do their rounds, so strung out on stims that every light had rainbow-edged trails in their vision. It came with the long hours and the strill osik requests Senators often kicked their way, on top of their usual duties.

Thire passed by the larger gunships and troop transports, instead aiming for the smaller, two-man speeders. Picking the nearest one, he took the driver’s seat and fired up its engines, leaving Fox as the ride along. Probably wise.

“Where are we headed?” Fox finally asked, when the awkward silence in the speeder became unbearable. That at least seemed like a safe question to ask, seeing as he was about to find out anyway.

Thire’s bucket was unreadable, visor forward as he weaved through traffic, but he tapped his index finger against the steering yoke in obvious thought before saying, “We’re meeting up with Hound’s team. He thinks they’ve found something in the Chancellor’s emergency evacuation hanger.”

Okay.

Fox really wanted to ask for further information.

He did not.

He did, however, finish his first canteen of caf and start in on his second while Thire went through the extra security protocols of requesting and receiving permission to pass through the energy-shields that kept the general public well away from the Senate Dome’s extensive substructure. What little sense of humor the Senate Guards had previously exhibited had seemingly shriveled up and died in the midst of the current crisis. Thire had to repeat both of their designation numbers three times and submit their clearance codes twice before being granted entry.

The access portals were wide, dimly lit, and eerily empty. There should have been at least a few maintenance droids and work crews down here, monitoring the building’s infrastructure and performing minor repairs. The only sentients Fox saw as Thire guided their speeder through the twisting series of tunnels were his own men, patrolling the area on speeder bikes in teams of three. The Senate Guard must have shut everyone else out, including the small army of maintenance and support staff that kept the lights on and the water running for the entire Dome, because Fox sure as kriff hadn’t made that call.

That was going to cause problems down the line, from compromised utilities to Senators who could and would take any inconvenience as a personal slight.

Thire rounded a final corner and slowed to a hovering stop where a full squad of Coruscant Guards had set up a watch along one stretch of walkway lining the massive panels that made up the tunnels’ heavily-armored walls. A security request popped up on the speeder’s main terminal, and Thire entered his own codes in response.

The Guardsmen shifted to either side of one of the heavy wall panels, making room for one huge plate to rotate up towards the ceiling on artfully concealed magnetic hinges, revealing a set of heavy blast doors.

Once the doors lensed open, one of the troopers, Facet from the trooper’s unusually ornate rerebraces, waved them forward.

Thire guided the speeder through a series of similar blast doors, waiting in each of the connected room for the previous set to close and the next to open. They were kill boxes with concealed defenses mounted in the walls around them, but their exact specifications had been above even Fox’s high clearance level. Being at the mercy of an unknown, deadly automated system made the hair down the back of his neck prickle in instinctive unease.

And yet, he still somehow knew that the fourth room would be the last in the series.

Bright lights glinted off ornamental metals and red-paneled walls. The architecture of the hanger broadly matched the public-facing portions of the Chancellor’s office, all curving walls and gently ramping, carpeted walkways. It was large too, excessively so, given it only held a trio of sleek, custom speeders.

Fox screwed the cap back onto his second, half-empty canteen of caf and set it in the speeder’s center console. Then he fished his helmet out of the floorboards and pulled it on while Thire maneuvered the speeder over to a corner of the space where two guard transports were already docked.

The magnetics inside Fox’s helmet hissed as they engaged, and his HUD flickered to life. His light settings were lower than standard, his one sop to the headache which was still lingering behind his eyes. Once his HUD finished scrolling through its own internal system checks, he sent out a ping using his command overrides and received back answering data from the armor of any trooper in the immediate area.

Fox’s system picked up Facet and his men on guard outside the hanger’s concealed entrance and a few other scattered troopers patrolling the tunnels above and below his current position. Most of the signals came from Hound and his team, as expected.

Hound had brought two full squads to perform this investigation. Fox pulled up a three-dimensional rendering of the space and nodded slightly to himself in approval. The room’s exits, including all air-intake and ventilation shafts, were adequately covered, and the remaining troopers were canvassing the space in orderly, meticulous detail. Hound’s systems reported the presence of three massifs as well, but Fox only spotted two of them. Perhaps the other was with the four troopers who were beyond the hanger’s ornate double doors, no doubt checking out the emergency turbolift from this end of the system.

Hound himself was waiting next to his team’s transports, Grizzer alert and watchful at his side.

Thire made for the ARF trooper’s position and settled the speeder down with practiced ease. The doors of the passenger compartment swung upwards like especially ungainly avian wings.

When Fox stepped out of the vehicle, Grizzer barked a rumbling, chuffing sort of sound the massifs were trained to make whenever they spotted a target. Hound shared a brief look with Thire, obvious and weighted even through their visors, and then palmed a treat out of one of the pouches on his belt. He handed it to the massif, whose entire hindquarters wagged excitedly at the reward.

Fox certainly had some thoughts on that, but again, he kept them to himself.

“Sirs,” Hound said, giving Grizzer the hand signal to sit, which she did with an open-mouthed, razor-toothed grin. The ARF then snapped off a sharp salute, which Fox immediately waved away.

“You wanted to show me something?” he asked, trying to get this farce moving along.

“This way,” Hound said without any further preamble.

While one of the speeders berthed in the hanger was emblazoned with the Republic cog and the other ornate signs and trappings of office, the other two were aggressively plain. They both looked expensive, and a particularly knowledgeable observer would notice the armored panels and shield generators artfully worked into their designs. But neither would be immediately pegged as belonging to any specific one of the millions of wealthy sentients who were on planet at any given time. A few troopers were clustered around the speeder with the badges of office emblazoned on its side panels, scanning the interiors and taking holoimages. Hound guided them towards the second speeder, a dark gray model whose doors and trunk were already open.

Fox’s footsteps faltered, a wave of dread and expectation washing over him. Expectation of what, he couldn’t have said. The open trunk turned out to be completely empty.

“This speeder has been washed down with enzymatic cleaners and then an aggressive sanitizing agent very recently,” Hound said, gesturing vaguely towards the entire vehicle. “The navigation record and access logs were wiped with the same code used on the Chancellor’s turbolift.”

“Have you alerted the CSF?” Fox asked, looking down into the empty trunk. He kept expecting to see… something. He wasn’t sure what.

“Not yet, sir,” Hound said, and Fox looked up at the awkward hesitation in the ARF’s voice. “We were waiting for you to sign off on it.”

They should have notified the senior CSF agent assigned to the case immediately upon finding something this suspicious. The explanation for that breach of protocol occurred to Fox abruptly, and it was both unwelcome and nauseating.

His men were covering for him.

If I’m here when the CSF agents arrive, my biomarkers will be recorded for exclusion from any subsequent evidence logging.

Fox took one deep, steadying breath, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm even as his stomach churned.

“Comm them,” he said, and his voice sounded far steadier than he felt.

Hound nodded, glanced at Thire again, and then stepped back, fingers tapping over the controls on his vambrace.

On any other investigation, Fox would have taken a walk around the hanger, checking in with the rest of his troopers and taking their reports. This time, though, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to know what they were finding, or worse, what they’d been working to actively destroy. He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t. He suspected, but that was different.

He knew. He’d been here before, many times.

Not trusting himself to look anywhere else, Fox turned his attention back down to the speeder’s empty trunk. The bare, overlarge space was strange, in comparison to all of the other civilian speeders he’d ever seen. Even their own transports had some kind of traction matting in the back, hard to clean, but good for keeping equipment from sliding around in transit.

…Really, it seemed designed for easy cleanup: smooth surfaces and curved edges, with no corners or textures where a drop of blood or a stray hair could hide.

That was why CC-1010 had been ordered to use this speeder, instead of the less customized model. The first time he’d been activated, his orders had been very specific. Which speeder he should use, which tunnels to avoid, where to dispose of the bodies, and how to clean up his tracks, both literal and digital. And then to forget until he was activated once again. The memories resurfaced for his second mission, and his third, and after a while the specifics just became part of his standard operating procedure, only noteworthy if some facet of them needed to be altered.

