[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"Ooooh, a gentleman," she clicks happily, and turns back to Jill. You two are so cute together!"

She genuinely throws up in her mouth a little, and he gets an unpleasant look on his face. "We're not-"

He starts to speak at the same time. "That isn't it-"

They turn to look at each other. He has that too-familiar snarl on his face that doesn't make her feel any less sick. 

[shyla-writes]

Student 1: "Why does that fish have no eyes?"

Student 2, most exasperated I have ever heard: "Because that's a CLAM."

[shyla-writes]

Me: "Ethically-sourced human meat was not on today's bingo card."

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"You're not enjoying your dinner, Ms. Valentine?"

Of course she i-

Oh. He's joking. "They didn't teach you to cook in clone school, obviously."

"That was not among the memories and skills they fed into my brain upon my conception, no."

Oooh. That hit a nerve, didn't it? "Guess they thought you'd be doing more than sitting in a safehouse, trying to provide enough info to the enemy to be kept around."

[shyla-writes]

Jill thinks about turning back instead, dumping him on Chris, saying, "I lied, I can't do this. I can't be near him without wanting to do something horrible to myself and him." 

But then what? Chris would give her that pitying look. He'd throw the copy at someone with a life, someone who shouldn't have to deal with this for six months, and then they'd probably commit her again.

So instead of entertaining the idea of going back, she keeps thinking about killing him. She catches sight of him again in the rear-view mirror again by accident, and catches pale, nearly colorless blue eyes staring back at her.

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A family in five acts.

(Post-Advent Children, the Strife-Lockhart family grows by three.)

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

And then…and then it will be like it was before. Everything's changed…the whole world will be different. No more Shinra, no more SOLDIER, no more Mako, no more Midgar. But not for Elmyra Gainsborough.

She wants to yell. Maybe at herself, maybe at the Planet. Why? Why does she always end up alone? Why does she let fate take and take?

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

That's Hawke, the one and only. Although in the couple weeks that he's known her, that doesn't feel out of character. She told Merrill that she missed the dirt in Ferelden, or something.

(Three Fereldens in the Free Marches)

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"I miss the stars," you say.

It's true. The stars, and the sun, and your home in Niflheim before the darkness fell. You miss the Ardyn of those days. Your dear Chancellor who had been eccentric perhaps, but not evil. Or perhaps you had just been naive.

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"It's -" Luna takes a minuscule breath in, and her eyes drift from his to a middle distance in the room. "It's a lovely dress, regardless."

His shirt feels too tight, whereas a moment ago it had felt too loose. "Yes. I'm sure it will be a lovely wedding."

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"Oh!" He says, that little excited lilt in his voice. "That's good, I'm going to write that down! " And Miranda just rolls her eyes.

(Not all the tips get into the book, but they all mean something, to them.)

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"It's just strange that we can afford to worry about the quality of the lemonade, at this point. I'm just glad to have some sense of normalcy again. This house, this food, that swing in the front room. I hadn't adjusted well to the apocalypse. If we're ever forced to evacuate out on the road again, or if something happens here, I'm not sure I'm going to make it."

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Prompto's voice drops, and you press your ear harder to the doorway. "D'you...know what I did? To Y/N?"

That snaps him out of whatever polygon-related haze he was in remarkably fast. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean...it's obvious, dude. She totally hates me. And that's - it's okay. I'm not trying to complain, I just wish I knew what I did."

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Be strong, Ifalna, says a voice in her head that sounds like her mother.

(They arrive at the Nibelhiem mansion.)

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

They're a ragtag bunch, that's for sure. Not that the same can't be said for their little reunited family.

(Beth meets Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene on the road to Virginia)

[shyla-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

You wait and wait and wait, but Nibelhiem isn't a friendly town full of people who will give you errands to run to try to quell your anxiety. Instead, you spend the better part of three days pacing the hotel lobby. Zack challenges nearly every visitor to a squats contest and maintains a smile, but you can't do it. You can't stop thinking about him down there, alone.

Eventually, you go back down there. It's like he isn't even in the room with you. Dark bags surround his green eyes, and his skin looks waxy and even more pale than usual. He's muttering to himself over a table covered in papers, but it almost doesn't sound like actual words. When you call his name the first four times, he doesn't reply. So you sit for another minute and watch.

"You're scaring me," you say finally, voice shaky and unsure. 

[shyla-writes]

Miranda Pryce lives, along with the rest of them, and has to decide who she wants to be.