#im almost certain they will cross weapons with each other one day

[doodler-jpeg]

Life [Wilbur Soot/Fundy]

BOOOM HI HELLO HOW ARE YOU UH UM SO I WAS INSPIRED WHILE I WAS BORED AND THEN THIS IS HOW THIS ONESHOT CAME TO BE. ITS NOT GOOD, BUT ITS DECENT. You’re gonna be taking Sally’s place so, uh, I’m sorry, Sally, you’re just another salmon. Still love you though  THIS TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE DEAR GOD ITS BEEN IN THE WORKS FOR LIKE A MONTH LMAO

ALSO, KEEP IN MIND THIS IS C!WILBUR/SMP!WILBUR

⚠️CUSSING, AFAB READER, PREGNANCY, THIS IS A REALLY LONG ONE SHOT OH MY GOD, PLATONIC FUNDY RELATIONSHIP SO YEAH⚠️

Pronouns: she/her or they/them [you’re referred to as wife, mom,, that stuff, but you can change those if you want]

You hummed as you strained out your clothing beside the river near your home. A smile graced your face, [Eye Colour] eyes glinting happily in the warm sunlight of that fine summer day. Autumn would soon turn the land into a seemingly barren wasteland, though, so you decided to savor every last bit of happiness the hot days brought you. 

Hanging the large amount of clothing upon thin clothing lines, you dumped out your bucket and made sure nothing got in the lake. Walking back inside of your home, you set the buckets in the corner of the cozy cottage and walked back outside. Your brown boots thudded quietly against the cobblestone path that lead into the woods around your home that would eventually be covered in snow.

A sudden childish giggle made you turn to the fields that were a ways away from your house, right in front of the sparsely scattered trees to the right of your little house. You furrowed your brows in confusion as a blur of yellow, white, and red rushed over to you.

“Hello there.” You couldn’t help but stare as the child looked up at you silently. “What are you doing here, little one?” He only blushed, his face flushing a vivid red before he ran off. You shrugged and continued your trek into the forest.

//

You watched as flakes of snow fell delicately onto the muted green coloured grass, bundled tightly in a burrito of quilts that you and your mother has made together. You shuffled slightly from your position on your warm bed, closing your eyes as you waited for sleep to consume you.

It seemed life had other plans, though, as a faint light came toward your home, edging closer and closer until you could make out a figure, their clothing a great contrast to the paw snow. They were shivering visibly, clutching their arms as their lantern shook in their hand.

You frowned as you peeled your blankets off of you, pulling your boots on quickly. Grabbing a lantern cage, you lit the candle inside of it and hurried outside, feeling nervous as the figure hurried over to you.

Soon enough, they were standing in front of you, a miserable look on their face, their eyes red and puffy as their teeth chattered together.

“Come inside,” you didn’t care for introductions or your safety. This person seemed nice. “I’ll start a fire. Uh- there should be a few blankets on the sofa. Would you like anything to drink? Warm milk, tea? I’m not gonna offer coffee because it’s late, so I’m sorry about that.”

“Just water, please,” they croaked out. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I was headed off in search of territory to claim. Turns out I chose the wrong day. God, it’s cold.” You let out a quiet laugh as you carefully tossed some wood into your fireplace, lighting the material on fire. Almost immediately, the flames grew and you sat up, placing your flint and steel on the fireplace mantle.

“I’ll go get you your water. Go warm up.” You urged before you walked into the kitchen to get the brunet some water.

//

““And then Tommy ran off!” Wilbur howled with laughter as he told the story of how he managed to lose his father in the forest close to his family home. ““Phil was looking for us for hours!” You smiled at the story as you carefully sewed up your friend’s heavy coat, making sure the patches were relatively the same colour as the rest of the jacket.

“You never really tell me about your family, so why are you telling stories now?” You commented, threading the needle in your hand through the fabric and back out of it, pulling the thread tightly. You snipped it with your scissors, placing the needle down to look for any other holes as Wilbur flushed a bright red.

“W-well— one day, I want you to meet my family, so- this sounds so fucking stupid. Never mind, forget about it.” He covered his face in his hands as you bummed, picking up a patch and laying it out on the brown fabric.

“What you’re saying is that you would introduce me to your family because you like me that much, huh?” No answer came from Wilbur, though he did let out a flustered groan as you chortled.

//

You placed a kiss upon your new boyfriend’s cheek, causing the brunet to laugh as he shrunk away from your lips

“Stop it,” you only grinned at the man, kissing various areas of his face in retaliation. Wilbur laughed harder, pushing you away gently as his face scrunched. ““It tickles!”

You grabbed his face in your hands and he looked into your eyes for a moment before you began attacking his face with kisses. When you pulled back for a break, Wilbur copied your actions from earlier and rubbed his thumb across your cheeks with a smile. He leaned his forehead on yours and let out a breathy sigh, closing his eyes as he basked in the moment.

“I love you so fucking much, [Y/N].”

//

““Dont be scared, darling,” Wilbur mused as he gently rubbed his thumb in circles on the back of your hand, lightly squeezing every few rotations. “Techno’s made sure to keep any weapons away and Tommy might be a little less wreckless. I’ll make sure to tell them during dinner.” You nodded uncertainly, playing nervously with the bracelet Wilbur had made you way back when the two of you first started as friends.

Wilbur rapped his knuckles on the door, his other hand never once letting go of yours as the two of you waited. A bit of shouting was heard through the door, slightly muffled, though it was evident that it was coming closer.

The door was flung open by a blond boy, his blue eyes shooting us to meet Wil’s not even a second after he opened the door. A grin was on the boys face as he turned and shouted for Phil [who Wilbur had told you was his father]. Soon enough, a blond man with a bucket hat trodden over, frowning at Tommy.

“Listen, motherfucker, you may be living here, but I’m not gonna fucking let you live if you keep fuckin shoutin.” You froze nervously and glanced over at your boyfriend. He just sent a small, awkward smile onto reassure you before he turned to look down at the two.

“Are you really gonna argue in front of my wife?” Wilbur piped in, feeling himself become giddy as Tommy and Phil shot their heads over to look at you.

“You brought a girl over?!” Tommy yelled in surprise as he stumbled back, eyes wide as he observed your movements skeptically.

“Wil? Can you come over here real quick? I just need to talk to you.” Phil forced a smile as he grabbed the taller man’s ear and yoinked him over to a different room, leaving Tommy and you alone.

“Hi,” you smiled nervously, raising a hand in a half assed wave.

“Do you happen to be American?” The blond asked, leaning his face over to stare at you.

“I mean- I’m a water nymph. I don’t really know if that counts because we usually just have different accents, but we never take into account where anyone’s from.” You laughed, scratching your cheek.

“Well where are you from?” Tommy urged, crossing his arms.

“To be specific, I came from the North Sea right by the Netherlands. I don’t really think that’s important though.” You shrugged.

“So you’re Dutch? Speak it.”

“Im not necessarily Dutch, I was just born in the North Sea, Tommy- I think you’re a Tommy. You seem like a Tommy.” You cleared up, ““The only reason I learned English was to communicate with certain humans.”

“Okay.” The boy sighed, shoulders slumping forward as you let out an amused chortle, “I’ll leave you alone. For now.” Tommy backed up, turning into a room while a big, burly pig person ducked under the doorway, a large sword in hand and an uninterested expression on his face. As he turned to the door, he spotted you and his eyes widened momentarily before going back to their half lidded position.

“Who’re you? Phil didn’t- oh. Oh, today was that day. Oh my god, how could I forget it?” The hybrid smacked his forehead harshly, ““I’m so sorry.”

You laughed, waving your hand dismissively as the pig moved to the side to let you in. You carefully stepped into the warm house and the tall hybrid closed the door behind you.

“Dinner’s nearly done, so you can go sit down in the living room. If you need anything, Phil has ears all over the place. Just look at those crows.” Techno motioned over to the few crows that perched themselves on the window, letting out quiet caws. You waved at the birds and they flapped their wings in response.

“They seem nice.”

//

You sat next to your husband, hand intertwined with his as Phil smiled over at the two of you.

“So, anything new happening with you two?” The blond man inquired, placing his hands on the table. 

““I mean,” Wilbur laughed, turning over to look at you. “Would you like to tell them, dear?” You nodded, a grin on your face as you sat as straight as you could.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm. Tommy let out a shocked ‘‘what the fuck??’, while Techno choked on his food, slamming a fist onto his chest.

Phil was quiet, eyes wide in shock as he took in the information.

“Pregnant? With Wilbur’s kid?” You nodded, swinging Wilbur’s hand as Tommy cheered.

“Im gonna be a fuckin uncle! Yeah! I’ll be the best damn uncle ever!” He cackled, leaning back as Techno snorted.

““Can I teach them PvP?” You and your husband glanced over at each other before shaking your head.

“Maybe when they’re old enough to know what they’re doing.”

//

““Hello, my precious baby,” you cooed gently, holding the newborn as they let out a quiet sigh. ““My baby. You look just like your father.” A warm but tired smile was on your face as your baby opened their eyes, brown meeting [Eye Colour].

“Love, is the baby okay? Is she doing alright?” Wilbur called nervously through the door, to which you laughed.

“Yes, they’re doing great,” placing a gentle kiss on the baby’s nose, they brought a hand up and lightly tapped their nose.

//

““Fundy! Come here!” You cheered, reaching your arms out to the toddler. They giggled, waddling over to you. Their scab covered knees were littered with bandages and the red overalls they wore were much unlike what Wilburs would have wanted your child to wear, but it was your kid! They deserved the best!

““My precious baby,” you placed a kiss on their cheek, causing the brown haired child to giggle and wipe the kiss from their cheek. You grinned, littering their face in kisses as they squirmed, ““My little champion!”

“Yah! Cham-champion!” They babbled, bringing up a finger to chew on as you set them down and smoothed out your dress. 

““Alright, sweetheart, papa will be here soon, so make sure to tell him what you want to tell him, alright?” Your boy nodded, a goofy grin on his face as he reached over to one of the toys you had brought.

//

You cradled your son’s head as he sobbed, shaking his head in denial as to what had just happened.

“He-he’s gone, mama!” He choked out, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His tears stained your shirt, though the feeling didn’t bother you as you rocked your son back and forth, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Fundy, it’s okay,” you cooed, ““He doesn’t have to live with all the mistakes he made in the past anymore. Who knows, maybe he’ll come back?” 

““But what if he doesn’t? That was his last life and- and it’s gone! My dad’s gone!” Letting out a pained wail, he continued to sob. And you let him.

He had gone through so much.

//

““Who the hell are you and what are you doing around my son?” You sneered, standing in front of your son as the transparent figure stared at you curiously.

“You don’t remember me?” They asked, voice echoing as they tilted your head. “I- [Y/N], it’s me! Your husband! I- I am your husband, right?”

“My husband didn’t push away his son and focus on a failed country more than his own fucking family.” You loaded your crossbow, aiming it at the ghost. ““You didn’t come to his birthday parties, didn’t get him anything, you barely paid attention to him when your country was in the spotlight! You’re no husband to me.”

“Mama-” Fundy gulped nervously, ““Mama, please.”

“You know what, whoever the fuck you are? You’re no damn husband to me and you never will be. Now leave me and my son alone, for fuck’s sake.”

The ghost was silent as you turned, leading the man beside you toward the house at the top of the hill, though a small smile made its way onto his face.

“She’s the one I married?” He murmured, moving his hand to where his heart was, “Was she really the love of my life?”

[sirenascales]

-> double black [part four] 18+

-> Chuuya x 1stPOV!F!Reader x Dazai

-> Who knew getting fired from work could lead to this?

-> Content: SMUT, slight angst, violence, murder, swearing

The investigation continues, even if things aren't moving as smoothly as one would like. [Chuuya x 1stPOV!F!Reader x Dazai]

2,073 words

note: SMUT Like... this was an excuse to write smut with both of them okay, and totally i forgot to tag those who are on my taglist for the previous part and im so sorry lol but please enjoy!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Final || masterlist

Days have gone by and the investigation is still underway, but things weren't looking too great. There was still no confirmed DNA evidence, no weapon, not even a witness. Nothing to aid in the apprehension of Taichi's murderer.

"If only Ranpo were here," Atsushi sighed deeply, the snack loving detective out on another case that had popped up. "He would have solved this in a heartbeat."

I laughed softly, wringing my hands nervously. "It's too bad he isn't here," I said, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of me. "Surely it would make things easier for us..."

"But that'll just be boring!" Dazai exclaimed from his desk, leaning against Atsushi who just pushed him off.

"This isn't for your entertainment, Dazai! The killer could have fled the country by now," Kunikida argued, crossing his arms over his chest. "For now, we just have to stay focused and not waste time.

I nodded, slumping back in my chair and fiddling with my pen. "What the hell are we missing..."

We didn't dwell on it for much longer, since the shift ended. I sighed in relief, looking forward to just going home, eating dinner, and going to bed. The case was draining, the dead ends we kept running into just sending us back to square one. Now all I wanted was to rest for the night.

But of course, with a certain suicidal maniac, that was not happening.

"Isn't this cheating..." I gasped out softly, Dazai pressing his naked body against me from behind, his hard dick against my ass and his mouth on my neck.

"Maybe..." Dazai hummed, reaching around to grab my breasts, the soap in his hands making my skin slippery. "But there's no such thing as cheating in a fight."

I gasped sharply when Dazai pinched my nipples, eyes fluttering closed. "This isn't even a fight... you're the weirdo that wanted to turn this investigation into a game."

Leave it to Dazai to basically latch himself onto me as I made my way home. We ordered delivery, eating together on my couch and deciding to watch a movie. Before I knew it, we were making out on my couch, soon enough making our way to the shower.

The water was hot, steaming up the bathroom. Our wet hair stuck to our skin, Dazai holding onto my hips tightly as he fucked me from behind. He bit his lip in concentration, relishing in the sound of my cries echoing in the small room.

"Fuck... Osamu, you feel so good," I cried out, hands slipping on the tiled walls, trying to grab for something. Dazai just pressed his chest against my back, keeping up his rough pace as he chuckled in my ear.

"Do you like that?" "Yes!" "Of course you do, dirty little girl." Dazai reached around and grabbed my face, stuffing two fingers into my mouth. That had my eyes rolling back as I weakly sucked on his fingers, his other hand working on my clit. That finally sent me over the edge as I screamed around his fingers, body shaking as I reached my peak.

Dazai fucked me through my orgasm, ignoring my whines from the overstimulation until he quickly pulled his cock out, pumping himself a few more times before he hit his own orgasm, cumming right on my ass.

"Fuck, bella. You're so beautiful," he gasped, kissing me deeply while pulling us under the hot water.

We barely made it out of the bathroom before going at it again, Dazai fucking me against the wall in the hallway, one of my legs hooked around him while he wrapped a hand around my neck. His breath was hot against my neck, coming out in breathless pants while he continued to rail me.

"Incredible," he whispered in my ear, his hand still around my neck, keeping me in place. "And so pliable... you'll always be putty in my hands."

"Mmm!" I moaned almost pathetically. "Yes..."

"You're my pretty little subordinate?"

"Yes!"

Soon, we finally made it to my bed, where Dazai proceeded to make me ride him like my life depended on it. I was left shaking, the two of us very satisfied.

"So much for a quiet evening," I huffed a while later, the two of us finally getting clean before burying ourselves under my covers. "You are one horny bastard, Dazai."

"Says the equally horny bitch," Dazai retorted and I laughed, turning and pressing my face against the side of his neck.

It went silent, and thankfully it was a comfortable silence where we just lied there, holding onto each other. I sigh contently, fingers lazily trailing up and down his chest while I can feel the bandages on his arms against my skin.

"Dazai?"

"Hm."

"You know..." I started carefully, keeping my face pressed against him. "If you ever need to like... talk... when you're feeling... bad... I'm here for you." I bit my lip, hoping I wasn't overstepping. "I'm here. Even if it's just to listen..."

Dazai didn't say anything, and I was too freaked out to look at him. Though, after a moment, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, giving me a nice squeeze.

"You are very kind, bella."

I frowned, cuddling up more against him. I blinked when he shifted, looking at him questionably as he set me down on the bed before he started to get up. "Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom," he grinned back at me. "I won't be long, bella. Don't miss me too much!"

I just scoffed and rolled my eyes, watching Dazai leave the bedroom before staring up at the ceiling. I waited, frown on my face growing deeper as the minutes went by, teeth chewing on my bottom lip nervously.

"Sorry, I went to get some water," Dazai then returned, quickly climbing into bed beside me. Immediately his arms are wrapped around me, holding me tight. "Let's go to sleep."

I smiled up at him, softly pressing a kiss to his lips before I settled against him, closing my eyes. "Goodnight."

Dazai watched me for a second, his lips curling up in an amused, knowing smile. "Goodnight, bella..."

"Ah... this is nerve-wracking..." Keiko mumbled softly, clinging onto my hand as we stepped up to the very familiar tall building. I gulped, nervous since the building was overrun with members of the Port Mafia.

It was the day after that night I spent with Dazai, and instead of being at work, I had received a call from an unknown number. That had turned out to be Chuuya, who ordered me to find Keiko and bring both of our asses to meet him in his office.

Chuuya wasn't just a member of the Port Mafia, but he was an executive, and he held great power. It was almost scary, especially as Keiko and I rode up the escalator to the right floor.

"I wonder what he wants..." Keiko says nervously, biting her lip as we approached the office. We finally made it and I knocked on it five times.

"Come in."

I gulped and we walked inside. Chuuya sat in his desk, and if I wasn't so nervous, I would have been drooling at how fucking fine he looked, sitting with his feet propped on the desk. He gestured to the chairs before his desk lazily. "Sit."

He mostly wanted to talk to Keiko, seeing as she was Taichi's boyfriend and to make sure she didn't tell too much info to the police or "those bastards at the ADA", as he said while shooting me a dirty look. I returned it.

"Of course not," Keiko said softly. "And I wanted to thank you for paying for his funeral. That was nice of you."

Chuuya waved her off. "It wasn't a problem. He was one of my best men." Keiko clenched her fists tightly in her lap as he said that.

"Did you find out anything? We're not having too much luck either," I spoke up, thoughtful look on my face. "Like how can you not find DNA when he was selling the drugs there? There had to have been other people." I looked over at Keiko, missing how Chuuya's eyes went wide before he narrowed them at me.

"It's pissing me off how hard this is," he said rather stiffly, still watching me. "At the end of the day, this might just end up closing as a cold case... but like hell will I forget this." Chuuya clenched his fists, a look of anger and determination on his face. "But we are done here. Well, I'm done with you, Keiko. I still need to speak with her." He was looking right at me.

Keiko gave me a knowing look and a wink and I just playfully shoved her towards the door. "I'll see you later, okay?" I said and she nodded before walking out. Turning back to Chuuya, I watched him get up from his desk. "So what else did you wanna talk about?" I asked, tilting my head as Chuuya walked around the desk and towards me, not answering.

"Um? Hel-mmph!"

Chuuya gripped the back of my neck, pulling me in for a deep, breathtaking kiss. I cupped his face, kissing him back just as deeply. He turned us around so as he walked me backwards with his lips still on mine, I bumped right against his desk, which he sat me on.

"You came in here in this sexy ass dress and expect me not to fuck you?" Chuuya growled, kissing down my neck as his hands moved up my dress. He smirked as he massaged my thighs, quickly finding my knife and removing it. "This is a beautiful knife," he hummed, inspecting it. I smiled softly, weakly reaching to grab it but Chuuya just flicked it, the blade neatly embedding itself right on his desk. "You take great care of it."

"Well, that was my first knife..." I said softly, desperately wanting my knife back, but that went out the window once Chuuya kissed me again.

My legs soon found themselves wrapped around Chuuya's hips. His pants were pushed down just enough to free his cock, my panties pushed to the side as he fucked me right on top of his desk.

"Fuck, dollface, you're even better than I fucking remembered," Chuuya hissed, pushing me on my back, on top of his messy papers. He tossed one of my legs over his shoulder, squeezing his gloved fingers into my flesh as I could only moan and whine in pleasure, his thrusts hitting hard and deep inside me, I was seeing stars.

"S-so much for... only one time, huh," I managed to choke out, my head tossing back as Chuuya hit that one spot. "Oh, fuck!"

"Yeah, shut up and take this cock," Chuuya hissed. His thumb pressed against my clit, and that was enough to have me squeezing him tight as I hit my orgasm, legs shaking and loud cries leaving my mouth.

That got him going and soon, Chuuya was pulling out and I was on my knees, fisting his cock and letting Chuuya cum in my mouth. Chuuya petted my hair, a blissed out look on his face. "Good girl. Now, bend yourself over the desk."

With shaking knees, I got myself up and bent over Chuuya's desk like he ordered, displayed all nice and pretty for him. I looked back over my shoulder, shuddering at how he looked at me, blue eyes full of hunger as he bit on his lower lip. His leather clad hands started to squeeze my ass, moving one hand up until he's pressing on the middle of my back, guiding his cock against my entrance with his other hand.

We borh groaned in pleasure as he started pushing himself in, Chuuya tossing his head back with a hiss. "Fuck, I'll never get tired of this." He starts thrusting his hips, moaning again at the feel of my walls around him. "Fuck, fuck..."

"It's all yours..." I could only babble out, the feel of him stretching me nice and good frying my brain. "Chuuya, please, oh my God..."

After two more soul shattering orgasms, I was finally allowed to leave... if I even could. There was a smug grin on Chuuya's face as he just stared at me. I sat in the chair across from him, the two of us dressed, but he looked like a damn model while I looked like I had a run in with the giant industrial fans they had in elementary school cafeterias during the warmer days.

"Get that dumb look off your face," I whined. "It's not fair. I looked like I got attacked."

Chuuya snickered. "I mean... that's not so far off."

I rolled my eyes. "Ugh, you and Dazai are so unbelievably horny, it's sad."

Chuuya growled. "First off, don't talk about him around me. And second, who was the one begging to titfuck my cock?"

I scoffed, face hot and I turned my nose up at him. "Shut up."

"Just go home."

"Fine. You guys are still cheaters anyway," I said before standing up. I walked over to him, leaning over his desk and I was happy when he met me halfway and gave me a kiss. "Call me again. Maybe when there isn't a weird investigation going on."

Chuuya rolled his eyes, shooing me away. "Just go."

I giggled softly before turning and walking out of the office. Chuuya sighed deeply, opening one of his desk drawers. He stared at the object inside of it for a moment, sighing again before grabbing his pack of cigarettes, taking one and lighting it up before taking a long drag.

-End

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[cinnamonest]

Okay but imagine... adoptive mother reader with Chongyun, Bennett, Razor and Xingqiu. This can be linked to that thought you once posted about the boys (Chongyun and Xingqiu) barely young adults and reader being something of a Guhua expert or an exorcist (and a little bit of those mommy headcanons lol)

So, this is settle with the boys a little bit younger, reader is a promising adventurer who despise being so young (early 20s) She have traversed half of Teyvat and made a name of herself. She comes back to Monstadt to see old faces and such.

She first arrives to Liyue and decides to rest for the day. She's strolling around the harbour, watching what's new and saying hi to old friends, when two boys running at high speed crashes against her and fall to the ground. Being the nice person she is, she helps them up and offers to take care of their bruises, to which they reluctantly accept bcs you have to always be wary of strangers.

While she patches them up, she starts to tell them stories of all the places she's been, noticing how the kid with amber eyes shine at the mention of she being in contact with a Real Guhua master (even if it was for only a month or so, but it is still impressive) and that she has a couple of books about the art and such.

Seeing his friend's happy reaction, the other boy with baby blue hair shares a bit of himself, and the small gasp that he lets out when the gentle traveler tells him she has seen a demon before! And even better, she got a charm from a successful exorcist from a far away land! How cool is that!?

After taking care of them, reader buys them a treat and guides them towards the inn she's staying to fetch up the items brought up in the conversation. When she gets back and gift them the items, the excitement that overcomes them was enough to jump and hug the kind lady, but the emotional moment was short lived as a young man similar to the kid with prussian blue hair and a older man with the same cat-like eyes as the aspiring exorcist approach them and retrieve their brother and son respectively, thanking the adventurer for looking out after them.

As morning comes and reader leaves at the crack of sunrise, it finally register in her mind that she never got the name of those two cute kids. Meanwhile, said pre-teens were musing about the same thing as the female, but what she didn't know is that her actions would actually leave a mark on these two for the years to come.

The travel from Liyue to Monstadt was beautiful but tiresome. A wave of nostalgia punches her on the stomach as the first batch of small lamp grass caught her attention, signaling that she has finally settled foot on the wildest part of the realm of freedom.

Trees grow thicker and small springs sprinkled here and there, the young female's pace quickens as she comes to terms that she won't make it today to the city, and it's wiser to camp out outside Wolvendom. As beautiful and relaxing the scenery was, she has enough sense to not turn a blind eye to the several claw marks and noises that she has spotted and hear throughout her walk.

Finally, after almost sprinting for a while now, the exit of the forest makes itself visible, and with a small sigh she slows her pace to walking speed. She was about to reach the Waypoint when a rustle from a nearby bush caughts her attention.

With only slowing down a little bit, she turns her head to the source of the noise, body tense and hand on her dagger just in case it was a Hilichurl or a Wolf. But what a surprise it is, when rather than eyes catching rough grey fur or a mask, a young boy with eyes as sharp as the furred beasts she's being weary of meets her surprised orbs instead. There's a certain curiosity in that ruby gaze, but she couldn't appreciated them more as she took notice of the whole human being in front of her.

What little clothes he had, they were all in a shameful state. The wind picked up and a gust of cold breeze touched the two humans, but only one of them shudder at its touch.

Seeing that, the female removed there coat and slowly, approached the boy. He took a couple of steps back and a snarl arises from his throat, hopping to stop this strange human from getting any closer. The female got the message, and crouched to meet his eyes on a same level.

She extended the hand holding the jacket, and with a patience of a saint, waited until the kid shuffled by his own to sniff the offered item. The female smiled, and was about to say something, until a howl broke the silence, and the boy clutching the jacket jumped from his spot, sprinting at a remarkable speed to were the noise came. He only stopped to turn around a give a small wave to the female, just to dissappear through the dense foliage that compose Wolvendom.

