#Pushing aside that descendant doesn’t mean direct descent.

[echosdaffodil]

“But if Ryunosuke is gay he can’t have a descendant”

Okay, saying it now, he’s only Phoenix descendant because they wanted to sell the game. Story wise it’s useless information for both game series and might as well be not true.

[veiledfox]

The Kitsune’s Dangerous Experiment: Day 2

Trigger Warnings for: vomitting, blood, self-harm, body horror. Portions marked with ----- both before and after

Extra: 1 Meter = 39.37 Inches / 3.28 Feet / 1 Yard

A part of her didn’t want to continue these tests. Remembering the discomfort and pain she had felt in that fourth layer, and that hallucination of distorted laughter. She didn’t get much rest the night after, even with being back home and safe from the Abyss’ curse. Having had to more or less argue with herself after she woke up on whether or not to return today or wait for another day.

Yet here she was, descending through the Abyss once more. Though, this time, she had packed a little lighter to make travel easier, while still having what she’d need to protect herself. Having her pouches of ammunition, with Quad-Rail strung over her shoulder. A small flare gun holstered on her hip, with a pouch cartridges varying from standard flares for light, to smoke-screens to provide cover or distractions. 

Though she wouldn’t take her Wyvern form this time, no, she was taking her time. Having used the early night to sneak through the southern district of Orth to find one of the many delving points that had been established outside the Delver’s Guild. Took her drop from one of them, she conjured the magick platforms beneath her feet twenty meters down, and continued leaping down further and further by twenty meters each time. 

With how she had begun her descent earlier in the night this time than the last, she had to fend off a few predatory avian creatures. Thankfully nothing like a Crimson Splitjaw, or a Madokajack. Managing to get through the first and second layers, and finding herself progressing down the third like the day prior. Quad-Rail at the ready, it’s rings alight with rocks set within each, as extra precaution. 

Last she was here she had heard the Crimson Splitjaw stirring somewhere out of sight. Muffled noises, was all she got at the time, but she didn’t see one show itself. Something she had to be thankful for, when she really thought about it, but here and now there was another chance. One for it to, this time, go wrong if it was still out and about. It was already about an hour or so earlier in the night than it was last time.

If there was a time it would still be moving about, it was likely now more than any other. So she took this slower now than the time before. Instead of jumping down to try and rush through, especially after having suffered the effects of the curse within the first and second layer, she was walking at a brisk pace. Using her magick to condense the invisible platforms beneath her feet, and using them like a staircase, running round and round the Great Fault’s wall in her descent.

She could hear some light flapping of wings this visit, every few minutes. Each time looking above and spotting some Hammerbeaks returning to their nests to slumber. Having held her breath each time, however, and letting them free with relieved sighs when it turned out to be the harmless creatures of flight that inhabited the abyss’ upper layers.

Kyuushi pushed onward after each interruption of sleepy Hammerbeaks above. After a half hour or so, and another hundred meters or so down into the Fault, she would be interrupted by a Hammerbeak again. Though this time the bird flew right beside her a brief moment, sharing a brief glance with her, where it would give a quiet squawk, then continue down past her toward it’s nest. She would watch it briefly, spotting a second reaching it’s head out to greet them. A mate. 

The sight brought a little smile across Kyuushi’s face, and improved her mood a tad. Encouraging her to put a little more pep to her step, and reach the bottom of the Fault to progress into the Goblets sooner. Picking up her pace a little, while still doing her best to ensure she kept her breathing in check, and didn’t let anything on her person rattle about too much.

She would reach the last hundred meters without any more interruptions. Able to spot the indent within the wall where she had stopped and tested this layer’s curse along the way. Now spotting the bottom edge of the vertical drop that was the third layer, and the hints of the Goblets within the fourth below. 

Continuing on, she would find herself pausing, hearing a shifting sound somewhere. It sounded almost like it was beside her, beyond the surface of the wall to her right, Though as she turned her gaze toward it, she would just barely catch the sight of the large beak dropping past her view, scrapping along the wall now and then as it spun wildly with it’s momentum. Every few seconds or so leaving traces of blood across the wall.

“Shit-” Cursing out, she doesn’t hesitate one bit before leaping away from the wall toward the center of the gaping maw that was the Great Fault. Seeing a rush of red soar down, right past where she had been. Following it with her eyes, the shape and the vestigial stalks confirmed her fears. A Crimson Splitjaw, Four-Star danger class, deadly, attacks delvers on sight.

The serpent like creature, it’s wide hood extended to surf the unseen winds of the Abyss itself, was following the head of the Hammerbeak that had plummeted past her. Catching up to, and swallowing it whole, before the beast would swirl about. It’s vestigial eyes twitching to recognize the Kitsune amid the air in the center of the Great Fault, before it gives out guttural cries of aggression.

Spiraling into it’s ascent towards her to attack, she’s given little time to jump out of the way, and quickly pull at the ring on her weapon’s bowstring to prime, and launch the four rocks at the beast. Hearing it screech out in pain as, with having lead her shot into it’s path, the rocks pierced into the creature’s side. Sending the Splitjaw recoiling in pain and growing anger as it would circle above and ready to attack her again.

Quickly using the brief moment as it recoiled, she began descending again. Now leaping from random point to random point with varying distances between each. Doing her best to keep her movements random and unpredictable to the creature while loading four more stones into the rings of Quad-Rail. Hearing the constant noises the wart-riddled monstrosity made growing closer and closer with each second, her ears twitching rapidly to keep track. 

Eventually she would fit the last rock in, and launch herself forward from her most recent platform. Hearing the rush of the Crimson creature bursting past behind her, and an angered cry from it as it immediately swerves to try for her again. Though this time, Kyuushi takes a risk.

Knowing the beast would be smart enough to go for where she was just finding purchase with her feet, thanks to how swiftly she knew it turned, she wouldn’t jump any horizontal direction or let herself drop. Having avoided one of these before, she knew it’d be fast enough to catch her in any such direction. 

Instead, she would leap upward, and backward. Putting enough strength into her jump that she would keep under the twenty meters that was her limit in ascending by a good distance, and spinning herself mid jump to get sight of the beast. It’s large form could turn fast, but with the angle she knew it was going to try for her at, she knew that her jump would get it not only above, but behind it with the distance she aimed for. This making it have to turn in a way that it had a harder time in doing to try and get her, in turn slowing it down.

This would allow her to fire at it again with Quad-rail, this time aiming for one of it’s vestigial eye stalks so that, at the very least, one of the rocks would hit it. Drawing the bowstring by the ring at it’s center, the light shafts connecting to it, they collapse with a dull thump of force sending the four stones rocketing to the beast. 

The top right most would hit it’s stalk, her mark, though it was at it’s edge. Just a little too far over that, with the placement of the rocks, aside from the cut through a lower section it was missed completely. Still, the projectiles would pierce into the body of her opponent, making the Crimson Splitjaw shift course and writhe about in pain.

All the while the Kitsune lets herself drop a distance. Catching herself upon her magick about another thirty meters below, and glancing beyond. From a simple glance as this, it seemed to her that there was maybe thirteen meters left before she would exit the third layer. Continuing her progress down once again in her random movements hearing the creature shriek out above her, and the rush of wind from it beginning to dive to try and get her.

Unlike the time before, now Kyuushi would retrieve an arrowhead from the respective pouch on her waist. A single arrowhead, readying it into the top left ring of her weapon, seeing the blue light take around it’s central base. Continuing to descend while she readied her next shot, and even called upon her magicks to produce the sound of a separate Splitjaw farther above the one pursuing her.

She can hear the moment the one chasing her down hesitates and moves to check behind itself for the other of it’s species. In the same instance turning around after planting herself on a platform. Raising her bow, she aims the shot, draws the string back, and lets it loose in mere seconds. 

The more aerodynamic shape of the arrowhead letting it soar through the air, this time severing the stalk as a whole and piercing not only into, but through the Splitjaw’s maw. Hearing a high ting a second after, one that she could recall as the distinctive sound of one of her arrowheads hitting the stone wall of the Abyss. Though, from her experience last time, she knew that would mean the arrowhead couldn’t be retrieved. She’d need to replace it later.

Her opponent was reeling from the dismemberment and the piercing hit straight through it. Screeching out in agony and rage while beginning to circle and swerve about within the air. Likely, it was trying to orient itself and pinpoint her once again, using it’s brief confusion to swiftly continue down, and towards the lip that is the end of the third layer. 

Again she would hear the beast making it’s guttural sounds as she gets past the bottom edge of the Great Fault, continuing past it and getting the widely expanding ceiling of the fourth layer above her. Still hearing the beast making it’s noises, she turns to look to the opening that was the way out of the third layer to watch for the creature.

Just in time to see the red serpent come rushing down with a shriek, going past where she was and down into the Goblets of Giants. Furiously swirling and spinning to find Kyuushi, who was readying rocks into the rings of Quad-Rail yet again. Taking small leaps to get herself farther down, while keeping distance from the beast as it kept trying to find her.

It was about a minute after that the creature seemed to finally catch onto her again. Turning sharply with a growl as it faced her. Opening it’s maw to let out a horrid, angry shriek, she can see it bare it’s two large fangs in it’s anger. Quickly beginning it’s approach toward her, this time with such energy behind it’s movements to drive forward and try to consume her. 

Raising her Artifact, she aimed at the fast approaching Crimson Splitjaw, facing down it’s opening maw bravely, though her heart was quickly racing with anxiety. Letting the wart-riddled thing grow closer, and closer, getting within range for her to smell the rot on it’s breath. Widening it’s maw almost to an impossible degree, about to bite down over her and consume her whole. 

The instant it’s maw got close enough that she could be enveloped by it, she would swiftly jump back, watching it’s mouth snap shut with a rush of wind from the speed it did. Jumping forward this time, getting on top of it’s head as it realized it missed her, and recovered from shutting it’s jaws so fast. A hesitation in it’s movements which let her swivel on her heel and line up a quick shot of the loaded rocks against her foe.

With her proximity and angle, two projectiles shot straight through the stalk of the beast’s remaining vestigial eye. Them, with the other two, continuing to pierce into the monstrosity's head. Something which she quickly follows up, by bringing both her hands to the Bow’s grip, and plunging the bottom bladed tip into the creature beneath her. 

Keeping the blade embedded a moment, feeling it’s body lurch in attempt to shake her off. Taking the next opportunity available to pull it free, and stab down into the creature again, and again. One last time piercing it’s flesh with another downward thrust to embed it once more, feeling the thing begin a downward trajectory. Riding it as it swirled in it’s plummeting, until coming upon and crashing down onto one of the Flat-creepers of the fourth layer.

Yet, while glad she had grounded the beast for now, a new worry would rise quickly. With the steam of the heated waters surrounding them, visibility was hindered. On top of this, the lifeforms that made up these ‘Goblets’ were sometimes taken as territory by another threat. One that she understood was much worse than the Crimson Splitjaw she stood atop while it wriggled about, trying to gather itself.

Orbpiercers. The first of the Abyss’ beasts that Delvers would likely come across, which had an odd ability to, from what it seemed, sense the future. Capable of predicting the movements of it’s prey or the intruders of it’s territory. A creature with quills sharp enough to pierce metals of the Abyss itself, and coated with a nasty poison. They were beasts of five-star rating in danger levels, ranking among the absurd, while the serpent she had downed for the moment was merely listed as ‘deadly’.

Thankfully she already had a plan forming as she twists Quad-Rail a bit, turning the blade still within a fresh wound on the Crimson Splitjaw. The action making it screech out in agony, the sound echoing through the cavernous layer of the Abyss. Though it would also make the beast flail about more beneath the Kitsune, nearly managing to force her off before she removes herself from it. Watching it slither forward some among the shallow waters, and raise it’s bleeding head to hiss at her.

 In the next second, it’s large form was lunging for her, leading Kyuushi to launch herself backward from it. This wouldn’t avoid the creature’s assault entirely, but it would at least keep her from being consumed by it right away. Continuing her back-pedal like movement to keep ahead of it, just by inches at the least and a foot at most. 

Though with the splashing each time she landed and kicked off from the plant below them, and the rapid sloshing of water from the serpent chasing her, she couldn’t hear what she was hoping for. A distant splash among the water, the approach of some other thing, the charge of one of the Orbpiercers into the side of the Splitjaw with it being the bigger threat.

A glance behind amid her retreat would show the mist parting way and giving sight to the edge of her current platform approaching. An edge she’d need to utilize against the slithering beast in front of her if an Orbpiercer truly wasn’t present on this plant-top. Something that ruined the plan that had come to mind, but wouldn’t be a bad result overall.

Using her next leap backward to turn herself and catch into a hard sprint. Able to access more of her speed in doing so, she begins to gain distance from the Crimson Splitjaw. Rushing to the edge ahead of her, and leaping the distance and drop down to the next one in her sight. Hearing the splashing water behind her cease and the tell-tale sound of the serpent spreading it’s hood to take flight. and glide behind her.

This thing was truly persistent with her, and she was down to keep letting it chase her as long as she could keep ahead and moving downward. Which, with the pace she was reaching, and a quick look behind her, she knew would be possible. Able to keep away from the lesser threat as much as she could need, as long as she didn’t come face to face with the bigger.

Kyuushi knew, however, that her only caveat to this would be that she couldn’t turn at any point as long as the serpent was behind her. Any divertion from her patch would give it ample chance to close the distance and consume her the instant she had another blunder. Her only chance to change course would be if she were to swing herself beneath the current Flat-creeper she was dashing her way across. 

She wouldn’t be allowed the chance to think about such thing, however, catching sight of white spikes being thrust toward her. The abrupt nature of this forward assault  caught her off guard, but her flexibility and agility allowed Kyuushi to drop into a slide under what she would confirm to be an Orbpiercer. The large white mass passing over her while she slid under and past, hearing the wet squelching and gushing of the piercier spearing the Crimson Splitjaw behind her.

Not one second would be allowed for her to stop, however, getting back to her feet and continuing her sprint she could already hear the the new threat beginning it’s chase. Best chance she had to get away now would be to use her flare gun, slinging Quad-Rail over her shoulder and retrieving the small firearm from it’s holster. She retrieves a cartridge for a pure smokescreen, loading it in as she begins to near the edge of the current plant platform, firing at the lip which sends it recoiling backward, and into the air above her. 

The wildly spinning cartrige spews smoke around itself and surrounds the immediate area near Kyuushi with this veil. She wasn’t sure this would even work to disorient a beast that can somehow sense the near future and predict her actions, but she hoped, and kept her pace. Hearing some form of deviation in the movements of the Orbpiercer unseen behind her.

Seeing the lip grow ever closer, she readied herself to leap off to the next Flat-creeper, but as the mist and smoke gave way to the sight of it, she immediately began to feel panic fill her. The next pad in her trajectory was thirty meters up. Not like she couldn’t clear that jump, she was a mythical being herself after all. Here in the Abyss, however, she immediately recalled the events of her test the day prior and felt her stomach drop.

It was almost like the Abyss itself could sense she was needing to cross to the next platform. As the moment she could register how much higher it was, she could feel that pressure of the curse already weighing down on her. Unlike yesterday, however, she would heed it’s command, listen to it’s suggestions to go lower, though at this point she had little idea what she would find for footing beyond aside from that which she could make with her magicks. 

Leaping a little early, she just barely clears the edge of the Flat-creeper she was on. Hearing the splash of water, and feeling it rain down on her, from the Orbpiercer having slid to a stop up above. Having left the Flat-creeper it is on, it no longer deemed her a threat to it’s territory. Finally allowing her a chance to take a breath, dropping a little further before she catches herself on some magick formed platforms, getting a moment to store her flare gun.

Spotting another Flat-creeper a short distance below and to the side, she decides on avoiding it. Jumping down past it with a few hops and continuing on below. Still doing her best to gather herself again, to breathe and calm her heart from the chase she had just escaped from.

Able to take her time now, though as she proceeded down in a slow, comfortable pace, progressing away from the Flat-creepers. Eventually she coming across the sight of the scorched hills of the Garden of the Flowers of Resilience. A place she had come across each time she’s descended into the fifth layer, though the times she did was few and far between. 

Twice she’d come here, and seen the beauty that was the countless white flowers. One of the hills marked with a gravestone of sorts in the form of a large pickaxe the first time she ever saw this place. The second, it was gone, then the third... the hills were being set ablaze. Flames and smoke billowing up, consuming the air that filled the central shaft of the Abyss. This was her first time returning since, and to see it all blackened and scorched... it hurt her a little.

Still, she would have to press on, to pass through to the fifth layer, the sea of corpses, and find herself somewhere to conduct her experiment. Somewhere that was away from the Idofront, where the Sovereign of Dawn resided. She wouldn’t be entirely free of his watch, or that of his Umbral Hands, but she could at least try her best to conduct her experiment in peace. At least... as much peace as she could manage within this deep a layer.

Looking down through the opening which would lead her into the fifth layer, she can just barely spot the light of the Idofront far in the distance below. Though before that, nearly a full thousand meters of pockets of water, each one massive, deep, often lined with sandstone, or otherwise with the usual rocky flooring of the Abyss itself. She would simply just proceed down, but in the same moment as she saw the next layer she recalled some new information that had been recovered. 

A delivery balloon had been recovered some dozen visits to this Abyss or so prior. One supposedly from near the seventh layer itself, the very depths of this cursed, yet always oddly beautiful, pit into the planet. Written by one of the White Whistles of the Delver’s Guild, one “Lord of Annihilation”, or Lyza the Annihilator. Pages within the package the balloon carried telling of the most present predator within the Sea of Corpses, large seven-tailed Scorpions with acidic venom.

Such creatures, according to the information received, made their nests within areas of sandstone which smelled of dried vomit being burned, and that had been discolored due to their acid. Thus ruling out a great many spots she could see right away, though she could see a few potential places for her to go to conduct her test. The only issue would be that, either way she looked at it, she’d likely need to take a dip into one of these pockets of ocean to manage a twenty meter ascent to test the curse’s effects against herself.

After a few minutes of looking, however, she does manage to spot a good location. One where it was mostly the standard rock of the Abyss, with some sandstone closer to the waters themselves. Though the sandstone looked to be that of it’s standard coloration, a pale sandy look to the floor right at the edge of the pocket of water that it held. The location looked mostly flat, maybe a five meter incline, but there were a few larger rocks she could spot closer to the wall of the Abyss.

Stepping off from the sort of cliff she had been surveying from, she begins her descent to this spotted zone. A small area which, while not guaranteed, should provide the space and safety she’d like to have, knowing full well what this layer’s level of the curse would cause upon her. Finding her feet touching down upon the ground below, just a few feet away from the waters she’d need to dive into, a couple minutes later.

Turning away from the portion of the Sea of Corpses, Kyuushi turns to look to the rocks she had spotted earlier. Heading to the one farthest back, a large stone which seemed to connect the wall to the ground, she would nod to herself. The space beneath the stone would be adequate to safely store her equipment, and to keep it out of her hands for when she ascends.

Removing Quad-Rail from her shoulder, she slips it beneath the stone, before removing her belt and it’s contents of her ammunition and her holstered flare gun, and doing the same. Setting everything else beneath, atop of her bow, and ensuring it would be generally hidden from plain sight. She didn’t want it stolen, of course, though knowing the nature of the few Delvers who had black whistles such as herself, they rarely ever came down here. Not only that, but she doubted one of the Umbral Hands would ascend from the Idofront to where she was.

The only chance she had of being interrupted at this point would be by the Stingerheads, as the Annihilator called them, or by the “Lord of Dawn” himself, Bondrewd the Novel. The first, she couldn’t smell any nearby hint of dried, burning vomit nearby. Some faint hints of it from farther away, but nothing close to her current location. The later threat, however, she doubted would be an issue after the events that had occurred just some time ago. 

He seemed oddly incapable of just dying off, but at the same time, he was still subject to the curse most of the time. Ascending the nearly nine-hundred meters she was sure still lay between herself and the Idofront where he resided, didn’t seem to be something worth his time. Even if he knew of her true nature, she was sure he would likely not risk the ascent, with his unclear methods of negating the curse or not. If he even had any of those cartridges of his left.

So Kyuushi could feel at least a little more comfortable, with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be interrupted by anything but herself. The best kind of situation which she could be in, given the effects of the curse this deep. Complete sensory deprivation, causing confusion, and behavior that often leads to self-harm. A curse which she felt much safer experiencing when she didn’t have her weapon hanging on her shoulder, especially with it’s bladed portions.

