#Glory is Below Land

[dead-end-draws]

Tribe Banner concept art:

Folks seemed to enjoy my WOF WIPS, so here’s more concept art for y’all! My favorite thing about WOF is the potential for world building. I thought it’d be cool to see a tribe emblem represented on a banner/flag of sorts:

Read below for some of the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywing Banner:

Skywings pride themselves on 3 things; treasure, fire, & their enormous, soaring wingspan which steals the sky.

As such, portrayed on the banner, the fabric (often made with dyed cow or goat leathers) resembles draped dragon wings. Two Skywings embrace a goblet, which is spewing golden fire.

The banner is often held aloft with iron or gold poles, signifying to other tribes their wealth and pride.

Mudwing banner:

These banners are fashioned with leather hides from cow or crocodile skin, held aloft with bamboo, and painted with a Talon-print & Reed crest.

The talonprint symbolizes community and the strength of Mudwing sibling bonds. The reed border unifies all Mudwings regardless of their relationship to home; the swamp. Bigwings are often seen carrying these into battle, signifing their status and making it easier for a sib to locate them in the flurry of a fight.

Sandwing Banner:

Sandwing flags are made with camel skins and dyed cactus leather.

A crest shows a Sandwing coiled around a beaming sun, a reminder that despite the revered 3 moons, Sandwings are born to thrive in sunlight.

The fabric is cut in a way to mimic the swooping dunes of Sandwing territory. And the poles of the flags are equally intricate, with scorpion tails and golden ropes which frame the banner.

These flags make prominent appearances in parades, festivals, and markets, and even miniature version are often displayed in homes or as tapestries/carpets.

Seawing banner:

These banners are often seen displayed in royal quarters or councils, or above land to mark territory.

A nautilus shell crest on front echoes the swirl-pattern associated with royal Seawings: The banner’s borders resemble waves and a dragon swimming beneath their surface.

These are crafted with rich materials, strung with seashells, pearls, silver dollars, and deep oceanic color fabric. There is severe penalty for Seawings found plucking treasure from the banners, as they are a direct symbol of royalty.

Nightwing Banner:

These banners emphasize the Nightwings’ relationship to the moon, their source of power and praise. The material, a contrast of white stitching against purple velvet showcases moonlight and night, black scales against stars, magic and mystery.

They are seen decorated with 3 moons at the top and a centered dragon reaching up into the night sky.

These banners were often used during the war as secret code by spies to deliver to other tribes. Prophecy scrolls often came attached, delivering cryptic messages or secrets in the night. These banners all helped add to the secrecy of the Dragonet Prophecy, and kept tribes on their toes around Nightwings.

Rainwing banner:

Rainwing banners are not used for battle purposes like other tribes, most are mere decoration, location indicators, and have no unified design.

However, It is said back when Rainwings left the rainforest to trade pre-war, this particular banner design was often raised above Rainwing merchant tables, and showcases the coiled tail of a Rainwing with leaves, vines, and other sights from the rainforest adorning a bamboo pole. Bright color combinations accentuated the flag to entice curious customers.

Now, only one tattered version of the original Rainwing banner remains, displayed proudly in Queen Glory’s quarters, a reminder that building the Rainwings’ community is their most important goal.

Icewing Banner:

These banners reflect the same standards Icewings hold themselves to.

Like a visual of the rankings themselves, each banner is cut perfectly from an Icewing’s trained, serrated claws to resemble icicles, and crafted with fine blue stitching.

Flags are often held aloft with perfectly polished narwhal horn or bone, and can be inlaid with sapphires or diamond.

Icewing soldiers are often gifted these during ceremonies, and perform training exercises with the flags to test their stance/attentiveness. The crest showcases the swift sharpness of ice through a flying dragon, and a snowflake toward the bottom reminding Icewings that even minuscule snowflakes, small things, should be perfect in form.

[lovemomhatepolice]

jj maybank nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

BEFORE YOU START READING: THERE IS A SPOILER OF SEASON 4 AT THE BOTTOM, SO IF YOU WANT TO AVOID IT, DON'T READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE BELOW

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Before JJ got involved with you, he was hardly the type to pay attention to aftercare. All the girls that came before were either only for one night or he didn't care enough about them to be concerned about what would come after their intercourse. It was the same for their part, so sex alone was enough. However, when he met you and your first intercourse occurred, JJ felt he had to do something more. Since then, he talks to you for a long time afterwards, you go to take a bath together to embrace each other after intercourse, and he is even more clingy than always

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Oh, JJ is a big fan of his body. He is well aware that he is damn handsome and has a well-sculpted body, so he often shows it off. And in you? JJ appreciates everything, really. He loves your hands, because he can grab them when he wants and intertwine his fingers with yours. He loves your lips, which he could kiss over and over again. He loves your thighs, which he keeps lying on and squeezing them. But you can't take away from the fact that he's pussy drunk. What the heck, but JJ loves your pussy the most and whenever he gets the chance, he's in it or by it. That's it

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Creampie!!! Has anyone heard this? CREAMPIE! JJ loves, adores, well normally he would give up everything just for the sight of you with your combined juices flowing out of your pussy

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) JJ doesn't have too many dirty secrets, maybe some kind of triangle? Or I don't know, an orgy? Just kidding. JJ is able to give up everything just for that, until you finally dominate him to the max like that. Mostly he is the one who dominates, but every night he dreams about it until you finally do it

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Let's not lie to ourselves, JJ is a bit of an Outer Banks man whore, so his experience is quite high. The way he works his tongue, his fingers, let alone his cock, oh god. God of sex, there's no denying it

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Cowgirl. JJ loves your breasts and the fact that he has them in full glory in front of him in this position is downright addictive to him. He can touch them, suck them, kiss them. Likewise, he has great access to your face, which he loves to look at and see your face contorted in the pleasure you both give each other. Plus, I've already mentioned how much he dreams of you dominating him. And this position falls a bit under that, especially when he doesn't help you from below and you can lead you to orgasm alone

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) This is JJ, everyone knows his being clumsy in life. It's the same in bed. Many things amuse him and his mouth doesn't close during your intercourse. He was even amused by the way the spring in the couch at John B's house flew out when he just happened to be taking you from behind. Well, John B was not amused by that….

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) JJ has a lot of hair on his head and legs, so I think he's not completely shorn there either. But so that it's not sloppy and kept in order. As for you, I think he would also prefer it not to be thick there. Although too often it lands between your legs to worry about silly hair. As long as it's hygienic and the rest he doesn't care. And I even think that some patterning would excite him

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Yes, as I mentioned - since he is with you, he has seen that being romantic in life is not bad at all. And although he sometimes fails (he almost burned down the Chateau when he tried to make a romantic evening with candles), he still tries. He likes to chic you romantic baths, admittedly in the Jacuzzi, but you don't complain. Bubbles, cheap wine and JJ, who is all over you, is all you need.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Maybank is still an excitable teenager and often thinks with his dick, so he needs to shake off the feeling that still holds him down. Most of the time then he finds himself immediately around you so you can help him, but when you're really not there and you can't give him yourself, well, he's left to masturbate to your pictures, which he has in a special folder. Or the videos you amateurishly recorded one day for fun

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) I don't know if you can call it kink, but JJ often likes to have sex with you in public. That is, it's not strange for him to suddenly have sex in the sea or do you good on the boat when you were originally supposed to go “fishing”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Anywhere, really. JJ has the “I can here and now” method, really, it's not even a joke anymore. If only you are ready, he is able to do anything just to get inside you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Just you. JJ sees you and already has a problem in his pants. Well, what can I say? He's totally pussy whipped and all it takes is one nod from you and he's already ready for action. Your presence in the same room already has him even begging so he can have sex with you or at least touch you a little bit

A/N: part two will be here soon! (If anyone wants me to tag them - let me know in the comments) I will be terribly pleased if you reblogged it :) Of course, if you liked it! I want to create a larger Outer Banks community here, because for now I have reached a small number of this fandom

SPOILER: as you already know, season 4 left us in despair and grief after JJ's death. however, I am not going to stop writing about him. love you JJ, rest in peace sunshine :(

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[arilevenatz]

Ironheart

Pairing: captain!hongjoong x reader

Genre: Angst, action

Word count: 13.3k

Warnings: Child Abuse, Blood, injury, graphic Description of Injury, gore, pirate king hongjoong, lethal face card of the cameos (there will be two surprise cameos)

A/N: so yeah captain hongjoong is here. Not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. It has been in the back of my mind for a long time and I have finally written it.I don't know if it's good or not you guys will be the judge of that! and please like and reblog, it really motivates me to write, thank you!!

The sea was a vast expanse of restless waves and ominous clouds as the pirate ship Halazia sliced through the water like a predator on the hunt. Its sails, black as midnight, bore a crimson emblem—a snarling dragon that struck fear into the hearts of all who dared cross its path. At the helm stood the notorious Captain Hongjoong, a name whispered in fear across the seven seas.

Draped in a long, tattered coat with gold embroidery, Hongjoong’s piercing eyes glimmered with a mix of cunning and menace. His voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, commanded respect—or death. To defy him was to invite the unforgiving depths of the ocean.

The Halazia's crew, a motley band of cutthroats and thieves, worked with disciplined chaos. They revered Hongjoong, not out of loyalty, but out of fear. He was a man who showed no mercy; betrayal was met with the sharp edge of his blade, and failure was punished with cold indifference.

“Land ahead, Captain!” called Yunho, the ship’s navigator, from the crow’s nest.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a sinister grin. “Prepare to drop anchor,” he barked. “Tonight, we take what’s ours.”

The crew scrambled, each man knowing his role as the captain’s plan unfolded. The small port town ahead was quiet, its people unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Hongjoong’s reputation was built on raids like this—swift, brutal, and leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.

Below deck, the Halazia's armory gleamed with weapons. Seonghwa, the ship's relentless quartermaster, handed out cutlasses and pistols to the crew. “Make it quick and clean,” he growled. “The captain doesn’t like loose ends.”

As the Halazia approached the shore under the cover of darkness, Hongjoong unsheathed his sword, its blade catching the faint light of the moon. His voice cut through the night like a blade.

“Tonight, we remind the world why the name Halazia is whispered with terror.”

The crew roared in agreement, their bloodlust ignited. For Hongjoong, it wasn’t just about gold or glory—it was about power. And no one, not kings or gods, would stand in his way.

The Halazia glided silently into the small port under the shroud of night. The unsuspecting town, nestled on the edge of the island, was quiet save for the distant crash of waves against the shore. Its residents were blissfully unaware that terror had arrived at their doorstep.

“Lower the anchor,” Seonghwa ordered in a hushed tone, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened town. The crew worked swiftly, the only sounds were the creak of ropes and the splash of water.

Hongjoong stepped onto the gangplank, his boots striking the wood with deliberate force. “No mercy,” he commanded, his voice cold and unforgiving. “Take everything. Leave nothing behind.”

Yunho and Mingi led the first group ashore, their movements swift and calculated. Mingi’s massive frame carried crates of supplies with ease, while Yunho mapped their route through the maze of narrow streets.

Wooyoung darted through the shadows, his nimble hands prying open doors and snatching valuables with practiced ease. He hummed a quiet tune to himself, a stark contrast to the fear he left in his wake.

San, ever eager for a fight, kicked down the door of the local tavern, sending its patrons scrambling. “Hand it over, or face me!” he roared, his blade gleaming in the dim light.

Jongho remained by the cannons, his sharp eyes fixed on the town. He was ready to unleash hellfire at the first sign of resistance, though he doubted any would dare.

Yeosang followed the raiding party at a measured pace, his medical kit in hand. He had no illusions about the chaos that would ensue, and he was prepared to patch up the crew—or anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.

By the time the town's alarm bell clanged in desperation, it was too late. The Halazia's crew moved like a storm, looting every corner of the town. Gold, food, weapons—nothing was spared.

Hongjoong stood in the center of the chaos, his sword drawn, a chilling smile playing on his lips. The flames of a burning warehouse reflected in his eyes as he declared, “Let this be a lesson to all who think themselves safe. The sea belongs to us.”

As dawn approached, the Halazia sailed away, its hold overflowing with stolen treasures. Behind them, the once-thriving town was left in smoldering ruins, its people haunted by the memory of the dragon-emblazoned sails.

As the first rays of morning sun illuminated the island of Aphynx, its streets bore the grim evidence of the night’s raid. Doors hung off their hinges, market stalls lay in splinters, and the blackened remains of a warehouse sent tendrils of smoke spiraling into the pale sky. The townsfolk gathered in silence, their faces etched with disbelief and despair.

In the center of the town, Mayor paced nervously, his finely embroidered coat now stained with soot and sweat. His eyes darted over the wreckage, his mind racing. Every crate of provisions, every ounce of gold, every weapon had been stripped away. Aphynx was defenseless, vulnerable, and utterly at the mercy of the sea.

“This was no ordinary band of thieves,” he muttered, clutching a scroll of parchment in his trembling hands. “It was them... the crew of Halazia.”

A young messenger arrived, breathless and pale. “Sir, the kingdom must be informed,” he urged. “Without help from Wonderland, we won’t survive another raid.”

Mayor nodded grimly. He knew there was no time to waste. “Prepare my fastest horse,” he commanded. “We ride to the capital immediately.”

By midmorning, the mayor and his escort departed, the sound of hooves echoing through the barren streets. Their destination: Wonderland, the kingdom under whose banner Aphynx pledged fealty. The crown would not take this insult lightly—piracy threatened their trade routes, their reputation, and their wealth.

As the mayor approached the towering gates of Wonderland’s capital city, he steeled himself for the audience with the royal court. He would demand justice, but deep down, he feared that even the kingdom’s might might not be enough to face the legendary Halazia and its fearsome captain.

The kingdom of Wonderland stood as a beacon of strength and unity, its influence stretching across the seven seas. Its towering white walls and majestic spires reflected the brilliance of its rule, and its bustling streets were a testament to the prosperity its people enjoyed. At the heart of this mighty kingdom sat King Eldred, a ruler beloved by his people for his wisdom, fairness, and unwavering commitment to protecting his land.

But what truly set Wonderland apart was its secret weapon: the Nishi. These elite warriors operated in the shadows, their faces concealed behind eerie white masks with two eye slits. The sight of a Nishi was both reassuring and terrifying—they were symbols of the kingdom’s unyielding resolve and its ability to strike from the shadows. Trained in combat, strategy, and espionage, the Nishi were unmatched on the battlefield and in the murky world of subterfuge.

As Mayor Alden stood before King Eldred in the grand throne room, flanked by banners bearing the kingdom’s sigil, he recounted the horrors of the raid. “Your Majesty, Aphynx has been stripped bare,” Alden pleaded, bowing low. “The people have nothing. The Halazia will return unless we act swiftly.”

King Eldred leaned forward on his throne, his sharp eyes narrowing as he processed the report. “The Halazia,” he repeated, his voice measured. “Captain Hongjoong and his crew dare to challenge Wonderland’s peace.”

From the shadows, a figure emerged, silent and imposing. The Nishi wore their signature mask, their presence sending a chill through the room. “Shall we mobilize, Your Majesty?” the Nishi asked in a calm, almost mechanical tone.

The king rose to his feet, his regal robes flowing around him like the waves of the sea. “Not yet,” he declared. “The Halazia is cunning, and we will not be drawn into a hasty response. I want information—where they’ve gone, who their allies are, and what they seek.”

He turned to the Nishi. “Deploy your finest. Track the Halazia. And when the time comes, we will remind the pirates why Wonderland is unchallenged on the seas.”

The masked figure bowed and disappeared as silently as they had arrived. The king’s gaze returned to Alden. “Fear not, Mayor,” Eldred assured him. “Aphynx will be avenged, and the Halazia will pay for its crimes.”

A few days after the raid on Aphynx, the Halazia anchored in a secluded cove to divide their spoils. The crew was in high spirits, reveling in their success, but the mood shifted when a small, unmarked vessel approached their ship under a flag of truce.

A lone messenger, dressed in simple but pristine clothes, was rowed aboard. He carried a scroll sealed with the royal insignia of Wonderland. The sight of the mark immediately put the crew on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to intercept the messenger, his sharp eyes scanning the man for signs of treachery. “State your business,” he demanded coldly.

The messenger bowed respectfully, his voice steady. “I come with a message from His Majesty, King Eldred of Wonderland.”

Hongjoong, seated on a barrel nearby, motioned for Seonghwa to step aside. “Give it here,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. The messenger handed him the scroll with trembling hands.

Breaking the seal, Hongjoong unrolled the parchment. His eyes scanned the elegant script:

> To Captain Hongjoong of the Halazia,

The Kingdom of Wonderland invites you to discuse the recent events at Aphynx. We believe diplomacy may resolve this matter without further bloodshed or hostility.

You are offered safe passage to the island of Eletheris, where a representative of Wonderland will await you.

We hope you will consider this opportunity to avoid unnecessary conflict.

Signed,

His Majesty King Eldred*

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he handed the letter to Seonghwa. “Diplomacy?” he mused. “From Wonderland? Either they’ve grown soft, or they’re planning something.”

San, ever eager for confrontation, crossed his arms and scowled. “It’s a trap. No kingdom invites pirates to talk unless they’ve got blades hidden behind their backs.”

Mingi, thoughtful but cautious, shrugged. “Could be a way to buy time. They might not know where we are and want to stall while they gather their forces.”

Wooyoung, leaning against a mast with a sly grin, added, “Or maybe they’re scared of us. That raid shook them up.”

Seonghwa handed the letter to Yunho, who studied it carefully. “The location is Eletheris,” Yunho noted. “Neutral ground, but also isolated. Perfect for an ambush.”

Jongho, standing by the cannons, spoke up in his usual calm tone. “We should assume the worst. If we go, we prepare for a fight.”

Hongjoong tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, deep in thought. Finally, he stood. “We’ll go,” he decided, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crew. “If Wonderland wants to talk, we’ll give them a show. But we’ll be ready for anything.”

A sinister grin spread across his face as he turned to Seonghwa. “Prepare the ship. We’ll make our move at nightfall.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared question their captain. Suspicious as they were, they trusted Hongjoong’s instincts. The Halazia would sail for Eletheris—not for peace, but for the opportunity to show Wonderland just how dangerous a cornered pirate could be.

As the crew debated the letter, Yeosang emerged from below deck, wiping his hands clean with a cloth. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered group, noting the tension in the air.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his calm voice cutting through the discussion.

Seonghwa handed him the letter without a word. Yeosang read it quickly, his expression unreadable. “An invitation to ‘talk,’” he said, his tone skeptical. He folded the parchment carefully and looked at Hongjoong.

“If this is a trap, which it likely is, I hope you’ve accounted for the injuries we might sustain. I’m running low on supplies after Aphynx, and if Wonderland has their warriors, this won’t be a simple skirmish.”

Hongjoong’s smirk remained steady as he met Yeosang’s gaze, his voice laced with confidence. “Prepare for the worst, but we’re not backing down.”

Yeosang nodded, handing the letter back to Seonghwa. “I’ll do what I can. Just try not to get yourselves killed unnecessarily. I’d rather not have to stitch anyone back together because of bad decisions.”