The adventurer dusts her clothes, and wishes the bests of lucks to the kid before returning to her destination.

That night, after finding comfort on one of the lone red tents meant for travelers, the Sound of small footsteps on grass alerts her and she rises from her almost slumber, only to find a small bunch of wolfhooks beside the tent.

Just like how she did in Liyue, when the first rays of sunrise emerged from the horizon, she sets off to the city.

After half a day of walking, the gates of her hometown greets her as she walks down the bridge, a small sigh of happiness escapes her as she takes in the sight of the streets she grew up in.

Her first stop was the to the adventurer's guild. As she greets and waves to old friends, the boisterous laugh of a man caughts her attention, turning her head to look at the source of the voice.

Her eyes widened and a smile just as big formed on her face, she walks towards the two figures in front of the guild's desk, the man being accompanied by a young boy with greyish hair was none than the person who cheered her on following her dreams of travelling all of Teyvat.

She hugs the man without notice and the man is throw off his conversation with the woman behind the desk. The face of the girl, now a young adult, greets him and he couldn't stop the overflowing of his emotions and hugged back the female. She's like a daughter to him, just like how he thinks of a son to the boy looking at them.

They share a couple of words before the female notices the boy besides them. Still being high from finding her mentor, she kneels before the boy and ruffles his hair, presenting herself and informing him that she's and adventurer just like the old man.

The boy's eyes shine at the mention of adventure. Does that mean that he has a mom now!? You do look far younger that his dads, but it's the same, right?

He surprises you when he voices his thoughts, and you chuckled a little at his cute face. You pinch his little nose, and with a smile you tell him you'll are honoured to be his mom, sharing all of your knowledge with him and experience with the outside world.

The boy, Bennett, as he shouted at the top of his lungs after your affirmative, lunged at your still kneeling form and locked his little arms around your neck, securing you in a tight hug. The force made the both of you to fall on the ground, but his happiness was so contagious that you couldn't careless about that.

As the years pass by, and your connection with the four boys strengthen, you saw them grow into strong young men, a feeling of proud sparks at the thought of being one of the big influence for them to reach the point they are now in, as you provided them with all types of knowledge and artifacts that you managed to get in your travels. You do feel like a proud mom of her four sons.

But... as pure as your feelings are, the four young men can't share the same sentiment. Or at least not in the same platonic way. They know that you don't feel the same as them, but you would never deny your boys their happiness, wouldn't you?

So, what would you do, when they finally decide to take action on their feelings, and the prospect of your sons crossings weapons just to have you for themselves is rearing it's head, will you choose one of them?

Or, in a surprise turn of events, they agree on sharing you with each others, as in the end they were taken care of by the same person they addressed as mother, creating a sense of brotherhood between the young males?

(Did you guys noticed that there's almost never a mention of mothers in Genshin? I think everyone has mommy issues lol)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anon i’ve ascended?? 

Im crying envisioning like. The thing is all these other boys have some sort of army to back them up. Xingqiu’s got rich people guards... bennett has fischl and his dads... razor has a pack of wolves... Chongyun over here by himself just like :)

But also... imagine a poly of four yans at once... fuck there would be no end to your constant suffering bruh

[xsarcasticwriterx]

Au Volant-part 1

Summary: You were free, you had control until bucky and Steve showed up at your door.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, minor tfawts ep 2 spoilers.

Notes: This is a series btw and I'm not sure how long it'll be (not like I do for any of my series) and yea that's all just know it will be pretty....dark pfft. Also, this does NOT fit in the marvel timeline even if references are made to such.

Steve knew when he was out-matched, hell even before the serum he knew when he'd lose he just didn't know when to stop. Bucky did though and nothing about that had changed in 100 years. Not even now when steves ass was being handed to him. after getting bucky back steve and bucky had gone off on their own mission to find other super-soldiers who may still be alive. of course they expected this to be easier than it was.

Of course, bucky could've just brought steve to Isaiah Bradley but he still knew steve would be pissed after finding out what had been done to him and he just wanted to leave Isaiah to his own thing still.

Then there was you. Bucky met you back when he was first becoming the winter soldier. you were their first test into becoming one of them. of course, your trigger words hadn't been finished before you killed those who were working on you and escaping. it s why they advanced buckys mechanism. You'd had tried to free him but they were already in the works of triggering buckys words.

Bucky knew you were free but only by self-discipline and no one knowing the words aside from hydra who, by this point, you'd spent the last century running from. He wanted you to stay out even if he knew where you were at.

That was until now, they needed another super soldier to win. Sure he could call Isaiah but as far as triggers go you were more likely to not only survive this but even join it. So with that process bucky grabbed steve ignoring his words and ran to your house.

you were 95 years old, despite how you looked. you had managed to escape hydra. Ever since hydra fell you ere truly free for the first time in a long time. you had enrolled in college majoring in history, ironic yes but you figured with your overextended life maybe you could use it and become a history professor.

This was your plan until there was a knock at your door. you figured it was the pizza you had ordered until you opened it seeing a bloody avenger and the weapon that hydra used over and over again to kill people. So with that you slammed the door, locked it, and walked back to your living room. "y/n come on" you heard bucky say. "nope" you yelled back.

"I thought you said shed be willing to help?" you heard steve groan. "I never said willing I said she could help" bucky replied. steve sighed "look y/n I know-" steve started to say "you don't know shit about shit star-spangled man with a plan," you said back.

"I spent the last 70 years running from this man ok. Now I know he is back to Sargent Barnes or whatever crap he was before but guesses what it does mean I am willing to just jump back in the man who was on my ass trying to kill me just yesterday, and it sure as fuck doesn't mean that I am willing to jump back into war" you wished they just go away. You were finally free safe. "steve go" "huh?" "go ill be back with you in a few minutes" and so steve walked away out of hearing distance. bucky said down but your door.

"look y/n I know what you've been through ok. I know they hurt you because they hurt me too. See this difference is I was a soldier before this...you were just someone in the wrong place wrong time. Me and steve here are looking for the others those who were like us, set them free too. Though they seem to either be like you, Isiah, or are still trying to fight. now I'm here because most are trying to fight and they're gathering together and fighting. I don't blame you for not trusting me I get it, some days even I don't trust me but know that I never wanted to hurt you." bucky cleared his throat "I am James 'bucky' Barnes and you are part of my amends" bucky said before the door opened and he fell back.

You stuck your hand out "give it" you said which bucky only looked up at you confused. "come on there's only so many therapists for brainwashed murderes give it" you said again. bucky handed you the tiny book. you opened it and crossed out your name handing it back to him. "get up and get your boy toy over there to come inside. I need to get ready if we're going to war." you said walking upstairs. "so you'll come?" bucky asked. "sure James why the fuck not but be aware you may be fixed but I'm only free out of pure will, soon as someone says the words I'm no longer free" you said walking to your room.

Bucky opened his notebook writing down ten words. he handed the paper to steve. "what's this?" he asked looking down at the words in both Russian and English. "her trigger words. just know as soon as there said she's one of them" bucky knew the words. hydras orders were if he found you to trigger you. "so she's not...." steve trailed off "nope she's only free out of self will" bucky shrugged sometimes he wished he had been able to be like you. "is it safe to bring her?" steve asked fearing what would happen if you became like bucky. "ill be fine" you said from the top of the stairs. you were wearing your gear which consisted of a black long sleeve made out of bulletproof gear that you stole from the police, black leggings for movement, black boots, and a hoodie. your hair was out of your face and you had your daggers on one side of your belt and your guns on the other.

"don't be a moron and say those words and everything will be fine," you said walking down. "now what's the game plan what do I need?" "what you have and spare clothes and weapons," Steve said. you nodded walking to your garage where the rest of your knives and guns were at along with your disguised clothes. "so you said that the soldiers are grouping up and fighting. know why?" "There are only rumors some say they want new hydra, others say they're scared some say they are forming a 'better' hydra," bucky said following you.

you grabbed a bag stuffing clothes in and ammo along with some daggers. "so are we staying with the rest of the little einstens?" you asked turning to steve. you were met with two confused faces. you blinked, how on earth are you, a person on the run, more educated on pop culture than these two "its....its a kids show" you said clearing your throat "im asking if were staying at the avengers headquarters" you said awkwardly. "oh no were tracking the group and certain people, those suspicious and then we just stay in hotels" steve said. you nodded and walked to the front door. "lets go then shall we"

you two got into steves car. "so how come no ones ever heard of you if you were on of them?" steve asked. "got out before i become one fully they never were able to trigger me" you shrugged. "she tried getting me out but...she was too late" bucky looked down. steve shut up from that point on. you all drove to a motel close to where they had seen a few people hiding out at from the sights of it.

the motel was kind of well really bad, not quite what you expected when rolling with the avengers. they said it was to stay undercover, large purchases and such could trigger that someone famous is rolling in. So here you were sat on a rigidy bed in the motel. there was 2 beds but 3 of you so someone had to share. "not it" steve said flopping back onto a bed. you and bucky looked at each other. "come on you two have known each other for almost as long as buck and I" steve said sitting up.

you grumbled sitting on the bed before sighing. not like you slept much so maybe you wouldn't have to actually share the bed. "for tonight we will fill you in" steve said. you 3 sat at a table and they told you the information they have and what they're plan is.

They said how they have a few places where they think people are hiding out based on the hours of activity and a few spots look like people are hiding out there. They said their plan was talk until people started noticing bucky and then chose to fight, then they came to you. Now their plan was talk but with back up incase shit takes a turn again.

Bucky and steve had gone to sleep but you were still up sat at a table. you were sharpening your daggers. you were zoned out for a while at this point. you didn't sleep often due to fear that if you let your guard down you wouldn't be able to hold back the soldier part of you. you really only slept when you were on the verge of passing out. This started when one night you had a dream, not long after you escaped, of the man saying the words. you felt your whole brain shift, luckily you woke up and were able to push back before anything happened. since then it was too close of a call to risk anything ever again.

You saw movement and looked up seeing bucky look around in almost a panic before he saw you. his breathing steadied "hey" he whispered out of breath. you nodded to him "you ok there?" "hmm? yea why are you up isnt it late?" you looked at the clock. last you looked it was 12am. you shrugged "same reason your up" "guess being brainwashed has its cons" you huffed "ysupposeou could say that"

"you sleep at all" bucky asked standing and walking to you. "i sleep when i feel like im going to pass out" you returned back to sharpening your daggers "last time i casually slept the world almost had another winter soldier" you scoffed "never doing that shit again" you looked up at bucky. his hair was a mess and a thin layer of sweat covered his chest. he was definitely muscly and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't hot.

"you should rest ill watch over you make sure you don't change" he said looking at you. "no its fine got another" you looked down at your watch looking at the date "few days before i pass out" you shrugged. "y/n. sleep" he stated. you shook your head. bucky groaned, walked to you and threw you over his shoulder "come on sleep time" he said putting you on the bed. you groaned but soon as you were laying down you felt your eyes insticntly close. "stupid body" you grumbled

soon slumber took over. bucky smirked down at you. you two were one in the same except while he was forever free you, you were free on pure will and keeping your guard up. "ill keep you safe doll, no one will change you even yourself" he said brushing the hair from your face. soon he felt as peace seeing you so calm and he laid next to you. the bed reminded him of the ones in the military. sleep took him over not too longer after.

[kindiekritz]

Get Some Rest, Samurai...

Via Anon Ask; “because im also a sap for Johnny and V- How do you think Johnny would help V cope with a panic attack? Especially when its likely something he's feeling laggy echoes of himself if he's in her head during it? (hurt/comfort is a FAVE of mine and i have anxiety, can ya' tell?)”

B ro,, don’t worry anon bc same here, we are anxiety homies together 👏😔 - This is my first time writing for Johnny Silverhand! Trying to get back on the writing boat, (haven't forgotten my previous fic!) and there's nothing like simping for video game characters to get that inspiration flowing. Do let me know what you think! Johnny may be a bit too OOC in this, I may have gone a little bit overboard with the soft? Ah well, I hope someone will enjoy it regardless :P

Here is the Ao3 Link! :D

V’s time was running out. 

Every time the relic in their head would malfunction, every time they went into a coughing fit and the disgusting taste of metallic blood would fill their mouth, every time he would manifest himself in her head and V would catch a glimpse of his stupid fucking face…

V was reminded of the fact that their time was running out, and fast.

And despite the fact that they were doing everything in their power to stop the construct in her mind from completely destroying her from the inside out, that didn’t stop the fact that she still had to pay the rent. 

In fact, it wasn’t cheap coughing up the eddies to pay Rouge for her services, or having to pay for bigger and better gear that would keep her alive when dealing with Arasaka guards, hell, it wasn’t cheap to keep purchasing more and more bottles of Omega Blockers, the pills were the only thing that kept him from completely taking control. 

She found herself taking more and more gigs, trying to simply keep up with the extra costs of having a completely second personality living rent-free in her mind. But even then… she couldn’t find it in herself to reject or turn away people who needed her help, even if they had little to nothing to offer in return. 

It seemed as if her phone was constantly buzzing with calls and texts of people who wanted and needed her help. No matter where she went or what she did, people needed her services, people needed her time.

And yet, time was something that she had very little left of.

V was exhausted. The bags under her eyes revealed that she hadn’t slept in days, and she couldn’t remember when she last had a proper meal.

She was always on the go, she didn’t have time to take care of herself.

But as she groggily opened the door to her apartment, she thought to herself that… maybe, just maybe… she would finally let herself take a nice, long warm shower.

V was too exhausted to care about the possibility of Johnny potentially staring at her nude form as she stood under the running water. Hell, let him stare for all she cared! The thought of warm water running over her exhausted muscles, washing away the dirt and grime of the city… it was too appealing at that moment. 

She removed her weapon slung across her back, letting her beloved leather Samurai jacket slip off her shoulders and onto the ground, too exhausted to care about putting it away properly. 

The weight of the gun in her hands was normally a welcome and grounding presence for V when she was on a mission, the weapon in her hands keeping her safe from those who wished to do her harm. But now? It felt too heavy, unbearably so, as if the weight would make her topple over onto the floor below. The muscles in her arms were exhausted and spent. As she rotated her shoulder she heard the joints audibly pop. The consequences of pushing her body too far.

She would do anything for the physical ache to go away. 

As she stepped through the door to her armory and switched on the fluorescent lights of the room, her gaze fell upon someone already there, casually lounging atop her workbench and raising a cigarette to his mouth, pausing to speak before inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Damn V. You look like shit.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment, and made her way to her weapon locker instead, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck.

V fiddled with the combination, her foggy mind struggling to remember the correct numbers and the correct order, her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated as she inputs each digit. V cursed herself for making it so damn difficult, but eventually, she finally managed to swing the metal door open, proceeding to put her gun away amongst her collection of stored weapons. 

Johnny hopped off of the workbench, stepping towards V as she organized her storage, resting his metal arm against the locker, using his height to his advantage as he towered over her and confronted her. “No, seriously V, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Fuck— Johnny, I dunno… A few days I guess?” V slammed the door of the locker using more force than necessary, Johnny already starting to get on her nerves, the last thing she needed was Johnny Fucking Silverhand following her around like a worried mother hen. V pouted and huffed, blowing away a stubborn strand of hair that had fallen across her face, then turning to meet his gaze, hidden behind wine-colored lenses, and asked, “Why do you care anyway?”

“You’ve been on edge all day, I can feel it. You’re like a string that’s been strung too strongly. I feel like you’re ready to snap at any fuckn’ moment, V.” 

She could feel his stare on her body and the tension in the room was beginning to suffocate her. He was poking at a sensitive topic for her, and he knew it. 

V stuttered, trying to find the right words to say as she couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore, instead choosing to halfheartedly push him aside and walk away, “Johnny… I’m fine. Really. I just— I just need a shower and a nap, that’s all.”

As V stepped out of the room, the weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier with each step. 

She wanted to crumble, she wanted to cry. 

She just wanted to wrap up herself in a bundle of blankets and cry into an order of takeout. One of those ugly cries that made snot dribble from your nose and your cheeks flushed and red.

She wanted— no, V needed to let everything out.

But… she couldn’t. She didn’t have the time for it, she needed to get back to work soon. Here were people that needed her help and there were eddies to be made. She would let herself rest when she’d gotten that damned biochip out of her head.

It was at that moment when V’s phone began to ring, the sound interrupting her thoughts and causing her to pause in her step.

Almost as if on reflex, she quickly reached into her pocket and withdrew the device, not even bothering to check the caller ID before answering, “V speaking, what do you want?”

“V, it’s Regina. I’ve got another report of a cyberpsycho attack…”

V stopped listening to the voice on her phone, too distracted by the crushing pressure on her chest and the fact that she had begun to tremble and shake like a leaf.

All she had wanted was a hot shower and a night in, was that too much to ask?

After weeks of dodging blades and bullets, running meaningless errands and tasks for just a few eddies in return, spending sleepless nights that left dark circles under her eyes, and going days on end without even seeing her fucking apartment, all she wanted was a night in.

Was that too much to fucking ask?

She could faintly register Johnny’s voice coming from behind her, an uncharacteristically concerned tone in his voice as he asked, “...V? What’s wrong?”

The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second, her breaths becoming strained and labored as the increasing fear and dread overwhelmed her body. She gripped her phone tightly in her hand, glaring at the device with tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“V? Are you listening? I said that there’s another report of a cyberpsycho near your current position, are you still—“

With a press of a button, she hung up the phone.

Johnny watched V, her form trembling and shoulders tensed.

In all of their weeks stuck together, he’d never seen his little merc look so small. A real juxtaposition when compared to her usual self; a real fucking hardass, she was the only other person Johnny had ever met that was just as bullheaded and stubborn as himself. 

As much as he teased her about it, Johnny knew one thing for certain. V was strong, V was determined. A damned force of nature and he pitied the bastards that stood in her way.

But despite the cybernetics in her body and the chip in her mind… V was human. V had her limits.

The facade she’d built up for herself couldn’t last forever, and Johnny knew it. He’d sensed the cracks in her resolve grow larger and larger with each sleepless night and after every exhausting gig.

But for a brief second, a thought crossed Johnny’s mind; 

V was fractured… V was broken… V was weak.

And with that thought, V finally snapped.

“I AM NOT FUCKING WEAK!”

V cried out, lobbing her phone at him. It phased right through him, instead hitting against the wall, shattering the screen, and sending the device flying into some unknown corner of the room. 

She froze, her eyes widening in shock, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. The realization slowly setting in after the result of her outburst.

V’s vision blurred as tears welled in the corners of her eyes, she slowly fell to the cold floor, cradling her knees up to her chest and muffling her sobs in her arms.

Johnny watched as she sat in the middle of the room and sobbed. 

She didn’t let herself cry when Jackie had died, she didn’t let herself cry when Vic told her that she was practically dying. V didn’t cry as she carried Evalyn’s bloodied body, and V didn’t cry late at night when she was alone, and her chest felt tight and her throat choked up.

He knew it was coming, he could feel V’s emotions as they bubbled up and reached their boiling point. 

But what truly surprised him, was just how much it hurt him to see his little merc cry.

“Shit— V…” he nervously swallowed his throat, but try as he might, for once in his goddamn existence, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Johnny didn’t like the way he felt. 

Johnny didn’t like the way she made him feel at that moment.

He didn’t like the way his chest tightened at the sound of each of her sobs. The way he felt so restless as he could only watch her curl onto herself for comfort. He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth across the room, unsure if it was her anxiety or his that was setting him off. 

Johnny could almost feel V’s heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline flooding her veins, adrenaline meant to stimulate a fight or flight reaction. But when the pain and panic swelled from within her own chest, there was nowhere V could run, nobody she could physically fight.

All she could do was sob into her knees, desperately trying to hide her sobs and cries from him, but her own cries easily overpowered her. 

And because of him, she didn’t even feel like she had the ability to freely have a goddamn mental breakdown in her own apartment, even as she choked and sobbed, she tried to grasp onto the shattered remains of her facade. Was it for her sake, or for his?

At that point… neither of them knew.

V couldn’t stop her body from trembling. She tightly gripped onto herself until her knuckles turned white. But V didn’t notice. It didn’t even register in her mind.

She didn’t register the hot tears as they streamed down her face, the shuddering cries that caused her lip to quiver with each breath. She couldn’t recognize that no matter how hard she tried, her frantic breaths caused her lungs to feel as if they were on fire, incapable of delivering oxygen to her body.

V’s mind didn’t even register the fact that Johnny had stopped pacing back and forth.

Her mind cursed at her to get her shit together. V needed to wipe away those tears and she needed to get back on the streets. A moment of weakness could’ve gotten her killed in her past, and now was no different. 

But… the thought of standing up and leaving her apartment caused another fresh wave of sobs to rattle her body.

She was tired… she was so goddamn exhausted… 

“V…”

All she wanted was a night in. Was that too much to ask? After all of her hard work and effort, hadn’t she earned it?

“V, listen to me.”

Clearly, she hadn’t done enough if people were still calling, still demanding her presence. Clearly she—

V felt something warm touch her cheek.

Someone was there. 

Although her mind had stopped temporarily spiraling, she felt the wet salty tears dripping down her face, her vision was still blurry, and her cheeks were incredibly flushed. She must’ve looked… pathetic she thought. But regardless, she allowed herself to look up at the person who had reached out to her.

The cold of his metal rings juxtaposed the warmth of his hand, and as her eyes trailed up towards his arms, she caught sight of his familiar tattoos, but also an unfamiliar detail as she reached his face.

Instead of seeing her reflection in the lenses of his glasses, she was surprised to see his eyes staring into hers. Gone was any trace of malice or cruelty, instead his brown eyes reflected nothing but concern… an emotion she’d never expected to see from him.

Johnny. 

As her tearful eyes met his, he could’ve almost sworn that he felt his engram heart stop beating for a second. The tears rolling down her cheeks, the way her lip trembled with each breath. He didn’t know why the sight of V feeling so upset affected him so, he blamed her emotions, her hormones, whatever came into his mind. He hated the way she made him feel, he hated that she had this much power over him. 

But most of all, he hated the fact that he felt so powerless to stop it.

He would’ve gladly taken V cussing him out, he would’ve taken V nagging at him and complaining about the smell as he smoked in her apartment. He would’ve even happily taken V as she sang along to the car radio, something she’d originally done to get onto his nerves, but now it has become a sound he’s grown… to tolerate. Even sometimes… appreciate it. 

He wasn’t the type to comfort people like this, he was the type to leave as soon as emotions came into play, the countless amount of hearts that he’d broken in the past were evidence enough. Fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with his own goddamn emotions, blowing up Arasaka tower as revenge to deal with his grief, that’s what got him into this mess.

But as he wiped away a tear from her soft cheek with his calloused thumb… he wasn’t going to just sit there and let his little merc cry.

“V. You’ve done more than enough for this city than it deserves. You’re always running back and forth, trying to make this shithole a better place… all while trying to keep yourself alive.” He wanted to tell her that this damned city didn’t deserve her generosity, it didn’t deserve her hard work, fuck, this city didn’t deserve her.  

He didn’t deserve her.

And she didn’t deserve what he was doing to her.

“You keep spreading yourself too thin, you keep wanting to do shit for others, you keep wanting to help. But then you add the cherry on top — the fact that there’s a chip in your head slowly killin’ ya… You’ve got enough on your plate. You’ve earned a few nights of rest.”

V sniffled and tried to wipe away tears, her voice wavering as she spoke, “I-If I don’t keep goin’ if I don’t keep looking for a solution— I’m gonna die. Johnny, I don’t want to die—“

“V, you’re gonna end up dead long before the chip has an opportunity to kill you if you keep pushing yourself like this… You need to get some rest.”

He was right. As much as she fucking hated it… he was right.

She felt his metal hand cup her other cheek, the cool metal refreshing against the flushed skin, wiping away tears as he continued to speak.

“You’ve proven yourself enough to this city. You’ve proven yourself enough to me. But running yourself to the bone is not worth it in order to prove it to yourself. And you’re not alone V… as much as they get on my fuckn’ nerves, you’ve got chooms lookin’ out for ya, even if one of them is a fuckn’ cop—“

Through tears, V chuckled and playfully chided him, “Johnny…”

There it was… that little chuckle of hers that he was looking for. He wouldn’t admit it to others, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but V’s laughter never failed to make him feel something funny in his chest… it wasn’t like the high of drugs or liquor, but it felt just as addictive. It wasn’t like the adrenaline rush of a firefight or the rush during a show, but it made him feel just as excited and lightheaded.

He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off of that feeling, and spoke, “Listen… all I’m saying… is that you’re not alone V. And although I don’t have much of a choice, whenever you need me…” he playfully smiled as his eyes met hers, “I’m always here for ya V.”

And that’s all it took.

In one moment to another, V wrapped her arms around his waist, knocking him on his ass from his previous kneeling position, and burying her head against his chest.

Despite sharing a head and body, somehow, someway, V always found a way to surprise him.

He groaned, the deep rumbles from his chest as he spoke making V settle in closer, anchoring herself to his presence.

“Fuck, V, a little warning next time would be nice.”

But even as he whined… he wasn’t complaining. Not when her sobs were beginning to fade, and she was instead chuckling at his expense in his arms. 

He ignored that funny feeling in his chest as his organic arm wraps itself against her body, his calloused hand rubbing circles against the small of her back, feeling her trembling begin to slow under his soft touch. Over time, her breathing began to even, and soon enough she was taking deep breaths as she recovered. 

Without even consciously doing so, Johnny’s metal hand found itself entwined with the strands of her hair, softly caressing as V’s eyes began to droop, and exhaustion began to overtake her body.

“V… it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I’m fine Johnny, I’m—“ a yawn interrupted her mid-sentence, “I’m not even tired.”

“And I’m not buying it.” He chuckled as his arm wrapped around her midsection.

“W-wait Johnny what are you— Johnny!” In an instant, V was thrown over his shoulder as he stood from the ground, and she gripped onto him in order to avoid falling to the floor.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking you to bed.” He chuckled as he felt her hand playfully slap against his shoulder.

