#but the Auspices are very long lived | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

recurring-polynya · 4 months ago

Note

hello I love your writing and I wish you many fun story-ideas to toy with! if Squad 6 are drawn together by the ritual of poetry night, is there a Squad 13 tradition... or has any such thing died out with them in disarray, and Rukia maybe the person to start some new tradition as their new lieutenant? Would the vice-captains know and poke fun at each squad's takes on non-work-team-bonding-time, or would they be a little private?

I hope you don't mind, but I actually combined this prompt with this one from @voxluxenjoyer: -Young Byakuya, rabble-rousing at Squad 13

I'm going to be up front about this: what follows is based almost entirely on my own goofy Byakuya-early-career headcanons as well as this post I made in 2021 about Ukitake liking movies, so if you're wondering where if anything in here is supported by canon, the answer is "surely not."

Thank you both for your suggestions, I had an absolutely lovely time writing this.

(read on ao3)

🎞️ 🎥 🍿

"So, the thing about a month-long deployment," said Sixth-Seat Kotetsu, "is that you will not need to be on high alert twenty-fours a day. Doing a circuit around your patrol area a few times a day should be fine. Both Hollows and Pluses tend to be more active during the night-time, so I like to do one in the evening, one sometime between midnight and dawn, and one during the day. You won't need to sleep in the World of the Living--"

"I know that."

"--but you will need to rest. You can sit somewhere quietly. If you de-manifest, that's fine, that's natural. Some people do, some people don't."

"I will not de-manifest."

"You'll either just pop back into reality when you're rested, or it'll definitely happen if there's some disturbance in the ambiance reiatsu. It's not at all like sleeping, it's more like when you get bored and get lost in your own thoughts."

"I do not do that. Also, as I told you, I will not de-manifest."

"In any case," Kotetsu said, making what Byakuya considered to be a very dismissive hand gesture, "you should also take the opportunity to explore the Living World. This is your first time, right?"

"I have been to the World of the Living on three occasions, all under school auspices."

Kotetsu wrinkled her nose and flapped a hand, "Oh, field trips don't count!"

"My grandfather says that the culture of the Living is degenerate, and we would do best not to become too enamored of it."

Kotetsu sucked her teeth for a moment. "Well, I'm not going to argue with anyone's grandfather, but the fact is, here in Squad Thirteen, we deal with the recently dead, and you'll be better at dealing with the recently dead if you have some idea of what it's like over there."

"I suppose that is fair."

Sixth Seat Kotetsu cleared her throat primly. "But speaking of being enamored with the World of the Living--do you know what 'moving pictures' are?"

Byakuya felt the corners of his mouth turn down immediately. "It is some vulgar new form of entertainment, is it not?"

"Oh, it's not vulgar!" Kotetsu protested. "Are you talking about the one where the people kissed? That one was imported from America, they're just like that over there. Sentarou saw that one! I was so jealous--!"

"Are they not all imported?" Byakuya did not wish to hear any more about the kissing movie than he possibly had to.

"The first ones were, but they're making them right in Japan now!"

"Why are we talking of this again? Are we done with my briefing?"

"We are almost done. Anyway, Captain Ukitake loves moving pictures, but he doesn't get to go to the Living World very often, so we have this little tradition--"

"No."

"--of going to see one, and he'll have tea with you when you get back and you can tell him all about it! And the rest of your trip, as well, but having the movie to talk about makes it less awkward. It's a good opportunity to spend time with the captain!"

"Captain Ukitake is a friend of my family. I have taken tea with him many times. I do not need to go see a dreadful piece of human entertainment in order to talk to Captain Ukitake."

Kotetsu narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Eleventh Seat Kuchiki," she said firmly.

Byakuya refused to meet her gaze. He knew that he had not been sufficiently respectful to his senior officer several times during this conversation, but nearly all the officers at the Thirteenth were so casual. Also, by all rights, he would outrank her, if the Thirteenth didn't have that stupid rule that you needed at least two years of service to be named to one of the top ten seats. "Yes, ma'am?" he finally muttered.

"Go see the movie."

---

"So," Grandfather finally said, as he did every evening at dinner, "what's today's news from the Thirteenth Division?"

Byakuya had been waiting eagerly for this, but then his father and grandfather had gotten enmeshed in a very long and boring discussion about some proposed new leave policy that Grandfather wasn't a fan of. Byakuya's attention snapped back to the present. He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. "I received a special assignment today," he said. "I am being sent on a month-long detail to the World of the Living."

"Hmm," said Grandfather, "is that so?"

Byakuya realized, both belatedly and stupidly, that his mission had likely already been run by his grandfather and approved. You couldn't just send the scion of the Kuchiki off to another plane of existence, no matter how competent he had already shown himself to be. He should have phrased his announcement differently. He should have--

"How do you feel about that, Byakuya?" Father asked, an edge of genuine excitement in his voice.

"I am glad to have the experience, I suppose, even if it is a bit of menial duty," Byakuya said, trying to sound very blase about it. "Not all squads have regular postings in the World of the Living, and once I have done my two years and am appointed Third Seat, I'll be too busy for things like that."

"Well, enjoy this nice meal while you can," Grandfather pointed out, picking up a piece of firefly squid with his chopsticks. "And your nice soft futon. You won't have either over there. It's a tough duty."

"Oh, but there's so much to see!" Father exclaimed. "I'm sure you'll be up to it."

"Have you ever been, Father?" Byakuya asked, poking at his dinner.

"I've been on sorties," Father replied. "I've never had an extended deployment." He glanced at Grandfather out of the corner of his eye, then smiled his kind smile. "I'm a little jealous, to be honest."

"That's because you're starry-eyed, Soujun," Grandfather said sternly. "You get excited by anything new and shiny. Byakuya's a practical lad, like his old grandfather. He doesn't care about whatever damn whimsy the humans are mooning over these days."

"I'm not going to sightsee," Byakuya protested. "I'm going to fight Hollows, of course."

"You're going to take care of Pluses," Grandfather corrected. "Every Hollow is a konsou that a shinigami failed to perform."

"Of course, Grandfather," Byakuya agreed quickly. "That is what I meant. What I was trying to say."

"There will probably be a Hollow to two to fight," Father said with a wink. "Ones that are other peoples' fault."

"And I will take care of those, too!"

Grandfather harrumphed, at which one of them, Byakuya wasn't quite sure.

"Well, I'm glad you aren't feeling nervous about it," Father added. "Not that I would expect you to, but it is a long time to be off under your own direction, in an unfamiliar place. When do you leave?"

"In three days," Byakuya replied.

Father took a long sip of his tea, then set his cup down. "I know you are very good at handling things by yourself, Byakuya, but if you think of any questions, don't hesitate to ask your superiors before you go. The officers of the Thirteenth have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, and their advice will be very valuable."

"About that." Byakuya resisted the urge to roll his chopsticks between his fingers. He put them down on their holder instead so that he wouldn't. "Sixth Seat Kotetsu gave me a bit of a silly order and I don't want to do it."

Grandfather's eyebrows drew together. "When your superior gives you an order, it's not silly," he started.

"Oh, Father, he's at home, let him speak freely," Father interrupted. "What was the order, Byakuya?"

Byakuya swallowed, feeling self-conscious that his father had been rude to Grandfather on his behalf. "You've heard of those moving picture shows they have in the Living World, right?"

"Mm, yes, the Kidou Corps is very interested in that technology." Father was very interested in kidou theory, and had a number of friends in the Kidou Corps, although his closest one, former-Lieutenant Ushouda, had been lost in action several years earlier.

"Well, Captain Ukitake loves them. Apparently. And not for technological reasons, he just likes them. Sixth Seat Kotetsu says I need to go watch one and then come back and tell Captain Ukitake about it."

"All right, that is silly," Grandfather grumbled. "Just say you forgot. Or you were too busy killing Hollows."

"First of all," Father said, pointedly ignoring Grandfather, "personally, I think you may be overlooking an opportunity to learn about the culture and technology of the Living World. The Living are very innovative. Some of the moving pictures are said to be very educational." He sighed, "But there are times when it is good to know how to push back on an order you disagree with. Did you express your opinion to Sixth-Seat Kotetsu?"

"I did. She said it's just how it's done."

"That's what I would have expected." Father sighed. "If you truly think it's unfair, you can always talk to your lieutenant. That is, among other things, what lieutenants are there for."

Grandfather gave a short bark of laughter. "That's what lieutenants are for? Acting as agony aunts? No wonder you never finish your paperwork, Soujun."

"Smoothing over disagreements," Soujun corrected serenely. "And I never finish my paperwork because it's the Gotei, Father. There's always more paperwork."

"I don't think that's what my lieutenant is for," Byakuya said, frowning deeply.

"Resolving disputes, then," Soujun corrected. "And I suspect Lieutenant Shiba is better at it than you think."

Of course Father thought that. Lieutenant Shiba respected him.

Father shrugged. "Or you can just go see the movie. It's your decision."

"Be sure to weigh it carefully," added Grandfather.

---

"What…exactly…is the problem?" Lieutenant Shiba asked, running his fingers through his disrespectfully spiky hair.

"It is a waste of my time," Byakuya pressed. "I would like to be relieved of the obligation."

Shiba stared at him for a long moment, then started sorting practice swords again, which is what he had been doing when Byakuya found him. "Byakuya," he said, "what, exactly, would you be doing otherwise?"

"We are at work, Lieutenant Shiba. Address me as Eleventh Seat Kuchiki."

"Fine, Eleventh Seat Kuchiki, whatever. I am hearing you out. What else do you have to do in the World of the Living that's so pressing?"

"I will be seeing to my duties, of course."

"Nuh-uh. You can't patrol twenty-four hours a day."

"I am very dedicated."

"You don't get it." Lieutenant Shiba gently bopped Byakuya on the head with a practice sword that was on its way to the rubbish pile. "If I needed someone on watch twenty-four hours a day, I would assign two, maybe three officers, so you could rest in shifts. I'm not going to do that, because this is the sort of duty that a competent officer should be able to handle by himself, resting when he can so that he's alert when he needs to be. If you're not up to that, yet, it's not a big deal, I can just re-assign--"

"I am up to it!" Byakuya protested. "That's-- that's not the issue!"

"It's not?" Lieutenant Shiba made a surprised face. It was not very convincing.

Byakuya squeezed his hands into fists, and then loosened them again. "Either," he said slowly, "I am on duty, in which case, it would be inappropriate to attend an entertainment, or I am not, in which case, my Leisure Hours are mind to do with what I wish."

LIeutenant Shiba gave a loud bark of laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. "Byakuya, I admire your commitment to a rich life outside of work, and I cannot wait to remind you about this conversation when you inherit Squad Six, but that's not how missions work. Speaking of Squad Six, doesn't your dad run some sort of monthly poetry night that people have to attend? Think of it like that."

"People love Squad Six Poetry Night!" Byakuya protested.

"Everyone?" Lieutenant Shiba asked. "Everyone in Squad Six loves giving up their evening to go listen to amateur poetry?"

"I have never been, personally, but I…I assume so," Byakuya stammered. "Many members of Squad Six are well-know poets!" He was desperate to attend Squad Six Poetry Night, actually, but Grandfather said he had to get well settled at Squad Thirteen first. It was open to officers from other squads, but Grandfather didn't want anyone to get the idea that Byakuya wasn't fully committed to his placement at the Thirteenth. And he wasn't! He was in perfect agreement with his grandfather's idea that he should receive some seasoning at a squad that wasn't the one he was going to lead someday. He was just hoping that seasoning would occur very quickly, so that he could transfer to the Sixth as soon as possible.

"Kuchiki," said Lieutenant Shiba, "with all the love in my heart to your dad and to Squad Six Poetry Night, I am absolutely positive that at least someone is not happy to be there." Byakuya started to protest, but Shiba held up a hand. "I know what you are going to say, and they are faking, Byakuya. They are faking either because they like your dad or they want to make a good impression with your grandfather or just because it's part of being in a squad."

"Are you telling me…sir," Byakuya said, keeping his voice very measured, "that I should…fake it?"

"Absolutely not!" Lieutenant Shiba grinned toothily. "Because this is Squad Thirteen, Kuchiki, where we do everything with our whole heart! I am telling you to go see a moving picture, and then to come back and tell Captain Ukitake exactly what you think of it. Pull no punches! He'll respect your courage!"

Something inside Byakuya crumpled at the thought of telling cheerful, kind Captain Ukitake that he hated movies. He couldn't. It had taken everything he had to ask the captain to stop giving him handfuls of candy (which didn't even like!), with the excuse that it wasn't appropriate now that he was a subordinate. Byakuya could still see the disappointed look on Ukitake's face as he reluctantly agreed. It had possibly been burned onto the back of his eyelids.

"It's settled then!" Lieutenant Shiba declared.

"Wait," said Byakuya. "No."

"Thank you for coming to me with your concern," Shiba went on. "I am always glad to help my precious subordinates understand the spirit of Squad Thirteen!"

"Nothing is settled," Byakuya protested. "I didn't agree."

"By the way," said Shiba, dumping a pile of splintering, worn out practice swords into Byakuya's arms, "these are trash. You don't mind taking 'em down to the dump for me, eh, Kuchiki?"

---

"I need you to talk to him." Byakuya was usually above pleading, but right now, he was not above pleading. "I need you to convince him that I do not need to go see the moving picture."

"I am not going to do that," Miyako replied, plucking a piece of sushi delicately from her bento.

"You always use me as an excuse to come over here and flirt with him," Byakuya pointed out. "It's the least you could do."

"I came over here to see you!" Miyako cried. "I brought you lunch, because you're going away for a whole month and you're my friend and I'm going to miss you!"

Byakuya drummed his fingers on the table. "So you'll be going directly back to the Eighth after this? You definitely aren't going to ask me to conveniently need to drop some piece of paper off at the main offices when I walk you to the gate?"

"Oh, probably!" Miyako flapped a hand at him. "It's not for me, you know. It's for my mother. It's never going to work, anyway. Just because Kaien knows what I look like isn't going to make him any more likely to agree to an arranged marriage."

"Mm-hmm," said Byakuya, who had heard all of this before and also wasn't blind. Miyako wasn't even really his friend, she was just his old schoolmate. She only proclaimed herself thus to get his goat (Miyako was both very fond of and talented at goat-getting). Even so, Byakuya hoped she didn't quit the Gotei after her mother's stupid arranged marriage ploy paid off. Miyako was also stuck as the Eleventh Seat because the Eighth had the same stupid two-year rule as the Thirteenth, and it was nice to have someone who understood his agonies. Speaking of which-- "We were talking about my problem."

"Yes, we were talking about your problem--actually, back up a bit. Could you remind me again why you don't want to see the moving picture? You like theater well enough. I've heard that many of them are simply recorded scenes from kabuki."

"It is cheapening of the arts, and also new-fangled."

"Oh, new-fangled, of course! Yes, yes, I understand."

"At least someone does," Byakuya grumbled.

"Now, I realize this isn't helpful now, but perhaps for future reference," Miyako started primly, "Did your Sixth Seat actually order you to go to a moving picture?"

Byakuya frowned as he considered this. "No, not as such. I did ask for clarification, though, and she said I had to."

"See? That was your problem right there. You should have just gone on the mission and not done it. Then, when you got back, you could have said, 'oh, I didn't think a silly thing like that was an actual order' and they might scold you for next time--if there's even a next time--but it's not like they could make you go back there."

