#most of her early mercenary days are a blur to her

[greeenchrysanthemums]

What do you mean by Scott has a sinking feeling that he has seen Pearl before in your GG rival au??? You made me super curious and I need to know

Simply put; they've met before.

Many years ago, when Scott was new to being a knight and Pearl was fresh into her mercenary business, they somehow ended up on the same escort job.

Scott was given charge of a group of knights that were tasked with protecting a nobleman on Ren's orders. They were to escort him to his summer home and ensure nothing happened to him on the way there. The protection of castle knights still wasn't enough for the nobleman to feel safe, though, because he also hired outside protection. That is where Pearl comes in.

Pearl was distant in every sense of the word during this job. She trailed behind the rest of the group, barely spoke, and didn't interact with anyone unless strictly necessary, and when she did, she only gave short answers. She wasn't in a good head space during this time; she still isn't, really, but she was particularly bad back then.

Scott sensed a sadness in her from the moment they were introduced, and he wanted to help, so he tried to reach out to her multiple times throughout the entire 2 weeklong journey, but she always kept him at arm's length. He was just losing hope when she finally opened up to him the night before their journey was to be over. She confided in him that she was lonely and wanted nothing more than a friend, but no one seemed to ever stick around in her life. Scott offered to be her friend and she said she would like that.

Of course, things didn't go so well after that.

Later that night, when Pearl was the only one awake, one of the many people who wanted the nobleman dead approached Pearl and offered her double what she was paid initially to kill him instead. After a sleepless night contemplating, she decided to do it. She killed him in the early morning while everyone was asleep and then skipped town before she could be discovered, stealing Scott's horse to make her escape in an accidental extra bit of salt in the wound.

Scott was shocked, he felt betrayed that she would do this after the seemingly heart felt conversation they had only hours before. He did end up getting in trouble for allowing the nobleman to die, receiving a month's suspension over it. He nearly lost his place in the ranks because of her. He does not remember her fondly. He thinks she's a liar.

Though she carries a similar sadness to that of what she had when they first met, she is a far cry from the gloomy and bitter girl he met years back. She seems happier now. She has a pep in her step, particularly when she's around Gem, and her smile reaches her eyes despite the hint of dishonestly and wariness in them. Not only that, but she used to dress differently and wear her hair over her birthmark to hide it. She's entirely unrecognizable to him, and it drives him crazy that he can't place where he's seen her before.

[the-ellia-west]

Writemas Challenge

Day 13

Thank you to: @agirlandherquill !

Prompts:

|The heat of a stare| A dinner |The burn of poison|

-

The King ran a finger along the arm of his chair. "So you're telling me you failed? When I gave you perfectly precise intel and objectives?"

The Mercenary's eyes widened and he flinched as the guards by the doors dripped their spears tighter. "Your Majesty! I... Please! H-"

But before he could beg for his life, the large door slammed open, and a tall, thin figure stalked into the dining hall. "Kyrin. We must speak." he glanced sidelong at the man, and lifted one thin brow. "Alone."

"Fine." The King flicked his hand. "You get to live another day, rat. This man has saved your life with his untimely entrance. Get out of my sight."

The Mercenary fell to his knees at the feet of his savior, reaching for his robe to thank him, but the other pulled his cloak out of reach and glared at him.

"Guards!"

The Mercenary fled the room, the guards following sternly, one with a half glance and a small nod at the foreigner, leaving the two men alone with one another's company. The King raised an eyebrow. "You're late, Eynalis."

"So, it seems I am." The elf strode toward the table, and took his seat at the king's right without waiting for permission. A long several-minute silence stretched between them.

They met gazes and his deep reddish eyes darkened.

"You killed one."

Kyrin shrugged, "So?"

"So, you've ruined everything. I've spread my men thin to cover our flank." His eyes seemed to stare right through the King's skin and right into his soul. "Strange, isn't it? You've shown our enemies where that is-" he gestured his knife to a golden pin that sat delicately over the King's heart, "-And now, they want revenge."

The King tried to speak but found he couldn't as some strange burning pain flared through his chest. Eynalis continued, peacefully cutting a piece of fish. "You forced me to play my most valuable card early, Kyrin. It is quite a costly consequence. Her flowers allowed me to shut you up in just a few minutes, after all."

"What... have you... done?" Kyrin choked, the pain slicing through his muscles, in raw burning fury, like lava beneath his skin, making it hard to move as he found his vision blurring and his mind growing cloudy from lack of oxygen.

The Elf dropped his fork onto the plate with a disgusted clatter and stood, "It won't kill you. But it will confine you to your bed. And while you're there, I suggest you think through what you have done. If you disobey me again, that weapon you forced me to use, will slit your throat instead. How about that? Hm?"

"GUARDS!" He turned, face contorting into a look of such genuine terror Kyrin almost thought he'd imagined his last words, only making out a few far-off mumbles before the last sentence. "It must have been that Mercenary!"

As the King slipped out of consciousness, he almost swore he saw Eynalis pat one of the guards on the back.

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! I love reading them!

@seastarblue @urnumber1star @darkandstormydolls @yolbert @sunflowerrosy

@corinneglass

[sunflower-dancing]

I’d just like to introduce an OC very close to me that I’ve never had the pleasure to write with anyone besides 1 or 2 others. Hikaru, who goes by Ru. Your local aspiring playwright who works as an Inn waitress in late 15th-early 16th century

If you wanna know more send me asks! 

Name: Hikaru* 

Nickname: Ru

Age: Late teens, early 20’s (specific age unknown)

DOB: Unknown 

Species: Human 

Ability: Healing

Height: 5’0” ( 152 cm)

Ethnicity: Japanese

Current City: London

Job: Waitress, Author (on the side)

Bio: Hikaru was around 6 or 7 when she ran away. Coming from a poor fishing village, the young child refused to be married into a wealthier family and so she snuck to the docks and hid among the cargo until eventually they reached a port. She climbs out, starving and sick and ends up wandering the streets of London before finding herself in a small country side. She’s taken in by an older couple.

The couple had recently lost their child and took her in. There was one other in the village across from their own, who was from her home country and she too escaped. They taught her English, and eventually Hikaru grew to have a few happy years. She is about 11 or 12 when the nobles came. The village of farmers often rented their lands from nobles and when they could no longer pay up, the village was burned. People were slaughtered or ran but she was asleep during the initial and ended up being awaken by her adopted mother. The woman died from smoke inhalation and covered Hikaru’s mouth with a scarf. 

In a panic, seeing the nearby village on fire, the young teen who had become Hikaru’s surrogate older sibling, rushes over, and upon finding her collapsed body starts to shake her, screaming. Hikaru was dragged out, but much like the adopted mother, the other woman inhaled far too much and suffered burns trying to free Hikaru from the mass damage. She doesn’t remember much of what happened except crying out and shocking green eyes that looked sad. 

She awakens in an inn in london, bandage around her right eye and arms, suffering very thankfully few minor burns. She earns her keep and eventually becomes apprenticed to as local apothecary. Hikaru’s talent for healing was not unnoticed by her teacher and that’s when she started realizing, perhaps she was not normal. Soon her wounds healed, but she could no longer see clearly out of her right eye, which had been damaged by embers getting into it. 

Her life is a blur, but eventually she is taken in by a very well off Noble and soon begins to live a lift of comfort, but it’s not what she wanted… to be caged. So she ran off, many more times than she can count, but she was always returned, always punished. Unless the noble had company she was more often then not left alone or called upon for more physical needs that had to be met. She made friends with two mercenaries, and sometimes they would kidnap her, but it was no more than a day and a promise to return. 

She was happier with them, but found herself unable to truly keep from her master, her lover. He was hypnotic in a way that drew her in, kept her wanting his touch: both the pleasurable and painful. 

Note: Can’t think much past this, but this is the briefest gloss over for her past I can think of. 

Note 2: *Hikaru grew up in a time where last names were not really given, and when she left her homeland she left most of her past behind, hence she no longer recalls her family name.

Note 3: Modern times you can find her working as a waitress. 

[milfmacbeth]

@euphcme thanks for asking!! (answering here because tumblr replies do not like long essays)

ok, so what's currently stewing in my brain is a fantasy series loosely based on early modern central/eastern europe and best summed up as “ragtag bunch of misfits hunting gods”. it's got an ensemble cast, most of which i have yet to name because i'm fucking terrible at coming up with names, but some of the most important ones are zmija, emanuel, and kazimir.

zmija is a deposed princess who, as of book 2, has this entity of primordial darkness sealed inside her. i’ve always been fascinated by apotheosis as a trope, especially when it’s lovecraftian and fucked up. so yeah, over the course of the narrative zmija has a corruption arc as the lines between her and the entity blur (spoiler warning for a book that might come out in a decade at the earliest lmao). she ascends to godhood but she loses her humanity in the process. she’s a brilliant strategist, she’s full of rage, and she wants to tear the world down.

emanuel sounds like i wrote him when i was twelve. probably my most self-indulgent character. he’s a plague doctor, he’s a demigod, and he has raven-black wings and wields a scythe. edgy as hell but i love him

kazimir is a fire mage who starts out a mercenary only in it for the money. he was raised by devils but like… the czech kind (czech devils are just Guys, they’re demons like crowley from good omens is a demon). he’s ruthless, he’s an absolute bastard, and he’s a poor little meow meow who ends up on his knees and covered in blood quite a lot

kazimir and zmija are currently in their divorce arc after a huge betrayal and i’m thinking about how the reconciliation is going to go (basically figuring out how long the grudge should last to be realistic but not go on for too long)

another character that i’m obsessed with is from a different story. it’s a trilogy of… i’m just gonna call it historical fantasy but i still need to figure out the details. it’s about the middle ages (because i’m sick of the extremely negative and inaccurate portrayal of the middle ages in fantasy and hollywood and everywhere else) and i want to make it as accurate as i possibly can (discounting the more fantastical elements of course). the character is the narrator of the whole thing. they’re a catholic saint who is heavily implied to actually be a pagan god that got co-opted by the catholic church. they’re narrating centuries of history, the good, the bad, the human. this has left them somewhat jaded, bitter, and sarcastic but they still want to see the good in everything.

so yeah, that was a sample of my OCs. one day, you’ll find them on a book shelf

tagged by @euphcme <3<3

last song: way out there by lord huron

currently watching: nothing

currently reading: demian by hermann hesse

current obsession: my OCs!

tagging: @yesyoutubeisruiningmylife @eternita

[bluesilksilverspurs]

So, a little intro piece to what I hope will be quite a few pieces about Nikolai. This part is SFW, but the rest will definitely most likely not be :)

F!reader x Nikolai Zinoviev

"Something planned for this evening?" His voice was cool, and unexpected. Sometimes you forgot there was even anyone else in the dim room, the quiet and the faint, still light thrown by blue screens suggesting solitude. You knew he preferred it that way. Wesker wasn't one for small talk.