CC-1010 had always followed his orders to the letter. Even when those orders didn’t make any sense. Even when they stood in direct opposition to the public statements made by his Master. Even when they directly violated Republic laws governing the ethical treatment of enemy combatants and civilian noncombatants.

Even when CC-1010 was entirely certain that what his Master had said was not what he had intended.

Good soldiers followed orders, and CC-1010 was an excellent soldier.

All of his trainers had said so. He’d been the best, especially in his close quarters combat and stealth modules. And hadn’t his Master deserved the best?

He had. He had deserved someone like CC-1010, who would carry out his words to the letter, meticulously destroy any evidence, and then forget the details.

He had deserved CC-1010…

“Fox?”

…His mission was complete though. He had followed his SOP and reported back to his office. He had set the memory aside, until the next time.

Except now he was remembering, and no one had activated him.

He should remember that, shouldn’t he? He always had before…

“Fox?” Thire asked again, sounding concerned.

…That was CC-4477. His concern was noted, but not necessary. CC-1010 had completed his mission. This was just an aberration. All he needed to do now was forget…

“CC-1010?” Thire asked carefully. Except that was wrong too, wasn’t it? They never used their designation numbers amongst themselves. Only when…

…Forget…

“CC-1010, what do you require to complete your mission?” Thire asked, following the prescribed script. Only someone very close to him would have noticed the tension humming under his voice.

Fox heard it. Fox held onto it.

…Forg–

Fox sucked in a gasping lungful of air. Memories trickled through his grasp, falling away like grains of sand, but some of them stuck this time.

A few, and none he ever wanted.

He’d killed people. He was pretty certain he’d killed a lot of people, civilians, and he couldn’t even remember any names, or faces, or why.

Karking Sith-damned hells, his head hurt.

Fox bent double, struggling to remove his helmet. He needed to breathe. He couldn’t…

“Kriff, no,” Thire said, catching him before Fox could fully collapse onto the floor. “We can’t do this here,” he whispered desperately. “Just breathe slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Can you do that with me?”

Fox wasn’t about to risk nodding, but he could follow orders. He was good at that, right?

The strangled noise he made could have been described as a laugh, but it had only the most passing familiarity with anything resembling humor.

“Fox, I’m serious. The CSF shabuire are going to be here any second. I need you to get your osik together and breathe with me.”

Fox shut his eyes and breathed.

“I need to get to Scav,” he finally said, when he was able to straighten back up without feeling like his entire head was going to crack open and leak his brains out all over the hanger bay floor.

His nose wasn’t bleeding. That was surprising.

“You need to stand your shebs right here until the CSF agents sign you out,” Thire said, getting one hand up under Fox’s elbow to take up at least some of his weight. Thire gestured to someone off to the left, Fox didn’t think it was wise to turn his head at that moment to see who.

Hound came into his direct line of sight. “They’re taking the lift down,” he said grimly. “There’s a general coming with them.”

“Who?” Thire asked, before Fox could swallow down the taste of bile enough to do the same.

“They didn’t say.”

“Fox, are you going to be able to do this?” Thire asked, quiet enough to not carry beyond the three of them.

“Not like I have much of a choice,” Fox said, pulling himself out of Thire’s grip. His vision blurred for a moment, but it was worth it to get his helmet back on. The tinted visor and plastoid plate made it so much easier to hide any number of sins.

Thire gave him a dubious look, which Fox did not dignify with a response.

There was a trick to marching that made it possible to walk in a straight line with minimal jostling. Kriffing convenient piece of intel to have, if you were overly tired, or drunk, or strung out on stims, or about to have to report to a kriffing Jedi while your brains felt like they were being rendered down into nutripaste. You just had to look straight ahead, keep your knees a little bent, and roll your weight from your heel, along the outer edge of your foot, to the ball. Easy. They’d done it enough on Kamino, exhausted, beat to osik by one trainer or another, and running on nothing but a heady blend of pride and fear.

Fox made it into formation just in time to see the doors swing open. He didn’t stumble once. He didn’t even puke into his shiny, new filters. Mags would be so pleased.

The CSF agents were dressed out in full protective gear this time, white coveralls with full facemasks and hoods, like they were expecting some kind of hazmat exposure. Fox couldn’t see their faces, but he’d spent essentially his entire life reading the body language of armored sentients. Every single one of them looked tense, and a few were angry.

The General wasn’t wearing a single piece of protective clothing, just a set of dark, sleeveless robes and knee-high boots. No foot coverings, no mask, no gloves, and if his expression and bearing were to be believed, no cares in the galaxy.

Kriff, it was the same Jedi from before, the one who’d brought the clearance flimsiwork to General Windu. Fox had asked Thorn to sic some of their slicers on the man, but all they’d been able to glean from the Temple’s public-facing servers was a name: Quinlan Vos.

Great. Just great. Because dealing with a General and a Jedi wasn’t enough, without adding ‘probable covert ops agent’ into the mix.

Fox breathed and did not allow his knees to buckle.

The General spotted them immediately, and made his way down the tastefully lit, carpeted stairs with a bounce in his step. “Commanders,” he said with a grin that struck Fox at utterly false.

Fox saluted. Given the creak of armor he heard behind him, Thire and Hound had done the same. “General Vos,” he said, and his voice didn’t falter in the slightest.

Vos waved one hand casually, dismissing the salute. “I’m not a general,” he said airily. “Never was assigned a battalion, something about not being able to keep my own life in order, much less the lives of several thousand troopers.” Aching, dizzy, and nauseous, and Fox still picked up on the fact that almost everything the man had just said was a flagrant lie. “You can call me Quinlan.”

Like hells.

“General Vos–” Fox tried again, but was immediately interrupted.

“How about just Vos?” the Jedi said, extending a bare hand in a common natborn greeting.

It would be rude to not take it – Fox had learned that within hours of arriving on Coruscant – but something still made him hesitate.

Kriff his head hurt.

“Master Vos,” Fox compromised, taking the man’s hand and not his wrist, like he might have with one of his brothers.

Something in the Jedi’s expression flickered, dimming the welcoming grin he’d been wearing like a mask.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, grip tightening momentarily around Fox’s gauntlet.

Because of course, a Jedi would sense something wrong with him. Of kriffing course.

Well, he couldn’t exactly say that he was perfectly fine. That would draw even more suspicion. “A training accident,” Fox said blandly, matching the Jedi lie for smoothly delivered lie. “Nothing a rest shift won’t cure.”

Vos’s eyes narrowed speculatively, and he said, “Uh huh,” in a very dubious tone of voice. “Well, I was told you fine gentlemen found something interesting. Care to fill me in?”

Fox gestured smoothly to his left, managing not to jostle himself too much, and said, “My sergeant and his men made the discovery, so please allow me to defer to him, for this briefing.”

“Defer away,” Vos said, dialing back up the charm. “What name would you prefer I call you, trooper?”

“Hound, sir,” the ARF trooper finally replied very stiffly.

“Hound, right.” The Jedi then hunkered down and extended a hand again, this time to Grizzer. “And who’s this sweet girl?”

Karking hells, like that wasn’t the fastest way to get Hound to warm up to him. This Vos kriffer was slick, and Fox was not happy about that kind of expert manipulation being directed towards his men.

“She bites,” Fox said in warning.

“No, she doesn’t,” Hound immediately corrected, sounding offended. “Not unless I ask her to.”

Kriffing Sith-damned hells, Hound. Fox wanted to grab the sergeant by the spaulders and shake him.

Instead, he let Thire steer him away from the conversation.

“Hound has this,” Thire said quietly, over a private comm line.

“He��d better,” Fox grumbled.

He was cleared rapidly, by the CSF agent who had been tasked with collecting prints and biological samples from all of the troopers present in the hanger. All of his data were already on file, from his previous visit to the Chancellor’s office. Thire managed to find an out of the way corner to sit and recover, while the rest of their men were cleared.

He was almost back down to baseline when General Vos managed to find him.