"I told you, that is what my grandfather suggested."

"No, your grandfather suggested that you just ignore the order after it was already an order, which is exactly the sort of advice you're going to get from a man who doesn't have to listen to other people. I am from Squad Eight, where we have elevated slithering out of things to a high art."

Byakuya snorted. "You say that, and it may be true of your captain, but you wouldn't. You would just go watch the stupid thing. You would never slither your way out of anything." He frowned, feeling, not for the first time, that Miyako would be a better fit at Squad Thirteen than he was. It was impossible, at least at the moment. Like many noble girls, Miyako's family, who were second cousins to the Kyouraku, considered it an indulgence to allow her to serve in the Gotei and had insisted on a squad with a family connection. Byakuya had to assume that the prospect of a transfer had to be at least some of the allure of marrying Shiba. He couldn't imagine what else there could possibly be.

"You're even less of a slitherer-outer than I am, and you know it," Miyako pointed out. "You've backed yourself into a corner, is what you've done. You announced that you didn't want to go, so now your pride as a hater-of-fun-things is on the line. On the other hand, you can't not-go without sullying your pride as an officer. There's no way to win."

"I am not a hater-of-fun-things. I love fun things." Byakuya frowned. "Otherwise, I think you are correct." He took a deep breath, and allowed himself to say it out loud. "Curses. This wouldn't be happening to me if Grandfather had just let me join the Sixth."

Miyako nodded and shrugged. "I think that learning to deal with these sorts of low-stakes interpersonal personal problems is exactly why they sent you over here. I don't think this is half a big a deal as you seem to think it is, but even if you do fumble it horribly, you're going to be out of here in a few years, and no one is going to remember it anyway."

"Lieutenant Shiba will remember," Byakuya replied grimly.

"Yes, but I will be Lady Shiba then, and I will make him be nice to you."

"That is a patent falsehood."

Miyako laughed. Byakuya was not a man who was laid low by pretty laughs, but for just a moment, he understood how other people might be.

"You're probably right," she said. "The point is, your reputation at Squad Six will remain untarnished and that's the important thing." Miyako frowned briefly, but it wasn't a real frown, it was a frown for making a point. "Speaking of--and speaking of slithering out of things--have you written your regrets yet?"

"My regrets?" Byakuya asked, confused.

"A whole month away? Surely you had a packed schedule of Kuchiki social events you must now lamentably demur on. Tea dates with future potential Lady Kuchikis? Aunts having birthdays? Isn't that awful flower exhibition your grandfather makes you go to coming up?"

"It is," Byakuya realized, his heart lifting in his chest. "And Aunt Etsu's birthday, as well. And the old man drinking party Grandfather throws at our house for his shogi club."

Miyako tsked. "You'll miss it all, I'm afraid."

Suddenly, going to see the moving pictures seemed like a very small price to pay, after all.

---

Byakuya had been in the World of the Living for eight days. He had made twenty-nine circuits around his one-spirit ri patrol radius. He had sent four Pluses on their way, one of which was a dog. He had not been told there would be dogs, but it had been a very friendly and obviously loyal one, and the konsou seemed to have worked normally.

He thought he had heard the roar of a Hollow on the first day, and had flash-stepped to the source of the sound just in time to witness a steam-powered locomotive thunder past. Byakuya was still mildly ashamed at the way he had frozen long past the time the great iron beast had disappeared over a hill. Over the next week, though, he became accustomed to their schedule, which turned out to follow a predictable, if somewhat complicated pattern, which was displayed on a large board at the train station. Trains could only travel on their tracks and their ghastly screams carried no accompanying spike of reiatsu, so he would surely not make the same mistake again.

Byakuya felt neither hungry nor sleepy, but he was having difficulty shaking the feeling that he ought to be hungry and sleepy. He had been away from home for longer periods before, so of course he did not miss anyone, not his father or grandfather or captain or vice-captain. He certainly did not find himself thinking of any of his co-workers or social acquaintances or former schoolmates. On the other hand, he found himself starting to miss strange things. The heft of a rice bowl in his hand. The texture of tatami under bare feet. The familiar rhythm of morning drills. He'd actually started doing the exercises himself in absentia--he missed the shouts and stomps of his squad-mates, but it was good to maintain routine, and he found the pleasant burn in his muscles afterwards to be anchoring.

It was time, he decided, to view the motion picture. His brain was starting to bounce around in his skull a bit, and he needed something external to think about. Loath as he was to ever grant Lieutenant Shiba anything, even just being mad about something for a bit would be a welcome distraction.

Byakuya knew the location of the theater already. He passed it each day on his early morning patrol. He told himself that he did not actually have to watch the moving picture today if the one they were playing did not sound interesting. That was another reason to plan this early, he reasoned.

Large posters were hung outside of the theater to indicate what was currently being shown, as well as what was expected the following week. Byakuya waited while a group of sticky-looking school boys exclaimed over today's showing. Byakuya was not feeling particularly optimistic.

The boys departed into the theater. Byakuya stepped forward, and examined the poster.

"The Forty Seven Loyal Ronin," the poster announced in bright colors, along with a list of famous personages involved in the film, none of whom were familiar to Byakuya.

Byakuya's muscles locked. It was like seeing the train all over again.

Grandfather liked theater, but he preferred noh to kabuki, having never quite gotten over the latter's more salacious origins. Even so, he insisted that Byakuya should only attend plays composed by Soul Society playwrights. The ones imported from the Living World were garish, he proclaimed, and the one he despised the most was The Forty Seven Loyal Ronin. Ahistorical drivel! Grandfather had cried. They keep adding tawdry subplots to try to make it make sense, each one worse than the last!

Byakuya had seen three acts of it performed at the annual cultural festival while he was still in school. An acquaintance, whose roommate was portraying Moronao, promised to buy Byakuya a drink afterwards if he attended in solidarity. The production had been thoroughly amateurish. The costumes were improvised. The roommate had chewed scenery so voraciously, he must have been picking it out of his teeth for days. The women's roles were played by actual women. Afterward, Byakuya had offered to buy the acquaintance all the drinks he could swallow if he could get him a copy of the script.

Byakuya scrambled into the theater, hot on the heels of the pack of grubby urchins.

eleven days later

"It is seventeen after. Do you think the captains' meeting has run long? It is bad when they run long, is it not? Do you think this bodes ill?"

"I think it bodes that he stopped to chit-chat," Lieutenant Shiba said. He was pretending to be engrossed in some paperwork, but Byakuya hadn't actually seen him write anything on the form in some time.

"His message said to come by at ten after. He is expecting me."

"He's a dilly-dallier, Kuchiki, don't take it personally. You can go back to your office, if you want. I'll call you when he gets in."

"I shall not. He asked me to be here, and I am here."

Just then, the shoji slid open, and Captain Ukitake, his face flushed, walked in. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "Hot out today!"

"Welcome back, Captain," Lieutenant Shiba said.

"Good afternoon, Captain Ukitake!" Byakuya greeted, bowing deeply.

"Eleventh Seat Kuchiki survived his deployment, as you can see," Lieutenant Shiba added.

"Welcome home, Eleventh Seat Kuchiki!" Captain Ukitake beamed. "You got in last night?"

"Yes, sir," Byakuya replied. "It was quite late."

"I bet you must have been happy to see your own bed."

Byakuya felt his cheeks go warm. He had, in fact, fallen directly into his futon and gotten possibly the best night of sleep he'd ever had. "Yes, sir," he agreed.

"Well, come on in! Shiba, what are the odds on rustling up some iced tea?"

"Out on the engawa, sir."

"Amazing! Thank you, Shiba!" Ukitake tipped his head toward Byakuya. "I've got some sweets in my desk. Let's take those, too!"

"I don't like sweets," Byakuya reminded him, but it was futile.

"So, how was the mission?" Ukitake asked, once they were out on the porch, and he had poured them each a cup of tea from a jug frosted over with an ice kidou.

"I saw a moving picture," Byakuya announced.

Captain Ukitake's eyebrows lifted. "You did? I heard you weren't very enthusiastic about the idea."

"I am not a man who shirks my duty, Captain."

"I didn't mean to imply that you were," Captain Ukitake replied. "But we don't have to talk about that, if you don't want to. I'd love to hear about any of your impressions of the Living World."

"The motion picture that I saw," said Byakuya, "was The Forty Seven Loyal Ronin. I saw it…more than once. I wanted to be sure to report the details correctly."

"You know, I have done the same thing more than once," Captain Ukitake admitted.

"You can do that with a moving picture, because it is the same each time. I did notice that the narrator occasionally varied his script, but he was still bound to the immutability of the performance, the 'truth', as it were, on display for all to see." Byakuya suddenly realized he had been doing the thing his grandfather had told him not to do, where he talked too much about the thing he wanted to talk about without taking other people's responses properly into account. He cleared his throat. "Captain Ukitake. Would you like to hear about The Forty Seven Loyal Ronin?"

Captain Ukitake smiled his brilliant smile. "Kuchiki," he said, "I would love to hear about The Forty Seven Loyal Ronin."

#byakuya kuchiki #my writing #1M words request event #yes this is what i was reading the film book for 😁#i think this might be the best time i have ever had writing a byakuya story #as profoundly irritated as he is with his circumstances i wish i could keep him here forever #and nothing bad would ever happen to anyone else in this story ever 😭😭😭

24 notes · View notes

fatewalker-phoenix · 7 months ago

Text

The Basics

Name: Eden Azalea

Nickname: none

Age: early to mid twenties, she doesn't know exactly

Nameday: again she doesn't remember, but she celebrates it during the Heavensturn celebration as it's the surest confirmation of living to see another year

Race: midlander Hyur

Gender: woman

Orientation: pansexual

Profession: Adventurer, Warrior of light, sometimes a queen and sometimes a wife

Physical Aspects

Hair: long, sleek, jet black hair, hangs past her waist as of Dawntrail. Occasionally she pins it up but she usually just lets it hang loose

Eyes: dark, smooth violet, most prominent when sunlight shines upon them

Skin: very pale

Tattoos/ Scars: she has a blossoming branch tattoo up her right arm to her shoulder (the Yakaku shirt tattoo), and a double crescent tattoo under her right eye. Her left shoulder has a gnarly scar up against her neck from Zenos trying to cut off her arm, and her abdomen has some scarring from almost being cut in half from Grynwaht's chainsaw sword.

Family

Parents: Doman nobility who helped arrange her betrothal to Hien in her childhood. They both perished in Doma's first attempt at an uprising following the news of the Black Wolf's defeat, executed publicly as an example to the masses. They never got to know that their daughter was the one to slay the Wolf and inspire them to rise up.

Siblings: none

In laws/others: depends on who she ends up with in any given verse, but in her Hienverse she considers Gosetsu to be her father in law.

Skills

Abilities: very skilled with the blade, favoring katana and naginata but proficient with a bow. On a lesser level she is also skilled in summoning and healing magicks, powered by the Phoenix within her.

Hobbies: adventuring, experimenting with recipes in the kitchen, entertaining the various auspices that come to keep her company

Traits

Most positive trait: fiercely protective of those she loves, and extremely caring in her own way

Most negative trait: stubborn to a fault. Even if she's very clearly in the wrong she will dig her heels in and refuse to concede

Likes

Colors: purple, orange, red

Smells: spices and citrus

Textures: silk, steel

Other Details

Smokes: a pipe, on occasion

Drinks: heavily. she's working on it.

Mouth insurance: they don't even have dental...

Been arrested: the attempt in msq at the Bloody Banquet, and she has probably evaded arrest for public intoxication in Limsa Lominsa

Tagged by @avalon821, thank you!

Tagging: @ffxivbabey, @heretic-altias, @femmeduskwight, and @tiredassmage as well as anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!

#eden azalea #tag game

10 notes · View notes

ratsandfashion · 6 months ago

Text

I finished my first playthrough of "Werewolf the Apocalypse: The Book of Hungry Names"! I tend to play my character as either one of my own OCs or based on fandom characters I like, so I make the choices that this character would make, choose the paths they would take, etc. It helps me decide what to do when presented with multiple options, and also keeps the sorts of choices I make consistent. My very first attempted playthrough was with one of my own OCs. For her Auspice, I chose Ahroun (the warrior, highest Rage of the Auspices) and for her tribe Black Fury (traditionally the all-female "feminist" tribe, but in the latest version is just "fights for the oppressed and downtrodden" and isn't gender-locked) buuuut she died like less than four chapters in, since I was playing in Iron Wolf mode (which allows you to die, ending the game) For my second, I had success. I based/named my character after my Male Fandom Fave. He was again an Ahroun, but his tribe was Shadow Lords (cunning and ruthlessly pragmatic) and his stats were a combination of extremely high physical strength and stamina mixed with very high resolve, good intelligence, adequate charisma and manipulation, and great skill in mechanics (which ended up helping a lot in several scenes) Again, I played in Iron Wolf mode, so dying was indeed an option, but he not only survived, he won/succeeded/defeated the Big Bad! There are romance options, but he ended up not taking any as he was WAY more focused on the tasks at hand, and not about to go mucking around with feelings. Plus, I don't think the people he was most interested in liked him enough for that. If he'd had the time/opportunity though, I think he'd be interested in Melodie and Podge. Maybe Nomi. I'm well into my second playthrough with my wolf based on Female Fandom Blorbo. Her tribe could really only be the Children of Gaia, who are the most peaceful and accepting and draw blood only as a last resort, but her Auspice was a bit harder to choose. My first instinct was Theurge (talk to/work with spirits, seers, mystics, low Rage) because she's a very spiritual/religious person and something of a seer, but I ultimately chose Philodox. Philodox are judges, mediators, lawkeepers, counselors, and diplomats in Garou (werewolf) society, and the way they do this can range from being the harshest of penalizers to a compassionate conciliator who hears out every side and tries to arrive at the kindest, most just solution for all. Obviously, she's the latter, as is fitting, since Children of Gaia Philodoxes tend to be the sort to lay down their own lives for the sake of peace. As Philodox's Rage is balanced, so too are they very balanced and composed, meant to have one foot in the spirit world and one in the physical. And, I think that fits her----she is very spiritually sensitive and concerned with spirits for someone who isn't a Theurge, but she's also super attentive and compassionate to humans too (my first guy was pretty neutral to humans; he didn't hate them but wasn't concerned for their well-being, and only saw them in terms of how they could be useful, as he saw everything) as well as for her packmates. I also think that an Auspice known for its fairness fits her, and the gentler version of the Philodox that considers everyone (as opposed to more brutal "harsh punishments, letter of the law" types) and thinks from multiple perspectives. Theurges tend to just be concerned with the spirit world, but she's invested in healing the physical land itself too and protecting humans from harm, especially the most vulnerable. I am not sure if I have Iron Wolf mode on for her, but I need to check and toggle it off if not, because I don't want her to die!

I'm hoping to play through with every tribe and Auspice at least once, and the game is VERY long so I'm guessing there's a lot of different story paths that change based on what and how you play (ex: her nonviolent solutions and social-based skills vs his ruthless pragmatism, incredible strength, and mechanical skills) so that way I'll get the most out of the game!