Turning, you looked along the console to him. An imposing figure, all the more so since the Mansion Incident, Wesker was sitting watching you, his long fingers splayed on the arms of the leather chair.

You felt suddenly self-conscious. You weren't wearing anything risqué - you'd changed into a pair of smart black jeans, a dark blue top that suggested a hint of cleavage. The necklace at your throat sparkled silver in the light above you. But still, you felt suddenly naked, as though he could see through you, as transparent as water.

"I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

Wesker didn't say anything at first, but his fingers drummed very softly on the armrest. When you didn't elaborate, he continued.

"A friend we have in common?"

It was a question, but it came out sounding like a statement. You swallowed. Why were you nervous? You weren't doing anything wrong. Were you?

"Nikolai."

He stared at you for a beat longer, then turned his head to the bank of monitors on his left. His gloved hand tapped a few times on the keypad beside him. Your cheeks burned.

"He's a dangerous man. You should take care with the company you keep."

A nervous giggle bubbled from your lips, and you flashed a smile at him.

"Dangerous men seem to be the only company I keep these days."

Wesker smirked at you, but his gaze had drifted. His attention was already on something else. "Have fun, then."

"Thanks."

You pressed your palm against the release mechanism for the door and walked out of the darkened room, blinking in the sudden harsh glare of the corridor. White and chrome, stretching for miles, it seemed. Given how many people worked in this facility, it was strange that you barely saw anyone. Well, it wasn't strange on this particular floor. Here it was quiet, austere, the atmosphere monastic. People rarely came here, unless to deliver bad news, or receive it.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and you stepped inside. There, three versions of yourself stared back at you, identical eyebrows raised in identical appraisal. You looked okay, you thought. This was a fairly balanced assessment - your inner critic might be lying dormant, but you knew it wouldn't take much to coax her out. Instead, you combed your fingers through your hair, teasing out strands on each side of your face. You'd put on a little make-up - nothing much, only a slick of mascara, really - and you tried a shaky smile. The nerves exploded in your stomach.

There was no point in asking yourself why you were nervous. Nikolai Zinoviev was a mercenary, a ruthless man who played badly with others. But he had a wry sense of humour that delighted you, an odd chivalry about him, and eyes that were surprisingly doe-like for a trained killer. You thought him tremendously handsome, but not the kind of man you would normally be attracted to (here your mind scoffed. He was rather a lot like the kind of men you were normally attracted. Your current employer being a former case in point). If you were honest, you didn't think he would be interested, not in you, nor maybe anyone else. Certainly not for anything more than a quick fuck. So it had surprised you when he asked if you'd join him tonight.

Maybe a quick fuck was all he wanted. You didn't know. It had been a long time since you'd been on any type of date at all - working as a contact for powerful men manipulating the balance of power was exhausting, time-intensive and secretive, in effect making it almost impossible to have an intimate relationship. You didn't want to lie to anyone, or present yourself as something other than you were. You knew what your job was - you were good at it, and you were loyal, which is probably why Wesker had kept you around for so long. You knew that you weren't working for the good guys, although sometimes you could see the logic in the moves that were made. It didn't matter anyway. Good, or bad, there would always be casualties, always be compromises, always deals struck and undone. The money was good, and you were respected, although sometimes you thought that might be, in part, because of who your direct boss was.

Your job was how you had met Nikolai in the first place. You wore many hats and spun many plates for Wesker, but your chief responsibility was the allocation of contracts. At your fingertips was a database of the world's mercenaries, private armies, general guns for hire. Wesker told you what he wanted, you arranged to have it done. Simple. Most of the time, a quick encrypted message was enough to a familiar contact - a straightforward job needing executed. Other times it was more complicated, and for this you would meet contacts to discuss the details, and their compensation. Sometimes they bartered for price, but not always. Not even often, really. Wesker was well-connected and had deep pockets. His contracts were sought after, not merely because of the good pay, but because of the good graces it could land a mercenary in. Wesker might be above the interpersonal politics, but you remembered who you liked to work with, and who was unreliable, or a headache.

You liked to work with Nikolai.

Reliable, efficient, handsome. What more could an agent ask for?

You had reached the front door of the building. Sometimes you wondered if people really did believe this was simply the headquarters of an international manufacturer of lab equipment. The original story had been a HR company, but it was thought too hard to explain the delivery trucks coming in and out. You did wonder what people thought about the helicopters that came and went. It didn't matter. The town was in Wesker's pocket, or rather, in the pockets of the companies that he hid behind. Dark shades hiding dark intentions.

The company car was waiting at the kerb, and you slid into the back seat. The driver pulled away smoothly, heading downtown. You wondered if this is how Wesker had known you had plans, but you couldn't begin to guess how he suspected it was Nikolai you were meeting. It didn't really matter, you supposed. You wouldn't have lied to him. You didn't lie to Wesker and get away with it. If the man wanted to know something, then he could find it out easily enough.

The lights seemed to flicker and blur as the car moved between traffic. You would be early, most likely, but you didn't mind waiting. Maybe you'd even have a drink to calm your nerves, although drinking wasn't something you tended to do. You didn't like feeling out of control.

Soon, the car was pulling up outside a small bar. Inside, you could see patrons milling about, people drinking, heads close together. You hadn't picked the venue, but you'd read favourable reviews in the local press. You thanked the driver, pressed a crisp $20 into his hand and, taking a deep breath, got out of the car.

"Ah, Miss L/n!" The Russian accent was unmistakable, smooth and dark and dizzying. You startled, and he laughed, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

The blush that was furiously spreading across your cheeks deepened as your eyes flitted across him. He seemed impossibly tall, even though you weren't particularly short, and he was wearing a smart grey linen jacket and a pale shirt over dark trousers. Even in civilian clothes, he was intimidating, but he made you feel…. safe, somehow. You knew what he had done, what he did for a living. You knew how dangerous he could be. But you didn't feel threatened by him. You smiled.

"It's alright, I just…. Well, I'm early - it didn't occur to me that you would be early too."

"I don't like a lady to have to walk into a bar unescorted." His expression was playful, and you relaxed a little.

"And they say chivalry is dead." Linking your hand into the crook of his proffered arm, you walked into the bar with him. Were you imagining it, or were people staring? Did anyone recognise either of you? Was there anyone here doing surveillance? You shook your head a little, as though trying to shake loose the thoughts. You knew Nikolai would have already run recce here. It was fine.

"Reservation, sir?" The maitre d' asked, his tone polished and bright. Nikolai smiled at the man, and you marvelled at how personable he could appear to be. You knew about his reputation. You knew about his propensity for manipulation, for ingratiating himself with people - you knew this, and worried about it, and somehow were drawn to him anyway. Maybe you had no sense of self-preservation after all.

"Novikov."

You didn’t let your eyes leave the maitre d' and his gloved hand running his pencil down the gilt-lined book, never giving away the sleight in name.

"Ah yes, sir. Yes. Please, follow me." The man made a sweeping gesture and stepped nimbly round the varnished table, and you allowed Nikolai to lead you through the bar. There were booths in the back, curved backs, sleek tables, lined along the wall, but the maitre d' led you off to the left and through a sedate black door. Behind it, there was a staircase, lit with tiny blown-glass lamps, like little frosted irises blooming with soft light. You looked up at Nikolai through your eyelashes as he held the door open for you to go through, and you both followed the man up the stairs.

With a subtle flourish, the man opened the door at the top. The room that you walked into was not as large as the bar down stairs, but there were a small number of fine booths lining the walls. Some of them were occupied, some were empty, but your eyes were drawn to the baby grand sitting on a little plinth in the centre of the room, a tall vase frothing with lilac-coloured flowers beside it. A man in coat and tails sat there, momentarily paused to take a sip of his drink and converse with one of the patrons.

"I didn't know this place was here." You admitted, feeling strangely naïve as you slid into the booth indicated by the maitre d'. The man took your drink orders and then left, and Nikolai looked at you properly for the first time.

"You look very lovely this evening. A little nervous, perhaps, but lovely."

"You look very lovely yourself, Mr. Novikov." Your smile was flirtatious, genuine. It felt as though this was the first thing you had done in an age that wasn't work. It probably was. He laughed.

"Makes sense to keep a low profile. I doubt they'd buy my name was Jones, or Smith, though. Not with this accent."

"You know, I was kind of surprised when you asked if I'd join you tonight." Your fingers played with the edge of the heavy linen napkin, lining it neatly perpendicular to the table edge. Why was it so hard to look at him all of a sudden?

His large hand covered yours, stilling your anxious fidgeting. His skin was warm - a corresponding warmth seemed to bloom low in your belly.

"Why?"

Why, indeed. You glanced up and found his eyes intent on you, his expression intense. His thumb grazed back and forth along the underside of your wrist, the movement mesmerising, tracing the thrum of your pulse.

"I guess I just never imagined you as the kind of man who'd go out for dinner." Or be interested in me. You smiled, "I don't know why I thought you would be working 24/7. Maybe it's because I've only seen you in a work capacity til now."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Miss L/n". His smile was wolfish, sharp. That feeling in your belly made you shift in your seat, pressing your thighs tight together beneath the welcome cover of the table.

"I'll bet."

The smile on his face softened, and he let go of your hand, breaking the breathless feeling of falling, of your mind racing like a rabbit in the parts of your mind you normally kept the doors closed on.

"Let's spend this evening getting to know a few more things about each other, hm?" He raised his glass to you, and you mirrored him, shy and alive.