With that, he turned and disappeared below deck again, leaving the others to their discussion.

The Halazia arrived at Eletheris under the cover of twilight, its black sails stark against the fading light. The crew stood ready, their hands brushing weapons as they prepared for whatever awaited them. The island, a neutral ground known for its wild forests and rocky shores, seemed unusually quiet as they approached the dock.

As the crew disembarked, they were met by a contingent of Wonderland’s warriors. At the forefront stood a tall, imposing man clad in gleaming armor, a crimson cloak flowing behind him. His sharp features radiated authority, and his piercing gaze swept over the pirates like a hawk assessing prey.

“I am General Kael of Wonderland,” the man announced, his voice steady and commanding. “Welcome to Eletheris, Captain Hongjoong. His Majesty extends his gratitude for your willingness to meet.”

Behind Kael stood a line of warriors, their stances disciplined, their weapons polished to a deadly sheen. Among them were four figures that immediately caught the pirates’ attention—the Nishi.

Clad in flowing black cloaks, their white masks with two eye slits were hauntingly featureless. The presence of the Nishi sent a ripple of unease through the Halazia's crew.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “A grand welcome for pirates,” he remarked with a faint smirk. “I wonder if this is hospitality or intimidation.”

Kael’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile. “Perhaps a little of both. The king values peace, but Wonderland does not take threats lightly.”

Seonghwa exchanged a glance with Hongjoong, his hand hovering near his sword. San, standing nearby, muttered under his breath, “They’re itching for a fight.”

Kael gestured inland, toward a path that wound through dense forest. “His Majesty awaits you at the royal outpost further inland. You will be escorted there. I trust you and your crew will conduct yourselves appropriately.”

Hongjoong inclined his head, his smirk unyielding. “Lead the way, General.”

As the crew followed the warriors into the forest, the Nishi flanked them silently, their presence a constant reminder of Wonderland’s power. The forest was thick and eerily quiet, save for the crunch of boots on the dirt path.

Yeosang walked near the rear of the group, his gaze flickering between the Nishi. “If this is a trap, they’ve gone to great lengths to set it,” he murmured to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa nodded subtly. “Stay sharp. If they wanted us dead, they’d have done it already. This is a show of strength.”

As they neared the outpost, the imposing silhouette of a fortified structure came into view. Wonderland was not just extending an invitation—it was making a statement.

As the crew of the Halazia trudged along the forest path, flanked by the silent Nishi and Wonderland’s warriors, tension hung thick in the air. Despite their outward composure, the pirates exchanged quiet whispers, their curiosity about the masked figures overwhelming their usual bravado.

Wooyoung leaned closer to Yunho, his voice barely audible. “What’s with the creepy masks? Who walks around like that?”

Yunho shrugged, his brow furrowed. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing solid. Some say the Nishi are assassins, trained from birth to kill without hesitation.”

San, walking ahead, glanced back with a scoff. “Assassins? They look more like ghosts. It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for.”

Mingi, ever the practical one, muttered, “I’ve never seen anyone move like them. It’s unnatural. Did you see how they didn’t make a sound, even on the dock?”

Jongho, his tone calm but wary, added, “If Wonderland brought four of them here, they must be expecting trouble. No kingdom wastes resources like that for a simple meeting.”

Seonghwa, catching their murmurs, spoke softly but firmly. “Focus. Whatever they are, we’re not here to fight them. Not yet.”

Yeosang, his keen eyes studying the Nishi out of the corner of his vision, finally chimed in. “I’ve heard whispers in ports about them,” he said. “The Nishi are Wonderland’s shadow—their secret weapon. They’re not just warriors; they’re spies, assassins, and strategists. Their masks are said to symbolize detachment from emotion. No mercy, no hesitation.”

Wooyoung shivered, his usual smirk replaced by unease. “Sounds like a nightmare. You think they’re human under those masks?”

Yeosang gave him a faint, enigmatic smile. “Human, yes. But how much humanity is left in them? That’s another question.”

Hongjoong, walking slightly ahead, glanced back at the group with a sharp look. “Enough,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Whatever they are, we’ll deal with them if we have to. Until then, keep your wits about you. Wonderland’s trying to intimidate us, and we won’t give them the satisfaction.”

The crew fell silent, their unease replaced by steely determination. The Nishi remained as still and silent as statues, their masks giving nothing away, but the pirates knew one thing for sure: they had entered a world far more dangerous than they’d imagined.

The grand hall of Wonderland's palace was an imposing sight, with high arches and intricate tapestries adorning the walls. The crew of the Halazia stood before King Eldred, whose presence filled the room with an unspoken weight. His regal attire shimmered in the light of the chandeliers, his eyes sharp and calculating as he regarded the pirates.

"Captain Hongjoong, welcome to Wonderland," King Eldred said in a calm, steady voice, his gaze briefly sweeping over the crew before settling on their leader. "You've been quite the thorn in my side. But I believe diplomacy is the best course now."

Hongjoong, arms crossed, met the king's gaze with a wry smile. "I'd agree, Your Majesty. But let's not pretend this is anything but a show of power. You want to make sure we don't think we can walk away from this, don't you?"

Before King Eldred could respond, a sudden movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. A man-seemingly a servant-lunged toward the king with a dagger in his hand. The room fell into stunned silence as the assassin's target became clear.

But before anyone could act, one of the Nishi moved with blinding speed. In a single motion, the Nishi unsheathed a gleaming blade and, with flawless precision, cut the assassin's hand clean off at the wrist. The dagger fell to the floor, and the man screamed in agony, collapsing to the ground as blood pooled beneath him.

The Nishi stood motionless, their white mask revealing nothing-no satisfaction, no hesitation, just cold efficiency. Without a word, the other Nishi advanced, securing the would-be assassin and dragging him away, the severity of the moment leaving no room for mercy.

The room remained still, the only sound the heavy breathing of the wounded man as he was pulled out of the hall. King Eldred, unfazed by the attempt on his life, turned his eyes back to Hongjoong.

"Do not mistake this for weakness, Captain," Eldred said, his voice unwavering. "My kingdom is protected by those who do not falter, no matter the circumstances."

Hongjoong's gaze shifted to the Nishi, his interest piqued. He had seen many warriors in his time- skilled men and women, each formidable in their own right-but the way the Nishi moved, the speed, the precision-it was something entirely different. These were not mere soldiers. They were something else.

"The Nishi," Hongjoong mused, his voice low enough only for his crew to hear. "What are they? You say they protect this kingdom, but what are they truly?"

Seonghwa, standing beside him, spoke quietly. "Rumors. They're said to be more than just fighters. Spies. Assassins. Trained from the moment they can walk."

Hongjoong's eyes flicked back to the Nishi, who stood motionless at the king's side. His curiosity deepened. "Trained from birth... and no emotion. Just warriors without hesitation."

Yeosang, who had been silently observing the Nishi, nodded. "That's what they say. They wear those masks for a reason-to erase any trace of humanity. They're tools, not people."

Hongjoong's smirk returned, though it was tinged with something new-respect, perhaps even admiration. "Fascinating," he said quietly. "They're more than just soldiers. They are something beyond. And it seems Wonderland's power lies in them.”

King Eldred observed the pirates with a slight tilt of his head. "Indeed. The Nishi are the foundation of my kingdom's strength. Without them, Wonderland would be but a memory. And now, Captain, I suggest we return to the matter at hand."

Hongjoong's gaze lingered on the Nishi, but he returned his focus to the king. "Of course. Let's talk."

But as he spoke, the feeling in the room shifted. There was an unspoken understanding now, one that Hongjoong had picked up on, and he couldn't shake the thought: Wonderland had more to offer than riches. Its true strength was in its shadows- the Nishi. And that, more than anything else, was what intrigued him.

The grand hall of Wonderland fell into a tense silence after the attack on the king, the lingering unease palpable. The pirates stood with guarded expressions, while King Eldred’s steady gaze remained fixed on Hongjoong. The Nishi, ever silent, returned to their posts, their white masks as unreadable as ever.

The king cleared his throat. “Captain Hongjoong, let us return to the reason we are here. Your recent actions on Aphynx have caused great suffering. Wonderland cannot allow such acts to continue.”

Hongjoong, unshaken, stepped forward, his tone casual yet laced with authority. “You want us to stop raiding your lands? That’s fair, Your Majesty. But pirates don’t sail away empty-handed. If you want our respect, you’ll have to offer something in return.”

Eldred’s jaw tightened. “And what is it you seek, Captain? Gold? Resources? Wonderland is not a kingdom that barters with thieves.”

Hongjoong smirked, his gaze shifting to the Nishi. “I don’t want your gold, Your Majesty. I want your shadows—your Nishi.”

The hall erupted into murmurs, and even the ever-stoic Nishi seemed to shift slightly. King Eldred’s expression darkened, his voice rising. “You dare demand my kingdom’s most sacred protectors? The Nishi are not pawns to be traded!”

Hongjoong didn’t flinch, his smirk unwavering. “You want us to stop touching Eletheris and your other territories? Then give me three of your Nishi. And not just any—I want the best. Warriors who can ensure my enemies fear the Halazia as much as they fear Wonderland.”

The king leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his throne. “Do you think I would sell my kingdom’s greatest weapon to a pirate? You overestimate your position.”

Seonghwa, calm and calculating, stepped in. “Your Majesty, consider this: Wonderland’s resources remain untouched, and the Halazia becomes an ally rather than an enemy. You lose nothing, but gain peace.”

The king hesitated, the weight of the decision evident on his face. He turned his gaze to General Kael, who stood at his side. “What do you make of this?”

Kael frowned, his voice low. “Risky, but tactically sound. Better to have them as allies than adversaries.”

Eldred’s eyes returned to Hongjoong, his reluctance clear. “You ask for much, Captain. The Nishi are not merely soldiers. They are trained from birth, their loyalty bound to Wonderland alone.”

Hongjoong’s smirk softened into something more serious. “I don’t need their loyalty, Your Majesty. I need their skill. Three Nishi, and I swear Wonderland’s lands will never again know the Halazia’s wrath.”

The king sat back, his expression one of defeat. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But you will not choose. I will decide which Nishi to send.”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned. “No, Your Majesty. If I’m to trust my life and crew to them, I will choose. Send me your best, or the deal is off.”

Eldred’s fists clenched, but he finally nodded, his voice heavy with resignation. “You will have your three Nishi. But know this, Captain: should you betray this agreement, their blades will be the first to find your throat.”

Hongjoong chuckled, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “We'll see about that.”

The crew of the Halazia had been granted an unexpected stay in Wonderland, a rare opportunity to explore the fabled kingdom and observe its famed Nishi up close. The palace guards kept a watchful eye on the pirates, but Hongjoong and his crew were far from intimidated.

On the second morning, they were led to a large training arena within the palace grounds. The space was surrounded by high walls and overlooked by balconies, where nobles and soldiers often gathered to witness the Nishi in action.

“This,” General Kael announced as the pirates entered, “is where you will decide. The Nishi you seek are among the finest we have. Observe them well.”

The Nishi, clad in their signature black cloaks and white masks, were already in the arena, demonstrating their skills. They moved with an elegance that was almost otherworldly, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they sparred. Each strike was calculated, every movement a testament to their rigorous training.

Hongjoong watched with keen interest, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against a stone pillar. His sharp eyes darted from one Nishi to another, assessing their movements, their precision, and their lethality.

“These aren’t just warriors,” he murmured to Seonghwa, who stood beside him. “They’re artists of war.”

Seonghwa nodded, his gaze fixed on the display. “Efficient. Deadly. They don’t waste energy or time. You’re choosing weapons, not people.”

San, standing nearby, grinned. “Weapons or not, I wouldn’t mind seeing what they’re like in a real fight. Sparring’s one thing. The heat of battle’s another.”

Yeosang, ever observant, added, “Their discipline is unmatched. But loyalty is another matter entirely. They’ve lived their lives for Wonderland. You think they’ll follow us?”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned. “They don’t need to follow us. They need to obey orders. And I intend to make sure they see the Halazia as worthy of their blades.”

As the demonstration continued, one Nishi stood out. Their movements were impossibly fluid, their strikes faster and more precise than the others. Even among the elite, this figure commanded attention.

“That one,” Jongho said, his tone firm. “They’re the one I’d trust in a fight.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, watching another Nishi with blade, who moved with a deadly rhythm. “I like that one. Quick, unpredictable. My kind of chaos.”

Mingi, ever practical, gestured toward a Nishi with a massive glaive. “That one’s strength could turn the tide in a skirmish. We need power as much as speed.”

Hongjoong listened to his crew’s observations, his mind already working. He approached General Kael, his smirk never wavering. “We’ll need more time to observe. But I already have a few in mind.”

Kael nodded stiffly. “Take your time. The king’s orders are clear—you may choose three. But remember, Captain, they are not yours to break. They serve Wonderland first.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the arena. “We’ll see about that.”

The days passed with the pirates watching the Nishi train, each session revealing more of their deadly skills. By the end of their stay, Hongjoong and his crew were ready to make their choices—Nishi who would become part of the Halazia’s legend, and perhaps its greatest weapon.

As the sparring sessions continued, Hongjoong’s sharp eyes scanned the arena, observing the Nishi with a mix of curiosity and calculated intent. His crew murmured among themselves, pointing out impressive maneuvers or debating the merits of strength versus speed.

But then, something—or rather, someone—caught Hongjoong’s attention.

Standing at the far edge of the arena, away from the other Nishi, was a lone figure. The Nishi wasn’t participating in the training but instead stood silently, its posture rigid, observing the others much like Hongjoong and his crew. The way it leaned slightly, arms crossed, almost mirrored Hongjoong’s stance.

This one wasn’t like the others. Its stillness was different—not passive, but deliberate. The air around it seemed to hum with an invisible tension, as if it were assessing not just the Nishi in the arena but the pirates themselves.

Hongjoong tilted his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice cutting through his crew’s chatter.

General Kael followed Hongjoong’s gaze and frowned. “Ah, that one. It is not a combatant today. A senior Nishi, more involved in leadership and strategy.”

“Leadership?” Hongjoong’s curiosity deepened. “What’s its name?”

Kael hesitated. “Nishi do not use names. They are referred to by rank or designation.”

“Then give me its rank,” Hongjoong pressed, looking bored.

“Second Blade,” Kael said reluctantly. “One of the most skilled among them. But it is not intended for this... arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s interest was piqued further. The detached aura of the Second Blade, combined with its air of quiet authority, intrigued him in a way no other Nishi had. There was something magnetic about the figure—a mystery that demanded unraveling.

“That one,” Hongjoong declared, pointing at the Second Blade. “It’ll be my first choice.”

The general’s expression darkened. “Second Blade is not for sale, Captain. It serves the king directly.”

Hongjoong’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You said I could choose. And I choose it. If the king values peace with the Halazia, he’ll agree.”

Kael stiffened but said nothing, knowing this matter would ultimately fall to the king.

The Second Blade, as if sensing the attention, turned its masked face toward Hongjoong. Even with no visible expression, the intensity of its gaze was palpable. For a moment, the pirate captain and the enigmatic Nishi seemed locked in a silent exchange, one that neither his crew nor the other warriors could decipher.

“I like it,” Hongjoong said, more to himself than anyone else. “There’s something about it. A spark I haven’t seen in anyone else here.”

Seonghwa, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about this? It doesn’t seem like the type to take orders easily.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “That’s what makes it interesting. I want the best, and that one’s the best.”

As the pirates continued to watch, Hongjoong knew he had made his decision. He wanted the Second Blade—not just as a warrior for the Halazia but as a puzzle to solve, a force to understand. And he wouldn’t leave Wonderland without it.

After days of observing the Nishi, the Halazia crew finalized their choices. True to Hongjoong’s word, the first pick was the enigmatic Second Blade, the senior Nishi who had caught the captain’s eye with its silent yet commanding presence. The other two selections were equally skilled—strong, agile warriors with ranks just below the Second Blade.

When General Kael informed the chosen Nishi of their new roles, the Second Blade simply nodded, its white mask betraying no reaction. The other two Nishi, larger and imposing, accepted the news with quiet compliance.

As the three assembled before the pirates for their departure preparations, something became strikingly apparent.

“Wait a minute,” Mingi said, breaking the silence. He squinted at the lineup, tilting his head as if trying to reconcile what he was seeing. “Is it just me, or is that one... shorter?”

The crew turned their gazes toward the Second Blade, and sure enough, it stood a full head shorter than the other two Nishi.

Wooyoung snickered, elbowing San. “You picked the shortest one, Captain. Thought you were all about power and presence.”

San crossed his arms, frowning slightly. “Size doesn’t matter if it can fight. You all saw what it did to that attacker in the throne room. Fast and precise.”

“It’s true,” Jongho added, his voice calm but analytical. “Height isn’t everything. If anything, it might make it more agile.”

Still, the contrast was hard to ignore. The Second Blade’s stature seemed almost diminutive next to the hulking forms of the other two Nishi. Yet, despite its smaller frame, there was something undeniably commanding about it.

Hongjoong, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally smirked. “You’re all looking at this the wrong way. It’s not about size. It’s about presence. And that one,” he gestured toward the Second Blade, “has more presence than anyone else here.”

The crew exchanged glances but didn’t argue. They’d seen enough to trust their captain’s instincts, even if the choice seemed unconventional.

Yeosang, ever the practical observer, leaned toward Seonghwa and murmured, “Smaller frame or not, it’s still the most intriguing of the three. The way it carries itself... it’s like it’s always thinking three steps ahead.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement. “If anything, the contrast makes it even more dangerous. People underestimate what they don’t fully understand.”

As the crew prepared to leave Wonderland with their new recruits, the Second Blade remained as silent and enigmatic as ever. Despite its shorter stature, it exuded an undeniable authority that seemed to silence any lingering doubts.

Hongjoong glanced back at it one last time before boarding the Halazia, his smirk growing wider. “Short or not, you’re exactly what I was looking for.”

In the dimly lit barracks where the Nishi rested, the Second Blade stood by a window, its white mask catching the faint moonlight. Across the room, the two newly chosen Nishi, seungcheol and Mingyu, sat on a bench, their masks placed neatly beside them.

Seungcheol, the elder of the two, crossed his arms, his brows furrowed as he broke the silence. “I don’t understand it. Of all the Nishi, why pick you first?” His tone wasn’t hostile, but there was an unmistakable hint of curiosity.

Mingyu, chuckled softly. “Come on, Seungcheol. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The captain likes the mysterious ones. Second Blade’s got that whole ‘silent and deadly’ vibe going on. You can’t compete with that.”

The Second Blade turned slightly, its masked face tilted as if considering whether to respond. After a moment, it spoke, its voice low and measured. “The choice was the captain’s. Not mine. Does it bother you?”

seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really. I just think it’s strange. You don’t even interact with anyone, and suddenly, you’re the captain’s favorite.” He leaned back against the wall, his gaze narrowing. “But I guess that’s part of the appeal, huh?”

Mingyu grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, I’m just glad I got picked. Can you imagine staying here, doing the same drills every day, while the three of us get to see the world? Feels like a promotion to me.”

seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You would see it that way.”