She would also remove her jacket, and the larger pants she had on over some shorts and leggings. It was generally a good idea to wear layers within the Abyss, after all. Provided protection and warmth, as despite the odd atmosphere of the Abyss dragging sunlight down over 20,000-meters into the planet, it could still be rather cold. Even more so around this layer with all it’s fossil-riddled bodies of water. The fifth layer was named the “Sea of Corpses” for a reason.

Having set her removed clothing with her equipment, she stands and turns to the waters again. Taking a moment to practice her breathing, utilizing Total Concentration Breathing once more. Calming her heart from it’s climbing, anxious pace, and collecting herself to ready for this. Only beginning toward the water’s edge minutes after her first breath.

Standing at the edge, looking into the depths, she takes a deep breath and makes a small leap forward. Straightening her body out, and plunging down into the water. Letting herself sink, lower, and lower, and lower. Only able to see darkness surrounding her when her eyes opened, though looking beyond her feet would show the faint form of bone remains of some kind. Though she couldn’t let herself get distracted trying to figure out what they belonged to, beyond the fact they didn’t look human.

A little farther down, just a short distance more, she was sure she’d reach her twenty-meter distance. Though it was a little difficult to tell with how little she could see of anything. Including the light from above the surface when looking up again, though she could spot what she assumed was the edge of the water where the land took hold. Something she’d have to aim for, after turning to face the wall of this pocket of water.

One minute, she had been sinking into this cold wet water before finally feeling she had descended far enough for her test. Finally shifting her body from it’s straightened position to begin swimming toward the surface. Knowing full well that she’d need to climb out onto dry land, and stay low while getting as far from the water as possible once she had ascended. Though a part of her worried she’d have the curse hit her on the way up, due to the uncertainty of how far she had gone down.

-----

It seemed to be about half way into her return to the surface when the telltale sensation of the curse wanting to effect her shook her body with a shiver. An issue which made her worry worsen, but she would push on as much as she could. Increasing her pace a little in the process.

Eight meters.

Five meters. 

Two meters.

One meter, Kyuushi felt her hands and feet beginning to numb, and her head beginning to spin, some panic settling in almost immediately. Pushing the last of the distance she needed to get out of the water. Barely able to feel the ground as her hands met it, and subsequently feeling her arms and legs grow rather weak as she pulled herself onto land. Only for the world to spin around her as she begins trying to get as far from the water as possible.

She couldn’t hear herself breathing, but could vaguely feel herself starting to gasp for air. Only the most vague sensation of her throat tightening, of the pain surging through her body. Barely catching the sight of blood spilling from her mouth as her body convulses, before she can get too far, and her sight began to darken. 

Unable to feel or hear, and her sight dimming so severely, she forced her body best she could with the whole of it numb and throbbing in pain. Getting that little bit farther from the water that was possible, before everything felt like it gave out. Her body, unaware to herself, collapsing. Though naturally turning to it’s side, though she’d feel like her body was floating... why was it floating?

What was she doing in this place, why was she so far down, why was she growing cold. Was she on stable ground, or maybe she was sinking into the waters and that was why she could hardly breathe? She was testing something, right? That was her whole reasoning for this, her drive for coming... back... today? Was it today? She was here yesterday, she was sure of that, right? Or was that tomorrow? What... was she... w-was she a Human? The curse only effected Humans, right? She had to be if she was suffering from it... but she had ears and tails of a Fox.

Was she even awake... Ky-... Kyuushi was her name, right? She couldn’t tell whether she was awake or not, If she was still whole, herself entirely. The Woman could only feel like she was just... existing. In a form she couldn’t comprehend in the moment, or was it minutes by now? Hours? How long has she been suffering this... thing, whatever this was. 

A ringing in her ears would wake the... Kitsune, yes, she is a Kitsune, and her name’s Kyuushi. How long had she been out? Her body felt stiff... felt, it felt, she could feel again. Stiff, her face sticky, her head... absolutely pounding. Even after having removed herself from the Abyss for a day. Right, that was yesterday, at least, she was sure it was? The curse had still hit her this hard. 

The question returned, how long had she been down from the curse. Trying to move her body, to open her eyes, she is briefly stalled and blinded by what little light she could register. Seeing her arms in front of herself, her lower with it’s sleeve reddened from blood. Though... she couldn’t see properly. Couldn’t even open one eye, her lower eye to see her arm better. 

Moving her arm, she quite slowly brings her hand to feel over her face. Touching mostly dried, still rather sticky substance more or less sealing her eye shut. It became clear to her almost immediately that it was her blood. Urging her to sit up and try to feel over her head for the source. Bleeding from the eyes, nose, and mouth was expected from the prior tests, as much as she could remember in the moment, but those wouldn’t cause this. 

Her right ear felt clear, so did most of the right side of her face, beyond the expected spaces. It would only be as she feels above her left eye, over her forehead, that she could feel a small wound breaking her skin. Clearly the cause of how badly her face was covered in blood, but the question that came to her throbbing head was... why?

Looking over the ground around herself, she would notice a smaller rock coated with the crimson from her head that was just beside where her head had been laid. Giving her her answer rather quickly, she was glad for that, but as she tried to take in the rest of her surroundings, she couldn’t see too much... it was darker than she last remembered.

She had fallen unconscious, from what she could piece together. Having crawled about four or five feet from the water before her body gave out, and she hit her head against the stone coated red. On one hand, it made her worry a little on how her brain was handling the impact. On the other, she was simply glad she didn’t do more horridly dangerously things, because she had lost consciousness so soon.

The taste of iron came to her tongue now, her senses all back at last, the numbness and pain across her body subsiding, no longer dizzy or nauseous. She was simply just... sore from it all, and having slumbered atop hard, cold ground. It must have been an hour or two at least, if not more. Which she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was or not, but she could figure the specifics out later on. 

-----

Right now, she was remembering her clothing and equipment. Struggling to her hands and knees first to try and move in general. Able to get closer to the rock she remembered she had set everything under. Eventually managing onto her feet proper, though her stomach would churn briefly once upright, but she was able to get to the wall of the Abyss beside the stone. 

A large wave of relief filling her seeing her belongings untouched. Leaning down to gather everything, and begin to hold it all tight to herself, with a hand around her Artifact’s grip. Turning her mind’s focus to calling out to the Tori Gate, wanting to return home and rest again. Feeling the gush of wind behind herself a moment after, which would prompt her to turn and take steps through an unseen opening, readying herself to catch upon her magick platforms as soon as she could once through.

Heading, like last time, immediately for the bath. Requiring a good clean more this time than she did the last. Returning to her room after, and opening her notebook to fill the fifth layer within her noted results. Laying down to let her body recover afterward.

First layer curse: dizziness and nausea after ascending ten meters.

Experienced: Light dizziness and weak beginnings of nausea after ascending twenty meters.

Additional Odd sensation causing fur to stand on end.

Second Layer Curse: Strong nausea, headaches, numbness in limbs.

Experienced: Mild dizziness, dry retching, light headache centered at the back of the head, numb hands, feet, ears, and tails.

Odd sensation from first layer returned, about 1.5x strength compared to before.

Third Layer: Vertigo, audio and visual hallucinations.

Experienced: Prior curse symptoms from the two layers above, the negatives all doubled,  headache spread to entire head, minor vertigo, audio hallucinations in the form of Mother’s giggling.

The odd sensation from the two layers above, stronger, but not oppressive, almost possessive.

Fourth Layer:  Intense pain throughout the body, and spontaneous bleeding from orifices.

Experienced: Prior symptoms of the curse, doubled in severity, gigging from Mother’s voice distorted, throbbing pain throughout the body, bloody vomitting, bleeding from the nose, minor bleeding from the eyes.

Odd sensation prior to the curse present again, likely some form of invisible layer of atmosphere or barrier within the Abyss which, in retaliation of delvers trying to ascend, retaliates with the curse.

Fifth layer: Complete sensory deprivation, causing confusion, and subsequently leading to self-harm

Experienced: Symptoms from layers one through four returned immediately, similar strength to the time prior. Loss of all senses caused hallucinated giggling to not be heard, however. All senses gone within two minutes, confusion taking hold immediately after. Fell unconscious due to body giving out and hitting head on a rock, avoiding any self-caused harm. Awakened two to three hours later.

Confirmed, odd sensation of the curse’s presence is the curse itself demanding the person suffering it to stay within the Abyss and to only proceed deeper. Goign against this by ascending, and breaking it’s ‘barrier’ in the process, causes the retaliation that is the curse itself.

Do not test sixth layer curse, under any circumstances, unless unavoidable.

[ddaenghoney]

chapter four

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): graphic sexual depictions (fingering, like really minor dirty talk; it’s mostly dirty praise idk, oral; female receiving, cum swallowing, vaginal penetration via male penis(typing this made me laugh so hard lmao), male ejaculation without condom); i’d say it’s entirely sweet sex but uh-

Word count: 4931

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

Yoongi stands outside of the CEO office, his back against the wall beside the elevator. Waiting until the door shuts behind you, he straightens, pressing the button next to his waist to signal the elevator. Meeting eyes with his, you know there’s a lot he wants to say, but the vagueness of his expression doesn’t give you an idea of a tone. Another lecture you’re sure. Just to continue the growing streak. Yerin’s secretary glances towards you then Yoongi, curiosity taking over her to hope for something interesting to occur.

You simply follow him into the elevator.

“What was all of that?” He asks you when the door shuts, eyes peering in frustration, but you believe him to be shocked more than anything. “I’m now your fake boyfriend?” A single, breathy laugh leaves his mouth. Bitter.

“I guess,” You’re unable to meet his gaze, instead staring at the unlit elevator buttons and the lack of movement from other people calling for the elevator on this oddly slow day. “I don’t even know.”

“If I knew this would happen,” He sighs, rubbing his temples and never finishing the end of the thought. Leaving it to himself.

“This is my fault.” Your voice is barely a whisper, severity of everything catching up with you and how you’ve managed to cause trouble for Jimin and now Yoongi, who’s new to SoundWave and probably hating the employment.

“No.” Yoongi shakes his head, then exhales once more, trying to rationalize. “This is complete shit, but it’s not your fault.” In the first place, Jimin having a contract forbidding him from dating is one that Yoongi thought was just a bad rumor in the industry-- something that people didn’t actually have. There wasn’t a single employee in his last company that was forced under that rule, even though it had been frowned upon to be in public relationships. Incredibly frowned upon in a certain case. Still, Yoongi never figured the lack of a dating-ban clause in his contract and the new direction of his stage persona would lead him into a fake relationship. Irony with no humor. “Why aren’t you publically an employee?”

You reach for the elevator buttons, clicking the ground floor. The machinery shifts, starting the descent.

“Because,” You’re still hesitant about the prospect of explaining your situation. Anyone at SoundWave that has anything to do with music production knows, and Yoongi shouldn’t be an exception. It’s not like he is an intern, or part-time assistant. You may even work with him in the future, but you can’t remember ever explaining your position to someone other than Jimin. And that was only because he was whom you worked with often when first starting. “I write songs and produce, but I don’t ever get credited for it.”

“What?” Yoongi sounds like he thinks he didn’t correctly hear you. “Wait, what do you mean? Who gets the credit then?”

You sigh, eyeing the floor number that grows smaller and smaller, but not quick enough. “Whatever group or idol that ends up using them.”

“You,” He’s without comprehension, expression on his face ridiculously confused. Maybe even appalled by your job, or that he is also a part of the extremely large group under the assumption that they aren’t being lied to. Only to find out that it’s an acceptable and ongoing aspect of the company. One you’re acceptant of; otherwise you would’ve quit years ago or never taken the job to begin with. “You let your work get used under someone else’s name-- you’re lying to people, and you’re just letting that happen?”

You glare at him, but stay silent. Even if you want to argue, that’s how it is. You don’t have the power to change it, and years earlier you didn’t actually mind sliding ethics aside. You want to tell him that you’re not letting the lies occur willingly, but by the looks of his face-- something appearing increasingly unsettled and distant about your untruthful position-- you know it won’t matter. He won’t understand and maybe is even right to have his opinion of you drop to the ground.

The elevator door opens prompting you to practically jump out. “I’m going home.”

Yoongi stays inside of it, posture weighted in contempt of everything that he’s just gone through. As if the merger couldn’t get anymore terrible, now he is in a falsified relationship with someone that helps SoundWave lie to the general public just for the sake of appearances, and he’s stuck dealing with it. He groans when the doors shut again, taking a moment to bask in the nonsense of it all before clicking the button to his studio’s floor.

Outside the building you pace, considering the option of calling Jimin, but then also considering that he hasn’t texted you and is likely angry and sorting through his own thoughts of this mess. You groan, startling a passerby on their walk to wherever. Taking no notice you shake your head, pulling out your phone and ripping the bandaid off,

Y/N, 3:43pm: Can we talk?

You stare at the message thread for a passing minute, then lock the screen. He could be busy doing a thousand other things, there isn’t a reason for him to automatically get back to your message, and he could still be upset-- the screen flashes with a notification, and you immediately unlock,

Jimin, 3:44pm: Yeah, I get off close to nine.

A breath releases from your lips. At least he responded. Another message appears, the contents seizing up the next beat of your heart.

Jimin, 3:44pm: Can I call you right now?

Y/N, 3:45pm: Yeah, of course.

You descend south of the company, heading towards a nearby coffee shop when the call comes in. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jimin sits in the recording booth, waiting for the producer to meet him there at the start of the next hour. His legs gently push on the floor, swaying the computer chair side to side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” The concern in his voice eases you, as well as the seemingly calm demeanor. Though there is a chance he’s feigning it, you suppose. “I’m so sorry about the thing with Yoongi. I swear nothing happened-”

“I believe you, lovely.” Softly spoken, head nodding even though you couldn’t see him. Jimin bites his lip, bothered that you’ve likely been incredibly worried about what he thought ever since Yerin dropped the words. “You wouldn’t do that to me. I trust you.”

His sincerity is warm, nearly causing the fuzz of emotions in your eyes to trickle because of how much your mind was pressured from the idea that he would misunderstand. You breathe through your lips, cracking the air audibly. Jimin sits upright on his end, concern raising his voice’s volume,

“Baby, are you crying?”

“No.” You’re quick to cover up but the word itself sounds like a tremble. Jimin frowns, rubbing his face,

“I’m sorry, I would’ve texted you but I was worried your phone’s notification would be loud while you were talking to Yerin. I didn’t want it to interrupt and make her angrier.” You rub your eyes feeling no tears and just the annoying heat that seems to release from all of the stress of the past couple of hours. “What did she tell you anyways? You didn’t get in more trouble did you?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Just a speech that put you in your place, but it’s not worth mentioning. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer you over the weekend, Jimin.”

“It’s fine.” Jimin taps his index finger on the armrest, then pausing the motion as you speak up,

“No, it’s not fine. I shouldn’t have ignored you. I wasn’t being fair.” You sigh. He’s quiet at your words, surprised at the conclusion of your actions.

“I was acting like an idiot, Y/N.” He glances to the clock, knowing the producer is usually early. “I’m not mad at you for it, I deserved it. Anyways, I need to go. I just called because I wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were okay.” You smile softly at the admission. “Come to my apartment later and we’ll talk more, alright?”

“Okay,” You nod, glancing to the sign on the coffee shop that stated they are closed for the day. Unusual for a Monday. Yet fitting for the kind of day it is. “I’ll make sure no one notices me going in.”

---

Jimin can’t help chuckling at you when he opens his front door. A large zip-up hoodie drapes over you with the hood covering your face, and sunglasses complete your, to your opinion, lowkey look despite sunglasses being useless at night. You’re pouting as you remove the shades, stepping into the apartment.

“I bet the cab driver thought you were having a day.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong.” You shrug, slipping the hood off and dipping your eyes from his. Jimin sighs, head nodding in agreement. “He was telling me I was lucky to get a cab tonight and everyone is close to the city center today, so at least I got a ride if nothing else.” Jimin’s head tilts at your seemingly lack of awareness to the date,

“You know it’s New Year’s Eve don’t you?” His sentence barely completes before you’re looking back at him in shock. When you consider all of the closed establishments and lack of people at work, it makes sense, but you’re in disbelief that you forgot. Jimin smiles in endearment, reaching for your hand, “It’s been a complicated week.”

He leads you to the couch, and still calm. With all of the information he heard from Yerin, you assumed Jimin would act differently. At least be asking fervently for answers. He said on the phone that he trusts you, but despite that you wonder how he’s not appearing to be upset about it. Sitting down beside him, you watch Jimin pull his knee up on the cushion facing you. His hand fiddles with yours, thumb stroking the top.

“What should we do?”

The question isn’t one you anticipated on your way over. The diverse amount of things Jimin could mean with it flutter your mind like gusts in a tree, and the lack of strong emotion in how he spoke make your eyebrows harden in thought. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” His eyes fall to where your hands meet. Jimin squeezes tighter. A pound in his chest. “Don’t you think we should stop this all?”

Muscles tense throughout your body. The concept is so far removed from what you expected. His passive attitude to go along with it drives your head to draw a blank. You thought coming here there could be strong words in an argument of explanations, and apologies for the things Yerin called you both into the office for. Not this. Your hand squeezes around his and Jimin casts his gaze back up. Nervousness is apparent, paired with your head shaking.

Jimin bites his inner lip, trying to remain rational despite the hurt in your eyes, “We,” He hesitates, remembering the first time that he kissed you. “We’re just hurting each other, love.”

“How?” Voice higher, confused. “We’re,” You swallow dryly, “Not even dating, Jimin, why do you sound like you think we should break up.” A tiny, hollow laugh, devoid of humor. You watch helplessly as he nods,

“I know, so before it gets worse than what happened today, we should stop.” Jimin’s voice slows down, like he doesn’t want to complete the sentence. Sadder. You inhale, trying to reason his tactics in your mind,

“Then let’s date.”

“Love-”

“I don’t want to stop.” Jimin bites his lip, frowning at you while feeling the ducts of his eyes well because of your pleas. Your hand shakes in his grip, and he wills himself to stop from hugging you. “Please, I don’t want to stop. I like how we were, I,” You remember saying the opposite to him at the club. He recalls the same thing, smiling joylessly.

“We can’t stand up for each other, baby. I can’t be there for you like you deserve.” Jimin talks about the company, but also in society’s perspective. Yerin made it clear that he can’t be in a relationship publically, and for that reason the relationship between you started. Hidden. Incomplete. Jimin told you at the beginning that you should both stop if you caught feelings for somebody else and you agreed because it was just fun when it started. It wasn’t serious, but it turned into something deeper. You know that and know Jimin knows it too.

“I care about you so much.”

Jimin’s lips part at the simple, yet utterly sincere and loving words. Contrasted by the sadness of the entire situation. His hand clenches around yours. He thinks the same, but with what he knows about himself, he shouldn’t let this continue. The few cool tears dripping from his eyes plead with him as well. To admit to you the feelings that he has, but it’s more complicated.

“Jimin,” He loves hearing his name through your lips. His tear-stained face watches you move, knowing he should stop you. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t and your lips are on his. Jimin’s hand abandons yours for your waist, to keep you from getting too close, but he kisses you back, relishing in your touch against his better judgement.

“Baby.” Jimin’s hand tightens around the side of your waist when you attempt to move closer. Mere inches from your face, his eyes lock with yours, searching for your thoughts.

“Please,” Air hitches in Jimin’s throat while your arms cascade around his neck. Your voice soft. Begging once more, by your lips kissing him sweetly. Like candy. Familiarly. “You don’t want to stop.”

“We should though.” A waver in his tone. Jimin really doesn’t want to stop, let you go, force you from his life.

“Just kiss me.” Believing you can convince him otherwise, your arms gently tug. Coaxing. In a more sensible time, you know this isn’t how to keep him with you. You know that there are problems, and the way Jimin and you are now won’t work. But you love him.

And this isn’t a sensible time.

Your hoodie is left on the couch, stripped off before Jimin lifts you to take you to his bedroom. Your lips attach along his jaw, trailing until you come in contact with the spot that elicits an expected grunt. Your arms tighten around him, holding yourself to him while working at the skin, leaving it sensitive and bruised before he lays you down.

His fingers caress on the area, smirking softly at your quick, thorough work, but his jaw tightens when you waste no time and remove your long sleeve. Inhaling a long breath, Jimin crawls over top of you,pressing your head back into the mattress as he kisses you firmly.

“What if you regret this?” Jimin’s voice blisters against your neck, syllables left in the skin like a trail leading to your collarbone where he pauses, kissing feverishly. He knows you won’t change your mind, more so when you audibly sigh and mix your fingertips into his hair,

“I can’t regret you.” You raise your hips the short distance to rub against Jimin’s, listening to his groan when he feels you against his growing bulge, “I want you, Jimin.”