[wolfywordweaver]

Trans Mages Week 2021 DAY 6 - solidarity, pastel/punk

NOTE: this started out with the idea that Baz's dad didn't accept him being gender fluid but has somehow morphed into something a bit more. There's MalMage, a brewing storm, genderfluid vampire Baz, potentially gender confused Simon, biker gangs, magic, fantasy world building, 50s inspired towns, and political intrigue. What a mess. I don't know where I'm going with this, but it's possible that I'll morph this into a full blown thing.

The roar of the motorcycles was a familiar buzz in Simon’s ears, something that usually lulled him into a state of zen. However, this time there was a change in the feel of the roar, and he could catch a different scent on the wind. There was a town up ahead.

It took conscious effort to keep his folded wings from stretching out behind him at the thought of being able to make a stop and maybe even spending a couple of days somewhere. The Mage’s Men had been on the road for a while, slowly making their way to a kingdom out further past the High Mountains.

There had been a few odd jobs here and there to keep them fed and content until they got this big one, and he was hoping that maybe the nearing Watford would have a little something to do. It had been a while since he’d tasted a nice hot scone or something sweeter than a pack of discount sandwich cookies.

Davy threw back a few hand signs and Simon grinned widely. A much needed stop was just what they needed. The rest of the ride into down was a blur, and soon the whole pack was taking a quick tour to gauge the place.

Watford was a lot like most of the little towns hovering outside of capital cities. Coven’s magic signature was over everything, a bond of protection should anything befall the small town. Davy was not a huge fan of Coven, and Simon glanced nervously at the man.

Davy Mage was the leader of their gang, a man with great vision, testicular fortitude, and a willingness to do whatever it took to reach his goals. He’d earned the title of Mage after years of battle with another family, and Simon was quite lucky to have gained the title of Heir.

Whether Davy was his actual biological father or not was up for debate, but Simon tried not to worry himself about things like that. Davy was the closest thing he had to a father, and knowing the truth of the matter wouldn’t change anything. Any curiosity or whisper of discontent was tucked deep down with all the other things he didn’t want to think about.

Right now, the only thing he wanted to think about was finding a nice inn that offered hot breakfast. Freshly cooked food and a soft place to sleep sounded blissful, and he definitely needed a shower. Offing another round of goblins after his head had left him in dire need of getting cleaned up. Even his leathers had gotten messy in that battle.

Thankfully, the Mage didn’t change his mind and direct them out of town. They rode through the town square, taking in the views of shops and concerned looking citizens. It was normal to have people frightened of them until their intentions were made known.

There were a lot of wandering gangs that were carrying out missions from the larger kingdoms, and most towns never knew if they were on a hit list or not. If these guys were under the protection of Coven, they might be less than friendly for the duration of their stay, but Simon didn’t care. It’s not like he planned on settling here or anything.

Just a bit of food and rest was all he needed to be ready to move on.

The whole gang pulled up to a modest looking inn, and then the engines were shut off. Groaning in relief, Simon swung his leg back over and off his bike before allowing his blood-red wings and tail to stretch out. Premal jumped back in annoyance so that he didn’t get knocked off his feet, but Simon couldn’t be bothered to care.

Everyone knew that they needed to keep their distance.

“Simon,” the Mage barked as he pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, “get up there and scope things out.”

“Yes, sir!”

Flying was one of the only things better than riding down the open road, Simon thought as he felt the wind whipping around his body. The large wings at his back beat loudly, working to bring him up high enough to skim his hands along the underside of a few stray clouds.

Whooping loudly, Simon dipped and rolled through the wind as he examined the area around Watford. There didn’t seem to be any signs of danger and the Kingdom of Coven's capitol was far away enough that they would probably keep their nose out of the Mage’s business unless a fight broke out.

He was surprised to see a rather large school for such a small town, but shrugged it off and made his way back down to the Mage.

“Looks clear,” he panted upon landing.

The Mage nodded and thoughtfully stroked his neat thin mustache. “Good, good. No signs of the Coven moving?”

“Nope.” Those green eyes narrowed in annoyance and Simon quickly corrected himself. “Uh, no, sir.”

“Perfect.”

All of the Men waited outside while Davy and Simon went in to negotiate a stay. Things almost always tended to work better in Davy’s favor when he had Simon hanging around.

Blue eyes took in the modest décor of the place and noted that there was a lot of school memorabilia. These people were awfully proud of their school. The goat on the coat of arms was kind of silly, he thought. Once the negotiations were through, Simon was put in a room with two other Men and they all unpacked their few belongings.

Simon enjoyed a hot shower and washed off the reminders of the past few weeks. He still had a healing wound from a sword to his side a couple of weeks ago, but there was already a scaly patch over it helping it heal.

The scales would fall off after it was completely repaired, another strange bit of the magic that always seemed to be around him.

Once he was washed clean and in fresh clothes, Simon got the Mage to magically hide his wings away so that he could better explore the shops. There had been too many mishaps with his wings and broken goods and the Mage didn’t want to pay for anymore so he would begrudgingly oblige.

With all that finished, Simon strode out on the town in his cleanest pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with his leather jacket over it. Premal had cleaned his leather’s already, a kind gesture considering that Simon had been too scared to try again after catching his first pair of leathers on fire with his attempt to clean them.

Everything about Watford felt clean and quaint. There were perfect rows of homes, perfectly manicured and maintained gardens and yards, and rows of tidy shops he could explore. There weren’t really any children to be seen, and Simon realized that they were all probably still in school.

That thought made him a little sad. He’d never been to school. For the first half of his life he had actually been feral, a wild beast of a thing whose only thought was keeping itself alive. Then the Mage found him and took him in, teaching him the ways of people.

The magic that ran hotly through his blood belonged to the world of people, but the wings and tail were something else entirely. He’d heard the whispers of “dragon” often enough to wonder if that was his origin, but it had been too long since people had even seen dragons much less conversed with them. No one knew anything of dragon children.

Walking through the bookstore, Simon allowed his fingers to drag over the spines of the books, enjoying the different textures and designs. The shop keeper’s eyes were firmly planted on him, but the man said nothing. None of the adults did.

Maybe it was his tail, visibly swaying behind him. It hadn’t ever been as much of a nuisance as his wings, but it was still odd enough to put most people off. It made it hard to even get a date these days, but he still didn’t like hiding away these parts of him, especially for something as fleeting as a one-night stand.

“When does the school let out?” Simon asked with what he hoped was a casual tone.

The man blinked at him in surprise. “Three o’clock for the young’uns,” he replied with a gruff voice. “And 4:40pm for the graduates. Same as all the other schools.”

“Ah.” The man was looking at him even more curiously and Simon found himself leaving the store rather quickly afterwards.

A café called Pritchard’s caught his attention, and soon Simon was happily tucked in a corner scarfing down a pile of steaming hot scones. He’d never had sour cherry ones before, but was beginning to think that he had a new favorite now.

The bell over the door rang, and Simon peeked over the high-backed booth to see a small group of students come in chattering.

“Uncle Pritchard, is it true?” a beautiful person asked. She was taller than everyone else and had quite a striking figure.

Pitch black hair was neatly wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck. She had a lovely silk blouse with wildflowers on it tucked into a sensible black pencil skirt and very shiny shoes. Simon always liked shiny shoes.

He also quickly noticed her pointed ears and the fangs peeking out over her lovely lower lip. A vampire? In this little place? The fact that no one was staking her meant that she was probably a pet or something, so he settled himself down and observed as quietly as possible.

“Kids, you shouldn’t be out-” the man tried before he was interrupted.

“They let us out early,” another young lady stated with the authority of a warlord. “Are there really mercenaries in town?”

He rather liked this one’s wild hair. It was tied back with a thinning ribbon and Simon wondered if the poor thing would give out and set loose the mane of curls.

“Now, now-”

“A gang in town!” Someone else squealed excitedly. “I can’t believe it! Nothing this exciting has ever happened before!”

“Our town had a showdown of Mages barely fifteen years ago,” the first girl snapped in annoyance.

“Yeah, but we were like babies,” someone else added.

“Kids,” the café owner tried again, his eyes nervously shifting towards Simon.

“Do you think they’re here to challenge Mr. Grimm?” the second girl asked with a grave tone. “He won’t go down without a fight.”

The first girl looked almost ill at the thought and the man quickly reached out and took her elbow. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. No one’s challenging anyone. They’re just passing through.”

Simon stuffed the last scone into his mouth and continued to enjoy watching the others hovering around the cash register. There was something quite refreshing about seeing other people his age who were so clueless to things like how gangs operated. Sure, there were a few roving bands of bonety hunters who would ride into places and raze them without provocation, but those were usually taken out by gangs like the Mage’s Men.

It was bad for business all around to have groups destroying villages and cities, so kingdoms wouldn’t put up with behavior like that. Even as a roaming gang with no kingdom loyalty, the Mage’s Men knew better than to get the ire of an entire kingdom pointed in their direction.

“Uncle, are they-”

“Really now, kids,” the man interrupted exasperatedly. “Do you want to order something or not?”

They all looked taken aback by his response and Simon grinned. The man obviously didn’t want them saying anything to offend him while he was sitting right there. It meant that he was scared too. Simon wasn’t easily offended, and really couldn’t care less about what some small-town gruffs thought about him or his family.

Deciding to take pity on the man and give them all a chance to gossip in peace, Simon stood up, his boots hitting the tile loudly. Everyone at the front of the building jumped in shock and Simon kept his most confident smile in place as he stared at them all.

“The food was good, mate,” he addressed the older gentleman and tossed a few bills on the table.

His eyes moved towards the group of young adults and found that tall girl. Her legs were even more stunning now that he could get a good look. With a brazen wink in her direction he strode right up to the front door and decided to head back to the rest of his group.

He hadn’t got more than a few meters from the café before the bell was ringing and there were marching footsteps behind me.

“Pardon me, you brute,” a voice demanded, “but you owe me an apology!”

Turning back in amusement, Simon glanced up into those indignant silver eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she snapped back.

“What for? Don’t like a compliment?”

A blush burned on her grey cheeks, but she stood her ground.

“Th-that wasn’t a compliment!” she protested. “That was rude! I am not a piece of meat to be gawked at!”

Blue eyes roamed over her more carefully this time and noted the more distinguished larynx and the deeper pitch of voice. “It’s not gawking, doll. Just admiring.”