“Sit,” the Jedi said, when Fox started to rise to salute. “You look like shit.”

“I assure you, I am more than capable of performing my duty,” Fox said, every instinct screaming to conceal the extent of his debilitation.

“Sit anyway, this won’t take more than a second,” the Jedi said, dropping down casually on the padded bench next to Fox. “I’m just curious about something.”

“I will endeavor to assist you in any way I can,” Fox lied again, casually enough to sound earnest.

The General arched one eyebrow, but did not comment about whatever suspicions he had. Instead he leaned back and rested his hands on his thighs. They were gloved again, but not with the blue, sterile ones the CSF agents had been handing out. They were black leather, and Fox abruptly remembered the incident in the Chancellor’s office with the mystery item concealed in the desk.

Something about needing bare hands, to make his Force osik work correctly.

Fox went suddenly cold with fear.

“As I said, I haven’t ever been assigned a battalion,” Vos finally said as if nothing were amiss. “So I don’t have much experience working with clones. So, I don’t know if this question might be…,” he paused, obviously considering his next words carefully. “Culturally sensitive,” he finally said.

Fox’s heart was pounding in his chest, but the pain in his head had settled back down to a dull roar. Manageable enough that he could keep his full wits about him at least. “It is our duty and our honor to serve the Republic and the Jedi,” Fox said, reciting the correct response with an ease borne of long practice. “I would be happy to answer any question you have, even those of a personal nature.”

Something about his reply made the General pause, and Fox couldn’t help but curse to himself in the safety of his own head. This was exactly the kind of scrutiny he’d been trying to avoid with General Windu. Would he be able to feel it if the Jedi started digging around in his mind?

Would Fox know it was happening at all?

“Alright,” Vos finally said with a slow nod. “With the customizations, I would assume that your armor is important to all of you. Personally.”

“Yes, sir,” Fox replied, because it was hardly something that could be easily denied, but he also didn’t elaborate on the subject. That would be too dangerous. While the Guard personalized their gear less than some of the other battalions, they all still added flourishes here and there. Little reminders that they were still people, still individuals, beneath the strict protocols and the rigid formality the Senate demanded of its possessions.

But instead of hammering at this minimal departure from regulations as other natborns had done before him, General Vos just asked, “Would a clone trooper ever loan someone else his set of armor?”

That caught Fox a little flat footed. Yes, a clone might gift a single piece of plate, and no, Fox was not about to explain the cultural traditions regarding such an exchange. But an entire set of armor? That was easy enough to answer. “No,” he said firmly.

Whatever reply Vos had been expecting, that obviously hadn’t been it. “No?” he repeated, but it must not have been a serious question, because he didn’t wait for a response before saying, “Interesting.”

Thire, appeared around the landing gear of the Guard transport, slowing awkwardly when he spotted exactly who was speaking with Fox.

“Commander,” Vos said, turning to address Thire with another warm, fake smile. “What can we do for you?”

Thire stiffened, but his voice was smooth and professional when he answered, “The CSF has taken down everyone’s biometrics. They are asking us to clear out of the hanger.”

“Typical,” General Vos said with enough honest sarcasm that Fox had to choke back a sardonic snort of agreement. The Jedi rose to his feet and dusted his hands absently on his thighs. “Commanders, it’s been a pleasure,” he finally said, smiling at them both in turn. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Like hells.

The machine hummed loudly, and lights flashed on the other side of Fox’s closed eyelids. Pumped full of Scav’s latest cocktail of meds, neither the sound nor the lights were actively painful. But being inside of a medical scanner always made Fox feel uncomfortable. Trapped. It was easier to just close his eyes and try to not think about it.

Finally, the machine whirred to a stop, and the thinly padded gurney Fox was lying on slid out of the scanner.

He opened his eyes to find Scav scowling down at him.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” his CMO said, sounding personally offended by the whole situation.

“Anything more specific than that?” Fox asked dryly. It wasn’t like Scav to be this vague about medical diagnoses.

“No, our scanners are too osik’la to get an accurate reading on whatever’s going on in there,” Scav said, taking hold of Fox’s opposing arm and helping him sit up.

‘In your kriffed up, defective brain,’ Scav meant, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Maybe they should have sent him back to Kamino, to let the longnecks pick him apart.

Maybe he should have eaten a blaster bolt and saved his brothers all of this trouble.

Except…

I have three more just like you.

It hadn’t been a dream, just like whatever had happened in the Chancellor’s hanger hadn’t been a hallucination.

And Scav hadn’t even batted an eye when Fox had laid out all of his suspicions in the medic’s small office.

“I’m working on it,” Scav finally said.

Fox eyed his armor, which was stacked against the far wall of the exam room. He had osik he needed to be doing. The Senate was in an uproar. Mas Amedda might hold to the exact same political beliefs as Chancellor Palpatine, but he had far less charm and far fewer allies who owed him personal favors. Apparently he’d said the wrong thing to the wrong mid-Rim Senator during the morning’s open floor debate on an upcoming resource allocation bill, and suddenly everyone was remembering that none of them had actually voted for him to fill the political position he currently held.

The fighting hadn’t even slowed down when the acting Chancellor attempted to call for a brief recess for midmeal. Last Fox heard, aides had started bringing catered meals right out to the Senate pods so their delegates could keep screaming at one another, which was putting a massive strain on the security checkpoints that were trying to scan every box for explosives and toxins.

Stone was keeping a lid on things, but he needed all of the support he could get. Assuming Fox could keep his osik together long enough to actually be of some use.

“Scav?” Fox said as he slid off of the gurney. When his CMO looked up from his ‘pad to glare at him, Fox went ahead and tempted the gods, little and great, by saying, “Work faster.”

AN: If anyone else wants me to tag them as this gets updated, please just let me know. @tazmbc1

[kyrieren]

When Kageyma's glasses break

From the oneshot about Yashiro and Kageyama in high school, we’ve learnt that Kageyama’s glasses are the symbol of his self-imposed blindness to the world and his non-conformed parts, an external filter called social norms. Taking ignorance, avoidance and conformity as a coping mechanism, he has given up “seeing” with his own eyes, embodied by the lens contact he lost. When Kuga is brought into his life by Yashiro, it takes two times for Kageyama’s mental constraints, aka his glasses, to corrupt, so that he can be finally free to start to figure out, acknowledge, and embrace his true self. Only then can he reach happiness.

The first time the glasses on his face crack is caused by Kuga. One eye is cracked a little.

Kuga is indeed “dazzling” like Kageyama thinks. He resembles Yashiro a lot, except from his straightforwardness and bold spirit when it comes to romance, which Yashiro is tragically unable to exhibit “right” (that’s why Kageyama thinks Yashiro is self-centered). Kuga’s rough arrival in Kageyama’s life cripples his shield, opening a chance for him to emotionally mature to engage in a romantic relationship with men.

For the shield has been weakened, Kageyama feels both indulged and endangered. The deeper he falls in love with Kuga, the more escalating the threat is to him. One day he gets hard tracing Kuga’s scars, the other day he meets up with a woman. Once again, his coping mechanism is re-established to deny the truth about himself, the same way it operated back then in high school with Yashiro. Kageyama’s growth is at risk of inhibition. This time, both Kuga and Yashiro challenge Kageyama’s preference between the long old misery of self-bereavement that keeps him “safe” and the new life with his true self, though it seems so frightening. It’s Yashiro the tragic villain giving the fatal killshot to force Kageyama to move by saying he wants to make Kuga his.

The essence of Eros is the desire to possess. If you’re romantically in love, you’ll get jealous and want that person to be yours, and only yours. Kageyama once almost had Kuga, but he declines the possibility of “them” himself. To deal with an obtuse Kageyama, Yashiro only needs a few cunning words to provoke Kageyama’s sense of regret, which is probably more powerful than love itself. Consequently, jealousy and regret empower Kageyama to break his own mental constraints, palpable in the form of glasses.