For more than just the night.

Jimin’s face equals with your own, lost in your eyes until you kiss him again, prompting him to flatten against you more. His hips rub slowly over yours, firmly pressing his hardened erection against your pelvis. You moan against his lips, fueling Jimin’s emotions to win over logic. His hand reaches for the button on your jeans quickly, desiring more contact. He halts when you nudge him upwards, immediately thinking you want to stop until your fingertips are undoing each button on his top. He smirks at your hands, watching you through the sultriness in his irises.

Jimin lets you be the one to push his shirt off his shoulders, then he lets it slip off his arms to lie next to your hips on the bed. Your palm finds his chest, cementing the beat of his heart to memory. He observes quietly, curious of the slowness in your actions. The intimacy of feeling his skin in a calm manner. The moment passes when your hand moves to cup his cheek, guiding him back down to you for a kiss labored in passion, but just as vulnerable as tears.

You grind your hips opposite of his motions, creating a deeper pressure that causes a small piece of profanity to fall from his lips. Jimin’s hand finds your cleavage, squeezing over your bra to make you gasp. The article is removed then in your haste for him to touch you more, earning darkened chuckles from his lips when you lift your back from the bed to unclasp the bra, your chest pressing to his. He admires you, “You’re so precious.”

“Then don’t break up with me.” Labored words escape when you’re back against his sheets. Under his focused stare you slip your arms from the bra straps, but hesitate to remove the cups when Jimin’s chest fills with air from a sharp inhale. Watching so intently, and you swear his eyes gaze lovingly as well. He reaches his hand over yours, guiding it to slide the lingerie from your chest, exposing yourself to him for a countless time. Beautiful.

“It’s better for us,” Jimin has the nerve, the stubbornness to say this in a low voice, despite the fact that the actions currently show he’s trapped in the thing he’s deemed no good. You shake your head, then are halted by the ghosting kiss from his lips, “You mean so much to me, lovely.” A longer ministration follows, filling your thoughts of the familiarity how sweet he’s always tasted. “But we can’t become a couple. I can’t let you deal with how lousy I am.”

“You’re not,” You pepper Jimin’s cheeks, fingers trailing along his back.

“You know how I am in the company.” You don’t speak against that idea, the one you never want to bring up because it felt like an instant argument. One you didn’t think Jimin realized. “And you’re wonderful and talented,” His kisses are short and repetitive against your lips, “And deserve better than all of the crap you’re put through. But I can’t help you with it. And I don’t want to be a reason you hold yourself back.”

Before you’re able to retort at his nonsensical words, Jimin’s hand reaches between your legs palm pressing against your jeans and rubbing friction into your core. Words are lost to a whimper unprepared for the contact as well as the proceeding action his hand takes rubbing roughly, making your hips move into him craving more. Jimin kisses at your neck listening to his name fall from your lips in a needy murmur.

His hand leaves your growing pile of nerves, eliciting a breathy whine that he kisses back into your mouth. Jimin unbuttons your jeans, “Take them off.” The demanding tone is contrastingly soft, leaving your heart beating in anticipation and complying in moments to help him rid the clothing. “God,” He lifts himself upright, knees pressing further into the mattress from his weight, while he looks you over: skin already appearing glistened from need, chest concaving from breaths that leave the mess of lovebites in view on your upper body. “So beautiful.” His head tilts watching the blush on your face grow from his words. “You know that though,” A coy smirk plays at his lips, while he reaches for your thighs, gently sliding you upwards on his bed, so your head comes close to the headboard. “I tell you,” Your mouth releases a moan when his fingers press against your clit through your panties, his lips leaving airy pecks on your thighs, “Every time I can,” His smirks grows when the swipe of his thumb against your wettening heat makes your legs jerk. Trying to close, but he removes the hand to grip them back in place, respreading, “I’m going to make you feel good.”

Profanity slips from your lips in a breathless stutter when he strips you completely, Jimin’s fingers rubbing into your clit like a map memorized. Easily causing your legs to wiggle, moans slipping out when one dips inside. “Jimin,” Needily begging for more as the digit slides in and out, readying you for the second while he continues laying kisses on your chest, decorating it with heat in every spot. “Feels-” You gasp when his thumb works against your clit, the sensation mixing with his fingers pumping inside of you making your hands grip his shoulder.

Nails graze the skin as Jimin’s fingers push all the way, he grunts from the force of your hand, but leaves a kiss to your jaw, “Don’t come,” Another ministration on your lips as you whimper, already knowing you were leaving his fingers wet along with his sheets from how he was expertly edging you along, “Not yet, lovely, wait for my mouth to take you over.”

Every piece of will to listen nearly disperts from just the tone of Jimin’s voice: slow, confident. You’re so willing to be pushed over that you’re unable to stop your hips bucking into his mouth when his tongue graces the entrance of your throbbing cunt. He chuckles against you, the vibrations themselves feel good, and your face heats from your own eagerness, but you’re more focused on giving him the satisfaction he wants, “Jimin, you’re so-” You gasp as his tongue dips deeper, moaning your next words, “Good, fuck; please, I want to come.”

“Let me taste you, baby,” Jimin’s hands hold your hips as you writhe from the pleasuring sensations. He groans low when your hand leaves the bed to tangle in his hair as your orgasm coaxes through. You tremble releasing yourself with long moans, hazy while Jimin’s lips lap up your arousal, muttering praise into your core. Your head lies against his mattress, chest taking full inhales, as Jimin sits upright. His tongue drags along the remainders of you on his lips, while his eyes take in your fucked body. He crawls overtop of you, kissing you and staining your tongue with your own taste.

“I want you inside me,” You cup Jimin’s face as you murmur the words. His eyes are lidden with desire at your statement, sharply inhaling when you go on, “Fuck me, baby, please I want to make you cum in me.” Jimin kisses you, moaning to your lips as your hand rubs his shaft through tight jeans. “It’s not even fair for you to still have these on,” He chuckles, and you can’t help the tiny smirk on your lips.

“You want to come again, baby; so needy for me.” Jimin kisses your nose, his pelvis moving into the motions of your hand. His inhales grows slightly labored when you give a squeeze to his hardened bulge before you’re unbuttoning his jeans. They’re removed in moments, Jimin’s own efforts to pull of his boxers, exposing his dick, erect and sensitive enough to cause his breaths to shake when he palms himself, ��You’re sure about no condom?”

“You know I’m covered there,” You say staring at his length, swallowing in anticipation for the feeling of Jimin inside of you. He notices your sultry gaze and leans back towards you, kissing you tenderly.

The emotion takes you back for a second, feeling somewhere between melancholic and warm, you’re brought back to his conviction that this would be the last time Jimin intends to be intimate with you. When his lips leave yours, your eyes are focused on Jimin’s. There’s so much you want to ask him, but when he’s as convinced as he is, what good would it do. You’re the only one with feelings surpassing love, or else he wouldn’t do this.

Jimin kisses you again, using the remnants of your previous orgasm to lubricate his length, before he’s aligning himself with your entrance and easing himself in. Your chest raises from a breath, listening to Jimin’s moans against your lips as he tops out into you, “You’re so good around me, baby. Fuck,” He grunts when your hips buck to his. You moan as his grinding begins slow in full movements to get your walls acclimated to his dick, though you’re already well stimulated.

“Fuck,” You gasp as his pace suddenly changes, Jimin pulling out only to pound back in and make you moan his name loudly. He kisses your lips before moving back to your cheek, jaw, and neck, every inch he could while he pumps into you over and over, every audible sound from you encouraging his actions. “Jimin, Jimin,” You beg using his name, feeling his hand find yours, fingers meshing as your voice grows higher from an oncoming wave wanting to burst through. “I’m close- shit--”

“God, you feel so good; your pussy takes me so well, baby,” Jimin kisses your lip hungrily, “Come for me, lovely; I’m going to,” Your hand squeezes him as the orgasm washes over you, listening to Jimin’s moaning as his seed fills you, “Fucking,” You come undone with him, the ride going through your core and releasing around Jimin’s dick as you moan loudly, senselessly, not caring if anyone could possibly hear.

Labored breathing flows into the silence of his room. Your free hand guides Jimin’s face to yours for a sweet kiss that he lets linger into a honeylike warmth. Pulling out, Jimin then lets himself fall into the bed beside you, hand still holding yours with a seeming refusal to let go. He watches quietly while you look at his ceiling aimlessly, breathing still full as your bodies calm down. “You still want us to stop.” A statement with the tone of a question.

“Yeah,” He bites his lip as you turn on your side to face him. He feels your hand grip his with a tiny tremble, and your eyes alone make his heart nearly shatter. You try your best to force the tiniest of smiles, but Jimin gently shakes his head, “Don’t pretend for my sake, sweetie.”

“It hurts.” You whisper to let out the emotions that want to escape as tears. Jimin frowns, pulling you towards him and embracing you so you could hide your face against his chest. “Are you sure this isn’t because of the thing with Yoongi?” You ask in a trembling voice while tears build in your eyes that you try to blink back.

“It’s not.” Jimin kisses the top of your head, his hands rubbing soothingly along your back, “It’s really not, baby.” He pauses, knowing there his reasoning isn’t completely selfish as he goes on, his voice sad and his reflecting that, “We just really can’t be there for each other like we’d need to be in a relationship, lovely. We’ll just hurt each other, more than we have been lately.”

You exhale a choppy breath, trying to even out your emotions for the sake of the last night with Jimin not being only tears.

You both flinch as the night sky outside flashes, with a medley of booming sounds murmuring out in the air. Jimin’s grasp on you strengthens, contemplative of what was going on as you shift to get sight of the window, covered except for the gap between the curtains.

“It must be midnight.” Your voice is hollow and you remove yourself from his warmth to crawl off the bed. Jimin’s eyes follow you inquisitive, a pit of worry brewing that you intend to leave until your hand pushes back one of the curtains, leaving the sheer set behind it out in the open. The colorful fireworks continue in happy, vibrant colors, spilling remnants of their energy as a reflection on your skin. Jimin stares in awe, silent as you turn back to face him, picturesque and ethereal in the celebratory lights. A contradiction to the events of his apartment.

A veil in the thin curtains acts as a separator between you both in the dimness of his room and the continuation of the world outside.

You walk back towards Jimin, crawling to his open arms on the bed as he greets your return with a kiss. You take it and any following in case they’re the last, settling into Jimin’s bed with him as the blankets cover your cuddling frames. It’s a long time of contentment in each other’s arms, while you both ignore that day means an end; trying to let the fireworks and their beauty be enough of a distraction between longing kisses.

Inevitably you fall asleep first, breaths soothing in sound and sight as Jimin admires the grace of your figure in his arms. He strokes your hair like you still needed to be lulled to slumber. He thinks what it would be like if he was on your side from the first instance of you bringing up that you wanted to be credited for your work, or if he hadn’t kept quiet about his opposite, selfish opinion this long and forwards.

Your sleeping body shifts, arms tightening around his waist. Jimin can’t help the little smile, wishing he had the same outlook as you just so it wouldn’t be the last night of you being practically his. Jimin’s lips find your peaceful forehead in a warm kiss, saying a whisper that he doubts he’ll ever get to say again, “I love you.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : ) also don’t drag me for the smut in this chapter it may or may not be good idk im worried lmaoadsjfgk

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire​ @tsvkino-usagi​​

[maedarakat]

Drabble: Risks

It was weird, how nobody was paying attention to what was going on.

Dagur had always admired his brother, how he always put the lives of his group and their dragons above the result of their missions. It was a trait he had exploited in the past many times.

Except now it was becoming apparent that Hiccup was very good at protecting everyone in his group from outside enemies ... but not necessarily inward ones.

And damn, could those inward ones be downright cruel. Dagur knew from experience that sometimes the awful brain-voices pointing out all his flaws, insufficiencies, and failures would just not shut up. Not even for a second.

Something was seriously up with one of Hiccup’s riders, and Hiccup either knew about it and was doing nothing, or he didn’t know about it at all. Dagur preferred to believe it was the latter.

They had all been flying south - the riders, himself, and Heather - summoned by stories of a subjugated colony of timberjacks. Once again some chucklefuck dragon hunters were keeping eggs and hatchlings from parents to ensure their obedience.

On the way they’d destroyed at least twelve dragon hunter ships (Snothat had kept score of how many they’d all done but Hiccup had forbidden him to keep individual scores because: “It’s not a competition!”)

Silly Hiccup. Of course it was.

So naturally, Snothat had kept individual scores anyway, just ... secretly.

It was all fun and games - literally - until one of the fleets they encountered sent a bola net at Barf and Belch, dragging both twins and dragon violently down to the deck. Dagur and Heather dove immediately, their dragons trying to grab the net and slow their rapid descent so they wouldn’t be crushed.

It was still with a sickening boat-shaking thud that they landed. The Zippleback lay still, tangled and dazed with pain, and Ruff slumped out of her saddle onto the deck, groaning and clutching her arm to her chest. Heather roared, jumping off Windshear with axe brandished, threatening the approaching hunters.

Dagur jumped off Sleuther quickly, ready to help Girlnut’s other half, but Tuff wasn’t anywhere near their dragon or his sister.

For a heart stopping second Dagur feared he had somehow missed Tuff falling into the water during their crash landing, but a fearsome roar of anger quickly grabbed his attention.

Tuff was on his feet in front of Barf and Belch - at the most vulnerable point of the group. Blood was running down one side of his face, grey eyes wild, breathing heavy, mace at the ready. He was obviously worse injured than Ruffnut, and that was based only on what Dagur could see , yet there he was - laying about him with the mace like his pain did not matter.

More specifically, like his life did not matter.

Oh boy ... yep, Dagur had definitely been there before.

There was nothing to do but let out a fearsome roar of his own and fight his way to Tuffnut’s side, grabbing the blond twin just as he crumpled from a savage blow to his ribs by a morning-star - really, like he needed another injury. Holding Tuff tight against his side, he attempted to shove the boy behind him, taking point himself in front of the fallen Zippleback.

Windshear sliced through the nets easily, nudging the stunned two headed dragon back to their feet and Heather grabbed Ruff, hauling both of them up into the saddle.

As Toothless and Stormfly offered cover fire, both girls and dragons managed to fly up to safety. Sleuther flung aside dragon hunters, fighting to get between them and the encroaching hunters.

The second his dragon got close enough, Dagur wasted no time, pulling himself and the semi-conscious Thorston twin up after him. By the grace of Odin, all of them made their escape and were now well out of range before another net cannon could be aimed and loaded.

Hiccup ordered them immediately into a defensive formation, which Sleuther picked up on without needing guided - aware that Dagur’s immediate concern was with the injured boy in his arms.

Tuff seemed aware of his surroundings, though shaking hard and his breathing was raspy. Gods, Dagur hoped he didn’t have a pierced lung or something. He considered himself fairly decent at the healing arts, but not that good.

“Boynut, can you hear me?” Dagur asked, opening Tuff’s vest and undoing his belt to relieve pressure on his ribs. He rolled up the green tunic and felt along his side. Two broken ribs with some lovely bruising puncture wounds from the morning-star, a dislocated shoulder, plus a deep gash on his forehead.

Tuffnut hitched, trying to push away Dagur’s touch. “Loki, you must be a healer because your hands are freezing cold!”

Dagur frowned thoughtfully at the redirection, but the others let out a collective sigh of relief.

“How’s Ruffnut?” he heard Hiccup ask Heather.

“She’s fine. Just a broken arm and a mild concussion - I’ll keep her awake,” Heather called back. Fishlegs and Snotlout immediately pulled out of formation to go fuss over her while Hiccup and Astrid flew closer to Barf and Belch, checking over the dragon’s injuries as well.

Nobody came over to see if Boynut was alright. Probably because he’d just cracked a joke like he was unaware of pain even as a concept.

Did he do that often? Dagur felt like he probably did that often.

Tuff had relaxed as soon as he’d heard his sister‘s injuries weren’t life-threatening and was trying not to make an agonized expression, but at every turbulent bump Sleuther’s wings absorbed, his facade of carefully controlled blankness cracked and he grimaced sharply.

“I know it hurts,” Dagur soothed him tenderly, pressing a clean wad of cloth over Tuff’s gash, trying to stop the bleeding. Tuff jerked, looking up at him in shock and automatically covering with a grin.

“Nah, I’m fine. Loki looks out for his own. Hey, do you Berserkers know how set broken arms in a way that doesn’t hurt? I mean, Ruff cried like a baby the last time Gothi did it, so hopefully you have more of a gentle touch.”

Redirection, yet again. What even ...

“Heather does, and she’ll be the one caring for your sister. What I’m worried about is your shoulder. And ribs. And whether you’re gonna need stitches for that enormous cut on your head.”

Dagur poured a little water onto a piece of linen and started cleaning the blood off Tuff’s face. He squirmed, complaining, but let him. “You don’t have to. Belch licks my face about four times a day, after meals and before bedtime. He’ll get all that off by lunch.”

“Pretty sure both your dragons and your sister would kill me if I let you go untreated until lunch. Hold still. At least it’s not my thumb and spit.”

“Um. Ew ...”

“Yeah, exactly. I’d rather not subject you to that.” Dagur rinsed the blood off and packed some honey and flax salve into the shallow groove, which had finally begun to clot. “So ... about that fight. You normally just jump right in full Berserker style when the chips are down?”

If he avoided putting a negative connotation to it, maybe Tuff would open up?

It worked; Tuff fairly glowed at the comparison. “Yeah, I was doing good until that one guy - ugh. He came up on my blind side. At least it gave you guys time to get Ruff and our dragons out though, right?”

Dagur’s chest hurt at Tuff’s clear ache for approval in those words. Oh man, Boynut was really not okay. Not by a long shot.

“Boynut, why do you think -“

A voice interrupted him mid-sentence. “Tuffnut, what were you thinking?!”

Hiccup was flying next to them now, frowning.

“That was incredibly dangerous, you shouldn’t have flown so close to the starboard - they always have cannons on that side! Didn’t you pay any attention during the lesson about hunter ship defenses?” There was a little concern in his tone, but it was dwarfed by exasperation.

Dagur felt his heart sink. This was not helpful, and Hiccup didn’t even notice what was going on with his friend. How could he not notice? A lecture about general safety - not even his, but everyone else’s - was the last thing Tuff needed right now.

Tuff looked at Hiccup with a calm expression, betraying nothing.

“Nope, I was actually far more interested in what Smidvarg was doing with that grasshopper. Turns out he was not, in fact, trying to make a friend.”

Redirecting again . Hiccup predictably started lecturing him on why listening to him during training was important, and Tuff’s laid back answers were designed to make him frustrated enough to drop the whole thing and fly off.

It didn’t seem to be working this time, and now Fishlegs was flying over, frowning, and clearly ready to back Hiccup up.

It was all kind of amazing to watch in terms of density alone, but Dagur had more than enough at that point.

He glowered down at the glinting surface of the sparkling sea and saw an out.

“Oh hey, look - flying fish! Sleuther’s favorite snack that he absolutely cannot control himself around,” Dagur stated, purposefully loud enough for his dragon to hear. His Triplestryke opened wide eyes, made a noise of intrigue, and dived down away from Hiccup and the group to investigate.

“Sorry, be right back!” he called cheerfully, leaving the others behind as they descended below the current. There was grumbling from up above - Fishlegs and Hiccup were now sharing their grievances about the issue. Granted, Tuff was a good actor, but still ...

Dagur continued his ministrations, wiping away the excess blood from Tuff’s injured side where spikes had slammed into his skin.

Boynut had relaxed in his arms, clearly relieved, though looking at him searchingly. “Thanks?” he offered cautiously. He sounded like he was trying to figure out if Dagur had done that for him.

He glanced at Tuff and, not knowing whether he should resume the talk they’d been trying to have just yet, gave him a confirming wink. The boy’s face reddened immediately and he turned his head away, directing his attention to the flying fish before Sleuther snapped up the entire school.

Dagur almost felt bad for letting his dragon snack on them so voraciously. They were pretty, silver and incandescent, almost matching Tuff’s eyes when the sun hit their scales.

The Berserker shook his head to clear it and pressed salve into the cuts, spreading it liberally across his bruises.

“You should save that stuff. Someone else might get injured later,” Tuff said quietly. “Snotlout usually.”

Gods, this guy ... maybe he had to be straightforward about this after all, before someone else came to oh-so-usefully scold him.

“You’re injured now, and I’ve got more than enough. Boynut ... “ Here it was, time to be blunt. “Why don’t you think you’re worth anything?”