#my life

7 notes · View notes

asimplearchivist · 1 year ago

Text

𝓒𝓗. 𝓥 — [𓂧𓁷𓏏] (‘𝓭𝓗𝓻𝓽’ | 𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑��𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu knows, logically, that your shared arrangement will not last forever—it cannot. such is the nature of humanity, to change on a whim. he realizes, however, that it is difficult to face.⤏ an unexpected boon granted from the child he’d blessed makes that concept complicated still. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 11.0k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ this is one of those chapters that I struggled with greatly, if the length of time between updates is any indication. the first scene spilled forth effortlessly. the rest of it? like prying teeth. i am not one to utilize time skips to help with progressing plot because i feel it is over (and so often poorly) done, but due to the nature of this fic and its (admittedly loose) timeline in my mind, i will have to work out of my comfort zone and let it slide more than keep it rigid. hopefully the end result is halfway smooth. my apologies that it took so long—y’all’s comments really kept poking my conscience to get me going again. please enjoy! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

Human courtship rituals had never made sense in ancient history, and they certainly didn't in the present day—even less so, perhaps.

What one culture might have found offensive, another regarded it as a necessity. Taboos and essentials abounded without any sense of rationality, nor any modicum of moderation. Such social constructs appeared difficult enough to navigate without accounting for the fickle natures of mortals with their own individual preferences. Everyone had a 'type', and everyone expected a certain list of behaviors to be demonstrated by suitors of that type—often without communicating such needs to their partner, expecting them to intrinsically know what to do, and when or how to do it.

The entire ordeal always seemed pointless to Khonshu. At the end of the process, no matter how varied, the result was the same: the humans copulated, and most produced children as a result of the union. Many realized that their partner was not as appealing as once anticipated or chose to deceive them, so splits in family units were common—though so much more in the past couple of centuries than ever before. Children were always torn in the tumult that such division wrought despite its necessity at times.

Khonshu had observed it time and again, this so-called "love" about which humans waxed so wistfully in endless records of poetry and songs and art, frequently the perpetrator of heartache and sorrow and war. It blinded and leached and crumbled anyone and anything it touched. Once he was called upon by new couples for assistance in starting families, to heal their loved ones or children, or to protect a traveling husband and father while journeying back to his home throughout the night. That alone wearied him, dealing with the outer echelons of matrimony and the like—he had never understood how his kin could deal so intimately in the very heart of those matters, as messy and complicated as such feelings grew to be, without feeling exhausted at all times.

Love wasn't simple. Love had layers and contexts and depths that Khonshu didn't care to traverse. It had no concrete definition, no factual basis. It was not his specialty by any means. The judgment and execution of justice had been his closest companion for over a millenia, and it was all he needed.

His proximity to the greatest folly of humanity had narrowed significantly, once he'd reduced his influence. Even still, countless avatars under his auspices had been inflicted by romantic inclination, often resulting in him having to turn them loose to pursue it to its fullest. A mortal with no one for whom to live was a useful implement, lacking attachment—a mortal devoted to another, and to those they may create, was always harder to hone and utilize. Past experience dictated that it was better to cut ties and seek out another mortal more suited to the role he would give them.

He knew it would be better to leave you now, before the turmoil of conflicting interests set in...but he couldn't quite fathom bringing himself to do so.

Khonshu sat wordlessly within a tall windowsill of a bleak, gray brick office building across the street from the multi-level, upper-class restaurant to which your unannounced courter had brought you, arms coiled around his folded knees with his staff gripped tightly in his hands against his shins. The cold winds, acquiescent to his dour mood, whipped through the street below, snarling and biting with frigid teeth at the tails of his tattered cloak. The humans milling about hunkered into their coats and scarves to stave off their shivers, but Khonshu remained deathly still as he peered through the broad glass windows spilling sultry golden light onto the glistening pavement. The gentleman had chosen a small booth flush with the view into the narrow stone garden lining the sidewalk, sitting across from you and leaning attentively forward as you chattered on with a smile. He had driven his vehicle with caution and had opened the doors of both his car and the building for you. You were clearly charmed, fingers coiled around the stem of your glass of wine, eyelashes cast low over your eyes, heart fluttering incessantly against the inside of your ribs—he could feel it as acutely as the odd, foreign tightness within his own chest.

Khonshu had followed from lamppost to banister to rooftop the entire drive into uptown London, withholding himself from your field of vision—you'd grown attuned to his presence while he remained in the astral realm (much to his chagrin), looking over your shoulder like a tense prey animal every time you sensed him near, but if he maintained a certain distance from you he seemed to be able to avoid your detection. He kept his magic as close as possible, folded carefully around himself in a shroud that would (hopefully) conceal him from your view.

Your "date" was a good-looking man, obviously wealthy, with a sincere interest in you—Khonshu could discern no evident wrongdoing in him, no lingering malice. You found him attractive, too, if your subconscious behaviors were any indication. Your clear apprehension had evaporated almost instantly with his disarming, genteel mannerisms. He would likely care for you, with ample room to spare for your child, given his experience with his own—he would unquestionably be able to see to your needs. After that man had ruined your marriage, you'd remained mostly independent, other than your reliance on Elizabeth—but Khonshu hadn't considered that you would potentially, eventually seek out another partner with whom to share your burdens.

Khonshu had no say in the matter. He knew, logically, that he should start seeking out another candidate to be his avatar. It was difficult enough for you to care for your son, maintain your occupation, and serve himself well into the wee hours of morning, all while maintaining your secret from your closest friend—entering a new relationship would be next to impossible to manage. He had favored you for far longer and had devoted more time and power to you than he had to any of his avatars in decades—the reason he'd chosen you to begin with was an unusual one, unconventional by the Ennead's standards. It was bound to unravel at some point. The sands of time would shift, and he would yet again be moving on to another human destined to dwindle away.

And yet...

Khonshu watched you head tilt with laughter, your hand rising to cover your mouth to stifle the noise. The gentleman's eyes shone as he watched, grinning from ear to ear. His fingertips brushed yours to the side of the small appetizer plate, ginger and shy. The boiling inferno brewing within the lunar god caused the ancient wood of his staff to creak dangerously under his unforgiving grip.

Khonshu hated getting involved in humans' personal affairs. He had given too much of himself away in the days of old attempting to garner dedication from his followers—oftentimes his efforts had been shortly forgotten, their faith and worship lost once their needs had been met. He owed them nothing, even if he relied upon them for what scant sustenance he gleaned from day to day—there was a reason that his kindred had all but abandoned humanity thousands of years ago. He ultimately owed you nothing, despite the unusual circumstances of him becoming intertwined into your life.

...And yet.

Khonshu continued to observe (to make sure you were truly safe, of course—it still was his job to protect you for the time being, after all, even if that time may have been unexpectedly cut shorter due to newly developing events). He watched the waitress bring out your entrees and refills for your drinks, watched you eat far more primly than you ever did in the comfort of your own home. The gentleman continued to prove himself responsible, at least—he opted for water after his first alcoholic beverage, since he was your chauffeur for the night. You did the same, for the sake of exercising caution.

Khonshu studied (not for the first time, though he wouldn't dare admit it to himself nor another soul) your features in the borderline otherworldly lighting: the glossy sheen of your hair framing your face, the curve of your cheek, the confident jut of your chin, the feathered, gossamer shadows cast by your lashes—all accented with a brazen splash from the interior of the restaurant against the heathery gloom seeping in through the window. Khonshu hadn't seen you dress in raiment any finer than your work uniforms or your loungewear, much less the soft pigments applied to your face, but you appeared rather fetching to the eye. The gentleman had definitely taken notice, if the frequent tugging at his buttoned collar was any indication.

Food consumed and water downed, the pair of you settled in over a dessert—two separate spoons delved into the same dish. Khonshu turned his attention to the man with a far more critical gaze, noting the tension in his shoulders paired with the tightness in the corner of his mouth. Where minutes before he'd been entirely invested in your company, now he tapped his foot incessantly against the tile beneath the table. Anxiety? Or anticipation?

Mid-bite, the gentleman stopped. He dropped his eyes to the tablecloth, set his spoon to the side, and murmured something that caused your expression to morph faintly into concern. You responded, offering him a small smile, and watched him as he folded the cloth napkin laid over his lap, set it to the side, and stood to make a bee-line deeper into the establishment and out of Khonshus' sight.

Ideas raced through Khonshu's mind. He'd seen such behavior numerous times: of predators growing excited to latch onto their prey. The mere thought that the man could have the audacity to bring you any harm nearly blinded him with boiling rage.

Before he could even form another comprehensible thought, Khonshu had already dropped into the booth across from you in the gentleman's place, throwing down his invisibility with a snap that made you jump and curse out loud. Several other patrons near your table cast sidelong glances of incredulity, murmuring amongst themselves.

You stared at him for a beat, eyes rounded and lips parted, before snatching your phone out of your purse and pressing it to your ear—though your heated gaze never faltered from his.

"You could've given me a little warning," you hissed, and the lingering scrutiny from the other humans was dismissed for the acceptance of your simply taking an unexpected call. "What are you doing?"

He is acting suspiciously, Khonshu growled, leaning over the table. He was comically large compared to it; the tops of his thighs would be pressing into its underside if he were corporeal. I suggest that you leave while he's distracted.

"What do you mean?" you questioned, frowning.

He has grown nervous. He may be preparing to act upon his deceit. I have seen such behavior before in individuals new to malfeasance or working as a front for others.

Your brows wrinkled in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Khonshu squeezed the grip of his staff, propped to the side of the plush leather seat. Despite the lack of moonlight, I can take you back—

"Have you been spying on me?" you interrupted sharply.

Khonshu stopped, taken aback by your anger. I—

"Oh my god, you were," you continued, voice pitching. You pressed your face into your free hand, propping an elbow on the edge of the table. "You were actually—" You let out a harsh sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. "I cannot believe you."

I am trying to keep you out of danger, Khonshu began, voice hardening, and that man—

"Is as harmless as a dove." You lifted your gaze back to him, blazing like wildfire. "I've never tried prying into your personal matters when you're not hanging around me. This is the one night a month I don't have to run around the city for you, and you still can't let me have any damned privacy."

Rarity of rarities, Khonshu was rendered speechless by your audacity. He let out a low rumble, his free fist curling atop the tablecloth. The glasses shivered where they stood, their melting ice cubes rattling. You forget exactly to whom you speak.

"My damned chaperone, apparently," you growled right back. "I am a grown-ass adult and I can handle myself—"

Sodjem eni, Sri mewt—Ianuk mktyek*! the god of the moon boomed from the depths of his chest, rattling the cutlery and porcelain. A couple having exited the restaurant inadvertently let in a violent gust of frigid wind through the door that nearly blew the host at the front off his feet. The other patrons shivered and eyed their table settings warily. You would do well to heed my warning—

"You've taught me how to defend myself, and I'd be able to get away if I had to," you retorted. "But for god's sake, Khonshu, it's just a date—"

A soft, uncertain clearing of one's throat caused you to jump again, turning and placing your phone face-down on the tabletop. The gentleman was back, face wan and eyes reddened, looking rather downtrodden compared to his earlier assured demeanor.

"Gideon, what's wrong?" you asked immediately, concern flooding over you in place of your ire. Khonshu leaned back, eyeing him skeptically. "Are you okay?"

"I am all right, choupinette." He offered you a small, thin smile. "I have already taken care of the bill." You opened your mouth to protest, but he waved you off gently. "Please, it is the least I could do for troubling you." He picked up his coat from the back of the seat, shrugging it on and extended an open hand to help you stand. "I need to discuss something personal with you, however."

You frowned, glancing towards Khonshu, but accepted the man's assistance—he held your coat for you as you threaded your arms through, cradled your purse as you buttoned up and readjusted your scarf, and offered you his elbow as he walked you back out into the cold night air. Khonshu followed closely behind, looming just within arm's reach of you.

"I have thoroughly enjoyed your company tonight," Gideon told you quietly, tucking you into his side to block off the wind blustering by and tugging at the ends of your hair. "You are a delightfully intellectual woman, and I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did," you confessed. You were watching his face, gauging—and you'd occasionally peek over your shoulder at your brooding shadow. "Thank you for taking me out, it was really nice. I appreciate your time—and you didn't have to foot the ticket."

"You are welcome." Gideon's gaze was fixated upon the street. "But please do not rob me of my courtesy—I was raised to have chivalry." He lightly squeezed your gloved hand with his own, taking a steadying breath. "...I was not entirely forthcoming with you, I am afraid."

You tensed slightly. Khonshu observed the flash of several emotions over your face—surprise, suspicion, distrust, namely—in time with your racing thoughts. Is he secretly remarried? Was he just after sex? Did he chicken out because you had repulsed him somehow? "I'd really rather you be transparent with me," you finally said, low and tight.

"It is what you are owed for your earnesty and patience with me." He finally met your beseeching stare, gray eyes glimmering. A fine, misty drizzle began to descend from the mantle of clouds hanging low overhead, catching on your eyelashes. "I...please, do not take this as any lack of interest on my part. You are truly a fine woman whom any man of sense and repute should pursue. Neither did I mean to deceive you in any way."

Your brow rose, just so, and you became a little more guarded. "Alright...?"

"...It's...difficult to express in a manner that wouldn't cause you any offense nor hurt." His expression wrinkled with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. "But I suppose I should just be plain, instead. I...truthfully, I thought that I might be ready to seek out another relationship, after…one that is long-term, preferably, as I would like to have stability for Abielle's sake. You have always been kind to me, and I have long admired you for your talents and capabilities since you were hired. You are dependable and steadfast, and you are not frivolous nor capricious as many other women are. You are one of the sincerest people that I have met here in England, and I..." He sighed and shook his head, voice thickening with every word. He attempted to clear his throat. "I apologize if it seems that I have led you on, but I suspect I will be unable to continue any future dates for...a while yet."

"Oh," you murmured, expression softening instantly. "No, Gideon, that's—entirely understandable. Did you think I'd be angry with you?"

He opened his mouth, debated on a response, then finally nodded remorsefully.

You stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and placed your hands on his arms. He could scarcely meet your eyes. "It's entirely normal to grieve a loved one for a long time," you told him patiently. "If you've had anybody telling you that you should be over it by now, they are entirely in the wrong. Everyone processes things a little differently. You'll know when you're ready to take on any changes in your life before anyone else does, so don't feel pressured to do anything that makes you uncomfortable because it's 'normal' or whatever."

He bit his lip, gratitude bleeding from him in waves. "I...thank you."

You offered him a small, wry grin. "Want to hug it out, Doc?"

Your attempt to lighten the mood worked like magic. Gideon laughed softly, wetly, and pulled you in close for a long moment. You did not release him until he drew back, patting his arm again. He dipped his head, cheeks darkening. "I...suppose I got overwhelmed. I did not know how you would react."

"Believe me, I understand more than you might think." You offered him your elbow this time, instead, and the pair of you continued to walk towards the parking garage on the other side of the block. Khonshu allowed a bit more distance between himself and you, continuing to observe. "I don't think I'm over my ex quite yet, either."

To his credit, Gideon's expression darkened for the first time that evening at the mere mention of that man. "I am sorry for what he did to you, choupinette. No one deserves that, and you least of all."

You shrugged a shoulder, dismissing it before you could dwell on it for too long. "I'm fine with just having Ru for right now. I think I've realized that I don't want to have to worry about a relationship for a long time." You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Maybe tonight was good for the both of us."