“Fucking hell Johnny, a warning would be nice!” He could almost imagine her expression as he walked across the apartment, the way she would pout in exasperation.

“Just repaying the favor, that’s all.” He smirked as he reached her bed. Slowly setting her down from his shoulder onto the mattress below. 

“There. It’s time that you allowed yourself to get some rest, and not that weird shit you do where you sleep across the bed huddled in a little ball, but some actual sleep, under the covers and all.” 

“Fine, fine…” V slipped into a pair of nightclothes as Johnny had the decency to look away, and then slipped under the blankets, making herself comfortable. But before she drifted off to sleep, she called out, “Johnny?”

“... yeah?”

“I just— I just wanted to say thanks. Y’know, for tonight and all.”

“‘Course…” he stepped towards the bed once more as he spoke, “I mean, if I’m the one telling you that you need some rest, you probably fucked up somewhere along the way.”

“That’s true… judging from your memories, you’re terrible at following your own advice, Johnny.” She smiled at him, uncertain if the lack of sleep had made her delirious or if perhaps she was feeling particularly honest that night, but she spoke, “Y’know, if fucking up this badly was the catalyst for us to meet… I would do it all over again.”

He smiled sadly in return, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his cold metal hand brushing her cheek as he did so. An action to acknowledge the words between them were best left unspoken and unsaid— at least, for now.

“...Goodnight V.” He tore his gaze from her as he turned to walk away.

“Wait— Johnny!”

She grasped his metallic hand before he had the opportunity to pull away.

“... stay with me? Just for tonight?”

With her eyes looking up at him, her smaller hand clinging onto his, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to race—

How could he say no?

“Fine, but just for tonight. I can’t have you thinkin’ I’m goin’ soft or something.”

Johnny slipped under the covers, and without even needing to be asked, he wrapped his arms around V, and she rested her head against his chest in return.

“Get some rest, samurai… the city will still be there waiting for us when you awake.”

-

Thank ya kindly for reading! I'm always down for some constructive criticism and I love to read any lovely comments about my fics. Do let me know if there are any mistakes, I don't have a beta reader for Cyberpunk just yet, so a few mistakes may have gotten away from me!

And feel free to send in asks/requests! I'm so in love with Johnny and V and I can spend hours thinking and talking about them aaaaa

[strangeradventuresofp]

second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 5

masterlist

warnings: character death, fighting

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n: hi my lovelies! first of all im so sorry about how long this has taken me, ive been struggling with writers block since the last chapter so i apologise if this chapter is a bit crap but i actually really like it? im proud of myself lol a n y w a y it might be a little while before the chapters regarding the events of the two towers comes out as i need to plan etc etc but anyway i hope you guys enjoy this chapter! i love you guys so much, thanks for sticking with me<3

It had been days since you had set out from Lothlorien and no one’s spirits were above average. Frodo seemed wary; Sam worried for his master. Boromir did not speak much, even to you, which was very odd. Legolas kept to himself, more than usual. Gimli was particularly talkative, probably to fill the dreaded silence. Aragorn had nothing of importance to say. Merry and Pippin chatted back and forth quietly. And you, you did not know a single way to heighten their – and your – spirits, so you stayed silent instead.

You journeyed from Lothlorien on boats down the Great River, Anduin. Sam and Frodo rode with Aragorn, Merry and Pippin with Boromir and you with Legolas and Gimli. Honestly, you could not remember how long it had been since you had left, only that it seemed like a lifetime.

At one point, whilst sailing down the river, the sound of marching caught your attention, your head whipping to the left, finding nothing but trees and foliage. “What’s wrong, lassie?” Gimli asked, noticing that something that captured your focus.

“I thought I heard something beyond the trees.” You declared, shrugging when no one else heard anything. Suddenly though, Legolas faced the same trees, and the two you of shared an inquisitive look.

Eventually, the nine of you reached a place that you certainly recognised. You sat up in the boat, gently calling Aragorn’s name to the boat beside you, before pointing. His eyes lit up as they met the huge stone statues. He tapped Frodo on the shoulder gently.

“The Argonath. Long have I desired the look upon the Kings of old: my kin.” His lips turned up at the sides. You turned around to catch Boromir’s eye, a smile on your face, one which he returned incredulously.

It was not long after that that you reached your destination, a small rocky piece of land that led into a forest, not far north of a waterfall. Legolas docked the boat, hopping out and offering you a hand to help you out which you gladly took with a smile. The two of you turned to help out Gimli, but your eyes wondered as you began to heave the dwarf from your boat. Looking at Boromir, you could easily tell that something was wrong. Despite the sun shining and the elven cloaks, he shivered and closed his eyes, a regrettable look on his face. He hesitated to get out of the boat. You made your way over to him, offering him your hand just as Legolas had done for you a minute before. He looked up at you, flashing a very weak smile before he took your hand. Although he took your hand, he used his own weight to help himself out of the boat, landing in front of you. He seemed pale and gaunt, traits that were unusual to say about him. Casually looking around his frame to catch his eye, you could tell that his face was angled to gaze upon Frodo. A treacherous thought crossed your mind and your heart ached in your chest for a quick moment.

Not knowing how long you were going to be there; Aragorn built a fire with the help of Merry and Pippin. After an hour or so, you were reaching the camp again with Merry, placing down the wood that you had just collected. You scanned the area, your eyes widening in horror. Merry seemed to notice the very same thing that you did, the two of your turning to Aragorn.

“Where’s Frodo?” Merry asked. A wave of horror seemed to wash over the remainder of the members of the Fellowship, save one, for Boromir was not at the camp either.

“Oh, no.”

“What? Y/N, what is it?” Aragorn questioned, coming closer to you, urgent for information.

“Boromir was acting strange when we docked. He was pale. He—He wouldn’t take his eyes from Frodo. I didn’t think anything of it; I thought maybe the boat had made him ill. Forgive me, I—I should have said something.” You sniffled, a few tears pooling in your eyes and Aragorn shook his head, squeezing your hand gently.

“No, you did not know. Everyone split up; we must find them. Save from Y/N, come with me.” Nodding quickly at Aragorn’s words, you plucked your knives from the ground and ran with him.

It was difficult to tell how long you had been running to find them, for the adrenaline had consumed your entire body. You could hear the thudding of your feet on the floor, but you could no longer feel them. The beating of your heart seemed to resonate in your ears and fill your senses, and your breath heaved in your chest.

You stopped for a moment, Aragorn following your lead. Faintly, you heard a thump and a grunt, as if someone had fell. You led Aragorn towards the sound, the two of you coming to a stone structure. You walked around it, his feet seeming to echo as the sole of his boot came into contact with a rock wedged into the ground.

“Frodo?” He called out. The hobbit lay on the floor frantically turned around, his eyes scanning the two of you.

“It has taken Boromir.” Frodo declared, the statement drawing a gasp from your throat, a tear or two streaming down your face.

“Where is the Ring?” Aragorn moved towards the terrified hobbit.

“Stay away!” He yelled, running away from him.

“Frodo.” Aragorn opened his arms in submission. “I swore to protect you.”

“Can you protect me from yourself?” Frodo opened his hand, the Ring sitting on his palm. “Would you destroy it?” Aragorn moved closer to him, kneeling in front of him. You stayed a few steps behind. He closed Frodo’s hand around the Ring, pushing it to his chest.

“I would have gone with you to the end.” You joined Aragorn, kneeling before Frodo, an apologetic look on your face. He looked between the two of you. “Into the very fires of Mordor.”

“I know.” He nodded gently, turning to you. “Look after the others, especially Sam. He will not understand.”

You nodded, a soft smile on your lips. “I promise.” You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. As you pulled back, you looked behind, your eyes widening as the sound of treading feet filled your ears. You looked at Aragorn.

“Go, Frodo.” He unsheathed his sword, and you your knives. Frodo pulled on the hilt of his sword, his eyes growing wider as it glowed blue. “Run, run!”

“Now, Frodo!” You urged, eyes hardening as you turned away from him, walking with Aragorn to meet the fast-approaching, large group of Orcs. He raised his sword. Your knuckles whitened as you firmed your grip on the hilts of your knives. The two of you shared a subtle smirk as they approached.

An Orc swung towards you, but you skilfully dodged before plunging one of your knives into its fleshy side. Another moved towards you before you sliced its throat, driving your free weapon into its chest before kicking it away from you. You saw another making its way towards Aragorn from behind, and so you reached forward to cut its throat and push it into the ground. A sword was swung over a head, but you caught it, countering it before sticking each of your weapons into each of its eyes.

The sound of colliding swords filled your senses as you and Aragorn continued to fight the mass number of Orcs. The leader, whose face was stained with the white hand of Saruman, was grunting in displeasure before he yelled with an angry, gruff voice.

“Find the halfling!” He repeated, almost seeming like a chant, and many of the Orcs fled in the same direction that Frodo had gone, and suddenly your heart filled anxiety. You had scarce noticed Aragorn’s disappearance until he appeared again, jumping from the top of the stone structure into a group of Orcs, shouting ‘Elendil’ as he made contact with him. You let out a small laugh whilst you continued to slay the Orcs coming forth. Aragorn still had not been given the chance to stand, countering attacks while he was lay flat on his back. When you tried to get close to him to allow him to get up, much to your surprise, Legolas and Gimli emerged through the stone.

“Aragorn, go!” Legolas shouted, stabbing an Orc in the face with an arrow before using it to shoot the one behind. Aragorn noticed that you were busy and ran. Gimli hacked at the forthcoming Orcs with his axe, swinging it brutally over his shoulders to slash off limbs and pieces of flesh. You continued to cut and stab expertly through the thick skin of your enemies, eventually making your way towards Aragorn.

A certain Orc took you by complete surprise, swinging with a closed fist which you merely dodged. Overwhelmed by the shock, the delay caused you to barely counter the Orcs attack, pushing the blade of your knife against the ragged blade of the sword. It let out a growl and you a yell, forcing it back with all of your strength. As you blinked, you felt a small rush of wind pass by your face. You looked back to the Orc, an arrow protruding out from its face as it fell lifelessly to the floor. You took a sharp breath, giving Legolas a thankful nod and smile as Aragorn pushed the final body to the floor.

Suddenly from the distance, a horn blew, very familiar. In that moment, your heart sank. A bubbling filled your stomach, an urge coursing through your veins. Aragorn looked at you, as did Gimli and Legolas.

“The Horn of Gondor.” Legolas confirmed and you swallowed thickly, sprinting to the sound with all of your might. Aragorn followed close behind, cutting down the Orcs that managed to pass you. The urge was so strong in overtaking your body, that any Orc you saw filled you with an unexplainable rage. They would be lucky to be killed by Aragorn instead. You slaughtered all that came close to you, your vision turning red when the horn sounded again. With a roar, you lunged and jabbed and thrusted your knives at as many Orcs as you could. Your breath heaved from your chest.

You looked back at the others. “Hurry!” It was impossible to miss the terrified urgency that wrapped itself around your words and suffocated them. Even you heard it. And it was true; you were terrified. Terrified that you would not get to him in time. Terrified that he had called for your help and you would not show. Terrified that after everything he had done for you, that you would not be able to save him. You ran.

You ran over a little hill and your heart stung, as if you had been stabbed right in it with a morgul-blade. There was Boromir on his knees, arrows wedged into his body with the Orc leader standing over him, drawing an arrow that pointing right into his face.

“NO!” You cried with an intense vigour. Tears pooled and poured down your face as you ran toward the Orc, tackling him into the dirt. As you both stood, you used both of your knives to counter his blade. Your eyes were dark though they were streaming with wetness. It rumbled menacingly in your face and you kicked it away from your body, cutting through many pieces of flesh before it threw its shield, winding you. As you caught your breath, it stepped towards you and you yelled, driving your knives deep into its shoulder and thigh. It kicked you to the ground with an annoyed grunt, swinging its sword over its head to crash into the ground beside you, for you rolled out of the way. You crawled through its legs, grabbing it from behind and slitting its throat deeply, slowly. It pushed you back to the floor, once again raising its sword. But as it did so, a blade stuck out through its neck and its head rolled off its shoulders into the dirt. Behind the body was Aragorn, who helped you up quickly. You had no time to thank him before you ran towards Boromir, falling to your knees by his side.

“They took the little ones.” Boromir struggled, his breath getting sharper in his throat.

“Hush, now. Do not move.” You sniffled, your lip quivering at the sight of his paled face and bleeding body.

“Frodo. Where is Frodo?”

“I let Frodo go.” Aragorn admitted, his own voice trembling as it exited his mouth.

“Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him.”

“No, that was not you.” Boromir cupped your face as you spoke. A series of sobs forced their way from your chest. You took his glove from his hand, placing it back against your cheek and placing your hand over the top of his.

“Forgive me. I did not see. I have failed you all.” You shook your head at his words, tears pouring from your eyes like a monsoon, so much so that you could not even speak.

“No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honour.” Aragorn moved to remove an arrow from his chest, but Boromir grabbed his hand.

“Leave it! It is over. The world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin.”

“No. No, I’m going to fix you. You’ll be okay, you’ll see. It will be like you said, the tower guard will—will take up the call.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again slightly. He gave you a knowing look and you shook your head, hugging his body, sobbing heavily into his shoulder.

“I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall. Nor our people fail.” Aragorn put his arm around you.

“Our people.” Boromir smiled.

“Our people.” You repeated, sniffling. Boromir stretched out his hand, and you gently placed his sword in it. He held it to his chest for a moment before pushing it to yours.

“I want you to have it, if you would take it. Something to remember me by.”

“How could I ever forget you?” You cupped his cheek, his eyes filling with tears when he looked at you.

“You—You make me so proud - the daughter I never had. Look after her” He turned his gaze to Aragorn. “I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My King.” He managed a small smile before he let out a breath. His final breath.

Your head shook in disbelief, your eyes filling persistently with tears, your heart aching profusely. Every time you blinked multiple new streams of salt water trickled themselves down your face. You could hear the pat of every tear falling onto the leather of his shirt, pierced by the arrows that were wedged deep into his chest. Aragorn held you as you wailed, your chest heaving up and down as sobs forced themselves from your throat and chest. His arms were strong but comforting. Tears fell from his own eyes as he held you, rocking gently with you in his arms whilst you cried into his shoulder.

Legolas watched from a little while away, his brows turned upwards in sorrow, his own heart hurting at the sight of you. When his eyes fell on Boromir, he swallowed dryly, hardly knowing what to do or say. He decided to stay silent, ears filled with the sounds of your tears and sniffles, paired with Aragorn’s low, reassuring mutters into your ear. Amongst your cries he could hear soft shushing and a sniffle that did not come from your frame.

You had no idea what to do. It was not easy to comprehend that your companion, the man who took up the role to raise you was now gone from the world. Your heart hardly hurt anymore, instead just throbbing with an incredible numbness, emptiness being the only thing to fill the void that you felt in your chest. Cold spread throughout your body as you looked upon his paled face, fiercely bubbling in your stomach in a way that made you feel as though you could spit fire, consumed by rage and sorrow – fighting to the death inside you. But you could not think about that right now. Not with Aragorn cupping your face, firm but gentle, moving you to look at him.

“Look at me. Look at me, Y/N.” You took his instruction. “He died with honour. That is what matters. He is at peace.” You merely managed to nod your head, since a stabbing sensation radiated through it when you moved. A hand on your shoulder. You looked up with a sniffle, to find Gimli kneeling beside the two of you on the ground, his own eyes teary from the scene. You placed one of your hands over his, and he cupped your joined hands in his other, squeezing gently before letting go and rubbing your shoulder. He did not have to say anything.

Aragorn helped you stand, stepping back to allow you to take a breath, before returning to the task at hand. You knew it was more important, and the others knew that you knew that, too. You turned, facing the three that you had been with since Rivendell, ridding your face of all tears with the back of your hand, sniffing.

“I do not want to leave him here; I would very much like to send him down the river if there is time.” You offered, not getting your hopes up as time was growing shorter. It would not be long before the Orcs found nothing on Merry and Pippin’s bodies and discarded of them, the only way they knew how.

“Of course, there is time, mellon nin.” Aragorn reassured.

“Anything you need, lassie.” A small smile grew on Gimli’s face and you returned it as best as you could. Aragorn noticed the conflicted look on Legolas’ face, and asked Gimli to help him move Boromir’s body back to the shore, where you had left the boats. Once the two had moved away from you and Legolas, you looked up at him, not missing the look that was present on his face either.