The question came like an unexpected blow and Tuff flinched in his arms, eyes immediately closing. Dagur braced himself. The boy might redirect with anything right now, even anger. Gods knew, if anyone had dared to ask a younger version of Dagur this question, they probably wouldn’t have survived.

He’d had to ask it though - he’d had to let Tuff see that his pain was visible to someone .

Tuff didn’t lash out, but he was shaking. He tried to curl away and hide behind his hair so Dagur couldn’t see the tears spilling over.

It didn’t matter. He knew they were there.

Surprisingly, after a long tortured moment, Tuff answered the question, voice low.

“Because I’m not worth anything. I mean ... can you think of anything I’m good for? I’m just the spare. The whole family thinks I’m the spare. Look at our dragon. One body, with an extra head. Not that I really think Belch is a spare, he’s totally awesome, but  ... you know what I mean, right?”

Dagur listened, and bit his lip, thinking for a moment about what to say.

“I always kinda thought of you as the heart and soul of the group, Tuff. I mean, when I first joined you guys, everyone was so suspicious of me - granted, with very good reason. But you were just like ‘oh, Dagur’s a good guy now? Awesome! I’ll give the guy a chance!’ And then you both sat with me. You talked to me as easily as if I was an old friend, showed me some cool dragon moves with your chicken, gave me a fresh egg. Never once did you judge me, or try to get back at me - not even when my own sister thought I was sent as Viggo’s spy.

“You made me feel human. Forgiven. Like I really could be part of the group if I kept up improving my behavior. And you show that same compassion to others too - even wild and dangerous dragons. The kindness you have inside of you is inspiring.”

Tuffnut was staring up at him, eyes wide and shocked. Dagur fidgeted, looking ahead of him, wondering if he’d said too much.

“Most people ... would have said I tell funny jokes.,” Tuff said hoarsely. “That I’m good for cheering people up. Or at least distracting them from all their problems by being irritating.”

“Well, you are funny.  There’s certainly that. Though i don’t think it’s more  important than the compassion and insight and empathy you show. Honestly, that’s something everyone in the Archipelago - in the world - struggles with. We need you around to be our best example.”

When he looked back at Tuff, the blond was staring at him, eyes wide and full of  tears.

Oh no, he’d said something wrong, hadn’t he? Tuff reached up shakily to wipe at his eyes.

“But ... but ... I still mess everything up, don’t I? I don’t do what I’m supposed to do. Always holding my sister back, always d-driving everyone crazy, blowing stuff up -“

“So what? Nobody in this entire group is perfect. Certainly not me. I used to grab guys by the seat of their pants and toss them overboard for mildly irritating me. I personally caused the death of my sister’s entire village, ensured my dad would die alone on Vanaheim,  and lost at least half of our tribe’s Armada chasing you guys around the globe because of a grudge. Oh and I’ve killed a lot of dragons. Still and always will hate all of those things about myself. I would never do them again, but I did once do all that, and I can never undo it. Do I deserve to die?”

“Of course you don’t,” Tuff answered automatically, still wiping his face. “Everyone makes mistakes, even awful ones - what matters is you took responsibility and - and you’re trying , every day, to still make up for it. It’s not easy to be good, especially if you think you’re a monster.”

... uh, wow. Dagur was not expecting that. He shook his head to clear it. “Okay. So why can’t you apply that same logic to yourself?”

Tuff looked at him helplessly. “I ... I don’t know. It’s ... I feel like I’m just not good enough all the time. Nobody ever seems happy with me, I’m not happy with me, s-so I must be doing something wrong. Right?”

Dagur thought for a moment, readjusting Tuff so he could lay more comfortably against his chest.

“You wanna know a secret, Boynut?”

He turned those pretty grey eyes up at him and carefully nodded. It was rare to see the normally distracted and wise-cracking twin appear so focused, but then Tuff and Ruff always seemed to give Dagur their full attention whenever he visited the Edge.

“I haven’t told this to anyone before - not even Hiccup - but after I escaped Viggo’s attempt to kill me, I wound up lost at sea. All alone, in a tiny little boat, with very little food and water. Days came and went. I went hungry, thirsty, sunburnt, sick.  Every day I had the same question - why was I still alive? I was a villain. A monster. Surely Odin Allfather didn’t mean for me to actually make it in the end, because I hadn’t done anything right - since day one, I was always the problem kid.

“So this had to be it, I thought. Odin was surely going to kill me with the next storm or send a shark or Scauldron to pick me off ... but that never happened. I wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the sea remained calm, I was able to catch fish, and there was rainwater to drink.

“I started to think about it, until realizing - finally - that Odin doesn’t just kill people for making horrible mistakes. Or even if they think they’re worthless.  At my core - all I ever wanted was my father’s approval. My sister to be safe. I had to learn how to change a few things to get there, but I got there.

“And now I have my sister beside me, along with some pretty great friends.” Dagur smiled winningly at Tuff, making it clear he counted Boynut in that category.

Tuff jolted in his arms again, not expecting that - so entranced with Dagur’s story. He stammered for a moment, blushing.

“You consider me a friend? Not just an acquaintance you have to put up with because they hang around the others?”

Dagur regarded him softly and wrapped his arms around Tuff. It was a firm hug, though careful of his injuries. “Yes. You’re one of my friends. And I don’t have very many, so that makes you very important to me, okay?”

Tuff’s eyes were again welling up. “You ... actually like me?”

That question hurt more than it had a right to. “Yes, I like you very much. I want you to stay right here on Midgard for as long as possible. I’d be devastated if anything happened to you.”

Boynut was staring at him like he’d never seen Dagur before in his life, face still flushed and tear tracks cutting through the grime and blood of battle. For half a second, Dagur wondered if he’d said too much, but then Tuff curled into his embrace, putting his arms around the Berserker’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder.

He was trembling hard, hitching, and Dagur hugged him tightly, rubbing Tuff’s back.     He wanted very suddenly to yell at the others - Tuff was their friend too and he didn’t even know and he seriously thought he was worth less than shark chum and what the hell were they doing about it? Had any of them noticed?

“S-Sorry - I - I - nobody’s ever - I n-never thought -“ Tuff trailed off, hiccoughing.

“That you were good enough as is?” Dagur hazarded a guess. The despondent wail that followed was his answer and Dagur hugged him back tighter, murmuring soothingly.

It took a short while before Tuff calmed down, but he still clung to Dagur like a frightened kitten, pulling back to wipe at his face with a free hand.

Dagur didn’t discourage him, still cradling him close with an arm around the curve of his body. They were still flying below the air current the rest of the group was on, skimming across the surface of the water.

Absently he reached up, toying with a braid of Tuff’s hair. “It’s still a long way to where we’re going. Why don’t you get some rest, huh? It’s okay if you sleep - pretty sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Tuff looked up at him in shock, face going pink. He smiled at him, leaning his head tiredly on Dagur’s shoulder. “That sounds good. You’re very warm.”

Dagur thought he was going to say more, but after a long minute, Tuff’s head grew a little heavier and he began to gently snore. He was exhausted and injured, and it was hours still before they would reach land. Dagur decided to let him be, expression soft as he watched Boynut sleep.

[missmungoe]

How would Ace handle the news of a child named after his father? Ah! So much cute bonding potential right there

(I love the two completely different suggestions for this scenario)

WHAT MAKES US // Shanks x Makino // an addendum to The Things We Owe and Stranger Families Than This

“You did what?”

The look Shanks shot him brimmed with amusement, taking in his incredulous expression, sharp features brightened with sudden offence and his brows furrowed deep, and the whole ensemble offset by the happy, red-haired baby cooing over the string of beads around his neck, although Ace seemed suddenly oblivious to the small, delighted attentions.

“We named him,” Shanks repeated, with insufferable patience. “It’s common to give them names—your kids. Calling them ‘you’ seems so impersonal, you know?”

Clearly unappreciative of his questionably appropriate glibness (although to be fair, most people in Shanks’ acquaintance were), Ace just stared at him, before he turned his gaze to Makino. “Roger?” he asked, as though for extra clarification, in case he’d somehow misheard. Shanks had a thought to ask if he wasn’t hoping that was the case, even as Ace added, disbelieving, “Why?”

“Because all my other suggestions were brutally shot down,” Shanks answered, tossing Makino a meaningful glance, although he only feigned his offence; Ace’s was entirely in earnest. “A crime, if you ask me. Some of them were really good.”

“You went through my entire shelf of whiskeys,” Makino countered, and to Ace, said, “And hard as it might be to believe, I’m not being literal when I say that.”

“Hey, Jameson could have worked,” Shanks told her. “Johnnie, too.”

She raised a delicate brow. “And if it had been a girl?”

He didn’t miss a single beat, and chirped with a cheerful grin, “Talisker. Tali for short.”

She shook her head, but before she could say anything—no doubt to contest the notion that she’d ever consider naming their child after a brand of whiskey—“Either of those would have been better,” Ace told them both, looking between them, the gurgling baby still in his arms. “Seriously. Roger?”

A sharp note lanced through the name, something harder than disbelief colouring his voice now; it had come to settle in his brow, and the tight press of his mouth.

As though sensing his rising agitation, the baby made a sound of distress; a tiny, bubbling noise that quickly swelled to a wail, before cresting in a startled shriek. Ace winced, and reached over to hand him back to Shanks, who accepted the exchange with practiced ease, despite his lone arm, and the now screaming baby grasping his cloak for purchase.

Luffy had his hands pressed over his ears. “It’s loud.”

“You think this is loud?” Shanks asked, voice raised to reach over his son’s wailing. “He’s got nothing on me.” And with a lewd wink at Makino, quipped, “Just ask my wife.”

From the common room at their backs, several groans rose to accompany the remark, although Roger’s screaming didn’t pause for breath, even as Shanks rocked him.

“What?” he asked, at the enduring look Makino gave him. He nodded at their son. “He’s too young to understand.”

“I’m not!” Luffy shouted, hands still over his ears, although seemingly for a different reason now, and Shanks laughed.

It took a few attempts of soothing to still the cries—and one impromptu rendition of a favoured shanty, loudly accompanied by the whole bar while the long-suffering subject of the song demonstrated her mortification by making a strategic retreat into the storeroom, before all that remained were the lingering sniffles muffled into the collar of his cloak, the humming dregs of the last chorus murmured against his son’s hair, and to the backdrop of their laughter, soft and breathless by the time Makino reluctantly emerged from her hiding place.

Ace was watching the baby, a pensive weight across his brow that was acutely familiar, although Shanks doubted it was a good time to point out that he looked his father’s spitting image with that expression.

Beside him, Sabo was frowning. “You okay, Ace?”

“Ace?” Luffy asked, when their brother made to slide off his barstool.

“I need some air,” Ace said, and before either of his brothers could ask anything else, he was making for the doors, his steps unhurried but a curious urgency thrumming in the tense line of his shoulders.

The soft whine of the doors left swinging in his wake lingered amidst the conversation, having descended to a manageable level.

Shanks looked to Makino. “And here I was hoping there’d be a few more years before we had to deal with our kids walking off in a huff of adolescent disagreement,” he mused, although he was already rising from his chair as he said it. And when he moved to hand their son over, she was there to meet him, pressing a kiss to his hair when a noise of distress left him at the prospect of separation, before she reached to gently pry loose the little fingers gripping the collar of his father’s cloak.

“You know,” Shanks told her, hand resting over their son’s back where she’d wrapped her arms around him, “you might have better luck with this conversation. He actually likes you.” Then, one brow arched, added, “Potentially a bit too much, from what I’m hearing, but I’m choosing to let that slide.”

The look she gave him was fond, and wholly knowing. “I think you know who needs to have this conversation.”

Shanks sighed. “Yeah.” He tucked a kiss to her brow, before reaching down to run his fingers over the baby’s head where he’d buried it in her throat. “At least you can’t walk out in a huff yet. Or walk, for that matter.” He looked at Makino. “If he pushes me off the docks and the sea king finally gets the rest of me, please know that I love you both. And that you wilfully sent me to my fate.”

She gave him a gentle shove towards the doors. “Stop teasing, or I’ll be the one pushing you off the docks.”

“Do I hear an implied offer to go skinny dipping? Because you know I’m always game.”

“Cap!” Yasopp called from across the room, before gesturing in the direction of the bar, where Luffy was making an impressive show of trying to physically melt into the bar-top. Sabo gave his brother a sympathetic pat on the back, as Yasopp laughed, “Have some mercy on the kid, jeez.”

Grinning, Shanks stuck his tongue out. “Fat chance.” And to Luffy as he walked out, “Welcome to the family, Anchor. Rest assured, there’s more where that came from. I haven’t even started embarrassing you yet.”

Then with a loud laugh drifting behind him, he pushed through the doors, and went to look for Ace.

It didn’t take long to track him down; he hadn’t gone further than the wharf, and sat with his legs over the side, watching the sea beyond the port, and the languid descent of the evening sun, dripping honey into the water. Shanks didn’t doubt that he’d felt him approaching, but said nothing to announce himself. And he had no problem talking enough to fill both sides of a conversation, but he also knew to recognise the times silence was the better alternative. It had been a long time since he’d been twenty and indignant, and frankly, pretty damn full of himself, but that was part of being young, and it was part of being old to respect that.

Of course, another part of being old was giving the young grief for their exaggerated dramatics.

“This is a good place to sulk,” Shanks mused, coming to a stop beside him, although he made no move to sit down. He allowed his gaze to sweep across the bay. There was no sign of the sea king. “Nice view. An appropriately melodramatic setting. Personally, I prefer somewhere a bit more public, where everyone can share my grievances whether they like it or not. Ben can attest to that, as can my lovely wife. I am nothing if not an excellent sulker. You are subpar at best, although I don’t doubt that you’ll get there with a little practice.”

“I’m not sulking,” Ace said.

“Of course you’re not,” Shanks agreed. “Although the first step of sulking is to vehemently deny the fact that you’re doing it. It really is a fine art.”

Ace cut him a look, which Shanks countered with an innocent lift of his brows. “What?”

He just shook his head, but the breath he let loose held a note of resignation, and, “Was there really no other name you could have chosen?” Ace asked.

Shanks shrugged. “Sure there was. Aside from Makino’s extensive liquor collection, we had a whole ledger full of options.” He cocked his head, his look meaningful. “But people are more than their names.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to force that one on him,” Ace snapped, and when Shanks only raised a brow, seemed to realise he’d let his temper slip. His expression contorted, and he turned his eyes back to the water.

Shanks said nothing, just watched him; his hunched shoulders, and the tattoo across his back, the ink distorted by a large burn scar, still pink even after nearly three years. But then he knew better than most that some scars took time to heal, and sometimes, even that wasn’t enough; regrets cut deeper than flesh, after all. He might have survived his own execution, but Shanks didn’t doubt that it had stayed with him; the charges that had been laid against him more than anything else.

Dragging a breath through his nose, Ace took his time letting it back out. “There are better legacies to honour,” he said at length.

“That may be,” Shanks conceded, “but we chose to honour this one.”

“It’s a burden.”

“Only if you make it one.”

Ace scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“No,” Shanks refuted calmly, frowning. “It’s not. It’s actually the opposite of easy, but I have to believe my kid has some power over his own fate, and that it’s not decided by the blood in his veins or the name we gave him. Otherwise, it would mean believing that I doomed my son just by fathering him, and that there’s nothing he can do about it.”

When Ace frowned, Shanks sighed. “You want to talk burdens? Look no further. A name is only that, but there are worse things my son might have to endure in his life that he’s gotten from me. And I’m not just talking about the hair.” He tried for a smile, although it felt forced; the breezy quip hadn’t come as easily as he’d hoped.

“I’m not much different from Captain Roger,” Shanks said then, and before Ace could open his mouth to protest, cut him off. “I may not be the Pirate King, but the Government doesn’t really care about distinctions when it comes down to it. A pirate is a pirate. And I’ve got no fans in Marineford, as much as it pains me to say it. I’m a likeable guy, but you can’t charm everyone. Believe me, I’ve tried. Old Tsuru has a soft spot for me, but I’m pretty sure if given the chance, Akainu would see me executed in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t bother with a public event. A shame, really—I’d put on one hell of a show.”

His second attempt at levity came a little easier, but it still didn’t budge the expression on Ace’s face, and Shanks’ smile softened. “You were ready to disagree when I said I wasn’t that much different from Roger,” he told him then, head cocked in consideration. “Why?”

Ace gave a shrug, as though to say the answer was self-evident, even as he offered it. “You’re not my old man. You’ve done good things, and Luffy likes you.” Then, this time with a wry, half-smile, “Makino-san does, too.”

“Hmm,” Shanks agreed, smile curving. “Yeah, I’ve been suspecting that for a while now. She did marry me, and she’s the mother of my child. I think there might be some affection there. Could be wrong, though.”

Ace rolled his eyes, and Shanks grinned over a laugh. “What?”

He shook his head. “You’re just different than what I thought you’d be, back when I was really eager to meet you,” Ace said.

“Gee, thanks?”

He sighed a laugh. “From Luffy’s stories, and Makino-san’s. I always imagined you being cooler.”

��…and once more I reiterate: gee, thanks?”

When Ace gave him a look, Shanks just grinned, before letting it soften. “I’m glad to hear there’s someone who thinks I’ve got a modicum of coolness, but Luffy’s experience doesn’t have to be yours,” he said. “Like my experience of your old man is my own. You’re entitled to your opinion, and your feelings, but it doesn’t change mine.”

Ace said nothing to that, but there was something like acceptance in the slight forward hunch of his shoulders, however reluctant that acceptance was in truth. But then, Roger had never conceded to anything without putting up a fight, not even petty arguments, and least of all reason. The blatant obstinacy was familiar, and a curious comfort—to see some things remain of the captain he remembered, in the son he’d left. This small, wholly human thing; a trait that didn’t have anything to do with the Pirate King, just the man who’d held the title.

Shanks wondered idly if anyone had ever pointed out that similarity to Ace, or if the legacy he dragged behind him like a cross was all from the pirate.

“Are you really that upset about it?” Shanks asked then, considering him where he sat on the wharf, the sinking sun bleeding the red from his hair. And Roger’s hair had been all black, Shanks remembered; the red tones had to be from his mother. It was a kinder legacy than his father’s memory, and one he carried without conscious thought, the weight of it unnoticed. Not unlike the stubborn press of his brow, or the calculating cleverness that sometimes entered his eyes; the little remnants of Roger that Shanks doubted Ace was even aware he possessed.

“Not upset,” Ace said, and when Shanks quirked a brow, amended, “Just…a little weirded out, I guess.” He looked up at him where he stood. “But you’re right. You have a different experience of him.”

“Well, yeah,” Shanks said. “I knew him, for one.”

“I don’t think knowing him would have changed how I feel.”

Shanks shrugged. “Maybe not.” A pause, and then, “Tell me something,” he said, and when Ace glanced up, asked, “Who told you about him? Roger. I imagine you asked, growing up.”

Ace didn’t answer immediately, his gaze far away, perhaps looking back to said childhood, forever a part of the island sprawling behind him, the opposite direction of the sea before him; the one he’d claimed as his own.

“Gramps,” he said then, after a pause. “And folks around the island. Oyaji told me some stories.”

Shanks hummed. “So, all fairly biased opinions, then.”

Ace raised a brow. “Like yours isn’t?”

“I didn’t say that,” Shanks was quick to counter. “But it’s a different perspective.”

“Still the same guy.”

Shanks grinned. “Yeah. And he was one hell of a guy, your father.” His smile eased a bit; sat a little gentler on his mouth. “And a better father than the one I was born to, anyhow.” At Ace’s dubious look, he lifted one shoulder. “That ship was home to me. That crew was my family. Still is, although Buggy would probably eat his own hat rather than admit it.”

Ace looked back in the direction of Party’s. “You’ve got another family now.”

“You say that like I can’t have both,” Shanks said. “Which you know isn’t true. You choose your families.”

“Not the one you’re born into,” Ace murmured.

“No,” Shanks agreed. “You can’t choose who you’re related to, but loving them as family is a choice.” When Ace’s look of reluctant consideration persisted, he sighed. “Look,” he said. “I’m not guaranteed that my son will grow up loving me. I can’t make that decision for him. I can only do my best to be a good father. The rest is up to him.”

“At least you’re trying,” Ace said.

“Roger would have tried,” Shanks told him, not half a beat missed. “If he’d had the chance. And you can ask both your grandfather and your captain and they’d probably tell you the same thing, whatever their personal feelings about him. I can’t guarantee that he would have been a good father, but he would have tried to be. Whatever that’s worth.”

A pause, before he added, “And my son will be his own person, regardless of the blood in his veins, and the name we gave him. He won’t be me, and he won’t be your father. Just like you’re not.”