"Perhaps," Gideon agreed. "...No hard feelings?"

"None," you chirped. You winked at him. "Now I just get bragging rights in the ward."

His low laughter tapered as you both rounded the corner. "You know it will infuriate the lot of them..."

Khonshu's stride slowed to a stop, the winds all but gone as the drizzle grew into a right and proper rain. The rigidity of his shoulders had fallen, and where once his fury had seethed in the pit of his belly, an unyielding lump remained lodged deep within his chest instead. He heard your laughter over the slosh of tires cutting through the water running into the gutters, almost out of earshot.

Khonshu's fingers tightened, and he slammed the end of his staff into the wet pavement as he punched himself back through the veil into the astral realm.

“Are you going to admit that you were wrong and threw a tantrum, or are we going to keep agreeing to disagree?”

Khonshu didn’t dignify you with a response, hunching forward and glaring down into the street brimming with civilians below the building upon the edge of which the pair of you perched. You sat on the crumbling brickwork, kicking your legs idly as you watched the goings-on—the vendors had thrown open the doors of their establishments, spilling shafts of warm golden light upon the damp pavement that glittered like spilled, shattered glass. Children ran to and fro, laughing and shrieking and chattering as they migrated from door to door in myriad costumes. It being a secluded part of the city at so late an hour, most people were walking on foot rather than in vehicles. Parents walked idly behind their darting progeny, conversing between themselves as they kept watchful eyes upon the overdressed terrors.

A month had slid by in one-sided conversations and, eventually, discomfit silences. Khonshu rarely spent much more time in your presence than what was strictly necessary for instruction and further training. You had become rather adept at sparring with him, though the unpredictability of strangers still caught you unawares at times—even still, you rarely incurred many injuries these days, and only the previous night you’d stopped a bank from being robbed at gunpoint without incurring a scratch. You had grown accustomed to the route that Khonshu directed you every night, so more often than not he merely had to point out a particular situation or redirect you for dire occasions, watching you act and react mostly from afar.

Khonshu hadn’t spoken a single word out of turn regarding your tasks in more than a week, yet you still addressed him the same as you always had—infuriatingly irreverent and incessantly curious.

You turned your head to peer up at him, mercurial eyes narrowed slightly. “If you don’t say anything, I’ll be taking that as a yes, Big Bird. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Khonshu’s knuckles creaked as he stood up and straightened. We should move on.

“Oh, you’re still ignoring me. Cool.” You bobbed your head briefly, letting out a sigh. “Because you’re actually five years old rather than several millennia.”

There is nothing to be found here. Khonshu stepped up onto the lip of the building, preparing to leap off and slip into the astral realm. There are skirmishes further into the city that need attending to.

“Are they urgent?”

He turned his skull to peer critically at you.

You had stood, likewise, and had your hands placed firmly on your hips. He had the distinct impression that you raised a brow at him.

Minor squabbles, he shared reluctantly.

“Okay.” You pointed at him. “I’ve gathered that I upset you, but nothing came of it. What can I do to fix this?”

Fix what? he grumbled, half-turning, half tempted to disappear to avoid the conversation altogether.

You gestured agitatedly between yourself and him. “This—whatever weird tension this is. You’re pissed off at me but I can’t seem to get you to calm down no matter what I do. You’re even more constipated than usual.”

I know not of what you speak, he responded.

“The hell you don’t,” you retorted. You squared your frame, comically small, still, to his height—posturing like a lap dog. “This is the first semi-constructive conversation we’ve had in weeks. You’re not even visiting Ru like you had been!” At his stiffening shoulders, you squinted at him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Khonshu raised a hand to point at you in response, but you cut him off.

“I don’t know what you want from me to get you to pull your beak out of your ass, but you’re not getting an apology. What I do on my one night off and during my free time is my business. I wasn’t in any danger, and even if I was you don’t have to hover over me like I’m about to run off the first chance I get—”

Khonshu slumped in spite of himself, bracing his weight into his staff. Even if the shift was minute, even to his own perception, you caught the movement effortlessly—you saw right through him at times, and, truly, it frightened surprised him.

Your eyes widened slightly to take him in, and he watched the bandages retreat from your face beneath the hood to reveal your softened expression. He went rigid once more at your scrutiny, twisting his forearm to curl around the staff’s hilt, and resisted the urge to back down. You would not intimidate him—he was the god of the night sky, older than time itself, and you were a mere mortal, an inconsequential speck of stardust in the grand scheme of the universe’s endless cycle. What was a human to a god?

“Khonshu,” you said softly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That was not what he had expected nor what he wanted you to say.

I misread the situation, he acquiesced, if all but to avoid the dangerous edge of borderline sympathy creeping into your tone.

“And overreacted.” Your gaze narrowed, just so. “You were worried about me.”

Your conviction, the lack of uncertainty, caused his wrappings to itch. He turned to face the street once more. Some of the people had moved on, so it wasn’t nearly as crowded. If you dally any longer, the travelers—

“Khonshu.”

Despite every iota of iron-wrought willpower he possessed, he stopped. He didn’t even understand why.

“We made a deal. I don’t go back on my word.” You stepped closer—the scuff of your soles and the shift of linen gave it away. “Until you decide you don’t want me as your avatar anymore, I’ll try my best to work with you. I just need some space every now and then—that’s a normal thing for humans, to need some times to themselves. It’s good for our mental health so we don’t get burnt out.”

Khonshu was filled with immediate revulsion when your hand rested lightly on the crook of his elbow—not with you, your warmth beneath the gauze of his armor, nor your gentleness as though you were approaching a wild, cornered animal—but for the way he flinched at the not-so-unexpected touch, and for the way that you pulled away instantly, as though concerned for his well-being rather than your own fear of getting snapped at, which normally drove you.

It does not matter to me what you do, he rumbled. Your life is your own, no matter what portion of it I dictate. He did not want to have this conversation—everything within him was coiled up in protest, every instinct screaming at him to get away and ignore it and flee from you and your infuriatingly perspicacious gaze alike. (He should release you now. You knew too much, and if you learned more he was certainly doomed. He couldn’t afford that—couldn’t afford the devastation it would cause. He should, but he couldn’t. What did he want, truly?) But…you deserved better. You’d been through enough, and you valued trust above all else. He knew you, he knew why. It was the least he could do to repay you, for everything that you had done for him—you and your son. (...What had you done for him, exactly?) I…will release you, if that is what you wish.

“Is that what you want?”

Were Khonshu capable of it in his present state, he would have scowled. How was it that you were always able to catch him so unawares with your responses? You were so very vexing. It does not matter what I want. You are my ward, and it is my duty to—

“I’m not asking you about duty. I’m asking you about your desire. You can’t seem to stand being around me, yet I can’t hardly get rid of you. You ignore me, but no matter what I do you stick around. If I’m that much of a bother to you, then you need to tell me if you want me gone. I don’t much appreciate it when people drag me along without telling me what they really think and feel—I’ve had enough people lie to me in the last couple of years, and frankly I’ve had my fill. So I need you to be honest with me. You promised me that you’d be honest with me.”

Khonshu’s hands ached from the strength with which he ground his joints together clutching his staff. Truly a miracle it was that the enchanted cedar had yet to snap as often as he stressed its groaning grain. I never said that, he responded automatically. He barely gave his word on anything in which he wasn’t entirely confident—and his incomplete disclosure with you was the very source of his internal turmoil, to begin with. He had implied his compliance with your desire for honest communication above all else, but had never sworn to it for this very reason. He simply could not afford to tell you everything—for then you would know far too much, and it would inadvertently place you on the path to inevitable and far more incredible danger as a result. I promised—’pinky promised’—that I would catch you should you ever fall.

You fell silent for a long moment, considering—he felt your gaze heavy and heated upon his profile, as well as the brumous ambiance of your thoughts threatening to overcome your restraint. He, too, resisted the urge to look at you, because it would unmake him and every wall he had ever painstakingly built with bloody fingers and trembling hands.

That was why he should let you go. You held too much power over him to handle.

“Then catch me,” you finally said.

Capricious neket-iadet**, he inwardly growled—outwardly, he questioned, What?

“Keep your word,” you told him plainly, and just as he broke his resolve and turned his skull to glare at you for your incomprehension, he watched you decisively take a step backwards off the edge of the building and allow your body to tumble after it.

For a briefest moment of time—slowed and agonizing, as was his gut instinct to cast as everything within him dropped in shock—he watched you descend into open air. The impact with the concrete below would maim you, if not kill you instantly based on the trajectory. You were always wary of making any jumps, regardless of the height and of his assurances that the breezes would carry you, and yet instead of screaming you merely gazed at him with placid confidence. You didn’t look down, fully focused on him as you were, and didn’t even flinch.

In a blink, Khonshu rushed after you. The resulting gale of wind in his wake blasted anything unattached in the street below—paper and confetti and banners snapped in protest. Within the span of time it took for you to suck in a breath, he had snatched you up and pinned you firmly upon the opposite rooftop, caged in by his arms as his entire body shook mightily.

What the hell were you thinking? he snarled. Are you trying to bring yourself to harm?!

You merely stared up at him, only mildly dazed, nonplussed by his fingertips digging so deeply into the brickwork directly next to your head that it crumbled into dust. You reached up slowly, but despite expecting it and doing nothing to avoid it, his body still went rigid as your fingers—unbound, soft and smooth and so very warm—traced the jagged, uneven edge of his mandible with the most delicate of touches. You didn’t pull away that time, only gauged his reactions like one would a child: with a low, steady tone and a gentle, unflinching gaze.

Just like you did with Ru upon the rare occasion of being inconsolably upset.

“Now I’ve got your full attention,” you murmured, “and it only took me putting myself in harm’s way. Who would’ve thought?”

Khonshu stiffened further, feeling each individual ridge and arch and whorl of your fingerprint as the sensation seared itself into his very marrow. Every ounce of willpower he possessed was focused upon remaining unyielding, for if he faltered now, he would melt beyond repair. When was the last time he had been touched with reverence rather than wroth?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you told him. “Not intentionally. Just like I know you’d never hurt me.” Your exploratory trail curled directly under the arch of his ocular cavity and followed the curve of his beak downward. “You asked me to trust you, Khonshu, and I’ve been doing my best to do just that. But I need you to trust me, too, if this is going to work.”

His resolution cracked, and his quaking resumed with greater force than before—if you noticed it, however, you gave no indication.

“And I will stay as long as you’ll have need of me, and not a second more,” you continued quietly. Your fingertips stopped at the taper at the end of his beak, unheeding of the sharpness as you hooked them underneath to anchor him in—as though he weren’t already fixated to your touch. “So don’t shut me out. We’re a team, remember? Even if you call the shots. I can’t help you if you withdraw like this. I can’t exactly read minds.”

You couldn’t, but he could. And, oh, how calm yours was, blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within his own—as serene as an oasis drenched in the receding light of a blazing sunset, uncaring that his comparatively massive frame trapped you in full range of his physical and magical might with nowhere to run. He could bask in that security if he allowed himself the indulgence, bathe in the unadulterated safety you felt in his presence. You did trust him. You were not afraid of him—you never had been. You saw him, through him, despite everything that he had done for thousands of years to remain indistinguishable to most, including his kin. He couldn’t risk you worming your way in past his shell, couldn’t fathom the thought of you seeing more and discovering more and knowing more—he wouldn’t survive it.

He didn’t call the shots, not really.

You were in danger, but you were dangerous.

He could scarcely take it.

You know nothing, he croaked; a weak incantation, one he knew he couldn’t validate.

You blinked once, but didn’t immediately respond. He couldn’t withstand the burden of your gaze, yet never wanted to be parted from it.

“About what?” you pressed softly.

About my desire, lay on the very tip of his incorporeal tongue, but he retained enough self-control instead to growl, About what it means to trust a god.

“But I’m trying to,” you told him. “I want to.”

You shouldn’t. It slipped, this time. He was helpless to resist it—to resist you.

“So sue me.” Your brows furrowed. “You’re stuck with me until you decide to get rid of me, Big Bird, so you better get used to it. I’ll stand at your side, but not behind you. If you have a problem with that, you need to speak now or forever hold your peace.”

He had nothing to say, except, …Very well. But you bring this upon yourself, Sri mewt.

You quirked a brow at him. “I didn’t accept the offer to be your avatar without expecting some degree of hardship. But consider that I might need this as much as you do, Khonshu.”

Khonshu hesitated, your thoughts inextricably brushing along the edge of his own: I need you. You’re too important to me now to lose.

He retreated, then, abruptly—physically and mentally. Your lips parted as he shifted and straightened, upright a good three paces away from your prostrate form before you could blink.

Forgive me, he muttered, leaning into his staff wearily.

“It’s all right,” you responded carefully, sitting up and climbing to your feet. Your eyes were brimming with questions and curiosity, but to his relief you settled on, “Did I hurt you?”

No, he said. Despite himself, he added quietly, I am simply unused to it.

“Okay. Just tell me if you ever want me to stop,” you reply, and you don’t know how badly he wanted to take you up on your offer—to demand that you stop everything, like constantly chipping away at his barriers, or looking at him like he’s something to be understood with care rather than downtrodden, or making him question everything he’d ever thought he’d known about himself so fervently that he was no longer certain of anything anymore.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was in too deep, past the point of no return, and he knew it—he knew it as intimately as he knew the contours of your body just underneath his armor, the frequency of your voice vibrating within his skull, and the exact number of crinkles in the corners of your eyes whenever you smiled as brilliantly as the moon at your son—yet he could summon no strength to pull himself back from the very brink of the sheer insanity he was willing to and already enduring for the sake of continuing to have you so close. It would arguably hurt him worse to part himself from you, now, than to push you away.

He would be made the continued mockery of the gods if they knew how desperately he craved to be subservient to you rather than the other way around.

“Hey.”

He refocused on you, realizing that he had totally missed you stepping directly in front of him. You could put your forehead on his torso if you just leaned forward a bit.

“I’m always here to listen if you want or need to talk,” you told him. “You’ve listened to me rant plenty of times. It’s only fair of me to offer the same favor.” The faintest wry quirk of your mouth twisted every metaphorical organ in his chest cavity, and he couldn’t breathe even if he had to. “I can’t even imagine what goes on in that empty skull of yours, and I’d rather avoid any squabbles that would make you give me the cold shoulder for so long again, if possible.”

I will…endeavor to remember that. He turned and faced the cityscape once more, bandages crawling with discomfort after the weight of the entire conversation finally struck him. Let us move on. There is work to be done.

“Lead on,” you told him, drawing the gauze back over your face and hands.

Khonshu wordlessly summoned a fierce gust to carry you halfway across London as he slipped back into the invisible safety of the astral realm to observe like the coward he truly was.

Khonshu, as always, was able to suppress the majority of his internal conflict enough for your shared routine to return to relative normalcy over the course of the next couple of weeks. You were comfortable enough to resume your oft one-sided conversations with him while he lingered in your home during the day just as he finally allowed himself to return to that habit, though his extended silences were due mainly to contemplation rather than avoidance (since you still saw it fit to ask him every question man could seem to conjure under the sun), and you seemed to be satisfied by the familiarity of it.