The sputtering person seemed completely thrown off, caught somewhere between being even more offended and slightly flattered.

“It’s rude to stare!” the vampire shot back, seemingly not understanding why Simon wasn’t apologizing or backing down.

“People stare at me all the time,” Simon replied honestly. “I don’t waste my energy on caring whether they’re being rude or not.”

Those grey eyes looked completely baffled for a moment before the motion of Simon’s tail caught their attention. Eyebrows shot up and that lovely mouth gaped for a moment, allowing a better view of those darling fangs. It was nice to get to admire such things when they weren’t gnashing at you.

“Oh, you’re a...”

Simon shrugged. “They don’t have a name for my type, doll. Are you someone’s pet?”

“P-pet?! Not at all! My father is the mayor of this town!”

“Ah.” Simon gestured towards his ears. “Don’t really see a lot of you out and integrated into the towns. Makes sense with your dad, though.” The vampire self-consciously touched at their ear and Simon stepped forward carefully. “I don’t mean it it in a bad way, doll.”

“I’m...” The vampire coughed to clear their voice and shook their head. “My name is Baz. Please call me that. And it’s they/them.”

Simon jutted out his hand in greeting. “Simon. Good to meet you.”

“He/him?” Baz asked carefully as they took his hand.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Davy had called him a boy from the moment he captured Simon, and the young man had never given it a second thought.

“A pleasure, Simon,” Baz greeted politely.

Warmth filled his body and Simon enjoyed the feel of that hand in his. Baz had oddly rough hands for someone as posh as they were, but they also had a smokey smell to them that made Simon feel comfortable and almost...safe.

Not one to ever let an opportunity pass by, Simon stepped even closer and put on his most charming grin. “Say, Baz, wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” The vampire seemed to choke on their breath, but Simon pushed forward. “I’d like to get to know you.”

He wasn’t certain if this place had certain courting rules, but he was sure that the Mage could get him out of any jam he walked into. The man knew how much he liked holding hands and getting close to other people. He’d tried something serious with a previous Mage’s Man but it hadn’t gone over well and the guy his head smashed in by a Numpty as Davy’s warning to the others to keep their hands off of Simon.

Simon was an Heir and weapon first and foremost, and having people fuck with his emotions was a no-go. So, Simon was limited to random dates and one-night stands any chance he could get.

“Uh, I...” Baz swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay.”

“Can you come out for lunch?”

Baz nodded and Simon felt a happy warmth fill his body. “Alright. Here at noon, yeah?”

“Okay,” Baz responded shyly. There was a definitely blush burning on their cheeks.

Simon squeezed Baz’s hands and then quickly made his way back to the rest of the gang.

*****

The café owner glanced nervously between the two young people as he set the strawberry milkshake between them, but Simon ignored him and focused completely on Baz. The Mage had struggled to hide the wings away that morning because Simon’s magic was buzzing excitedly, but they were thankfully still tucked away.

While Simon was dressed the same as the previous day, he took the time to admire Baz’s outfit. They looked so polished and put together with their tan slacks, shiny belt, green polo shirt, and a fuzzy sweater neatly hung over their shoulders and loosely tied around their collarbones.

“How long have you been a vampire?” Simon asked dreamily as he leaned forward and rested his chin in one hand. Baz really was quite pretty.

“Since I was five,” they replied softly, a hand automatically coming up to cover the fangs.

“Don’t cover them,” Simon stated softly. “I like seeing them.”

“Oh,” Baz replied with a slight squeak before they leaned forward and drank down a bit of the shake.

There were two straws in the glass and Simon felt his body throbbing with happy energy. Everything about this place was sweet and delightful!

“I think you’re pretty,” Simon added, falling back on his tried and true brashness. He enjoyed seeing the blush light up on those cheeks. “Beautiful really.”

“You’re quite outspoken,” Baz retorted, but the smile remained on his lips. “And a flatterer.”

“I like to speak the truth,” Simon replied honestly. “And if I like you, I don’t see the point in not saying so.”

“Don’t you like to get to know someone first?” Baz asked curiously.

“I’m getting to know you now,” came the laughing response. “What’s your favorite scone?”

And with that, the two of them carried on an easy conversation. The strawberry shake dwindled down between them, and when Simon slid his hand across the table to drag his finger against the back of Baz’s hand, the vampire didn’t pull back. Their fingers hooked together as they talked, and both left lunch with dreamy looks on their faces.

As Simon meandered back to the inn, Davy Mage stood in a hall quite familiar to him and stared at a large portrait. The woman painted in it stared down at him severely, and he couldn’t keep the curl of distaste off his lips.

“What are you doing here, David?” a tired voice asked.

Davy looked over to see Malcolm Grimm, his all-white hair a shock from the memories he had of the man.

“You look old,” he sneered angrily.

Malcolm didn’t rise to the bait. He just stood next to the younger man and stared at the portrait. “Grief ages you, David.” The men stood next to each other quietly, each reminiscing over times gone by. “What are you doing here?”

The truth was dangerous, so Davy danced around it. “Passing through to another job. A Mage’s work is never done.”

Most Mages through history had settled into a town and worked from there, but Malcolm didn’t want to point out the obvious.

“Are you happy?” he asked, a heaviness in his words that had been there for so many years.

“What do you care?” Davy snapped, the irritation bubbling up.

“I’ve always cared.”

“Fuck you!” Davy growled as he wheeled on the taller man and shoved him. “Fuck you!”

The hurt was heavy in the air and Malcolm stared at the white-knuckled fists clenching his lapels. He’d seen that same grip so many times already and it opened up the wounds of his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing that nothing would make it better.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Davy replied after a few moments, a crack of emotion breaking through the words. “And I won’t ask again.”

“I know.”

Davy stepped back and released the creased material of the suit. He ran a hand through his neatly trimmed hair, a bronze brown that had once hung loose and carelessly over his forehead.

“I’ll be at the same place,” Davy added quietly, almost in defeat. “You’ll know where to find me.”

[mommymooze]

What is Cooking?

Felix gets in line in the dining hall. Today’s dinner is Daphnel Stew. Just as he is about to take the bowl, you pull it back, grab a small cannister and shake a bit of something on his food. You hand it back to him with a smile and a nod. Felix just gives a bit of a puzzled look and doesn’t think anything of it. Then he goes over to the table by Ingrid and Sylvain and takes a seat. He takes a bite of his stew. It tastes delicious of course, but there is something different, it has a bit more of a kick. He almost smiles as he takes another bite. When he takes his bowl back to the counter you’re nowhere in sight.  Hmpf.

A few days later, Felix wakes up early to get in some sparring at the training grounds. The sun is just about to peek over the horizon as he pushes the heavy doors open to his personal place of worship. His mood is spoiled a bit as he hears the familiar sound of a whetstone being drawn across the edge of a sword.

You continue your work on your blade’s edge, you can see out of the corner of your eye he looks at you occasionally while he warms up with his sword forms. You switch to your finer grade whetstone, the grinding of the stone making a different pitch. Inspecting the blade, you put your stones away and sheath your sword, satisfied with the sharpness of the weapon.

“Hey.” A low voice calls from across the room as a wooden sword flies in your direction. You manage to catch it. You put your things down on a bench and now you’re sparring with a dark-haired tornado. You were able to get in two strikes, meanwhile you are a mess of bruises. He stops to teach you a few counterstrikes, how to block his sword properly.  The church bells ring signaling the new hour.

“I would love to stay longer, however I have other duties.” You say. “Thank you for taking the time to spar with me…”

“Felix.” The handsome swordsman says. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“(Y/N)” you say as you grab your things, give a short bow, and head out the door.

Why is your heart beating faster now that you are leaving? It wasn’t that fast when you were sparring. Was it the way his muscles were flexing as he was swinging his sword? His amazing footwork? The intense look of concentration on his face? How beautiful his eyes sparkled when you got to see him up close? Oh my.

The next day you spend your early morning preparing rolls for lunch in the kitchen, afterward you head to the training grounds while you wait for the dough to rise.  Stretching and running through a few sword forms, you are warmed up and start working on the training dummies, practicing the moves that Felix had shown you. Concentrating on your moves and footwork he had demonstrated, you don’t notice the door opening and closing behind you.

“Morning.” Felix suddenly says.

You almost jump out of your skin at the sound, you turn around and your face is as red as a tomato, so you turn away from him again. “Morning.” You cough.

Felix warms up going through multiple sword forms. You decide to keep beating up on the training dummy until you see he finishes. You haven’t run into him in here before, now it is two days in a row. You feel sort of guilty, you were only in here early because of the bread allowing you to get in a break.

“If I’m bothering you, I can come back later.” You look down at the ground. “I don’t want to bother your training for class and all.”

“Nonsense.” Felix grabs a training sword. “Spar.” He takes his stance.

Happily you join him. Of course, he doesn’t go easy on you. You do feel like you have improved a tiny bit over the day before, some of the things he taught you come back quickly and you think you’ll have a couple less bruises than yesterday. The two of you spar steadily without a break until the bell rings in the next hour.

“Sorry, I have to get back to work. Thanks.” You bow and head for the door.

“Tomorrow?” Felix suddenly asks.

You hesitate thinking. “No, but I can the next day, ok?”  You smile as you see him nod as you head out the door.

Running back to the kitchens you have a skip to your step. You hum a happy tune as you slave over ovens all morning to bake the rolls, a few special ones set aside. When Martha, the head cook gives a choice of serving the brats or doing dishes, you happily choose serving. You are putting out dishes of two fish saute as a fast as the students are taking them from the counter. Things go by in a blur as you place plate after plate of food. It slows a little after the first rush. The large yellow-haired guy from the Golden Deer is already back for seconds. Finally you spot Felix in the line with two other Blue Lions. The blonde girl is first, taking the plate with the largest fish on it. You hand a plate directly to the tall red-headed guy who is next. You hand a plate to Felix with a smile, you’ve swapped the regular roll with one of the special ones you’ve made.

“A bit of spice?” You offer holding the can from a few days ago.

Felix nod’s as you shake the spicy deliciousness on his plate.

“Hey. Can I have one of those fancy rolls too?” The blonde girl didn’t quite leave when she notices the difference.