Mingyu shrugged. “What? It’s true. Besides, the Halazia crew seems... interesting. They’re not exactly the kind of people we’re used to, but they’ve got their own kind of charm.”

The Second Blade returned its gaze to the window. “They are unpredictable. That makes them dangerous.”

“Dangerous to us?” seungcheol asked, his tone more serious now.

“To everyone,” the Second Blade replied, its voice calm but firm. “But that is why we were chosen. To ensure their chaos is controlled.”

Mingyu leaned back, resting his arms on the bench. “Controlled, huh? I don’t think those pirates are the type to take orders. Especially not from us.”

The Second Blade turned fully now, its posture straight and commanding despite its smaller frame. “Then we adapt. As we always have.”

seungcheol watched it closely, his expression softening. “You’re really something, aren’t you? No hesitation. No second-guessing. You just... do.”

Mingyu nodded, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, that’s what makes it so cool. Honestly, I think we’ll learn a lot from this one. Even if it’s shorter than both of us.”

seungcheol snorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Don’t let the captain hear you say that. He might have your head.”

The Second Blade didn’t react to the teasing, instead walking toward the exit. Before it stepped out, it paused and said, “Rest while you can. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

As it left the room, seungcheol leaned toward Mingyu, his voice low. “I’m not sure if I admire it or if it gives me the creeps.”

Mingyu laughed, patting seungcheol on the shoulder. “Why not both? Keeps things interesting.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, both wondering what lay ahead as the newest recruits of the Halazia.

The following morning, the Halazia crew and their newly acquired Nishi stood at the gates of Wonderland, preparing for departure. The Second Blade stood slightly apart from seungcheol and Mingyu, as stoic and silent as ever, its mask firmly in place.

The pirates were busy securing their belongings and discussing the logistics of integrating the Nishi into their operations. Hongjoong, however, couldn’t shake the lingering curiosity he felt toward the Second Blade. Something about it was different—unreadable, yes, but also magnetic in a way he couldn’t explain.

As the group prepared to board the Halazia, Hongjoong lingered near the Second Blade, his curiosity still piqued. He turned to her, gesturing for her attention. “Second Blade,” he said, his tone casual but firm, “before we leave, there’s something I need to clarify. You’ve barely spoken a word since we met. Let’s change that.”

The Second Blade paused, tilting its masked head slightly, and finally spoke. “What do you wish to clarify, Captain?”

The voice caught everyone’s attention. It was soft yet sharp, calm yet commanding—a voice that held the kind of authority forged through years of discipline. But what stood out most was its unmistakable femininity.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened briefly before his expression settled into his usual smirk. “Well, well. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Mingi, standing nearby, blinked in surprise. “Wait a second... That's a woman?”

A crew member laughed nervously. “A woman? On a pirate ship? Isn’t that, like... bad luck or something?”

The atmosphere tensed for a moment as some of the crew exchanged uncertain glances.

Another chimed in, “I’ve heard the stories. Women on ships are supposed to bring misfortune.”

Before anyone could respond, Hongjoong’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “Enough.”

The crew fell silent as their captain stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. “Bad luck? Misfortune? Since when have we, the crew of the Halazia, believed in such pathetic superstitions?”

He turned to them, his smirk hardening into a glare. “Do you think the Halazia have survived storms, battles, and betrayals because of luck? No. We’ve made it this far because we’re the best. And I’ll take anyone who proves their worth—man or woman.”

Hongjoong’s gaze then shifted to the Second Blade. “And this one? This one’s already proven it’s better than half of you just by standing there. So unless you’d like to challenge that, I suggest you keep your mouths shut.”

Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the Second Blade. “Honestly, after seeing her fight, I’m not about to argue.”

Hongjoong turned back to the Second Blade, his smirk returning. “You’ve already got my respect, Second Blade. And that’s not something I give out lightly.”

The Second Blade inclined her head slightly, her voice calm and unbothered. “Respect is earned, not given. I will continue to prove myself, Captain.”

Hongjoong chuckled, stepping back. “I like you, Second Blade. You’re full of surprises. But if you’re going to serve on the Halazia, you’ll need a name. I can’t keep calling you by rank.”

She hesitated, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Finally, she said, “Call me whatever you wish. It makes no difference to me.”

Hongjoong’s smirk widened. “Then I’ll think of something fitting. Welcome aboard, Second Blade.”

She inclined her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment.

As the crew of the Halazia made their final preparations to set sail, the Nishi stood off to the side, silent and unreadable. Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged glances, each wondering what life aboard the infamous pirate ship would hold for them. The Second Blade, as calm and composed as ever, remained still, watching the pirates as they moved about with practiced efficiency.

Hongjoong returned to the main deck, his sharp eyes scanning his crew. “Alright, let’s get moving. Wonderland’s hospitality is wearing thin, and I’d rather not linger where too many eyes are watching.”

The crew murmured in agreement, their movements quick and purposeful as they cast off from the docks.

Seungcheol leaned slightly toward Mingyu, his voice low. “This crew is... different. They don’t seem to operate on any rules I’m familiar with.”

Mingyu shrugged, his tone light but curious. “That’s what makes it exciting, don’t you think? We’ve been stuck in Wonderland for too long. It’s about time we see how the rest of the world works.”

The Second Blade didn’t join the conversation, but its masked face tilted ever so slightly, suggesting it was listening.

As the ship drifted farther from the port, Hongjoong approached the three Nishi. “I’ll be clear with you now. You’re no longer in Wonderland. On this ship, you follow my orders. I don’t care about ranks, titles, or protocols from your past. You’re part of my crew now, and that means loyalty to me and me alone.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu nodded in unison, their movements precise and obedient. The Second Blade simply inclined its head again, its silence speaking volumes.

San, standing nearby, crossed his arms as he eyed the trio. “Can they fight in real battles, though? Wonderland’s training is one thing, but out here, it’s chaos.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the Second Blade. “What do you think? Can you handle the chaos of the seas?”

The Second Blade’s voice was calm and unwavering. “Chaos is an opportunity. It reveals the weaknesses of those unprepared. I have no intention of being unprepared.”

Mingyu chuckled under his breath. “I think that’s the most poetic way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘yes.’”

Seungcheol shot him a look, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Hongjoong smirked, clearly satisfied. “Good. Then let’s see how you adapt to life on the Halazia. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourselves.”

As the ship gained speed, Wooyoung called from the galley, “Captain! If they’re part of the crew now, they better learn how we eat. Mingyu looks like he could finish off the week’s rations in one sitting!”

Mingyu glanced toward Wooyoung, his posture relaxed. “Only if your cooking’s as good as you claim.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning out the doorway. “You’ll regret challenging me, rookie. Dinner’s in a few hours. Let’s see if you survive it.”

The crew laughed, the tension from the earlier departure easing. The Nishi, while still enigmatic, were beginning to feel less like outsiders and more like the newest pieces of the Halazia’s puzzle.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Hongjoong stood at the helm, his eyes flickering between the horizon and the Second Blade. That strange pull toward her lingered, growing stronger with every interaction. He couldn’t quite place it yet, but one thing was certain—this journey was about to get far more interesting.

As the crew of the Halazia made their final preparations to set sail, the Nishi stood off to the side, silent and unreadable. Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged glances, each wondering what life aboard the infamous pirate ship would hold for them. The Second Blade, as calm and composed as ever, remained still, watching the pirates as they moved about with practiced efficiency.

Hongjoong returned to the main deck, his sharp eyes scanning his crew. “Alright, let’s get moving. Wonderland’s hospitality is wearing thin, and I’d rather not linger where too many eyes are watching.”

The crew murmured in agreement, their movements quick and purposeful as they cast off from the docks.

Seungcheol leaned slightly toward Mingyu, his voice low. “This crew is... different. They don’t seem to operate on any rules I’m familiar with.”

Mingyu shrugged, his tone light but curious. “That’s what makes it exciting, don’t you think? We’ve been stuck in Wonderland for too long. It’s about time we see how the rest of the world works.”

The Second Blade didn’t join the conversation, but her masked face tilted ever so slightly, suggesting it was listening.

As the ship drifted farther from the port, Hongjoong approached the three Nishi. “I’ll be clear with you now. You’re no longer in Wonderland. On this ship, you follow my orders. I don’t care about ranks, titles, or protocols from your past. You’re part of my crew now, and that means loyalty to me and me alone.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu nodded in unison, their movements precise and obedient. The Second Blade simply inclined its head again, its silence speaking volumes.

San, standing nearby, crossed his arms as he eyed the trio. “Can they fight in real battles, though? Wonderland’s training is one thing, but out here, it’s chaos.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the Second Blade. “What do you think? Can you handle the chaos of the seas?”

The Second Blade’s voice was calm and unwavering. “Chaos is an opportunity. It reveals the weaknesses of those unprepared. I have no intention of being unprepared.”

Mingyu chuckled under his breath. “I think that’s the most poetic way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘yes.’”

Seungcheol shot him a look, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Hongjoong smirked, clearly satisfied. “Good. Then let’s see how you adapt to life on the Halazia. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourselves.”

As the ship gained speed, Wooyoung called from the galley, “Captain! If they’re part of the crew now, they better learn how we eat. Mingyu looks like he could finish off the week’s rations in one sitting!”

Mingyu glanced toward Wooyoung, his posture relaxed. “Only if your cooking’s as good as you claim.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning out the doorway. “You’ll regret challenging me, rookie. Dinner’s in a few hours. Let’s see if you survive it.”

The crew laughed, the tension from the earlier departure easing. The Nishi, while still enigmatic, were beginning to feel less like outsiders and more like the newest pieces of the Halazia’s puzzle.

The Halazia loomed over the coastline of a small, unsuspecting island, its black sails striking a foreboding figure against the azure sky. Hongjoong stood at the bow, his piercing gaze fixed on the settlement below.

“Alright,” he said, turning to his crew. “We go in quick and clean. Take only what we need—gold, weapons, supplies. Leave no loose ends.”

The main crew gathered around him—Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho—all ready for the raid. Beside them stood the three Nishi, their white masks gleaming ominously in the sunlight.

“This time,” Hongjoong continued, his smirk sharp, “it’s just us. No extra hands, no distractions. Let’s see how well our new recruits handle the chaos.”

San grinned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Finally. Let’s see if they’re as good as they looked in Wonderland.”

Wooyoung chuckled, glancing at Mingyu. “Think you can keep up with us, big guy?”

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, his voice calm. “I think the better question is if you can keep up with me.”

Seungcheol sighed, ever the level-headed one. “Let’s focus on the task, shall we?”

The Second Blade, as always, said nothing, but its presence was palpable.

As the crew descended on the island, chaos erupted. The inhabitants, though armed, were no match for the seasoned pirates. And then there were the Nishi.

The Second Blade moved like a shadow, weaving through the fray with unnerving precision. Its twin blades flashed, striking down attackers before they could even raise their weapons. Every move was deliberate, efficient, and terrifyingly silent.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, was a powerhouse. His strikes were methodical and brutal, each one designed to incapacitate swiftly. He moved in sync with the others, covering blind spots and ensuring no one was overwhelmed.

Mingyu, despite his easy going demeanor, was a force of nature. His sheer strength was undeniable, and every swing of his blade sent opponents flying. Yet, there was a grace to his movements, a calculated elegance that belied his size.

The Halazia crew couldn’t help but notice.

“Did you see that?” Mingi shouted, fending off an attacker. “That’s insane!”

Yunho, navigating through the chaos, grinned. “I think we made the right choice bringing them along.”

Jongho, in the middle of taking down a group of armed guards, smirked. “Not bad for newcomers. But let’s see how they handle the next wave.”

The fight raged on, but it became clear that the Nishi were unstoppable. By the time the dust settled, the islanders had been subdued, their weapons confiscated, and the pirates stood victorious.

Hongjoong, standing amidst the wreckage, surveyed the scene. His eyes lingered on the Second Blade, which was wiping the blood from its swords with calm precision.

“Well,” he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I’d say you’ve all more than proven yourselves.”

Seungcheol, ever the professional, inclined his head. “We’re here to serve, Captain.”

Mingyu leaned on his sword, grinning. “That was fun. When’s the next one?”

The Second Blade remained silent, but the way it sheathed its blades with a flourish spoke volumes.

San, catching his breath, clapped Hongjoong on the back. “You weren’t kidding when you said they’d be useful. I don’t think we’ve ever had a raid go this smoothly.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his sharp gaze still fixed on the Second Blade. “Useful? They’re more than that. They’re exactly what we’ve been missing.”

As the crew gathered their spoils and prepared to leave, the bond between the pirates and their new allies had grown stronger. The Nishi had not only earned their place on the Halazia but had also become a force to be reckoned with—one that the seas would soon learn to fear.

As the crew regrouped on the beach, the spoils of their raid piled high behind them, Wooyoung let out a dramatic sigh, collapsing onto a barrel.

“Well,” he said, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead, “that was easy. Almost boring, actually.”

Mingyu, standing nearby, chuckled. “You call that boring? You screamed when that guy lunged at you.”

Wooyoung pointed a finger at him, indignant. “It was a battle cry. You wouldn’t understand.”

San smirked, shaking his head. “Pretty sure it sounded more like a dying seagull.”

“Seagull?” Wooyoung gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “You wound me, San. I’m the voice of this ship!”

“More like the noise of this ship,” Jongho muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from Yunho.

As the crew bantered, Hongjoong stood slightly apart, his eyes fixated on the Second Blade. She was meticulously cleaning her twin swords, every movement precise and deliberate. Despite the chaos and bloodshed of the raid, her calm demeanor remained intact, and Hongjoong couldn’t help but find it fascinating.

Seonghwa, noticing his captain’s lingering gaze, sidled up to him with a knowing smirk. “You’ve been staring at her for a while now.”

Hongjoong didn’t look away, his voice low and thoughtful. “There’s something about her, Seonghwa. The way she moves, the way she fights... it’s mesmerizing.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Mesmerizing? Or are you just—”

“Don’t,” Hongjoong interrupted, shooting him a sharp look. “Don’t even start.”

Seonghwa chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything, Captain.”

Nearby, Wooyoung leaned toward Mingi, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I think the captain’s got a crush.”

Mingi snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s not exactly the talkative type.”

Hongjoong turned sharply toward them, his glare cutting through their laughter. “Focus on the loot before I throw you both overboard.”

The crew burst into laughter, but it quickly subsided when the Second Blade stood and approached Hongjoong. Even under her mask, her presence was commanding, and the air around them grew quiet.

“Captain,” she said simply, her voice steady and calm. “Your orders?”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, straightening his coat as if caught off guard. “We’ll load the spoils onto the ship and set sail immediately. Good work today, Second Blade.”

She inclined her head and turned to help with the loot, her movements fluid and efficient.

As she walked away, Hongjoong couldn’t help but watch her again, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Seonghwa leaned in once more, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re obsessed.”

Hongjoong didn’t deny it. “Maybe. But there’s something about her, Seonghwa. Something I can’t quite figure out.”

San walked by, overhearing their conversation, and quipped, “Careful, Captain. You keep staring like that, and she might think you’re planning to challenge her to a duel.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “If I did, I’d probably lose.”

The moment the words left Hongjoong's mouth—"If I did, I’d probably lose"—the deck went completely silent.

San, mid-step, froze. Wooyoung dropped the sack of loot he was carrying. Yunho, who was tying down a sail, turned so quickly he nearly tripped over the rope. Even Jongho, typically stoic, looked like someone had just smacked him in the face with a fish.

Seonghwa stared at Hongjoong, his jaw slightly slack. “Did you... did you just say you’d lose a fight?”

Hongjoong blinked, realizing what he’d said, and immediately tried to backtrack. “I mean... hypothetically. It’s not like I—”

But Wooyoung wasn’t about to let this go. He clutched his chest dramatically, stumbling backward. “The great Captain Hongjoong, admitting defeat? To anyone? Oh, this is historic! Someone write this down!”

Mingi, trying not to laugh, nudged Yunho. “You think the world’s ending? This feels like one of those moments.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Yunho said, pretending to inspect Hongjoong from a distance. “Captain, should I call Yeosang? You might be delirious.”

San, smirking, crossed his arms. “Or maybe... you’re just that whipped.”

The entire crew burst into laughter, the kind of loud, boisterous laughter that echoed over the waves. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by the pirates' antics.

The Second Blade, however, remained silent, standing as still as a statue. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was processing the conversation but chose not to comment.

Hongjoong, trying to salvage his pride, raised his hands. “Alright, enough! You lot have had your fun. Get back to work before I start assigning punishment duties.”

But his threat only made Wooyoung laugh harder. “You can’t scare us, Captain! Not when you’re this close to writing poetry about the Second Blade!”

“I do not write poetry,” Hongjoong snapped, his cheeks faintly red.

Seonghwa smirked, leaning in just enough to whisper, “If the mask comes off and she turns out to be beautiful, you’re doomed.”

Hongjoong glared at him but didn’t reply, his mind briefly wandering to what might be beneath that mask.

As the crew slowly returned to their tasks, still chuckling under their breaths, Seungcheol spoke up, his tone even. “Is this how your crew normally behaves, Captain?”

Hongjoong sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, yes. They’re skilled, but they have no sense of decorum.”

Mingyu grinned. “I like them. Feels more... lively than Wonderland.”

Seungcheol hummed in agreement, but his sharp eyes flicked to the Second Blade. “Though I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone affect a group so quickly.”

Hongjoong ignored the comment, instead turning his focus back to the horizon. But as the laughter of his crew faded into the rhythm of the ship’s movements, he couldn’t shake the faint heat rising to his cheeks.

He stole a glance at the Second Blade, who was quietly inspecting her weapons near the mast. The sight of her—silent, enigmatic, and completely unbothered by the chaos she caused—only intrigued him more.

And though he would never admit it, not even to himself, Hongjoong knew one thing: he was whipped, and he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.

As the days turned into weeks, Halazia sailed through the vast oceans, leaving a trail of fear and fascination in its wake. But amidst the looting, planning, and endless chaos that came with being the pirate king, Hongjoong found his thoughts increasingly occupied by one thing—or rather, one person.

The Second Blade.

She was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered. Her movements were a study in grace and lethality, her silence spoke louder than words, and her presence was magnetic. Hongjoong had always viewed his crew and allies as tools to further his goals, weapons to carve his path to dominance. But the Second Blade… she was different.

She wasn’t just a weapon; she was a treasure. And as the self-proclaimed king of the seas, Hongjoong always took what he wanted. Right now, he wanted her.

He often found himself watching her, more openly than he intended. Whether she was sharpening her blades, silently observing the crew’s antics, or simply standing at the bow of the ship, her mask reflecting the sunlight like polished ivory, Hongjoong couldn’t look away.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and red, Hongjoong leaned against the railing, his sharp eyes fixed on her.

“She’s something, isn’t she?”

The voice didn't startle him, and he turned to find Seonghwa standing nearby, a knowing smirk on his face.

Hongjoong scoffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa said innocently, though his tone was laced with amusement. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s not like the others, Seonghwa. There’s something about her… something I can’t quite figure out.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You mean besides the fact that she could probably kill us all in our sleep without breaking a sweat?”