Your skills only continued to improve, and oftentimes he no longer felt the need to intervene in your skirmishes, even when you faced a disadvantage. You were clever—definitely too cunning for your own good—and now that he had successfully equipped you with the knowledge and muscle memory to deal effectively with your adversaries, you outsmarted them more often than not strictly on account of being faster and unpredictable.

Ironic, certainly, that the bane of his existence was your sharp, analytical mind, and yet he valued it so greatly in the field to execute his vengeance.

Although he didn’t find himself particularly inclined to tell you so, for it would surely go to your head and render you even more insufferable than your smuggest of days discovering such great delight in incessantly needling his ever-waning patience, he was extremely pleased with your progress. You were eager to learn whenever he would introduce a new technique or ability to you, and usually you had mastered it within a week in execution. He hadn’t had so skilled and studious an avatar in decades, as sufficient as the last several had proven, and despite the inward dread he felt at your personal life intermingling so unabashedly into his, he was increasingly grateful as every night passed that he had decided to go out on a limb for you.

Even if the long-term benefits arguably outweighed the present ones.

Ru was growing stronger and developing his mother’s wits at what normally would have been an alarming rate in a normal child. Being so consistently exposed to Khonshu and his power was feeding the blessing in that child and causing it to manifest in his strapping health and burgeoning development. His physician had told you, surprise plain in his features, that he was farther along than he should be—not a bad sign, surely, just unexpected and, to uneducated human minds, inexplicable.

You didn’t seem to bat an eye at the concept, really. You truly only cared for him to be healthy and happy over the odd, if not beneficial, traits he demonstrated.

Khonshu himself was thankful that you chose not to question any of that, at least. And he was relieved to be able to observe the child unscrutinized once more.

The boy was growing faster than Khonshu could reasonably fathom. The god of the moon remembered what it was like to be young—cradled in his mother’s arms, perched on her lap, and guided by her hand clasping his. A Heliopolitan’s lifespan could not be truly compared to a human’s, as he had mentioned to you before, on account of the differing biologies. But he had been a child once, though he’d grown far more rapidly into adulthood than mortals could imagine. The Egyptians had struggled to comprehend his vastly differing appearances throughout time, leading to his myriad depictions varying so widely in reliefs, statues, and literature.

Even still, Khonshu had never remained in such close proximity to a human child—nevermind one that he had blessed (though he had monitored those in the past, he had mostly disregarded their existence until they were old enough to prove themselves useful for servitude). Possessing no offspring of his own, he ought not to have any practical experience or knowledge beyond what he’d learned by exposure over time, but it was startlingly easy, instinctual even, to interact with the boy. He was mild-mannered, rarely fussed without good reason, and observed with far more intelligence than Khonshu could ever have anticipated.

His incessant inquisitiveness, it seemed, was a hereditary trait passed directly on from his mother.

Badru was now five months old, and Khonshu scarcely recognized the swaddled bundle of ruddy, rounded flesh you had brought into the world. His eyes were bright and attentive, constantly tracking your movements as long as you were within viewing range—but they always seemed to find Khonshu even before he’d manifest into the physical plain. He still struggled with mobility, but he touched everything within his reach to study its texture and color with as rapt a fixation as you did your paperwork. He was particularly adept at finding the most tender places to tug Khonshu’s wrappings, the deity had come to learn—despite his stern, if long-suffering, scoldings not to grab his beak, the boy would only giggle in rebellious mockery and continue with his mischief.

Khonshu tried not to connect with him too much, he really did—it would only lead to disaster in the future. But everything the child did, everything he thought (although his thoughts were still rudimentarily instinctual), drew Khonshu’s own dormant curiosity. Khonshu knew the effects that a child conceived under a crescent moon combined with his blessings experienced based on the differences the adults displayed in the past: improved senses, memory, intelligence, strength, reflexes, agility, among other comparatively minor enhancements upon humanity’s inherently flawed physiology—but he had failed to realize how early that these traits would impact an infant’s early growth.

You were certainly proud of your son’s development, even if you didn’t question its rapid rate. You spent as much time as physically possible with the boy, stimulating him with toys, stories, and teaching that Khonshu found painfully rudimentary but, ultimately, necessary. You were flourishing as a mother, truly, and nothing quite matched the sight of your blinding smiles when you did interact with him.

The joy that the babe undeniably brought you mitigated Khonshu’s underlying guilt for the most part—but the moments where you trudged with weariness, pushed your limits beyond reason, and tried to hide your lows only reminded him exactly whose fault it was that you struggled.

Khonshu, despite his reluctance to nurture the child’s dependence upon him, wanted to help you wherever he could, though he was limited to what he could offer besides healing the boy and holding him when you were busy with chores. The child seemed magnetized to his presence, did everything he could to get to him and gets his grubby little fingers on him, and Khonshu was uncertain whether it was caused by his blessing or by some innate fascination with the familiarity of the hulking eldritch deity making himself comfortable in their home. And, over time, Khonshu came to the realization that there was an unexpected side benefit to directly interacting with the boy.

Khonshu was unsuited to understand the exact nature of his powers and abilities, much less how they worked (such comprehension was better explained by the likes of Heka)—so to anticipate that such a connection would form some sort of feedback loop with Khonshu’s wellspring would have been impossible. Even simply touching the child resulted in a shocking amount of power directed back into the deity. It only amplified the more that Khonshu spent time around him, particularly when he spoke, even if was derogatory or chastisement.

Even though the replenishment was relatively small compared to what Khonshu used to receive in praise, prayers, and offerings (something he lamented often, especially on nights of the new moon), it was far more than he’d gleaned in decades. The nourishment was invaluable, and Khonshu had begun to notice the slight changes it made in his current manifestation—his wrappings had stopped their gradual decay, perhaps even had reverted, he felt stronger, and his magic had improved in efficacy and speed. It only assisted your endeavors, as the armor became more resilient, improved your superhuman abilities, and healed you faster when you incurred injuries.

Further experimentation would be required to determine the quantitative supply of what the boy was capable of returning to his patron, but for the time being Khonshu found that he could not fault you for the amount of happiness Badru brought you. His laughter was easily provoked, whether it was through physical prods to his midsection and underarms or Khonshu’s grave, booming tone. What prompted the reaction the most, however, was an odd game Khonshu observed you play with the infant on numerous occasions. You would conceal your face behind your hands, wait until the babe would utter a noise of confusion, and then reveal yourself with a soft exclamation. Despite the fact that you may have repeated the action numerous times prior to the current occasion, Badru would react the exact same—with equal parts surprise and mirth.

It puzzled Khonshu, truly. You had explained the concept of object permanence to him when he’d inquired about the boy’s worryingly consistent forgetful behavior (as well as the lack thereof that Badru would not develop for some time), but he still had trouble wrapping his mind around it. You sat with the boy on your lap, yet the child acted as though you had disappeared from the face of the earth simply because he could not see your face. Asinine, perhaps, but…Khonshu’s judgement was belayed by a certain (if limited) amount of endearment.

It would benefit Khonshu in the long run to conduct the aforementioned experiments while he remained in your good graces (at least for the time being), and if he could do so while entertaining the child when you were busy…well, what did humans say about two birds and one stone?

He decided to try it one late evening when Elizabeth was out on a date. The pair of you had joked about the bad luck she’d had the last time since you had (not so) unexpectedly gone into labor in the middle of her dinner, but since you possessed no more tricks up your sleeve to interfere you encouraged the ginger to go out and have a good time—and, like Khonshu had observed you two do when you went on your ��date’ with the gentleman, Elizabeth told you her expected destinations, estimated durations, and potential secondary locations while updating her tracking on her cellular device. You had promised her with only some mirth that if anything malicious happened to her, you’d descend like the fury of hell upon her paramour—Khonshu had been forced to stifle a chuckle at the oblivious eye-roll your friend with which your friend had responded to your only half-hearted threat.

You were left to your own devices, then, being off that night. You went about the motions of cooking supper, and Khonshu bided his time looming in the living room until Badru began to get bored with the blunted wooden blocks you’d laid out for him to play with and notify you of his malcontent with soft, displeased grunts.

“I know, baby,” you called over your shoulder, stirring the creamy sauce in the simmering pan to prevent it from scorching on the bottom. “I’ll be there in a moment, just let me—”

I’ll get him, Khonshu told you, materializing into your plain and bending down to scoop the child up from the plush rug. Prepare your meal.

“I—oh. Thank you.” You blinked at him, brows arching slightly, but didn’t protest as Khonshu wandered down the hallway towards the child’s room. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble!”

He will not, he returned dryly, turning into the darkness and snapping his fingers to activate the bedside lamp next to your rocking chair. He extended his arms to eye the child in his entirety, watching him with rounded eyes and an open mouth. Khonshu scrutinized the hair growing in full force upon the boy’s head, identical to yours in color and texture, as well as the subtle definition of features he recognized from looking at your face—the shapes of his eyes, mouth, and nose, although his ears must have been inherited from his father.

The thought sent a wave of revulsion through Khonshu, but even he couldn’t manipulate genetics.

Khonshu descended to the floor, crossing his legs the same way you did. He settled Badru into the cradle his interlocking calves formed, though the size difference was far more pronounced. The boy was perplexed, evidenced by the strong feeling of newness resounding from his otherwise empty mind. Khonshu tilted his skull to eye the wrinkles of his expression, then experimentally covered his eye sockets with his hand before lifting it a few seconds later.

Nothing. Badru looked even more skeptical than before.

Difficult to please, aren’t you? Khonshu grumbled. Or is it favoritism at play?

The babe reached out with flexing hands towards his torso in response.

Does the practice require two hands? Khonshu continued dryly, pressing the babe back to his original position before attempting just that.

Still nothing.

You made it look remarkably easy. What was it that had anchored the child’s attention so raptly? Did he have to utter that specific incantation to evoke the boy’s startlement? Did you actually possess a sensitivity to heka*** that Khonshu had previously failed to perceive?

Khonshu concealed his skull, then parted his hands, thankful, for once, for his isolation—he’d prefer to never have an audience be aware of this situation as long as he lived. …Boo…?

Badru blinked slowly, as though questioning his hesitance.

Khonshu tried again. Boo.

His mouth twitched.

Boo.

The boy smiled, at least, but still offered no laughter.

Khonshu let out an agitated huff. Puzzling child. You seek only to spite me, don’t you? Defiant like your mother.

Badru gurgled and smiled around the fist he attempted to shove past his lips. Khonshu hooked his wrist with one solitary, spindly finger, tugging it away from the oozing maw. The babe let out a grunt, his flat brow wrinkling in displeasure, but Khonshu hushed him with a low tone.

And despite having not accomplished any significant task, Khonshu could feel the steady, if narrow, trickle of power through the link he shared with the child in his lap. In the peak of his influence, he never would have noticed such a comparatively insignificant supply at the time—now he was ravenous for it. The tension in his shoulders eased the longer that he studied Badru’s sparkling eyes, tracking over the sharp edges and contours of the old god’s skull. Such wonder, in those eyes, just like yours; such innocence.

Khonshu, chest tight, released the wrappings from his free hand and slowly, hesitantly, brushed his fingertips across the babe’s forehead to cradle the crown of his head. Impossibly smooth, unblemished, and warmer than he had expected—the downy strands felt like the finest of silk, enhanced by the soaps with which you used to bathe him. And in spite of the certain discomfort that the scars mottling Khonshu’s tarnished, otherworldly hand brought, Badru only cooed at his whisper-soft touch. The boy reached up with his own free hand, unanchored by Khonshu’s other loose forefinger and thumb, and grabbed blindly at the coarse gauze—as pristine a white as it had looked in months (years, even)—to investigate the texture with rapt, unwavering attention.

Khonshu tilted his skull to the other side, and the sudden movement after the period of stillness caused the child to jump slightly—then giggle quietly.

Khonshu hummed in thought. He glanced over his shoulder, finding the hallway still dark and unoccupied. He could hear you humming in the kitchen along to the music playing from your phone, a bare foot tapping on the tile along with the beat. The scrape of wood on copper kept you busy. He turned back to Badru, allowing the form from his shoulders up to coalesce into a form he hadn’t adopted in…longer than he could readily recall.

Badru blinked, mouth gaping in awe.

Then, like a snap, Khonshu reverted back. Boo!

The peal of belly-clenching laughter took the moon god by complete surprise. His turn to jump, he mused, watching the child light up with incomprehensible humor lost on anyone older than himself. And the surge of delight along their connection precluded a tide of power that made Khonshu’s entire aura sag with relief.

You require startlement, he observed mildly. And here I thought that humans hated to be frightened.

Ru slung his hand insistently, gurgling like a drunkard.

Khonshu switched once more. Boo!

Badru laughed even louder, and even had the decency to clap for the moon god’s performance before demanding its repetition again.

This cycle carried on for several minutes, and every thought fell away from the forefront of Khonshu’s mind save one—who could have anticipated the utter delight that a baby’s laugh could elicit in even the coldest and darkest of hearts? Khonshu certainly hadn’t. It…almost made him feel—

“I see someone has learned how to keep him entertained.”

Khonshu’s insides leapt. Fortunately, he was in his usual state as he turned to glare over his shoulder at you leaning against the doorway. He hadn’t even noticed your approach. He rebound his hand and grunted as he stood, tucking the cackling babe into the crook of his arm. Deceptively simple, he lied. Humans are so very easy to entertain, after all.

“Of course,” you grinned, eyes glittering with mirth, looking all like the cat who trapped the canary.

Khonshu pressed the child back into your grasp. Your hands brushed his as the exchange was made, and even though he was at least one layer separated from your skin, the ghostly sensation still sent frissons rocketing up his arms. Would you be as pleasant to touch, he wondered, were he to investigate with his weathered palms?

I have matters to which I must attend until later, he rumbled stiffly, summoning his staff where he’d left it in the astral plane. Do not be late.

“I never am,” you reminded him with a cheeky smile, brimming with teeth this time, and Khonshu disappeared from your view with some relief—if he’d had a heart, it would have been racing.

You had almost seen, and that most certainly wouldn’t do.

“It’s going to get busier the closer we get to the holidays,” you warned Khonshu absently, closing your eyes as the draft continued to carry you through the clouds crowding over the slumbering city far below. “Everyone always decides to act like idiots or develop problems when medical staff try to take a break. I’ll try my best to keep up with everything, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up if I’m more tired than usual.”

Khonshu merely hummed from his space within the astral realm, tilting his fingers this way and that to guide the currents that carried the crescent-shaped cloak billowing in the otherwise frigid wind. It has been a recurring theme throughout the years, no matter what country or culture his avatars originated from—even when Egypt still stood, they had their festivities that often interfered with their duties, though at least those events pertained directly to the Ennead.

“…The next new moon falls on the night of the hospital facility Christmas party, too,” you added more quietly, “just so you know.”

And why would I need to know that? Khonshu questioned.

“You got…you acted like it bothered you last time.” You cleared your throat. “When I made plans outside of the usual routine and didn’t let you know, anyway. I didn’t want to surprise you again if I could help it.”

Khonshu…wasn’t certain how to respond. Since your rooftop dive to provoke him into speaking with you, you hadn’t mentioned anything remotely close to the event not of any extracurricular activities in which you intended to participate on your next “off-day”. Things had returned to relative normalcy since then, and he’d been able to put it to the back of his mind (but he hadn’t forgotten it—no, he was uncertain that he’d ever be able to get the image of you in that dress out of his mind’s eye, nor the sheer bitterness that the entire situation had summoned in him like bile; he still inwardly growled to think of it, of the gentleman’s hands on you, even as courteous and chaste as he had been). He hadn’t ever insisted on you giving him an itinerary of your upcoming obligations, but…you were right, as much as he begrudged to admit it. It had bothered him. More than he had anticipated at the time.