You smile and place another roll on her plate.

Happily you continue to serve until you run out of students. Packing the leftover food into a big pot, and stuffing the remaining rolls in a sack, you run out of the kitchen. Fortunately, Martha didn’t see the huge quantity of rolls you had made. You walk over to the big dark haired guy standing just down the way from the sauna. He hands you two large empty pots and takes the food down to the ‘basement kids’ as you like to call them.

Two days later you’re back in the training grounds again after making forty loaves of bread that are now slowly rising in the kitchen. You don’t have to loosen your arm muscles much, you’ve been tossing dough for two hours straight. Heading to the training grounds, Felix is already there and ready to spar. He fights intensely for the first hour, then starts showing you how to defend certain attacks again. For some reason Felix is chatty today.

“Where ya from?” he asks while correcting your foot position.

“The town across the way. Family has a restaurant.” You answer

“Why work here? No..No..block it like this.” He instructs.

“Too many cooks in the kitchen, have two older sisters.” You answer, taking a swing like he just showed you.

“Where’d you learn the sword? Stop turning your wrist like that, it makes your strike weaker.” He grunts

“Town likes to have people help defend when bandits come in. Couple guys there teach stuff, sometimes mercenaries.” You grunt as you block his strike.

“You should be in class, you’re better than most of the students with a sword.” Felix backs you up with a few swift strikes.

“I wish.” You say as you yet again swing and miss, damn he’s so fast. You decide on a tricky move, you block his swing, holding his sword out, spin right into him and give a hip check with an elbow. It actually works! You knock him off balance enough to get a sword tip under his chin.

Just then the church bells ring.

“Gotta go, fish sandwiches today. Need to put the bread in.” You grab the practice swords to put them away.

You rush out of the training grounds, nearly running into Felix’s redheaded friend.

“Hey Felix, is that the dish of the day running out of here? Heh.” Sylvain quips.

“She fights better than you do, idiot! Now get over here and spar with me.” The indigo haired swordsman complains.

You are stuck plating lunches. Martha is in charge, you do as you are told or you get the nasty jobs. Fortunately you are friends with the one putting out the plates. Elise recognizes Felix.

“You’re the handsome sword guy.” She holds out a plate for Felix. “And you’re his tall annoying friend.” She holds a plate out for Sylvain. The guys take their plates and sit down.

Sylvain slides his plate on the table across from Felix. “Special service. Wow. What did you do to deserve this?” The redhead says as he waggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up and eat.” Felix groans.  He takes a bite of his sandwich. Spicier than usual. Maybe it’s not so bad having a friend in the kitchen he thinks to himself.

Sylvain is starving. He takes two huge bites of his sandwich without thinking. “Gah! Hot! Fire. My goddess my mouth is on fire!” he screams chugging first his cup of water, then grabbing Felix’s water drinking that too.

Maybe it’s pretty great having a friend in the kitchen Felix thinks.

[g0dspeeed]

Unconditional Positive Regard, 2

Adam Smasher is very used to getting his way.

Until he doesn’t.

=========================================

De-escalation

 Adam Smasher is very used to getting his way.

Does he always get his way?

Majority of the time, yes, and primarily through intimidation. Intimidation was almost like a personality trait to Adam, the line blurring from who he was authentically and the stone-cold bravado he put out for the rest of the world to see. He utilized tried and true premeditated tactics such as calculated threats, blackmail, ransom, disrupting personal space, ignoring the spoken and unspoken rules of modern society, and frankly not giving a shit about what other people thought. Then again, said tactics occurred unconsciously, too. His physical presence alone made for a great argument. The man stands well over six feet tall, perhaps leaning more towards the seven-foot range, with broad shoulders and a deadly gaze to boot. Adam’s copper red eyes could give a look so menacing that other Arasaka operatives submitted to his authority without question.

And he loved this. He truly enjoyed wielding such power, to walk into a room and have an air of dominance over every stranger that stood before him. Made things simple. Never there to make friends, to play nice, to compromise. The only thing he sought out to do in these god-awful meetings that Arasaka forced him to attend was comply with the given, short-term objectives to a tee. Going the extra mile was only an option to Adam if it benefitted him. Or if it made the job easier, but that stopped if it meant kissing any asses that didn’t have a direct link to his eddie account.

Intimidation was effective on mostly everyone that Adam Smasher worked with or unfortunately encountered in his line of work.

Then there were the others. The ones that didn’t get the message or simply chose to make regrettable decisions. To get in the way. To make Adam’s job harder. Those were the people that required more intention on Adam’s part.

And Adam was every bit intentional with those who refused to submit.

The city appeared calm on the morning of his meeting. Wellsprings was the destination and Adam arranged the AV so he would arrive onsite early. The ride in the AV was short, but allotted Adam time to observe the Night City skyline as sun beams cut through its shadow like knives, gold and sharp and warming the streets below. Like his hometown, Night City had no concept of sleep, its population below teeming towards their next meal, deal, job in a sort of lively frenzy.

Adam himself felt tired. He still required sleep like any functioning being, experiencing a downtime where his senses and sensors went offline, and his brain, his still very organic brain, unwound and processed all that he experienced that day. Unfortunately for him, his brain didn’t want to unwind the night before, too excited about the job, too curious at what Arasaka needed an outside opinion on, and having too many questions unanswered.

What made this job so special?

Why would Arasaka seek out the opinion of someone in Night City rather than in Japan?

What made this third party so important?

Who were they?

Why them?

Why did their opinion have so much weight?

Most of all Adam wondered why he even bothered to care. The image and reputation that Adam had worked so hard to cultivate this past century should have emboldened him with steel-clad confidence in himself and his abilities. Should have. Why the anxiety? True, Arasaka was being oddly theatrical in their deliverance, but if Adam were honest with himself, he would acknowledge that he allowed a dangerous feeling to creep inside, a feeling that’s lethality pushed him to put his life at risk more than anything else: hope.

“Approaching LZ, sir.”

The flat voice of the AV’s pilot pulled Adam out of his mental reverie.

Surveying the area, he felt his suspicion rise. The AV was lowering at the top of a multi-leveled parking garage that connected to a moderately large, white building. The glass windows were polarized with a shade of gold, giving no indication as to what occurred behind them. Adam also noticed a lack of sign or company name, save for a white emblem that looked like the image of a lighted torch. Clean and shimmering, the emblem rested on the building’s corner, as if it were a true, living flame.

As the AV pulled away, Adam headed near the large elevator that sat on the opposite side of his landing zone. Gravel crunched beneath him, the annoying sound adding to his already agitated mood. Just as he approached the control panel, the elevator doors opened with a faint hiss.

Out stepped a fit, middle-aged man with dark, neatly combed hair, navy slacks, and a trim, button-up shirt. The man was occupied with rolling up the shirt’s sleeves, revealing a variety of tattoos on each bicep. Adam noticed a large NUSA script standing out amongst the rest. The man’s face illuminated with a white smile when their eyes met.

“Good morning, Mr. Smasher,” he greeted, his voice deep and rich. “I apologize for any waiting that we might have caused you.”

Adam grunted as he sidestepped the man to enter the elevator. He didn’t have to duck his head, an odd experience for him.

The stranger seemed unaffected by Adam’s response, maintaining a polite smile and joining him in the elevator. As the doors closed, he stepped forward and pressed one of the buttons.

“When we arrive to the office, we request that you place all weapons-”

“No.”

A pause.

The man resumed.

“-in our reservoir and deactivate any and all combat cyberware.”

“Out of the question.”

Adam turned to face him. The smile had faded, but much to Adam’s chagrin there was a hint of amusement in the man’s hazel eyes.

“I know that our policy opposes your own,” he stated. “But it is a requirement of this office.”

The elevator slowed.

“Are you the third party in the contract?” Adam asked lowly.

“I am not,” answered the man.

The doors opened as they arrived to their floor.

“Then you are of no use to me,” said Adam.

Walking into the space, his brows furrowed. He had arrived at an open lobby that was full of soft chairs and with tall windows aligning the walls. There was a gentle scent in the air, something floral that added to the relaxing ambiance of the floor. Some art was on the walls as well, but what distracted Adam was the sight of a single set of large, double doors.

No one was there other than Adam and the man who continued to speak to him.

“Welcome to Torch. This is our Services floor.”

Again, the man received a cold reply as Adam ignored him and approached the large doors. Giving the doors a firm tug, they didn’t budge from the frame. He tried again, this time with more effort, and became agitated when they failed to give.

“This building prohibits the presence of any and all firearms, as well as combat cyberware,” stated the man, his tone informative and light.

Turning to glower at the man, Adam saw that he was gesturing to a unit in the wall.

“We have reservoirs on each floor, calibrated with genetic security software to guarantee that only you can have access to them. We do not sell or use any of the collected data. It is strictly for security. Not even our own staff can touch your things without your consent, Mr. Smasher.”

Adam stalked towards the man with heavy, deliberate steps.

“Open the door,” he commanded.

“I cannot-”

A hard, mechanical hand reached out to grip the man’s throat.

“Open the door,” repeated Adam. The man’s struggling body was lifted from the tiled floor with ease. “Or I will break you,” added the merc in a whisper.

The stranger struggled in his grasp, attempting and failing to loosen Adam’s hold with his own cybernetic fingers.

“Open the fucking door,” Adam commanded again, his anger growing with each passing moment.

“I-It won’t open,” gasped the man. “Not until I see you put your weapons in the reservoir.”

The lump in his throat bobbed against Adam’s palm.

“Think I give a damn about your policies and protocol?” he rumbled. “I can just pop off your fucking head clean off your shoulders, then I’ll rip open those doors myself-”

“A-And she still won’t see you.”

Adam blinked in confusion. The man had no fear in his voice. No, the opposite. Bold. Certain. His whole demeanor was solid, his eyes never breaking away from that of the mercenary.

“She won’t see you,” repeated the man. “She’s not one for intimidation. N-Never will be.”

With a new blaze of anger, Adam lifted the man higher. The man gasped heavily as the grip became tighter on his air way, his face reddening into a deep scarlet.

Behind them, the doors burst open.

“Mr. Smasher!” yelled a voice. A woman’s voice. “Put him down!”