In the second time, his glasses break pretty comprehensively in both eyes. Now he can see himself and Kuga without a restrained filter. Now he can see and accept the truth.

Kageyama the dry up old man can finally grow at the age of 36. However, the consequences of his imbalance, maladaptive coping mechanism remain. For forfeiting the world’s true form for too long (~2 decades), his ability to “see” can’t be reclaimed, or at least, his journey is not shown clearly in “Saezuru”. Nevertheless, in compensation, Kuga has become his new contact lens, showing him what he overlooks. Kuga is the new light to his long-blinded eyes.

[ctheathy]

I'm meat munching Secret history tails rn.. could I request a secret history tails x Hyper cuddly! Reader a reader who is just very hyper definitely not allowed to have coffee but there looks are deceiving and They know how to fight really well so let's just say somebody tries to fight them and they just Kick there Butt and there completely whipped for tails- Like they would do anything he tell them to do kinda like harley quinn with the joker The reader just joins in on his Chaos sometimes or if he just tells them to hand him stuff they would do it in a heartbeat

Secret History Tails w/ Hyper cuddly!Darling

Secret History Tails x Reader

Fluff Headcanons

Short Concept

Mmm smegsy lipbite😏

Author’s note : HA! Gotta love pampering this unstable a$$ fox. Let’s just not add in on the toxic dynamic between Harley and the Joker, though😭 you two are wholesome babey’s with one another on this blog.

This is malewife x girlboss dynamic fr.

The request had it stated, but in case anybody just so happened to miss it, SH Tails from There’s Something About Amy was chosen

SH Tails/Reader [Romantic]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Amy’s brainwashing is mentioned •

୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.

Right off the bat, he just doesn’t understand how he got so lucky to end up with somebody such as yourself. To him, you truly are like an angel. And he doesn’t behave indifferently about that fact either. You’re like an absolute sunshine in comparison to the horrors they call the multiverse, as if you are the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He praises you to no end as he covers you in tender and passionate kisses, gently holding onto you as you make your ways through the multiverse. I can see TSAA Tails being a lot more mentally available and composed rather than his past self back in Secret Histories. He’s more mature now and has complete control over the situation you currently find yourselves in, making him slightly less vulnerable. He oftentimes tries to brush off your acts of service, telling you it’s not necessary at all-! You’re his beloved, after all. But he cannot help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside whenever you do manage to get the job done for him. But due to his determined nature, he tends to give you back a favour for your own self every single time.

Despite the fact that you might have enough control over your surroundings and are physically prepared and capable when it comes to self defense besides the potential threats, Tails cannot help but remain the same overprotective fox that he always has been. He’ll allow you to take the reins, but not without quietly observing from a distance, keeping a close eye on you and jump in at a moment’s notice when he notices one single hint of struggle. He doesn’t wish to underestimate your strength, knowing it has the capability of upsetting you, but he wants you safe so.damn.badly. The man wouldn’t know what on Mobius to do with himself if he allowed you to get hurt in one way or another.

He most likely just lets out a singular chuckle of his own at your hyper demeanour and allows you to cling to him with no hesitance. You truly are an endearing soul in his eyes. And how you’re so dead set on keeping him in high priority and ensure his safety wherever you both go, it truly just results in him being all wrapped around your little finger if you look deeper into it. And despite the risk of his position, he completely allows it to happen too. He trusts you with all his might and the things you do for him among the dimensions only makes that devotion grow even stronger. I could for example see you protecting the fox with your life whenever you both end up in a world that hold an endangered environment. You just insist and ensure he stays in the back while you deal with the little issue yourself, leaving him to stare in awe at your form in combat.

I certainly believe you’d get along with Amy quite a lot aswell. Especially when being in similar positions when it comes to travelling through the multiverse and often needing Tails to guide you two through the place, the both of you are able to relate a lot on your current conditions. You did feel a little bad for letting Amy be brainwashed like she had been though, but then again, it was what he desired for the quest after all. And regrettably saying, your priorities just seem to find themselves in the wrong direction. You try your best to not let the dimensions get to your head, but it can become hard due to just how much your companions alone have been caught up in it over the course of time.

୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧୭ ˚○◦˚.

[no-psi-nan]

"Kuniharu is a kind and funny dad, you're misconstruing canon if you call him abusive!!"

Literal intro chapter, the very first serialized chapter & first episode of the whole series:

- Kuniharu lies to his son in an attempt to guilt-trip him

- Kuniharu thinks about, then suggests to his son that he start stealing money

- Kusuo himself introduces his dad as a shameless and pitiable sleazeball.

- Kuniharu dehumanizes his son by calling him "Kusuemon", a reference to Doraemon, a robot cat that serves a human.

- It's revealed that Kuniharu "carelessly flew into a rage and smashed all the window panes in the house" because his "beloved" wife ate one (1) dessert out of the fridge, and he thinks that's a just and proportionate response and that "[they're] both to blame".

For reference, their house looks like this:

That's a lot of windows!

And even in the case of it being a gag manga, smashing all the windows in his own house over a minor offense by his wife is a completely insane level of retaliation. It doesn't matter that his son can instantly repair the house, the fact of the matter is that he had a long and extended violent outburst against his wife IN HIS INTRO EPISODE!!!!!!!

Kuniharu was NEVER meant to be seen as a good person because he's not. He's (at BEST) a constant source of annoyance for his son and a crappy husband who can't even do his job right, licking shoes to compensate for his ongoing problems at work:

It's fine to enjoy him as a character, he IS really funny in his insanity, but to say that people are making stuff up about him being abusive is a ridiculous statement.

The concept of "child abuse" includes psychological and emotional mistreatment or neglect by a parent, it's not just about physical assault. One definition of psychological child abuse is:

"A repeated pattern of caregiver behavior or extreme incident(s) that convey to children that they are worthless, flawed, unloved, unwanted, endangered, or only of value in meeting another's needs."

Kuniharu hardly interacts with his son except to seek favors or to try to assert dominance/superiority. He constantly refers to Kusuo as a monster/robot/nonhuman (dehumanization, another form of abuse).

During the favorability/love meter chapter, both Kuniharu and Kusuo were certain that the love score would be very low due how little Kuniharu cares for his son. The fact that the score doesn't go down doesn't actually mean much if his literal mind-reading son could not tell that he was loved.

In fact, just as Kusuo's kindness can be explained by Kurumi's influence, Kusuo's tendency to self-blame, his trouble forming bonds with others, and his extreme conflict-avoidance can be seen as classic results of childhood emotional/psychological abuse.

And sure, Kusuke (who's introduced wayyyyyyyy later) might be the source of some of this trauma, but literally who raised him lol?

Anyways. You're ignoring canon if you think Kuniharu is a good dad or person, which is fine! Just recognize that.

"It's a gag manga, it's not that serious" <- Even in a gag manga world, Kusuo himself says that his dad is kind of garbage and that his mother is the only reason he hasn't exploded the planet. And the whole premise of the series is that he's fucking miserable.

The fact that bad things are presented in a funny way doesn't make them less bad, especially not from an in-canon perspective. A war in a gag manga is not really that funny to the characters themselves.

And exploring different aspects of a work is literally one of the main activities to do in fandom. If you only want to see exactly what's in the show exactly as it's presented in the show, then go rewatch it! Maybe you'll catch a few more details this time too.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

I had this thought for a while. What do you think would happen if Fall Rhian and Rise Rhian meet after time travel shenanigans? Their dynamic would be hilarious, with Rise Rhian being tense around his amused Fall self.

And for angst, Rise Rafal meeting Fall Rafal, who is mysteriously a ghost.

Hopefully this isn’t too far from what you’d wanted, Anon. I somehow ended up giving Rhian angst and only a little hilarity and Rafal hope along with his angst. During both fairly consecutive scenes, the brothers' future selves visit their past selves. This all would occur right after Rafal remodels his School in Rise but before he discovers Gavaldon in the timeline. Neither of the brothers know about Gavaldon yet, and they don't learn about it in this scenario.