Khonshu had never counted himself to be the possessive sort of god, unlike those of his kindred who prided themselves on it—Sobek chief among them, the slant-eyed, narcissistic bastard. He’d always given his avatars wide berth to go about their daily lives, having never particularly cared about their whereabouts or goings-on unless they impeded their servitude to him. You were the first human whose company he’d actively sought in hundreds of years, and the first he’d…enjoyedin thousands. Despite how you irritated him so, your presence was a balm of serenity he hadn’t felt in ages. You had no ulterior motives for accessing his abilities save the agreement of your son’s protection, and didn’t ever attempt to utilize said abilities for anything other than the work he gave you—oftentimes he was the one forced to summon the suit in order to heal the various wounds you incurred, as you attempted to go about your day as normal without tending to them. You reminded him, in some ways, of his own mother—though the revelation was one that hurt more than comforted him.

You called him asinine names, talked incessantly, and it seemed your curiosity was never sated. You made him unbearably uncomfortable at times, and at others he could recall scarcely fewer moments when he’d felt as at ease. You were brimming with contradictions, and yet…Khonshu found himself continually and inexorably magnetized and drawn to remain in your orbit.

Fitting, he supposed. The moon will always be doomed to the circle the earth’s nurturing outer reaches—but never closer. Disaster would surely follow.

Still. He appreciated your thoughtfulness, your care to see to his needs (even if he refused to admit that he did need him to know—for your safety). Your expectation weighed heavy on the back of your mind, a steady inquisitive pressure that eventually won out over his inclination to remain silent. Thank you.

“You’re welcome.” You twisted over lazily, rolling in the draft that surged beneath the crescent-shaped cloak cracking like canvas. “Also…I know it might be a bit much to ask, but…can I have off Christmas Eve? Lizzie and I have a tradition of staying up til’ midnight, and since I’ve got Ru now, I thought…well. I’d like to stay with him. If that’s okay with you.”

Khonshu found that it was much easier to grant you such a request than he ever had before. As you wish, srit mewt****.

“Thank you.” He felt the distinct pull of your smile beneath the gauze covering your face. “I’ll be sure to leave out some cookies and milk for you, too, Big Bird. Unless you’d have a different preference.”

…You’re welcome. Khonshu huffed quietly. And that is unnecessary.

“Oh, come on, there’s got to be something you like.” You began to count off on your fingers. “Sugar, chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin…oh, I bet you’re a white chocolate and macadamia nut kind of guy!”

Were Khonshu capable of rolling his eyes, he would have. He opted for another terse sigh instead, intentionally directed into your ears. I have not had cookies, and therefore have no preference. I needn’t remind you that I am incapable of ingesting corporeal sustenance in my present state.

“That’s a damn shame,” you responded forlornly, though he didn’t miss the shiver that wracked your frame from his previous low register. “I’m not sure what I’d do without cookies. They’ve gotten me through a lot of tough times, you know.”

Humans have always had a proclivity towards sugar throughout the ages, and it would seem that it has…compounded over time.

“…I really hope you’re not calling me fat, Granddaddy Long-Beak, because I will start pulling out the skeleton jokes and you will apologize.”

I had no such implication, he simpered, spotting the location of his quarry come over the horizon between several squatting metal storehouses in the outskirts of the industrial district of the city. But Elizabeth’s stash of sweets has inexplicably diminished lately. She has not been pleased.

“It’s November, Khonshu. If I don’t get my pumpkin spice fix now it’ll be too late.”

I am certain that her massacred population of Kit-Kats would agree with you.

“You don’t eat, remember? So you have no right to judge me. Try one of those things and see if you don’t get addicted.”

It would likely cause me to disintegrate, as ‘frail’ as you are so convinced of my constitution being.

“I…did you just make a joke?”

The source of the scuffle is down there. Khonshu directed the winds to take you in a low sweep over the buildings. Be swift, and be quiet. There may be others lingering nearby.

You laughed quietly as you landed upon the iron beams framing the broken ceiling, muffled under the mask and stifled by your poor grasp at restraint. Your shadow fell upon the concrete below, surrounded by the moon’s mercurial glow, and yet the bickering lackeys below were none the wiser. “Fine, Khonshu. Spoil my fun. But if you’re ever in a position that Lizzie finds out about you, do not tell her that I did it.”

It is best to keep as few people aware of our activities as possible, he reminded you grimly, watching you size up the three large men toting guns on their hips. But even then, I will make no such promises.

“Traitor,” you gasped dramatically, and the sound drew the attention of the skinniest of the three—and obviously the jumpiest, because he immediately bolted towards their truck to start it while the slower two craned their necks back to squint up at your silhouette with some confusion. “Welp. Looks like I’ve lost the element of surprise. Sorry to drop in unannounced, fellas, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to crash the pity party!”

Khonshu, slipping out of the astral realm into a crouch, observing with some amusement as you nimbly stepped off the beam and descended in a flurry of ivory linen to apprehend the painfully amateur bank thieves. Your khopeshes cleaved their pistols in half like butter, and a good throw into the radiator of their vehicle killed its chugging engine the exact moment the skinniest one managed to coax it to life.

This is what he had missed while stewing in his own misery—your easy conversation, your lighthearted quips, your humored reactivity. This is what made you dangerous. This is why he should let you go.

But, sea of nothing, he didn’t think he could bear to.

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #mine #original character(s)#original female character(s)#original male character(s)

25 notes · View notes

traditional-with-a-twist · 1 month ago

Text

lxix. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || fourth arc || AO3 || Next>>

Obi knew he had been outmaneuvered, but he was just beginning to realize how thoroughly.

He and Mitsuhide stood side by side on a raised wooden platform, above the heads of the attentive crowd, below the stern looks of the robed men presiding over them.

Their seats, draped in heavy blues that hung all the way to the ground, elevated them to a position of unquestionable authority over the scene.

Likewise, the placement of their accuser left little doubt as to which party might safely expect more favor from the court.

...

Red and shiny-faced, with nervous, twitching fingers, the aggrieved leveled his charges from amidst a pile of silken cushions.

Although not so lofty as the judges, he, too, might address the prisoners from a superior height, as he reclined on a litter borne by four brawny servants of a size with Mitsuhide.

The gold twining of ribbonlike script down the chair’s gilt panels, the still gaudier rings winking from his waving hands, left Obi in no doubt that they had offended a very important personage indeed.

...

As for himself and Mitsuhide, they wore still the clothes in which they had escaped the cellar: still filthy and torn, begrimed still further by smoke, which the dunk in the fountain had not amended much.

Again, their hands were bound behind their backs.

To this ensemble, their new captors had added but one innovation: gags, tied firmly over mouth and nose.

Meanwhile, the mouth of the merchant — for thus Obi judged him, based on the absence of official insignia or ceremonial dress to weight his ostentatious wealth with the gravitas of authority – snapped open and shut like a fish trap, raining complaints and curses.

...

The Crab was apoplectic.

His splendid home in ruins – he interrupted himself often to reel off figures estimating the cost of damages – all the fault of these two foreigners — here he stopped to harangue the border guards for neglecting their duties so miserably as to allow two savage criminals into the very heart of their city — and on it went, with the crowd supplying jeers and oaths to punctuate the tirade.

In truth, the Crab did believe Obi and Mitsuhide responsible. Umihebi had left him precious little choice in reaching this conclusion.

She and her men were nowhere to be found in the smoldering wreckage, only these strangers dragged sodden from the gardens.

A burglary gone awry — an elaborate act of espionage turned sabotage? Whatever story stuck, the Crab would paint it for them.

...

He could scarcely admit to the truth: that he had seen the pair allowed on his premises before his very eyes, under the auspices of a notorious criminal and offender wanted across their lands, their neighbors’, and who knew how many beyond the seas.

He knew all too well that his old pirating associate had triggered an international incident, such as his fatherland had not known for many decades, with the Kingdom of Tanbarun.

Even now, heated negotiations were ongoing, the tension only heightened by the fact that law enforcement in neither realm had succeeded in laying a hand on her since her escape.

...

The Crab had thus far avoided any involvement in the investigations, by dint of precautionary measures taken long ago to bury any hint of his connections with the pirate queen, so deep that even the dead might forget them.

A good deal of his rage owed to the fear of exposure, made a sudden and terrifying possibility by the questions that this disaster had raised.

There was only one obvious solution that recommended itself to the Crab. He wanted the suspects dead – now, at once, before they could open their mouths and throw all into confusion with their own accounts of not just the fire, but how they had come to enter his compound in the first place.

Guilty, innocent — he did not trouble himself overly with the details, so long as they did not live to see the next day dawn.

...

As for Obi, the mindless rage of his fight through the house had subsided.

Like a berserker, it must overwhelm all opposition to claim the victory in its first flush of passion, or else subside into cooler calculations.

Umihebi’s threat ran like an undercurrent of electricity through all Obi’s thoughts, but it would avail him nothing to flash out now, when the crowd might pull to pieces whatever remained of him and Mitsuhide after the guards had finished with them.

There would be no element of surprise, no accessible means of escape. Even the roofs overlooking the square were set back too far to reach in a single leap.

Obi concentrated on these details to keep himself present, sane, patient.

...

He cast a glance at his companion, endeavoring to assess his state of mind.

Obi remembered only brilliant impressions of his action in the cellar, the fire, but he knew that something had turned inside the knight.

It seemed to be a lasting change, whatever had happened. Mitusihed looked grim, as unsmiling as he had since the war broke out (not that the circumstances merited mirth), but there was something different.

That deadness had left him — the stupor clouding his eyes and bowing his shoulders.

He looked grim, but alert, and he stood tall in his bonds, regarding their accuser with that refined distaste peculiar to Mitsuhide’s class of warrior.

...

Obi could not guess whether Mitsuhide’s thought tended at all towards escape, but he did believe he could trust to the knight’s old instincts; if he made a move, Mitsuhide would follow.

...

Their window of opportunity was fast vanishing, however.

The chief of the magistrates had lifted his hand to stem the flow of invective. “The council has heard the words of your complaint, O prosperous one,” he intoned. “Now await our decision in peace.”

The merchant subsided, with much flourishing of the hands, though Obi noticed that his fingers still curled inwards at the tips, as if longing to seize someone by the throat.

...

The magistrate directed his gaze to Obi and Mitsuhide, raising his right hand so that the heavy signet ring he wore flashed in the sun.

“By virtue of the powers vested in this most noble office,” he boomed, “I declare—”

“Stop!”

The command rang out in a clear, unmistakable voice, and Obi’s heart obeyed before his brain could understand it.

He didn’t breathe, didn’t think – only watched as a tiny figure broke free of the crowd and stood before the magistrates.

If there was anything remarkable about her, it was in the erectness of her stance, her unshakeable assurance as she held herself an island against the sea of hostility.

“Stop!” she called again. “These men are innocent!”

...

The chief magistrate had recovered himself; he made an impatient gesture to the guards. “How dare you interrupt these most solemn proceedings, you –”

Before he could finish, she lowered her hood.

A wealth of red tumbled out, tresses that shone in the midday sun like rubies.

Shock rippled through the crowd, then whispers, as those in front turned to report the wonder to their disbelieving neighbors.

The magistrate lowered his hand. In a very different tone, he asked, “Who are you?”

...

Shiraypuki turned and looked directly into Obi’s eyes.

Her green shone at him like spring, emerging at long last from the frost.

In a sweet, carrying voice, she answered, “I am his wife.”

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #Beauty and Her Beast #PurePassion #cue the music

6 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 2 years ago

Text

Come to Heel, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @obiyuki-beebs! When I asked just what she would want for her birthday choice this year, Hayley deliberated mightily between an Izananyuki ABO fic or another chapter of The Lone Wolf Survives, and ultimately decided...that she was very afraid of the potentially knotting in TLWS, and could I write the Izanayuki fic from my rare pair poll last year 🤣

On the training grounds his captains stand tall amongst their men, barking out orders with all the confidence of an alpha in their den. But when they stand in his-- a study is what they call it now, in these more civil times-- those proud shoulders droop, heads bowed and necks bared; a show of deference, the way base instinct demands. It is an enlightened age they live in, yes, one of carriages and etiquette and mobility between both station and inclination, and yet--

Yet, the animal is always there, lurking beneath the surface. The same play of dominance and submission acted out over a hundred thousand years, simply lacquered with the veneer of politeness. These men might play alpha amongst their petty kingdoms, might even be inclined to be so, but in here...

Well, all men are betas beneath their king.

At least, that’s how it is supposed to be. Things never quite go as planned with Shidnote. “Are you serious?”

His father might have taught him that a king says more by his silence than by his speeches, but it was his mother who educated him on the precise pitch of brow required for regal skepticism. “Do you think me a man given toward making such a jest, Sir Zakura?”

“No.” Most of his captains stand in his presence, no matter if Izana offers them a seat or not, but Shidnote hardly needs an invitation, sprawling in the chair as if it were his own. “But you would if you thought it’d get your brother’s dander up. Which this will, by the way.”

Long limbs creep across the carpet, boots settling just shy of his desk, and-- ah, the man might be beta by inclination, but he spent far too long as the leader of his merry band to fit easily back in that box. Even buried beneath the balsam and clove, the musk lingers in his scent, faded but never forgotten.

It might threaten another alpha, a weaker one, more prone to paranoia and less apt at inspiring submission. But under a king’s hand--

Well, there are few banes that cannot become boons in time. Even if this one takes particular joy in making himself a nuisance. “That’s hardly my concern.”

“Of course.” His aide’s scent is made all the sweeter by submission, but there’s not a drop of sincerity in it. “That Prince Zen will froth at the mouth at this whole business is simply a bonus.”

A defense would be tantamount to a confession; one Izana does not deign to give. “I prefer to think of it as character building.”

“Frothing at the mouth?” Shidnote shifts in his seat, too big for the chair to comfortably contain. One of the two in his employ that have such an issue, though Lowen bears it with infinitely more grace. “Or--?”

“My brother lacks the decisiveness required of his position,” he drawls, ignoring the grin that greets him across the carpet. “And the ambition. This will give him and opportunity to develop both.”

Shidnote’s brows do not so much lift as saunter up his forehead. “And here I thought that’s what you liked about him.”

“A second prince must know his place.” Which history has shown that his brother did not, at least when it came to certain young women working under their auspice. “But the left hand must be able to act independently of the right. I must know I can trust him even when he is not under my watchful eye.”

Zakura snorts, indelicate as ever. “I don’t know who’s going to make an alpha out of him first, you or that little beta he keeps chasing around.”

To frown would only inspire his aide to new heights of aggravation. Izana offers him his most beatific smile instead; a saint given form and seated behind a desk.

There is a certain satisfaction in earning Shidnote’s scowl, even if it hardly survives longer than a breath. “You know, this is going have her shitting in all your dinners too.”

His smile stretches to a grin, quite unbidden. “Will it?” he wonders airily. “I hadn’t even considered.”