Shanks allowed the silence to fill the space left behind his words, seeming to remain between them, as though imprinted on the air. The sea breeze cut with a tender chill, carrying the ocean with it, the lazy, steady push of the water against the wharf like a slow heartbeat.

Ace was quiet, considering the water, and the ships moored to the port. Shanks saw as he lifted his eyes, taking in Red Force’s considerable bulk, and the little lion nestled in her shadow. A curious convergence of fates, in such a small, seemingly insignificant port, but its importance was greater than its outwards appearance suggested. But then, greatness grew out of all kinds of soil, and under all conditions; it wasn’t measured in grandeur or fame. The most important things in his life had little to do with power or influence, or the name he’d made for himself. No, his legacy was more than that; was the kind, gentle heart of the girl he’d married, and the son that had come of it.

As though his thoughts had followed the same path, Ace looked up at Shanks then, the corner of his mouth lifting, along with the pensive weight across his brow, and, “She seems happy,” he said. “Makino-san.” He paused, before he added quietly, “Your kid, too.”

“Careful,” Shanks laughed, the sound too soft for his usual volume. “Someone might take that as approval.”

Smiling, Ace said nothing, but pushed to his feet. When he turned to walk back, Shanks fell into step beside him, an implicit offer and acceptance in the silent exchange. Not everything needed forgiveness, and not all forgiveness needed to be spoken.

“You know what is a good name?” Ace said then, as they set off towards the bar, the sinking sun and the sea at their backs, the island ahead. “Ace.”

Shanks’ grin was quicker than his laugh. “Wow. The shameless narcissism is noted, and admired.” He made a noise of consideration. “In another universe, maybe we’d name him that. One where he’s not named after a whiskey, at least.”

Ace hummed. “Jameson would have been a cool name,” he agreed, and Shanks laughed, delighted.

“Right?”

—It took a little while for him to get used to it, but all new things become old, given enough time, and as the years passed, the novelty eased into familiarity, until there was little left of the initial weirdness, or of old, personal grievances.

He shored his vessel to the Fuschia docks one late afternoon, the last remnants of a spring shower having left the streets muddy and the air damp, and he breathed it all in as he stepped into the village proper, happy to leave the sea behind him for a little while, to seek the kinder heart of a familiar port; one of his many homes, although like families, Ace had long since learned that there was no limit to the number you could claim for yourself.

Striding across the porch, the soles of his boots muddying the planks, already bearing signs of a busy day with many patrons, a rap on the doorframe announced his arrival, and, “Hey,” Ace called, stepping through the bat-wing doors into Party’s common room. “Am I late?”

The man standing behind the bar looked up from the list he’d been reading, plucking the wire-rimmed glasses off his nose, a smile stretching along his mouth. Ace caught the gleam of silver in his hair, the veins thicker than when he’d been home last, although his shoulders were loose, an ease having come to settle that had taken years to get comfortable. But then leaving the sea was a process; Ace knew that as well as any pirate, and Red-Hair had been a pirate longer than he’d been alive.

“Depends on what you were hoping to reach in time,” Shanks said, inclining his head towards the storeroom, and Makino as she stepped through the door, pregnant stomach teeming under her apron.

“Ace!” she greeted warmly, brushing her hands over the considerable curve, and he had to blink his eyes at the sight. The last time he’d seen her, she’d barely been showing. “Welcome home.”

The greeting found a chorusing echo, rising up from the crowded common room, and Ace grinned, hand lifted in an answering salute. For all that he’d once associated Fuschia with quiet and slow, staggering boredom, things had changed, and it was rarely a quiet homecoming that greeted him, with the crew that had settled down with their captain.

On the subject of certain retirees. Ace eyed the apron hanging off Red-Hair’s hips. “You look ridiculous.”

Shanks stuck his tongue out. “Say whatever you want—the tips I’m making in this speak for themselves.”

Ace looked to Makino. “You miss his pirating days or what?”

Her laughter was soft, creasing her eyes at the corners. She’d braided her hair, pale threads of silver woven through the dark, along with a bright red scarf. Motherhood suited her; it brought out a strange sort of brightness, tempered to something soft and gentle by the way she held herself, like the sun breaking through the surface of the sea, the glare calmed by the water. And she’d always been soft, and gentle, but there was something almost of another world about it now.

Ace often wondered if his mother had looked the same, when she’d been pregnant with him.

“Oh, no,” Makino said, flicking her eyes to her husband. “I actually like the apron.”

“See?” Shanks asked, pleased and making no point to hide it, but then Ace had never known him to try. He slipped her a wink, his arm snaking around her waist, to spread his fingers over the curve of her stomach. “Can’t take her eyes off me. Or her hands. It’s a miracle anything gets done around here. Well, other than me, anyway.”

Ace just shook his head, looking between them. Had he been younger, he might have made more of an effort to look sufficiently disgusted, but his smile had come to stay, even as he said, “I’m glad to see some things haven’t changed. Or disturbed. I never know which it is with you two.”

He swept his gaze across the room, and the people gathered; pirates turned farmers and fishermen and an assortment of curious souls between them. He saw his little brother’s crew, and a handful of former revolutionaries scattered among the tables, the common room filled to bursting. But one thing was missing.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” he asked the two behind the counter, forever caught in a bubble of their own make; the living heart of a bar that sat at the junction of so many different fates.

“He’s playing out in the fields,” Makino said, gently slapping her husband’s reaching fingers away, her grin too quick for her to hide her delight in the small attentions, although she’d always been terrible at hiding much of anything. But her eyes were warm, and her words earnest when she told him, “He’ll be happy to see you. He’s been waiting all day for you to arrive.”

Ace smiled. “Then I guess I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Feel free to keep him distracted for a while,” Shanks called after him as he made to leave. “We’ve got inventory that needs doing. In the storeroom. In private. Wait, did I say inventory? I meant I have a wife to ravish. What?” he asked Makino, catching her gaping. “They’re not home that often, I’ve got to take whatever chance I get to mortify them! Roger isn’t old enough to get it yet, it all goes over his head. Not that Luffy’s much better—twenty-five years old, and he thought I was actually talking about inventory. Gives my barkeeping too much credit, that kid. You’re familiar with my particular work ethic—the only inventory I’ll do without complaint is cataloguing what’s under your skirts.”

Makino suffocated a helpless laugh with her palm, and Ace cheerfully flipped him off as he made for the doors, shaking his head, Red-Hair’s laughter chasing at his heels all the way off the porch and down the street.

It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for, his hair easy to single out amidst the open fields, the red lit bright by the sun creeping through the clouds stretched like gauze across the sky.

“Roger,” he called, the name sitting easy on his tongue after six years. It didn’t feel like his father’s anymore; didn’t immediately invoke his memory upon speaking. Now all he associated with it was the bookish, red-haired little boy with a smile too big for his face—the same smile that widened now, as Ace raised his hand in a wave.

“Ace!”

His own name reached towards him, sounding shrill with excitement, before the boy followed, sprinting across the field towards the fence where Ace had climbed across it, to drop down on the other side.

He was out of breath by the time he reached him, pausing with his hands on his knees, heaving for air. Ace laughed, and was about to tell him to take it easy when his eyes caught on something familiar.

“I see Luffy already beat me to it,” he said, flicking the brim of the old straw hat resting against Roger’s back, the worn string pulled tight across his throat. “That’s some birthday present.”

Roger’s smile widened, bright and full of teeth. It curved his cheeks, round with youthful pudge and smattered with freckles. His father’s spitting image, but there was no resentment at the thought; the words that had so often been offered to Ace, although without kindness, and the echo of them found within himself whenever he’d looked in the mirror. “I know! Isn’t it cool?”

“I saw Sunny docked in the port, but he wasn’t at the tavern with the others,” Ace said. “You know where he went?”

An eager nod; his hair bounced around his face, cheerfully unruly. Ace picked out a rogue leaf stuck in it, as Roger said, “He went to see grams with Sabo-nii. I was gonna go with them, but I wanted to wait for you.”

Ace smiled. “Well, I’m honoured. And I’ll have to catch up with them later, but first,” he said, reaching up to lift his own hat off his head. He watched as Roger’s gaze tracked the movement, sitting wide and dark in his face. His mother’s eyes, full of the same, easily invited rapture.

Those same eyes widened even further as Ace plucked the strings loose, the ones holding the bone medallion, before he reached down to place it into the small awaiting hands, cupped to accept the sudden offering. “I bet your mom could sew this into the brim, if you asked,” Ace said. “She’s good with a needle.”

Roger stared at the medallion, little mouth agape, and Ace’s smile stretched into a grin. “It’s not the Pirate King’s straw hat, but that thing is getting really old. It could use a touch-up, if you ask me. A little extra flair.”

His delight was so intense, he looked at a complete loss for words, and Ace laughed. As much as he resembled his father in looks, he had a lot of his mother in him. And something that was uniquely his, weaving the two together.

“Happy birthday,” Ace said, reaching up to ruffle his hair, and got a startled grin in return, and a small, stuttered thank-you that spoke even louder than the telling brightness in his eyes.

“So,” Ace asked then, sitting back on his heels, “what else have you gotten? Was this year’s haul better than last year’s?”

His head bounced with an eager nod. “Uncle Ben got me a ship in a bottle. And Sabo-nii brought me firecrackers from the New World.” He lowered his voice, his whisper conspiring and his look full of familiar mischief, one that spelled Sabo with bright, bold letters. “Dad was excited. Mom was not.”

Ace laughed. “I bet.”

Roger considered the bone medallion nestled between his palms; Ace watched as he fiddled with it, his excitement softening, although it was no less earnest. “I was hoping I’d get a baby sister, but mom says it’s not time yet.”

Smiling, Ace let a hum sit on his tongue. “I don’t think it’ll be very long, from the look of her.”

He got a grin for that, the quick curve of it holding a small secret, as Roger confessed, “Dad’s nervous. He pretends he’s not, but I can tell.” He frowned then, seeming to consider the thought. “I dunno why he is, though.”

Ace didn’t comment on that, and carefully kept his smile from faltering. He knew perfectly well why Red-Hair had concerns; his own mother hadn’t survived having him, after all. And the thought that the same fate might befall Makino—

Forcibly redirecting his thoughts, and the subject of conversation, although not so much that it would raise his suspicions, “Have you thought of a name for her yet?” he asked. “If it’s a girl.”

Roger nodded, his frown slipping right off his face, leaving his smile bright. Wholly unconcerned, the way it should be. “Mom wants to name her Emmy, after my grandma.”

“Yeah?” Ace mused. He only had vague memories of Makino’s mother. She’d been stern, he remembered, although not unkind. “What do you think?”

Roger shrugged his shoulders, mouth pursed with consideration. “I don’t know. Names are hard.”

Ace felt as his smile softened. “They are that.”

Roger’s grin showed all his teeth. “I really like mine,” he said. “I’m named after the Pirate King!” Then, correcting himself, as though Ace needed it, “The first one, not Luffy-nii.”

Ace reached out to lift the straw hat onto his head. It was still too big, the wide brim coarse where it slipped down over his brow and the straw worn, but the red ribbon was new, he saw. “That’s a pretty cool legacy,” he said, nudging the brim a little higher, like he’d done so many times with Luffy, growing up. It had been too big for him once, too. The king of the world.

Roger was still holding the bone medallion, clutched between his fingers with a child’s wordless reverence. And they were legacies in their own right, the hat and the medallion; a small patchwork of inheritance, but their combination making something entirely new. A little boy, red hair bright and his mother’s eyes ever-spellbound, and his name invoking an old, dead king, and a glorious age.

And there were better legacies to pass on, Ace knew, but what had come of the ones he’d been given—that easily-ignited wonder, and an innocence the world could afford now—there was nothing better than that.

“Hey,” Ace said, lifting back to his feet. “I want to stop by Dadan’s before dinner. Want to come with me?”

Grinning, Roger nodded. “Yeah!”

Reaching down, Ace took the medallion from his hands, to tie the strings together behind his neck, until it dangled down over the front of his shirt. “There,” he said. “So you don’t lose it.”

Small hands palmed the medallion, and he remembered suddenly the baby he’d held, years ago now, so easily delighted. And that delight was the same, Ace found, even if his first instinct wasn’t to shove it in his mouth. He’d grown up, his own person, regardless of what they’d left him; the things he carried with him, too light to call burdens, but none of them insignificant.

And children grew up. Tides changed, and governments, and it was a different world he’d grown up in than the one Ace remembered from his own childhood. A different sea, and a different Pirate King ruling it, but then that was their legacy; the ones who’d fought and died for it. Including his father.

“You know, you’re lucky your parents gave you that name,” Ace said, reaching down to adjust the straw hat on his head as they set off down the path towards the forest, and Dadan’s cabin, the mud drying under a cold spring sun.

“Oh yeah?” Roger asked, nudging the brim up a bit to look at him.

Ace grinned. “Yeah. After all,” he said, tone musing, “you could have been named after a whiskey.”

There was a pause; a single, breathless beat. Then—

“What?!”

[beauvoyr]

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 10

flowering | interlude; the prince and his prisoner

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, no beta we die like men, pre-canon a.k.a before FFXV, Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: noctis teaches you what ramen tastes like.

IT STARTS WITH A FRANTIC RUMMAGE through your closet, rifling through each and every article of clothing you possessed. An assortment of shirts and pants, dragged out from the bags. Things that you never thought would see the light will actually see the light today, how about that. Byron’s stack of fashion magazines, ones plastered with Claire Farron on the covers, never taught you this. How does one go about dressing up again? How do you pair up the plaids and the plains? Or what about the patterns with the checkers?

Skirts over pants? Cargos over jeans? Button-up shirts? Or casual sweaters in case it’s cold?

This is an absolute disaster, you groan inwardly as you hoist whatever seems casual enough for a night out—technically, your first night out to the city, to the life of Insomnia.

Minutes later, struggling through a properly fitted cotton shirt and putting one leg after another through a flowy skirt, you grab your purse and checked your credentials. ID, cards, wads of Credit and jingling coins, all set and ready to go. In your haste, you pass a comb through your hair to gather it aside before stalking off to a separate bag than the rest. This is where the rest of your unused shoes came to live, the carefully curated selection of wedges and kitten heels and sandals handpicked by none other than your fashionable butler.

Considering the practicality of the situation whilst simultaneously combating the growing excitement gnawing your nerves, your fingers slink through a pair of strappy sandals, praying fervently the entire ensemble worked out in your favour. Because. Really. Going out with friends. Together. You, and Noctis, and Prompto, for a night out? You, the denied daughter of Andronicus, setting your foot into the dizzying and dazzling nightscape, walking amongst the citizens? Living a life outside these four walls? Completely unheard of.

Yet, here you are.

Standing before the vanity, a gaunt reflection preens in the mirror. Almost unrecognizable from the ghoul in homely shirt and drawstring pants, a picture of a youth in a striped shirt with a chiffon skirt cinching her waist. Hair primly tucked to the side, falling in soft tendrils over the curve of her jaw, guarded by a single clip. Roses blooming on her cheeks, lips lightly parted to unveil a hint of teeth. Clutched in her hands is a decorative wallet, one that sees only its use when the butler comes around, and slung on a finger is a set of sandals, its tangle of ribbons draped over her wrist.

How strange.

She struggles to smile. Your cheeks hurt.

She averts her eyes. You gaze at your ransacked cupboard.

She inhales shakily. Your ribcage rattles at the action.

How strange indeed.

Emotions are wicked weapons in the hands of the untrained; they can hurt even its wielder. Today testifies your inexperience in handling remnants of your emotions despite having discarded most of them in your youth. Your lapse in judgment results in a whirlwind of emotions clouding your composure. Father’s constant berating, spitting out harsh insults to remind you of your place in society. Mother in the tub, her talented fingers spinning a knife on its tip, smiling her endearing smile. White bread sandwiching a chunk of meat, dripping with dressing. Three nibbles and quelling an overwhelming urge to regurgitate, passing the meal to the callused hands of the prince himself. He picks out the veggies, eats, watches you, eats again, and watches you again.

A nap, two comforters, and—

if you’re not good enough for me, i wouldn’t even show up the second time around

—a promise.

You’re good enough, he said. Swallowing away the dryness in your throat, because you’re good enough for him. If your king deems you worthy, that means it’s okay, right? That means you’re okay as you are, you’re okay where you are, and you’re okay just being who you are, right?

what makes you think you are worthy as the head of the andronicus

Because he said so, right?

what if he doesn’t mean it what if he takes it back in the end what if you’re delusional

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip at the thought. Because, truly, if he doesn’t mean it, then you’d rather—

A firm knock on the door is all the warning you get before the door creaks open, and Noctis’ fluffy head peers through the gap. “You ready yet?”

—fight the suffocating hands wrapped around your throat and stomp it down lest it crawls back up again. “Done, Prince. Gimme a sec, I need to grab my phone.”

Hands clicking off the lights to your bedroom, striding past the prince in a few quick steps, you locate your smartphone lying innocently on your worktable. No, your hands aren’t shaking as you slip the smooth device under the zippered confines of your clutch. No, Noctis isn’t staring at your back, still standing where you left him. No, your heart isn’t in your mouth even when you tug the sandals and wrap its dainty ribbons around your calves. No, you tell yourself, you’re not delusional because this is real and every single second is as real as it gets.

Straightening up once more, you wrench the door open and allow yourself the momentary victory of gazing at the panorama of the Crown City’s dusky skies, an ashen grey with its edges heavily daubed in midnight black. Everywhere, the skyscrapers are lit in lights, all glassy sheen with warm streetlights mirrored in their reflection. You grip the doorknob tight, the metal biting into your skin. Soon enough, you’ll be wading through the streets and you’ll be breathing in the crisp night air, just like what all the books talked about.

Turning on your heels, Noctis is already lacing up his boots and standing up, brushing his hands on his cargos. Somewhere underneath the choppy ends of his lengthy bangs, his blue eyes are unreadable. “Let’s go.”

Let’s go.

Let us go.

Three words.

Those three words are enough to make you fight your wavering smile so it’d stick on your face as the prince closes your room behind him, stepping past the hyacinths.

Us.

Not only him.

Us.

HE’S ALREADY WALKING AHEAD, heading towards one of the many lifts scattered in the Citadel, and you hear the pitter-patter of your sandals on the marble floor as you amble after him. It still feels unreal because you’re chasing after Noctis’ broad back, your colourful reflection on the glass panels trailing after his dark figure, fingers pressing in a poke on his shoulder to tell him to slow down a little. He stops in his tracks, makes a face at you, but his pace definitely slowed down a little, just enough for you to skip beside him in one-two steps.

Yet, every brush of chiffon against your knee reminds you this is very real and here you are, standing beside the prince, waiting for the ornate elevator to arrive. A ding! and a shuffle of footsteps later, the red LED panel shows the descent from 56th to 55th, 55th to 54th, 54th passing through 53, 52, 51, like a timer counting the seconds to your freedom. G finally shows up on the screen and Noctis steps out, throwing a glance over his shoulder like he’s making sure you’re following him properly.

Of course you are.

Of course you’re following him properly, your feet moving on their own accord, skittering over the monochromatic marbling and catching up to his wide steps. The Citadel’s majestic lobby is empty, save for several staffs standing by the reception counter, sifting through papers and pen. Upon the sight of the prince himself, they stand ramrod straight before folding into a bow, echoing a greeting for him. And Noctis, just casual, lazy Noctis, nods at their general direction as he continues down the aisle.

You wanted to laugh a little. Almost.

Because—really, it’s too surreal when only several months ago, Byron’s pulling your bag and you’re clutching your phone to your chest with glittering chandeliers shining on you and him. Gold pillars entwined with black marble, white accents refracting light. Gilded scrollwork and red carpets, rope barriers cordoning areas only Citadel staffs could access. A ceiling far up there and a space too big for you to fathom since you’re not trapped in a box of four walls anymore.

Here, right here, as Noctis walks past the bowing guards with an air of casualness that only the prince himself could command, you obediently fall into his every step. Curious eyes are on you, lingering a second too long for you to ignore, but they’re silenced by the very fact that you’re together with the prince and he’s throwing one or two looks behind him just to make sure you’re keeping up.

It doesn’t matter when the doormen pull the Citadel’s grand doors for him, fresh night air sweeping through the lobby.

It doesn’t matter when you fall into step right beside Noctis, sandals and boots descending the lengthy expanse of the staircase, a modern day depiction of watercolour fairytale.

It doesn’t matter when the valet steps up, handing Noctis the keys to his Audi, meekly opening the door to the passenger’s side for you.

It doesn’t matter when Noctis gets in from the driver’s half, shutting the door, starting up the engine with a push of a button, and—

“Hold on tight,” he drawls.