“Legolas, you need not say—” Your words were interrupted by strong arms scooping you up, pulling you gently against a warm chest. He engulfed you into a hug, your body fitting so perfectly against his own. All you could do was wrap your hands around his built torso, sighing as you pressed your cheek against his chest, matching your breathing with his heartbeat. The two of you stayed there for a while in each other’s arms, an intimate gesture between a pair of friends for comfort and reassurance.

~~~

It had not been long when you and Aragorn pushed the boat containing Boromir’s body down the river. His shield was above his head, his hands laying on his stomach, gripping his sword. In the end, you decided that you would not take it. You did not need anything to remember him by, only the memories that you had shared over the years. Also, the balance was never right for you, a fact that he also knew. There was no way that you would be able to keep a long sword simply as a memento. He knew it as well as you did. If anyone ever found him, you wanted them to know that he died with honour – Captain of the White Tower of Gondor. On his chest, latched to his clothing, was a brooch; a gift that he had given to you one day. You pressed a kiss to his forehead before you grabbed one side of the boat, hauling and pushing it down stream with the help of Aragorn. Your eyes wetted at the sight of the boat nearing the river, but with a side hug from Aragorn, a smile from Gimli and Legolas’ presence, you knew you were going to be okay.

Suddenly, Legolas grabbed a spare boat, rushing it toward the water. “Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the Eastern Shore.” He looked back, eyes flickering between you and Aragorn, and then Gimli. Aragorn sighed, before both of you looked over to the Eastern Shore, where you could barely make out the shape of two hobbits beyond the trees and moving further. The four of you shared a knowing look. “You mean not to follow them.”

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.” Aragorn said plainly. A look crossed Legolas’ face that you could not quite distinguish.

“Then it has all been in vain. The Fellowship has failed.”

“No, Gimli.” You denied, a small smile creeping across your face when Aragorn stood up beside you, reaching over to grasp the shoulders of the dwarf and the elf.

“Not if we hold true to each other.” Gimli placed his hand over the ranger’s arm, nodding slightly. You gave Legolas a smile, squeezing his hand gently. “We will not Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left.” He abruptly turned tail, beginning to walk away into the forest.

“Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let’s hunt some Orc.” As Aragorn continued to stride through the sparse foliage, you, Gimli and Legolas shared a look. A smirk grew on all of your faces, Gimli shouting in approval before running to Aragorn. Legolas took your hand in his with a smile, his bow in the other. You gripped at his hand in response. The two of you ran with each other, joining with the others before you begun to trek what would be a chase that would be counted a marvel among the three kindreds.

taglist: @falcor-thee-luck-dragon​ @entishramblings​ @beakami​ @biscuit-buddy​ @flowphi​ @moffatspawn​ @tdntu0​ 

send an ask if you want to be added to my taglist<3

[bjy-on-ao3]

Omg, i just read your dionysus fic, over indulgence, and holy shit, it was amazing! I really liked how you characterised him, and reader too, i just dont know what to say other than i absolutely loved it! I'd love to see more hades content! Maybe with Ares this time? He is always so smug, and somehow can be both very intimidating while staying super polite.... Im howwible with prompts, but maybe one where reader is a priestess of athena and somehow catches ares's attention?

I hope you don’t mind stuff rough.  I hope this satisfies your want for Ares, Anon!

In the game, Athena and Ares don’t seem to really like each other all that much, so I figured any priest/priestesses or disciples of her would have been warned about him. It also made sense for me that many of those people would double as great warriors/soldiers skilled at defense, but also in battle overall.If you’re looking for something warm and soft, please turn back. I really can’t see Ares in a gentle light, and this fic will contain blood/bloodplay, biting, bruising, and Ares getting a kick of out it all. Dubcon only because Reader agrees to the conditions of Ares being able to take what he wants if they lose. (As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Tags/Warnings Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Combat, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader Insert, Sadism, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex

Summary Reader - priestess and champion of Athena and fresh off becoming victor of a tournament held in honor of the gods - has an encounter with the most bloodthirsty god of them all: Impressed, Ares offers them a boon should they best him in combat - though if they lose, Ares may take what he sees fit.

Fic Friday

Shieldmaiden (F! Reader/Ares)

The day had been a long and arduous one, filled to bursting with adrenaline and quick-thinking. Oft enough, your days were composed of training or ceremonies, or helping those who sought aid from the temple to Athena you served. But dawn that morning had heralded the start of a tournament lasting till Helios drove the sun beneath the horizon once more. In a way, those who fell quickly were rewarded with a reprieve from the constant bouts, as even though the humiliation of defeat burdened them.

Even on the heels of victory, by the time the battles had concluded, you were tired and sore, marred with minor bruises and a few nicks and scrapes. It was nothing that a good night’s sleep and some poultices wouldn’t solve, though. ‘All worth the honor of winning such a tournament’ you told yourself. Unlike some combatants, you hadn’t killed an opponent, seeking to shed the least blood possible. Your efficiency had no room for excess. But no amount of hard-won praise and self-satisfaction could change that you were looking forward to curling up and resting until the sun rose on a new day.

Traipsing back to the temple in the glowing purple and red twilight, however, a voice caught your attention. “I must say, your performance today was quite impressive.”

To your credit, you didn’t jump or flinch away, becoming stock still and turning slowly toward the source of the voice. “Who’s there? Whom do I have privilege of impressing?” You asked cautiously, unable to strip all the irritation from your tone. You had patience remaining, though you were loath to chat with someone over your victory when you would much rather be in your bed.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure you somehow hadn’t noticed before - a man - stance regal and straight. Something about the posture gave off a sense of nonchalance as well. Clad in armor of ivory and gold, accented with long shards of black and the eerie glaring face of a beast on the chest plate, he radiated an aura of menace, accompanied by a bloodlust so tangible you could almost taste it on your tongue, hot and bitter. Eyes like smoldering coals plucked from a roaring hearth stared at you intently.. Combined with the simper spread over his lips, you couldn’t suppress the chill that raced up your spine.

Something in your gut twisted uncomfortably, and you resisted the urge to put a few more paces between the two of you. Even if it hadn’t been for the myriad weapons crossed over his back, or the impressive armor, the man would have seemed someone to be cautious around, someone you shouldn’t trust. Everything put together set you on high alert instantly, the instinct of fight or flight rising in your chest like a bird taking wing. Something primal shrieked at you that, for once, flight might be the preferred choice.

“You fight rather viciously for one under my dear sister’s wing,” the man mused, his tone light, but formal.

“I asked before - who are you?” you pressed again, not interested in mincing words. You didn’t like how easily he spoke to you or offhandedly disparaged your goddess.

“Oh, no hesitation to be found. Perhaps Athena neglected to impart all of her wisdom to you after all.” you bristled at the insult, taking a deep breath and trying to relieve some of the tension coursing through you. “I am Ares, and I desired to see the prowess of my sister’s little owl before my own eyes.”

‘Little owl?’ the nickname distracted you at first, thinking to the tiny owls often depicted accompanying your Lady, but you shook your head and dismissed the thought. You hadn’t the time to concern yourself with foolish nicknames. “Lord Ares? Well, I have no desire to see you, my Lord,” you said. With the revelation of his identity, you felt even more uneasy. Ares, god of war and death, who was said to bask in the bloodshed and chaos of man. Athena had been certain her followers knew well of her violent half-brother. “I may not have all of my Lady’s knowledge, but I am wise enough to keep my distance from you and the needless death that follows in your wake.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, wary of each word and wondering if he might take offense from your rejection. From the tales told, the Olympians never took well to being ignored or spurned, but to indulge in the company of a god like Ares was no more appealing a choice. The look on Ares’ face remained pleasant, the corners of his lips set in a smug smile, and he let out a quick puff of laughter that would have been pleasant, had it not come from him.

“What a pity. Although I do not believe that choice is yours to make, little owl,” he began, closing some distance between you. You followed his movements intently, concerned he might draw one of the swords from his back and set upon you with every step closer. “Surely you do not think yourself beyond the bidding of one god solely because you serve another?”

Your hands clenched and unclenched nervously at your sides as you considered his words. Ares was right, of course. Being a priestess of Athena did not grant you any protection from other gods - not unless she interfered directly. And that kind of divine intervention was a rarity. You avoided his question and changed the subject, though you doubted he would be redirected so easily. The God of War was no fool.

“What do you really want? I’ve little time for games, my Lord.”

“I wish to see your technique for myself. Show me how that passion and diligence fares against a foe more than mortal,” he elaborated.

The blood in your veins ran cold upon his admission and your heart thudded so hard you wondered if it was audible from where he stood. Battling a god was firmly on the side of things you wished never to do. “If you think I’m dull enough that I would willingly engage the God of War, then you insult me, my Lord,” you said stiffly, trying to suppress your trepidation from worming into your voice and failing.

“What is it I hear beneath your bold tone? I trust one of my dear sister’s bold little priestesses, one of her champions, even, is not afraid of all things?” Ares taunted smoothly. From the way his self-assured smile twitched upward, barely, you knew he was enjoying your reaction.

“Fear and caution are not the same thing,” you denied fiercely.

“True enough, but it is not caution what gives you pause. If it puts you at ease, little owl, I will not take your life.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you scrutinized him intensely, finding no sign of whether he was lying or being genuine. All you found in those bloody eyes and stony face was cold calculation and an insatiable lust for violence. “Why should I believe you?” you asked, face twisting suspiciously.

“Because, beloved by my sister or not, if I so desired to kill you, I would have done so the instant you denied my invitation and spoke to me so disrespectfully.” He talked of ending you so casually it made you shudder, and you cursed yourself for it immediately.

It seemed you had little choice but to indulge Ares in whatever game he had in mind. “And if I agree - what is the benefit to me?” Ares had promised he wouldn’t kill you, but you saw no other purpose to fight him. You still weren’t sure he wouldn’t just kill you, despite his promise.

“Is serving one of the gods not benefit enough for you? What a greedy little owl my sister has found.” Again, Ares taunted you. You wondered if he was trying to make you angry enough to divest your caution and sabotage your battle prowess.

“That’s not an answer,” you spat back. God or not, you were tiring of whatever he was doing.

Fortunately, Ares cut to the chase. “Very well, best me and you shall have whatever boon of me you wish.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then, I shall take from you what I decide most fitting.:

“But not my life,” you added, still skeptical.

“You have my word,” Ares insisted. “Besides, would it not be such a waste to douse a promising ember when it could kindled and made to burn all around it?” he added in afterthought and once again the implications of his words unsettled you. “Now, I trust we are done with these tedious negotiations, hm?” he prompted.

Steeling yourself and willing away the stiffness and fear bubbling in your chest, you nodded. Ares had decided what the outcome of the discussion would be before he first spoke. There was nothing more to be said - at least not with words. Eyes trained on the intimidating figure of the God of War, you retrieved the shield and blade slung over your shoulders. You brandished them both, falling into the stance you were trained to use.

Across from you - hardly half a dozen feet off - Ares drew a weapon of his own. The sight of the curved blade incited your fear once more. The black blade was a ghastly thing, wickedly sharp and emanating a thick, billowing red haze the color of viscera. It was unmistakably a weapon befitting a god, and it made something deep inside you want to turn tail and run. But you knew running would be fruitless - all it would earn you was a head-sized loss of weight between your shoulders.

 At once, the both of you moved slowly, following a wide circle, two shadowy beasts in the fading dusk searching for weaknesses and flaws. All of your training and wisdom told you to wait, let Ares come to you and make the first move. But you weren’t sure your reactive way of fighting would hold up against someone of his calibre. As Ares had implied, he was no mortal, and you could only imagine the horrible strength and skill behind his blade.

Ares shattered the heavy stillness abruptly, darting forward and making a low arcing swing up toward you. There was no hesitation behind the blow and you had the feeling if you hadn’t stopped it with your blade, his falcata would have carved a clean line into your torso. Ares may have promised not to kill you, but he wasn’t above grievously injuring you. He gave you little time to think on his intentions, however, another strike quickly following when you knocked his sword aside.

You caught that swing as well, on your shield this time, and your arm stung from the force that rang through it. Blow after blow rained down on you, forcing you on the defensive almost constantly, and even then, many near misses made you tense and wide-eyed. Eventually, you found some rhythm to his assault, and Ares even paused, granting you a scant few seconds to breathe and think. Still, you needed to analyze what you learned quickly - your enduring method of fighting wouldn’t suit well against his relentless onslaught. You had fought aggressive attackers in the past, but their strength and ferocity paled compared to Ares.

Eyes flashing to and fro, following the tuck and arc of his weapon, at the same time searching for openings, you readied to strike. You would need to be swift, perfect in your timing, and hold back nothing if you wanted any hope of breaching his flurry of blows. You took your chance when his fuming blade glanced off your shield at just the right angle to slide away, instead of adding more to the numbness in your shield arm. Dipping down, you swept your own blade under his arm and up. The metal scraped past one of his pauldrons and up, and your eyes shot wider when the tip of the blade reached out towards Ares’ face.

A swift kick pushed you back, leaving you winded, and you looked back up quickly. Ares was standing in place, a small distance away, but close enough to observe small details. His blade upheld in one hand, smoking menacingly, he lifted his free hand to his cheek, brushing away the slick of blood oozing from a diagonal cut across his cheek.Your heart fell at the sight of how little damage you had done. After all that time, you had given him what was barely more than what a mortal mine might suffer from a shaving accident. It was an ill omen when you were so used to your blade striking true and dispatching opponents in only a few strokes.

“Oh, what a splendid surprise.” Your blood may as well have turned to ice. Not at Ares’ words, but his tone.

Beneath the refined and formal speech, something almost excited could be heard. You had the sudden dreadful feeling that indulging the God of War’s little game had been a terrible mistake - even if  there was no other choice. Excitement was a chilling thing to hear from a being who adored violence and death. You had expected anger, perhaps, or bitterness that a mortal had drawn blood against him. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock he liked to bleed as much as he liked to bleed others.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, little owl. Such skill seems wasted protecting others, do you not think so?” Ares asked, the hint of excitement vanished.

An indignation bubbled up beneath your dread, understanding Ares had meant your talents better suited to bloody slaughter and resenting that notion. You bristled, snapping back at him. “If I agreed, I would have served from the start, wouldn’t I?”

Ares ignored your response, as if he hadn’t heard. “I have seen more than enough, little owl. Our duel shall come to an end now,” he declared confidently. Again resentment and terror warred with one another within you.

When Ares bolted forward again, you barely thrust out your sword in time and turned his strike aside. The eerie cloud emanating from the blade seemed to have increased, tendrils of it whipping about, framing Ares ominously and obscuring your vision here and there.  He didn’t stop at a single blow, striking out again and again as before, but with much more strength behind the attacks. The thought that your weapon and shield or arms might shatter from the force if things kept up flitted through your mind, distracting you for the barest moment.

Ares’ blade flashed forward, and your shield was thrust away, spinning through the air before crashing down and clattering to the ground. In a lightning quick motion, before you could bring your blade in to force his falcata away, the edge was leveled to your throat. You fell deathly still, the icy blade faintly touching your skin. One false move or a twitch of Ares’ wrist and all would be done.

The war god moved closer, grabbing your sword hand cruelly and twisting your blade from your fist. The hand that had disarmed you snapped to your head, grabbing a fistful of hair at the root and making you hiss. He drew your head back and the painful pinch of his blade scarcely cutting your skin made your pulse quicken. A warm trickle crept down your skin. Held between Ares’ hand and his blade, you dared not even breathe too deeply, so close were you to both.

Burning crimson watched you keenly, blazing with triumph and thet still unquenchable lust for blood. The blood you seeping from the shallow cut on your throat encouraged that bloodlust to greater heights rather than sate it. The thought made the space between you and the god feel heavy, airless.

“You fought magnificently, little owl. A far greater challenge even than I had foreseen,” Ares praised, not bothering to draw his weapon back. The tension hanging in the air, in fact, seemed thoroughly amusing to him, alluring even. You gathered all the resolve you possessed, fighting to glare defiantly at him. There was no room to show weakness. “How lovely that look suits you. Fearful, yet masked in defiance, even in the very face of death,” he drawled. You wondered if the god enjoyed his own voice as much as he enjoyed bloodshedl. “Do you believe me a liar?” Ares asked coolly after a moment of unsettling silence.

“I-” you opened your mouth intending to disagree, to ensure him you believed him - even if you didn’t trust him in the slightest -, but something stopped you. “Yes.” As the word escaped, you cursed yourself.

To your surprise, Ares’ proud smile grew. “Such an unwise thing to say,” he mused, “Are you trying to provoke me, now, little owl?” he asked nonchalantly, applying the scantest amount more pressure to his haze billowing blade. You winced, but quickly corrected your expression until your focus was on Ares once more. “No matter, our duel is over. Now comes time to take what I deem ample compensation for my victory.” At last, Ares drew back and took his falcata with him, and you could breathe again.

The start of a cold sweat broke out on your skin, and you felt clammy, except for the hot, sticky trickle drying on your neck. You swallowed thickly, willing your tongue to obey you, and spoke again after a moment of recovery. “So, what do you want? Out with it.” you pressed, perhaps too demandingly for one whom had been in your previous position. Yet with the blade no longer threatening to carve your throat open, you couldn’t help the annoyance and unease that crept into you.

“Tread carefully, little owl. I spared you before,” Ares reminded you casually, though the sharp warning edge suffused his words. He would take your insolence only so far. “Continue to disrespect me and I shall take your words as invitation to grant you a most painful end.” He paused, slipping his dark blade back where it belonged, before turning to you. “As the spoils of my victory, this ought to suffice.”

In an instant, so quick you had no time to wonder what had come over him, Ares was upon you again. His hand, having previously disengaged when he took his weapon away, returned, entangling itself in your hair again and forcing you to remain still. Before you knew it, Ares stepped uncomfortably close, bowing his head and slashing his lips across yours in a kiss that was neither delicate nor considerate. It was a kiss fueled by strength, full of teeth and heat that left you in a stupor.

Ares didn’t bother with the tedious task of coaxing your lips open with his tongue, choosing to bite down viciously, and blood oozed out to meet him. It slicked his teeth and tongue and your mouth fell open in a gasp of pain, and Ares thrust his tongue into your mouth.  It swept along your teeth for a moment, before wrapping around your own and fighting it into submission. A heady metallic taste washed over you as you futilely tried to win the war of flesh. Blood. Your blood. Mixed with the coppery flavor was something more subtle, spicy and earthy at once.

When Ares relented and pulled away, you strove for breath, the taste of him and your blood lingering in your mouth. But he had only begun, giving you little time to recover. You had long enough to question why you had kissed him back - or had you been trying to fight him off? - before he jerked your head back and inclined his faced further. His lips, hot and the barest bit sticky, met the curve of your throat. He swept down your skin, leaving angry bite marks and blotches in his wake, until he was nestled against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, unprotected by armor and bared by your tunic.

He bit down again. Harder than before, and his teeth sank into you, another rush of blood welling up.You couldn’t control the pained cry that burst from your lips. You were used to injuries from training or battle, yet hardly in such sensitive places, and almost never from someone’s teeth. It burned when Ares lapped greedily at the wound and you hissed. His free hand had curled behind you at some time you hadn’t noticed, pressing you forward, the unyielding planes of his chest plate and pauldrons digging into you uncomfortable.

A new sensation was blossoming beneath the pain, one that should have been utterly foreign and unthinkable, given the brutality Ares was treating you with. Maybe it was the burning, hungry expression in Ares' eyes as he looked up from your skin, lips tinged red. Or maybe it was the crushing embrace he held you trapped in. Or maybe the way he held you utterly compliant and vulnerable in his grasp. Or maybe it was all of those things combined that made heat fill you from your core and pool between your legs. A dangerous, confused lust was rising - one it would have been wiser to reject.

“Such splendid sounds, little owl,” Ares said, his voice lower, a wild delight tinging it. “I desire to hear more. Do not disappoint me.”

With a rough push, your feet left the ground, and you tumbled backward away from Ares’ grip, too startled and dazed from the confounding feeling brewing in your belly and the painful throbbing in your lip and shoulder to catch yourself in time. You grimaced when you met the ground, making to prop yourself up. But Ares followed you, shoving you down completely and pinning you there. Again, his armor prodded uncomfortably at you. Past the pleated leather folds attached to the armor torso, something still distinctly hard, but much warmer prodded at you as well.

When large hands groped at your tunic -  somehow both callous and perfect - some degree of sense insisted you stop him. But others argued with it. They insisted there was no point, this was the spoils Ares chose to claim. You wouldn’t be able to stop him if you tried. One devilish voice even craved more. Your internal debate crashed to a halt when Ares jerked your tunic down, the faint sound of fabric ripping lost to you. His lips fell upon your skin again where the fabric fell away, biting and sucking like he was trying to devour you. Many of them stung, not all as harsh as the bite to your shoulder, but several more drawing blood or leaving the areas soon to bruise, painting your skin in garish colors.

More pained sounds left your lips, gasps and whimpers and groans, though mixing more steadily into them were noises that belied some twisted pleasure. A hiss that became a moan. A gasp that turned into something breathy and thick. Something was stirring more and more hotly within you, transforming pain into a muted pleasure and adding fuel to the embers smoldering between your legs and in your belly.

Ares’ hands were as greedy as his lips, groping and kneading unmarred skin, roughly grabbing at your chest, pinching your nipples and making you cry out pitifully. Before long, he had covered your torso, shoulders, and neck in darkening bruises and blood, teeth marks and scrapes. Pulling away until he was looming over you like an ominous shadow, you could still make out the satisfied look languidly spread across his lips. His eyes seemed even more fiery, near crazed, as if he were high on your blood and pain.

“Such a careful, focused beast in the heat of battle. Now look at you, little owl, stained and trembling,” he purred, and his tongue trailed over his lips, cleaning the crimson staining them. “How beautiful a sight. The color suits you well.” He grabbed at your tunic some more, gathering the bottom around your waist, meeting the neckline he had pushed down. “As fragile and easy to see through as glass. Ought I shatter you like it, then?” Ares asked, greedily taking in the even larger expanse of flesh revealed to him. You wondered if he meant to litter the rest of you in similar marks.

Your lips parted, and you didn’t speak for a second, waiting for the mental gears to  turn. Your only choice was the illusion of it, so you may as well as pretend your answer meant something. “Break me as you please, Lord Ares,” you told him, surprised to hear how your voice sounded. Strain and breathy, and the realization strengthened the heat and wetness at your center you couldn’t deny, likely plain to Ares’ eyes with your tunic no longer guarding it.

“How bold a choice of words, little owl.” Ares sounded pleased, possibly having expected you to retort defiantly, or have no words at all. Yet you had indulged his words instead. He trailed a thick finger gingerly over your throat, tracing over your racing pulse. “It would thrill me so to watch the life bleed from you.” You believed him completely. There was no denying in different circumstances Ares would revel in your death. “Alas, I shall have to make do sheathing a different blade within your supple flesh.”

A hint of excited impatience shone through as Ares sat back on his knees, leaving you to lie waiting in the dirt for what he would do next. With an iron grip, he grabbed your thighs, lifting them both off the ground and splaying them over his pauldrons, on either side of the crossed blades on his back. The cold touch of his armor on your overheated, abused skin made you shudder, and you watched as he lifted the lappets of the armor.  

Your eyes lingered on what had thrust against you from behind layers of leather before, and you swallowed nervously. Ares was endowed impressively and in the embrace of a gentle lover that might promise a minor discomfort, but pleasure overall. Ares had shown no intention to treat you gently though - the ache and throb from the aftermath of his attention reinforced that - and you were under no illusion he was going to change that.

The new hesitation must have shown in your expression, a dangerous thrill creeping onto Ares’ own face as he brought the head of his cock to your folds. You thanked the stars that his brutal attentions had somehow elicited a perverse hunger from you, soaking your core. Though you imagined he would have fucked you raw whether or not you were wet. In fact, he might have enjoyed it more that way. Fortunately, his dick slipped slickly between your lips, gathering some of your wetness and pushing against your slit.

Ares didn’t take his time entering you, nor savor the moment, bucking his hips forward and splitting your cunt wide. You arched your back stiffly and hissed, both at the awful burn from the way his cock stretched you and the surprising satisfaction from the overwhelming fullness. You drew deep breaths, trying to adjust to the thick intrusion, fighting the pathetic whines that threatened to spill out.

Ares didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, rutting harshly against you, calloused hands digging roughly into your thighs. He leaned forward, bending you nearly in half, far enough a tendril of his silvery white hair brushed against your stomach, making your skin jump. The stretch ached to be sure - it would have even if Ares had been more thoughtful - but caught up in whatever perverse mood electrified the moment, there was pleasure bleeding into the pain.

Pleasure from the way he filled you so completely, creating a delicious friction that made your gut heat and tense. Pleasure from the rough slant of his hips against yours and his balls slapping your ass. Pleasure from the renewed vigor and sting of his lips and teeth attacking your neglected skin once more. It was agonizing and mindnumbing and enjoyable in a way you couldn’t have had any hope of explaining, at least not in a right sense of mind.

Each hard rock of his hips and searing puff of breath against your skin wore away at what little pride you retained, if you could claim to have any scrap left, looking such a mess. You might regret the memory later, but in the heat of the moment, there was no time for regrets or second thoughts. There was only room to try and enjoy what Ares had claimed as his reward.

As your dignity shattered and disintegrated like dust, the heat of your body and between your thighs grew, until you cried out into the air, the pleasure finally rising high enough to meet the pain and break loose from your throat between whines and winces. One loud cry that twisted and broke from another especially vicious bite must have gotten to Ares, eliciting an answering sound that was deep and primal.

Continuing to pound into your cunt, Ares looked up from his savagery of your skin, eyes glittering with amsement and lust of multiple kinds. His hot breath rolled over your bruised chest and his silky words rumbled over you. “You ought to thank me for my mercy,” he growled, and amidst the pain and pleasure you laughed to yourself. Mercy for a war god amounted simply to not killing you it seemed, even if the alternative was marking your body viciously and claiming it for himself. “Go on, then, little owl,” he compelled you, puncutating his words with a harder buck of his hips that left made you shout.

You opened your mouth, at first only pants and huffs and whimpers broke away. You gathered the words on your tongue he demanded of you. “Th-thank...aah...thank you, Lord Ares!” you cried out, surprisingly yourself. “Thank you f-for sparing me.”

He seemed satisfied with you pitiful answer, shaky and broken as it was, though he remained close to your skin. His pace grew stronger, faster, and he drew his tongue over some of the more bloody marks he’d left behind, coating his tongue again in your essence. His eyes swept hotly over his handiwork, bordering on frenzied. “Is it not such a wondrous feeling, to break bleed so, little owl?”

The smooth, husky tone of his voice, though it spoke such sick words - words you would have rejected in another setting - drove your own fervor higher, the molten spring of tension in your abdomen coming to the edge of its breaking point. You responded without hesitation, mind bent only on the promised releasen. “Yes, yes, my Lord!”