A beta’s shift in scents is subtle, muted, but Zakura’s annoyance rolls over him likes a wave, alpha in strength if not in smell. “Just when do you plan to tell her? I’d like to be in a different country, if I can manage it.”

“Oh...” He makes a show of glancing at the clock at the wall. “An hour ago.”

“An...?” Zakura’s broad hand scrubs over his scar, a groan scraping out from beneath it. “She’s going to strangle you with the curtains before you even get through the door.”

“I must admit,” he drawls, rising from his seat. “I might like to see her try.”

When the door to the parlor swings open, his brother’s beta is right where she ought to be: perched upon the plush cushions of the sofa, ankles crossed and fingers knotted so tightly she might well be a gift. A what a present she makes with that scowl, the sweet fruit of her scent already gone sour, frustration fermenting it to bitterness long ago. He breathes it in the way his father used to drink wine, savoring the first coating across his tongue before downing the rest of the glass.

“Mistress Shirayuki.” Her brows draw tighter over that button nose, spiking her scent with only the finest annoyance. “I see you’ve arrived.”

“I did,” she says with the sort of restraint his brother has never learned to show. “Punctually.”

Butter would hardly melt in his mouth as he circles her, enjoying the way she stiffens. She does not turn her head the way an omega would, nervous and eager to please, but her gaze does track him, sharp as any hunter. “How kind of you not to keep me waiting.”

Her anger blooms between them, as sweet as citrus; it is a struggle not to savor the fruits of his labor. A beta may not be alert to the subtleties of her own scent, but an ill-timed sniff on his part would give up the game far too soon.

“You must be hungry.” There would have been no reason to arrange this meeting over the dinner hour other than to assure such a state. “Let me call for a light--”

“Was there something you needed from me?”

Izana’s steps stuttering beneath her steady stare. “Excuse me?”

“I assume you called me here for a reason.” The infuriating thing puts her back to him, both feet flat on the floor as she rises with all the authority she does not possess. “If not, then I won’t waste your time--”

His fingers close over the delicate cap of her shoulder, gently-- firmly guiding her back down to the cushion. His brother’s little beta has never shown the deference a girl in her position should, either for his title or his inclination, but truly, this was beyond the pale. “I didn’t ask that you look after my schedule, Mistress Shirayuki. I asked if you were hungry.”

She huffs, cheeks rounded like prey. “I appreciate your concern, but if there really is nothing, then--”

“I could go for something,” her shadow pipes from his corner, doing a poor job of playing invisible, as always. “If you’re offering, alpha.”

His musk might be drowned beneath that citrus and sugar, more dessert than omega, but it’s still a feat how that man has them all fooled. Even if the pitch and smoke didn’t wear through at the same as the evening hours, his irreverence gives him away, those cold, coin-quick eyes meeting his with all the challenge that lanky frame can summon.

But the man can keep his secrets for now. If only for the way it makes his mistress cave, the stern line of her shoulders softening even as her slender little fingers claw into the cloth at her knees.

“All right,” she relents, her sigh as good as her submission. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a little something.

It would be nothing for him to call for a full dinner with all its courses, the dishes catered to the particular tastes of the two meant to partake, but Izana knows better than to flaunt excess before his brother’s little beta. It might be a feast that’s laid before them, but a humble one, made of sliced means and creamy cheeses and bread still warm from the ovens. And a half dozen other things besides, simple dishes that hardly required cutlery, the sort of delicacies one might be at ease holding between their fingers even before a king.

Not that such an idea would ever slow Shirayuki down. Oh no, by the time it’s all laid before them, she’s already reaching out, fingers brushing at the serving ware before he can get a word in edgewise. As if they were in some public commissary, rather than his own private parlor.

His hand snaps out, seizing that small wrist before she can wreak anymore havoc. “I haven’t taken from that yet.”

A protest clearly perches upon those pouted lips, but she subsides, albeit poorly. Not waiting for him to release her as she should, she slips her wrist from his grip, letting her offending hand flop down onto her lap. She keeps it there, fingers knitted tight while he reaches to fill his own plate.

It’s amusing to watch her play at civility, to pretend she does not devour the meal with her hungry eyes first. Courtesy’s shiny veneer wears as he picks at the platters on the table, careful to avoid the one she’d reached for first. For all her professions of humble origin, the girl has expensive tastes; the wafer-thin slices of beef would be a luxury in any household, especially in the craggy northern hinterlands.

“You’re going to ask me to do something, aren’t you?” she asks, ever impatient. “Something I won’t like. You might as well--”

“Pleasure first,” he informs her, heaping her plate high with the table’s bounty. “Business later.”

That sweet mouth of hers flattens, conveying just how much pleasure she takes in this little parley. But she picks up her knife all the same, dipping it in the dollop of cheese upon her plate and spreading it thick across a slice of bread. He waits until it just brushes her mouth to say, “Alphas eat first, Mistress Shirayuki.”

Her eyes widen, outrage shining clear. “But you...?”

Izana smiles, good humor and sharp teeth in equal measure. His brother’s beta might play the innocent, but she does not miss either meaning, setting her silverware back down on the table, knuckle blanched to bone where she grips them. Where his ears not as sharp as his nose, he would not have heard the soft growl hidden in her throat as he takes his first bite, a challenge made soft.

It is a struggle to keep his mouth from widening. A girl like that would make a good alpha if his brother had it in him to make her one. Not that Izana would allow it, even if he could. Alpha or no, a pharmacist would hardly make an acceptable princess. A diplomat, perhaps, but for what he will need her for...

Well, maybe one day that shadow of hers will oblige and do the job for him. The way the scent of smoke suffuses the room when his mistress does as little as brush his hand, it won’t be much of a hardship. Or a wait.

Izana smothers a smirk. Might as well help things along on that front. “Ah, but if you have forgotten your manners, you must be starving. Here.”

Pinched between the seam of his fingers, a ribbon of beef unfurls, glistening in the lamplight. The little beta does the same at the sight of it, her mouth half opened when he urges, “Eat up.”

Ah, now that brings her up short. “Excuse me?”

“Go on.” It’s only natural, his posture implies, a beta eating from the hand of her alpha. “You have my permission.”

Her spine stiffens, like prey backed into a corner. But there is no sting of fear from her, only the profound odor of offense, a little anger giving spice to her mild scent.

“That’s quite all right,” she manages, hardly any of the words grit between her teeth. “I’ll wait for you to finish.”

His own tease at that slender ribbon, nibbling at the thin filaments until slivers shear off against his tongue. It’s amusing how she watches him, jaw working in sympathy as his chews, the scent anger and hunger linger in the air in equal measure. How simple it would be if only she would give way, if she would only give him the obedience he was due as her alpha.

But, he must admit, it is more fun this way.

“There is no need.” His smile does not bare teeth, but her hackles raise as if it does. “You’ve been so patient, Mistress Shirayuki. Let us eat together.”

It is a compliment, a magnanimous show of generosity that his father would have died before giving, even to his own son, let alone a beta whose only claim is a disgraced bloodline and a questionable friendship with Tanbarun’s most useless prince.

And yet still she wrinkles her nose, fork chasing potatoes about her plate with about as much attention as his brother affords his paperwork.

“Obi.” Her shadow straightens, attuned to the barest change in her tone. Obedient and attentive, the way an omega should be for his alpha. A pity neither of them are. “You must be hungry too.” Her slender little fingers pluck up that roast, ribbons overflowing her grip. “Have some.”

It’s with caution that her shadow edges out from his corner, detaching from the wall with all the deference of a hound at the table. He even darts a glance at Izana, the perfect approximation of a humble omega, if only it weren’t so clear there was no question there, no plea for permission-- oh no, the man’s coiled for confrontation as he approaches, ready to reach for those knives if there’s even a flinch from his position.

Izana simply sits stock still, pretending as if he’s allowing it to happen, that her defiance depends on his indulgence. But when the alpha dips his head, taking the offerings straight from her fingers, dining straight from this beta’s plate as if she were--

Well, it seems as if there’s more work to be done. He had left it to his brother to tame his little pharmacist, but it’s clear that a beta cannot be depended upon to do an alpha’s job.

“I had a chat with your acquaintance,” he says, pitched just too loud for the space between them, startling her attention away from the alpha at her shoulder. “It was quite...enlightening.”

“Kageya?” Her fork drops to the table, forgotten, all her attention hanging on his words. A heady sensation, for its rarity. “You mean she was helpful?”

Hope burns bright in the forest of her eyes, a spark that so easily sets others ablaze, but he knows better than to feed it. Sweet as this little beta is, her wishes always come at too high a cost. “That remains to be seen.”

Her mouth rumples like parchment, his word a draft she would like to relegate to the bin. “What do you mean by that?”

“Lady Kageya informed us of a pharmacy run out of Hyatess. It is apparently where Toka Bergatt sourced many of her supplies. At least, the ones she couldn’t readily come by.” He glances at her, wary, as he adds, “If this information is true, then--”

Ah, when her eyes flare like that, it’s terrible how tempted he is to catch fire himself. “Then you’ll let her go?”

“No.” Her brow furrows tight over the freckled expanse of her nose, mouth opening with all the intent to argue, but Izana holds up a hand, quelling her quarrels. “With her willingness to help us, Elys has bought her life, but her freedom...there is much that woman knows, and in the wrong hands she could once again threaten the safety of Clarines’ people. But if this pharmacy has indeed thrown in with a traitor, and their connection leads us to him, perhaps I could consider...”

He allows her heart to fill in what his words cannot promise.

“Then can’t you just investigate that?” Ah, it is easy to see why his brother is so enamored with this little beta; she is just as impatient as he. “You’d know she was telling the truth if you only just--”

“Should we go up the Hyatess and simply ask if they have been committing treason?” She flushes beneath the weight of his raised brows. “An investigation will take time. And trusted agents. Ones that can blend in among the pharmacist there. Ones that are adept at earning trust quickly.”

“Ah...” If there is one thing the pharmacist is that his brother is not, it’s clever. “So this is what you wanted me for. But wouldn’t they not want to...er...with a...um...?”

“Trust a pharmacist so closely associated with the crown?” His mouth quirks at a corner. “Perhaps if I sent Garak, or even her assistant, that might be the case. But it seems, Mistress Shirayuki, that you have done quite well at establishing yourself as a person of note in the North.”

She blinks. “Me?”

“You.” It’s impossible to keep his grin from curling at the corners. “You might carry the distinction of royal pharmacist, but it seems that your reputation as a scholar of Lilias precedes you. And in the North, your closest known tie to the throne is...”

He glances pointedly to the alpha at her shoulder. She has the grace to flush. “That’s quite flattering, but still, I’m sure there’s someone who would be better...”

“There is no one better than you, Shirayuki.” He doesn’t mean to say the words, not with the earnesty he does, but the roundness of her eyes demands that he own it now that he has. “Your background is the best fit for this mission. Besides, it’s not as if you will be alone.”

Her brows raise. “I won’t? Who else could you send? Suzu? Ryu?”

Izana dismisses the names with a wave of his hand. “Hardly. They are both on projects Clarines considers high priority. No--” his mouth twitches, a warning he does not mean to give-- “I thought you might prefer an assistant instead of a partner.”

It is worth the wait for the words to catch up with her, for when they do-- “No.”

“No? Come now, Mistress Shirayuki.” Izana is not one to cajole, but it is worth it to see her scowl; if they were beasts in truth, her ears would lay flat along her head. “Wouldn’t you enjoy having me at your beck and call again?”

“Beck...?” She blinks at him owlishly. “You hardly listen to a thing I said!”

“I had other concerns at the time.” Trying to secure an alliance with Arleon’s younger sister, for one. “But this time, I promise...”

His lips unfurl into a lazy grin. “...You will have my full attention.”

#izanayuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ABO au #Come to Heel #ans #it was a pain figuring where to cut this first chapter #but I think this ended up being as good a place as any #far enough into the conversation that it's clear Pharmacist Lowen is about to make an appearance #but not far enough for shirayuki to have put up a whole ass fuss #because lemme tell you. she IS

20 notes · View notes

seirosu · 5 months ago

Note

uvu hc + emperor wilhelm

send me ‘ hc ‘ + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

this is probably less of a cohesive headcanon and more of a dive into my personal take on fanon amid a ton of headcanon , but i don't think its easy to talk about wilhelm without giving some context as to my own version of the first emperor .

( nevermind rhea throwing away all her work because -- this quote is important )

seiros met wilhelm long before the founding of the adrestian empire . once an unknown boy from a long lost rural hamlet in the south of fodlan , wilhelm made a name for himself before ever joining force with seiros . as a young man , he was vivacious and ambitious character whose personal experiences walked him down a path of decisive action and organization against the rise in careless violence , theft , and razing coming out of the north of fodlan , where nemesis had long prior ascended to the status of a legendary ( and mythological ?? ) " king " for his gifts of power he'd shared with the bandit groups of the northern lands .

wilhelm gained favor whilst heading a small resistance group against the excess of bandit activity migrating into the south during his lifetime . he stood for the working people , primarily those who were unequipped to defend their villages against the northern bandit invasions . upon reuniting with seiros , they combined force to develop a militia force that would eventually ( largely by way of elective auspices or lack of other option ) evolve into an empire that consumed the southern lands -- the adrestian empire .

ultimately , the two sought to condemn nemesis on behalf of the goddess ( seiros ; spiritual power ) and the people (wilhelm ; physical power ) . the people largely supported wilhelm as there had been no other union of power in the south and the isolated villages otherwise were powerless to defend themselves . and seiros , having long made a name for herself by way of her patronage and support in the south , had already gained much favor .

saint seiros and emperor wilhelm are the double headed eagle that represents adrestia , and very popular figures of their time . so , i bring this all up to reiterate that from a historical and political lens , yes , these two were very crucial allies essential to the foundings of the universe of 3 houses .

but i want to take out that line from above : he saved me . i'm sure his strength and prowess is great , and he has physically saved rhea many times ( not unlike jeralt ) but i took this line and ran with it . one thing about seirros is that whether she's aware of it or not , she's always looking to others for safety , comfort , and change . she alone will never be the trigger for large change -- because seiros/rhea represents stagnation as security .

what wilhelm did , was reinstill a level of trust and love for humanity that seiros had previously treaded away from wearily . i often regard those years prior to the establishment of the empire as a period of half-life for seiros , who largely avoided connecting with living beings and locked herself into this internalized quest to avenge-the-dead-before-joining-them . he pushed her in positive ways and she grew to trust his judgement at times more than her own .

wilhelm's very nature challenged seiros to be okay with the discomfort of being alive .

it also does help that seiros and wilhelm share a common interest in nemesis and the northern bandits . in my interpretation , wilhelm's father passes away in the razing of his farming village by northern bandits . . . prompting a very personal vendetta against the legendary king of bandits for promoting and encouraging such behavior . wilhelm lost a father , and seiros lost a mother . they both become known for supporting the south . both , are fiercely determined and ambitious people . even when operating separately , they channel the same hopes for the future .

it really was inevitable for the two of them to form a very passionate relationship . and wilhelm , always knew it . however , seiros's lifespan is far longer than wilhelm's and as such they fell prey to the issue of . . . being the right person at the wrong time . seiros is very much so on a journey -- one that continues on far after wilhelm is dead -- and her one fatal flaw is her inability to see a future for herself .

he wants to marry her , to put name to their relationship and love , but she keeps saying no . he's asked her three times . she's always run away . not yet . its not the right time . she's not ready . that's where they are at this point . its not due to any lack of affection , nor its not a disagreement or misunderstanding . i think its very fitting for seiros to deny her own personal happiness in favor of pursuing this higher . . . ' purpose ' she's clinging to by serving as a proxy for her mother . in the end , seiros learns to live , but not for herself .

seiros's love for wilhelm is very strong and enduring . looking ahead , rhea holds onto that relationship very close to her heart generations later . she tolerates no slander or bastardization of that part of her life . she loved the imperial bloodline for generations after because of that love and respect for wilhelm . he was special .

he had reminded her of the joys of music . he had taught her to be open to experience . he had reminded her to have humor in the dark . had taught her that she was beautiful for just existing . he got her emoting and expressing herself again . he made her powerful . he made her a home . he made her laugh and play and have fun --

he helped her reunite with her mother . he gave her a lot of hope .

man , he did save , support , and gave his all to her , y'all .