Hongjoong chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Exactly that. She’s a mystery, and you know how much I hate not knowing things.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so drawn to her,” Seonghwa mused. “You’re used to being in control, Captain. But with her, you’re not.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, but the truth of Seonghwa’s words lingered in his mind.

Later that night, as the crew gathered for their usual round of rum and storytelling, Hongjoong found himself drawn to her again. She stood apart from the group, leaning against the mast with her arms crossed. Even with the mask, he could feel her sharp gaze cutting through the revelry.

He approached her, his boots clicking softly against the wooden deck. She didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge him, but he knew she was aware of his presence.

“Why do you always stand alone?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

She turned her head slightly, the white mask catching the moonlight. “I’m not part of your crew, Captain. I’m here because I was ordered to be.”

Her words were cold, but Hongjoong detected a faint crack in her usual stoic tone.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning casually against the mast beside her. “But you’ve proven yourself more than just an order. You’ve earned your place here.”

She didn’t reply, and the silence stretched between them. For once, Hongjoong didn’t mind.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re different than I expected.”

“Oh?” His lips curled into a smirk. “What did you expect?”

“A tyrant,” she said simply. “Someone who rules with fear and takes without thought.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I am those things, Second Blade. But even a tyrant can appreciate something extraordinary when he sees it.”

Her head tilted slightly, as if she were studying him, trying to unravel his words.

“Goodnight, Captain,” she said finally, her voice softer this time.

As she walked away, Hongjoong watched her disappear into the shadows, a strange sense of longing settling in his chest.

For the first time in his life, the pirate king found himself wanting something he couldn’t simply take. But he was determined to have her—one way or another.

The clash of swords and the thunder of cannons filled the air as chaos reigned on the Halazia. The navy had come prepared, their ships surrounding yours with ruthless efficiency. The crew fought valiantly, their cries of defiance rising above the din of battle.

You moved through the fray like a shadow, your twin blades cutting through enemies with practiced precision. Every movement was deliberate, every strike lethal. You had faced battles like this before -chaotic, bloody, and merciless-and you thrived in them.

But then, a presence caught your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man moving toward you, his stance predatory and his sword glinting under the sun. He was no ordinary soldier; the way he carried himself spoke of years of training, and his eyes locked onto you with singular intent.

You met his first strike with one of your blades, the force of the clash vibrating through your arm. He was stronger than most, but you didn't falter. Instead, you pushed back, twisting to deflect his follow-up strike with your second blade

“You're nothing more than a masked puppet” the man taunted.

The two of you exchanged a flurry of blows, each one testing the other's limits. For a moment, you thought you had him, your blade finding an opening in his defense. But then, he sidestepped with surprising speed, his sword coming down in a powerful arc.

You raised your blades to block, but the force of his strike was immense. His sword slammed into yours, the impact sending a shockwave through your arms. Before you could recover, his next strike came, aimed high.

His blade scraped against the edge of your mask, and you felt it-the sharp crack of the material breaking under the pressure.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow. You felt the pieces of your mask splintering, the fragments falling away from your face and scattering onto the deck.

The man froze for a split second, his eyes widening in shock as he took in your uncovered face. The noise of the battle seemed to fade for an instant, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

You didn't hesitate. Using his momentary distraction, you surged forward, your blade slicing through the air. The fight wasn't over-not yet-but you knew one thing for certain: the secret you had guarded for so long was now exposed.

The man fell before you, your blade driving cleanly through his chest as he crumpled to the deck. You pulled your sword free, standing over him, but the usual sense of victory that came with a kill was absent. Instead, a cold weight settled in your chest.

Your mask was gone.

You could feel the open air against your face, the stares of those around you. The battle continued to rage, but in your world, time seemed to slow, every sound muffled as if you were underwater.

Your hand instinctively twitched toward your face, but there was nothing to cover it with. The scar- the mark that had defined you in more ways than one-was exposed to the world. It stretched from the corner of your lip to the middle of your cheek, a cruel, jagged line that almost mimicked a half-smile.

A mockery.

You didn't need to look around to know what they were seeing. A warrior, unmasked, scarred, and vulnerable. The thought alone made your stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could feel their gazes-some fleeting, others lingering. Enemies paused mid-battle, caught off guard by the sight. Even your crewmates, the ones who had fought beside you for weeks, faltered for a moment.

"Second Blade!"

The sound of Hongjoong's voice snapped you back to reality. He was fighting his way toward you, his sword cutting down anyone who stood in his path. His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto yours.

For a split second, you saw something there- surprise, yes, but also something else. Something softer.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus. The battle wasn't over, and neither was your duty. You turned sharply, ignoring the weight of the stares, and threw yourself back into the fight.

But no matter how many enemies you cut down, that feeling of exposure wouldn't leave you. The scar wasn't just a mark on your skin-it was a reminder of what you'd endured, a testament to your survival. And now, everyone on this cursed ship could see it.

You had always been the Second Blade, a faceless warrior, a weapon to be wielded. But now, stripped of that anonymity, you felt exposed. Vulnerable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt defeated.

The battle raged on, but your focus wavered, a rarity for someone of your skill. Each strike of your blade felt mechanical, detached, as though the strength you once carried had been siphoned by the shattering of your mask. The scar burned—not from pain, but from the weight of being seen.

You cut down another attacker, breathing hard as the chaos around you began to subside. The navy soldiers were retreating, their numbers dwindling under the relentless force of the Halazia crew.

"Second Blade!"

Hongjoong’s voice rang out again, this time closer. You turned to see him approaching, his sword slick with blood, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the rest of the main crew was regrouping, their faces a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

And curiosity.

You stood still as Hongjoong stopped in front of you, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He didn’t speak at first, his gaze lingering on the scar.

“Your face…” he started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“I know,” you interrupted, your tone clipped. You turned your head slightly, as if to shield the scar from his view, though you knew it was pointless. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” San commented, stepping up beside Hongjoong. His eyes flicked to your scar, but there was no malice there—only curiosity.

“Looks like a story,” Yeosang chimed in.

Wooyoung, leaning on his weapon with an almost playful grin added,“And you know how much we love stories around here.”

“Enough.” Hongjoong’s voice was firm, silencing the murmurs of the crew. His gaze hadn’t left your face. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You don’t need to hide from me, Second Blade. Not here. Not with us.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Before you could find the right words, Yunho called out.

“Captain, we’ve got their ship retreating! What’s the plan?”

Hongjoong straightened, his commanding presence returning in an instant. “Let them run. They’ll spread word of what happened here. That’s enough for now.”

The crew began to cheer, their energy renewed despite the toll of the battle.

Hongjoong turned back to you, his voice quieter but no less authoritative. “We’ll talk later.”

With that, he moved to rally his crew, leaving you standing amid the aftermath of the fight. The scar on your face still felt like it burned under the weight of their gazes, but there was something about the way Hongjoong had looked at you.

Not with pity. Not with disgust.

But with something else entirely.

You exhaled, steeling yourself. There was no room for weakness on the Halazia, but maybe—just maybe—there was room for something else.

The dining hall of the Halazia was alive with the usual banter and clinking of cutlery. Plates of food were passed around, and the crew reveled in the aftermath of their victory against the navy. Yet tonight, there was an unusual air of curiosity lingering in the room, all eyes subtly drifting to the three Nishis seated among them.

You sat at the table, your mask broken and discarded, your scar fully visible under the warm light of the lanterns. To your left, Seungcheol and to your right, Mingyu sat quietly, but the absence of their masks drew more than a few glances.

San finally broke the silence, gesturing toward the two Nishis. “Alright, I have to ask—what’s going on here? I thought the masks were, like, sacred or something.”

Mingyu, ever the more casual of the two, shrugged nonchalantly. “They are. But when an upper rank removes their mask, it’s tradition for the lower ranks to do the same. Out of respect.”

Seungcheol nodded in agreement, his tone more formal. “It’s a symbol of unity. If one’s identity is exposed, the others stand with them. It’s the least we can do.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of the explanation sinking in.

“So, you’re saying it’s because of her,” Mingi said, gesturing to you with a nod.

“Obviously,” Wooyoung chimed in, grinning as he leaned forward on his elbows. “Makes sense. She’s the top dog, after all.”

“Second Blade,” Jongho spoke up suddenly, his voice cutting through the chatter. His expression was unusually curious, his gaze fixed on you. “How did you get that scar?”

The room fell into an awkward silence, the air heavy with tension. Hongjoong, seated at the head of the table, immediately narrowed his eyes at Jongho.

“Jongho,” he said sharply, his tone carrying a warning. “That’s not your place to ask.”

But before he could continue, you raised a hand, stopping him. “It’s fine, Captain.”

You set your utensils down and leaned back slightly in your chair, your gaze sweeping over the expectant faces of the crew. It was rare for you to speak, let alone about something personal, but tonight was different.

“If you want to know, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of the memory.

All eyes were on you now, the room completely silent as the crew waited for you to begin.

The house was cold when the men came for you. Your mother’s hands trembled as she clutched the doorframe, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Your father stood stiffly behind her, his jaw tight as if forcing himself not to speak.

You tried to hold back the fear clawing at your chest as the soldiers stepped inside. Their uniforms were spotless, their movements brisk. You’d heard the stories—families giving up their children to the military for better housing, steady food, and money. You just never thought it would happen to you.

“Come along,” one of the soldiers said, his tone curt but not unkind.

Your mother’s lips moved, forming silent words. Maybe a prayer, maybe an apology. She didn’t look at you as she gently pushed you forward.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Your father’s eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment before he turned away. “It’s for the best,” he muttered.

The soldiers took you by the arms, and as they led you out of the house, the weight of abandonment settled heavily on your chest. You didn’t cry, but your throat ached from holding it back.

The training camp was a harsh, unfeeling place. From the moment you arrived, you were thrust into a world of grueling drills, barked orders, and punishments for the smallest mistakes. It was exhausting, but you pushed through, clinging to the faint hope that surviving this would lead to something better.

But then, the whispers started.

“She’s got potential,” one of the camp hosts murmured, their eyes lingering on you.

“For more than just combat,” another added, their tone making your skin crawl.

At first, you didn’t understand what they meant. But when you were summoned one evening, it became clear. The hosts eyed you like a prize, their polished appearances and honeyed words hiding something far uglier.

“She’s got a face that’ll sell,” one said, their gaze raking over you.

“Such a waste to send her to war,” another added with a smirk.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. They didn’t see you as a soldier in training—they saw you as a commodity.

When the general was informed of their plan, you were dragged to his quarters. General Rael was an imposing figure, his towering frame and sharp eyes making him impossible to read. The hosts explained their intentions, their voices sickeningly eager.

“She could make us a fortune,” one said, as if you weren’t standing right there.

The general listened in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he turned to you.

“You,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Come here.”

You hesitated, fear and anger warring within you, but the sharp tug of a soldier’s hand forced you forward.

Rael’s gaze bored into you for a moment before he spoke. “They think you’re too pretty to be a soldier.”

His words made your stomach churn. “I don’t care what they think,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt at defiance.

“Good,” he replied, pulling a dagger from his belt.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as he stepped closer. “W-what are you doing?”

“I’m fixing the problem,” he said flatly.

The blade was cold against your skin as he pressed it to the corner of your lip. The first cut was searing, a pain so intense that you couldn’t stop the scream that tore from your throat.

“Stop!” you cried, tears streaming down your face as he dragged the blade across your cheek. Blood poured down your face, warm and sticky, soaking into your shirt.

“Stop struggling,” Rael barked, his grip like iron.

When it was over, he stepped back, tossing a rag at you. You caught it with shaking hands, pressing it to your wound as sobs wracked your body. Your legs felt weak as they gave out and collapsed on the floor.

“Still think she’s worth more off the battlefield?” Rael asked, turning to the pale-faced hosts.

They left without a word, their greedy smiles replaced with wide-eyed shock.

You sat there trembling, blood dripping onto the floor, the rag clutched tightly against your face. Rael said nothing as he turned away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

That night, you lay in your bunk, the pain of the wound throbbing with every heartbeat. Silent tears slid down your face as you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing with anger, humiliation, and despair.

You weren’t just scarred—you were marked. A cruel reminder of what had been taken from you. And yet, somewhere deep inside, a spark of resolve burned.

They had tried to break you. But you would not let them win.

The room fell eerily silent as you finished speaking, the weight of your story settling over the table like a heavy fog. Your hands were still clenched tightly, the memory of the pain and humiliation as fresh as if it had happened only moments ago.

The crew, usually so brash and unfiltered, seemed almost reverent in their silence. Their eyes locked onto you, no longer the fierce, untouchable warrior they’d seen before, but a person—a woman with a past far more painful than they could have imagined.

Hongjoong’s gaze softened, his usually sharp and calculating eyes filled with something different—sympathy, perhaps, or understanding. But before he could speak, you lifted your chin, your voice cutting through the quiet like a sword.

“You wanted this,” you said, your tone firm and unwavering. “You asked. So I told you.”

The crew exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of shock, admiration, and something else—something that mirrored your own unspoken resolve.

Jongho, usually the most forward of the bunch, was the first to break the silence. “I... didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

You nodded once, sharply. “Curiosity has consequences. But you wanted to know, so I told you.”

Hongjoong leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re not just some weapon, are you?”

You looked at him, eyes hardening slightly. “I never was.”

A heavy silence passed between you all, and for the first time, the crew seemed to understand you better. Not just as the deadly, cold warrior they had seen fighting beside them, but as someone who had been broken and reforged into something stronger. Something they couldn’t quite fathom, but now respected even more.

“Let’s eat,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension. “We’ve got work to do.”

And with that, the crew reluctantly returned to their meals, the weight of your story lingering in the air as they silently processed what they had learned. The bond between you had shifted, subtly but unmistakably.

The bond between you and the crew had grown stronger with each passing day, but there were moments when things shifted, when the air between you and Hongjoong became a little heavier. He noticed the way you held yourself—how you kept your distance, how you threw yourself into your duties with a fierce intensity, but never allowed yourself to relax, never allowed anyone to get too close.

One evening, as the crew settled around the ship’s deck after a long day of sailing, Hongjoong approached you. You were leaning against the mast, staring out at the horizon, your arms crossed over your chest in that familiar defensive posture.

“Second Blade,” he said quietly, standing a few paces away from you, his voice low enough not to draw attention from the rest of the crew.

You didn’t turn to face him, but you acknowledged his presence with a slight tilt of your head. “Captain.”

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, his words measured and thoughtful. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? More than anyone should have to endure.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze still fixed on the endless ocean. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, but you weren’t ready to let the walls down, not yet.

“I get it,” he continued, a slight edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re protecting everyone else. The crew, the ship, the mission... but who’s protecting you?”

The question hung in the air, but you kept your silence. You couldn’t afford to let anyone protect you. You couldn’t afford to need anyone.

Hongjoong stepped closer, his presence a comfort and a challenge all at once. “You don’t have to do it alone, Second Blade. You’ve been protecting everyone around you, but what about yourself?”

You finally turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for the first time. There was an intensity in his eyes, a longing that you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t have time for that,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “I have to protect the people who matter. The ones who can’t defend themselves.”

His gaze softened, and a small, understanding smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I understand,” he said, his voice low and serious. “But while you’re out there protecting the world, let me protect you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the simplicity of his words. It wasn’t just a promise—it was an offer. A chance to be seen, to be cared for. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider in a long time.

“I don’t need protecting,” you said, though your voice was quieter now, less certain.

Hongjoong’s expression softened even more, his eyes holding a quiet intensity. “Maybe not from the world. But from yourself, Second Blade. Maybe you need someone to look out for you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the soft glow of the evening. The crew continued their chatter behind you, unaware of the subtle shift in the air.

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. Could you really let someone protect you? Could you allow yourself to lean on someone else for once?

But before you could speak, Hongjoong gave you a small, almost teasing smile. “I’m not asking you to let your guard down completely. Just... let me take care of you when you need it. It’s what a captain does, right?”

A small part of you wanted to refuse, to keep your distance, to push him away. But another part of you, the part that had spent so long alone, finally relented.

After a while, you sighed, “But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

Hongjoong chuckled, a rich, warm sound that made your heart beat a little faster. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And as you stood there with him, the weight of his words still lingering between you, you realized something. You had always been the protector. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to let someone else guard your back for a change.

[pseudowho]

Glory Glory: Nanami Kento

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always. Pure smut.

*Visual art of Reader/Nanami positions, link enclosed*

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You were never able to concentrate fully when sent on a mission with Nanami Kento, and it drove you to absolute distraction. The broad taper of his shoulders and nipped waist; the way his thighs strained his tan trousers dangerously tightly as he moved to sweep Curses like a minefield; the slow, considered, gravelly voice. You remained professional...but clumsy.

Already blushing after Kento complimented you smoothly on landing the killing blow on  the Curse, now crumbled and decaying before you, you sought the Cursed item that had been drawing such powerful monsters in. Roaming through the remnants of this crumbling city-edge mansion, you headed into a dining room, feeling the thrum of nearby Cursed energy that told you you were nearing your goal.

Your hand brushed the brickwork of an old chimney stack-- gotcha, you thought, leaning down to try to look up it, unable to find the right angle. Sitting on your bottom, and shuffling backwards to look directly up the chimney, you reached in, feeling something small and fabric wrapped, wedged into old brickwork. You began to work to free the item.

"In here!" you yelled, as you heard Kento call for you. Your yelling brought a crumble and cloud of soot and brick dust onto your face, and as you coughed, pulling the cursed item free, part of the chimney stack collapsed inwards against you, pinning you in place, bottom still sat on the floor below you.

You heard hard footsteps towards the room as you shrieked, Kento calling for you in concern. You coughed and spluttered, glasses covered in debris, stuck in the dark. You felt Kento approach, hearing him drop to his knees, and blushing as his hands lightly grazed your waist and hips, checking for injury.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his usual calm and considered self. He almost sounded like he was holding back a laugh, you thought.

"No, but I...I don't think I can get out. I'm stuck," you complained, mortified by your own lack of care. You heard Kento hum to himself.

"That is a problem," he toned, low and sardonic, "what shall we do with you?" You blushed, heat creeping up your cheeks at the promise in his voice. You swallowed.

"Uhm...Kento? Can you get me out?"

"Well, yes. I absolutely can." Silence. Kento's hands were still on your hips, fingers tapping, slow and thoughtful.

As you opened your mouth to speak again, clenching your thighs together, not unnoticed by Kento, he spoke again.

"But, why rush? After all," he toned, voice silky smooth as his fingers squeezed your hips appreciatively, "we might even see this as...serendipitous." You let out a soft gasp, squeaking as you felt his warm, broad palms reach underneath you to squeeze your arse, the touch drawn-out and lingering.

"I've waited for a long time, you know," he intoned, musing out loud, "all those missions together. All the times I've caught you staring. How the hairs stand up on your arms when I talk to you."

You trembled as you felt his hands wander to the front of your trousers, reaching down to deftly unbutton and unzip your them. You throbbed, thighs clenching and eager.

"I can almost taste you aching for me," Kento teased, thrilled by how you shook in silent anticipation. "It would be cruel to let you suffer like this any longer." Your eyes were closed now, lost in your dream of Kento taking charge being realised.