No more words fell between the two of you then, only the primal symphony of moans, grunts, groans, and gasps, enough to be heard by any soul unfortunate enough to be passing nearby. You hadn’t thought Ares’ thrusts could become any crueler, but as he chased and neared his own release, they did, until each thrust stung, hurting almost more than they pleased. His hands still clenched around your thighs and you could only imagine the intensity of the bruises that would be left behind - perhaps even worse than the many peppering your neck and chest and torso.

Despite the pain, your cunt squeezed around him, fluttering erratically as you danced on that edge so, so close. Until at last, it burst. But not before Ares finished with a sound so dark and heavy and alluring it could be called inhuman. Your walls embraced him even tighter as his cum filled you to overflowing, hot and wet, and you screamed and cried into the darkness of evening that had taken over.

When all was still at last, youtruly began to feel the extent of the damage Ares had done. He didn’t remain atop you much longer, not seeming to need to catch his breath, and when he pulled out of you, you shuddered, feeling sore and empty. Already tired before Ares had sought you out, and even more so after your combat, you were completely and utterly exhausted. Lying there, each pound of your heart making the bites and bruises pound along with it, you wondered if passing out in the dirt was a viable option.

Ares didn’t concern himself with your thoughts, however, or whatever it was you intended to do now that he was finished with you - for now at least. He just looked down at you, tucking himself back beneath the lappets of his armor and looking no worse for the wear. “Farewell, little owl. Do take care. And consider what I have said,” he began. “Your talents ought be used for something far more satisfying.”

You didn’t answer, letting your eyelids slide closed for a minute. When you opened them again, you were alone and the air was still and silent. You begrudgingly sat up, preparing to tackle the ordeal of standing and making the rest of your way home and to your bed. You wondered how you were going to explain your state to your fellows the following day.

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2020 #8: Clamour

(A/N: Very nearly a bit late posting and submitting this entry - and actually it was right at 8pm my timezone that I did submit it, which is when the deadline is so idk if it counts :’D i tried, irl got me busy during the day, I wrote this in an hour. If it doesn’t count then oh well :’)

But i dicided to make this one about my other WoL Yuri, and her first time in Limsa. My standard for her as an au ra is that she tried to keep herself covered during ARR timeline, unused to Eorzea as she was, as well as knowing au ra weren’t common here. Plus she’s heard certain rumours about Ishgard >.>

So again, I wrote this in an hour and just made it to the deadline, maybe even didn’t make it in time, so I’m sorry if this is a bit quick and rough

Word count: 622

@ffxiv-writers)

The hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa was not unlike Kugane’s ports. People walked to and fro, chatting eagerly with friends while shoppers bargained with market vendors. So busy were the streets that no one seemed to pay the new passengers fresh off the boat any mind.

Yuri’s eyes darted around, pulling her face mask tighter over her horns and scales and brushing her bangs, making sure they covered her forehead well. She was already nervous enough being in a land where auri folk were uncommon, if not completely unheard of, yet at least for now, she had blended in. She just needed to attune to the local aetheryte, find the arcanist’s guild, then she could spend the rest of the day settling in and finding her way around town. Brushing past the boat’s disembarked passengers - some few roegadyn men, a gaggle of giggling hyuran girls and a pair of similar looking elezen children - she made her way through the markets.

Stall after stall filled with weapons and armour and robes, and shopkeepers of all different appearances. Large stocky roegadyns carrying crates on their shoulders, broad hyurans skulking between each stall, and tiny miqo’te milling by the market boards, their fluffy tails swinging to and fro. A rat-like creature crossed Yuri’s path at one point, making her jump.

Her steps quickened, passing from one market to the next, spying the aetheryte in the next plaza over. The familiar rush of aether flooded over her as she attuned, finally settling her somewhat, as though grounding her more in the local area. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

A word with the man dressed in yellow standing watch over the plaza redirected her back the way she’d come for the arcanists' guild, flustering the young woman. Did she miss some signage when she’d left the boat?

A ruckus had broken out near a food stand in the eastern-most stretch of markets. Two men, both hyuran though one was taller, with scars writ across both their faces and arms had started shouting at each other, pushing and pointing firmly, while one held a knife in his grip, albeit kept low at his side. The crowd kept their distance, people warily eyeing the pair.

“Lads there’s no need for this,” the vendor pleaded, trying to get between them, however a sudden lunge from the taller man sent the vendor stumbling into the other, who regained his footing and jumped, his fist bearing the knife now flying. Yuri rushed forward, bending down to see to the shopkeeper. A bruise on his temple, but he was fine. 

Anger burst through the auri woman, outweighing any fear or nerves, and she shot to her feet. “That is enough!” she shouted. The taller of the two had already been downed, holding a hand to his shoulder where blood gushed between his fingers. The smaller, rabid man spun on her, bloodied knife at the ready.

“What? You want to say somethin’?” he growled. Yuri stepped back, suddenly realising the situation, yet before she could decide to snap back or back down, he winced, and crumbled to the ground, a knife in his side. 

Behind him, as though having manifested out of nowhere, a miqo’te woman with red hair winked at Yuri and said, “Good try, love, but ye can leave ‘im to us.”

To Yuri’s surprise, the crowd almost seemed to relax, and a mumbling rippled through. “We can leave the thieves to handle this then.”

“The jackets’ll be on ‘em two shortly.”

Yuri put her head down, surprised at her own temper and how quickly she’d jumped into the fray, and she walked off quickly. Perhaps Limsa Lominsa was far more different from Kugane than she’d first thought.

[writer-rochelle]

Statesman: Ablaze  Ch.2: Off the Grid

(a/n: here is chapter 2 of the one thing im super frickin proud of. thank you @pomelloe-me​ for bullying me in our shared google doc to make sure i get things done. ily <3)

“Can you leave the window down? My car smells like fucking fried chicken, and while it may be your fave food it's not mine.” Alicia said, shutting her car engine off. Pom chuckled, obliging her friend’s request. Both women stretched, their joints popping, as they clambered out of the small car and started their walk up the small driveway. 

The Agents had opted to live as far away from the brewery as they could, wanting to make a safe and work free environment for them to escape to. It was a pale green  3 story victorian house with white accents, and a small front porch. Two white rocking chairs moved slightly in the wind, and a white porch swing on the far right end swayed with them. A black and white rip n dip doormat sat under a black double front door, the words "go away" floated next to a white cat flipping any visitors off. A purchase Pom had made while online shopping in the wee early hours of the night. One that Alicia and Dena had found rather hilarious and Carey had simply shaken her head. 

“I’m gonna murder your boyfriend, he’s as dumb as a fucking rock, I swear it!” Alicia exclaimed, walking towards the front door of the shared home, twisting her head this way and that in a vain attempt to pop her still stiff neck.  She could hear Pom curse at her under her breath. “What was that? Use your words miss ma’am” Alicia teased, knowing Tequila was a nuisance for Pom. He had been Alicia's friend first, and one-day on a whim she had invited them to a carnival accompanying the rodeo that was in town. Soon, the three of them were inseparable. Tequila however soon developed feelings for Pom, his endless pining no secret to anyone. The ex-rodeo clown meant well, and when he wasn't trying to convince the southern beauty to go two-stepping with him, the two got along very well. 

“I said he ain’t my fuckin’ boyfriend,” Pom responded, she was frustrated but smiled all the same. She reciprocated the crush but put her job as a Statesman agent first. She refused to let anyone or anything jeopardize her career. The brunette removed the brown cowboy hat sitting on her head, using it to fan herself in the heat, waiting for Alicia to unlock the front door. 

“Whatever you say!” Alicia sang, throwing the door open. Pom followed the woman into the entryway, shutting and locking the door behind her. The smell of delicious food wafted towards where the two girls stood, as they began dispensing the arsenal of personal weapons they had into their designated shelves in the entryway. Pom hung her hat on the hook on the wall next to the door. Alicia groaned, taking her box braids out of the ponytail she had forced them into, massaging her scalp. 

"I don't know how you can stand having those things pulled back like that!" Pom said, emptying her pistols before placing them back in their holsters. 

"Trust me, one I'm gonna shave my head, and I only kept them in because I spent so much on them for that one assignment. Why waste money? Carey Ann, is that your cooking I smell?" Alicia called, making her way further into the house. She paused a moment, kicking her shoes off in the mudroom off to the left. 

“Yup! I’m in the kitchen, y’all! Make sure you leave your shoes in that mudroom, I just swept!”’ Carey called out to them from the direction of the kitchen. 

Whatever she had been making since she had come home had made the house warm and cozy, the warmth of the oven lightly combating the aircon. Carey was the oldest of the four women living in that house. She had recently moved to New York, assisting Agent Whiskey in running the New York office. Occasionally, she would return to their humble abode in Kentucky. Most household responsibilities fell on her, their other roommate Dena had been away for almost a year on assignment in Europe seeking out an alleged brother agency. Usually, Pom and Alicia were left to their own devices, sticking to take-out orders, or the occasional soup and grilled cheese combo Alicia cooked up. It wasn't often Alicia or Pom cooked, let alone cleaned. It was nice to have their Agent Mom back in town.  

Pom hastily unzipped the sides of her boots, sliding them off to reveal her cute space patterned socks, ‘The best feeling ever is taking your shoes off after a fuckin’ long day of work.’ she thought to herself. Pom’s hair stuck up in odd angles, no secret the hat that had been resting on her head all day. She combed her fingers through it, the brown tresses fell to her shoulders in thick, uncontrollable waves. 

“It’s good to see you here, and not on a fucking screen, ma’am.” Alicia snooped through the pots on the stove, hungrily eyeing Carey’s homemade fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and mac & cheese warming idly on the stove. Alicia only two kinds of southern cooking, her Grandma Beaulah's, and Carey's (a close second).  

"Yeah, bitch. I thought you might have forgotten about us.” Pom called out from the living room, where she had placed herself comfortably down on the couch, flicking through something on her phone. She sighed, still no response from Whiskey. Had she upset him without realizing it? ‘Fuckin’ Whiskey, I wish he could’ve told me instead of ignoring me like a dumbass.’ she thought, shutting off her phone and tossing it to the other end of the couch.

“Well, if y’all acted 24 and 25 years old and not little children, you wouldn’t need me to come home to cook and clean for y’all. Dena hasn’t even been here and she still keeps her room clean!” Carey teased, swatting Alicia’s hands away from the food. Even if she had been present, Dena and Carey were definitely the neatest of the four. Carey had tried in vain to get the other two younger women to help, even going so far as to leave everything to pile up. It had taken a roach crawling across Alicia's face one night in her sleep to finally get them to step up. Now they kept a chore list on a dry erase board in the laundry room, and the katsaridaphobic agent no longer left dirty dishes in her room. 

“Girl, they’re clean. And for the record, Pom and I do take care of ourselves! For example, I did all the laundry in the house and Pom got rid of that possum that was living in the roof. Perfectly responsible.” Alicia said smugly, giggling as Pom chimed in quietly from her spot on the couch about the ‘Cunt ass possum that tried to eat her fucking face even though she had given him a slice of ham as a fucking peace offering headass’. 

“Pom, why don’t you come join us instead of mumbling with your colorful vocabulary from the couch; the food is ready.” Carey laughed, shaking her head at her roommate's antics. She grabbed the rolls out the oven, before removing her apron and oven mitts. She moved to pull a pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge, and then stood back proudly to admire her work. Dinner was served. 

“You sound like my fuckin’ mom,” Pom uttered as she hoisted herself up from the couch, making her way into the kitchen to wash her hands. 

“I may as well be. But enough bickering, I missed y'all two!” Carey said, carrying her plate of food to the table where Alicia already sat eating. 

“I’m not really hankerin’ for anything, but thanks, Carey. I love you…fuck head.” Pom told Carey with her unique version of affection, leaning against the island in the kitchen and removing her rusty-colored jacket from her body. Pom's jokes and colorful nicknames were her own brand of love, and while it was offputting the first time she called you something like "hoe bag", you learned to acknowledge the underlying "I love you".  

“Well at least stay and sit with us, I’ve got something to tell y’all,” Carey said, patting the chair next to her. She needed to tell somebody about how she and Jack had recently started seeing each other. She figured he had already told Tequila, and felt justified in telling the girls. Pom sat down in the chair with a grunt after placing her jacket on the table. 

“Oh do tell, this wouldn’t happen to do with a certain mustached cowboy would it?” Alicia batted her eyelids, and suggestively wiggled her eyebrows. Pom knew exactly what this conversation was going to lead to. She wasn’t a fucking idiot; she noticed every small exchange between Carey and Whiskey, it was just something she had an eye for. The two had known each other for over two years and had recently started to go out with each other seriously. It was a wonder they hadn't started fooling around sooner.

“W-well...about that” Carey giggled nervously, maybe she wouldn’t tell them after all. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Carey Ann! Are you fucking Ole Jack Daniels?!” Alicia exclaimed, pointing her fork accusingly at the shorter Agent. Pom couldn’t help herself from letting out a loud chuckle, moving her long legs to sit cross-legged on the chair. 

“Alright, fine. Whiskey and I may or may not have been seeing each other exclusively for the past year while I’ve been back and forth from New York.” Carey said, casually taking a sip from her glass of tea, the clinking ice cubes being the only sound for a brief moment. 

“I fuckin’ knew it!” Agent Rum pronounced with great amusement, looking over at Carey with a menacing smile. 

“YAS BITCH, OH MY GOD! Tell us everything, and I do mean everything!” Alicia said, standing up and playfully pulling Carey into a noogie. 

The girls laughed, Carey pushed Alicia back into her chair before smoothing out her blonde curly hair. Carey was glad that the girls hadn’t reacted negatively like she thought they would. She had missed this comradery with the girls while staying in New York; she leaned forward fully retelling everything that had been happening. It was nice to finally be home. 

* * * * * 

Pom Graham was awake earlier than the rest of her housemates, as usual. Most nights she would stay up until midnight listening to her favorite kinds of music and trying to gain motivation to do her beloved hobby of painting. But she never slept for long as her natural body clock woke her up just a few short hours after she fell asleep. Still, she was always filled with so much energy. 

Pom tip-toed out of her room and down the flight of stairs in hopes of not waking her friends. She was already dressed in her usual outfit that the others rarely saw her out of. The living space downstairs was decorated with rustic, but comfortable furniture and pots of greenery scattered around. Photographs and posters could be found on the walls. 

She threw herself on to the couch in front of the large, technologically advanced television. With a press of a button on the remote, the screen came to life with the morning news channel. ‘Boring.’ Pom thought, ‘Carey must have been watching it last.’

“The daughter of beloved Kentucky senator, Xavier Dobios, is still missing and it’s sending everybody into quite the state of distress…..” Said the monotone voice of the news reporter on the TV. Pom scoffed at his words. 

“Fuck off, ‘beloved my ass’” Pom returned in a sharp whisper, smiling with amusement. She clicked another button and the kid’s channel started to play. Pom never really liked to watch television, but when she did, she would always turn on the channel that entertained her most.

“Good morning, Pomegranate.” Came Carey’s sweet but groggy voice from the doorway leading into the kitchen. Carey was dressed in cute, pink pajamas and her hair was quite the mess. She let out a big yawn. 

“Mornin’, you’re up early,” Pom responded, turning her head to give Carey a nice smile. Carey walked back into the kitchen to start preparing coffee and breakfast for herself and her housemates. 

“What do you want for breakfast? And I know you don’t like coffee, so what do you want to drink?” Carey asked from the kitchen to Pom. She sat there thinking for a moment before answering. 

“Peanut butter toast. And some water. Bless your heart, Carey.” Pom returned gently. Carey was surprised to see how calm she was. She was used to seeing the hot-tempered, mischievous, and swearing version of Pom. But she appreciated seeing this side to her too because Carey knew that’s who she really is. Pom never failed to make her laugh and smile. 

Carey made food and coffee with the sound of Pom watching the kid’s channel playing in the background. Alicia probably wasn’t going to be awake for a few more hours but Carey poured her a cup of warm coffee just in case. 

“I don’t know how you have so much energy all the time, Pom,” Carey said as she sat on the couch next to Pom, handing her the plate of peanut butter toast and a glass of water. She sipped on her own cup of coffee just the way she liked it. 

“I’ve consumed so much fuckin’ sugar in my life that I’m constantly on a sugar high.” Pom joked to her friend, smiling. Carey laughed, the sound mixing the soft sounds of the old Victorian settling over them. It wasn’t often they got a morning to themselves, and they knew they’d have to head to work soon, but for now, HQ could wait.

“GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!” Alicia yelled, bounding in the kitchen shattering the quiet moment the girls had settled into with their breakfast. Carey and Pom sighed, watching as she effortlessly leaped onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her gray sweatpants slung low on her hips, her lilac sleep shirt wrinkled, and her braids still wrapped up in the bonnet on her head; she looked crazy.

“What in Sam Hill are you doing?!” Carey said, standing up and rushing to try and push the taller woman off. 

“I have some good news, bitches! Dena’s coming home sooner than we thought!” Alicia was elated, it had been almost two months since Agent Sangria had been in contact with Statesman, and more importantly her roommates. She had been advised to keep all communications, few and far in between. Should there be a brother agency, it would be in Statesman's best interest to not alert them of their presence in their territory; what if they were a rogue organization? The return of the lively Latina was definitely a cause for celebration. 

“Wait, how do you know?” Carey asked, realizing that Alicia wasn’t budging off her pedestal. She looked over at Pom who looked just as puzzled as she was, no one had any recent contact with Dena. Everything had been dark. Pom got off the couch to get closer to them.  

“Well, as y’all know, I spend most of my free time in the lab with Ginger. And I was able to create a concealable communication device!” Alicia said proudly, taking what looked like a normal bottle of concealer. But the girls knew better, Alicia was a crazy tech wiz and inventor. Her and Ginger both could put Tony Stark to shame.

“How does that shit even work… it’s fuckin’ makeup.” Pom questioned. She couldn’t remember the last time she had set foot in the lab, or the last time she wore makeup. Pom would rather be training and being troublesome with the male agents than behind a vanity or in a lab coat. 

“Listen, I know it looks a little out of sorts but I promise it works! And the cosmetic part of the contraption is fully functional.” Alicia opened the packaging and did a swatch of the makeup on her arm. A perfect match.

“Say we can’t take any phones or even our glasses with us? Who’s gonna suspect a woman with a compact mirror and bottle of concealer? The idea is we use the idea of the fragile female that men have created against them. But my feminist spiel aside, I talked to Dena and she should be here by the end of next week!” Alicia got down from the counter, slipping her “concealer” into the front pocket of her black backpack. 

Pom leaned against the counter as she smiled, "You’re a genius.” She said to Alicia softly.

“I’m no Ginger Ale, but I try! Also, I’ve been making a bat prototype for you in the lab! I meant to surprise you for your birthday but I can’t wait any longer.” Pom smiled at this. Alicia started to continue but paused. The Statesman designated ringtone grew louder from where it was playing on their tv. Well, duty calls.

The three agents made their way into the living room, Carey grabbing the remote from its spot on the ottoman. Once they had all settled themselves on the comfy couch, she pressed the answer button. 

“Good morning, Angels!” Champagne greeted; the great window behind his head visible on the tv screen. It wasn’t uncommon for Champ to contact them while they were at home; saving more discreet missions for the four of them to take care of. It saved time, resources, and quite frankly more lives than if they were to send Whiskey, Tequila, or any of the other male agents instead. Hence the moniker, “Angels”.

“Good morning, Champ!” Alicia crowed, shifting to sling her legs across Pom and Carey’s laps making herself comfortable. Pom hastily grabbed Alicia’s feet from her lap and started to tickle them with no remorse, and her loud and mischievous laughs filled the room. 

“Would y’all stop? Jesus Christ.” Carey said, pushing Alicia’s legs off the couch and inserting herself between her and Pom. “Sorry, Champ, continue please!” Carey said, turning her attention back to the man on the screen. Pom was holding back her laughter as best as she could. 

“Well, when y’all are done horsing around, I have something for y’all to take care of. As you know, the senator is hiding his daughter trying to make it seem like she’s been kidnapped. Tonight, he is hosting a gala to impress some of the big wigs in the country and gain more support. I need y’all to infiltrate the gala and expose this sun’ a bitch before he can carry this tomfoolery on any longer.” 

“Do I gotta dress all fancy and shit?” Pom asked, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She had makeup, she hated dresses, and if she didn't hate her unruly hair getting in her face, she'd hate doing it too. 

“I would prefer it if you did. The senator is very conservative, and has a strict dress code for this event.” Champagne said. Pom sighed angrily at this. 

“Awe, c’mon, Pomegranate. I thought you liked playing dress up.” the screen expanded to show that none other than Agent Whiskey sat next to Champagne at the grand mahogany meeting room table. 

“Whiskey!” Pom exclaimed with joy. A big grin was on her face now. She tucked her messy waves of hair behind her ears. Pom could feel her heart racing with pure happiness. Whiskey was the closest thing she had to a father, and she practically glowed in his attention. 

“Howdy darlin’, you ready to join your old man on the dance floor?” Whiskey tipped his hat, grinning at the young agent. 

The adopted father and daughter duo were the best partnership to come out of Statesman; Whiskey having taken Pom under his wing, saying that he saw himself in her. A troubled girl who needed a little guidance and TLC, and had unfathomable potential. Whiskey had promised Pom’s mother that he would ensure that the young woman would be taken care of while she was in the states. A promise that had been well kept. 

“While I’m all for sappy reunions, I need you, girls, to get gussied up and make your way to that gala ASAP! I’m sending Whiskey to pick y’all up at 0800, We got a party to crash.” Champagne said, ending the video call. 

Alicia stood and looked at her phone, an invitation addressed to a Penelope Vontrapp, and associates lit up her screen. “Well Miss Pom, or should I say Miss Penelope; it looks like you get to play the part of the daughter of some rich oil tycoon.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not wearing any fuckin’ makeup!!” Pom said while jumping off the couch to sprint up to her room before the others could stop her. 

“YOU’RE LUCKY THEY’RE MAKING A BIG DONATION IN YOUR HONOR! OTHERWISE, I’D BE FORCING YOU INTO A DRESS AND PUTTING SOME BLUSH ON THOSE CHEEKS!” Alicia shouted up the stairs, knowing that Pom was going to put on the same suede pantsuit she wore to all Statesman functions. It would be a cold day in hell before anyone forced her into a dress, and Alicia knew better than to even try and wrestle her into one.  

“Will you curl my hair, please? May as well get some joy out of tonight.” Carey remarked, making her way up the stairs. Alicia noticed the sad air around her friend, she stopped reaching out to grab her friend's arm. 

“What’s wrong? You were all chipper early, now you’re all….” Alicia made a fart noise with her mouth, hoping it would bring a small smile to her Carey’s face. 

“It’s nothing, I promise. Just forget it, okay?” Carey pulled her arm away, continuing up the stairs. But it wasn’t really anything. Was it right for her to feel a little envious that Whiskey hadn’t acknowledged her? Had Champ told him something? Or was she just overthinking? Either way, they had a mission to focus on, and this worrying and pining could wait. 

(a/n: thank you all for reading and standing by while i get in the swing of things. i now have a masterlist, and post with who and what yall can request will be coming soon. <3 roach)

[crvelsovls]

—

ophelia tate has been walking around town. hazelgrove is familiar of the thirty-one year old hunter. she is aware of the supernatural residents in town. the people of hazelgrove can agree that the librarian can be vehement yet still be reticent. let’s just hope things in town can settle down. + delicate fingers adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across peach-tinted lips and a slender form shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue. 

s’up buttercups ?? ‘tis me again, here with my second gal ; ophelia. she’s my clever lil huntress who’s loosely based on various past muses of mine. she’s a lot more... innocent that delphine but she’s still quite fiery and sarcastic dkjsdsh anyways, i’ll save you all from my pointless babbles but as usual, pls flick that lil grey heart n i’ll shimmy my irish butt into your ims for plots !! : )

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. ophelia penelope tate.

nicknames. o, phe, & effie.

current age. thirty-one.

birthday. january thirty-first.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

species. human.

nationality. british.

religion. raised a catholic but no longer practices.

birthplace. london, england.

current residence. hazelgrove, me.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

romantic orientation. demiromantic.

education. english literature degree.

occupation. librarian at hazelgrove public library.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. natalie tate. †

birth father. alexander tate. †

full blood siblings. astrid tate. †

maternal grandmother. katherine reynolds.

maternal grandfather. marcus reynolds. †

paternal grandmother. anika tate.

paternal grandfather. edward tate. †

maternal aunts. odette reynolds.

maternal uncles. none.

paternal aunts. sophia tate.

paternal uncles. duncan tate. †

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, french, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, & caustic.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, & poised.

strengths. etiquette, bold, rational, practical, original, perceptive, direct, & sociable.

weaknesses. dramatic, impulsive, quick-tempered, insensitive, impatient, risk-prone, unstructured, misses the bigger picture, & defiant.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, hand-to-hand combat, perception, persuasiveness, good judgment, & able to use initiative.

talents. retaining information, memory recall, knife throwing, & quick thinking.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. blue.

hair colour. blonde.

height. five feet, four inches.

weight. 52 kg.

build. she is of quite a petite stature, and slender with mild curves.

scars. a long, silvery one running along half her spine.

tattoos. n/a.

piercings. earlobes.

glasses. yes, but usually wears contacts.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. aquarius.

element. air.

house. ravenclaw.

myers briggs type. estp-t.

alignment. neutral good.

enneagram. type seven.

temperament. sanguine

intelligence type. interpersonal.

character label. the orphic.

past mental disorders. post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, & suicidal tendencies.

current mental disorders. undiagnosed.

addictions. nicotine.

vices. wrath, envy, & pride.

virtues. temperance, charity, & diligence.

allergies. penicillin.

diet. vegetarian.

dominant hand. left.

accent. mostly english with a mild twang of notable american.

blood type. b negative.

vehicle. bottle green 2015 volkswagen beetle.

BACKGROUND.

trigger(s). mention of exorcism, mentions of murder, & mentions of death. 

born and raised in london, the tate family seemed picture-perfect. though, underneath, the story was very different from how it seemed. while ophelia and her younger sister were showered with love and affection, their parents remained mostly absent albeit for fleeting moments in time. it wasn’t until ophelia grew older that she became more curious about what led her parents astray for weeks at a time. under the illusion that her parents were simply important figures, perhaps lawyers or detectives, a childish ophelia had never considered that their lives had been tainted by a much more corrupt presence. 

eventually, it transpired that her parents were hunters. more specifically, people who hunted down supernatural creatures and put an end to their existence. or, tried, at least. how ophelia stumbled across this fact was by pure chance. her grandfather had been visiting and she had walked into the basement where she witnessed her father and his father attempting to exorcise what she then described as a ‘man with black eyes.’ nowadays, she’d refer to said man and his kind as demonic bastards. 

of course, with their sights elsewhere, the demon managed to free himself only to murder her father and grandfather in the process. if it hadn’t been for her mother, ophelia would have ceased to exist that night also. it was that night that her mother shipped them off to live with their aunt for a while but eventually, after a week or so, her mother returned.

seemingly, everything had been fine until one night when their home was attacked by a pair of vampires. these vampires having been survivors of their mothers attack on their nest, thus they tailed her and laid low until the most opportune moment where they attacked. how ophelia managed to escape that night was anybody’s guess. though the rest of the household hadn’t been so lucky.

having lost her parents, sister and aunt to supernatural creatures, ophelia grew up with a deep rooted hatred for every creature of the night. it had taken her many years to learn of each creature, their weaknesses, strengths and, most importantly, how to kill them. but once she had mastered the art, she set out on a mission to hunt like her parents before her. admittedly, in the beginning, she’d had some near misses, brushing with death many times. but with more hunts under her belt, the better she became.