And, in this timeline, Hook doesn't even get in with Rhian or manage to get hired as a probationary Dean of Good. He just directly poaches the students, and leaves right after the Vulcan incident. Essentially, what Hook did is claim that he's about to leave and bid Rafal goodbye after the battle, yet he doesn't leave, and instead, sneaks off with the students sooner than in canon. So, now, Rafal and Rhian are in the Schools, during the aftermath of the Vulcan incident, while Rafal does his remodeling and torture-marathoning. That is when their future selves decide to visit.

As for Ghost Rafal, he arrives from approximately thirty years into the future, after the ending of Fall, so he's been a ghost for some time, and has had the opportunity to reflect.

Also, some things here might later become part of a fic (although my fic's outline doesn't involve time travel like this.) Very interesting prompt, by the way. So thanks!

Lastly, before you read on, here's how I will differentiate between the characters:

"Rhian" = Rise Rhian

“Fall Rhian” = post-Fall Rhian, by about thirty years

"Rafal" = Rise Rafal

"Ghost" = post-Fall Rafal, by about thirty years

⸻

[In Good, Rhian is prepping for a lesson in his sunlit, glass-walled office.]

Fall Rhian: Hello, "Good" School Master, [a voice breezes behind Rhian as he is seated at his desk.]

Rhian: [stiffens and quickly spins in his chair, paling at a version of himself floating by the window sill.] You... are me. And you can fly?

Fall Rhian: You catch on quickly. [He pats Rhian's wild golden curls from above, condescendingly, like an angel to a stray worshipper.]

Rhian: [blushes] I—thanks, I, well, usually it's Rafal who does. I'm... the gullible one, as it turns out. [He hangs his head in shame.]

Fall Rhian: Are you?

Rhian: Well, yes, considering all the trouble I’ve caused. I suppose I’m fortunate Rafal’s forgiven me at all.

Fall Rhian: And what then? You’re content to be second all your life? You’re willing to let him claim he was the twin created better? [he provokes, prodding, goading his past self on as if with a hot poker, to stoke a certain dragon fire within.]

Rhian: Er… well, no. That wasn’t the first thing on my mind. I’m just… grateful to have been saved, even if… well, Rafal’s driven away my every chance of finding a companion or True Love outside of him. And, I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but I don’t want to rely on him forever. I just wish that… that I could break away and be more—I don’t know—devil-may-care, like he is, free and unfettered. But I have to live by my values or I'll have nothing. I've already fallen, seeing as I've stepped out of line, endangered my young charges, and unleashed a tyrant on my poor Evers. I'm me. Useless and "whiny" and witless, guileless and impotent. Or that's what everyone thinks.

Fall Rhian: Good. Be careful what you wish for. You’re on your way.

Rhian: [puzzled] On my way to what?

Fall Rhian: To becoming me. [He grins, a slow, snake-like smile stretching across his face.] And you'll finally be cured of your pathetic crushes on men.

Rhian: [He decides to change the subject quickly, feeling thoroughly disturbed. This Rhian is practically a stranger!] How can you fly? That requires blood magic.

Fall Rhian: Guess whose blood it is. [His grin widens and he settles on the edge of the windowsill.]

Rhian: [blanches, staring at the dark, rusted stains on his future self’s armor] W-whose?

Fall Rhian: Your brother's.

Rhian: [frantically] Wh-what h-h-happened? [His teeth start to chatter as this odd version of himself radiates a dead coldness much like Rafal does, except it's a thousand times worse.] Who are you?

Fall Rhian: I'm you, and you're me. And I regret to inform you that—[He laughs.]—actually, I don't regret a thing!—that our brother is dead.

Rhian: D-d-dead? How? What happened to him?!

Fall Rhian: Us.

Rhian: I don't follow. Are you saying—

Fall Rhian: [nods, biting back another psychotic smile]

[A silence falls over them, as Rhian sobers, his face falling.]

Rhian: But why? How could I— [Then, he stabs out a finger accusingly, stirring from his chair, fingers twitching and spasming, as if he were to strangle this other Rhian, like he was about to lunge.] How could you! How could you do such a thing?

Fall Rhian: Ah, where to begin? Where to begin? Well, simple: a need for power, a restless soul, a desire for more. More than your miserable, lonely existence. Anything beyond being lesser than. Doesn't matter why. [he spat.] Don't you sense that restlessness within? Regardless, I'm here to tell you, you're on the wrong path. No matter how upset you are, avoid killing Rafal. Keep him alive.

Rhian: [heaves a sigh of relief. Perhaps, this version of himself would talk some sense into him and benefit from it himself as well.]

Fall Rhian: Just ensure that you're the One in power, and while he's alive, do whatever with him that you will. I really don't care what, as long as he doesn't interfere.

Rhian: [His stomach twists in on itself.] What do you mean?

Fall Rhian: Fratricide is Evil, isn't it? And you want to remain Good in the eyes of the Storian, don't you? If you don't kill him, well then, that's the mercy of your Goodness come to light, sparing a villain, sparing your own blood. So long as you don't directly kill him, you're golden. Just, keep him alive, in any condition, even if he has a broken leg, so you don't earn your true side a pitiful losing streak. There've been hundreds of tales so far, in my time, since I murdered our brother, and the wrong side now wins every time. You've already cursed the Woods for Storian knows how long, so don't make the mistake of killing him this time. Just... keep him. Lock him up. Paralyze him. Turn him to gold and use him as decor. I don't care. Whatever you do, don't kill him, and preserve the balance as well as you can. You'll find other means to an end that suits me—ahem, us.

Rhian: [doubtfully] I think I understand, but... you don't sound Good.

Fall Rhian: That's up to you to decide for yourself, according to your superior moral judgement, but we both know the Storian has the final say.

Rhian: [musing] True...

Fall Rhian: Good lad. You know what to do. Just think it all over. I wanted to let you know. You deserve to, as a favor from one Rhian, to another. Trust me. Trust yourself. [He bows smoothly. Too smoothly, like a sleaze. Like a Vulcan. Or the way Rafal did when he put on a manipulative, deceptively charming performance. He didn’t act like Rhian at all.]

[Then, the stranger disappears, vanishes into the smoke, dissipating, called back to his own time, tethered to a dismal future.]

[Rhian begins to spiral in the harsh light, stumbling around blindly like he's seen a ghost, trying to get a grip on something real, to ground himself after that encounter. He closes all the curtains in his office, whisking them shut with his sorcery, and wishes he were dead, curling up into a fetal position on the floor, utterly haunted.

That couldn't have been his future, could it?

But, soon enough, he hears the clock chime, and picks himself up, heading down to teach a class of Evers. He suspected Rafal was lounging in his office, watching his students’ torture, but he couldn’t deal with that now. He couldn’t stomach anything more, any lurid news.]

⸻

[Rhian was probably teaching a class, Rafal figured. He could leave his brother be. For now. To dwell on the consequences of his actions. Inviting a stranger into their School! What a farce. And Rafal always had to resign himself to the drudgery of cleaning up Rhian's messes. All that Rhian subjected him to—after a while, it became exhausting. Of course, some things never truly changed.]

[Just then, a pale figure sweeps across Rafal's field of vision and comes into focus.]

Rafal: A ghost? In my School? You... look like me. Not Vulcan.

Ghost: Sharp powers of observation, if only you weren't so slow.

Rafal: I'm slow? [smirks] Well, if you knew my brother, you'd really know who's the slow one.

Ghost: [taunting] You'll say that now, but wait 'til you become me.

Rafal: Wait, I can't die. How do you even exist? Is this a prank? If it's my Nevers, they're getting stretched on the rack.

Ghost: [drolly] You have more pressing concerns than mutinous students, actually.

Rafal: [His eyes flicker with a realization.] The Storian! I knew it! The little devil killed me, didn't it? [He stands up and starts to pace.] Well, I can prevent it. Just, tell me what happened. Now.

Ghost: You're even denser than I remember. The cause of our death wasn't the Pen. And, actually, it was your own fault.

Rafal: My fault? You already know what I've gone through to preserve my life and Rhian's! How dare you!