His head turned in the direction of the sound, his anger near the tipping point of rage.

Standing in the doorway was a woman. She stood before a group of other women, all afraid, their eyes wide and trembling fingers touching lips. One of the fearful women looked to be attempting to pull the other back, but with no luck. She stood firm in a white, form-fitting dress, the garment hiding most of her olive skin and hugging her curves beautifully. Her hair was dark and fell in waves at her shoulders and down her back. Oddly enough she was barefoot, revealing a blood red polish on her toes that matched her fingernails. Simple gold jewelry complimented her complexion.

The woman’s face, though attractive, wore a look of pure admonishment.

“Are you the one hired by Arasaka?” called back the mercenary, his voice still strained.

“Put him down,” repeated the woman. “Now.”

“Answer my question-”

“Not until you put down Dr. Estrada.”

Their eyes locked. Gold like her jewelry, they burned intensely with a heat that Adam could practically feel. His own resolve faltered at her ultimatum, mostly because he wasn’t used to anyone, let alone a woman, making one.

The man’s body dropped loudly to the tile.

To Adam’s surprise, the woman immediately relaxed. Gone was the fire in her eyes and features. Posture eased. She then entered the lobby. The women behind her silently panicked, their mouths agape at seeing her walk past Adam, bare feet padding across the tile, to attend to the fallen man. The man had recovered after a brief coughing fit and was sitting up with a grin. He accepted her offered hand.

“So all of this,” she said calmly, directing the man to the doorway. “Is because of our weapons policy?”

“Are you the one hired by Arasaka?”

His tone was more level, matching hers. The anger was long forgotten.

“I am,” she replied.  “Will you be able to make our appointment or should we reschedule?”

Adam frowned at the question.

Without saying a word, he began walking towards the doors. Her frame stiffened. In a stride she stood between Adam and the opening.

“You want to keep our appointment,” she acknowledged. “Please put your weapons in our reservoir and deactivate any and all combat cyberware.”

And like a switch, his fury returned ten-fold.

“I’m not going to go by your bullshit policies!” he yelled. “We’re meeting today! Stop wasting my fucking time and let’s get this shit over with!”

Pulse raced in his body, so strongly that he swore they could hear it. The doctor stood behind the woman, eyes shifting between her and Adam nervously. He saw how the man’s hands tightened into fists, as if ready to intervene at any moment. The other women were frozen in fear.

What did these fucking people not understand?

Adam was here to do a job.

He didn’t have to abide by whatever policies they were giving him.

It wasn’t going to happen.

All appeared terrified and concerned.

All except for her.

That woman with the dark hair and powerful, golden eyes remained by her place at the doorway, her focus on Adam and staring directly at him as if he hadn’t just yelled at her. If she was afraid of Adam, she sure didn’t show it.

A moment passed before he got a response.

Her voice was touched with a new softness, her face gentle.

“I hear you,” she said. “You are strongly against what we’re asking of you, Adam, and we’re asking a lot. This is our policy. It is important that our clients feel safe here. If depositing your weapons and turning off your cyberware is not acceptable to you, that’s fine, but it is our expectation. You can do what we ask and retrieve your things when our meeting is over or we can reschedule when you’re ready.”

Dark eyes blinked in confusion. No doubt his anger remained, but at hearing her words, the calmness in her voice, he found it oddly abated. Only slightly, but abated nonetheless.

He swallowed.

“Out of the question,” Adam answered lowly.

As if expecting his response, the woman simply nodded.

“Okay,” she said, that damn smile once more spreading across her full lips. “That’s your choice. The elevator can take you to the floor that Dr. Estrada met you at. Please reach out to our office so we can reschedule.”

Before he could muster up a response, the woman quietly closed the doors.

[heedra]

Exalted Secret Santa Journal: 2020

Apologies for the slight delay! My journal this year is going to be pretty much the same one as last year; I was working on an additional reference but it absolutely got away from me, so I’ll give it more time and save it for next year. Without further ado:

Daia Shan- Serenity Caste Sidereal

Once just a troublesome junior bureaucrat in the halls of Yu-Shan, Daia truly gained infamy upon her selection to accompany a strike team of Exalted heroes on a mission into the depths of the worldbody of the Yozi Oramus, and her subsequent escape and return from that impossible prison, nearly a thousand years later. The experience left her profoundly changed; even now, the spite of Oramus hangs like a mantle around Daia, ensuring that the waking world she fought so hard to return to will never feel like anything more than a dream. And then, of course, there is the matter of the power she took from the Sevenfold Peacock willingly… and how that power might be changing her still.

Daia is a somewhat petite woman, belying an athletic build. She is ethnically from the Blessed Isle, with dark grey hair that she prefers to wear up, usually in a bun or a knot. Her face, which she tries but fails to keep free of stress and worry lines, is usually found bearing a smirk or an expression of dangerous faux-politeness. Her eyes bear the iconic starry blue of the Serenities caste, but are also shot through with bands of a strange prismatic iridescence. She bears a large pair of bull horns atop her head, a mutation received during her time inside the Worldbody. The nature of the power bequeathed to her by Oramus is such, though, that her very nature is beginning to blur around the edges, and it is not unusual for her day-to-day appearance to fluctuate strangely as mutations come and go like glitches. She is a bit of a fashionista, favoring blues, dramatic and sharp femme looks (she avoids ruffles and prefers sleeker outfits), and jewelry of all sorts (a lot of it). She rarely wears the same exact outfit twice, so do not feel obligated to stick to the reference- you can get creative! She wears makeup, but prefers cool colors and an understated application.

Daia’s most important accessory is her longfang, the Sevenfold Peacock’s Tailfeather. Forged from starmetal, orichalcum, and a crystalline shard of Oramic essence, the weapon contains knowledge of every martial arts technique known by every user to have ever wielded it, and seems to hunger for more to the point where its obsession has bled over into Daia herself. Even more potently, it bears deep within its core the secret to a martial art concocted by the Dragon of Not himself, whose charms grant the power to ignore the limits of impossibility at the cost of making the wielder more and more alien to the waking world. It is a temptation that Daia has drunk deep of, despite all signs pointing to that being a very bad idea. Daia sees the spear as a trophy stolen from her greatest nemesis, but it’s very possible the Yozi himself sees it as a clever snare for hubristic Sidereals. The blade of the weapon is prismatic crystal that resembles a jagged bird’s beak, the pole is jet black starmetal shot through with an orichalcum starmap of constellations, and the orichalcum pommel is fashioned to look like seven golden peacock feathers woven together into a sphere.

While her exaltation may brand Daia a chosen of the Maidens, the elder Sid is a loose cannon, an agent of Heaven in only the most general of terms. She is mercurial, theatrical, fond of causing petty chaos, and utterly disinterested in the politics of the Bureau, unless there is way for her to stir up drama. She has tendency to get ahead of herself with her schemes, and the vast majority of her ‘downfalls’ can be traced back to her own hubris. Beneath all that, she is a lonely woman who feels adrift in a world that no longer feels real to her. She’s a terrible flirt, a huge showoff (especially where martial arts are involved) and has a weak spot for dangerous women. She’s Creation’s wildest and worst gay aunt.

Side Note: Daia is partially deaf, due to an old and potent supernatural injury. She employs the use of what magic/technology she can to aid her, but relies as well on sign language and interpreters. She’s very used to it at this point.

here’s the link to a better-resolution version of this image bc tumblr kinda fuckt it

and here’s the link to her toyhouse page, which has further images and info!

________________________________________________________________

Avenging Phoenix- Dawn Caste Solar (Formerly Ravenous Vulture Picks Clean the Bones of Creation, Dusk Caste Abyssal)

Orphaned at an early age, Phoenix was adopted by a Guild mercenary and raised as such. He spent his later mortal life as a city guard captain in Thorns, where he exalted during the fateful siege itself, disillusionment and rage at the circumstances of his death making him an easy recruit for the Mask. His path has weaved far and wide since then, a slow painful crawl from rebellion to eventual redemption; a journey that ultimately gave him a place among the saviors of Creation. Along the way, he played a role in liberating a group of orphaned children from the clutches of the Dowager, and now finds himself settling into the role of an adoptive dad to them, hanging up his metaphorical (and literal) axe and trying to live a gentler life. It’s not always easy. Violence and trauma etched in that deep doesn’t just smooth out perfectly over time. On top of that, he has impostor’s syndrome when it comes to his redemption by the Sun, and still feels uncomfortable thinking of himself as a peer to the other members of the Solar Host. Still, as long as his soul is on this side of Lethe, he is determined to fight against the Void- not because he considers himself antithesis to it, but because he has known it and survived it. And while some days it’s hard, other days it feels like, maybe, fighting against the void can be planting sunflowers for your children on a sunny spring afternoon.

Phoenix is of Western descent, very short, fat, and beefy, with warm brown skin and a round, open face.  He keeps his burgundy hair closely shaved, not fond of dealing with the mess of wavy curls it becomes when allowed to grow out. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, the outside of the iris rimmed with the faintest edge of golden yellow. His nose looks like it has been broken multiple times in the past, and never properly healed. Due to unfortunate wyld misadventures his tongue has been mutated to resemble and function like that of a frog’s, though this is only really apparent when he opens his mouth to use the damn thing. Frogs and toads are a definite motif for him in general- small, grumpy-looking, and round as they are.

Phoenix’s casual clothes tend to be simple, comfortable, loose, and in sharp contrast to his prickly combat garb. He enjoys floral patterns, and the color pink. He’s got a very ‘open hawaiian shirt and flip flops dad’ vibe, basically. He does not dress fancily unless pressed to for big occasions, and in those cases usually grudgingly follows the fashion direction of the one twisting his arm. When he’s on actual exalt business, he’s most frequently found wearing his armor; black jade full plate embellished with cruel-looking spikes, and occasionally a shaggy grey fur cloak made from the pelt of some hunting trophy. A horned skull helm, made from the skull of a nephwrack’s war-body, often completes this ensemble. The helmet is a minor artifact: when worn, it causes his eyes to glow balefully behind its sockets and makes his voice gravelly with deathly menace. He is reluctant to take it off unless he feels at ease in a situation.