eventually, ophelia decided to leave london behind in search of the states where she was certain there would be ample supernatural beings endangering the lives of innocents. she moved around for a few years until she settled in hazelgrove where she soon learned that the town harboured an abundance of things that went bump in the night. it was this fact alone that she opted for staying put where she also works as a librarian; constantly researching and reading up on various creatures.

becoming a hunter hadn’t been something that had ever crossed her mind until she’d lost everything. in fact, it had been a path that she should have never stumbled across if it hadn’t been for her witnessing the demon that night. still, nevertheless, it was the road she’d travelled down now and with resentment deep in her bones, there would be no stopping her.

PERSONALITY.

to all who encounter her, ophelia can appear on the surface an extremely reckless and careless woman with a huge tendency to adopt a sardonic tongue during almost all occasions. given her demeanour and attitude, it would be fair to assess that all the blonde is, is a satirical mouthpiece with a permanent simper corroded into the corner of her lips. despite this all, the shell of ophelia does contain much more substance. regardless of her blasé attitude, a passionate, whimsical girl remains deep within the high walls of her persona. it’s almost safe to say that the facade she paints over herself every day is nothing more than a basic ruse; a temporary fixture to aid in slowly but permanently fixing the broken fractions of her mind. it goes without saying that ophelia is constantly shrouded in mystery, concealing her true emotions and feigning any feelings whatsoever. although a sensitive, vulnerable aspect of her persona remains, it seldom prevails against her impulsive, sarcastic, intelligent nature. the problem with being clever is already knowing the things others try so desperately to hide from you. ophelia knows how others view her, she sees how they look at her. everybody assumes she’s too difficult to reason with and believe she’s even tougher to understand. it is this that enables ophelia to flirt with danger, use her words as a weapon and also a bargaining chip. it is this that gives ophelia an overwhelming sense of adrenaline, swimming through her veins and fuelling the fire that lies within the pit of her stomach.

QUICK FACTS.

can drink any man under the table.

smol but fierce.

one of those people who just excels at everything they try their hand at.

has a very high pain tolerance. seriously, it’s kinda freaky.

the only thing she’s truly terrified of is spiders. those eight-legged cretins have her shaking like a leaf.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

was raised a catholic and went to an all-girls catholic school but she no longer practices.

doesn’t drink much as she doesn’t like to be out of control even in the slightest.

she quite likes being a hunter and she does the job very well. attention to detail is key when she’s working.

is a very reckless driver, it’s a surprise she hasn’t been in an accident yet.

looks innocent but really isn’t in every sense of the word.

she’s that bitch that loves reading and has a thing for poetry.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

a bit meddlesome and a troublemaker.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

WANTED PLOTS.

for wanted connections and potential plots, i’m open to just about anything so feel free to hmu for connections or any plots you can think of !! some i’d really love are :

best friend ( pls give my girl a bff she can tell everything to and can party with and just do best pal stuff with like platonic soul mates pls. )

childhood friend ( they maybe drifted apart ? )

an on off relationship ( pretty much like a fwb type situation or casual hookup situation that could develop into feelings or just remain casual. )

a potential love interest ( bonus points if it’s angsty. )

exes / past flings / one night stands.

enemies and rivals.

drinking / party buddies.

and obviously connections with fellow hunters and the supernatural oOoOoOo.

[onlywayleftisup]

your love will kill us both. 

this sentence randomly popped out in my head while i was studying (god.why), so i wrote two scenes for it because... well, this prompt resonates with these two: reuvern and sealgair, and raoul and fleur. 

these arent the full versions... just the speech text and some actions inbetween.. bc i am super insecure about posting full fics of my kids because i dont write well at all LOL but im putting this here in case i lose the original, then at least id remember how the scenario unfolded.. because i HAVE lost original files to my stories before with no backups and its disheartening. 

a) ferngair

(word word word word, description about how fern is having a foking hard time just tryna say stuff) 

‘‘sealgair-sama,’‘ (word word word word, reuvern looking at her and then looking away because wow reuvern you have zero confidence man)

she waits for him patiently. always.

‘‘your attraction towards me- dare.. dare i say, your.. love, towards me..’’ (word word word)  ‘‘will one day kill us both.’‘

her smile doesnt falter. ‘’then we are perfectly made for each other.’’

b) fleur, raoul

(word word word, two paragraphs about fleur thinking how hes finally got what he wanted: raoul safe + with him. also him lowkey worshipping raoul as his little brother, enunciating how raoul is the being who holds the other half of his heart)

yet he cannot remember the last time raoul smiled. he feels like he doesnt even remember what that smile looked like anymore.

(word word word word, fleur internally contemplating his decisions, and raoul losing his shit)

‘’you dont get to decide whats good for me anymore. from the beginning i followed you around like a good, obedient little brother, and look where it has gotten me. i have been stabbed in the back, cast away and thrown around like trash because goddess forbids,’’ (word), ‘’i will never amount to be anything remotely close to you.’‘

‘‘why cant you see that you have ruined me? why wont you understand? your devotion to me, this love of yours, will eventually kill me AND you.’‘

(word word word) ‘’but i guess you’d like that, because even in that scenario you’d still have me, and i’d still be stuck with you.’’ 

-----------

also i tend to imagine my character interactions in the form of comics... like they literally play out in my head like comic panels, so im really not very good at describing things or writing..... because i see them as speech bubbles and actions being drawn out. except i cant draw either. yikes. 

[hobbithabitthings-blog]

Falling Stars (4)

Pairing: Slight Lindir x reader and Fili x reader in here. Send me your requests! Word count: 2404 (lmao its so long im sorry)                                                Summary; You just wanted a normal day for once but turns out you just can’t and end falling into middle earth and accompanying Thorin’s epic quest         Warnings: Swearing, oblivious!modern!reader                                                   A/N: Hey guys I promise this chapter is actually good unlike the last one lmao. Also there’s a little lindir x reader in here so be warned haha.

----> (1) (2) (3)

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Everything hurt, and when you said everything you meant everything. Even your arms hurt and you were given the lightest pack!

You wished the ponies hadn't run away... Or you know, eaten.

It wasn't your fault you had stumbled upon the trolls when you went to pee, they just sort of popped outta nowhere carrying away the company's ponies. Your brain couldn't even process what you saw and to top it all off after Kíli, Fíli, and Bilbo found you hiding near a fallen log, the princes forced you an Bilbo to go check them out. Some friends they were!

The trolls were probably the most ugly things you had the pleasure of gazing upon and you certainly did not want to 'check them out' as Fíli put it. You weren't a warrior or Bilbo's size and so once the two of you stealthily padded over to where your captured ponies where, the one sharpening a knife, William, had spotted you.

Bilbo of course-that lucky bastard, escaped once Tom, the one with the cold, snatched you up by the ankle.

You really hated your life right then.

Though, just as the trolls decided to make you into a pie, your heroes, beards and all, came to your rescue. Yet, as brave as they were it didn't go as planned and poor Bilbo almost had his limbs ripped off. And so, you were all shoved into burlap sacks while some of the dwarves were strapped onto a spit. You were included in that bunch lucky enough to roast on the fire and strapped on under Bofur's stinky feet and above Dwalin's tattooed head. You made sure your feet dug into his back each time he complained about your own smelly feet or how the fire singed his skin.

But, as always, Gandalf came to the rescue just as the sun rose and cracked the giant stone. Just like in Narnia! Anyways....

Now you had no ponies, and that meant you could feel the full wrath of your Converse shoes plus thin socks. Helllooooo blisters!

At first you didn't think it was such a terrible idea to walk the rest of the way, like, Erebor couldn't be that far away right? Also, the weather wasn't terrible and although you hated walking, it was better than getting sore muscles from ridding a pony all day.

Boy, were you wrong.

The first bad thing to happen besides the trolls of course, was the strange other wizard with bird shit in his hair and screamed about evil and spiders and shit. The only good thing that came out of the chance encounter with Radagast the Brown was that Fíli and Kíli had the balls to actually apologize to you for forcing you to meet with the trolls. You gave them each a good punch to the stomach, not that it hurt them in anyway at all...Really, it hurt you instead to the point of your knuckles bruising.

Damn those dwarves! At least they gave you kisses upon your injured fist and a group hug that left you gasping for breath when they squeezed too hard.

At first you thought nothing about the howls that echoed around the forest but after a wolf, which most definitely was not a wolf, nearly killed poor Bofur, but your Hulk with tattoos whacked it over its head with his intimidating axe before it could do any harm.

And now you were running. That's right, running while the Company and you bolted across the land covered in yellow grass to God knows where.

It was no secret that you weren't the most athletic human being to ever live, but sometimes a girl gotta lift some weights every now and then. So in no way you were considered weak(at least for human standards) but running! You despised running.

Goddamnit, I knew I should of used the treadmill, you thought gloomily.

"(y/n)! Keep up!" Thorin barked, yanking you from your horrid thoughts of impeding doom.

"I could if I didn't have short fuckin' legs." You hissed under your breath while picking up your pace.

You legs burned but the thought of being consumed by an angry pack of oversized dogs and strange mutated goblin things kept you going. That is, until you were surrounded by the snarling beasts.

Oh, what have you gotten yourself into?

"(y/n)!" Thorin shouted, snatching your arm to pull you out of the way as one of the wargs charged.

His blade easily sliced through its pelt and you winced as the beast fell. You sure hoped you'd never be on the receiving end of his blade...

"Stay behind me," Thorin ordered, glancing behind his shoulder. "I intend to keep you alive."

"Great." You breathed, glancing behind you to see if there was another escape rout. There wasn't anything but rock behind you. Or so you thought.

"This way, you fools!" The sudden voice of Gandalf ordered, his pointy hat popping out from the rock.

You didn't hesitate in throwing yourself into the alcove of rock, desperate to escape the threat of a having your face ripped off. Try explaining that to your mother once you returned home.

The rest of the dwarves and Bilbo barreled in after you, some of them landing right on top of you. Namely Bombur.

For some reason the idea of getting squashed by a massive dwarf was better than being eaten in your mind. Maybe it was because Bombur gave you food. Yeah, that was it.

Anyhow, with a devious smirk from Gandalf and moody grumbles from the dwarves, you all piled into the narrow passageway that smelled like wet rock and moss. You tried you best not to trip over the stones that jutted out on the path, but it happened every so often anyways. Thankfully Fíli caught you each time.

"Careful, lass." He chuckled, blue eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't want ya to hurt yourself."

"I'm surprised I haven't yet." You laughed. "Knowing my luck I'll probably be sliced into pieces soon, or thrown off a cliff, or maybe eaten..."

You missed the flash of worry present on Fíli's face, too occupied with trying to maneuver safely out of the crevice, or as you deemed it, a secret passage. You for one wanted to get out of the small space as quickly as possible.

And as if someone answered your prayers, the passage opened up to probably the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You let out a gasp and wandered to the edge of the small cliff that led into the valley.

"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf spoke. "In the common tongue it is known by another name. Here lies the last Homely House East of the sea."  

It was gorgeous and magical all at once from what you saw, with it's ornate buildings built upon the various rivers and cascading falls. Already you could feel the spray of the waterfalls from up on the ledge, a bubble of excitement building inside you.

The rest of the dwarves seemed to be as mystified as you were but after a few angry words from Thorin in that harsh language of theirs, they were snapped out of the spell. You, not really giving two shits about what Thorin said, happily trotted along with Gandalf who led the line of dwarves down the pass and onto the beautifully carved bridges.

"Gandalf?" You said dreamily.

"Yes, dear one?"

"What is this place?"

"It is called Rivendell in the common tongue. The elves call it Imladris." The wizard answered with a smile.

"Elves?"

Your second question was left unanswered as you crossed a final bridge and into a courtyard. Trees with shimmering green and golden leaves swayed around the circular area, the rushing river hugging the left side of it. You spun around and breathed in the sharp mountain air as it rustled your hair, the scent of lilacs lingering as an after taste. If magic had a smell this would be it.

Just as you did another spin to memorize the scenery, a man with long brown hair with a silver diadem placed upon his brow, gracefully descended down the steps towards the Company. He wore a purple robe, but as he got closer you realized the cloth wasn't just purple; t was black and silver and gold, and the deepest shade of something similar to purple that you could not name. It truly was magic.

In your confusion to name the color of the mystery man's robe, you also took note of his not-so-human like ears. They were pointy. When Gandalf mentioned elves your mind took the courtesy of imagining little tiny people with brightly colored clothes with golden bells and pointed shoes, not drop-dead gorgeous men with long flowing locks.

"Mithrandir." The elf called.

"Ah! Lindir!" Gandalf greeted, placing his hand on his heart, the elf doing the same.

The rest of the conversation went right over your head as the two fell into some other kind of language you couldn't hope to comprehend. It sounded nice though. Much more gentle and smooth compared to what the dwarves spoke, like comparing water to rock.

At least while they spoke you could dreamily stare at 'Lindir', as Gandalf called him. Unfortunately it didn't last long since the sudden sound of a horn being blown echoed around the valley. An iron fist wrenched you away from Galdalf's side and threw you into the center of a smelly dwarf circle along with Bilbo. The dwarves all bared their weapons as at least 50 horses surrounded them, towering over the party.

They were all so pretty even if the carried swords and spears.

You were too lost in your thoughts and overwhelmed by Rivendell and its inhabitants to notice that the Lord of Rivendell had welcomed you with open arms. Too overwhelmed it seemed that even as the company followed Lord Elrond up the stairs, you didn't even notice.

"Excuse me, my lady." A soft voice spoke as you leaned over the edge of the courtyard to peek at the running river.

You whipped around, you fascination now fixed on a certain elf who stood before you. He was even more impressive up close and seeing his near perfect self you realized you probably looked like utter shit. Dirt covered your clothes and shoes and you probably had mud streaked across your forehead along with a couple of bleeding scratches you hadn't bothered to worry about. In all honesty you were surprised you were even allowed in here. Speaking of not being allowed in places...where did your friends go?

"Um...hi?" You stuttered, faltering under Lindir's intense gaze.

"I do not mean to be insensitive, my lady, but you are not a dwarf." He stated, his head tilting to the side. "Why would a human girl such as yourself be traveling with them?"

Why indeed, you thought bitterly, flashes of that night where you had fallen into Middle Earth spinning inside your head.

You shrugged and gave Lindir a wry smile. "Dunno, it wasn't like I had much of a choice."

Lindir's puppy dog eyes widened. "You were kidnapped?"

"What? No!" You laughed, scratching the back of your head. "It's just-it's a long story and I'd probably bore you out of your mind if I told you. Plus you'd never believe me."

Lindir gave you an empathetic smile and brushed a pale hand over your shoulder, the touch sending shivers through you. "Come, I will bring you to your friends, and if you wish you may tell me your tale while we walk."

"Oh, o-okay.." You said, blushing a fiery red that put tomatoes to shame. "Your name is Lindir right?"

"Yes, my lady." He said, folding his arms behind his back as you both climbed the marble steps.

"That's a nice name." You said without thinking. After processing what you did, you hurriedly blurted out something before Lindir realized what you said. "My name is (y/n), by the way. Not that you care or whatever. Just thought you should know since you keep calling me 'my lady'. I'm not a princess or anything...ha..ha.."

You swore at yourself for rambling. Goddammit (y/n), this is why people think you're crazy!  

"(y/n)." He repeated as if testing to see how it sounded on his own tongue. You blushed again. "A lovely name for an equally lovely lady."

You swore you just had a heart attack. This man- or rather elf, was a smooth talker and eye candy. Though, he was probably just being nice. I mean, you looked like a hobo and you were  a guest and all. You sighed.

Oh well, at least you could say you got complimented at least once by a hot guy even if it was just out of hospitality.

As Lindir escorted you through the swirling designs and patterns of Rivendell, you couldn't help falling a little in love with the place. It was so peaceful and lovely here, much different from your journey here and the urban life back at home.

You rounded another corner and Lindir stopped in front of an ornate looking door. Flowers hung from the ceiling, framing the wood and you reached out to thumb a scarlet petal, marveling at the color.

"This is your room Lord Elrond has provided you, lady (y/n)." Lindir smiled, pearly white teeth flashing behind his lips. "A bath has been drawn and clothes are laid out for you if you decide to dine with Lord Elrond and your Company tonight."

Your heart swelled at his kindness. "Thanks Lindir."

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, his hand unclasping from behind his back to reach for your own. His soft hand held your forearm with a certain tenderness and swept down towards your wrist, his nimble fingers brushing against the fragile bone, then finally down to grasp your hand in his, knuckles faced up. Meeting your eye, he brought your hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon your bruised knuckles, much like how Fíli and Kíli did earlier that day.

"I hope to see you at dinner, (y/n)." Lindir murmered. "You still have not told me your tale, and I wish to hear it."

"Alright." You hummed sheepishly, your face matching the scarlet flowers that hung from the potted plants.

With one last smile, Lindir turned gracefully on his heel and disappeared down another corridor, his purple robes and his dark hair flowing behind him. You couldn't help the dopey smile that lingered on your lips.

Rivendell was rockin'.  

[kpopfanfictrash]

The First Prince

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jaebum / OC

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,224

Summary: A land under a curse. Seven mysterious princes. A decision that will make or break the Kingdom. (idea from this post here, by @cyjsgirl​). This is a side story off my fanfic, The 7th Prince .

Please enjoy - happy birthday @katbeom​ !

Katherine. The loudest, most annoying soul I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across.

Jaebum meant this, meant it with every fiber of his being. Or at least he thought he did, which at eight years old was nearly the same thing. He had never been as certain of anything before, which seemed a positive indicator in that direction. When Jaebum’s father informed him he was getting a new tutor, he merely rolled his eyes in reply. Sinking lower in his chair and nodding.

Legs curled beneath him, Jaebum reread the same sentence until his father left the room. Then he exhaled, a tiny sigh leaving his otherwise serious lips. Jaebum had always been that way – a miniature man, his mother used to call him. Of course, this was before she became ill.

Now Jaebum is even more taciturn. Before her death, his mother was the buffer between him and his father. Now Jaebum never knows what to talk about. They’re both quiet, both only speaking when the situation requires - for absolutely no other reason. Besides, his father tends to see everything in black and white – especially when it comes to Jaebum. There’s duty and nothing else. Everything else is a waste, everything else is a distraction.

Jaebum doesn’t necessarily agree, but Jaebum has been able to win an argument against his father so he doesn’t want to start now. Even before his mother died, Jaebum wasn’t a very sociable boy. Really he just has Youngjae, and this is only because Jaebum’s mother was born in Quattor. Youngjae has been a part of his life for as long as Jaebum can remember.

Returning to his book, he flips another page.

“What’re you doing?”

Lowering his novel, Jaebum peers over the spine. Dark eyes stare back at him – dark, dancing eyes. Katherine’s smile turns to a frown and she tosses long hair over one shoulder.

Slowly, Jaebum sets his book down. “I’m reading.”

“Duh,” Katherine snorts, crossing her arms.

Even for a girl their age, Katherine is small. It makes Jaebum nervous to be around her, like he might break her by saying the wrong thing. Which is, of course, ridiculous. More often than not she’s the one breaking him. With her witty banter and sharp retorts – Jaebum often finds himself at a loss for words when talking to Katherine. This is fine though, since she never seems to run out of words for him.

“I only meant,” she says, tilting her head to one side. “Why are you here all alone? Don’t you have friends?”

Jaebum blinks, only once. “I have friends,” he frowns.

“Youngjae doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” Jaebum asks, sitting straighter. “He’s a person. He’s my friend. Why doesn’t Youngjae count?”

Considering for a second, Katherine nods. “Fine. Youngjae counts. I more meant, why won’t you be my friend?”

When she continues to smile, Jaebum frowns. The impropriety of her suggestion just serves to show how naïve she truly is. “Because,” he sighs. “I’m not supposed to play. I’m a Prince.”

Katherine arches her brows. “Really? Being a Prince must be a horrible thing.”

Jaebum snorts, a most unbecoming sound, which he quickly stops. “I – uh. It’s considered honorable by most.”

“Well, being honorable sounds awful as well.”

Smile on his lips, Jaebum is once again reminded why Katherine is so terrible. She makes him forget, if only for a moment, the man he’s supposed to become. She does it so easily, too. Jaebum shakes his head once more, opening his book.  “I can’t be friends, Katherine.”

She merely shrugs, unperturbed by his announcement as she walks away. Jaebum pretends not to watch her leave, pretends not to see, but he does.

“We’ll see,” she sings, turning around at the door. When she catches him staring, she grins. “You just wait, Im Jaebum,” Katherine declares. “You’ll be my friend, I swear.”

“Not likely,” Jaebum grumbles, flushed as he looks back down.

The door closes behind her.

It opens again several years later, when Jaebum is being taught algebra by Katherine’s father. He stares down at the problems on his sheet, Katherine’s father patiently explaining each one but for some reason, it’s just not sinking in. Jaebum stares at the page, squiggles looking to him less like solutions and more like art. Jaebum secretly wishes they were art.

That would never happen though, since the King disapproves of Jaebum studying the humanities. Disapproves of Jaebum studying reading and writing and composing – something which Jaebum now only does to do in secret. Staying up all hours of the night to compose, notes of his music bouncing off castle walls to echo down lonely corridors. Jaebum is thirteen – almost a man, as his father likes to remind him.

In just a few years he’ll be in the army, and then its leader. This is the path Jaebum’s father walked, and which he’s expected to follow as well. Soldiers must learn math and logic, more than art and reason. As his tutor leaves for the day, Jaebum lowers his head against the parchment. Hitting himself gently while the door creaks open.

Freezing mid-hit, Jaebum winces when a high laugh meets his ears.

“What odd behavior, from the Prince of Unum.”

Katherine closes the door and slowly, Jaebum raises his head to look at her.  “Hello.”

She smiles back at him. “Hi.”

Over the past five years, Katherine has grown. She’s softened, but only in the ways which make him want her more. Because that’s exactly what his hatred was – Jaebum realized this last year. His intense fixation, his burning desire to be near, all of this surmounted to more than pure antagonism. Jaebum’s thirteen year-old self considers the idea that he might just be in love with her.

“Why are you here?” he asks, busying himself by arranging his pencils. “Your father just left for the day.”

Nodding once, Katherine crosses the room. “I know. He told me you’re having trouble with algebra.”

For some reason, Jaebum blushes. “I haven’t… Not trouble, exactly.”

“He said you didn’t know an acute angle from a cute angel.”

Jaebum’s lip twitches in response. “Angles are geometry.”

Grinning, Katherine claps her hands. “Aha! You’ve passed. Now that I know you’re not a dolt, I can help you.” Arranging her skirts to one side, she sits on his bench.

Jaebum recoils. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks. “I’m saving your ass. Now open your algebra book.”

Jaebum obeys, too taken aback to do anything else.

“When there are multiple variables in an equation, you’ll…”

Her voice drifts in and out, Jaebum concentrating that much harder on the sound of her words. He doesn’t want to miss a single one, mostly because it’s her speaking. Sometimes the nape of her neck is distracting, sometimes its the pane of her cheek, but for the most part Jaebum manages to push these thoughts away. He tells himself that he needs to do well – for her. For Katherine.

The next week, even his tutor is amazed. “It’s remarkable,” he gapes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Looking at these scores, it’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“It feels like I am,” Jaebum murmurs, glancing out the window.

“What was that?” his tutor asks, flipping another page.

“Nothing. Just nothing.”

Three years later, sixteen year-old Jaebum is sent to war. He takes part in his first ever patrol on the northern border, father riding steadily by his side. During the patrol, a traitor is found and brought before them. The King demands he be beheaded on the spot. Jaebum is sick behind some bushes, a fact which greatly displeases his father – lips tightening into a thin line before he turns his horse around. “Let’s go,” he intones, voice clipped. “We ride for Unum.”

Jaebum follows him silently, red-stained memories flowing through his subconscious. He can’t stop thinking about the force necessary to kill that man. The grunt the executioner uttered, the heave of his arms. It was shocking, the messiness of it. The traitor’s knees didn’t buckle, like he imagined they might. No, instead he stood there – an empty, swaying body before collapsing like a sack of potatoes.

Just the thought makes Jaebum queasy. His horse’s hooves make a steady clip as they ride into Unum’s courtyard. Jaebum dismounts, sliding from his saddle to land before his father, whose horse is already in the hands of the stablemaster.

“Come,” is all the King says, turning and striding into the palace. He leaves Jaebum to follow, as always.

Jaebum is uneasy walking into the throne room – with good reason, it turns out. The second the doors shut, the King slaps Jaebum firmly across the face. Breathing heavily, Jaebum stays looking at the ground for a few, agonizing seconds before glancing up. Cold, dark anger coils in his stomach.

“Angry, boy?” his father nods. “Good. Take that and use it. Hate me, if you like. Hate our enemies. Do whatever is necessary to turn yourself into a weapon. You were weak, throwing up at the sight of war. War is inevitable, like breath or power. How will you lead,” his father asks, stepping before him, “if you don’t have control over even yourself?”

Stomach sinking, Jaebum looks down again. Suddenly he agrees with him – the lingering shame of bile in his mouth indicating he is, indeed weak. “I don’t know,” Jaebum admits. His fingers curl to fists at his sides.

After a long moment, his father nods. “We ride tomorrow at dawn.” With that, the King sweeps from the room, door falling shut with a thud behind him.

There’s a long silence. A silence where Jaebum looks first at the floor, then up at the dais. There are two thrones there – one for a King, and one for a Queen. Jaebum stares at the two, hands slowly loosening. His stomach lurches, since he’s just beginning to understand what the curse means to him. What it means to the land of Morsus. Jaebum will have to marry you – you, the Princess of Senary. The last Princess of Morsus.

If he cannot, he will not be King.

It’s then Jaebum notices the sleeve of a dress peeking from behind the throne. Ruby red and still, he frowns as he takes a step closer. Then another, until –

“Katherine?” he asks, forehead creased.

Katherine’s face peeks from behind the throne and, for the first time since Jaebum has known her, she isn’t smiling. “Jaebum,” she manages.

“What?” He takes another step, sinking down until he’s eye level. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here?”

“I was cleaning,” Katherine admits, lip trembling. “When your father came in, I was startled. I ducked behind the throne before he saw me, not really thinking. But then I saw,” she stops, shaking her head. “I heard…”

Jaebum winces. “Ah. You did?”

“Yes.” As Katherine speaks, her eyes darken. Clarifying that yes, she saw him be hit. “Why do you let him speak to you so?” she asks, nearly a whisper.

“As though I have a choice,” Jaebum muses, with some bemusement. It’s then that he realizes they’re very close. “He’s the King, Katherine.”

“He’s your father.”

“Yes,” Jaebum nods. “I suppose he is.”

Katherine sits there, staring up at him before slowly, pushing to stand. Jaebum takes a step backwards, allowing her past. He fights the urge to touch her as she goes, it would be so easy to take her hand. Jaebum wishes he would, he’d like to have someone’s hand to hold.

Almost as though she knows what he’s thinking, Katherine turns to look at him. “He’s wrong,” she says, her voice soft – for once.

“Wrong about what?”

“You’re not weak.” She stares, as though seeing him for the very first time. “You’re actually the strongest person I know.”

Katherine slips out the door.

When Jaebum turns eighteen, he at last comes home from war. Leaving the front lines where he’s been fighting for the past two years. He walks through the palace with newfound arrogance, projecting confidence and pleased to see that people believe it. He hasn’t thrown up once since that first day, though he’s wanted to many times. He’s worked hard to conceal it, pushing further and harder than anyone else – all for the sake of his people.

He almost doesn’t recognize Katherine when she passes him, but then – it doesn’t seem she recognizes him, either.

“Jaebum?” She blinks before realizing who he is – what he is. Dropping down in a courtesy, she inclines her head. “Prince Im. Apologies for my informality. Lovely to see you back in our humble abode.”

Laughing once, Jaebum observes the sweeping archways and marble that surround them. “Right,” he nods, walking forward until he’s inches away. “It’s odd, hearing you be so polite.”

Katherine looks up, shrugging. “It’s not every day you find yourself in the presence of a war hero.”

Wincing, Jaebum rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not – I don’t.”