—you’ve barely fastened your own seatbelt when he eases the gas pedal, turning the steering wheel around the bend of the road and now you’re off into a foreign world together with him, right in this two-seater.

The guards have already opened the gates for him and he rolls past them with the rumble of his car, blue eyes trained on the road all the while. Twisting on the leather, you catch a glimpse of the sleek LED lighting the dashboard, displaying a street map of Insomnia on its elaborate console. He’s already over 90 mph, and the purr of the engine downright shifts into a guttural growl when he accelerates again, fingers drumming idly on the leather steering. Taking a sharp right away from the Citadel, the car speeds into an empty expressway, where the curving street hangs between glassy skyscrapers.

Underneath the incandescent flickers of streetlights, from the expressway’s vantage point, traveling at only a speed Noctis could handle, Insomnia is a blurry landscape of mammoth buildings against a backdrop of black. A world—his world—and you’re sitting right beside him, hands in your lap. You gaze expectantly at the opulence of the city, drinking in the adrenaline rush from the drive when Noctis throttles again, the decadent roar of his car going under your skin in pinpricks. Everything’s so fast, everything’s so beautiful, and everything’s just so overwhelming until it’s getting a little hard to breathe.

The prince expertly manoeuvres his Audi into another linking expressway, and the overpowering speed, paired with Insomnia’s fragile beauty behind this window, is enough to catch your breath. He takes you past a tall, gaudy building decked in manicured trees, racing past the signboards and empty roads, and slowing down for the briefest moment to glance at your direction before revving the engine up to speed again.

There is a growing tightness around your throat again, like the hands snuck to wrap its sneaky little fingers around your neck.

You’re here in this car, with your future king, off to join a dinner together with Prompto. Isn’t it what you’ve always dreamt of? Sure, it’s just a little dinner between friends, sure it’s probably just Noctis pitying your wretched, sheltered life, but it's your first time doing something like this. Something like going out at night with friends, a prospect utterly unmentionable a scant year or two ago. The benevolent prince extends this exclusive invitation purely out of the kindness of his heart, kindness you are taking advantage of. The prince with the car, whisking you off into a world beyond the meagre stretch of your fingers.

You are undeserving to be here like this, to sit by his side.

From the corners of your eyes, you catch Noctis sneaking a glance, and you return it with a questioning look. As though he’s scalded, he quickly focuses on the road again, gripping the leather tight. It’s a little weird how he’s gone silent all this while. Just like this, behind the wheels, you could map out the lines under his eyes, and the bony knots of his fingers.

You’d never taken a good look at him before. Sure, the newspapers and the Internet are chock full of his portraits. The tabloids are quick to print paparazzi shots of his private life, but nothing expresses a look so intimate like this. Nobody’s seen the small mole on his temple before, concealed carefully behind his unkempt fringe. His lips are thin, downturned, except the rare occasions where he’s mocking Prompto or yawning at Ignis’ incessant mothering. He’s all sleek lines the Astrals composed under a curtain of black, forming a pale beauty bearing the crown of the kingdom.

The car slows down when it’s his turn to catch you staring at him, and there’s obvious discomfort in the way he clears his throat, forearms fraught in veins.

“ ‘sup?” he nonchalantly asks, or tries to be nonchalant anyway. Nimble fingers flick the blinker to exit left, gliding down the ramp.

You don’t have to hide the slow slip of your lips curving into a smile. With him, you don’t have to hide your smiles anymore. Resting against the headrest, you draw a deep breath, exhaling quietly.

“Just hungry, that’s all.”

IT’S PROBABLY NOT A GOOD IDEA to bring you to a place like this, but it’s his favourite hideout with Prompto: A soba stall huddled by the arcades. Nothing like the hazy glow of the low lamps or the sleepy arrangement of simple furniture give off any air of posh classiness. Just good food served in large bowls, rich broth, steaming noodles, and fresh green tea to warm up the spirits; plus, the owner’s known them long enough to recite their favourites by heart. Prompto’s already sitting in one of the booths, waving him over by the side.

“Hey guys!” he chirps, letting you slide into the seat with Noctis in tow. “Dude, I can’t believe you made it out with Noct! Seriously, you need to tag along more often.” He hands you the menu and forgoes Noctis since they’re both regulars who already memorised the entire page anyway, twiddling his idle thumbs. “So, is this your first time out?”

Scanning the dog-eared copy of the menu, you take in the faded prints with a frown. “Uh.” Obviously distracted by their varied selections, because the place serves some of the meanest ramen and soba in town, and that’s coming from Noctis, the pickiest prince in all Lucii history. “Uh no…not really, no. My first time out was with my mother.” You pause, wetting your lips, putting away the plastic sheet. “But I was just a kid, so. Don’t remember much. My second time was with Byron when I was about to move into the Citadel. That’s about it.”

Prompto hums sympathetically, nodding along to your tale. “Third time tonight, huh?”

“First time at night,” you correct him with a vague smile gracing your lips, shrugging. “It’s a bit overwhelming but kinda exciting.”

Prompto flashes you his cheesiest smile and leans in close, all conversational. “I get ya. But it’s okay, take it easy, all right? We’re here with you.”

And the small smile gracing your lips grows bigger by a fraction. “Mhmm. Thank you, Prompto.”

As much as it’s all heartwarming like watching cute dog videos while procrastinating his assignments, there’s no hiding the sullen grumble of Noctis’ stomach rumbling through the conversation. Thankfully, the raucous clamour in the shop drowned it out; if not, Prompto’s sure to bring this up even ten years down the line. Nudging you in the side, you tip your chin to study him curiously, and Noctis taps on the menu. “Thought about what you wanna eat yet?”

That perks you up. Bringing the sheet to his face, your immaculately trimmed fingernail point at some of the dull writings. “Dunno what’s good, Prince. Recommend me something?”

Geez, menu too close to his face much? He lowers your hands with a firm press of his own and you might or might not have pouted a little—if the slight jutting of your bottom lip counts as something. Propping his head with a palm to his cheek, Noctis casts a sidelong glance at your collarbones. “I’ll just get you what I’ll have. You okay with green tea?”

“Tea’s awesome, zero complaints from me.” Your head bobs with every word, and it’s almost funny how you’re trying to be all subtle with your eagerness, even if it’s starting to manifest uncharacteristically in your behaviour. “Please and thank you, Prince.”

With that said, Prompto flags down one of the nearby waiters and a grinning man shows up, a paper and pen readied in his hands. “Two bowls of tonkotsu ramen, one kitsune soba, and three green tea, please.”

“Comin’ right up.”

The waiter shuffles away to slip a paper to the cook, and Noctis notes how you pensively stare after his retreating back. Seconds later, you twist here and there in little tilts of your head, taking in the low lamps dangling by a single wire, the rugged trim of the scratch-worn counters, the sponge sticking out of their booth seats. If Prompto notices anything about your insatiable curiosity, he doesn’t say anything. All he does is to share a cheeky grin with Noctis, eyes flicking back and forth in Prompto Speak™, mouthing stuffs his way. Completely unintelligible stuff because Noctis can’t read lips, damn it.

The moment you trail your finger over the grainy countertop, the blond pipes up. “So! You guys doing anything good later?”

“No idea, I’m just following the Prince around.” You shrug. “No plans.”

Prompto hums at your answer, awaiting Noctis’. That’s obviously a trick question because Noctis is pretty sure they only agreed on dinner since they can’t stay out too late; if not, Gladio’s gonna own their asses come tomorrow morning’s practice session, and he’d very much like to show his Shield a thing or two about respect, damn it. But Prompto’s got that glassy sheen in his baby blue eyes like a chocobo yearning for gyshal greens, rocking his legs nervously under the table, and it takes all of Noctis’ mental faculties to remember this is Prompto he’s talking about.

And turning down Prompto is one thing he never mastered even with five years worth of training.

You’re already looking up at Noctis with wide-eyed interest, almost the spitting image of Prompto, and he swallows whatever protests he’s gonna make. Because two against one is seriously illegal, and he should probably make a law to ban this travesty, goddamn it all.

“Nah,” Noctis grimaces, and he’s starting to regret it already when Prompto’s got that grin going wider than the whole stretch of the Citadel. “…what, there’s something you wanna do?”

And that’s obviously a go.

“Dude dude dude,” Prompto starts gushing in three different inflections, and Noctis barely rolled his eyes just ‘cause oh boy here it comes, “remember that horror-thriller movie I was talking about? The Blind? It’s already out and y’know,” he rubs his nape, tries on an abashed smile like he’s trying to win him over, “you’re my best buddy and all, and we always watch movies together, so I was wondering ifyouwannatagalongwithmetowatchittonight?”

Noctis arches a slim brow. “—wanna what?”

“ ‘cuz buddy,” Prompto ignores him, all elaborate hand gestures that make absolutely no sense in trying to reinforce his point with them, “it’s a real good horror movie and since you’re my best friend—“ like Noctis hasn’t heard of that one before, “—and you got her too, so we can all go watch it together. This is totally not a ploy just ‘cause I’m scared to watch it alone or anything, by the way.”

Right. Totally not a ploy, right.

Prompto’s used this tactic too many times until it’s starting to get all too predictable by now. High school had them scrambling for the cinemas as soon as the last bell rang and they watched their fair share of rom-coms, pseudo horror-thrillers, and space alien operas enough to predict what’s going to trend next season. But graduating high school and starting university courses is another matter altogether. If Gladio isn’t throwing Noctis down the practice mat, Noctis scours the Internet to see if anyone’s uploaded extra slides on his class—and snoring dead asleep is a given afterwards. If Prompto’s not expiring past his back-to-back part-time job at YaruKamera, he drags his feet for a quick jog around the park before dying on his bed come midnight.

So, by right, he is entitled for a movie night since it’s been long overdue, right?

Right. Just for old times’ sake.

“You like horror stuffs?” he hears you ask, and Prompto nods rapidly.

“Totally love ‘em. I can’t stomach some of the squicky parts so I just cover my eyes, but Noct’s pretty good with all the gory things.”

“As long as they’re not bugs, I’m good with that,” Noctis grunts. “Bugs are just—”

“—gross.” Prompto finishes his sentence for him, wholly in sync. “Totally gross. Can’t deal with their creepy crawly legs.” He’s already shuddering at the mental images he conjured, like it’s an apocalypse if Eos gets overrun by giant centipedes or a fleet of beetles. “No bugs for us, no-no. You like bugs?”

“Not sure, can’t really say. I don’t really have an opinion on bugs yet.” Tucking a hand under your chin, you seem to be contemplating more on the matter, and that’s kinda gross because Noctis is pretty sure he can’t go on thinking about wriggling caterpillars for more than a minute without getting nightmares about it. “To be honest, I didn’t get to go out much. I only know bugs on print, but never really saw things like millipedes and stuffs.”

“What about cockroaches?” Prompto outright shudders, a hand over his melodramatic heart, bless him. “Those little jerks are so persistent, Six should smite them. You can blast a whole can on ‘em and they’ll still walk away like it’s hairspray for their antennas.”

That gets you frowning. “Squish them, I guess?”

If the thought of green pus seeping out seems appealing to you, Noctis is more than ready to rest his forehead on the table. “No.”

And Prompto, best buddy Prompto is always there to share his sentiment. Wholeheartedly. Always backing him up, the true buddy he is. “Absolutely no. Gross, dude, gross.”

“Slice them?” you try again—and Noctis almost wants to flick you on your forehead because that’s completely unheard of. “I remember when Byron saw cockroaches on the floor. He’s real good with knives so…” you trail off, looking aside, “yeah, real good aim too. Just one slice and you get two halves with no mess—“

“Aaaaaah, stop, stop!” Prompto squeaks out, squirming in his seat with his hands clapped over his ears. “Dude, no! No way, dude, stop! I knew it that guy’s pretty off in the head but—dude, no. That’s so creepy and gross.”

As much as Noctis wants to share Promoto’s sentiment on how disgusting the imagery can be, he’s a little distracted by something else. Something incredibly transient, mentioned so offhandedly with your own lips.

Pretty good with knives, you said.

How could you talk about something so disturbing without an ounce of emotion? Like it’s a passing thought, nothing weighty at all. Sure, he might be overthinking it, but something doesn’t sound right to him. That or your sense of humour is a chart going off tangent. For someone who utterly despises bugs, Noctis totally doesn’t want to encounter a roach in his room ever again—save for unfortunate spells where his whole place is upturned like a junkyard with stale cups of Nissin fogging the air and Ignis is battling off an army of roaches armed with scrubbing gloves and wielding a can of spray—but slicing them is kind of next-level sadist thing.

They’re saved by the waiter showing up again, expertly balancing the three bowls in his arms and serving them steaming mugs of green tea. That seems to stop the sadistic spiel from your end since you’re distracted by Prompto bringing over your bowl of ramen, rich broth glossy under the mellow lights.

Breaking off his own pair of chopsticks, Noctis slurps up the noodles and tries not to think too much about it.

PROMPTO, THE GOOD BUDDY HE IS, books tickets for everyone. Noctis gets the feeling that even if he turns him down, Prompto’s gonna use you against him, rattling off how this is your first night out with them and ‘Noct should be more of a buddy and let her experience more things, right?’ like that. In hindsight, you’d probably be okay forgoing the movie session since it’s already past nine and he needs to return you to the Citadel because you probably have some sort of undocumented law on how the universe works, starting with no shoes in your room. But there’s something about the way you’re walking that gets his resolve crumbling little by little.

For once, you’re not the slouching, sleepy child dragging yourself from the kitchenette to the worktable, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Sick of the fluorescent lights, oversized shirt with its drooping neckline, cradling a mug of hot chocolate, a constant dreamy quality to your voice whenever you talked to him. Like you’re drenched in a reverie you never woke from.

Here, you are the tottering lady chasing after Prompto, who’s darting up Insomnia’s streets and pointing animatedly to the many signboards hanging near the crossroads. An inexperienced woman denied of the world, thirsting after its many sights and sounds, head bobbing along Prompto’s vehement babbles on Uniqlo’s fast fashion and how its ironic portmanteau of Unique Clothing is destroying Insomnia’s street fashion. Bathed in the prismatic lights melting off your skin, gaping at the on-screen ads, fingers trailing over chipped railings, for once, you looked alive.

It’s both a little funny and a little relieving to see you like this.

More like a human, and less like an android of the Andronicus.

Pocketing his hands, Noctis saunters up your side and watches how Prompto pulls you to one of his favourite camera shops, enthused with the work of detailing his part-time job as a photographer in one of the shops downtown. You gasp over the photos in his phone and he’s low-key abashed with your shower of compliments, pulling up one picture after another until he’s finished with his collection. Noctis only snorts when Prompto pockets his phone once more, rubbing his reddening ears.

Then they go up the streets a bit more until they get to the iconic Crown Crossing where all the broad roads intersect, with more LED panels showing ads and more colourful ads. BMW, Audi, Mercedes, all raring in competition. Vivienne Westwood, Bottega Veneta, Louis Vuitton, classy models flouncing on their tiptoes. Lucichrome’s spelled out in big, bold letterings over Crown 109, glinting silver under the streetlights. Tacked over one of the tiled walls, Caelum Via’s poster beckons passersby with its exquisite picture of a sun-drenched bedroom, promising an experience in a hotel like no other. Each and every mundane detail, Noctis knows you’re taking it in with an unseen nod, stowing them away inside that knotty head of yours, probably to be replayed on a later date.

The lights go red and the cars stop before the pedestrian crossings. You dart ahead, slipping between the throng of humans, and Prompto squawks as he chases after you, barely managing to catch you by the wrist before you’re off again, already at the other end of the road. He huffs at your small victory, scrunching his nose, and complains at Noctis that you’re too slippery—like catching a strand of ramen between chopsticks. And that little comparison gets you smiling wryly, prancing together by his side as Noctis slows down to let you catch up.

It’s kind of fun, just like this.

They show up at the nearby cinema with only a few minutes to spare. With everyone already full from their early dinner, Prompto flashes his phone over the ticket barriers and pulls you in by your hand. They search for the third hall, going up to the tenth row and trying to seat themselves in the centre. Being the impeccable gentleman Prompto is, he cites ten different reasons why you should sit right in between him and Noctis because ‘the movie’s really scary’ and ‘if you scream, Noct’s gonna punch you in the shoulder’ and that gets Noctis frowning a little because he certainly did not punch Prompto in the cinemas before—it’s usually Prompto who’s crying and clinging onto him for dear life.

Still, the lights dimmed altogether to signal the start of the movie spree, and thirty minutes into the intense build-up, Prompto’s already flinching in his seat. The VFX’s great, if Noctis wants to be nit-picky about the quality, and the plot seems bearable, if not a little clichéd since just almost everyone seems to be getting lost in the Duscae woods and there’s always that creepy caravan that just screams bad things are gonna happen if they stay overnight. Now he’s just waiting to see who’s the first sucker to die, placing his bets on the nosy man with the greasy face.

An hour later, Prompto shrieks along with the crowd when someone gets brutally disembowelled with a kitchen knife, curling up on his chair with his hands slapped permanently over his eyes. Even Noctis grimaces a bit as they showcase the explicit detail of the blind old man digging out a woman’s eyeball like it’s a golf ball stuck in a hole, sparing her no mercy at the tip of his spoon. The messy, gruesome spatter of blood caking the caravan is nauseating, an orchestrated madness with almost every corner of the screen doused in red.

While Prompto’s jerking at every sickening squelch of a metal bat beating into a body, you are calm. Disturbingly calm. Apathetic to the woman’s pained cries, blinking away at the sight of the blind man sawing her body to bits. There is no flinching at all, not even when he strings her up by her neck, choking her around the throat. In fact, your placidity is almost unnerving when you sense Noctis’ eyes on you, turning to meet him partway.

Over the expanse of your skin, painted in red, you are an image of quiet delirium.

Almost unbidden, Noctis drops his gaze to your throat, where the flushed flesh lays bare. If he thinks hard enough, he can recall how your jugular jumps under his thumb, and how easily his hand fits around your neck. And if he tries harder, he knows you’re warm enough to be human, human enough to choke with a squeeze of his hand, just enough for him to remember your frigid skin pressed against his, like you’re draining his warmth to make him yours.

His throat runs dry and he looks away.

”HONESTLY? I REGRET WATCHING THAT,” Prompto bemoans his fate, still holding his head in his hands as they walk towards one of the many parking lots scattered by the LR-Central Subway. It’s past midnight and the roads are emptier where they’re at, a hushed silence sweeping in the air. “Thought it was gonna be bearable but thirty minutes in and I wanted out. Out, like never coming back to Insomnia, burial by the sea sort of thing.”

“Was it that bad?” you ask, genuinely curious. As far as you watched it, the whole movie is tastefully done, given how short some horror flicks could be. “They covered the bases pretty well, if you ask me. The plot’s solid, and we didn’t get cheap cliffhangers at the end. And plus, they gave the blind man a good backstory to show how he came to be. Sure, there were some clichés like the whole ‘getting lost in forest’ trope, but then again, it is a movie.”

Prompto looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Uh. Yeah. I dunno how you could just watch it like that. I don’t even wanna remember the whole thing. Gonna head home and bleach my brain out.”

He’s so honest with his thoughts, it’s almost adorable to see him like this. You shrug, letting him fall back. “Good luck with that. If there's anyone who can do it, it's totally you.”

Noctis, who had been walking ahead, comes to a halt in his tracks and glances over his shoulder at the blond. “Prom, you’re taking the train home?”

“Yep, easier that way,” he chirps, thumbing over at the closest station. “Gotta go now, the sooner I get home, the faster I can pretend the whole movie never existed. See ya guys tomorrow!”

And with a big wave, Prompto crosses the street, his lithe legs carrying him immediately down the steep steps of the subway. He disappears behind a concrete pillar, leaving behind you and Noctis. This must be a common farewell without much fanfare between them, because Noctis is already heading towards his car, drawing out the keys and unlocking the sleek ride with a press of a button. His beautiful Audi, with its fractal of flowers for its sports rim, and the intricate arabesque patterning the sides. RHS 736, the number plate states, an exclusiveness afforded only by the prince himself.

You had to mentally shake yourself a little to realise he’s already getting in, and you’ve been standing there dumbly, all the while admiring the stainless silver finishing. Taking your own seat by his side, you close the door and pull your seatbelt with Noctis gently easing his car out of the parking lot. The easy glide of the wheels on the asphalt is almost hypnotic, lulling your senses with your head lolling aside, watching the lazy drift of the glimmering city blurring behind the window.

All this while, Noctis is silent.