Kento felt his cock twitch against his thigh as he slipped his hand down the front of your trousers, humming in appreciation at the laced edge of your underwear, before grazing his fingers against your pussy, admiring the growing wetness of your underwear. His mouth watered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Feeling your thighs clamp around his hand, holding it in place, Kento chuckled as he heard a breathy moan from within the chimney stack. He continued to stroke you, increasing the pressure just enough that you felt a distant soft ache building in your clit.

"Kento-- I-- please--"

"Lovely manners," he groaned, palming himself through his trousers as he slowly started to edge his fingers out of your trousers. You let out a frustrated squeak and a wiggle, and Kento bit his lip to suppress another laugh.

"Ask nicely," he teased, admiring the soft spread of your thighs against the floor, running his other hand up and down them to delight in the plushness of you. He pursed his lips in mirth as he heard you huff at him behind the chimney stack.

Your complaining stopped, however, when you felt him grip your trousers and eagerly peel them off you, along with your underwear, leaving your bottom half totally naked in one shockingly bold move.

You were speechless, blushing wildly and flustered, and you heard fabric-y shuffles against the floor, before feeling your bottom lifted by strong arms and settled onto Kento's muscular, planed chest. You squeaked as he slapped your bum in appreciation, the sting making you moan.

"I hope you know this is me asking you out for dinner," he soothed. Kento lifted your bottom again, high enough for him to wriggle under and delve his tongue into your quivering heat, wetting his lips at the sight of your soft folds and full round arse.

"Although...at least the first time, I'll be eating out without you." You had barely a moment to process before Kento released your weight, forcing your pussy down onto his face. You cried out, feeling your clit immediately hit Kento's chin, his tongue appreciatively licking a long stripe between your entrance and clit, nose nuzzling into your fluttering hole.

Pleasure hit you in deep throbs as Kento rocked your hips back and forth on his face, encouraging you to ride him, your knees and thighs splayed out at either side of his head. Allowing you to roll your clit against his chin and lips until you were mewling, your essence running down his neck to decorate his collar, Kento shifted his mouth down to pucker his lips firmly around your clit, flicking his tongue quickly against it.

You shivered, begging, "-- oh god, Kento-- just keep doing that, that's perfect, I can't-- I can't--" Kento carried on, nose still nuzzling into your pussy and tongue flicking against your clit, pleasuring you with absolute practiced ease. He groaned as he felt your thighs clamp around his head, the vibrations sending you over the cliff's edge and you fell, stomach swooping and clenching as you came with a cry, gasping and coughing as more brick dust collapsed onto your face.

Kento nuzzled into you, gripping your thighs affectionately with strong forearms, rocking you from side to side as he squeezed them to the sides of his head, cuddling your lower half to him. Lifting you off, and planting a kiss on your folds, Kento lifted his tie to wipe your cum off his face.

"Is that a yes to dinner, then?" He asked, laughing as you tried to kick at him.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Also arriving tonight on scheduled blogs:

Kamo Choso, Higuruma Hiromi

[beckyninja]

Promises

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: description of battle wounds, death

Description: In the aftermath of the battle on Demerium, both Titus and his Little Healer struggle with doubts.

After the intensity of my last few fics, I thought we'd slow things down with a bit of Hurt/Comfort.

(This is a continuation of my Titus x Reader series. To find the previous works, check out my Masterlist.)

“Medica! Medica! Medica!”

You curled into a ball atop the cot in your and Demetrian’s quarters, covering your ears. But the desperate cries echoed in your skull.

“Medica, over here!”

“God Emperor, have mercy!”

“The voices…the voices! Can’t you hear them?!”

“It hurts it hurts it hurts….”

With most of the Ultramarine Apothecaries called to the battle on the planet below, the senior Medicae had been left in charge of the wounded Guardsmen ferried aboard The Resilient. Soon, broken, bloodied bodies lined the hallways.

Overwhelmed, the Medicae conscripted any serf they could. You remembered Vesta, face devoid of her usual cheer, cornering you outside the Chapel where you’d stopped to pray for Demetrian’s safe return.

“We need you!”

You’d welcomed the distraction from worrying about your lover. You’d often helped treat the everyday accidents suffered by the serfs in the Watch Fortress. Burns, lacerations, broken bones. 

But the sheer trauma of battle… human beings turned into slabs of screaming meat… the stench of charred flesh and excrement… the raving of minds shattered by corruption….

Those were the worst.

Your arms bore bruises from the grasp of one maddened Cadian.

“I see it! I see it” He’d howled, though his eyes were nothing but red ruins, torn by his own fingernails. “I’ll make you see it, too!”

It took four serfs to drag him off you. You’d stumbled away, only to hear the retort of a laspistol a few moments later.

Time lost all meaning. Your eyes burned, your lips cracked, your limbs grew numb and caked with filth. The hood, sleeves, and hem of your robe went to tourniquet torn arteries. And still the casualties came.

You remembered a canteen being shoved into your hands. A rasping voice you barely recognized as Vesta’s ordering you to take a moment of rest. You stumbled out of the Apothecarion, searching for quiet, aching eyes finally landing on a small shrine alcove.

But more suffering waited for you.

A single stretcher lay in the cramped space. And from that stretcher, a gurgling whimper.

“Mum….”

You’d thought yourself numb. But your heart ached anew for the Guardsman laying in his own blood. Hastily wrapped bandages covered his entire body. A single, blackened hand reached up, fingers grasping at nothing.

“Mum… help….”

Just looking at the extent of his wounds made you realize why no Medicae tended him. They couldn’t afford to waste their time on the hopeless. 

But you could.

You’d taken the flailing hand and pressed it to your heart. “Shhh. I’m here.”

The charred fingers tightened with surprising strength. “Hurts….”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You’d used the last of your pain suppressants ages ago. 

“Don’t go….”

“I won’t.”

“Pr… promise?”

“I promise.”

You’d stayed. As the chaos outside finally calmed, shouts and screams fading into whispers and whimpers, you held the Guardsman’s hand and sang lullabies from your childhood…

…until his grasp loosened for the last time.

Now, back in your quarters, you lay upon Demetrian’s cot and stared at your bloodied fingers. 

Useless. Useless!

You wept until exhaustion claimed you.

***

Titus’s feet dragged as he stumbled down the hallway. Every bone, every muscle in his enhanced body throbbed. His vision blurred and it took all his rapidly dwindling energy to keep moving.

Toward rest.

Toward you.

The younger Ultramarines still celebrated, revelling in the glory of victory against Chaos. Once, he would have done the same. But these days the rush of victory faded all too quickly, leaving only the faces of the dead in its wake. And exhaustion.

Throne, I am weary.

He yearned for your solace. His arms were greedy for you.

Greedy. Selfish.

Imurah’s taunts during the battle had stung. But he’d known their falsehood, swatting the lies away like annoying insects. Only one, whispered in the darkest depths of his mind even as the Chaos sorcerer screamed his last breath, still haunted him.

“When you return to your little slave girl, Titus, consider this: did you save her from her old life? Or did you doom her to this one?”

He gritted his teeth, pushing the gnawing doubt away. 

He’d rescued you. He hadn’t stolen your future to satisfy his own desires. He hadn’t forced you to be with him. You were happy with him.

By the time he’d reached his room and keyed in the door code, he’d almost convinced himself.

Then he saw you on the cot.

You lay in a ball, asleep, knees tucked to your chest. The ragged remnants of your robe were stained with blood and sweat. Your tangled hair fell from its bindings into your face, but failed to hide tear-swollen eyes.

Titus swore he could hear Imurah laughing.

He took a step forward, reaching for you, then stopped. Filth caked his gauntlets, staining the armor he hadn’t had time to remove. He shouldn’t touch you.

I should not have ever touched you.

His arms fell back to his sides.

You jerked at the rasp of ceramite, reddened eyes flying open. He cursed his carelessness.

“No, Little Healer. Go back to sleep.”

“Demetrian!”

You rose onto your knees and he saw the sway of exhaustion in your movements. Guilt ate at him.

“I am sorry I disturbed you. I will let you rest-”

“No!”

The desperation in your voice jolted him. You reached out and he came to you like iron to a magnet, helpless to resist. Ceramite clanged against metal as he dropped to his knees before the cot. Your arms encircled his neck. Your face nuzzled against his gorget.

So soft.

Still, he could not bring himself to return your embrace.

“Demetrian,” you whimpered, “I’m sorry.”

What?

Before he could begin to form a reply, you rambled on.

“Vesta called me to assist the Medicae soon after you left, and I went gladly, thinking I could… I could….” Sobs shook your little body. “Demetrian, it was awful and I was scared and overwhelmed and, and I tried so hard but they still died. So many died.”

Throne, what have I done to you?

He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed molded to his palate. You pulled away and looked at him for the first time. Your teary eyes widened.

“Oh Emperor, Demetrian.” You touched his face and he resisted the urge to jerk away.

Do not stain yourself with me!

“Sit here.” You patted the cot before scrambling down and rushing toward the lavatory.

He sat, head bowed. The damned sorcerer had been right. He’d doomed an innocent soul to a life of death and horror.

You returned with a cleansing cloth and a basin of water, placing them on the cot next to him. 

“Hold still, and close your eyes.”

He did, and felt warm, wetness against his filth-encrusted skin. You washed his face and neck, your hands gentle, your voice soothing. What little strength you had left you spent in caring for him. 

Giving and giving and giving.

And what have I ever given in return?

Reaching out, he caught your wrist in a loose grip. “Enough.”

“But Demetrian-”

He opened his eyes and looked at you, silencing your protest. Then he took the wet cloth from your hand and rinsed it in the basin.

“Let me.”

Cupping your face with all the gentleness he could muster, he slowly cleansed it, wiping away the stain of blood, sweat, and tears. You leaned into his touch. You looked at him as if… as if he….

A word pushed through his gritted teeth. “Stop.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

The cleansing cloth fell from his armored fingers into the basin with a splash of murky water. “Do not look at me as if I am a saint to be revered.”

“But-”

“You deserve better than this.” All at once, the words wouldn’t stop. “I should never have taken you into my service. I should have found a place for you, far from suffering and death. You have seen horrors you should never have had to witness, and it is my doing.”

Inside his armor, his shoulders sagged with the weight of his sins. “You surrendered everything to me. Your future. Your happiness. Even your body. For what?” 

You cupped his face. “Oh Demetrian, never once have I regretted coming with you. I’ve told you this!”

He finally met your eyes. “Not even today?”

“No. Not even today.” You sighed. “I only wish I could do more.”

Something weighed on you, Titus could tell. Something more than just the general horror.

“What happened, Little Healer?”

He listened as you told him about the Guardsman, his hearts swelling with more emotions than he’d ever felt in his long life. More emotions than any Astartes had the right to feel.

“...he died. I didn’t even know his name.” Tears flooded your beautiful eyes once again.

Throne, I love her.

Titus leaned his forehead against yours. “Listen to me, my love. I have seen more death than you will ever know. And I know, for Guardsmen, it is often a lonely thing. But not for that man.”

His head slid from your forehead, down to rest upon your shoulder. “Even if you could not heal his body, in his last moments, you healed his soul. As you heal mine every day. That is a gift beyond price.”

Soft lips brushed against his cheek. “I offer it freely, with all my heart.” Your hands came up to rest over his breastplate. “All I ask in return is yours.”

“Both belong to you.”

Once again, your arms wrapped around his neck. This time he returned the gesture, clinging to you like his life depended on it. 

“There will be other trials.” He rasped. “I can promise neither peace, nor comfort.”

“Demetrian, just promise to love me, and I will be content.”

The uncertainty had vanished from your voice. Hope flickered in his chest. The sorcerer had been a liar, after all.

“I swear it, Little Healer.”

Titus felt you smile against the skin of his neck.

“Throne of Terra,” he groaned, “for the first time in my life, I wish I had the silver tongue of a Son of Sanguinias, just so I could sing your praises.”

You giggled. “You would sing for me?”

He felt the corners of his mouth curve upward. “I would.”

“I believe I would like to see that.”

“You would not enjoy it.”

“Oh?”

He buried his nose in your hair to hide his growing grin. “Sidonus used to say I sounded like a dying grox whenever we sang hymns during Chapel.”

You laughed out loud, and he found himself joining you, the stress of the last few days melting from his body.

“Ohhh, I am tired.” You finally sighed, going limp in his arms.

He shifted and laid you back on the cot. “Sleep.” He hesitated. “If you feel well enough, there is a… ceremony planned for tomorrow.”

“Mmm?” You yawned.

“Chapter Master Calgar will be reviewing the company and I-”

You bolted upright. “The Chapter Master is here?!”

“I assumed you knew.”

“I haven’t exactly had the time to listen to the serf gossip recently, Demetrian.” You shot him an annoyed look before your eyes widened. “Oh Throne, your armor…!”

He glanced down at his wargear.

“Look at the state of it! It’ll take me hours to clean!” You rubbed your hands over your face. “All right. I can do this. Go to the armoring room and get it removed, I’ll get fresh cleaning supplies-”

Titus shook his head. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?!”

“I will find other serfs to tend me.” He placed a hand on your chest and gently pushed you back. “The ceremony will take place at the beginning of the day-cycle, in the hangar. Come only if you feel rested enough.”

“But-”

He arched an eyebrow.

You closed your mouth with a huff.

“Good girl.” Biting back a groan, he stood and made for the door.

“Demetrian?”

He paused and turned back toward you.

“Try to find time to rest.” Your eyes drifted closed. “Love you.”

Before he could reply, your body relaxed. He marveled at the beauty of your features in slumber. Baselines called the Astartes “angels”, and yet, here lay a truly divine being.

Let others call him selfish. He could no longer imagine life without you.

Emperor, make me worthy of this woman.

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[nvuy]

palingenesis — il capitano

summary. oh, to the gods, and to be reborn again from your rib.

notes. “nvuy do the corpse bride capitano fic” said about three people so i did it. is this actually corpse bride? no. do i care? also no. my halloween present that only certified freaks are allowed to read. capitano is geniunely not mentioned by his name or his status, so LOWKEY. you could read this as any male lead you want, i guess. but uh… it’s capitano. well. it’s supposed to be.

warnings. mentions of death. mentions of decay (but the khaenri’ah version of decay). capitano is literally a dead man walking. tangents about god and love. standard nvuy fic where everyone is miserable. angst if you squint.

“You used to love me for me, but I don’t even know what I am anymore.” 

There’s a small huff of laughter as you bring your knees to your chest. You wonder how he would react to you after all these years. You surely look different, and rot has set its teeth into your skin, and it morphs into his least favourite colour. 

You wonder briefly, if he would even remember you, was he to ever return. How childish.

You pick up a lone stick in the soil next to you and poke at the withered and abandoned white and yellow orchards surrounding the stone. 

His grave sits idly, silent. 

“I lost myself the day you died,” you admit. Your throat constricts for a moment and you struggle to breathe. “I had no idea what to do.” You lean against the tree stump, as you always do. “I still don’t.” 

His name is etched from many many centuries ago. Not by you, no. You hadn’t even attended the funeral, and to this day, you regretted it. Regret was a terrible ache that never quelled nor strayed too far from your heart. 

The flowers were dead now. You’d laid them here almost a hundred years ago. You hadn’t expected them to live, but the petals were now an ashy black, and the edges that used to be soft and rubbery were now crumbling like paper against your fingers. The petals fell to small pieces. 

The land was withering. Of course, the flowers would rot as well. 

“You’d hate what your home has become,” you tell him. “We’re all rotting. And it all hurts.” You grimace next, but almost playfully. “Everything is blue. You hate blue. You used to tell me it upset you.” You look down at your forearm, and the withering aches upon your skin. “Even I’m turning blue.” It’s more so black than it is blue, but whatever colour it may be, it scars and will never leave. It is your fate, as it is your people’s. 

The forest is quiet. 

His body was buried amongst his favourite orchard field, but those flowers are long gone now, and all that remains is the black and blue prickly grass that you sit in, and a stone with his name left in it. He is somewhere below the ground, his body long decayed and faded and given life to the soil that once grew the most beautiful greenery you’d ever seen. 

Not even that remained. 

“If you were alive, you’d… y’know…” You tilt your head. “You’d rot, too. And for that, I’m grateful you died with glory.” You stare out into the dead fields. “Though, I can’t help but be selfish. I think it would hurt less if you were here.” 

And there it is. 

You hum soundly. “Yeah… you made everything hurt less.” 

There’s a ring in your palm. It’s small, just large enough to slot nicely around the swell of your fourth finger, but the rot has dug into your flesh just enough that it doesn’t fit anymore. Not the way it used to. 

It’s beautiful, however. Silver with white and blue diamonds. He bestowed it to you one night, though it was significantly after his proposal. The proposal itself was… special. Not in a bad way — but in his way. He had been missing for several days after his army had been struck with an ambush. Only a few men had initially returned to seek refuge and aid from the city. 

It was only two months later, after the city had mourned the soldiers’ losses, that they had returned. Bloodied, battered, beaten, but they had returned. 

He’d spotted you that day when he’d ventured out alone to visit his favourite field of flowers. You were sitting amidst the orchards, because this was where he’d usually be. 

And by your wishes, he returned. 

“It’s you,” you heard him whisper. 

You’d never heard a more beautiful sound. 

You turned quickly and dropped the flower from your hands. The colour almost drained from your face before a newfound pleasantry blossomed across your cheeks. You smiled, and it’s the first time you’ve done so in months. “You’re alive.” 

You took a hesitant step forward, as if unsure if his body would crumble to dust the moment you touched him. 

You sobbed pathetically. You held his face, or what remained of it. “You’re here. I thought you–” 

“I am here.” 

You think it silly now, believing he was dead over and over again. Every time he departed he’d come after the expected arrival date, and even then you used to panic and flourish and do everything but accept he was really gone this time. 

And now. 

Now that he is gone, it only took you three-hundred and ninety-four years to accept it. The rest of those you were busy returning to his grave and retelling your day as if he was alive and listening. 

The few people that were left on this side of the city pitied you. Even the grand old Mage had whispered that you’d better off leaving the dead to sleep soundly before he’d left for Snezhnaya. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this, or what occurred afterward. 

You had asked the Mage, once, if necromancy was truly a thing possible. 

“I am sure, even if it was, living dead is worse than living alive,” he had told you one day. “The past is finished.” 

“Is it selfish to think this way?” 

He looked down at you, and there was pity in his glance. “Very.” You eyed the ring still captured around your finger. “But, love is selfish. To want one person for yourself. It is indulgent.” 

“I suppose,” you whispered. “But possession is beautiful.”

And it had been beautiful. 

Just you and him. 

It was hard to adapt. Still is, really. You forget him for days at a time, and then you remember, and then you return. You stop and stare at walls. You glance to where he would be standing if he was around; next to you, at the dinner table, on his side of the bed. You never truly made the bed your very own. It was his, once. 

Just as your heart was — you weren’t able to develop the courage to move onwards with your life, so you were trapped within purgatory; swindled in a void of pure blue, like his eyes. 

Because isn’t being someone’s everything so special? 

Especially someone like him. 

Someone so brave, and courteous, and gentle. 

You never deserved that, really. So it makes sense why he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared in your life. Unfairness. 

You look down at the ring again. 