He shuts his mouth. A few months ago, he got lucky. He was in the right place at the right time and somehow managed to keep his head long enough to lead his troops into battle. He gained them a neat victory against the witch, the first time he can recall his father admitting to being proud of him. Jaebum hated how much he craved that.

Katherine arches her brows. “You don’t? Then who did?”

Jaebum groans, facing her. “Still as annoying as ever, I see.”

Katherine laughs, moving past him. “That’s me,” she says, voice cheerful. “Annoying, loud, obtuse, petty –“

She’s cut short when Jaebum’s hand wraps around her wrist. Slowly, she looks up at him.

Jaebum stares back, slightly out of breath. “I,” he starts, before pausing. Slowly, he lets go of her skin. Trying to ignore the blush which stains her cheekbones. “I should go.”

He leaves, cursing himself while Katherine stares after him.

That night Jaebum lies awake in his bed. He stares up at the ceiling, tormenting himself with the events of the day. It’s not so different from other nights, since Jaebum is the kind of person who is always hard on himself. This time is different, though – this time it isn’t words or things which torment him. It’s is this sweeping, churning emotion he can’t contain. The way his body coils whenever he thinks of her, the way her questioning and somewhat hesitant stare made his blood boil.

Jaebum throws his covers abruptly to one side. Heart pounding, he throws on the first tunic and pants he sees. Staring for a long moment before eventually forgoing his candle, since right now he doesn’t want to get caught. Jaebum moves stealthily down the halls, twisting and turning until he finds the door he wants.

He stands there, waiting several minutes before gathering the courage to knock.

There’s a rustling of sheets from beyond, a flutter of footsteps and then the door opens. “Jaebum?” Katherine asks, stunned by the presence of the Prince on her doorstep.

Jaebum doesn’t speak, stepping inside to gather her face in his hands before he kisses her. He gathers her face to his, fingers moving into her hair while her lips open against his. His thoughts swirl, fading in and out of coherency as she moves against him.

It’s everything he thought it would be, even more than that. The softness of her, the warmth in her touch. It all comes together to somehow makes sense – each separate thing is magnificent but put together, she’s indescribable. This is indescribable.

Breaking free, Jaebum touches his forehead to hers. “Katherine,” he sighs, loving her name on his lips.

Katherine laughs, somewhat shakily. “Took you long enough,” she answers.

Jaebum pulls back to look at her. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Her eyes dance just looking at him. “Don’t you remember?” she teases, poking his side. “I told you you’d be my friend, Im Jaebum. Eventually.”

“Ah,” Jaebum smiles, pushing hands through her hair. Pulling her closer and brushing her nose with his. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on her temple. Another at the curve of her jaw. “I want to be so much more than just your friend.”

The next few months are filled with silent bliss and sunshine. Stolen kisses in shady corridors, laughter heard into the evening. Katherine is on his mind, in his thoughts and more often than not, in his room. Jaebum can’t get enough of her, so happy he might drown in it. She’s so different from the war-torn expectations he’s known – so different from the only life he’s ever seen.

Katherine gives hope, a want for something more.

Hope which proves to be as easily taken away as given.

One morning Jaebum wakes and finds her gone. Not in her rooms, not in her father’s room. The tutor’s rooms are bare, hastily so – as though someone packed and left at the last minute. A half-used razor lies discarded on the counter, like the inhabitant left partway through his morning shave.

Touching the piece of cold metal, Jaebum attempts to wrap his mind around what he sees. Then his stomach sinks.

The doors to the throne room bang when he enters, striding forward with purpose in his eyes. Jaebum’s distinctive, red cloak flaps as he walks. His father and advisers are in the middle of a meeting but Jaebum orders them all out. 

“Leave us,” he demands, tone ringing through the chamber.

His father seems surprised when, one by one, his councilors obey. They pack up their things as quickly as they can. Perhaps its Jaebum’s tone or maybe it’s that look in his eyes. That wild, half-crazed look which says he’s lost everything and will do anything necessary in order to get it back.

As the doors fall shut behind them, Jaebum lays both palms on the table. “Where is she?” he asks, anger seething below a calm surface.  

His father doesn’t gloat, doesn’t scoff. Maybe that’s the worst part –  he seems completely calm about the whole thing. This is nothing personal, just business between father and son. Some of Jaebum’s anger fades, leaving only sadness behind. 

“She had to go,” his father says. “Had to. You have a duty to this nation, Jaebum and she was getting in the way of that.”

Jaebum closes his eyes. “Duty,” he laughs, the word soft. “Do you know the word, father?”

“I assure you that I do.”

“No.” Jaebum’s eyes open, tense and furious. “You understand pain and power and perseverance. You know nothing of duty, father. Nothing of duty, family or love.” 

With that, he turns. Striding across the foyer and exiting into the hall. While he leaves, his father remains silent.

The door falls shut behind him and Jaebum slowly buries his face in both hands. He doesn’t care that he’s in public, doesn’t care that one of his soldiers might see. They would think him weak – well, let them. Without her, he is. Without her, he is nothing.

Jaebum looks up, allowing that cold, kernel of anger in his stomach to harden to something else entirely. He won’t give up. Placing one foot softly in front of the other, his jaw sets against the pain.

No – for Katherine, Jaebum won’t give up.  

[The 7th Prince Master List]

[jessejackreyes]

Twilight of an Empire Prologue

I managed to write something despite everything. Its not related to any of my major projects, but its different in a way that I like. Its interesting and a challenge to write so I enjoyed it. Its a prologue detailing the background of the au which I am tentatively calling Tyrannical Jack AU. The prologue is from an in universe text written by Gabrielle Adawe. There will be R76, a weird take on McHanzo, a weird take on Genyatta, a fun take on Pharmercy and probably more. Im thinking about Symbra.

Also on ao3

Twilight of an Empire

Prologue:

Excerpt from Life Under Overwatch

by Gabrielle Adawe

 Foreword

…

Let it be known that under my orders and supervision Gabriel Reyes created the strike team that would come to be known as Overwatch. His hand picked squad consisted originally of fellow super soldier Jack Morrison, ace sniper from the Egyptian army Ana Amari, genius mechanical engineer Torbjorn Lindholm, ex crusader Reinhardt Wilhelm and himself. It grew slightly as time went on, but all of the key players in the events that followed were from that original group or would join much later.

 From personal experience the five of them got off to a really rough start. They had different ideas of what to do, different styles of engagement and occasionally different beliefs about the righteousness of their cause. People have said, and I agree, that if it weren't for Gabriel Reyes leading Overwatch we would not have made it through the crisis. But something many who weren't there don't know is that if it wasn't for Jack Morrison, his second in command, keeping the peace between its members and helping them come together as comrades and friends Overwatch would have fallen apart before it even got going.

 Reyes was a brilliant tactician and a great field commander. He weighed his options carefully, listened to other people's opinions, but made decisions quickly when it mattered and took responsibility for them. So many of us came to have great respect for the man, but it was Morrison who talked to delegates from the various nations. He sorted out treaty details, convinced reluctant generals to listen to Reyes’ plans and convinced the UN of the need to grant Overwatch more and more authority.

 It was Morrison that convinced the Russian armed forces to share their experimental energy projection technology and the German’s their crusader shield units. He masterminded the think tanks that would help fight the Omnics during wartime and continued to make strides for Overwatch after its end. He convinced the world of the necessity of taking out the Omnium in Yugoslavia even knowing the sheer amount of civilian lives that would be lost. His words were greater weapons than the rifle he wielded.

 Jack Morrison did some of these things at the behest of commander Reyes, but we have learned after the fact that many of these were done on his own prerogative. He wanted these things done and was in a position to do something about it, so he did. At the time we did not question what he was doing, we trusted him. 

It is difficult to overstate just how important Morrison was to the original strike team and its success. We owe our victory to him almost as much as to Gabriel Reyes. It is important to understand who Morrison was in order to understand why certain mistakes were made. By the end of the war most of the delegates working for the United Nations had never interacted directly with commander Reyes. They had always acted through Morrison. The stated reason was that Reyes was not only frequently busy, but not a very good politician. Again from personal experience I can attest to the truth of the claim. Reyes was blunt and quickly irritated by, what he considered, pointless trivialities. He was happy to leave dealing with that to his second in command. The actual reason would come out much later, far after the war had ended and it was too late to change the course of things.

 As Overwatch’s successes grew more numerous Morrison was able to convince more countries to relinquish more resources, more forces and more control to commander Reyes. By the end of the war commander Reyes was de facto in command of most armed forces on the face of the planet. We believed at the time, and I still believe to this day, that, even after everything that came afterwards, most of it was necessary.

 We could not have our people fighting each other during the crisis and commander Reyes proved time and time again that he could show us victory if we let him. Morrison never let us forget every victory they pulled from the jaws of defeat, every life they saved. He made sure we understood what was at stake and we relented. It was only afterwards that we realized that Morrison had authored the Overwatch initiative himself. He knew every word of it, every authority we were granting Reyes as strike commander.

 In the heat of the greatest threat to humanity we signed so much away without a fight. Without understanding the ramifications, all because we listened to Jack Morrison and trusted commander Reyes. To this day I do not regret the faith I had in commander Reyes, but we all regret believing in Jack Morrison. At the conclusion of the crisis the Overwatch initiative that the UN had ratified called for the creation of a peacekeeping force under the Overwatch banner. It was supposed to protect us and help us rebuild after so much death, but it is where it all went wrong.

 People have asked why we instated Jack Morrison as strike commander instead of Gabriel Reyes after the transition to a peacekeeping organization. The answer to that lies in our history with the men. Few members of the UN had ever met commander Reyes and were told repeatedly that he was there to win a war and not to play politics. So politics were played with Morrison instead and he was damned good at it. I know now that he had planned to be named strike commander from the moment he drafted the Overwatch initiative, perhaps even further back, and we played right into his hands.

 He argued, and many others agreed with him, that commander Reyes made a perfect wartime commander, but he was a field commander. The new strike commander position was, in many ways, a glorified desk job. The kind of job we had always heard that Reyes hated yet Morrison excelled at. We all knew how close the two commanders were, there were rumors of them being romantically involved. It was so easy to trust that Morrison spoke for commander Reyes even then. We never even considered discussing things with the man himself, most of us had never even spoken a word to him. Everything was set up so perfectly as to make Morrison the only reasonable choice we had.

 There is a last bit to why he was chosen, his last carefully played piece in the game most people weren't aware that he was playing. The public adored him. Younger people may not remember how popular he was with the crowds, with the media. He gave inspirational speeches and was photographed saving children and puppies from Omnics. The public trusted the man more than the UN ever did. He let so many people down. We did not understand how ineffective the director of Overwatch’s office would be, how Morrison would ignore Petras whenever he pleased and would even have the legal right to do it.

 With Jack Morrison officially made the strike commander of Overwatch things changed dramatically. He managed to sweet talk funding from everywhere for his humanitarian efforts, his scientific efforts and through those for his peacekeeping efforts. The size of their armed forces grew, but everyone was too busy congratulating them for saving lives and advancing medicine and technology to notice.

 Morrison recruited the brightest minds, the best fighters, the most loyal soldiers and through them he enforced his will on the people. It took almost five years for people to start listening to the voices that were decrying Overwatch, calling it the tyrannical beast that it was. A series of operations in Europe and Northern Africa that led to tens of thousands of deaths were the final straw, the Horus massacres.

 Public outcry was swift and deafening. They had looked passed so many transgressions because they believed in Morrison’s message of peace and prosperity. But these massacres pulled public favor away from him. Director Petras, with the backing of the UN, condemned Morrison's actions publicly and demanded answers.

 The strike commander was brought before a council convened by director Petras to discuss what was going to be done. There were threats of shutting down Overwatch or at least removing Morrison as the strike commander. When they asked him what he had to say for himself he laughed at them. They were commanded by him to declare their condolences for the lives lost, but their unilateral support of Overwatch the next morning. He left without answering a single question.

 None of them did what they were told, they had not understood the threat he was levying against them. Petras went so far as to go out and condemn Morrison publicly that morning instead. He was found dead in his hotel room that night along, the rest of the council a few hours later. Everyone knew what had happened, the message was sent loud and clear. Crossing the strike commander would lead to death and no position would protect you from him.

 The presidents of Russia, the United States, France, Japan, Israel, Mexico, Brazil, as well as the prime minister of England all registered their outrage publicly within hours of the deaths becoming known. From research I have done after the fact I learned that everyone of them received a private call from commander Morrison that day requesting that they reconsider their hasty words. They refused, confident that their positions would protect them. Eight world leaders were dead within 24 hours of condemning Overwatch and its strike commander. It was the beginning of the true reign of strike commander Morrison.

 Some call me a coward for being one of the many who did not resist, who did not speak out against the tyranny that Morrison was creating. I can not truly deny this allegation. What had happened was unthinkable and we were scared. On some level I believe that dying a martyr's death would not have truly helped. We could do much more good for others if we were alive in our positions. But, I know that as much as that was true, I was truly afraid of what Morrison would do.

 To this day it is difficult to tell the difference between rumor and fact when it comes to the actions that Overwatch took in the shadows. Assassination, torture, blackmail, instigating wars, funding criminal organizations, human experimentation. The list goes on and on. The first group to die were a message that he wanted the whole world to see, others had their families threatened, were forced to watch horrible things happen, some were actually tortured. We were afraid, but our fears were not unfounded.

 While many detest me for cowardice, others ridicule me for my continued belief in commander Reyes. After all these years I believe that if we had not let Jack Morrison trick us into naming him strike commander, if the position had went to the one who deserved it most, then things would have been different, been better. I have had people tell me that I am crazy for this, but given the way Overwatch fell and what I knew about him it is the only conclusion I could come to.

 On that day in Zurich, four years ago to the day this book is published, Gabriel Reyes entered the Overwatch headquarters in Zurich. He planted explosives throughout the base and in the middle of a violent confrontation with strike commander Morrison the the building erupted in flames and Gabriel Reyes died. But, he took Morrison and Overwatch down with him. People who never knew the man claim he did it for power, that it was merely a coup, but those of us who met him, who saw what kind of man he was know better. We know that he died that day for us. He did what we could not even at the cost of his life, as he always had before.

 I have published this book on this day so that everyone will know what truly happened. Overwatch saved humanity from extinction, but after that, under commander Morrison it controlled us. He used the crisis to amass power for himself.

 Herein this book lies thirty years of Overwatch, its formation, it's victory, and its betrayal. Those who were complicit, those who aided them, worked for them, and those who resisted are all here as best as I could record them. It is my sincerest hope that these words, these events, this knowledge be passed on to those who did not live through it so they know what happened. We must understand so that we may never forget.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Title: Polite Company

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Ratings/Warnings: T

Summary: Akiyama might have been in Homra longer than him but even so, Hidaka couldn’t help but think that being assigned as his backup was akin to being his bodyguard. After all, that guy didn’t really give off the aura of a fighter at all.

Notes: AkiHida Homra AU for rare pair week ^^ This was inspired originally by a really neat piece of Homra!Akiyama fanart I found on Pixiv here (note: the Akiyama picture is the second one but there’s some NSFW stuff further down).

“Good afternoon, Awashima-san. You called me?”

Hidaka looked up slightly from over the rim of his drink as the bell above the door rang and a figure stepped inside the bar. Awashima was standing behind the bar counter as usual, polishing a wine glass. Her perfect posture didn't even waver as she turned to face the man who had spoken, hands still carefully cleaning the glass.

“Akiyama-kun. Thank you for responding quickly. Enomoto-kun sent us the information just a few minutes ago.” She set the glass on the counter, admiring it for a moment before removing a small folded piece of paper from her shirt pocket and sliding it towards Akiyama. “The location is here.”

“Hidaka?” Gotou leaned curiously against Hidaka's shoulder, nursing his own half-filled wine glass. They were sitting side by side in a booth in the corner of the bar, idly sharing a drink with one of Homra's other members. Mikoto was asleep on the couch opposite them, as the Red King often tended to be. “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, no, I'm fine, Goty.” Hidaka waved a hand sheepishly. “I just...Awashima-san's sending Akiyama on a mission? Alone?”

“Is that weird?” Doumyouji asked. He was sitting across from them with his feet on the table, something which was probably going to get him in trouble as soon as Awashima noticed. Unlike the others he was nursing a glass of apple juice, being one of the handful of underage members of the clan. “Akiyama-san goes on missions alone all the time. Well, Benzai-san's usually there but he's fine on his own too. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure about that, Doumyouji?” Hidaka couldn't help but feel incredulous. Sure, he and Gotou hadn't been members of Homra that long – they'd only joined up about a month ago, on a whim almost more than anything – but in that time he hadn't seen Akiyama do much more than make coffee and tend the bar when Awashima was out on errands.

He's really kind of a weird guy, isn't he? Hidaka craned his neck a little to look back at where Akiyama was talking in low tones with Awashima. Homra might have been pretty clean cut as far as street gangs went, but they were still a gang and Hidaka had never seen Akiyama so much as swear. In fact Akiyama was weirdly even-tempered and polite for someone who was supposed to be one of the long-time members of the clan – his partner, Benzai, was scary as hell when you crossed him (as Hidaka could report from experience, having caught Benzai on accident at a cat cafe mid-afternoon one day and witnessed a cooing and fussing that he should not have) and Doumyouji could be pretty enthusiastic when it came to a street brawl. Even Enomoto, who was fairly shy when it came to fighting, knew how to hack a system and pull information with a skill that was second only to Fushimi. But Akiyama was an oddity, a guy who was always calm and smiling and polite, who looked like he couldn't even use the slim length of pipe he was usually carrying around as a weapon.

“Trust me. You've only seen Akiyama-san when he's being polite.” Doumyouji nodded sagely and Hidaka shook his head.

“There's no way. He's so...nice.” Too nice, Hidaka couldn't help but think. A guy like that was going to get hurt in a place like this, that was certain. It was amazing he hadn't already. Though he did make a great cup of coffee and seemed to enjoy lecturing people when Awashima was absent, maybe that was why Homra's top three seemed to rely on him so much.

“Nice?” Doumyouji snickered into his apple juice. “No way. He's like...” Doumyouji made a gesture with his hands. “Bump bump bump and then...boom! Just swish, and then sparkle, and then blam! Like that.”

“Eh...?” Hidaka stared blankly at him and Doumyoji just smiled in reply.

“Be careful. Is Benzai-kun available to accompany you?” Awashima's voice floated back over to them as Akiyama took a step back from the bar counter.

“No, I'm afraid he's visiting relatives today.” Akiyama gave a small smile. “It's his sister's birthday. His parents won't be happy to see him but they won't say no to her. I couldn't bother him today, when he's got the chance to spend time with the people he cares about.”

“I see...” Awashima looked momentarily troubled. “Enomoto-kun had some difficulty locating the center of the drug ring's activities. If we wait a day, and they've moved on...”

“I can handle it, Awashima-san.” Akiyama gave something almost like a salute, and Hidaka couldn't help but shake his head a little.

“Have him take Hidaka with 'im.” Mikoto's voice made them all start slightly, the three at the booth included. The Red King hadn't even opened his eyes, hands back behind his head and body posture as still as if he was speaking in his sleep.

“Mikoto-san..” Awashima stared at him for a moment and then smiled. “Of course. Hidaka-kun, if you could come here I'll debrief you.”

“Me?” Hidaka stumbled a little as he scrambled out of his seat, moving to stand near Akiyama. Akiyama didn't even look at him, posture soldier-perfect as he stared at Awashima. His gaze was straight and steady too, Hidaka noticed, not wavering from the bartender's eyes when even though a whole month had passed Hidaka still had trouble keeping his gaze on her face and not her chest (that was one of the first things he'd learned in Homra, the quickest way to be burnt into nothing by supernatural flames was to try and surreptitiously look down the bartender's partially unbuttoned shirt). “M-Mikoto-san, are you sure?”

Mikoto didn't answer, looking as though he'd gone back to sleep almost instantly after the pronouncement. It was a little enviable, in a way.

“I trust you can handle this mission,” Awashima said. “Act as Akiyama-kun's support and follow his orders. I don't want either of you coming back hurt.”

“R-right.” Hidaka's eyes darted towards Akiyama, who was still looking at Awashima rather than at him.

I guess it'll be my job to protect Akiyama, huh? Hidaka sighed quietly, hands in his pockets as he leaned forward to look at the paper Awashima had left open on the bar counter, with the mission parameters written on it. I'll just have to keep an eye on him, that's all. Well, how hard can that be?

–

Bar Homra sat in the middle of the city, cloaked in rumors.

They said the 'Red Monster' lived there and that he ate the souls of any trespassers foolish enough to try and sneak in. They said he was over six feet tall – to which Hidaka always liked to answer 'we can look each other in the eye, then' – and that he once set fire to the entire lower district of Shizume because a business owner kicked him out of a bar. They said he granted power to those who he considered worthy of it, and burned the unworthy into nothing, not even ashes left behind.

They also said that only fools or the foolishly brave approached the Red Monster on their own, and Hidaka was pretty sure that he and Gotou were the former.

“Is this a good idea, Goty?” Hidaka said in a furious whisper as Gotou serenely reached for Bar Homra's door handle. “We could get killed!”

“Hmm? Didn't you want to check it out, Hidaka?” Gotou seemed remarkably calm for a guy walking into the lion's den, but then he usually was. He'd been smoking something funny-smelling at the other bar they'd been in earlier and it seemed to have made him even more unflappable, if that was possible.

Gotou had learned about the Red Monster from some guy that he'd bought an ancient Sumerian mask from two weeks ago. He'd mentioned it idly to Hidaka afterward at their apartment as he looked for a place to hang the mask (the mask which was supposed to have the power to raise the dead, and Hidaka had barely slept for a week afterward thanks to the groaning and creaking sounds of the house that sounded enough like zombies to keep him awake for hours with his hand on a baseball bat) and Hidaka had laughed and said it sounded like a weird rumor. But they'd both been unable to forget it, joking about finding the bar, about taking the test.

Gotou was a NEET, living off an allowance sent by his parents and moving idly from side job to side job, each weirder than the last – he'd just gotten fired from something involving bath salts and muscle relaxants and Hidaka didn't want to know what exactly those had to do with each other – while Hidaka was still stinging from being rejected from the salaryman job he'd applied for. The world had just seemed really boring, it felt like. It was like he and Gotou were floating on their own island in the center of the world while the rest of society moved on around them, and it made Hidaka feel restless and unsatisfied.

That was why he'd been the one to say it, in the end. 'Let's go find the Red Monster for ourselves.' He was just a little bit drunk at the time – that was wearing off, the growing sense of terror warring with the alcohol and the alcohol was finally losing – and tired of doing nothing all day but going from bar to bar looking for companionship and the next cheap thrill. He wanted something...more. Gotou had been more than happy to comply and that's how they'd ended up standing before the doorway of an unfamiliar bar at 3am on a cold rainy Monday.

“Hidaka? It's open.” Gotou looked back at him from the doorway. “Are you coming?”

“I-I'm coming, I'm coming, wait up.” Hidaka shook his head and hurried up the steps to the door. Gotou only smiled calmly back at him, the bell above the doorway jingling slightly as they stepped inside.

“Hello?” Hidaka ventured. The inside of the bar was silent and dark, as if it wasn't even open. “Anyone?”

“It's empty.”Gotou crossed his arms, looking disappointed. “I wonder if it was unlocked by mistake.”

“T-then I guess we should go...” Hidaka started to turn back towards the door, relief warring with disappointment in his mind.

“Who are you?” Hidaka nearly jumped at the sharp voice, stumbling backwards at the sight of two shadowed figures standing in the doorway behind them. “State your name and business.”

“W-we are...”

“We're here to meet the Red Monster and take his test,” Gotou supplied, still sounding utterly calm even though Hidaka's heart was pounding like a drum.

“...I see. Akiyama, the lights.”

“Right, Benzai.” The shorter of the two moved towards the dark silhouette of the bar counter and flipped a switch. Immediately the shadowed bar was lit by lamps and Hidaka was able to make out the features of the two who had caught them.

They both had slim, almost refined features, not at all the sort of people Hidaka would have expected to belong in the ranks of the Red Monster. The one on the left – Benzai, the other had said – had neatly trimmed long hair that fell over either side of his face and his eyes were stern and cold. There was a length of chain wrapped around one hand that he played with idly and Hidaka couldn't help but eye it nervously. It was clear that despite appearances, this guy wasn't the sort of person someone wanted to mess with.

The man who had turned on the lights – Akiyama, then – was by contrast looking at Hidaka and Gotou with a much calmer face, almost as though he was considering his options. He was reasonably shorter than his partner and he held a length of pipe in one hand, presumably as a weapon though from the looks of him Hidaka wondered if the guy was even able to swing it. His hair was messy and his right eye was entirely hidden by his bangs.

A cool wind blew in from the open door and as Benzai turned to close it Hidaka found himself glancing back over at Akiyama, whose bangs were momentarily ruffled by the breeze. It was hard to tell, with the shadows still dancing on the walls from the artificial lighting and the distance between them, but Hidaka thought he saw something red peeking out from beneath the dark hair.

“We didn't mean to break in after the bar was closed,” Gotou added. “The door was open.”

“Doumyouji must have forgotten to lock it again,” Benzai said, sounding irritated enough that Hidaka almost felt sorry for this 'Doumyouji' guy.

“Well, as long as they're here, should we take them to see the King?” Akiyama suggested, making a calming gesture with his hands.

“I suppose...” Benzai looked thoughtful. “If you think it's best.”

“They did come all this way.” Akiyama looked back at them and even though his expression was perfectly friendly for a moment Hidaka felt a strange shake of fear run through him. “If you two are willing to risk your lives, follow us upstairs.”

“W-wait a second!” Hidaka said quickly. “Risk our lives? Do we have to fight, or--”

“Of course not,” Benzai scoffed. “You have to take our King's test if you want to join. The price for failure is high.” He smirked, looking almost amused. “If you're afraid, Akiyama will see you out.”

Hidaka exchanged a worried glance with Gotou, who only shrugged.

“We did come all the way here,” Gotou said. “We might as well try, don't you think?”

“You're way too calm about risking our lives here, Goty,” Hidaka said in low tones, and Gotou laughed.

“If you want to go, Hidaka, we can still turn back.”

“Yeah, we should probably just...” Hidaka found himself looking back up at Akiyama and Benzai. Benzai was still looking at them scornfully, as if he expected them to turn tail and run any minute. Akiyama, by contrast, still had on the same pleasant, polite smile. His one visible eye met Hidaka's and Hidaka felt a shiver run through him again, eyes quickly darting downward.

It felt heavy, Akiyama's gaze on him, as if he was being measured somehow, and Hidaka swallowed hard.

“I'll do it.” Hidaka clenched his fists. It was now or never, right? He had to at least try, or nothing would change. “I'll take the test.”

“Lead the way then.” Gotou took a step towards Akiyama and Benzai. Benzai gave a small scoff of disbelief but began to ascend the stairs anyway, dragging the chain behind him. Akiyama gave Hidaka and Gotou an apologetic nod and gestured for them to follow as he headed up the stairs after Benzai.

“It's not that bad.” Akiyama glanced back to give them an encouraging smile as the four of them climbed the stairs. “Just have confidence. Mikoto-san isn't as frightening as he looks.”

“Akiyama-kun? Benzai-kun?” There was the sound of a woman's voice as they reached the top of the steps and Hidaka stumbled backwards into Gotou for a moment, nearly sending them both falling back down. There was blonde woman with blue eyes standing there before them, clad in a robe and nightgown that on anyone else Hidaka suspected would not have been particularly sexy but on her looked like it belonged to a lingerie model. Hidaka's eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage moments before Akiyama moved to stand neatly in front of his line of sight.