Phoenix is somewhat bumbling and gruffly soft-spoken, with tendency to look more tired than he feels. Beneath this is a talent for strategic leadership and a determination that gets fiercer as the going gets tougher. On the battlefield, he is utterly terrifying when he needs to be, but would much prefer to be at home in his garden than on a battlefield these days.

His anima banner starts as burst of gold-and crimson fire that solidifies into the form of a fierce and predatory-looking phoenix, with aspects of a garda bird and a lammergeier both. It moves as he does across the battlefield, swooping and rising with each swing of his axe, its fierce eyes focused on his opponent. Additional refs:

link to his toyhouse page, which has a TON more reference images

what he looked like as an abyssal | his grand grimcleaver looks like this except made outta fiery golden light | rough sketch of his skull helmet

[dearaliceliddel]

🎧? (I’m not going to lie, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually seen this fandom, so my interest in it has kinda spiked up from this blog! Thank you!)

Send a 🎧 and I will put my music on shuffle, then write a starter based on a lyric from the first song that plays

"Hey mister!" the bellman says

Alice couldn’t recall what day it was, let alone the hour. Was it late into the night, or early into the day? Too many times lacking of rest, and too influenced by the could of winter, it had all been blurring together. Not that is mattered in the end for someone whom had no reason to recall other than rough estimations. Only to remember the most recent of moments in the immediate demand. But after having been so zoned into her own head, and snapped back into reality, she began to take a mental note on herself.

"I can only recall last's night hotel, " I said

It took a moment to piece together a few things, just how much she’d very nearly faded into auto pilot. She didn’t need that happening when Alice knew she wasn’t alone. It would be best to keep ones self awareness sharp and wits on high alert. She’d need a new cup of tea, certainly, to keep her body warmer, and wake the rest of her mind entirely. A real cup of tea was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.

So he replies, 

It was curious, how anyone else could handle the frigid weather with such energy. "Then how do you manage?" Alice’s voice rang out, perhaps asking a true question of another, or maybe just muttering to herself. Besides the madness of the mind, and that of the world around her, it was all a matter of survival perspective.

I dodge the blast, and apologize for collateral damage 

( Song:  Panic! At The Disco: Mercenary from  Batman: Arkham City - The Album )

[nothing-i-can-do-now-i-guess]

Heyo! Kia, 21, female. Looking for another rp since most of mine seemed to have dried up. EST time zone, though my schedule is currently being weird, but I should be able to respond a few times a day. Sometimes just a few per week. I am a pretty detailed writer, focusing a lot on character introspection so I ask that you are at least similar in that regard. I write about 2-4 paragraphs on average and can write more. It really just depends on what’s happening in the rp. Dark themes, blood and violence may be present in the rp. I don’t write smut, I will only fade to black. Please be 18+. (On a side note, I’ve done all of this on my phone so I don’t know how the format looks. I apologize in advance if it’s too long and/or messy.)

Made a vampire oc for no reason. Now i have nothing to fo with her so I’m gonna see if I can get an rp going with her. If any of my plots involving her interest you or you have any plots of your own feel free to message me. Or interact with this post and I’ll contact you.

Name: Magdalena Cirila Kovac

Nickname: Mag, Lena, Maggie

Species: Vampire

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Born: Sometime during the Middle Ages

Occupation: Depends on plot. Medieval times she’s a hired mercenary or hunter, Modern she’s the leader of her own vampire coven. She could be a monster hunter in any time period really.

Genres: Fantasy/Supernatural, Drama/Angst, Medieval, Romance, Adventure, Modern

Appearance:

Normal Form: 5’8, athletic build, pale skin, light freckles, long wavy dark red hair with even darker ends, bright green eyes. Beauty mark underneath the left corner of her mouth. Canines are only slightly elongated. Looks like a human in her mid to late 20s

Other Form: skin becomes deathly pale and black veins appear on her face and shoulders, scleras turn black and corneas turn bright red, all her teeth become razor sharp, nails turn into claws

Abilities:

Immortality: No longer has a lifespan. She can not age at all. Because she is undead she does not have to worry about any illness

Superhuman Physiology: Strength, Stamina, Agility, Senses, Durability

Accelerated Healing: Can heal from any normal injuries within seconds, larger wounds take a few minutes and may require her to feed to restore energy. Can come back from death from exposure to sunlight with blood

Metamorphosis: Can call upon a large swarm of bats to do her bidding. She can also transform into a swarm of bats and back at will. All of her clothes and weapons will transform along with her body. The bats can be used to charge her enemies in an attack.

Mesmerism: Possess the ability to coerce and control humans to do her bidding as long as she makes eye contact. However if someone has a strong enough will they may be able to break from her control or may not even be able to fall under her control.

Darkness Manipulation: Can generate and manipulate the darkness at will. As she ages the power grows stronger and can be used to cover larger and larger areas for longer periods of time.

Vampirism: She has the ability to turn others into vampires if they drink some of her blood. However it is not a guarantee that they will survive the transformation. Her blood is considered a poison to humans and will rapidly begin to kill someone once ingested. Some die in the process, if they survive then they will become a vampire. Anyone that she turns forms an attachment to her and cannot go against a direct order from her nor can they cause her physical harm. Any attempts to do either will result in an intense pain. She can however free them from her control at any time.

Swordsmanship: Mag is a very skilled swordsman, even before she became a vampire. Along with her powers she is a force to be reckoned with

Weaknesses:

Sunlight: Being exposed to sunlight can cause her skin to burn and blister, leaving her weak and unable to walk. If exposed for too long then she will begin to deteriorate into a charred corpse. However she can be brought back with some blood. She can go out during the day as long as she sticks to the shadows and will be fine to wander if it’s a cloudy day.

Wood: A sharp piece of wood to the heart can weaken and kill her. Sharp wood to the heart will cause her body and clothes to rapidly decay and disintegrate, ending up as a fossil like corpse with scraps of clothes left

Silver: Silver burns upon contact with her skin. If in the presence of a large amount of silver it will weaken her enough so that she is practically human. The very sight of silver can leave her vision blurred and dampened her hearing. As she ages it will become less of a problem.

Religious Items/Places: Religious items give off an intense light that burns enough for vampires to fear it. Though older vampires only see a bright light that causes slight discomfort at most. She is not able to enter holy grounds and if she does so it causes great pain. Holy water is like silver, burning a vampires skin upon contact

(Garlic: Not really a weakness, it’s more so like with lactose intolerance. She shouldn’t eat it since she won’t feel great later on but it tastes really good and is a risk she’s willing to take.)

Background:

Magdalena was born the only child of the King and Queen of Hungry during the Middle Ages. After one too many assassination attempts on her life during her teenage years, Magdalena was given a personal bodyguard who was training a younger, recently hired guard. The two would watch over her as she went about her days in the castle. Over time she grew close with the newer guard, eventually the pair fell in love but kept it a secret.

An attack on the castle one night led to the deaths of her father and the older guard assigned to her. Her lover was promoted to be her new head guard and worried for her safety, he began to teach her how to swordfight in secret. Rumors of another invasion reached the castle and it was decided not long after that Magdalena would marry sooner so that the people may have a king to lead them.

Not having much of an option, Magdalena finally revealed her feelings for her guard and demanded to be married to him or she would abdicat her rights to the throne and leave. Not wanting to lose her daughter, the Queen agreed to Magdalena’s terms. The pair were married and quickly crowned the new King and Queen. The King went off to fight in the war and returned home with a victory. Though a few more attempts at conquering them happened over the years, putting a strain of the kingdom as a whole. Not wanting to just sit idly by, Magdalena took on a vigilante persona early on in her time as Queen to help defend her people.

Years later she would give up vigilantism to raise her son along with her husband. They were allowed a few years of peace due to a treaty with neighboring kingdoms that did not last forever as their allies were being invaded and taken over with this new enemies eyes turning toward them.

In an attempt to save her family and kingdom, Magdalena did extensive research on any possible help and found a lead. In the middle of the night she disappeared to find help. The trail led her to a powerful vampire that agreed to give her power to save everyone she cared for only if she agreed to help them seek revenge against those that wronged them. This meant that she would have to leave her family behind forever, but also she could protect them. So with a heavy heart she agreed to their terms, sacrificing her own life to save those she cared for.

With her newfound power, Magdalena was able to kill the leader of the invading army, thus stopping the invasion of her kingdom but could not return home. So she allowed everyone to think she was dead. As per her agreement, she followed her new sire and helped him take revenge, learning about her new abilities as she did so. After spending long enough time by his side and no longer being needed, he finally freed her from his control, allowing Magdalena to leave and do as she wished. By now her family had long since died of old age and all she could do now was roam for the rest of eternity. With him being the only constant in her life she decided to stay for a while until she felt comfortable enough to strike out on her own.

Plot Ideas: These are all pretty vague ideas I had that can be expanded on. Of course if you have your own ideas I’m more than willing to listen to them. Or we could even combine them with one of my ideas. They can take place during anytime period except for Plot B.

Plot A: A VampirexWerewolf plot. It could be that one of our characters has recently moved their coven/pack onto the others territory and they’ve been having a lot of disputes between each other’s group. So in order to try and get some semblance of peace our characters agree to get together and discuss a shaky truce. The two start running into each other more and form an unexpected friendship that eventually leads to more. Slow burn, FxAny Gender

Plot B: Can explore an unlikely familial relationship between Magdalena and the person who turned her into a vampire. Explore how the two get along. Maybe also figure out who it was that wronged your character and why the two are hunting that person (or group of people) down. I literally know nothing about this character so you’re basically free to do whatever you want with them. Platonic, found family dynamics

Plot C: Fake Relationship plot. Your character is a pure blooded vampire royal that is being forced to marry someone in order to inherit the throne. Thankfully they get to choose who but they aren’t interested in anyone. Enter my character. The two agree to enter a fake relationship that allows your character to get the throne and my character gets a place she can unwind at. Could be that my character isn’t approved of by the council and they have to get around that. Slow burn FxAny Gender

Plot D: My character is a well known hunter and is hired to hunt down your character and arrest them. Finding your character is easy, getting them back to where they need to be is the hard part. Either because your character is very difficult or because someone else is hunting your character down to kill them. Could either be FxAny Gender romance or it could be platonic

Style: Depends on time period

Medieval

Modern

[loyalflutist]

The Warriors of Light

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence Category: F/F Relationship: Edeleth Characters: Edelgard, f!Byleth, Hubert, Mercedes Words: 8,404 Summary: It has been five years since the Seventh Umbra Calamity. Byleth Eisner, once a proud mercenary and hero for Eorzea, now retreats as a Botanist in Gridania. She vows to live a content life in the present, throwing away her past. However, a meeting with one Marauder soon ignites what she truly desires. 