Ghost: [perching on his desk, amused, spoken bitterly] Now you're making progress.

Rafal: What? What is it? No—Rhian?

Ghost: Correct.

Rafal: That blundering fool! I'll bet his lunacy got us both killed!

Ghost: No, just you.

Rafal: What! How! Rhian can't even clean up his own messes, much less run the Schools on his own—

Ghost: He does when you're gone. For at least thirty years straight, and counting, as long as I’ve been dead.

Rafal: Impossible. With his reputation, he couldn't command a morsel of the respect I can, not unless he transformed into me!

Ghost: So close and yet so far. I can't believe I was this much of a numbskull when I was younger. Do I have to spell it out for you?

Rafal: [icily] Do tell, ghost o'mine.

Ghost: [rolls his eyes] HE KILLS YOU AND TAKES YOUR PLACE.

Rafal: Don't make me laugh.

Ghost: I'm not laughing.

Rafal: [He stills, halts in his tracks.] What? Rhian wouldn't even kill moths. [scoffs] I don't think he's capable of killing people or his own brother. [derisively] He's too Good.

Ghost: And that brings me to the second piece of news I have for you.

Rafal: [mockingly] Don't tell me—Rhian's Evil, right? [shaking his head] If you're not going to tell me the actual cause of my death, just leave. I'll figure it out. And take precautions all on my own. [Then, he catches sight of a pirate ship sailing away in the distance on the Savage Sea.]

Ghost: Hook took your students. Now do you believe me? You know I'm right. I'm always right.

Rafal: [chokes on his own spittle] Rhian? H-he betrayed me? Oh, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into, brother. I won't die. Not if I murder you first!

Ghost: [blocks the door, so Rafal doesn't storm out in fury] You've forgotten something. You can't play by those Rules anymore.

Rafal: What rules?

Ghost: The Rules.

Rafal: Clear out of my way. I'm not burning daylight on a conversation for first-years! I'm Evil and that's final.

Ghost: [doesn't move, crosses his arms serenely.] No. You're not.

Rafal: [through gritted teeth] I'm telling you. I'm. Not. Good.

Ghost: You will be, if you don't listen to me!

Rafal: Empty threats. What can you do to me now that you're "dead?" [He strides right through his ghost.] If I catch a student behind this phantom projection, I'll flay them alive. I mean, you're not even convincing, as far as illusions go.

Ghost: I know you've been mulling over the idea of swans for a unified School crest these last couple of days. How could I know that, if I'm not you?

Rafal: [He blinks, processing for a moment, breaks into a sprint, and roars,] RHIAN!

Ghost: See, I wasn't a liar! Don't do anything rash though. I'd hate to watch myself turn into a victim again and sooner at that.

[As soon as he arrives at Good, Rafal thrusts open the doors to a classroom, yanks Rhian aside and out the door, and frog-marches him up the silver tower's stairs with a lit fingerglow to the back.]

[Some of the Ever students snicker at their mortified School Master, being scolded like a child, presumably being escorted to a punishment.]

Rhian: Rafal! What's this about!? I thought you forgave me!

Rafal: You haven't done anything wrong. Yet. I'm ensuring that the worst won't happen. Thus, I will quarantine you for a couple of days. [He flicks his fingers and casts a spell to make Rhian sneeze.] Look, you have a cold. Too many strangers, too much excitement for you and your weak immune system. I'll sort out everything else myself, then we'll talk. [muttering under his breath] Right after one James Hook pays for his deeds...

Rhian: [about to object, but then sees the ghost] Wait. Who is that?

Rafal: Ignore it. I'll explain once you've recovered.

Rhian: But Rafal! You can't leave me here! The students need proper supervision!

Rafal: So? I'll get... Humburg to watch over them.

Rhian: [pulls a face]

Rafal: Well, it's a better option than y—[He pauses to think for a moment.]—either of us at the moment. We're... volatile and... murderous, apparently.

Rhian: We?

Rafal: Later. Not now. We'll discuss this later. Just let yourself be saved one last time.

Rhian: [looks indignant]

Rafal: Don't tell me that isn't true.

Rhian: Is this about the future me that visited me? I didn’t think you knew.

Rafal: All right, sure, I’ll believe you. Just tell me about your nonsense after I deal with mine and save your vacuous soul from eternal damnation.

Rhian: So, is that—y-your ghost? [Rhian peers up at ghost Rafal and tells the ghost:] I’m sorry, about ev-everything. [his voice catching in his throat.]

Ghost: [somberly] It’s not your apology to give, but I miss this side of you.

Rafal: [glances at the ghost, then fixes his gaze on Rhian] You. Stay put. [Then, addressing the ghost,] And you. Come with me. We're solving this now.

Ghost: [to Rhian] I don't miss myself though. I was cruel.

Rafal: Now, ghost. I’m not squandering a minute on ludicrous phantom reunions.

Rhian: [sighs] You’re strange. And oddly calm.

Ghost: The result of death and decades of reflection. I was high-strung before, wasn’t I?

Rhian: Will my Rafal ever change to become like you?

Ghost: Not if he can prevent it.

Rhian: Good. No offense, but I don’t want any traces of your timeline in ours. Even if you have the remotest chance of being nicer to me.

Ghost: None taken. I’d rather be alive. But look at where I am now.

Rafal: [calling from the stairwell] Make haste, ghost!

Ghost: [voice echoing, to Rafal] That's your responsibility. I've suffered enough for several lifetimes already.

Rhian: More than my br—

Ghost: Yes, much more than yours.

Rhian: [shaking his head incredulously, musing,] Same, old, Evil brother...

Ghost: About that—

Rafal: [interjecting, shouting back up] I may be Good, but I’ll never be an Ever!

[The ghost and Rhian eye each other and try not to laugh.]

Rhian [to the ghost, pleadingly]: Keep me company while he's gone, why don't you?

Ghost: [shrugs, declaring,] I have nothing better to do. And, it's... nice, to have you around again. I should've stayed... all those years ago when I had my chance... [his voice trails off] I apologize, for abandoning you, Rhian.

Rhian: Not your apology to give, but thank you.

Ghost: [looks down at Rafal from the tower window] He may still apologize to you, someday...

[phoenix-manga]

Yuu No. 83 Birthday Vignette

"A party? For me...? Oh, how nice of you. Oh, but make sure Shin and Ghidorah don't fight over the cake, okay?" - Yuu No. 83

NRC School Newspaper A Birthday Interview with Yuu No. 83

Grimm: First off, henchman. I, the Great Grimm, would like to wish you a happy birthday!

Yuu No. 83: Thanks, Grimm.

Grimm: Now, onto the questions! Firstly, I would like to know how you found something like Shin and Ghidorah, and why do they look so weird?

Yuu No. 83: Ah... They're a special kind of organism. Something ancient, yet new. Like an endangered species, yeah? Doesn't this world have all sorts of magical beasts?

Grimm: Is that so? Sounds fishy...

Yuu No. 83: *nervous chuckle* I'm sure you're much more iconic than any magical best, Grimm.

Grimm: Fufu~! Yeah, I am! Not even a dragon can be more popular than the Great Grimm!

Yuu No. 83: But Shin beats you in being the cutest *smirk*

Grimm: Wha-! Hey! I'm much cuter than that chihuahua thing anyday! You just have a bad eye for cuteness...

===

Grimm: Next, what is up with your name, Yuu? And why is your last name 83? It sounds very weird to have a number for a last name...

Yuu No. 83: Oh, you probably didn't know...

But "Yuu" is the nickname everyone in NRC decided to give me because they couldn't remember my number ID.

Grimm: How hard could it be to remember 83?

Yuu No. 83: It's actually 083-116...

Grimm: Funya!? That's it?! No real name or anything!?

Yuu No. 83: Let's just say... I grew up somewhere militaristic. There were a lot of "kids" in that facility- I mean, "boarding house".

They couldn't give all of us names so they used numbers to be more orderly... But I do agree that it seems out of place.