“You would be mine?” he asked one day, laying beside you in the field. “If I asked?”

You stared up at the sky. “I already am.” 

That pulled a small puff of laughter from him, and he sat up. You followed shortly, facing him. “I have a ring. And a proposition.” 

Oh. You looked down on what he was offering you. 

“It is your burden to oblige, and it is your choice.” You couldn’t see his face clearly through his armour, but there was a flash of that awful treacherous blue he hated so much. “But, if you’ll have me, I will have you. In this life, you and I will be as one, and never apart again.” 

“That is a bold claim to make,” you told him. “There is no guarantee you will not die soon.” 

“To which I rephrase: even when I am gone and you still walk these plains, you will be mine, and I will be yours, and my love for you will blossom through the soil and bloom the flowers that you love so much.” 

You laugh gently. Such a stupid man. 

You want to crush the ring until it welds flat and unwearable. 

Marriage is a privilege to the blessed, and you’re far from it. You receive no watchful eye from the Gods; they don’t care. They killed everyone you ever knew, and loved, and shared this miserable life with. 

The jewel squeaks in its confines as you squeeze. 

Such a stupid ring. 

You breathe in shakily. Stupid, stupid fantasy. Stupid games. Stupid delusions and useless pining and all of this heartache was for nothing and–

How hard do you have to believe in love to love the same person for an eternity? How hard do you have to imagine a world where everything is perfect when what is foretold to be eternal dies with the soul and the flowers in the rot? 

How long do man and Gods have to continue fighting each other before they realise it is futile? Gods are not kind, man even less so. 

Beautiful rot and ruin. 

That’s the world. 

The crows that sing in the trees screech their awful song to mock you. 

So, you drop the ring. You abandon it right where he had abandoned you in the soil. The silver rolls along the stone until it comes to a stop on the cracks. 

And it sits. 

You consider picking it back up. 

You don’t. 

Instead, you stand and turn to leave. 

Fate is fickle, however. 

If you had picked the ring back up, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. 

The breeze hits hard behind you and it sends chills down your spine. 

You glance up. 

The crows are making awful noises again, and you grimace. Though the spindly trees are ugly, you find there’s nothing uglier than the sound of those birds. 

He rather liked them.  

You step away.

Something sharp scratches against your ankle and then twists, and you scream. 

It’s a branch of some sort, and it moves and wriggles like a worm when you free your foot from its grasp. It twitches as if it has not moved in years, as if the bones inside of it were finally coming to life. 

It retreats into the soil beside his grave. 

Then, nothing. 

Nothing moves. 

The crows still and quiet, and you feel as though you can’t find the energy or courage to breathe. Your ankle is covered in soil and scratches, and you’re sure from how weak it stands when you try to apply weight to it that it’s twisted at best and completely sprained at worst. 

The soil does not stir. 

Until it does.

A hand pops a hole through the ground, and it is as still as the branch was, twitching and writhing and feeling through the open air for leverage. 

A hand. A hand like yours—covered in rot and ruin, purple and blue, and the phalanges are swollen with wither and time.

You step back and bite your tongue. A wrist reveals itself next, consistent with blue and bruise, and it reaches until the bloodied terrible fingers squeeze the soil and begin to pull. The hand claws and claws and digs itself from the ground, fingernails dirtied and brown. 

You want to scream. 

Nobody would hear you all the way out here. 

An elbow. It climbs and climbs, revealing more rot and decay. It writhes as if in pain, and you don’t doubt it so. 

You swallow hard. 

A shoulder. Sides of the neck reveal itself through the soil, caked in mud and wear and tear. It’s other arm tears free from the ground. 

And then a face. 

A face unidentifiable and ruined. Sullied with rot and bruise and wear and fade and filth. Two horrific blue lights of sort cast through the pain and the shadow that shrouds its face, and it only prompts you to step back even further. 

To that, the creature leans forward as best it can to try and grab your ankle. It’s waist is stuck in the soil, and it tries to pull itself out, despite how weak it is. 

“It’s you…” the creature whispers. 

You can’t move. You don’t even blink. Your breathing only comes out in short pathetic bursts. 

You’re not sure what it is, but rot has completely disfigured it beyond recognition. It’s sickening to look at. It’s worse than anything you could ever comprehend, and you imagine one day that you will appear the same. 

It manages to free itself from the confines of the soil, though it cannot stand. It hasn’t done so in centuries, nd the feeling of moving limbs are foreign to it, being entrapped below the ground for so long. 

It tries again to reach for you. It’s fingers brush just shy of your foot.  

You swallow hard. “Who…” You feel as though you already know the answer. 

There’s a single eye that you barely recognise. Deep blue like violet satin robes. Darker than the dead blue spruce. Darker than the sky, and lighter than the depths of the ocean where the sun could not reach. 

You know him. 

You bite your tongue. 

Waves of black hair as deep as shadows drown you on both sides until the world has swallowed the two of you whole. 

“I’m yours,” he reminds. “Correct?” He raises the ring you let go of.

It is him. 

You fall to your knees in front of him despite the fear and nausea churning in your stomach. He almost leaps on top of you, but settles in front, hands reaching forward to rest on your legs. He has not felt the warmth of another person, or anything, for five-hundred years, and he only simply freezes at the feeling. 

You furrow your brows and try to control your breathing. You try to push him off to sit up, but he does not budge. 

“You kept my ring.”

Your fingers curl around what remains of his shoulders and he takes your hand. 

“It is you,” you whisper. “How’re you–” 

His old uniform he was buried in is caked in soil, and it’s covered you, as well. He does not bring himself off of the floor, but he leans back just enough to allow you to sit up. You feel you can’t turn to run just yet, and you’re not sure if you want to. 

You can’t steady your breathing. 

He cannot move his legs properly, and so while you freeze, he uses your corpse as leverage to climb further up and rest upon your shoulder. He is heavy, as heavy as a corpse is, but you find comfort in the weight, somewhere. 

“You look so different,” he comments. Rotten fingers come forth to graze the same textured remainders of true flesh across your cheek. “What has this world done to you?” 

“You died,” you say. His lips rest against your cheek and he hums. “I…” 

“I abandoned you.” 

“I grieved over you for five centuries,” you quickly finish. “You were alive this entire time in the ground?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I don’t think so. I feel as though time hasn’t moved at all. But it has.” He looks around, your face still in his hands. “This is the field.” 

You nod briskly. 

“Everything’s dead,” he comments. 

“It has been,” you reply. “For years.” You look elsewhere. “Everyone’s dead.” 

He holds you tight. “I left you in a world like this.” His hair is matted and disgusting, but you reach up and rest a hand on his crown. Guilt presses into his chest like a weight, and he wills himself to ignore it, despite how heavy it is. 

He is a corpse. A corpse. Like you. Like everyone that remains in this place. 

And he scares you. 

Despite how tight he holds you, you fear him. You feel for a moment you are hallucinating; this can’t be real. Your husband cannot spring from the soil and restate his love. Not like this. 

True death was incurable, and he had died many moons before the war in battle. He had sacrificed himself for victory and peace, only for it to end when the Archons set forth and destroyed your home. You still remember them, even if most of them were dead now. That Barbatos and Rex Lapis remained, despite everything, and you wanted them both dead in return. Dead and buried and never to return in the soil. 

“This isn’t real,” you whisper. 

“It is.” 

“No,” you try. “You died. You cannot reverse death.” 

“It is not reversed. I am still dead.” He wants to kiss you, but the fleeting warmth of your skin as you try to pull away and the soil and filth that rests upon his face shies you away with a flinch. “I can be yours again.” His fingers grace over the rot along your face. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

“I proposed that I would never part from you, and you I, even after death.” He holds the ring close to your face before he takes your hand. He rests it against your knuckles, perhaps admiring how the silver still shimmers against your skin. “It was a vow.” 

A vow, he says. Your face scrunches up in frustration. “I never married you.” 

“Marriage or not, the ring was a promise of my word, and you kept it all these years.” 

He takes your fingers gently before he parts them and slots the ring where it belongs. It nestles gently close to your knuckle and you swallow. Your finger felt strange without the piece, and wearing it again after only minutes satiated that discomfort. 

His face is… nothing you remember. 

His eyes are barely the same as they were before, and you turn away when he draws close again with a shaky breath.  

“Are you afraid of me?” He’d asked you that many years ago, many times. 

Even now, you feel the same. “Should I be?” You look out towards the dead fields, and you feel something cold bump against your cheek. 

His nose squishes against your skin when he kisses you close to your ear. “No.” 

It is only then through a gentle whisper and his lips do you muster the courage to look at him. He is so different. 

But, he’s still yours. 

“Are you the same man you were five-hundred years ago?” you ask him. 

He leans in as close as he can and his nose brushes against yours. His fingers lock tight around your hand and he squeezes; the silver ring imprints on your finger. 

He smiles, and you fall in love again. 

“I can be.” 

[nxuvillette]

CLASS IS IN SESSION — DR . RATIO

synopsis : vertias decided to have a little bit of fun with you during one of his lectures.

❥- pairings : vertias ratio x fem!reader

❥- note : finally back out of my slump ! sort of.. LMAO. this post was inspired by this thirst, all credit goes to them :) ! i hope you enjoy and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3.

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, use of a vibrator, reader is in class, mentions of hookups, teasing, cum mentions, professor!vertias ( they are around the same age ! ), reader is a bit shy.

It wasn’t smart of you to do, no. You should have shut down Vertias the moment he even thought of the idea, but his persuasion corrupted your mind and made you unable to say no. Then again, it was harmless fun! It’s not like anybody would actually be able to notice the beads of sweat that chased down your face, or how your eyes kept flickering at that damn clock that just couldn’t seem to move any faster.

Down below you was Vertias Ratio in all of his glory. He spoke nonsense about mathematics and how to do the proper formula in order to solve the problem written on the board. You knew he loved nothing better than teaching complete, well, idiots how to do things the right way. The man you had been sneaking around with always spoke negatively about the classmates you had. He said they would probably never obtain great knowledge like he did. 

He hadn’t bat even an eyelash at you the entire time. He was merely too focused on teaching the class he almost forgot about the little vibrating object that was tucked nice and snug between your legs. You, however, were fully aware of the toy that was buzzing away inside your panties. Although it was quite subtle, you were still feeling such a great wave of pleasure against your clit. You were convinced that you had soaked through your panties and were probably making a mess on the chair underneath you, but that wasn’t your biggest concern at all. Honestly, you didn’t know why you agreed to such a lewd thing. It might have been because thrill was something you were into, but then again, thrills came with loads of risk.

The scholar then turned to face the many people sitting inside his lecture hall. His amber eyes landed on you sitting in the third row. Vertias could feel his cock aching in his boxers, knowing that your pussy was probably dripping with arousal. He maintained his serious facade, and decided to have some fun.

He stepped towards the desk at his table, leaning over to hold the controller that went together with the vibrator inside you. Suddenly, the buzzing became more intense. It whirred against your folds and made you snap your thighs together almost immediately. Vertias could hardly hide the smirk on his features when he saw you trembling in your seat and shifting around uncomfortably. How fucking cute.

“(Y/N), do you know the answer?” he questioned, motioning his head at the equation written on the board. 

Your cheeks burned the moment his question registered inside your brain. You couldn’t fucking believe him right now. It was almost as if he was setting you up to embarrass the hell out of you. Not to mention, you hadn’t been paying attention the entire time. You really didn’t know the answer, and you were far too occupied with the burning pleasure between your legs to even think of the solution. 

The many eyes of the people sitting around you were felt. It was becoming an awkward silence given how long you had been quiet for. “N-No, I have yet to s-solve it!” the last few words almost came out like a gasp, because Vertias pumped up the pleasure. 

He didn’t seem to mind your reply. If it was any other person, he would have scolded them with some snarky comment that would have for sure left them feeling stupid. “Do try and work faster next time.” he then turned around, scraping the chalk against the board to begin another equation.

But, just as he finished, the bell signaling that his class was over rang in your ears. You felt immediate relief come over you, but once you caught his eyes looking right at you, you knew that it wasn’t really over for you anyway. 

You began to pack up your things while the other people inside of the room filed out into the hallway. This left you completely alone with Vertias. He was waiting for you down below. It didn’t take you long to reach the man you were secretly fucking for months on end. He could see the way your thighs were shaking and how your breathing was just a bit heavier than usual. He was so fucking thankful that this stupid class was over. Vertias couldn’t hide his bulge any longer.

The taller man pulled you against his body. Butterflies swarmed your stomach the moment you felt his cock pressing against your belly. It was painfully hard. You automatically knew what he wanted by the way his hands were exploring your body. Your hands rested on his muscular shoulders while his fingers traveled below to your skirt. A sigh left his mouth when he made contact with your underwear that were completely soaked through. 

Vertias’ digits pulled your panties aside. His fingertips brushed your clit, making you whimper into his ear. Oh my, you were just so fucking sensitive for him. He loved the way you were melting in his hands like putty. “How dirty of you..” he whispered. “Your pussy is so wet.. you must have been having the time of your life in your seat.”

Your eyes were focused on the ground before you. It felt almost embarrassing knowing what he was doing to you. “Vertias.. please.” you mewled as he played with your sensitive bead. 

He forced you to look at him. His eyes were completely blown with lust and you could just sense how turned on he was. “If anyone asks.. I’m giving you some extra credit, got it?” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for your reply. 

You nodded. “Y-Yes..”

“Good.. now sit on my desk. We’re gonna be here a while..” he whispered, squeezing your lips together.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[illusivesoul]

That line that Corypheus says after being released in the Legacy dlc while he's all confused "Be these some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?" highlights how in his time, the Deep Roads really were the commercial and trade arteries of Thedas, and how they must have been constantly bursting full of people and merchants trading and going from one corner of Thedas to the other.

Tevinter controlled most of Thedas, but below the surface, the dwarven empire was what truly connected it, all the distant Thaigs and cities bringing lyrium and other things all over the continent, and even trading with the Chasind and the Avvar as far south as Ferelden (and according to Bianca, its possible the Deep Roads might have gone beyond Thedas itself)

And then Corypheus wakes up a thousand years later and assumes he's on the Deep Roads and is puzzled as to why it all seems so empty and lifeless. And the irony is that, even though he doesn't know it yet, thats what the Deep Roads and all the dwarven lands except for Orzammar and Kal'Sharok have become. A dead, lifeless carcass filled with darkspawn, with decaying statues, crumbling Thaigs and a few squads of the Legion of the Dead representing the fading memories of the glory of the past that once was and will never be again, and slowly fading into history like the dwarves themselves.

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!james potter x reader 6

prev

wc: 1785

cw: r thirsting over james, someone almost drowns (but doesn't)

me: i have a bunch of lockwood requests in the drafts and yet this is all I've been able to write lately... if anyone has any lifeguard!james requests pleaseeee send them over bc he is my favourite boy <3 ALSO just realised the last part was posted in AUGUST!! no wonder i wrote this so fast i have been missing him!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

it was stupidly hot. you weren’t usually one to complain about warm weather given england got so little, but the whole summer had been one big heatwave and it was becoming a little overwhelming. english girls weren’t made for the heat!

still, at least you had the public pool to make up for the sweltering sun, and that same underfunded public pool brought you james, so maybe everything did happen for a reason.

that brought you to the present moment, lounging on a sun chair, feeling the tan appear on your skin. lily was next to you flicking through a magazine you’d brought her from the supermarket and you were enjoying the sight of james in all his glory on duty.

you really needed to ask yourself why you could stare at him for hours doing, quite literally, nothing. you’d already seen him up in his chair plenty of times, observing the water below him, flirting with you, passing the time. and yet every time he was on shift you noticed something new. a new muscle that tantalised you, a new spot of highlight that glittered under the sun. james was simultaneously an enigma you chipped away at every day and an open book you didn’t need to; it was maddening.

you were torn from your daydreams by the lifeguard whistle piercing the air. you propped yourself up with a start, deadly curious as to what could have happened. in all your years coming to the same pool, you didn’t think you’d ever heard the whistle sound so aggressively. the most dangerous thing that had ever happened there was a few kids running around when the sign on the gate specifically prohibited it.

and yet, there was a little girl, flailing around because one of her armband floaties had popped and she was simultaneously being dragged under while one arm was stuck on the surface. you and lily watched on in horror as she struggled, hand over your mouths and reading material long forgotten.

luckily, james was onto it. in one surprisingly graceful dive, he was in the water, shooting across the pool to where the girl was struggling, all the witnesses frozen in shock or fear. he was there in an instant, scooping the girl up and bringing her to the side of the pool, hoisting her up to sit on the edge. when they were both on dry land, your surprise was doubled to see the girl was tiny, maybe five at the oldest.

james sat with her on the edge of the pool as she coughed and spluttered and spat out a bit of water, then walked her over to the tiny medical room on the edge of the facility. stillness and silence weighed over the pool for a moment before a few kids resumed their game of marco polo and life returned to normal.

“i know it’s awful that something could have happened to that girl, but now she’s safe am i wrong in saying that was super hot?” you asked lily and furrowed your brow when she laughed.

“you are so gone,” she shook her head with a smile, “but you’re not necessarily wrong.” in your defence, if you were looking strictly at james and not at the surrounding scenario, it was a pretty spectacular display. despite all his muscles, of which there were many, james was apparently light on his feet, making a dive even the olympians would respect, muscles shifting under his skin as his arms raised above his head. and then when he came up for oxygen, curls flying through the air as he shook the water off him and sparkling chlorine droplets adorned his skin. he truly looked godly; not of the same universe that everyone around you was created in.

plus, of course he was good with kids. as if that didn’t make your ovaries want to explode. james was so gentle with the little girl, rubbing her back as she got the water out of her lungs and holding her little hand as they plodded down to the medical room.

you went back to daydreaming under the sun fuelled by the new experiences you’d had, images of james and his muscles doing all sorts of nasty, delightful things. you were blissfully tanning until the squawking, rage-filled voice of an adult woman pierced through your ears up to your brain. had anyone seen her daughter? five years old, small, brown hair, pink swimsuit? you propped yourself up on your arms to watch the commotion, cringing silently as old hilda glowered, reluctantly explaining the situation.

it felt like the whole pool was silently waiting as james and the little girl emerged from inside the medical room. and while the girl waddled across to her mother like a puddle of sunshine, james was the grey cloud hovering over her.

you watched with keen interest as james and the girl’s mother engaged in a very heated discussion you couldn’t quite hear, all flailing arms and stern glares. you took advantage of the moment of his distraction, admiring the way his brow hardened as he got angry, something you’d never seen before. the glitter in his eyes was no longer mischief but rage, and his jaw clenched and unclenched like it was the only thing keeping him from yelling. maybe it was. while the whole situation was obviously very scary and tragic, your thighs were clenched for dear life as you watched the veins in his arms appear while his fists clenched. you were not going to tell lily what you were imagining about james’ hands but you were sure she could already tell.

the spat ended with the woman turning on her heel and dragging her daughter out of the facility as james stared them down, anger still radiating off of him. he stood aimlessly for a few moments and you got the impression he didn’t know what to do with all the angry energy he’d amassed. and while you had a couple of ideas, you figured hilda probably wouldn’t appreciate it on the ancient pool tiles. groaning softly, you swung yourself up and out of the plastic sun lounger, treading lightly towards him.