It’s not a strange occurrence, for a lapse of silence like this is enjoyable. He doesn’t pursue any topic relentlessly like Prompto, and spoke only when needed. At most, he’s content to leave you to your thoughts, though there is a certain wariness in the way he rests his eyes on you. Silent, dissecting you inside out, tearing you apart only to put you together again once he achieves comprehension.

“Sleepy?”

Over the thrumming purr of the engine racing down the empty expressway, the prince finally breaks the silence. You glance over just in time to catch the interest in his eyes, and they linger on you for a few seconds before looking straight again, focused on the highway. Sitting up, you glance at the dashboard’s clock and bite back a yawn. “Kinda, just a little bit,” you admit, borderline whisper.

There’s amusement lining Noctis’ voice at your small confession. “Get some sleep for a bit. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” You haven’t missed the small smile on the edge of his lips as he tightens his hold on the steering and revs up the engine to speed down the highway faster. “I don’t drive much since it’s Iggy’s job, so I take naps when he’s behind the wheels. But I kinda enjoy nights out like this.”

While the offer sounds tempting, just a nap surrounded by things that put you at ease—the humming of the engine, the blurring lights over on the streets, the silent companionship from the prince, there’s just something about it that keeps you awake. Just something small, something incredibly insignificant to others, but it means the whole Eos to you.

Leaning your head to the side, you cast him a hazy look, trying to fight off the seductive whispers of sleep in the leather seat. He definitely saw it when his smile turns lopsided, like he’s amused with the sight.

“I dunno, Highness,” you mumble, drooping a little, “I just thought that it’s such a waste if I fall asleep. I want to see this day to the end, because it’s too good to be true.”

Noctis doesn’t answer.

And, honestly, he doesn’t need to anyway.

His comforting presence is more than enough to remind you this is real, this is very real.

Minutes of his driving pass by, and the exhilarating speed remains breathtakingly beautiful as Insomnia deliquesces behind the glassy windows. Leaving behind the city you adore, and the memories you made. The way Prompto bounces on his feet, guiding you under stained glass domes and wrought iron gates. The delicate laces adorning mannequins in the shops, a handbag in its hand. How the prince slurps up his ramen in a very unprincely way.

All too soon, the Citadel looms into view and Noctis slips off the ramp through the opened gates, bringing you to the long stairway before the imposing double doors. He shuts off the engine, getting out. A valet opens the door for you, and Noctis circles around his car as you fumble out of your seat, straightening up after yourself with a shaky yawn. Try as you might, even if you want to deny you’re sleepy, the yawn is solid proof enough that you should march yourself right to bed and call it a night.

Noctis gets the idea and beckons you to follow. Content enough to be led around, you meekly trot after him through the doors and into the icy confines of the Citadel again. The receptionists are long gone by now. All that’s left are you and him, standing before the elevators, waiting for it to arrive. And when it does, you’re yawning again, rubbing your eyes this time, struggling with putting one foot after another. You don’t know whose hand it is that pressed 56, but the lift floats upwards and just like that, he leads you through the winding hallways again, retracing the steps he takes to your room.

Yawning for the nth time again, your overworked muscles strain with the effort of keeping up. As fun as it was, the excitement burnt you out faster than you thought. Noctis throws the door open, putting a hand on your back and slowly guiding you in. “Get some sleep, you look like shit.”

The prince really has a penchant for telling you look like shit, but a witty comeback is lost amidst all your yawns and you grudgingly obey him. Lights clicked on, sandals slipped off, you’re pressing your toes on the pricking chill of the marble again, standing in your workspace once more. A dimly lit Insomnia spreads before you, separated by the glass panes. It’s a picturesque panorama you used to marvel over and over again, but what used to be hopeless yearning morphed into a brilliant dream. The sight itself dissociates you from reality, knowing well that without the prince, you couldn’t have made it out there. His compassion knows no bounds. Truly a prince worth the fights you fought against father, just so he’d be your future.

Noctis still stands in your doorway, hair all mussed up like the usual, but it manages to fall in flattering layers around his face. Dark eyes brush over your entire body; you can tell he’s searching for something, but because it’s him, you find yourself not minding that much. He’s seen you through your cracks, picked you through the pieces. There’s still a lot more to you he hasn’t pried, hasn’t dislocated your limbs and popped your joints.

If he does, the secrets you kept will sully his hands.

As long he does not ask, he does not know. That is your endgame. Willing yourself to meet his eyes, you hold your breath. “Thank you for today, Prince. I really appreciate it.”

And Noctis, just casual, lazy Noctis, rakes a hand through his hair and turns away. His voice is thick with sleep, but you can’t miss the weird little smile there. A weird little smile he gives, for he knows nothing of you. “Yeah sure. See ya tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.

[tbc.]

90 miles per hour is about 145 km/h :’D noctis is trying to get himself killed with the protagonist just so they’d ascend the astral plane together for unlimited naps 24/7. they live happily ever after in the afterlife, the end.

also it should be noted that prompto once mentioned he never saw gil before when you first start the game and stop by hammerhead, so it’s implied that insomnia has its own currency as well. i took the liberty to name their insomnian currency as credits (im crap at making currency names ugh)

thank you very much for the overwhelmingly kind responses from you readers! I love reading everyone’s kind words and encouragement for this fic to go on <3  the plot is going to get even more bizarre, starting in the next chapter as things get morally dubious. (side-eyes the preview)

PREVIEW:

Adjusting his grip wrenches another solid gasp from you, and it’s such a pity you’re a wrecked mess right now, not when he knows he can go tighter than that to make you shudder, pretty pink all over. You’ve stopped struggling against him, making desperate, high whines—sounds that he doesn’t know you can make. You’re always so impassive, so aloof, so discreet with your emotions. Seeing you unhinged like this riles him up, gets this itch wanting to be scratched, wants to push your buttons until you break.

[tyrantofthefirmament]

How Starscream and Stormider met

@stormriderofvos​ mun and I were on skype tossing ideas around and wouldn’t you know it, an RP happened. I cleaned it up a bit, formatting wise, and if I tried to edit more it would take even longer to actually post, so here it is. It goes from script style to para as we got more into the narration and flow.

::Time to die, Starscream. Your time to die.::

Starscream turned turned sharply towards the approaching Seeker. ::Really, there were over 600 attempts on my life before the war even started. what makes you think you’ll do any better?::

::Did any of them have twin engines and could do this?:: *Fires a semi-active radar homing missile*

*Transforms and free-falls, then assumes jet-mode facing the missile and fires on it* ::Well, a couple of the less subtle ones::

*She transforms and does a twirl in the fall before her alt mode's cannon pops out of her forearm and starts firing at him*

*He root-modes again, arcing his body gracefully over the shots and returning fire with his blaster, then rolls quickly into his jet mode and charges her with high explosive rounds from his ion cannons ::It’s a pity we never got to dance before the war started.::

*Her optic widens as she dives in her root mode before switching back to her alt mode and continuing her dive with a split S and pulling vertical on full afterburners* ::Like I'd ever want to dance with a cheat like you. You should still be stuck in a lab, not Air Commander.::

*Starscream sees her pull up and climbs sharply inside her turn, throwing clouds of low pressure vapor from his wings.  ::Tsk tsk. Cheating is irrelevant in politics, and verbal sparring likewise ought to be as elegant as dancing. Not some non-sequitur about labs. Besides, an Air Commander needs to be versed in science. If you weren’t assigned a stint in Crystal City, it means the Air Command never envisioned you for any sort of leadership role.:: He fires a missile after her

*She fires flares and chaff, transforming and spinning around in her root mode and firing two missiles at him* ::At least I understand the needs of Vos and Vosnians better than the mech who sold us out to a mudslogging maniac, you traitor.

He root modes and shoots both missiles with his null rays. Even at the slight - and shrinking - distance between them she can probably see his look of fury as he bursts out from between the explosions, still climbing just from his momentum. ::I sold out nothing! I was betrayed! We all were!:: For perhaps the first time in his life he wished they fighting on the ground - tearing out her Spark with his talons would be so much better than shooting her down after an accusation like that.

::Lies! You just wanted more power! I saw the warning signs with Megatron! I'll end you myself!:: *She lunges at him as they descend, reaching to her waist and drawing a pair of swords to hack away at the air commander* ::I HATE you!::

::I wanted this entire planet to have the freedoms we had in Vos, and more! You never had to deal with the Council! You never saw the rust setting in from their castes! They were going to do it to Vos too!:: His talons deflect the first sword strike and he moves in close, robbing her blades of the force they need to cut through his armor. A strike from the other sword throws sparks from his shoulder, and he retaliates with a salvo of kicks directed at her cockpit. ::If you want someone to hate, hate Megatron. I’m going to kill him and regain what he stole. You won’t be there to see it though!::

::I've seen eno-:: *she grunts from the blows to her cockpit before having to block with her own leg. Her optics narrowed* ::Oh, Megatron's going to pay, that's for sure. But I'm going to send you back to the pit where you came from first!:: *she goes for a flurry of strikes with her sword, trying to catch enough of him to go for a kill*

Starscream parries what he can, though several of her slashes draw Energon from his arms and dent his pauldrons. He ripostes with lightning-quick talons going for her wrists and elbows, and the seams on her torso when he can, vulnerable joints that may make her drop a sword or aim her strikes more poorly. ::Megatron’s mine I’m afraid!::

His strikes scratch her plating, some even drawing energon as they get thinner closer to her seams. Starscream's blow to her torso seams manage to slow  her onslaught for a few moments but she just renews herself, even with somewhat less accuracy. ::Not a chance! I'll break you first, you coward, and then I'll break him! You? When I'm done with you, you aren't even going to be a footnote in the history of Vos. If it wasn't for this war, Starscream, I would've dueled you myself. And I would have won! Then I would have your helm placed upon a pike in my throne room, your frame quartered, and displayed in the four corners of Vos as a warning of what happens when you cross us!::

::Cross who exactly? If it wasn’t for this war you’d have no claims whatsoever against me and I’d execute you for treason for even attempting such a thing! On what grounds would you duel me? I’d refuse.:: He blocked a particularly hard strike aimed at his helm, and stuck out one wing so the wind from their freefall pushed him above her, though both Seekers remained locked in combat. ::And quartering? Really? Such vileness doesn’t become our beautiful city. If there’s one blessing in the city’s fall it’s that anarchists like you never turned us into barbarians!::

::At least if I was Air Commander we'd still HAVE a home!:: *She was hoping the strike to Starscream's helm would finish the fight. But that block enraged her. ::I'd fight you on grounds of zero confidence in your ability to lead Vos. An insult on your honor that would be hard to refuse.:: *When he pushed above her the altitude alarms started going off on her HUD. She quickly kicked in the thrusters on her back to slow her descent. Last thing she needed was to turn into a pile of scrap metal on the ground*

He had to laugh at that. ::Political matters such as that aren’t an insult to my honor! You think I never heard that from our own council? Air Commanders need thicker plating than that! Everyone says that about every lord, and if I did accept your ridiculous duel you’d probably whine about me silencing political speech! Who were you anyway, that you’d even have standing to get my attention with such a challenge?:: He waited until his altitude warnings went off - warnings he was accustomed to ignoring - though it annoyed him that she was slowing their descent. He was through messing around. ::Pity you won’t live to wise up about how things work.:: He kicked away from her and fired his remaining missile right into her to drive her into the ground and finish her off. He alt-moded as the shock from the explosion rocked him.

*The missile alarms went off too late for her to switch into her alt mode. It impacted, shattering her canopy, tearing open metal, and burning the area around the impact, sending her in a spin towards the ground. At her speed she slid for nearly a thousand feet before her momentum gave out. Her swords lay on the ground close to where she impacted. She was unconscious but still very much alive.*

Starscream swooped over the debris trail and landed beside the crashed Seeker. He took two more missiles from his subspace and clipped them to his arms, not looking up when Skywarp appeared beside him with a shattering crack of thunder, reeking of ozone from his teleportation.

“Frag, Starscream I wondered what in the Pit you were doing!” He grinned as he looked over what he thought was his leader’s latest kill. “Took your time, huh?”

“Your concern is noted.” Starscream smirked and stepped aside as Thundercracker landed. “Log it, Thundercracker. That’s 11 today.”

The blue Seeker paused checking the scanner in his arm. “Logged. She’s alive though. Will you finish her?”

Starscream frowned. He’d really wanted to kill her in the air. Either way, he’d shot her down, and perhaps this way was more useful. “Not yet. Bring her.” He commed the nearest Decepticon transport to come pick up a prisoner.

*When she awoke, it'd be after her imprisonment. She checked her pauldrons to make sure the insignia on it was untouched as well as her injuries before taking in her surroundings. The Seeker tries to free her arms, glaring at her shackles in disdain. She vents and conserves her energy. That missile blast still messed with her head earlier*

Light briefly spread across the restrained prisoner as the doors to the room slid open. Starscream stepped through, flanked by his lieutenants, and darkness fell again. Deliberate steps rang out in the cell, and then Starscream stepped into the dim beam of light coming from the ceiling.

His talons caught the light as he traced fresh welds on her frame from where she’d been repaired, though dried Energon still dulled her paint, and one or two gashes still leaked slowly. Starscream flicked some crystalized Energon off his claws with a metallic ringing sound.

“I trust my medical staff revived you well enough? It was a nasty crash.” He smirked.

Stormrider looked to him. Her vibrant purple optics narrowed from the adjustment of light in front of her. If Starscream looked on her pauldrons she still had her former Air Command rank on them, as well as an Autobot badge on the left. "What do you want?”

His smirk vanished, replaced by a pitiless look. “I want answers to some basic questions. How easy or hard that process is is up to you.” He waved a hand and the wall she was secured to transformed outward into a table, so she was lying down. Starscream produced an Energon prod and switched it on. Both Seekers could feel the static from it prickling against their fields. “Now some of these questions, I know the answers to already, so this will be interesting. Kalis. How many of you defectors patrol it now?” It was a mundane question, but it would help him see what he was up against before getting into weightier matters.

An interrogation...so this is how it was going to be. She vented, deeply. She had her honor to uphold. If she could survive a pain greater than a prod, she could last. "Why should I tell you? So you can shoot us down? Not a chance.”

The shock came, not from Starscream’s prod but from Skywarp’s, from the other side, near where Starscream’s missile had hit. The flash of blue light from it lit Starscream’s frown. “I’m afraid that wasn’t what I asked.” Another jolt. Starscream quietly raised his hand and Skywarp backed away. “How many defend Kalis? Give me a number.”

She screamed, twice, it was more than she was expecting mainly due to where they hit; but it wasn't the worst she’s experienced… remembering how awful her turbine blades ruined by acid felt put it in perspective. She'd keep resisting...she wasn't going to break if she could help it. "Frag you, that's how many.”

Starscream feigned surprised. “Frag you? If that’s a number, I’m not familiar with it.” He gave Skywarp a permissive wave. “Let’s count. You let me know when we get to ‘frag you’.” Skywarp hit her again with the prod, repeatedly and with no pattern. This was his element. Thundercracker kept to one side and monitored her vitals, adjusting the prod’s power on the fly to make sure it hurt but never knocked her out.

Her screams continued to fill the room but she continued to take the brunt of their blows. She didn't crack...she refused to. Stormrider refused to sell out the seekers under her. Her talons dug into the table, the sound of scratching metal being added to her howls of pain.

After a while, Thundercracker gave Starscream a signal to stop. Starscream waved Skywarp away again, though the black and purple Seeker prowled behind the swirls of smoke given off by the prod, his red optics glaring from the darkness. Starscream studied his claws. “‘Frag you’ is quite a few it seems.” He leaned over her. “Next question: We have intercepted transmissions regarding an infiltration of Blaster City. When will this take place?”

She was panting, her systems trying to regulate themselves after that onslaught. She looked straight at Starscream with a rather unamused face. "Do I look like the kind to sell out my fellow Vosnians? Is that what you take me for? I wasn't bound to be part of Vos' finest fighters for no reason!" She struggled against her binds. "I, don't, betray, my, allies. Even those mudsloggers, I don't send them to their deaths.”

He let Skywarp hit her with the prod again, then drummed his talons against the edge of her missile wound. “I don’t take you for much, to tell the truth. But it is only because you are Vosnian that I took any interest in you. Your mudslogger allies who were captured along with you? They’re bound for Shockwave. You’d be going there too, except you’re my prisoner.” A dark look flashed in optics when he mentioned Shockwave. He wasn’t going to hand any more of his people over to the maniac responsible for their genocide. “Though honestly,” he continued, crushing the shattered edge of her cockpit in his grip, “you’d never get there, not in one piece. Not on a transport run by those gladiators. They’d pull you apart, rip off your wings - they relish the screams of Seekers.” He let go of her, brushed a few shards of glass away. “We are simply going to torture you like civilized people and then decide whether to kill you quickly, or keep you. But if I don’t get the answers I want, it will be taken out of my hands.” There was a slight urgency in his voice that wasn’t entirely an act. Traitor or not, he didn’t want to see any Seeker handed over to such a fate.

She groaned once more from the hit. She looked at Starscream as he spoke. That look...she saw it...there was something about Shockwave she didn't know and she knew it.  She hissed when he crushed part of her broken canopy.....this was better than the gruesome end he described. "Keep me, for what? To be your pet?" She sounded somewhat insulted, "You should've just killed me back there, Starscream, at least you would've given me a death suitable of a Vosnian elite The four of us all have one thing in common, and that's that we don't even have a fragging home to fight for anymore. So what is the Primus damned point of even bothering to stay alive until the end? What do we get? I'll tell you what we get. Some flat piece of land without even the ruins because that is how thorough our destruction would be at the hands of Megatron!" She actually started to leak fluids from her optics...not from the pain but from this. Violet optics stained with teal fluid as she continued, "I'm either physically dead or dead inside from being the betrayer's slave. You might as well fragging kill me. I'll see you in the pit when you get there and I'll settle the score there." She felt bad for just giving up. It wasn't in her to just lie down and die but she didn't have a choice here.

He slapped her. Hard. Thundercracker gave him a look, warning him not to get emotional. He flexed his talons, taking a moment. Everything in him railed against what she’d just said. Even the thought of giving up filled him with revulsion, and he wanted to tear into her, scream at her that that was no way for the Vosnian elite to talk, to beat her until she fought back. At least to tell her that he and his Trine had nothing in common with her if she’d give up so easily. Anything to avoid hearing how his own failure had broken the spirit of one of his own. But Thundercracker was right - Soundwave monitored all interrogations. He couldn’t exactly give her a pep talk, no matter how violent. Megatron already sensed his divided loyalties - it was why Vos had been taken. It wouldn’t do to even talk about how he would rebuild it this early in the game.

He studied his talons again, forcing his faceplates into a cool smirk. He could play on her hopelessness, repulsive as it was. “If death is all you have to look forward to, I could easily oblige you right here.” He raked his talons across her chest plate over her Spark with a horrible screech of metal. Flicking some fresh Energon from his claws, he continued. “However, unlike you, I don’t give up so easily. Now,” he said smoothly, selecting a pair of wire strippers from a nearby side table, “following from your premise that we - well, you at least - have nothing worth fighting for, you can help me end the war quickly, with far less destruction. Unless this war of attrition suits you, and I assure you, the Decepticons are far more able to outlast your chosen allies. There will be none of you left.”

He sunk his claws into the seam near the power supply to her arm gun and wrenched the plating off, then carefully lifted out a single wire. “Kalis. How many defend it?”

The slap moved her helm, snapping her back into the moment. She was in a state of despair, she couldn't deny that. For all her love of Vos and striving to be Air Commander herself one day. Her spirit was shattered...there was a good bit of the time where the Seeker would be alone, contemplating the loss of her home. The only reason she fought now was one pure, primal reason: revenge.  She wanted Megatron's helm on a pike for what he did. He was far worse of a betrayer than Starscream. How she wanted to reach up and grab his neck cables and tear out Starscream's vocalizer with her own denta. How she wanted to brutalize him for his loss of Vos. But she couldn't...she couldn't move her servos. Starscream opening up the plating around her cannon revealed the etching of acid on the plating within and even traces of it on the weapon itself, clearly from Cybertron's rain that had worked its way in during a flight. "You know I won't sell out a single Vosnian spark, Starscream. I'd rather sell myself to some depraved Iaconian councilor if it would spare my brothers and sisters the pain of death." Despite her ambition...she was still selfless in how she cared for her people.