“Sorry we're late, Awashima-san, we had a little trouble with the mission.” Akiyama bowed slightly, totally unruffled. Beside him Benzai sighed, looking annoyed.

“It's fine. I'm glad you two are all right.” Awashima's gaze shifted over to Hidaka and Gotou. Her eyes were piercing and Hidaka found himself trying to stand up a little straighter. “And these two?”

“They want to take Mikoto-san's test.” Benzai''s tone was clipped and severe. Awashima's eyes widened for a moment before her expression turned grave.

“I see.” She nodded and turned around, walking back down the hall. “Please let him know, if he's still awake. I'll need a debrief of the mission in the morning.”

“Ma'am.” Both Akiyama and Benzai bowed this time, and Hidaka couldn't help but wonder what kind of weird street gang this was anyway. Benzai turned back to Hidaka and Gotou and made a sharp gesture. “Mikoto-san's room is this way.”

The room they were led to was at the end of the hall, and Hidaka could smell something like smoke and ash in the air. He found himself tensing slightly as Benzai knocked sharply on the door.

“Mikoto-san? We have visitors.”

What did we get ourselves into? Hidaka glanced at Gotou again, who still seemed to be completely oblivious of the obvious danger they'd just put themselves in.

“Bring 'em in.” The voice from the other side of the door was muffled and distinctly sleepy, and Benzai nodded as he began to push the door open and beckoned them inside. Gotou followed immediately but Hidaka found himself hesitating, suddenly aware of the stifling feel of power in the air.

“You can go, if you're frightened.” Akiyama's pleasant voice almost made him jump and Hidaka glanced at him again. Akiyama's smile was calm and pleasant, friendly, and for a moment Hidaka could see it again, that small hint of red hiding beneath his bangs. “It's all right.”

“I'm not...” Hidaka swallowed. “Is it hard? The test?”

“That depends.” Akiyama's voice grew serious, though the gentle smile remained on his face. “I suppose...it's all about whether or not you're too afraid to try.”

With that Akiyama hurried into the room after Benzai, dragging the metal pipe behind him like a child with a stuffed toy. Hidaka stared after him for a long moment before stealing himself and following.

The room was sparse and dimly lit, and it took Hidaka a moment before his eyes focused on the red-haired man sitting on the couch in the corner, idly smoking a cigarette.

“So? What d'you want?” The man took a long drag on his cigarette as Benzai bowed quickly in front of him, giving Hidaka and Gotou a look as though they had interrupted something important by making him lead them all the way here.

“They want to take the test, Mikoto-san.” Benzai's voice was clipped and professional, and 'Mikoto' didn't even bat an eyelid.

“That so.” He leaned back, putting out the cigarette with his shoe. His eyes drifted over first to Gotou, who cocked his head as if interested, before resting on Hidaka. Hidaka felt his breath catch, something about that gaze burning into him in a way that made his skin feel hot and his breath feel choked.

“We...” Hidaka tried to speak but his throat was dry and he found himself unable to meet Mikoto's gaze, eyes moving to focus on Akiyama instead. Akiyama's head was down slightly, face hidden by shadows and his hair, and Hidaka couldn't read his face.

“All right.” Mikoto held out a hand to him. “If you guys want to join us...then take my hand.”

That's it? Hidaka and Gotou exchanged glances and Hidaka relaxed slightly as he stepped forward. That's easy!

Suddenly there was a rush of heat as Mikoto's hand burst into bright red flames. Hidaka could feel the destructive power radiating off Mikoto's palm, enough that he found himself looking at his own hands as if they'd been scalded just by being so close.

“H-hey...” Hidaka took an uneasy step back. “What kind of joke is this?”

“Don't call it a joke so lightly.” Benzai crossed his arms. “If you're worthy, our King's fire won't burn you.”

“And if I'm not...?” Hidaka managed to choke out.

“You'll burn.” It was Akiyama who spoke this time, and his voice was unreadable.

“B-burn?” Hidaka repeated. Mikoto was still sitting there calmly, hand on fire, and Hidaka wondered if he would look stupid if he just walked away right now.

He could still feel Mikoto's gaze on him though, heavy – and oddly enough, Akiyama's too, intrigued, and suddenly Hidaka found himself reaching forward and grasping Mikoto's hand.

Fire.

It consumed him, covered his body, so hot that for a moment he couldn't breathe –

– And then it seemed to lessen, to sink through his skin where it should have charred it, and Hidaka could feel that power rooting itself somewhere deep inside his body, steady this time, not overwhelming.

Power. His power.

“So you didn't burn.” Benzai sounded almost disappointed but Akiyama smiled.

“Congratulations. You're one of us now.”

“I...passed?” Hidaka felt something hot on the underside of his left wrist and he found himself looking down at the skin.

There on his wrist, clear as day, was a tattoo that looked like a flame.

–

“Are you sure we shouldn't have called for more backup, Akiyama?” Hidaka idly ran his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist as he followed Akiyama through the backstreets of Shizume. Hidaka had brought his bat along and Akiyama was dragging his usual length of pipe, other hand holding the map Awashima had given him. “There's a lot of those guys, right?”

“It should be fine.” Akiyama gave Hidaka a vaguely disapproving look, as he always did when Hidaka used his name without the honorifics. Hidaka didn't get why that guy was so hung up on that sort of thing – they were a gang, right? And family, even more than that, so Hidaka had figured that honorifics weren't really important in Homra (outside of Mikoto, of course, and Awashima, and Fushimi when he was in earshot). “I can handle this on my own. You don't need to come with me, Hidaka.”

“You don't usually work alone though,” Hidaka said, unable to quite keep the note of worry out of his voice. Seeing Akiyama go on a mission without Benzai was rare – from what Hidaka had heard, the two of them had joined Homra together after being turned out of the Defense Force for something Benzai would only refer to as 'the irresponsibility incident.' Hidaka supposed that if Akiyama had been in the Defense Force that meant he knew how to handle himself in a fight but Hidaka just couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. Akiyama was so...polite, after all.

“I can adjust for the lack of Benzai's presence,” Akiyama said, sounding slightly distracted as he studied the map again and led Hidaka down an alley to their right. “I couldn't bother him today, when he's visiting home. This way.”

“Are we lost?” Hidaka asked. “I'm pretty sure we passed that garbage can already.”

“We did...?” Akiyama looked a bit bewildered as he glanced at the aforementioned trash can. “No, I think I followed the map...”

Hidaka leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a better look at the map, and he found himself shaking his head a little as he reached over and took it neatly from Akiyama's hand.

“I think you have it upside down, Akiyama...san.” Hidaka couldn't help the amused grin on his face, even as Akiyama gave him a slightly flustered look and averted his single visible eye.

“Benzai is the navigator, I'm the driver,” he admitted, slightly sheepish.

“I guess I'm the navigator today then!” Hidaka said brightly, ignoring the way Akiyama glared at him. “Come on, Akiyama-san, it's not so bad. I'm here to back you up, right?”

“I...suppose,” Akiyama conceded. “It does make sense that the leader of the mission shouldn't be the one navigating anyway, so that I can devise a strategy for our next move...”

“And I can make sure we actually make it to where we're supposed to be going!” Hidaka added. Akiyama sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“Right. That too.”

Hidaka swallowed back a laugh as he scanned the map. They weren't too far off course if he was reading Enomoto's handwriting correctly – it looked like Akiyama had managed to make a wrong turn a few streets back but Hidaka was pretty familiar with this area (or its bars, at least) and he knew a short cut to getting back to where they needed to be.

“So these guys we're after...” Hidaka murmured as he led Akiyama through a side alley that should get them back on course. “Drug dealers?”

“The ones Awashima-san has been sending us after for a while now,” Akiyama said. He was, Hidaka noticed, having to walk a little faster to keep up with Hidaka's longer strides. “Doumyouji and Kamo flushed out one of their hideouts a few days ago. A laptop was left behind but it was encrypted, Enomoto and Fushimi-san have been working with it for the past two days trying to get the information we need out of it. If what they found is right, we should have found their central distribution hub. If we can take that place down, the rest of the drug dealers will scatter and we can pick them off as needed.”

“Right,” Hidaka nodded, unable to turn his eyes away from Akiyama's feet. I didn't really notice it before, but he's pretty short, isn't he? “W-wait, if we're going after their central hub shouldn't we bring the whole clan? Mikoto-san...”

“According to Awashima-san, there should only be ten to fifteen men currently stationed there. One person should be enough.”

“Two,” Hidaka said automatically and Akiyama sighed.

“Right. Two. Are we almost there?”

“After the next two rights. We're headed towards the shipping district, aren't we?”

“It seems like it. That would explain how they've managed such a widespread network, there are enough warehouses there to make hiding contraband easy and locating a single specific storehouse like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“We'll teach them to mess with Homra's territory though, right?” Hidaka glanced back to give Akiyama a confident smile, slowing his footsteps in order to allow Akiyama to catch up.

“What are you stopping for? Did you get us lost again?” Akiyama tried to lean over to look at the map in Hidaka's hands and Hidaka couldn't stop the small laugh.

“Akiyama-san is surprisingly short, huh?” His hand reached out almost on its own to ruffle Akiyama's hair. Akiyama made a sound like a surprised cat as he pulled away and Hidaka suddenly realized what he'd been doing. “Ah, s-sorry, sorry! I got carried away.”

“It's...fine, it's fine.” Akiyama smoothed his hair a bit nervously, looking slightly thrown off guard. Hidaka thought he caught a glimpse of something red behind Akiyama's bangs again and he suddenly wished he'd pushed those bangs out of the way entirely, finally gotten a good look at Akiyama's entire face. “Try and keep on task, Hidaka. We have a mission to carry out.”

“Right, right.” Hidaka turned his attention back to the map. “Well, Akiyama-san can count on me! That's what backup's for, right?”

Even with Hidaka's shortcut it was still about another ten minutes before they finally found themselves standing in front of a deceptively empty-looking warehouse, crouched behind some shipping containers as Akiyama surveyed the building.

“It doesn't seem like they have much in the way of surveillance,” Akiyama said. “Still, we'd best be cautious. Pay attention to your surroundings, Hidaka. We can't afford to be caught off guard.”

“Got it.” Hidaka swallowed a yawn, arms crossed behind his head and bat dangling loosely from one hand. “It doesn't look very well-guarded, Akiyama-san. Are you sure this is the right place?”

“You had the map,” Akiyama reminded him. “I'll go in first. Stay behind me.”

“W-wait a second!” Hidaka immediately protested. “That's making yourself a target, isn't it? I should--”

“I told you, I can handle myself,” Akiyama said. “Awashima-san put me in charge of this mission. I can't send a subordinate in first while I hang back.”

“Subordinate?” Hidaka repeated blankly. “Aren't we comrades, Akiyama-san?'

“Ah...” Akiyama looked a bit surprised for a moment, lowering his gaze. “Apologies, Hidaka. Of course we are. But even so. I trust you to cover my back, all right?”

“Right...” Hidaka couldn't help but feel uneasy being the one staring at Akiyama's back but it didn't seem like Akiyama was going to budge on this one. I'll just have to keep a close eye on him, I guess...

Akiyama led him around the far perimeter of the warehouse, towards the back service door. There was a broken window along the left side of the building, low enough that Akiyama could reach it on his own. He gave Hidaka a small smirk as he pulled himself up through the broken frame, hands gripping the lower edge of the window and just barely avoiding the bits of broken glass still sticking out of it.

“Akiyama-san...hey! Isn't that a bit of a tight fit?” Hidaka said in a low whisper as Akiyama carefully heaved himself inside.

“I guess it pays to be 'short,' doesn't it?” Akiyama said easily and Hidaka stared blankly at him for a moment before laughing. Maybe this guy's not as uptight as I thought.

The window was still an issue but there was no way Hidaka was leaving Akiyama to explore the inside of the warehouse alone and with a sigh Hidaka carefully folded himself as best he could in order to slide inside. He lost his grip on the windowsill halfway through and flailed about wildly for a moment before landing with a thump on the floor inside the warehouse, bat falling loosely from his fingers.

“Hidaka! Quiet.” Akiyama sighed, covering his face with one hand for a moment. “You do recall this is a stealth mission?”

“I'm fine!” Hidaka dragged himself to his feet with a wince. “I told you it was a tight fit.”

“Clearly.” Akiyama sighed again and beckoned Hidaka to follow as he stepped forward into the darkness, the pipe in his hand glowing with a soft red light as if to act as makeshift torch. The room they were in was small and relatively cramped, with empty boxes piled all along the walls. Akiyama ducked through the next open doorway, stepping out into a larger room with a conveyor belt in the center, wooden boxes stacked one on top of the other nearby. There was a service entrance large enough for a small truck to enter along one wall, locked with a rusty lock, and the air felt cold and stale.

“It feels like no one's here,” Hidaka murmured as Akiyama approached one of the crates, breaking it open carefully with his pipe. “Maybe we really are in the wrong place?”

“No.” Akiyama's low voice made him turn. Akiyama had pried open the lid of the crate and held up a bag of something powdered. “This is where they're keeping the drugs.” His one visible eye narrowed as he looked down at the crate. “I don't understand why they would leave all of this unguarded though. Perhaps something happened...”

“Maybe someone tipped them off that we were coming?” Hidaka wondered, strolling around the room to look at some of the other boxes. The light from Akiyama's powers cast a soft glow throughout the room, Hidaka's shadow looming large along the wall. “Or there was some kind of emergency? Wait, what if they heard we were coming and went after everyone in the bar? We should--”

“Don't panic, Hidaka,” Akiyama said sharply. “Mikoto-san is at the bar. They won't be foolish enough to attack Homra on our home turf, especially with our King present.”

“Then...” Hidaka trailed off, looking thoughtful as his eyes scanned the shadows on the walls, his own and Akiyama's behind him.

And something else, he realized, something shifting in the darkness, and Hidaka whirled.

“Akiyama-san!”

Hidaka ran forward without even a moment's hesitation, one hand grabbing Akiyama by the shoulder and shoving him roughly backwards as Hidaka swung his bat with the other, just managing to intercept the rusted metal pipe that had been inches away from cleaving in Akiyama's head. The man holding the pipe cried out in pain as Hidaka swung his bat again, hitting the man hard on the chin, not even pausing to look at the body as it crumpled to the ground. The seemingly empty crates were already shifting, men with weapons climbing out from inside.

Shit... Hidaka bit his lip, weapon beginning to glow red. These bastards were waiting for us all along!

“Akiyama-san, get out of here!” Hidaka didn't even turn to see what Akiyama was doing, rushing forward to meet the approaching enemies. “I'll take care of these guys, so you get somewhere safe!”

He thought he could hear Akiyama yell something in reply but it was impossible to make out the words with the blood pounding in his ears, all his concentration focused on keeping the steady flow of power into his bat as he was surrounded by armed men. Hidaka gave a wordless yell as he charged forward into the cluster of enemies, swinging wildly and hoping that his distraction would be enough to give Akiyama time to escape.

Something hard hit him in the side and Hidaka stumbled, nearly losing his grip on his weapon. The press of men surrounding him had grown smaller but he was still ringed on all sides, outnumbered. Another blow struck him in the side of the head and he fell back, reeling, trying in vain to raise his arms in defense.

Shit...Hidaka could taste the blood in his mouth and suddenly the floor seemed to be rushing up to meet him. Someone grabbed his arms roughly, forcing the bat from his grip as they pinned him to the ground. I can't believe this is how I'm gonna die...I hope at least Akiyama-san managed to...

“Let him go, please.” The polite but firm voice cut through the pounding in his head and Hidaka forced his head up. Akiyama was standing there facing Hidaka's captors, the pipe in his hands still held loose and easy, more like a toy than a weapon.

“Akiyama-san--!” Hidaka tried to yell and someone kicked him in the side. Akiyama's single visible eye narrowed as one of the men stepped forward.

“And what are you gonna do about it, punk?” The man snorted. “We've had enough of you Homra assholes acting like you run this city. You guys think you're so special, just because you got powers. We're not afraid of you.”

“Is that so?” Akiyama said, perfectly calm like the eye of a storm. “I'm still afraid I'll need to ask you to let my comrade go.”

“And what'll you do if we say no?” One of the men kicked Hidaka again. “We outnumber you, brat.”

“This is the last time I'll ask politely.” Akiyama swung his weapon over his shoulders, taking another step forward. “Please let him go now.”

“Fuck you!” laughed another one of the men, spitting in Akiyama's direction. Akiyama sighed, covering the right side of his face with one palm.

“Very well.” Akiyama raised his head, pushing aside the bangs that always covered the right side of his face.

Revealing his right eye, and the swirling flame mark of Homra that covered it.

The pipe in Akiyama's hand glowed red, and he smiled.

“The impolite way it is, then.”

–

“Akiyama-san...” Hidaka couldn't stop staring at the pile of unconscious men lying on the floor, the warehouse filled with soft groans and whimpers of pain. Akiyama was carefully brushing his hair back into place over his eye, rubbing his wrist a little where he'd been holding his pipe.

“Are you all right, Hidaka?” Akiyama nudged one of the unconscious men with a foot, looking grim. “They must have intended to ambush us from the start. We should get back to the bar and inform Mikoto-san and Awashima-san.”

“R-right...” Hidaka tried to smile and couldn't quite manage. He still couldn't believe that Akiyama of all people had taken out all the enemies almost on his own, all while Hidaka had lain there useless on the ground.

I was supposed to be his back up, wasn't I? Hidaka clenched a fist, trying to shake the worries from his mind. They had both made it out alive, that was the important part.

“Hidaka...” Akiyama coughed, causing Hidaka to turn and look at him. “Well done. If you hadn't distracted them I wouldn't have been able to defeat them so easily. Were you hurt at all?”

“Huh?” Hidaka felt off guard for a moment and then a small disbelieving laugh came out of his mouth. “I'm fine! I mean...I'm a little bruised, but I'm okay. What about you? You fought all those guys on your own, you didn't get hurt at all did you?”

“Of course not,” Akiyama said. “I told you I know how to handle myself in a fight--” He cut off with a sharp hiss of pain, metal pipe dropping to the floor as he clutched briefly at his wrist.

“Akiyama-san?” Hidaka moved without even really thinking about it, immediately reaching over to grab at Akiyama's arm. Pulling down Akiyama's sleeve Hidaka could see that Akiyama's wrist was covered with rapidly darkening bruises. “You...”

“It's probably just a sprain.” Akiyama pulled his arm away, looking a bit sheepish. “You don't need to fuss over it, Hidaka.”

“I'm not fussing, I'm just making sure you don't hurt yourself more!” Hidaka grabbed for Akiyama's wrist again, running his fingers along the skin feeling for any bumps or irregularities that might not have been immediately visible. “Just because you're strong doesn't mean you need to do it all yourself, you know? What's Benzai-san going to say when he sees I let you get hurt? And if you ignore it then it might be hard for you to keep using your weapon...”

“Hidaka. I'm fine.” Abruptly Hidaka found himself pushed roughly against a wall, Akiyama looking up at him with a firm and steady gaze that made that sudden almost familiar shiver run down Hidaka's spine. He found himself glancing at the hair covering Akiyama's other eye again, remembering that flash of red and the crooked smile that had crossed Akiyama's face and it seemed as though his heart was beating very fast all of a sudden.

“A-Akiyama-san...c-could you let me go now?” Hidaka choked out. Akiyama looked at him blankly for a moment and then seemed to suddenly realize that he'd pinned Hidaka to the wall, immediately letting go and stepping back with a nervous cough. For a moment Hidaka thought maybe Akiyama's face looked a little red but then Akiyama turned away and he couldn't tell anymore.

“Anyway...we-we should start heading back.” Akiyama reached over with his uninjured hand to pick up his fallen weapon. “Are you coming?”

“Right, I'm coming, I'm coming!” Hidaka grabbed for his own bat and then hurried after Akiyama, catching up easily with only a few long strides. Akiyama kept his back turned, leading the way without a moment's hesitation.

“Also, Hidaka...” Akiyama finally turned to glance back at him. “...Thank you. For saving me. Even if it was a reckless action that could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Well, reckless actions are my specialty!” Hidaka said with an easy laugh.

“Just try not to do it again. Awashima-san would not be happy if I got my backup killed.”

“Right, right.” Hidaka felt a lightness in his chest that he couldn't quite explain and the smile wouldn't leave his face. “I can't believe they almost caught you by surprise anyway, Akiyama-san is surprisingly slow sometimes, huh?”

“I-I was just focused on the mission,” Akiyama said, sounding a little embarrassed. “In any case, I'm glad you were being observant for once.”

“What's that supposed to mean, 'for once,' I'm always watching Akiyama-san!” Hidaka said before he could stop himself. “A-ah, I mean, I'm—I'm always watching, because you've been in Homra  longer than me and—and I could learn some things from you!”

“I suppose,” Akiyama muttered quietly, looking away. “And...I've watched you sometimes too, so there's no need to feel nervous about it. We're comrades, after all.”

“Right. Comrades.” Hidaka risked clapping a hand on Akiyama's shoulder and Akiyama didn't shrug him off. Hidaka knew there was probably a stupid grin on his face but he couldn't seem to stop smiling either.

Comrades, and the word sounded even better coming from Akiyama's mouth, though Hidaka really wasn't entirely sure why.

[flowwriter]

The Oracle of ∇φ

The party headed down a long winding path, already exhausted from the days conquests, and still heavy with the knowledge that they must carry on. The path to the old Soothsayer was so well obscured that one could be obscured for missing it completely, and yet once the dense, lush fern was trodden down a small, yet clearly well-worn path emerged in front of them.

The party had been walking for well over an hour when Farnus, the token human of the group, slouched his aching shoulders and bemoaned “This guy better be fucking legit or I swear to God..’ before tailing off entirely.

The halfling cleric accompanying them, named Zensys, was quick to pull Farnus even closer to the brink of hopelessness ‘Or what Farnus? You’ll miss all your axe swings like you did back in Drittensmith? Don’t think we’ve forgotten.’

Farnus, for the second time in as many minutes, silently enjoyed a vision of himself after he had finished this job. Alone, no-one to bother him, no crazy old voodoo prophets to deal with, no halfling brat to make him question his alignment, pure and utter serenity. This bubble was, unsurprisingly, burst, by Koralath, the Goliath, who after careful consideration selected about one of 10 phrases that he knew in Common to express dissatisfaction. A hearty “This. Sucks. No. Point” bellowed forth from his mighty lungs, each word punctuated by a loud stomp. Before either party member could complain of their subsequent splitting headache, the stillness of the summer air was cut with a loud shriek:

“FUCK!”

The party immediately lost their calm composure and assumed a battle stance. Koralath even managed to process that this wasn’t a time for loud oafishness, progress that Farnus quietly appreciated, as the last time stealthiness was required, Koralath had cost the party quite a lot of HP by loudly asking nobody in particular where the nearest tavern was.

Even more surprisingly, a young tired-looking elf immerged, from seemingly (even to Zensys’ trained eyes) nowhere at all. He was dark-skinned, long-eared and fairly lanky, carrying himself as if he was unfamiliar with his build. His tired, yet sharp and analytical eyes, panned across the general area that the party occupied through his long unkempt hair, which covered an unreasonable portion of his face.

Apparently oblivious to his almost certain demise at one of the most respected parties in all of the North, he suddenly acknowledged the heroes with a start, only to stare at them indignantly, before somehow confidently complaining:

“You’re about 14 seconds late! You –“ He pointed an accusatory finger at Zensys “had the audacity to chat up that barmaid for a few extra seconds this morning didn’t you? She is gay, incidentally, although she doesn’t realise that for three more hours, so it was all wasted anyway.”

This outburst had a markedly different effect on each of the heroes. Koralath’s brain simply chose to reject the information entirely, instead delighting itself with a fantasy of the small elf’s imminent slaughter. Farnus’ brain, if it could have, would have rolled its eyes and done a little finger gun motion towards its head. However, it soon settled back into its familiar groove of assessing the new enemies’ weak spots.

Zensys brain, understand every word perfectly, and was almost convinced its body to run back and confess its undying love to the aforementioned barmaid. It reasoned that it was better than wasting her time galivanting with her companions, one of which was almost bound to double-cross her, as this was the way things generally worked.

Without any regard for the internal journeys each party member was taking, the curious elf continued. “Look, I appreciate the mental taxation that took on you, but if we take more than about a minute and a half here I can’t reasonably apply the Central Limit Theorem anymore and if that happens I think I’m gonna scream’

This was the final straw for both Farnus and Koralath, who simueltaneously drew their weapons, falling back on their most basic warrior instincts. The young elf began to leisurely flip through a small, tattered notebook retrieved from a concealed pocket. Koralath’s brain, having first began what can only be described as a blue screen, swang wildly at the elf’s head.

Unfazed, the elf stayed stationary. Koralath’s swing, almost in spite, careened a wild path through the air before cratering a mere two inches from the elfs side. Apparently, untroubled, the elf continued:

“NO, sorry, you were twe- ELEVEN seconds late. You don’t add a constant when integrating I through that first order differentiation product rule trick do you? Im ever so sorry. Would you like to come in? NO” He hastily scribbled through several lines of illegible symbols on the notebook. “TEN and a half MAX. And also it…” Another scribbling “doesn’t matter whether you want to or not, you WILL follow me in about three or four seconds regardless”.

The party, all now suffering terrible headaches, did indeed follow suit. Single file, they mopily trundled through the dense underbrush towards a hut which, although commonsense told them it was purposely built, seemed almost accidentally put together.

The confusing elf had left the door open behind him, and the party followed suit.

What they saw before them almost turned their stomachs. Hundreds of pages of scrawled writing coated each wall. A large, dark, once proud desk lay sunken into the ground. Piles of textbooks surrounded its border, and the party’s only clue to the huts inhabitants was a sliver of brown hair peaking over the top of them all.

Indeed, the elvish oracle was sat in a ornate, yet tattered armchair in almost the direct centre of the room. Although none of the party would here, he muttered ‘Told you’ under his breath before rising.

“MATHEMATICS!” He exclaimed. None of the party had an idea what he meant. Koralath added ‘kill goblin named ‘mathematics’??” to his mental to-do list.

The elf, wide eyed and clearly finished waiting for any intellectual input from the bewildered adventurers, continued.

“You see, all these oracles and soothsayers trying to predict the future with runes and smoke and ritualistic sacrifices –“ Farnus’ perked up, ritualistic sacrifices was his weekend hobby, “all rot! Its nothing more than taking an integral over all space and then all – sorry DOUBLE integral – and then all time. Because you know d-t and d-S is just a function of...yeah… And then, that’s an axiom! Well, its, I mean not really but I’m the only one doing – yeah, doing this. So its an axiom, anyway yeah this horrible function comes out, but its like, that’s why I can’t, and No-one can predict exactly. In fact, we, well I only found analytical solutions like a few weeks ago, but, even then its not elementary and-‘.

Beyond this point, no living being, apart from the elf himself, registered the specifics of his diatribe, and as such the rest was lost to history.  Zensys was the first to awake from the spell of the elves’ rhythmically pulsing speech, and found her emotions turn to anger.

“Look, you incel little bitch, can you help us out or not-“

The elf, taking Zensys’ words very slightly to late to feign that he was at all paying attention to anyone but himself, again perked up.

“Oh yes, of course, just let me uh…’ and so he took away to the grand battered arm chair, made a wide sweep with his arm to remove what almost seemed like important documents from his table, and began frantically scratching a weather quill across a piece of hard flaky parchment.

If the adventurers had hoped that this moment would hold them in great and suspenseful intimidation, they would have been disappointed. Not for the lack of expertise by the elf, but by his constant muttering and exclaiming, as well as his seemingly incessant need for someone to tell him how smart he was, as evidenced by his constant glancing to the three heroes for even the slightest validation.

About 10 scrawled, illegible pages of random symbols (3 of which had been crumpled up and thrown to the floor in anger), the soothsayer began to grunt ever so more excitedly, until at a sudden burst he sprang forth from his well defined groove in his ancient seat.

“OK, so whom now the rolling dunes may cover, he shall be your saviour and ours forevermore, well for an arbitrarily long period of time, I just took the limit from an arbitrary direction. And those who were quelled under something which calls itself the ‘Lost Great One’” He took just a moment to assess the relative not-greatness of his visitors. “Yeah, good luck with that one guys, will rise at least a whole multiple of twice more before the end of days. Oh but OH! You will succeed, yeah the second derivative is positive, so you will reach a global maximum here.” He seemed, unsurprisingly to at least Farnus, amazed at his own derivation. He added an extra layer of insufferability by adding “Gotta say guys, it usually doesn’t work out this well, and I do this all the time.”

Farnus, having counted to 10 at least 3 times since the start of the second painful diatribe spoken by the elf who was looking easier and easier to kill by the second, quickly interjected “yes, yes, wonderful thankyou so much, oh brainy one. We’ll be on our way now”

The elf, seemingly impervious to registering the feelings of others, mentioned to the backs of the party members “Oh don’t forget to drop by again soon!”

But as soon as the rickety door closed behind the large frame of Koralath, he realised that a simple derivation would prove that they wouldn’t. Which was a shame, he soon realised, as not even a second after his heel had turned to begin a well deserved afternoon nap in the comfortable armchair, he realised that “Oh shit, the second derivative is positive which means it’s a global minimum, so well they’re doomed to, oh” – all of which was muttered out loud too. It was, he consoled himself with, going to be an interesting adventure.