Grimm: How many were you all living in that place?

Yuu No. 83: Umm... about a thousand.

Grimm: Aren't you cramped in there?!

Yuu No. 83: It was a really big "boarding house", okay? So, can we drop the subject and move onto the next question... please.

===

Grimm: What's your favorite food?

Yuu No. 83: Noodles! I love the broth, the toppings and I love the variety. I am a huge fan of beef noodles!

It's so good to eat on a cold day or when you get sick.

Grimm: Noodles aren't that full of meat though, if it were me, I would want a big juicy steak!

Wait... now that I think about it what do Shin and Ghidorah eat?

Yuu No. 83: Well... Shin eats mostly anything, sweets, meat, and fruits. But he likes raw meat the most. It's quite hard to stock up, especially when I'm not that good at hunting...

And I don't want to impose on Rook even if he was offering to help.

As for Ghidorah... he eats minerals. He doesn't eat anything else other than that. I tried but they all end up being thrown away... or at me. *scowls at Ghidorah*

Grimm: I can understand, rocks taste good too if you pick the right ones!

Yuu No. 83: ...

===

Grimm: By the way... what's with that pink little box that you always carry in your pocket?

Yuu No. 83: It's my taser.

Grimm: What's it for?

Yuu No. 83: It's for self defense. Just a press of the button and... ZAP! They get stunned long enough for me to counterattack or run away. Useful, isn't it?

Grimm: You must be paranoid or something... Do you really need something that severe?

Yuu No. 83: This thing is the only thing keeping us away from being squeezed by Floyd.

Grimm: Good point...

===

Grimm: Look at all the gifts! Which ones do you like best, Yuu?

Yuu No. 83: Professor Crewel gave me these custom harnesses to carry Shin and Ghidorah around. It doesn't lessen the weight, but at least I have both my hands unoccupied!

Though, Shin is the only one I bring around campus. Ghidorah is too heavy to carry on my side. I have to hold him in the front.

His weight makes my back sore...

Grimm: He is bigger than Shin.

Yuu No. 83: Then Vil gave me this ring that was modeld after his crown. I don't wear much jewelry, but I like the simple yet elegant design of the ring.

Grimm: I bet it's worth a lot of madols!

Yuu No. 83: It probably is... And I feel so scared to acidentally scratch it.

Grimm: What's this one?

Yuu No. 83: Oh, that's the last of my favorites. Deuce actually took me to a place where we can spin gacha machines.

I spent a good chunk of my savings to get a bunch of cute and tiny figurines, hehe!

Grimm: You seem oddly fixated on those things. You don't even use them for anything.

Yuu No. 83: Hey, it's just a hoard, okay? I don't judge you for stuffing mountains of tuna cans under the bed.

Grimm: Urk! Anyway... happy birthday once again, Yuu. This concludes the interview from yours truly, the Great Grimm!

[cozzzynook]

Hot Rods spark is acting up and he's in the medbay after having a bad attack. He's in a lot of pain and not feeling good. His brother Bee goes to visit him and Hot Rod asks him to find Soundwave for him.

At first he's confused until he realizes this is the Decepticon he's been seeing.

Hot rod has spark flutters and because of this his spark sometimes flickers causing him intense pain. This wasn’t a simple flutter but a spark sizzle. A spark sizzle doesn’t sound as dangerous as a flicker but a flicker is still a spark ignited. A spark sizzle is when the spark is trying to go out, a flutter is just a series of really bad hitches.

His spark sizzles and he passes out from the pain but only after a frame shake. Its a seizure for their species and it takes a lot of a mech.

Hot rod wakes up in berth hooked up to a bunch of wires and he can’t really sigh because his chassis hurts too much to do that. He’s in and out of recharge for a few days and finally wakes to see Bee sleeping besides him with worry lines on his face plates.

He rests a servo on Bee’s helm and that wakes his little brother.

Hot rod comforts him and tells him everythings going to be okay and that he’s fine.

Hot rod had a bad reaction to the energon he consumed. Someone had taken his and needing fuel for his meds he drank it anyway because if he hadn’t it could’ve been worse.

The reaction was so bad because the mech had slipped a drug in their energon and so now high command was doing a sweep for drugs.

When he calmed bee down enough, Hot rod asked a favor of him.

He asked for bee to give a certain mech a message chip. He tells him not to listen to it because it’ll self destruct after its played once for safety.

Bee agrees since he knows they both are seeing cons and he can better sneak over with Stars help. He takes the chip and waits till nightfall. Star is already waiting for him and escorts him to the hiding place Hot rod told him about.

When he gets there he’s in complete shock.

Standing there is Soundwave who looks in alarm at the two.

“Wait! I have a message from my brother!”

Soundwave looks skeptical but the mech never raised his blaster at him, just Starscream.

“Hand it over.”

Bee goes to give the chip but Star takes it and tosses it to Soundwave who growls at the seeker.

“I’m not endangering my conjunx,” Starscream hissed pushing Bee behind him.

“I won’t touch him. He is the brother of my conjunx.”

Bee blushed and lost concentration when he heard Starscream call him his conjunx.

‘He wants to conjunx me?’

By the time Bee came back to himself, he was in Starscreams arms and being flown away.

“Your brother could’ve at least gotten better taste.”

“Star!”

A few nights later, the cameras to Hot rods room looped without anyone knowing as Soundwave snuck in with Bee’s help and servo fed Hot rod energon soup to help his recovery which made Bee gush at their cute moment before being kicked out.

[skitskatdacat63]

And here is the bull himself >:)

+ lore notes

I was like, ah I should make the shadow something interesting, and then I'm like GIVE HIM BULL HORNS???? OKAY SURE !!!!! I'm glad such thoughts can strike at 7 in the morning....thanks brain. But hehehe I'm glad bcs now this matches up super well with the Nando one!

New ship dynamic: who's the bull and who's the matador :)

I think, in this AU, Fernando is generally pretty fond of Seb when he first meets him. Like "ah yes my very own protégé, very nice, I shall mold him in my image." But then Seb starts veering off that course. Bullfighting is all about being dramatic, but Seb maybe has a bit too much(🤏) flair for the dramatic. This escalation starts while he's still Fernando's assistant but he keeps it generally at bay. But god when he becomes a matador himself, he's just off the rails insane.

Bullfighting, to me, is a sport about reckless endangerment of one's self in the pursuit of drama and performance(its literally described as a tragedy in three acts.) But Fernando thinks Seb endangers himself *too* much, not because he cares or anything, but he's making a mockery of the sport!! Especially when Seb starts doing that bull hand symbol(seen above), Fernando just keeps become more enraged with him, not anything to do with the fact that Seb is threatening his records and threatening his own wellbeing, nah of course not.

Seb's gesture is making a mockery of the sport, he's disrespecting the culture, the very nature of it, blah blah blah. Jenson once asks Fernando, after noticing him seething while watching Seb do his gesture, "Which bull are you really trying to defeat?" One could also describe Fernando and Seb's relationship as a "tragedy with three acts."

Anyways Fernando gets very tied up with this rivalry. Even after suffering a severe injury(I have yet to decide, but y'know mchonda electrocution core), he quickly returns to the sport, loath to let Seb get any more headway. And then Seb gets injured, poor little sweet Seb, and neither of them can handle it. Though I already covered this in my prev lore post 🤭 and I think I put it pretty viscerally there so!! I digress.

They're both matadors, but the bull itself is not the only bull Fernando wants to conquer. Conquer as in death? Hm.