“There are no Iaconian Councilors anymore. That world has ended. We ended it.” A little Decepticon talking point for Soundwave’s benefit, though it was true. Cybertron could never go back, but its future was still balanced on a knife edge. He placed the the wire strippers on the wire he had teased out from her arm. “And you traitors are going to die either way, but if you give me a number, we’ll beat you faster and with fewer casualties for the rest of the war. A number!” He scraped the wire strippers down the cable, revealing bright metal leading from the pain sensors in her arm.

"I've been pained by acid rain, Starscream. Have you ever had your turbine blades ruined in the pursuit of your foe? Have you ever felt yourself literally eaten away? You don't know the meaning of pain. Do your worst. But I'm never giving up a number of the Vosnians at Kalis. You want an answer, ask something else. But I refuse to sell out my brothers and sisters." She still came off cocky. That smack gave her a bit of her resolve back for the time being. She knew this was going to be painful but she still egged him on. Somehow...she wanted to show that she could still fight, even if she couldn't hit him.

“As a matter of fact I have. My entire squadron had the pleasure of fighting in a storm once, and we were forced to land among the cliffs. It was a week before the storm cleared and we could be rescued. Three of my officers needed their entire engines reconstructed.” He leaned close to her. “So I know pain. And I know how to inflict greater pain.” He gave the wire a small pinch, just a sample of what was to come. “I know who you are, Stormrider. I may have flown in a storm once, but you - you have made it something of a signature, and you weather it well. I would say I’m impressed but all that tells me is you like to seek out punishment. Fortunately that is what I provide, and not just to you.”

He turned to Thundercracker. “Note that the opposition at Kalis numbers ‘frag you’. Use your highest estimate for what that means, and triple our numbers for the assault accordingly. It’s not as efficient as I’d hoped, but it will get the job done. Megatron’s grounders will only be needed for cleanup duty when we’re finished.”

He looked pityingly down at her and shook his head. “You didn’t save anyone by behaving so foolishly. Now, the strike on Blaster City. I need a date.” He shocked the exposed wiring in her arm with the prod, hitting every pain sensor in the limb at once. It would feel as though her arm was being ripped apart and set on fire.

He leaned closer so he could tell her something when she screamed. Provided she wasn’t so stupid as to try not screaming again.

She hissed at the pain from the pinch, servo clenching. So he did know...and he put two and two together on who she was. ...It was only going to get worse for her. And now she felt bad for her troops at Kalis. She knew they were tough, and they'd have support from Autobot pilots, but their inferior fighters could only do so much. The foolish Iaconians had their best fighters at Iacon itself. Her constant requests to only have a squadron moved to Kalis were always denied...no matter how much those maneuverable fighters would make all the difference.

Then came the shock to her wire. Her am spasmed, talons digging into the table as she cried out. Then...Starscream came closer...As she vented audibly, grunting in pain from the shock she'd listen to what he had to say…

She was still resisting, slaggit. Starscream paused, waited until Thundercracker gave him the go-ahead, then jolted her wiring again, harder. When she screamed he hissed in her audial, “If you truly want to end this war we need to talk, but not here, so I need any date next Orn (a 2 week period). I don’t care when.” A Seeker’s scream would hopefully be loud enough to cover that remark even with Soundwave’s sensitive devices.

Straightening up, he demanded loudly: “A day and joor. Now!” He dug his talon into the wire, which he noted had started to melt. It would cause constant pain until it was repaired.

She continued to scream, that talon destroying the table around it. He...wanted her to lie? He wanted to talk to her? She at least owed him as a Vosnian to hear the Air Commander out, even if she didn't particularly care for him. She did scream, loud enough so that it was but a mere whisper in her audial. But the pain in her arm....she couldn't help the occasional screams after that. "The end...of the next orn...I don't know specifics. Not my department…"

Starscream’s wings flared. “Good enough. And if that’s all you know, I’ve no further use for you.”

He stepped back and waved Thundercracker over to her. The blue Seeker cut the melted section of wiring away, effectively numbing her arm, and scanned her processor. He nodded at Starscream.

“I will deal with traitors personally, and I don’t see why Shockwave should have the pleasure,” Starscream snapped at no one in particular as his lieutenants unshackled her arms from the table and re-shackled them behind her back. Skywarp placed a clamp around her wings and shoved her to start walking. Starscream flicked his wing back and down, a clear signal to a Vosnian to keep quiet. His position did provide him a tremendous amount of discretion regarding the fate of prisoners, provided that fate was bad somehow, but this was the first defector they’d captured. He didn’t need any extra attention as they made their way past multiple guards to the elevator out of the holding cells. The elevator, at least was not bugged.

She simply walked. They didn't need to clamp her wings, so she growled at that, so humiliating to be deprived of her ability to control them. She took Starscream's cue and kept her mouth shut. If he was truly wishing to speak...well she wasn't going to throw away an opportunity to know why he did what he did. After in the elevator she looked to Thundercracker and Skywarp. Her friends were killed when Vos was destroyed. Her friends, and her trinemates, never saw it coming. So Stormrider was a lone wolf...odd for a seeker but she seemed to get by with other Vosnian defectors.

“I’ll have my own medical staff see to your wounds, and replace that wire,” Starscream said, regarding her coldly. He was taking a risk, moving her without permission, so hopefully he was right to be intrigued by her. “Though after your little outburst about having nothing to fight for I don’t know why I bother. Perhaps I ought to just finish you off.” His rage over what she’d said had long since cooled, but there was still a big part of him that meant it.

"Well your little slap reminded me why I needed to keep fighting. The last thing I have going for me is to exact what needs to be meted out to you know who." This was a surprise...was he opening up to her? What he said certainly got her attention...but by the same token would he really be so cold? "You wouldn't kill one of your own kind so coldly. Bound? Helpless? Is that really any way for a Vosnian to go out? Especially at the talons of another…"

“I’ll kill whomever I need to kill before this is all over. And someone who thinks they’d rather die because they don’t see a way to take back what we’ve lost is no Vosnian, and deserves no better.” His voice was harsh and clipped, but there was a deep sadness in his optics that he didn’t bother hiding. “But it seems my slap did its work, so I’ll chalk up your lapse in ambition to the shock of being under the prod.” He smirked briefly at his pun, then his hard stare returned. “I expect better, frankly, and mere revenge on you-know-who, on Megatron, is short sighted.” He’d come right out and said it, and we watched for her reaction.

She seemed shocked, confused even, at being told that being told that revenge was short sighted. "I hope you're going to fill me in on that." The larger seeker glanced at the other two again...was she starting to envy him? He still had his trine after all. She didn't speak as much as she wanted, just in case the elevator opened.

He smiled, amused at her shock. “All in good time.” He noticed her looking around, and noticed that Skywarp still looked like he hadn’t had enough of torturing her yet. Starscream angled his wings apologetically at his hot-headed Trine mate. Of the three of them, Skywarp had come the closest to breaking when Vos was destroyed, and he tended to take his pent up rage out on defectors in the air, and anyone unlucky enough to be sent Starscream’s way for questioning. Stormrider was both. He hated her.

Thundercracker noticed Starscream’s movement and edged against his brother-in-arms, a steady presence to soothe Skywarp’s resentment. He could assure Skywarp that Starscream had a plan even when Starscream’s attempts an explaining it to him usually turned into a shouting match. All of that went unsaid, relayed by a look, a canted wing, the touch of a shoulder.

Skywarp simmered down, and just in time. The elevator doors opened into a bigger corridor than what they’d left far below. Dull light struggled in through narrow windows from the smoke-filled skies of Kaon.

“I have quarters here, for my use when I am not in space as I prefer,” Starscream explained, leading the way into the corridor. A couple of the enormous Kaonite gladiators turned to watch the Seekers, but most went about their business. It wasn’t long before they turned and passed several trios of Air Command guards. The last of these stepped away from Starscream’s door and discreetly used their wings to block any view of Starscream’s key code.He entered first and Thundercracker ushered Stormrider in, with Skywarp shuffling in last. Starscream’s quarters were large but nearly empty. He’d made no attempt to personalize them or make them comfortable, since they never would be.

“Get that off of her.” Starscream ordered, indicating the wing clamps, which Thundercracker removed. “An unfortunately necessary display for those ground-pounding thugs of his.”

Once she was free of the infernal clamps her wings stretched, resuming their normal position on her frame. "Thank you. So humiliating to have my wings clipped." She looked around his quarters. "Certainly not what I'd call ornate, but then again, who'd want to live among this rabble?" Stormrider started musing, her servos were still restrained, otherwise she'd start rolling one of them as she started to speak. "So, Megatron, how is my seeking of revenge on him short sighted? He's not immortal, as far as I know. While, granted, his means of going about this war is...disgusting. I don't care for the Autobots either, you'd be surprised at the looks we Vosnians still get from those Iaconian slimeballs.”

“I spend as little time here as possible. The air stinks, as do the inhabitants. But it is where Lord Megatron has decided to build his citadel.” The particular angle of his wings as he sneered the warlord’s name was the equivalent of spitting. He shook his head at her comments about the Autobots. “It doesn’t surprise me. They’ll never have any regard for Seekers. Oh, they love having us fight, but they see us as strutting baubles for their amusement. It’s no better here. Those gladiators are vile, sadistic.” His talons clenched into a fist.

“As I said, you would not likely have even made it to Shockwave’s lab on a transport with them.” The thought made his tanks churn, as did the thought of what Shockwave would do if she had made it… everything about Shockwave. He flicked a wing.

“Anyway, I didn’t merely wish to spare a Vosnian, even a traitor, from a degrading death. At first I did. I figured I’d end up executing you after interrogation, cleanly. However,” he leaned closer to her. “let’s talk about revenge on Megatron. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a start, but you need to look at what happens after.”

"I think I'd rather down a cube of our planet's lovely rain than spend time here." She said lovely with a good deal of sarcasm, of course. Her wings flared in anger when he mentioned Megatron. It seemed he hated the Decepticon leader as much as she did? Maybe she had some common ground with him.

Shockwave...his name kept coming up. She'd have to probe into it. "Well, I figured you wouldn't have bought me here for my health. And frankly, Starscream, our views are the opposite. You may view me as a traitor but we who went to the Autobots after we lost Vos..." She didn't want to anger him too much, not while she was still bound. If her cuffs were off she could at least stop him from slapping her around. "We don't want to be Iaconian slaves either. I've heard them talk," her wings flared again, "how the Iaconian officers want us do dance for them...among other reprehensible actions. Simply use us like things. They don't treat their grounder pilots better either."

That was when Starscream bought up a point...after Megatron was dead. Then what? "You got me, Starscream, I didn't exactly think on what would happen after I was done basically vaporizing the fragging glitch. I was too focused on getting my chance to wrap my talons around his neck, rip fuel lines out of his midsection, and force feed them to him and watch the life fade from his optics.”

Starscream forced his wings to betray nothing as she stopped just short of calling him a traitor. Still, the reproach was there, hanging in the air between them. He let it go unanswered. Now was not the time, and she was likely testing him.

When she spoke of her particular plans for Megatron, however, he grinned. “You do paint a lovely picture. But as tempting as it is to content oneself with such daydreams, even carry them out, it is useless without a goal beyond that.” He stepped closer to her. “And what goals! Not just Vos rebuilt, but Cybertron! Did you truly think simply killing Megatron at any point once the war started would bring peace? Would let you go home and carry on as before? Did you think what Cybertron had before was peace? Only in the way a grave has peace, or some ancient machine rusted over and left in ‘peace’ because it no longer has a purpose. This war was never about Megatron. You think I aligned our forces, committed our armada, to that lump of slag? This conflict was on the wind long before he clawed his way out of the pits. He was the spark, but he is a fool, unfit to finish what he started. The goals of the Decepticons matter, though Megatron contents himself with tearing down whatever he feels was denied him and his caste. Once he’s dead that useless destruction will cease. Free people have no need of such resentment.” He walked to her side, reached under her wing to her bound hands, and released her shackles. Their heavy thud against the floor punctuated his statement, and he stretched up to purr near her audial, “People, once freed, find purpose. I will give them purpose. Killing Megatron is a fine purpose to begin with, a necessary one, and one I will take great pleasure in, but it is only a start.”

"Well, I firmly believed that cutting off the head would kill the beast. At least something to make the war end quickly." She had seen the cities under their enemy. She saw that suffering even extended to Praxus, Iacon, Kalis...unless you were 'upper caste.' "Many of us who left think you DID. Even former supporters of yours. They thought you had some grandiose scheme to succeed and went along with it...but Vos' destruction pushed them over the edge. That's when they stopped believing in you." Her wings flicked in surprise as she let him go...she didn't expect that at all. She bought her talons forward and rubbed the wrist of the one that still had feeling in it. "So, you still want to kill him. What of our home, Starscream? What about Vos? I'm pretty sure that even with the rest of the planet free of that caste slag, we still wouldn't be taken seriously. I see it in the Autobots..." she growled, "sickening."

"What was your plan, then?" Her wings showed her curiosity. Meanwhile she started to wonder if Starscream himself was truly as awful as what she thought before. This actually seemed civil...they had the same goals in mind; though she'd have to admit Starscream planned into the aftermath whilst she was out for short term vengeance.

Her explanation of the defecting Seekers’ feelings washed over him like acid rain, yet he bore it. It was nothing he hadn’t tortured himself with on countless rechargeless nights since the city’s fall. His people’s loss of faith in him, those who'd ever had it, added to his grief, picked and scraped at the edges where his Spark was torn out. The loss of support presented a practical problem too when it came to standing against Megatron, though even he was disgusted at himself for considering that. Still, without such cold calculations he couldn’t win, and then where would Vos be? So he hardened himself, kept working. He could feel later, when Megatron was dead.

His wing flicked down at her doubts. “And that is precisely why I have no intention of letting the Autobots win. They don’t deserve it and they would do nothing for Vos. My plan was, and remains, to use the revolution Megatron started as a means of changing this world, once he is removed as its leader. It is a change I’ve wanted for a long time, since before I was Air Commander, but it had to come from below - from the very mines and pits. No credit would be given to change imposed by one of my caste, nor could it - the Council shut me out on numerous occasions when I brought it up. I was just some pretty Seeker from the other side of the world, ranting about how Cybertron used to be great. I realized it was no longer the Council’s place to change Cybertron, nor their desire, yet change was coming. I waited, sensed the wind. And here was this gladiator, suddenly, who had the people’s audial. He would be useful, though beyond his own rage and a frenzy of destruction, he had no plan for afterwards.” He gave her a pointed look.

“Once this is over,” he continued, giving an airy wave of his talons, “who knows - perhaps I’ll move the capital to Vos. And we will be taken seriously because when I rule this planet, the Star Air Command will be the leading force getting Cybertron back into space as we were before our civilization faltered and we forgot how to be great.”

"I don't want them to win either, but the Autobots seemed to offer me the best chance at dropping a bomb straight up Megatron's aft that could end this war. I took it. Sometimes ambition is selfish yet at the same time, something needed to be done about the Megatron problem." As she listened to him talk further, her wings drooped. It just further confirmed her suspicions ot the side she had left for. Vos was the last bastion of equality on Cybertron but none of them really knew how long it would last before Iacon decided to bring the hammer down on them, to force Seekers to conform to flawed mudslogging ideas. One thing they would always have over a grounder: natural command of the skies.

"You have similar ambitions to myself...I wanted Vos' greatness, grounders and their flawed processors be damned. Yet...your view is admittedly far more ambitious than my own. An entire planet, Starscream...it's bold, daring, my kind of style." She gave him a smirk, the conversation was taking an interesting turn. "Though, how will you ensure their loyalty? I'm sure the rabble here in Kaon would rise against you for killing their leader and Iacon would continue to not take you seriously. Other Autobot cities will come around but I doubt those hedonistic frags ever will.”

Starscream’s wings fanned out wider and higher. It felt good to talk about the future with someone who appreciated ambition. He got a certain thrill in seeing her horizons broaden outward right before his eyes, to the entire planet and beyond.

“Loyalty is not exactly the issue, though there are of course precautions one should take. I believe most of the planet will unite behind me once they see a chance for a glory they’ve never known. Differences will be set aside, just as they were in the aftermath of the Quintesson war, when our newly freed society turned its collective gaze to the space bridges and the stars. But you are correct about the difficulty of those two particular cities. Iacon will not matter - most of the council is dead, and I know where Contrail and Rattrap are. I can have them taken out any time I choose. Besides that, I’m sure you know very well how we are making short work of their armies. Iacon will be broken.” He waved a dismissive hand, then folded it with the other behind his back.

“As for Kaon’s anger over Megatron’s death, who is to say I will deal the killing the blow?” He grinned. “As much as I want to see the Spark fade from his optics with my very own, as leader it may be a pleasure I have to forgo - to delegate.” He nodded towards her. “Your chosen side might just position you to 'drop a bomb straight up his aft' after all. And if I were to avenge such an outrage on our dear lord and master by crushing the remaining grounder forces in Iacon and ending the war on my terms, Kaon’s forces would settle down. They are fools, quickly assuaged by being pointed at something and told to destroy it, and they think that solves their problems.” He clenched his talons as his anger briefly returned. “Look what they did at Crystal City…”

He didn't...did he? Did he just tell her that she would be the one to deal the killing strike against Megatron? She wasn't about to say no...but at the same time it was also her neck on the line.  Yes, the Autobots would take the blame, but at the same time...it's a huge risk to her own spark. Though if Crystal City was any indication if what was to come of Iacon...two kills with a single shot.

She stepped closer to him. "You do have ambition...but what of me? First, being a prisoner already that would certainly draw some suspicion to you if I were to commit the act. Second, it's very much my spark at risk if I do this. As much as I'd appreciate seeing the death of Megatron and Iacon being handled in one fell swoop, I prefer to live to witness it. Third, while as broad a plan this is..." her wings certainly showed her interest, her joy in speaking of this. She wanted in, provided things were done carefully. “I''d like to narrow it down to more specifics."

She offered a servo, with her closeness to Starscream at the moment, and her hate of him subsiding, she wouldn't mind some contact with him. The similarities were striking, and she never had any point prior that spoken with him...nor any desire to do so civilly until now. "After all, we do this for Vos, for our people, and if we do this for the planet, I want a slice of the aftermath.”

Ah, finally, that famous Vosnian ambition showed itself. He’d been right after all, and he smiled at how well this was going.

“My prisoner killing Megatron would certainly draw suspicion, but a brave Autobot who had been in my clutches and escaped during transport - that would be different. And if you were to escape with vital intelligence, about a Decepticon surge at Kalis you learned about while being tortured, and where Megatron is going to be, the Autobots would take notice of you. It would catapult you to prominence.”

He regarded her offered servo but did not take it yet. “As for you living through the whole affair, that is up to you. I can pass you intel and my personal Armada will not attack you, but beyond that these will be real battles, and there are still many to come. When you go up against Megatron, I suggest you have backup, and lots of it. And I suggest you do use bombs, from far away. But the method of his demise will be up to you - I will make you aware of his movements when the time is right.”

Finally he grasped her hand, looking into her optics. “This is a dangerous, long-term plot, Stormrider, but an elegant one to end the war - to win it. Once you are a hero of the Autobots, and I lead the Decepticons to a decisive victory in the name of avenging Megatron,” His wings angled in irritation at the one part of his plan he detested. “I will spare you in the name of Vos and ask you help me rebuild. The Kaonites will just have to accept that. It will be very moving political theater, and it will take the sting of defeat from the Seekers who defected. Vos will be reunited and I will offer the same to Cybertron. As for your slice of the glory, Vos will be the leading influence as our planet turns its gaze to the skies once more. All channels of power will flow through our city, and there will certainly be positions for you to pick from - ambassador, governor, general, whatever suits you.” He smirked. “You can even have your own planet eventually.”

"Well, the Autobots have yet to designate a Vosnian commander...that might give me a chance to take that spot...I can easily coordinate our troops to further our own ends." Our troops...that's something she never thought she'd be saying to Starscream himself, and yet here she was. "I can survive the storms of our world...I somehow survived our encounter. I'm sure I can survive the war."

His optics were met with her own...there was a fire in her optics, that determination to kill Megatron, end the war, and restore Vos. Then the talk of Starscream's plans of expansion, her place in Vos...while she still had ambitions to become more than what she was, with Air Commander as the end result, this offer became far more enticing. "You have a deal." Her talons wrapped around Starscream's servo, she was grinning. Why wouldn't she be? This was the deal of a lifetime.

"Though...perhaps it would also benefit our plans if I stayed with you for a short time? We could also meet from time to time in secret. We wouldn't want that slag headed fool of a 'Lord' or the equally dimwitted Iaconians to know of our plot. I can promise you though, Vosnians will be absent at that final battle for Iacon...dealing with an 'attack' elsewhere.”

((that was as far as we got on skype))