“hey there, baywatch. think it’s time for your lunch break yet?” james broke from his reverie to look at you, frustration still evident on his features.

“that was so — she was so —” he paused for a moment to self-soothe, “yeah, i think a break is a good idea.”

“okay,” you laughed a little, taking james’ cap off his head and putting it on your own, “you go sit with lily for a bit and i’ll be right back.” with that you took off out of the pool grounds, legging it to the supermarket down the street. nothing worth having was ever cold at the dismal pool bar.

you returned only a few minutes later with drinks in hand, approaching lily and james from behind. you could tell from their impassioned gestures they were still rehashing the earlier situation.

“an angel returns,” you announced in a sing-song voice, setting your hands on james’ shoulders. he looked up at you, visibly relaxing as he smiled. you couldn’t help but return it.

lily got the first choice of the three different beverages you’d chosen as you knew james would never complain. she took the iced tea while james chose a coca cola, leaving you with the lemonade. james reached forward to take the can as you came to sit on the edge of his lounger but you wagged your finger, cracking the top open and taking a sip.

“favour tax,” you explained, handing the drink over with a grin. james stumbled over his words as he took it, settling on just taking a sip to avoid having to come up with something witty. you hoped the red in his cheeks wasn’t just sunburn.

“so do you wanna keep talking it out or shall we distract you with our theatrics?” lily asked, clipping her hair up and off the back of her neck. james thought for a moment, head tilted to the side like a puppy.

“entertain me,” he commanded in good humour, “if i keep talking about it i’ll just stay angry all day, and who’d waste a day like that when accompanied by two beautiful ladies?” you and lily both rolled your eyes at his playful flirting, carrying on a conversation you’d started earlier in the day about neighbourhood gossip.

james’ shift ended just before sunset, when orange was just beginning to paint the sky. lily had left a half-hour earlier on household dinner duty, but you had nothing to do and knew james would be off soon enough.

you wandered down the town’s streets together, only half dressed from a day at the pool and admiring the multicoloured sunset.

“y’know everyone’ll really love you now, if they didn’t already,” you said, kicking a rock unfortunate enough to cross paths with you, “i mean, saving a little girl from drowning? that’s overachieving, even for you.” you studied james’ reaction, making sure it wasn’t too soon and you weren’t crossing lines. james, ever the ray of sunshine, just laughed heartily.

“what can i say? new kid in town has to make a good impression, especially when there are always such pretty girls hanging around to watch me on duty.”

“and who would those pretty girls be?” you asked with faux-innocence, looking up at james through your eyelashes. he looked at you as if to say you know, but then retorted anyway.

“hilda and edith are quite the silver foxes, don’t you think?”

“sure!” you laughed, “if you like wrinkly boobs down to your hips.”

“as opposed to yours!” james retaliated instantly, the widening of his eyes making it abundantly clear that he had not thought it through, but you weren’t letting him go that easily.

“which are…” you prompted, satisfied when james’ hazel eyes began flicking between your eyes and your bikini-clad chest, almost as if he couldn’t control it.

“which are… great! good? perfect? please let me stop talking,” he begged, only serving to make you giggle.

“come on, baywatch, let’s get you home. you’ve had a big day.”

“you know, sometimes i think you might even have a heart in there somewhere, pretty girl.” james slung an arm around your shoulder and you faltered under his weight, the two of you stumbling home in a mass of limbs and laughter.

would just like to clarify that there is nothing wrong with wrinkly boobs down to ur hips! all boobs r good boobs <3

[berriblossom]

Devotion - Childe

☆| Helloooo, another sagau fic! Liking these atm, read warnings below!|

☆| WARNING| male masturbation, semi-smut (not really just tartag jacking off), religious themes, obsessed devotion, reader is reffered to as a holy elder/ ancient god in teyvat AKA "The Great Divine", MDNI, ALL WORK AND CHARACTERS PROTRAYALS ARE FICTIONAL! Enjoy yaaay!|

Holy divinity was different for many people. Specifically in his homeland of Snezhnaya, the way the cryo archon and the fatui worshipped the elder god of this land, was through trials of hardship and sacrifice. Not by human life but more so in spirit. Tartaglia remembers before he fell into the abyss, he remembers how his parents would take him to the capital of the nation as people handed out hot mule, carts of candies, soups, and strict coupons from the Northland Bank as a way to get more people into debt. Ah sweet times he remembers, but specifically the core of this memory and why he wanted to grow strong in the first place was the military parade, led under the first Fatui Harbinger, Capitano, or the Captain.

How the soldiers and men under such an esteemed figure, followed his order, chanting prayers of absolute dedication and power given to her lady the Tsaritsa and the Great Divine. How they held onto their weapons and raised them in the air, promising victory in their journey, for they won't falter in this promise, and how this promise to their benevolent gods was a sign of pure devotion and strength. As a young boy watching this with eyes of life and joy, Ajax made a promise to himself that day at the small celebration, that he too would lay his life for not only the cryo archon but now his devoted and beloved Divine diety.

Ajax entered the now vacant temple hall. At the moment he had returned to his homeland for a banquet held by the Regretor for the honor of bringing home another gnosis in the name of the Cryo archon. However, he left the party early, a rare sign for the youngest harbinger. Usually, some would suspect the adrenaline-driven young man to be bursting with energy at large gathering and times to show of himself. But unlike an actual party, Fatui Banquets aren't about celebration, but rather politics and money. Something despite his position wasn't something he felt interest in. Just for him to be reminded of the greed and personal gain each of his fellow members had for themselves, so silently he left. Ajax sat on a temple pew, your frosted statue standing at the top of the hall, sat atop a small stage with a chair beside it, representing the Tsaritsa as she would sit or stand beside you in glory at your fated return to Teyvat. Ajax sat on the step underneath your statue, the air was cold, his breath coming in small pants, cheeks blushed as the usual bite of the cold nibbled on his features. But his eyes remained on your statue, focused and unchanging.

Silently, Ajax wondered what the feeling your benevolent gaze had on him. He remembered that even his master, Skirk mentioned casually that despite your benevolence to humankind, you were in fact a being of havoc and destruction, it was that you chose to keep humans, mortals, and immortals out of said fury, and wrath out of your kindness. Hearing that at a young age, made Ajax double his promise to you, that he would lay his life for you, even fight for you. Hell if needed he would betray his fellow harbingers for you and the cryo archon, without a split second to rethink the decision. Even as he travels for work and missions handed to him by the Tsaritsa, he carries a small page of scripture for you, words from thousands of years ago spoken that still ring in his mind when he feels unsettled or disturbed and needs your guidance and love.

"For human life and soul is the building block of all things in this world, without it, I am nothing, and as nothing, I shall depend on the love my humans have created out of nothing to give for me, something. Human love is worth a thousand years in memory and gold."

Ajax no matter what the anxiety, fear, or even boredom that plagues his mind, he daydreams of the day you'd return. How in his wildest fantasies, he'd get to hold you, cherish you, worship you, kiss your feet, and hands, hold the strong hands and fingers that sculpted his entire being and blessed him for the victories in battle he as acquired and carry scars as if they were trophies.

His breathing in the cold temple hall stalls for a moment.

He looks up.

His eyes meet your stone-engraved ones. Closed as a warm smile is printed onto the marble statue, forever frozen in a warming embrace and careful tenderness. Ajax whimpers as he closes his eyes tightly shut, his hands grip into fists against the tile flooring, leaning over as he kneels under your stone gaze. He mumbles quietly.

Ajax's voice echoes as he feels the weight of his words hangs in the empty temple. The world feels like it is silent, for it feels like he is only here with your statue, your presence, your being. Pressure builds in the base of his spine, crawling up his sides like a flame, tingling and burning with passion, burning at his fingertips, the cold leaving a numbing feeling as his other hand stays on the cold tiled floor. The hand from his chest lowers as he swallows hard, his eyes fluttering open and close with each breath, and each touch he leaves, imagining it was you. His voice falters as his pleas grow silent but his soft noises echo louder.

"My grace...by the names given to you...my dear loving god...hear me.." His voice was hoarse as he shivered feeling what felt like warm air hit his clothed back. Covered in the official Fatui coat, Ajax's hands tighten as he releases his fist and lays his fingers flat on the floor, his voice picks up again in the cold room. Light only by a sole candle illuminating your stone-etched face. "My grace, hear my prayers, as your devoted soldier, I want... no need for your blessings, the gifts of life and victory you've given me have warmed my heart, have been so tender...I am grateful....however.."

Ajax sighs and as he feels another wisp of warm air hit his neck, shivering he brings his hand to his chest, flat as his heart beats steadily. "I want more than your power...my fellow harbingers wish for your dominion, wishing to be like the gods you've created and destroyed....I want..your love...your sole love..your divine love only for me...a sin it is to be ready my grace, but I plead..."

With the promise he made set in his heart, Ajax tumbled forward, his chest heaving, as he spilled warmth into his palm, his flesh flushed, heart pounding in his ears, the warm hands he imagined, the sensation was replaced with his rough scarred palm. He looks down at his hand, his face flushed but eerily calm. He sighs and pulls his gloves back on, not caring about the mess as he stands, his coat overhanging on his shoulders.

He bites off his glove, wanting to imagine a new sensation, a warm scarred hand is replaced by his fantasy, a hand he can't recognize but adores. His eyes water as his fantasies grow wild, your voice, he imagines surrounding him, asking him to explain his needs, how he wants you to love him. The hand slides down his toned abdomen, tickling at his ribs and chest, flicks of hydro swirling around his fingers as he whimpers again..

"Please..." His voice gave in, slowly hurling over, the hand he imagined dipped below his belt, tossing away the useless fabric, taking hold of his form, his breath quickens as the pace is slow, "as it should" he thinks in the back of his mind. It shouldn't be rushed...he whispers into his consciousness, it should be slow, careful, tender. With love, he moans into the cold room. The candle flickers in the cold wind, the wisp of warm air against his fingers as they stroke hypnotically, circling around his flesh as he bites down on his lip harshly. Fresh drops of blood drip into his throat, flowing slowly as he swallows some, delusionally believing it could be your blood into him, flowing into him he wishes.

He desperately wants everything of you, all of it. Even if it hurts, even if it killed him. Ajax was prepared for such a price for your love, depraved and unattached, he choked a struggled moan as he felt his body tense, he quickened his pace, his voice speaking in hushed prayer as he used the other hand to press against his neck. His moans begging.

"Please...please...give me it...all of it...my grace..... give-"

He looks at your statue.

A smile creeps onto his face the gloved fingers just used for pleasure, cup your sculpted face. His final whisper relayed before leaving the frozen temple.

"You will be mine...and I yours, my beloved divine and holy god."

☆|Oof, I made him a freakish ngl, anyways I hoped you enjoyed it!

_______________________________________________

[bones4thecats]

can I request Malleus Draconia with part dragon! Reader who likes to sleep and rest a lot with him (very greedy and unpolite but very quiet and intimidating some times.) From 🍦-anon , please

You can ignore this if ur too busy , or just do it late ,I don't mind waiting

➸ Dragon-Love; Malleus × Dragon! S/O

Characters: Malleus Draconia A/N: Reader's Dragon-Form inspired by Glory from Wings of Fire! Fanart by DinkysaurusART on X. Reader's Dress and Crown here. ➥ Summary: Many expect the royal couple to be one of the most proper duos in the world. But, what they didn't know, is that deep inside, behind your high-ranks, was a love that could only be described as adorable.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Malleus Draconia ═════════════════════════╝

🐉 The land was silent. The sun had fallen down from the sky and allowed the moon its chance to emerge and finally create the light its opposite did for 12 hours of the day

🐉 While the sidewalks of Briar Valley were empty and vacant of any sound, minus the occasional chirp of the cricket, the castle still rustled. The royal knights switched their shifts, the night-crew coming in as the day-crew left for their homes to rest from the busy day

🐉 And as that happened. The King and Queen of Briar Valley smiled, they had snuck out like they did almost every night since they were teenagers. The cool breeze brushed past them as they walked together, laughing as they did so

🐉 They may have been older than 178 by then, but that didn't mean they had no sense of child-like inside of them still

🐉 Malleus smiled as he landed on the ground, he held his hand up to allow you to come down the rocks carefully. After all, you were still in your dress you would wear around the castle. The long ends hit the ground with a light poof while you kept up with your husband

🐉 Once you guys reached the edge of a cliff, you could look over everything. You could see your kingdom and your home right beneath you. It was all so... mesmerizing

🐉 The King of Briar Valley looked over at you. Your eyes twinkled in the night, reflecting not only the stars and moon's light, but the wonder and amazement that your continued to have years and years beyond your time at Night Raven College

🐉 He sat down on the edge, his legs dangling over the rocks and motioned for you to join him. You happily sat down next to him. But, after a while of staring at the view, you grew bored. This was far from unnatural. You craved adventure your whole life, and bringing your one and only into it made it better to savor

🐉 Glancing from below and back up to Malleus, your shifted to stand again. Malleus looked up in confusion at you. He was wondering what you were doing

"What are you doing, love?" He asked.

"Just getting a better look." You smiled.

"We've been sitting here for nearly 10 minutes and you want a better view now? What are you planning, dearest?" He teased.

🐉 Looking back at your husband, you began to lean backwards, causing yourself to fall down the mountain and towards the ground. Malleus jumped up and yelled your name in fear. But, instead of lunging after you, he was stuck in shock

🐉 All of a sudden, a large dragon flew up past him and into the sky. Smiling and groaning, Malleus did the same as you, bounding into the sky at full-speed. His large-black form flying alongside yours as you messed around

🐉 Lilia looked up from his bed and out of the window posted next to said furniture. He noticed two dragons flapping around, as if they were two dogs playing around. He smirked and chuckled at the actions of the two beings

🐉 Before he knew it, the two had laid down, cuddling. Their heads placed next to one another's as the larger one, Malleus', wing laid on top of the smaller one's, your, form

"Young love? More like Dragon-Love."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[trulyumai]

the beginning of the end - (I)

—Pairing: past! Messmer / Reader

synopsis: finally, the story could be told. the first glance Messmer took upon his wife.

warnings: family disputes, lots of fluff, Messmer on edge.

enjoy!

How did Messmer meet his wife?

Now, that’s a story laid in ashes; burned down along with the capital, surrounded in the ghosts of grace.

But somewhere— deep, deep down in the core of living, their story resides.

And it will be told today.

The festivals began with a loud bang. Quite literally, as catapults shot off arrows in the sky, with gold and white flowers adorning the tip. Flowers rained down upon the merriment of people.

Everyone was happy— for Queen Marika had chosen an heir.

Her eldest, Godwyn, perched himself upon the balcony, waving gracefully to the citizens below.

Behind him, his siblings lay in line.

Morgott, a silent but stoic man, always seen in the line of duty.

Mohg, who was a little out of sorts, but worthy nonetheless stood with his hands clasped behind his back, squinting upon the masses.

Then lay the half siblings. Of course there was Malenia, the most fearsome with a blade yet elegant. Beside her was Miquella— long hair flowed down upon his white robes and it was hard not to stare. There was something quite… mesmerizing about him, wasn’t there?

Radahn stood furthest in the back, for he was the widest— and biggest of the siblings.

And lastly there was Ranni, perched upon the side of the building with ease. She was always so far away— looking upon the sky with endearment.

But… there seems to be one missing, right?

Ah, yes.

The everliving flame. Messmer.

If it wasn’t for his mother’s obvious shame; the tall flame would have been up there too, basking in the light, the love. For what more could a man like him need?

Instead, he had trudged his way through the empty town. For all the residents lay upon the capital, screaming and cheering for his dear sibling. Godwyn the golden.

“Regrettable.” He growled. Mad his mother had brushed him away. Mad that he couldn’t stand in glory just like his own blood.

All because of some rumored curse. Bah.

His feet soon met with soft ground; flowers adorned the spaces in every which way, in every color and shade. It would have been a peaceful sight if the man’s hands hadn’t burned with utter contempt.

He hadn’t even realized he walked so far. And to the flower lands no less. Somewhere he was forbidden to cross, for his, “curse,” had put it at risk.

If only he had blonde hair. If only he hadn’t picked up the flames, this all could be so easy!

“E-excuse me, sir knight?” Whipping around, his hands instantly went to seize the neck of the one who interrupted him. Only to pause, just barely grazing his fingernails across their neck.

It was a… woman?

Squealing at the sudden action, she reeled back, dropping the basket of flowers and herbs with a clunk.

“I’m sorry— im so sorry!” Confusion etched around Messmers features, taking his hand back he stood tall, instantly towering over the poor girl.

He eyes her suspiciously. Sure, she looked harmless with those wet eyes, little frame and sunkissed face, but who was he to assume? Ranni looked innocent enough to, yet held the force of a moon between her palms.

“State thou’s purpose.” The girls lip wobbled, brushing her shaking hands off her dress she nodded.

“I— im a gatherer, sir knight. I collect uhm, herbs and florals for the town,” she blinked slowly at the red haired man and he did nothing butch watch on, analyzing each breath— each move she took.

“And why is your… stature so close to thys own?”

She let out a shaky smile, it ran across her face smoothly and perfect teeth shined back brightly at the man.

She was indeed lovely to look at.

“I— I thought you could use some company, or, perhaps a flower?”

Messmer squinted. “Flower?”

It only made the girl smile wider, as she looked around curiously for her basket of goodies.

“Yes! Of course, flowers help with everything.”

“Flowers help with nothing.” The flame scoffed, already itching to leave the girls presence.

Her expression had changed almost instantly and Messmer wanted to set himself ablaze. A torn look ran across her, mixed with confusion, sadness. Never before had such a man spoken to her so… loosely.

“W-well that’s not true,” she rebutted, already grabbing out a special plant for the man.

She felt the familiar texture and pulled the flower lightly, until both their eyes settled upon it.

It was a Erdleaf flower. It was so bright, shining on with golden purpose. The petals were held delicately upon the bud and the stem was being placed into the man’s hands before he could blink.

“You’re of royal descent. Gold shines through your blood like no other, so it’s perfect!” She beamed. Her hands had grazed his in the process, and gods, were they soft. So much smaller than his too.

“I don’t have anything in exchange,” he breathed out. Entranced by the order of petals and the way it sat upon his monstrous hands.

No one had spoken so softly to him before. Or even acknowledged his fealty to the golden order.

So for her to say it so easy; so casually. It made the man sag with newfound joy and comfortability.

“That’s okay, it’s a gift!” Her neck was starting to get sore from looking up upon the flame. Yet she stood there still, lovingly gazing from him to the flower perched upon his palms.

“Just take care of it for me, okay?” Already grabbing at the heavy basket, the lady began to back away waving goodbye to the royal knight warmly.

Messmer could do nothing but watch.

‘Say something you fool!’ He had thought, but it was too late, she was too far, her frame a mere dot in his vision.

Tingles erupted upon his body. He didn’t understand it. To feel so hot, yet cold at the same time.

Surely this isn’t.. adoration?

He shook his head, of course not. Such a thing has no place in a mind like his.

Finally gaining control over his senses, the man marched back.