#✦ { ooc. }#✦ { hc. }#ok this is uh ALL hc fanon stuff #im going to lock this from being reblogged because its **all** hc and im wary about where this could end up #he + his crew + lettuce family + seiros were a huge team tbh #anyways seiros loves wilhelm thats her man ; ^ ; tbh she denies soulmates as a concept but...#wilhelm believes in soulmates hardcore and after he's gone she's like “mmm maybe i believe in it now. maybe i always did but was scared.”#seiros has issues #but thats nothing new #man what is time... i had to drone on to *post* canon point a little to touch on that quote again but *MMMM* she cares about wilhelm sm

4 notes · View notes

theshatteredrose · 6 months ago

Text

Secrets: Best Left Untold? (Chapter 19) - Etrian Odyssey Untold 2

AN: Somewhat short chapter this week. Kept getting distracted with other story ideas XD That’s the problem with writing long stories when you have a short attention span. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFNet

Chapter 19:

The heady, pungent smell of smoke and ash lingered over the business district of High Lagaard. The gently falling snow did little to hide the blacken charred remains of the once cheery façade of newly built restaurant.

He was glad that the girls were not with them. The sight would break their hearts.

A few guards were posted around the borders, but it was more to keep others from trespassing. The investigation was short-lived, the source of the blaze discovered in the front of house, in the dining area. As Regina had claimed. From the intensity of the blaze, an accelerant had been used.

The question was, had anyone seen anything suspicious or smelt the accelerant. Something that potent had to have left quite the smell.

Fafnir could only hope that the peoples’ dislike for the restaurant and chef did not hamper the investigation going forward. Flavio had admitted to him that, during the night of the blaze, he had overheard some of the murmurings from the gawking public.

And it was not positive.

Fafnir slipped an arm around Flavio’s waist and pulled him against him. Flavio managed to gift him a small smile, grateful for the comfort. But it was clear that the sight of their restaurant brought him great pain.

And guilt.

The destruction of the restaurant was bad enough, but the bastard responsible just had to tell Flavio that he did it for ‘his’ sake.

Flavio took everything to heart. Empathetic and kind to a fault. To find that letter, to read those words after watching their very own restaurant burn in front of them, devastated him. He blamed himself. As if he had done something to cause it, to encourage such disgusting, such deranged behaviour.

Of course, he had done no such thing.

Bertrand moved to stand on the other side of Fafnir and shook his head at the sight. “It’s going to take months to rebuild,” he muttered.

Longer when the blizzards finally rolled in.

“I’m going to see if Auspice’s recipes can be salvaged.” Flavio looked toward the blackened remains of the back kitchen and frowned. “They were stored in the kitchen. I hope they managed to survive.”

Fafnir also turned his attention to the part of the restaurant that managed to remain standing. It was not as damaged as the dining area, which had all been levelled to the ground. But Fafnir did not trust the charred pillars and support beams. He preferred not to enter, yet he knew that they needed to find the recipes.

“Let’s be quick.”

The pungent smell of soot, ash, and stagnant water assaulted their senses as they carefully made their way through the debris. The layout of the kitchen was barely recognisable, covered in soot and charred remains. But recognise it, they did. The solid stone of the benches, cupboards, and the stoves kept the structure sound and sturdy, and prevented the flames from causing too much damage.

Fafnir’s only concern was to the wooden support beams above their heads.

Flavio stumbled his way over to a preparation area, where a cupboard was built into the stone wall. Though the wooden doors were charred black, flakes and ashes breaking off under his fingertips as he pried the doors apart, items within bore less damage.

And the only thing of worth inside was a metal box.

With the cupboard itself in a fragile state, Flavio carefully removed the case and placed it upon the stone bench before him. He flicked the latches holding the lid in place, of which some were easier to remove than others.

As the lid creaked open, Flavio breathed an audible sigh of relief.

The container had been damaged from the extreme heat; the metal warped and heavily distorted. But the fragile parchments inside remained unharmed. The fireproof container did was it was intended.

It was lucky they had the foresight to keep the fragile and priceless recipes in such protective containers.

“I don’t want to touch them as I have soot on my hands, but they seem to be in good shape,” Flavio announced.

Fafnir was also relieved. Good. Not all was lost. If they had Auspice’s recipes, they could start again.

“Now, let’s get out of here.”

Flavio closed the container and picked it up, and the three of them carefully but quickly made their way out of the ruins and out into the streets once more. They stepped out onto the sidewalk and Flavio knelt down, placing the container by his feet. Fafnir reached into the pocket of his coat to pull out a handkerchief and handed it to Flavio. He had predicted that they would get their hands dirty together digging through the ash and soot.

“Thanks,” Flavio said simply as he received the handkerchief, gratefully removing the inky black soot from his hands.

“I was told you would be here.”

Ah, good. Hrothgar was to be another welcoming distraction for Flavio. In fact, a smile immediately made its way upon Flavio’s face the moment he recognised the redheaded protector’s voice.

“Hrothgar, hey,” he greeted as he stood up.

Hrothgar returned the smile before he turned his gaze toward the landscape behind them. And he grimaced at the sight, no doubt from the same thought that had popped through their heads when they first laid eyes on the blacken rubble; it looked worse under the light of day.

Still, it had not been fully razed to the ground, so they should be thankful for minor blessings.

“Hana told me you would be visiting today,” Hrothgar explained. “I don’t suppose you plan on sorting through the ashes, do you?”

“Not today,” Fafnir immediately replied. “We just wanted to check on a few essentials.”

“Thankfully, Auspice’s recipes survived the fire,” Flavio added as he motioned to the container at their feet. “That should ease some of Regina’s pain.”

Hrothgar seemed surprised at that revelation, as anyone would be who had witnessed the fire that night. “Oh, good,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “At least now you all have a chance to start again.”

That was what they were hoping for.

As Flavio knelt down to wipe away some of the soot that marred the container keeping the recipes safe, Hrothgar turned his gaze toward Fafnir and caught his gaze. And subtly nodded his head to the side with a quick, subtle turn. The universal signal that he wished to speak with him in private.

Bertrand caught onto the quick glance as well, and turned to Flavio. “Hey, kid, let’s check on the storage shed real quick.”

Unlike him and Bertrand, Flavio had not caught the subtle gesture, so was somewhat taken aback by the suggestion. He furrowed his brow slightly and looked toward Fafnir, a silent questioning look in his gaze.

Fafnir did not want to lie to him, but he also did not want to worry him as it was clear that Hrothgar had information or knowledge that he did not want Flavio to know just yet. At least, he did not want to inform him publicly.

“It’s fine,” Fafnir immediately answered his silent question. “But don’t wander from my sight. Check on the Grimoire stones, too. And keep any you think might come in handy. I want to interrogate Hrothgar about some of the locals, anyway.”

That brought a small smile to Flavio’s lips and he relaxed. “Don’t get too intense.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Flavio idly folded the handkerchief atop of the container before he pushed to his feet and moved to follow Bertrand, toward the more damaged part of the restaurant. Though the damage was far greater, there was no threat of collapse, or other imminent danger. And Fafnir was able to keep them both within sight, even as he turned his attention toward Hrothgar.

“Something happened?” he asked.

Hrothgar shifted slightly on his feet as his gaze also flickered in Flavio’s direction. “I walked past his room just to see if his ‘admirer’ had decided to deliver anymore gifts, and I happened to find something.”

Fafnir immediately frowned. “Flowers?”

Hrothgar shook his head. “Worse. A venomfly was pinned to his door with a knife.”

A prickly feeling caused the hairs on the back of Fafnir’s neck to rise and his eyes abruptly narrowed in protectiveness.

“I don’t know who else saw it, but I quickly disposed of it,” Hrothgar continued as he plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat. “But there was also a note attached to it.”

Hrothgar then revealed a folded piece of cardboard, just like the previous notes that Flavio had received before. The very same, if Fafnir was to guess. And he did not need to guess who the sender was.

Fafnir glanced over in Flavio’s direction, reassured that he was busy with Bertrand, before he retrieved the note from Hrothgar. He unfolded it and found a black scrawl across the white cardboard, hastily written.

‘Why are you surrounding yourself with such venomous people? I’ll be more than enough for you.’

Fafnir snorted. Ironic, coming from a guy that stabbed a knife into a door after just torching a building. But, sure, he was the good guy.

“This,” Hrothgar motioned toward the burnt out remains of the restaurant, “was clearly an attempt to isolate Flavio from you.”

Fafnir nodded his head grimly and folded the note in half. “Hn. They had hoped his guilt would cause him to flee.”

Where they would then pounce, using his vulnerability against him.

Thankfully, Flavio was far smarter than that. He was selfless, a martyr at times, but intelligent.

Fafnir slipped the note into his pocket. “Where’s the knife?”

“I stashed it in my room for now.”

“Good, thank you.” Fafnir uttered a sigh as he raked a hand through his hair, his gaze trailing over toward Flavio once more. “I’m staying in Flavio’s room now. From what I understand, this is the first time they’ve done something like this in broad daylight.”

Hrothgar glanced around at the charred remains of the restaurant and wrapped his arms around himself as a cool breeze wafted through. “Flavio does fear an escalation.”

“They will need to one-up arson, though,” Fafnir muttered.

“It can be done.”

Fafnir sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

What could be done, though? Fafnir did not possess the mind of a deranged stalker. To go from leaving flowers to burning down a building showed that the guy was a maniac. What was the next deranged step? Break and enter?

…Murder?

Fafnir released another sigh and rubbed his hand roughly over his face. If only the bastard would just show his face. So he could level a punch at it. Facing a threat head-to-head was far easier than having someone lurking around in the shadows.

He had hoped that Flavio’s little admirer would keep low for a while, but that was hoping for too much.

“Rumours have already begun to spread,” Hrothgar revealed. “That this is an act of arson.”

“What are they saying exactly?”

“All sorts of things, frankly.”

A lot of conspiracy theories about Regina and her connection to high society, no doubt.

“Two things are constant, though,” Hrothgar continued. “That it was deliberately lit. And that someone in town is responsible.”

“I don’t suppose they’re taking too kindly to that?” Fafnir inquired.

Hrothgar shook his head. “Despite the distain that some held for…a certain someone, the main consensus is that this act is outrageous, and the one responsible must be found. And punished.”

Fafnir hoped that would prove to be a positive for them. That others, explorers and locals alike, would be cautious, keeping both an ear and eye out for any information that might lead them to the one responsible. But with everyone keeping a critical and watching eye out might prompt their little stalker to keep a low profile. Something that was both a good and bad thing.

If the guy got scared and skipped town never to be seen again, Fafnir would be fine with that. But there would always be that lingering feeling of doubt and fear that they could return at any time, to finish what they started.

But the added public pressure could cause the maniac to up their antics in retaliation. Which would ultimately lead to violent, possible deadly confrontation.

Something had to happened. Something had to give.

And Fafnir was not sure what he should prepare for.

“Is everything ok?” Flavio’s voice pulled Fafnir from his musings.

“We’re just talking about the rumours about the restaurant,” Fafnir immediately replied. “Apparently, word has already spread that it was an act of arson.”

Bertrand uttered a seemingly long-suffering sigh and folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t surprise me. I just hope it doesn’t hamper the investigation with false leads and accusations.”

Yeah, that was another fear. Some might try to take advantage of the situation to point fingers at their enemies. Some may even try to politicise it. Or perhaps even lay claim to the act to spite the Dubois family.

Never let a good tragedy go to waste, after all.

“Mr Flavio, we’re so sorry about what happened to your restaurant.”

The new voice who interjected into the conversation was new to Fafnir. But to Flavio, they must have been familiar as a small, friendly smile immediately made its way to his lips. He turned away from Fafnir and others, and to where another small group of what appeared to be explorers stood. At the forefront was a young man dressed in clothes similar to that of a medic.

“Hey, guys,” Flavio greeted easily, without a hint of nervousness, as he stepped toward them.

He then began to converse with them, his posture comfortable and relaxed. Not at all nervous or even mildly annoyed. He obviously knew the group before him, even though Fafnir did not. Likely a guild he had encountered while working the front of the restaurant.

“He’s quite popular,” Hrothgar suddenly noted.

Fafnir scrunched up his nose. Unfortunately…

Hrothgar unexpectedly chuckled as he patted Fafnir’s shoulder and leaned in to speak directly into his ear. “You don’t have to worry about this guild. The landsknecht is protective. Much like you, honestly. If you ever need someone to help you ‘protectively’ snap some necks, he’s your man.”

Fafnir’s gaze flickered toward the landsknecht that stood directly behind the medic and noted his protective stance; the sharp gaze that was inspecting their surroundings, the posture that appeared relaxed but could be pulled into a battle stance in a split second.

Good. Other protective explorers were always reassuring.

After a few moments of chatting, Flavio bid the small group goodbye and waved them off. He quickly joined them with a small smile on his lips.

“He gave me a Refresh Grimoire.” He lifted his hand to reveal a pristine Grimoire stone in the palm of his hand. “He said it’ll be useful for headaches or any lung complaints should we find ourselves digging around in the soot and ash again. It’s a powerful one, so it’ll definitely come in handy.”

Hm, Fafnir supposed Flavio being popular amongst some of the explorers was not all that bad. If push came to shove, it was reassuring to know what others would come to his defence if needed.

“Let’s return to the inn for now,” Fafnir stated as he glanced up at the sky. “The snow is starting to get heavy.”

Flavio carefully placed his newly gifted Grimoire stone into his coat. “What should we do about the storage shed?”

“The guards have been ordered to watch over the location until decisions have been made as to what to do with it,” Hrothgar explained.

“There’s too much to store at the inn for now, anyway,” Bertrand added, though a frown sat upon his lips. “The Grimoire stones, on the other hand, we’ll need to come back for.”

Fafnir arched an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

Flavio looked over at him and gave him a subtly uneasy smile, thought outwardly tried to appear nonchalant. “They’re been disturbed from where we usually keep them. Must have been disturbed during the chaos, I guess.”

Flavio did not necessarily believe that, and neither did Fafnir. But…it was possible. They could not write off the coincidence. Not until they sort through the stones themselves. To see what was missing, if anything.

“Let’s grab those stones, then. And then get back to the inn.”

#etrian odyssey #etrian odyssey untold 2 #fanfiction #fafnir/flavio #flavio #fafnir #secrets: best left untold?

3 notes · View notes