[vigilskeep]

do you have a preference for bethany as a grey warden or circle mage? or does it depend on your hawke?

all bethanys are good bethanys but i’ve come to the conclusion that circle mage bethany will always be first in my heart and i’d LOVE to discuss why

act 1 bethany feels powerless and lonely. she hasn’t had a fellow mage at her side since her father died. she’s caught between guilt at what her family has had to sacrifice for her sake, and resentment that it’s a sacrifice she never even asked them to make. she didn’t choose to be an apostate like her father did. nobody ever gave her the option if she wanted to spend a lifetime on the run, endangering everyone who loves her, rather than accept the world she lives in. she’s a twenty year old who just lost her home and half her family; is it really any wonder that she’s as drawn to the relative stability of a life in the circle as she is afraid of it? a life where she wouldn’t be marked out and isolated, but among people like her, who understand more than even the most well-meaning non mage sibling ever could? why does being born a mage make it her job to fight this, instead of take the life she’s given?

a bethany who goes to the wardens is pushed there by her desperate sibling; a bethany who goes to the circle personally agrees to come willingly, despite hawke’s protests. it’s a minimal but very defining change in agency. her experience in the circle, too, is what she makes of it. we see little of the life she builds there, but she is clearly able to excel and be recognised for her own merits; even if it weren’t mentioned in her dialogue how impressed they are with her training, and in her letters how she has taken on the role of helping with the young initiates who also in game clearly look up to her, we constantly see her at the first enchanter’s right hand. bethany’s circle mage dialogue in the dlcs—some of the best dialogue in the game, imo—makes it clear that not fighting the circle is a choice she’s made. she tells anders, “i’m not leashed”, “i can pretend to be miserable if you want, but i’m not”. she tells aveline, “life is what i need it to be.” if hawke offers to help her escape, she says the circle is comfortable... for now. she’s smart, she’s capable of defying and deceiving the templars when required, and she’s making her own decision to do her best within the circle and see what comes of it. maybe it’s not healthy for her to give in to her imprisonment. in protective older sibling mode, i hate to see her talk like that about the mistreatment and danger she faces, as if it’s acceptable. but what both hawke and bethany can get from the circle mage route is that her life outside the circle can’t really be freedom either until it’s her choice

in the circle mage route, bethany can’t be badgered into learning her own self-worth by well-meaning lecturers. she has to learn from her own experiences, and choose the mages’ fight on her own terms. thematically, i think it’s one of the most compelling thoughts on the topic of the circle that da2 has to offer: someone with an open mind experiencing it, being grateful in some aspects for what it offers, exploring that it may not be as bad as some apostates fear and it may be possible to salvage a life from it, but still absolutely ultimately learning from it that mages deserve more. she says so outright: that her time in the circle is what she needed to “see the need to free my fellow mages”. not just learning the value of the life she once had and her own freedom, but taking up an active purpose that also brings into play the community she gained from the circle. it’s a brilliant, nuanced arc for her and it makes me so so proud. it also makes you see the chantry explosion with a distinct perspective and in, i think, its best light: as a call to action that sharpens the battle lines into focus, and acts as the final catalyst to let mages see what’s necessary past their fear. for me it’s hard to imagine what i couldn’t justify, watching my little sister finally believe her freedom is worth fighting for

narratively, it’s my favourite route for hawke’s overall story as well. bethany going to the circle defines the stakes of da2, with meredith’s sword permanently at your little sister’s throat, creating a desperate tone no other type of playthrough can offer. the warden route on the other hand distances her from the story, making her cameos feel sudden and stilted. the conclusion of da2 is very much about circle mage bethany, both her life and her way of life on the line, hawke finally able to defend or take up arms against the last of their family. by contrast, when grey warden bethany shows up to take whatever side hawke does, it gives the impression to me that she’s only talking like she’s completed a character arc during the last straw because, well, the writers know this is where the game ends. we don’t see or earn her progress. the circle mage bethany route also feels like hawke’s choices are really challenged, rather than hawke making an executive decision to “save” bethany in yet another way she didn’t ask for, and then basically waiting until she comes around to it and apologises for being mad

that being said, i adore bethany getting to fully express her bitterness and anger as a warden, and i think her hatred of that path makes her one of the most interesting warden characters in the entire series. it also involves her unlearning her repression of her negative feelings, a repression which absolutely continues to be at play in the way she defends her life in the circle and downplays its horrors for the sake of those that love her. the warden route definitely has its merits. also her warden staff does fire damage which is LITERALLY her thing why tf does her circle mage staff do nature damage i hate it here genuinely

[kylejsugarman]

as a dedicated andrea crusader i must know, how does au^2 impact andrea and jesse's relationship? do baby and brock get along? i'm picturing it in my head and🥹🥹

ANDREA CRUSADERS UNITE, u are one of the ultimate andrea understanders 🥺 so their relationship is a little different in au squared!! around the time that jesse infiltrates the recovery group and actually meets andrea is the same time that demi moves back to abq and tracks him and baby down. he and demi have a weird, semi-formal relationship for a while before they start developing romantic feelings for one another and during that time, jesse dates andrea. any initial plans to just sell meth directly to her as a recovering addict and put together his own walter white-esque "fund" for his daughter instantly evaporate when he sees brock and realizes that andrea is also just a single parent trying to navigate addiction. they're so similar and jesse, having not encountered anyone in this specific situation yet, kind of desperately clasps onto her. he really likes her and she likes him, but a big part of it is truly just. jesse desperately wanting to be around someone who Understands. and andrea does understand!! she has support from her mom, but she had to figure out a lot of this child-rearing stuff by herself and sees a lot of her slightly younger self in jesse. the way he wants to provide the Best for his kid, but doesn't trust anyone else to give it to her. she feels the same way about brock a lot of the time, even though she knows now that its not necessarily them vs the world.

the thing about au squared andrea is that she realizes through observing jesse's behavior and his feelings about raising baby that he's a very sweet guy who is great to be around, but they are not on the same timeline and she doesnt really feel like "dating" is the right arrangement for them. andrea's not in a place yet where she wants to incorporate a romantic relationship into her life and jesse, god bless him, has an overeagerness to him that tells her that he's diving into this because he badly wants A Connection, which doesn't necessarily have to be romantic!! she talks to him about this and asks instead if they can just be friends, so that's what they become. andrea is his dear friend :') jesse still cares very deeply for her and brock and tries to spoil them both (if he's going to get baby a swagged out play mat, then its only fair that brock gets a sick new transformer toy and andrea gets memory foam slippers for after long shifts on her feet at work. u know. if he's already going to be out). brock adores him, but is initially less enthused about baby because well. she's a baby. she can't really talk coherently or play a significant role in his games and he can't use his toys with smaller, choking hazard parts around her, so he doesn't really know what his mom expects him to do with baby while she and jesse are talking. but he realizes that it's actually kind of fun to assume a "big brother" role (brock's a sweet kid :') he likes to be helpful) and teach baby things; she basically copies whatever he does after a certain point, which is extremely validating to him. plus, she's a pretty patient, docile little playmate, so she can play the role of "building that is on fire that the brave firetruck must extinguish" with tremendous skill. the highlight of his month is when they all go to the zoo together and brock gets to feed a handful of feed to one of the giraffes while baby looks at him just shocked and awed like :O

andrea remains a source of support and eventually befriends demi too, but as things get darker towards the end of the show (post-drew shooting), jesse withdraws a little from her to try to protect her. he already feels responsible for tomas being murdered and drew's killing just reminds him of how nobody, no matter how innocent, is safe from this shit. andrea and brock are too important to him to endanger, even if it means cutting himself off from a good friend. demi visits them a few times while jesse is in captivity just to be around Someone and so baby can play with brock, but it's weirdly uncomfortable and baby isn't acting the same without jesse there and demi soon worries too that the cantillos might become endangered through association with them, so she reluctantly withdraws. once jesse escapes and he and demi and baby make the trip to alaska, he still writes a letter for brock that he gives to ed, but he also writes one for andrea. he wants to thank her for the support she gave him, for guiding him and baby through so much uncertainty, for being such a wonderful woman and friend. "i hope baby grows up to be like u. i want to make sure she grows up to be like u." andrea never learns what became of jesse and baby and demi after the news breaks, but she keeps that letter in her nightstand drawer along with a messy scribble drawing that baby made for her and the ticket stubs from that zoo trip. she doesnt care what the news says. she doesnt care what the dea agents who come to question her think of jesse or their friendship. she knew him, the real him, and she will always love him.