And it was so silly, to see a man of his stature, cradling an erdleaf flower between his hands.

[rafedaddy01]

Rafe f ing you right next to your sleeping husband

A/n: love love LOVE this idea. Thank you babes 😘

Your lying in bed, next to your boring husband whose snoring. You sigh deeply as you roll over, your eyes landing on the window that’s slightly opened. You squint as you see the familiar silhouette, broad shoulders and floppy hair. Your know that body anywhere. Rafe.

A small smile tugs your lips as you watch your boyfriend climb through your window. A moment of guilt fills you as you look over at your husband, but then you remember that this marriage was just an arrangement, no feelings were involved. It was simply just a business agreement your father thought was best, and he’d cheated on you so many times, you shouldn’t feel bad for returning the favor.

“Hi, princess” Rafes soft yet gruff voiced speaks quietly as he moves closer to you in the dark room. “Rafe, what are you doing here so late” he climbs in the king bed next to you, caressing your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss “missed my girl” his hand go over the dainty fabric you call pajamas and massages your breasts. A soft moan leaves your lips. “Missed you too”

“Yeah? How much” his hand travled lower and lower till he flips the hem of your nightgown up to find you pantiless. His eyebrow raises in question at you. “Looks like someone hoped I’d be coming tonight” he flashes his intoxicating smile at you as he leans in for another kiss, his fingers moving over your clit and touching you so tenderly. You moan against his lips.

“Wait, we can’t do this here” you pull away, breathlessly whispering as you look over at your husband, who’s still dead asleep. He drank tonight which means he won’t be waking up until the morning. “Why not” Rafes lips move down your neck, making it hard for you to think let alone form words. “What if-” you swallow hard as you try to stay quiet “what if he wakes up” a slight gasp escaped you as rafe parts your bottom lips and runs 2 fingers through your slick folds. “Don’t worry about that”

He peels his shirt off and takes his pants off along with his boxers, leaving him fully naked. You take in the glory that is rafe Cameron. Even in the dark, being able to make out every muscle and curve on his body. Your hands go for his chest as you pull him closer and kiss him.

He grabs hold of his cock and starts rubbing the tip at your clit, making you weaker and weaker, needier and needier. “Please” you beg as your nails rake up and down his bare back. “Please what, princess?” He teases you. “Rafe” you whine. “Baby just because your husbands sleeping right next to us doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear you ask for what you want” he continues rubbing at your clit, feeling you soak his cock and the sheets below. “Please fuck me” you say a little too loud, making rafe quietly laugh. He pushes all the way in until his cocks seated perfectly inside you.

Your mouth flies open, still never getting used to the way he fills you so good. He stays still for a moment, his hand coming up to grab your head and turn it, making you look at your pathetic excuse of a husband. “I want you to look at him while I fuck you.” He pulls back and snaps forward, your body lifting off the bed. “I want you to remember this next time he try’s to touch you or even look at what’s mine” another thrust, this one harder

You look at your sleeping husband, his snores quiet and soft. Tears prick your eyes as you try to hold your noises in. Your legs shakes as rafe increases the pace. The bed lightly hits the wall and the mattress creaks from his speed. He turns your head back towards him “now eyes on me as I make you cum”

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart

[dwarfhorse]

p 1/??

Rune factory Guardians of Azuma

alrighty so this is gonna be a little lengthy because a lot was shown recently! however I'm typing on my tablet which is dying as I type and the sites won't load, forgive me for image sizes as I can't make them smaller.

first off, here's the new rune factory guardians of azuma trailer. accompanied with a release date of May 30, 2025. the game alone is 60$ USD while the limited edition is 100$ USD.

I'll get into characters in a minute, but we are seeing town building as well as being allowed to pick NPCs jobs (im assuming they're just store running NPCs with no storyline). and the trailer kind of gives pokemon graphics with genshin inspired mechanics. some mechanics also remind me of Pokemon legends Arceus. Keep in mind this is a sideline game, if I remember correctly they are working on 6, a mainline game. They are trying a totally new formula with this game and farming will still be included but not a main focus.

It seems there will be 2 romance routes locked behind dlc, and for the first time in a long time, the mcs will have their own distinctive personalities and the opposite of you pick will be romanceable.

Story: The Celestial Collapse — a calamity caused by a colossal object crashing into the eastern lands known as Azuma. The devastating impact sent fragments of terrain to the skies above and the seas below. With the earth shattered, the power provided by the runes ceased to flow. The gods of nature vanished soon after. Mountains crumbled and fields withered, leaving the people with nothing…not even hope. You awaken, startled by a dream of dueling dragons. You don’t remember how or why, but a voice resonates within you. "Accept the power of an Earth Dancer. Use this power to save the land.” Thus begins your lengthy journey to restore the gods…

now for characters:

Subaru (male mc) and Kaguya (fem mc)

Left his cold village in the northern part of Azuma on a mission to save the land. Childhood friends with Kaguya, who hails from the same hometown. Usually relaxed and easy-going. Enjoys gazing at the sky. While generally not a fan of battle, he has a strong sense of justice, and will fight fiercely to protect his friends and loved ones.

Left her cold village in the northern part of Azuma on a mission to save the land. Childhood friends with Subaru, who hails from the same hometown. Loves being in nature, especially interacting with animals and observing flowers. Although usually calm, she despises evil and resents any acts of injustice.

Woolby (mascot /sidekick)

The protagonist's loyal partner and guide. A bit of a braggart and a klutz. His gluttonous nature makes him susceptible to sweet bribes, especially dango.

Romance options, there are 16!

Iroha

The owner of Iroha's Teahouse in Spring Village. A friendly, caring young woman who dreams of revitalizing Spring Village and returning it to its former glory.

Murasame (they beefed him down in game sadly)

A samurai who wanders Azuma with the goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman. Master of the Munen Muso sword style, which means "free from empty thoughts." Spends his days training and keeping his sword in good condition.

Hina

A half-human, half-fox were-animal who arrives in Azuma on an airship with Mauro. Claims to be an archaeologist. Childhood events instilled her with a strong desire to help others.

Mauro

A self-proclaimed treasure hunter from a foreign land who came to Azuma by airship in search of a legendary treasure. This sentimental soul is easily moved to tears.

Ulalaka

Azuma's kind, gentle god of spring and merriment. Her benevolence knows no bounds, and she simply wants everyone to live happy, peaceful lives.

Matsuri

Azuma's carefree god of summer and swords. Enjoys physical activities of all kinds. Despite being a master of the blade, she tends to solve problems with brute force instead.

Unfortunately I've hit the picture limit, so I'll have to make a part 2.

[mischiefmaker615]

I Told You So (1 of 2)

Credit: Shoutout to @darknessawaits28 who's roleplayed this storyline with me to make this one shot(s) possible! she and i both worked hard on it so please give her a follow :D enjoy!

Summary: Ignoring Loki’s warnings, you blew off the fact that you might have yourself a bit of a stalker at work. When one thing leads to another, you find out you should have listened to your boyfriend.

Rating: R *dark warning!*

Song: Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell

Note: Happy Spooky Season!

Loki’s finger tips slowly ghosted over her skin, having made an unspoken routine by starting below her ribs and moving just above her collar bone before restarting. He had propped himself up on one arm, his cheek resting against his fist as he gazed at the woman before him. The morning sunlight gave off just enough to hide and highlight her features.. that was just enough to get him hard again.. yet it was hard to enjoy when he had woken up with a particular feeling about today as well.

He didn’t want her going to work today.

Exhaling, he did his best to let her sleep while his eyes continued to wonder her, the sheet having also been pulled away to expose enough of her skin for him to enjoy with his lips, having followed his trail right after his finger tips had been there first. His eyes flicked over to her alarm, debating whether he should mess with it or not, perhaps causing her to be late so that she could remain here rather than the strange feeling that was slowly consuming him to worsen with her out of his eyesight.

Y/N slowly stirred, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips while she embraced the feeling of her boyfriend’s lips waking her up in the best way possible. ‘’if you are trying to convince me to be late, there’s little to no chance today…’’ she sighed, disappointment of the fact in her voice while she slowly opened her tired eyes to gaze at him.

‘’work can wait, you’ve never complained about being late before.’’ He smirked before she rolled out of bed before he could pounce. It was a game of theirs, most days he would earn himself a few extra minutes with her, some she would slip away. Today was a day he was determined to keep her entirely while he sat up to ignore the negative feeling and opted to gaze upon her naked form while she looked over her shoulder.

‘’you going to join me in the shower at least or enjoy the bed to yourself?” she teased, knowing fully well Loki would never stay in the bed if it meant he was going to be in it by himself and giggled when he got up quickly- all in his naked glory.

‘’darling, if I so much as let that beautiful ass out of my sight while your clothes are off, do feel free to kick me to the curb.’’ He smirked, prowling around the bed playfully before he came up behind her, his morning wood pressing up against her perfect ass while his hands wrapped around her waist.

‘’there’d be no chance at me kicking you to the curb, you’d come back in a heartbeat.’’ She giggled, resting her dainty hands on his slender ones while he walked forward, guiding her into the bathroom in their apartment. ‘’you just can’t get enough..’’ she winked.

‘’no darling, I cannot.’’ He smirked before his mind began focusing on trying to convince her to stay.. to ease this feeling he woke up with.. ‘’Are you sure you want it to be a quick shower darling? I’m sure you have nowhere urgent to be’’ he murmured against her skin, leaving open mouth kisses between her shoulder and neck, nipping here and there as well.

His hand reached over her shoulder at the same time, feeling around while his mouth was busy at her skin to turn on the shower once they both had stepped inside. She flinched a little as the water landed on her, Loki quickly adjusting the temperature for her comfort while he paid little to no mind to it. She leaned her head against his chest, feeling the water land on her chest with a slight moan before she turned herself around for it to caress her back, wrapping her arms around his neck while his, around her waist.

‘’I’m sorry honey but.. without money, this right here won’t be possible; and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do it at my parents’ house.’’ She half teased but knew there was little to no cares when it came to Loki and sex.

‘’I’m sure your father wouldn’t be joining us in the shower so this is still possible..’’ he smirked, pulling her close so his cock could press between her thighs while her chest smooshed against his. His hands slowly traveled down to squeeze her ass, his head dipping down to capture her lips in his own while he backed them up so the water fell upon her head until it was on his, her back resting against the shower wall.

Y/N giggled before melting into his kiss, feeling how his teeth gently captured his bottom lip while his hands roamed her hips, ass and back. His cock was at full attention, trying to get as close as possible before his kisses slowly, his mind seemed to be distracted while he opted to kiss at her neck slowly and trail to her jawline. Knowing he boyfriend well enough by now, she slowly rested her hands upon his shoulders, pulling back a little to look at him.

‘’..what’s wrong?”

Loki was momentarily distracted by how the water glided down her chest, the temperature causing her nipples to react beautifully where he felt the strong urge to take one into his mouth. Yet he felt her concern and exhaled, keeping his eyes on her body rather than her eyes as his lips parted slowly to speak.

‘’darling..’’ he hesitated. ‘’..i don’t want you to go to work today..’’ he said quietly, most of him trying to vent to her about the feeling he had woken up with and the rest of him still working on convincing her to stay while his hand fell from her hip to glide between them, his fingers slowly circling her clit that had a gasp leaving her lips at first.

A shiver ran down her spin, feeling how her arousal began to grow as his fingers played her skillfully. He half debated on prolonging her orgasm, hoping to maybe throw her in a state of arousal where she’s wait willingly to fall from that delicious edge towards release, but he also didn’t want to torment her while he felt her breaths quieten while she struggled to speak.

‘’t-they’re paying me double Loki.. it’s not every day that happens..’’

‘’are we so much in a financial struggle for us to require sacrificing quality time?” he sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched what he was doing to her. How her find fought to listen and answer while her body squirmed between his and the wall behind her. Just for his own amusement while he drew her closer to climax, he slipped in a digit up to his knuckle, causing the words to fall from her mouth a moment while her nails dug into his shoulders.

‘’w-we used up more power t-this month for..’’ she exhaled, eyes fluttering as her thighs tightened around his wrist. ‘’for when I was teaching you the computer, remember? Those lessons took a bit of a chunk in our savings-‘’

‘’power should be free darling, how was I suppose to know that- never mind..’’ he shook his head. ‘’I can see what I can do for those idiot Avengers, just- you would be much more comfortable staying here today, wouldn’t you?” his voice then switched to try to allure her while he dipped his head to her neck again, waiting for her to inhale to begin speaking before he gently sank his teeth into her skin, causing her to moan to be silent again before she could gather herself once more.

As cloudy as her mind was getting with all the dirty thoughts she wanted to do with him today, she couldn’t help but ponder on his statement ‘don’t go to work today’. Why? He never had a problem with her going to work before, even with double shifts and overnights on occasion. There was little to no trouble working in a café- the most you’ll get is a Karen or two. What brought this on?

She knew he was working through his jealousy phase- how he sought to practically kill any male that would so much as look at her. Perhaps he had another dream again, something to upset him and send him in another possessive state. It was something they both had to discuss, how she was independent and required breathing room once and awhile. They were doing good, but nothing was perfect. So she figured he was just going through another wave of jealousy again by knowing there was going to be your occasional male customer enter the shop. By this, she nuzzled her cheek into his chest affectionately, as if to ease his unspoken words before she felt her body shiver and draw closer to her pleasure.

‘’you c-cant make me stay b-but-‘’ she stuttered, trying to plead with him as he stroked her painfully slowly, curling his finger before pushing into her again while his thumb took over her clit.

‘’that’s right darling.. I can’t make you stay, but I can definitely make you want to stay..’’ he murmured against her skin ‘’and if you do.. I can promise you I can make you orgasm.. all.. day.. long..’’ with each word he emphasized against her clit, stroking it with almost a ghost touch that had her move her hips forward to try to find more of his hand again.

‘’or how about this..’’ his voice got deeper, a smirk against her neck before he drew his lips up to brush against hers. ‘’you can orgasm now if you stay.. but if you go, you will be surely punished later..’’ he smirked.

‘’y-your punishments aren’t necessarily cruel..’’ Y/N whimpered, wanting release as he drew his finger out, teasing her entrance with his fingertip instead of the whole digit while his other arm held her firmly in place around her waist.

‘’oh darling I could be downright cruel if you want me to be..’’ he smirked and nipped at her bottom lip. ‘’I’m sure I could drive you mad if I edge you for.. how long are your work hours?” he threatened with a smirk.

‘’I could always pleasure myself-‘’ she tried to threaten, her words being cut off as he pushed two fingers now up her channel.

‘’darling, you haven’t been able to make yourself cum since you’ve met me.’’ He chuckled and began to pump her, focusing on proving his point while she began moaning and squirming in his hold. His arm kept her from losing her stance, knowing her legs were getting weak while she wrapped her arms around his neck for support.

‘’I always take very special care of you darling.. which is why you are going to cum for me..’’ he breathed against her neck, burying his face in her hair while the shower water hit his back. ‘’right.. now…’’

Her mind then froze, snapping half a second later that had her screaming her name and feeling her orgasm wash over her. Her body quivered and tightened, clenching around his thrusting fingers while her muscles tightened and her back arched. Loki smirked against her neck, feeling her shake as she rode out her climax, his fingers taking their time slowing down before his lips pulled down ever so slightly at what he had done.

Upon his stubbornness to prove he could have her like putty in his hands any time he wanted, he had also lost more of his leverage to keep her there. While his mind secretly ran quickly to find more of an excuse to keep her here, perhaps to sway her with another round, she gasped and pulled back a little, pressing her lips against his to momentarily pause his mind before she gently pushed him half a step back.

‘’now I’m really going to be late for work.’’ She teased.

Hope fluttered in his chest as he looked at her, feeling the water hit his chest while he gazed through it to watch her. ‘’so you’re choosing to-‘’ his words were cut short to find her turn around, hands pressing against the shower wall while offering her backside to him, a sly smirk on her lips as she looked over her shoulder with do-me eyes.

‘’you want to get yours before I leave?”

Curse this woman.. his cock twitched and felt his chest being pressed up against her back, his hand aligning his tip to her entrance before he desperately thrust up into her, hearing her gasp and her head falling back to flutter her eyes up at the ceiling.

As much as he tried focusing on trying to get her to stay, his feral side snapped while he laced his fingers with hers, his hands over hers against the wall while his hips took over and repetitively thrust into her. Her moans and sensitivity from her first orgasm had her fluttering around him, bringing him quickly to the edge he tried to make stop to have her here longer under him. the gods seemed to be against him today and upon feeling her second orgasm milk his cock, he came as well, gasping and moaning her name before sinking his teeth into her shoulder.

He stayed put, making sure she got every drop of him while she shook and panted against him before he felt himself slowly pull away, catching his breath while she turned around and gave him a  triumphant smile and kissed his cheek.

‘’gets get clean darling.’’ She secretly smirked before grabbing a bottle of shampoo beside him.

Damn..

~

‘’Nothing.. Strange has been happening over there right? Your people in charge treating you well? Customers aren’t strange in any way?’’ Loki rambled, leaning against the back of the couch while Y/N buried herself to gather her things for work.

‘’no no no, for the twelfth time..’’ she said, half distracted as she slipped on her converse and grabbed her café apron, searching for her purse next. ‘’..Loki.’’ she warned.

Loki sighed and waved his hand, her purse appearing onto the couch beside here where she reached over and picked it up. ‘’what about those.. regular customers?”

Y/N struggled a little as she thought, looking around to double check to make sure she had everything. ‘’not really-  I mean, there’s this one dude who always comes in, buys the same stuff and stays with his newspaper all day and leaves when it’s closing time, but he rarely speaks unless spoken to.’’

‘’..and you’ve spoken to him?” Loki asked, a small warning in his voice as his body noticeably stiffened, making Y/N sigh.

‘’babe, it’s my job. Can I get you anything, need a refill, stuff like that. Honestly we’ve talked about this and your jealou-‘’

‘’I know I know..’’ Loki sighed, hoping it was just jealousy and not something else as he went over and cupped her face with his hands. ‘’I just love you.. you mean the world to me and i- don’t know what I’d do if anything happened..’’

‘’then stop jinxing it.’’ She lightly tease and turn her face to press a kiss against one of his palms, her expression turning serious again. ‘’everything is fine, I promise. If it makes you feel better, I can text you when I arrive and when I’m on my way home.’’

Loki quickly nodded at the idea and kissed her forehead, his grip tightening every so slightly to not want to release her before he did when he noticed her cheeks smooshing ever so slightly, raising his palms in a surrender position ‘’alright alright- how about I pick you up today, we can go out tonight?” he offered, mostly so he could get to her sooner than later but she bought the idea by brightening up.

‘’okay, I get off at five’’ she smiled and took hold of the doorhandle. ‘’I love you, I’ll see you later’’ she grinned before leaving.

‘’okay I’ll see you-‘’ the door closed before a wave of the uncomfortable feeling washed over him.. stronger than before as Loki tensed.

‘’soon..’’

PART TWO

Tag List: @foxherder @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz

Special Note: @cabingrlandrandomcrap Thank you for putting the idea in the comments when i was debating on a writing promp with Loki AI art holding Reader in the street Lol this request is for you :)