A/N: Whew, I finally wrote something. I got hooked into FF XIV, so RIP, I had a ton of ideas for some of the Three Houses cast. Some information may be inaccurate or not up to date as I’ve only finished A Realm Reborn as of this posting. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it! Major thanks to HeartbeatDivinity for looking over the work! 

------

How long has it been since she last traveled the lands?

Back when she was a green sprout, Byleth walked among the lands of Eorzea, acting as the Gladiator, and stayed with her father and his mercenary guild. So long as the payment is right and the reasoning is just, they’re willing to do just about anything.

They were always on the move, and there was always so much to see. By the time she became a Paladin, she was at the ripe age of 18. The people she’s met, the landmarks she’s seen, the unforgettable battles she’s witnessed, and the friendship she’s forged with others… The adventures she had with her comrades seem never-ending.

She recalls the memory of a conversation she had with Jeralt.

“You know,” Jeralt mused. “I sometimes wonder if I’ve raised you right.”

The two sat near the campfire, their fingers toying with the grasses, the stars lighting up the night sky. Many of their comrades had fallen asleep in their tents, those awake safeguarding their temporary camp. Byleth raised her brows and glanced at Jeralt. He did not look at her. Instead, he kept his gaze high up, the corner of his lips occasionally twitching.

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you to become a mercenary if she were still alive.”

“Really?” Byleth frowned. “Are we talking about this again?”

He shrugged his shoulders, finally looking at her, and weakly smiled. “I can’t help it. You were forced into it when you were young.” Jeralt moistened his lips. “If there’s one thing I regret, I regret dragging you into this business—”

“Father,” Byleth immediately placed a hand over his. “I never regret going into this business.” She squeezed. “If anything, I’m grateful. I got to see so much. It wouldn’t be the same if I were to stay in the city. Besides,” the Paladin grinned. “I get to help everyone, especially you.”

But nothing could last forever. Byleth hadn’t traveled for three long years. She’s settled not at her bustling homeland, Ul’dah, but in the lush greenery of Gridania.

How long has it been since the Seventh Umbral Calamity?

The surreal experience had Byleth checking if the event truly transpired with her journal each waking morning. She’s flipped the pages of her poorly conditioned bundle, her dark hues staring at the surviving written pages describing the horrors of the Battle of Carteneau.

It should have been a victory for everyone in Eorzea. All three Grand Companies from Ul’dah, Gridania, and Limsa Lominsa had joined forces. The Garlean Empire’s VIIth Legion was set for defeat. Dalamud, a lesser moon that was meant to purge the primals and cause massive destruction upon the world, would be stopped. Byleth, Jeralt, and their guild offered themselves to be a part of the frontline fighters for The Immortal Flames from Ul’dah.

Yet by the time Dalamud arrived, Byleth, down onto her knee and Jeralt supporting her, stared in pure horror at the moon with everyone.

No… It wasn’t the moon.

It was Bahamut.

The massive dragon screeched into the red sky. A single sweep of its wings blew everyone off their feet. Jeralt tightly embraced his wounded daughter as they tumbled backward. He grunted, spun himself upright, and rammed his lance down into the terrain in one smooth motion, stopping them short of crashing into the rocky walls. Through Byleth’s narrowed eyes, she watched the fearsome beast shoot endless supplies of firepower, striking like meteors upon the battlefield as it flew around. No matter which side the warriors were on, everyone in sight was obliterated, clouds of smoke left in its wake.

“!”

A blast of heatwave rushed through the duo. Jeralt grimaced and tightened his grip around his daughter. One of the meteor-like attacks was coming at them, and they were unable to escape it.

But Eorzea strategized a last-minute defense: Louisoix. The old male beckoned forth a single spell, shielding them from the killing strike. A couple of other lucky adventurers and fighters on the field were also protected from the relentless assaults. Soon, he, along with several other important individuals, performed an imprisonment ritual on Bahamut.

“No…”

It had failed.

Byleth whited out in her father’s grasp as Bahamut began to charge up its ultimate move. Just before she lost consciousness, she saw Jeralt smile.

Because of that, everything was a blur afterward for Byleth. She had woken up in a familiar desert. Patting herself all around and feeling her items, armors, weapon, and body parts intact felt too good to be true. The fact that she survived The Calamity when she was out in the frontline is a miracle in of itself.

How long has it been since she lost those precious to her?

Was it a curse? Or was it karma? Losing someone was common, especially when one becomes an adventurer or works in the field as a mercenary. Byleth had lost some of her comrades in the past. She’s mourned for them. However, none of them were like the time when she awakens after the Calamity.

Byleth had woken up outside of Ul’dah.

Alone.

She scrambled up to her feet after regaining her composure. Then, she called for her chocobo, Sothis, with a whistle, and searched for her comrades.

For one month, Byleth traveled to every possible continent in Eorzea, and she questioned everyone she saw. She lavishly spent gils on traveling at least twice a day. Some receptionists and chocobo keepers at the stations began to see her as a regular because of this.

It matters not to Byleth. Every nook and cranny in imaginable places where her guild members might be— most importantly, her father, was examined. Dungeons and expeditions to dangerous, foreign lands were thoroughly investigated as a solo member.

“Get out.”

She viciously lashed out to wild creatures and enemies that provoked her during the investigations. Blood splattered upon her face as Byleth heartlessly carved their demise. She slammed her sword down in a series of quick, powerful blows against the enemy, the squelching sound of flesh mashed by the sharp blade.

They were in her way.

“…” Byleth sheathed her bloodied sword. Her chocobo softly cooed in the background, her beak tainted with crimson from pecking their enemies. She approached the yellow bird and gently pat her. Standing in the very last room of an abandoned manor, Byleth firmed her lips. “They’re not here either.”

Something stirred inside of her. Like it was tearing her apart. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the Paladin lowered her head, a quiet sob shaking her body.

To this day, Byleth still misses Jeralt and her allies. Five years had passed, yet no one had announced their return. Their deaths were confirmed after she was invited to speak with Raubahn from Ul’dah. Only Byleth had survived from her guild.

Alone.

How long has it been since she had last seen the battlefield?

The last time she participated in any sort of battle was before she succumbed to her injuries near Gridania.

Byleth stood up to fight a growing threat within the forest. The East Shroud from The Black Shroud brims with various large creatures. That doesn’t exclude insects too. Sylphs had asked for her help to rid of the pesky buzzing intruders that threaten to overwhelm their community.

The young Paladin had changed gears, a red robe exchanged from her heavy armors. Sothis squawked nearby with her new steel armors, her wings flapping wildly at the incoming black wasps. Byleth bent her knees, reeled her body back and placed her hand on the katana.

She inhaled.

Eyes narrowed, she exhaled.

Byleth dashed forward, smoothly sliding the blade out, and diced her enemies into fine pieces. Grime and thick, gold fluid discolored her plain attire with each strike.

However, she had not expected the appearance of imperial forces, the Garlean Empire’s soldiers present with their guns.

Byleth danced around their bullets, slicing them cleanly in half with swift strokes. Sweat trickled down her face as she slashed a soldier’s side. Quick work was made with the other remaining cadets. They didn’t even have a chance to cry for their mothers.

Her chocobo kicked those that slipped past her owner’s sight with a powerful thump. They were sent flying and crashed into the others. Amidst the flurrying assault of red that rained on their bodies, the swarm eventually died down. Byleth straightened her posture and sheathed her katana.

It was too soon for her to relax.

A gunshot rang out. Byleth’s eyes widened as she jerked. Smoke drifted from a dying soldier’s barrel. When his light was finally extinguished, the Samurai hurried on Sothis, the yellow bird running to the nearest safe zone. Blood oozed from her right side, staining the feathered creature’s back. By the time she got there, she was unconscious.

That was the last time she ever went into battle.

When she recovered thanks to the kind residents of this land, after some self-reflection, Byleth swore to give up her arms. The wound she’s sustained hindered her ability to continue with her operation as a solo warrior, the occasional sharp, needle-like jabs stabbing her side.

Besides, it was high time she gives into early retirement.

Byleth would always look outside of her window, hearing the loud chatters and laughter of companions heading off on a quest. She drew a deep breath. There were plenty of other adventurers to take up arms and lead the future of Eorzea. Byleth dryly swallowed. She eventually turned her back from the glass panel and returned to her workstation.

The years that slowly crawled by brought about nostalgia. She sometimes missed being an adventurer despite her decision.

How long has it been since she had been called the Warrior of Light?

She, and so many others who were once called the Warrior of Light, ceased to exist in the present.

Whether they went into hiding, had given up, or died in the line of battle during The Calamity, the tale of their adventures became nothing more than a fantasy. Leaders and survivors speak of their existence, but after five years of silence, no one would speak about them.

Not even Byleth.

The ghost of her past threatened to torture her, its black talons hovering over her neck. Just hearing the title sparked terror for the Samurai. Memories surged about the people she’s once befriended. Other Warriors of Light that shared a draft beer with her every week vanished, their final impressions being that of their corpses.

And every night, Byleth would wake up, screaming for her father. Annette would rush into her bedroom, offering warm towels, and a shoulder to lean on. On the day the young girl asked about Byleth’s nightmares, Byleth swore to never speak or think about the past ever again. Even if it meant forgetting her friends and family.

It was a success, the nightmares lessened until she could sleep like a baby. Any events before and relating to The Calamity were steadily pushed further back into the depths of her mind. Before she knew it, she became a Botanist Master, head of the Botanist guild, and living her new life.

Her role as one of the Warriors of Light would forever be lost in history.

And she wanted it to stay that way.

[-----]

“Master Eisner, you have a visitor!” one of her students, Annette, called in the background.

Byleth, adorned with an attire fit for a farmer, straightened her posture, her bare, wet hands having harvested the plants. With the sun beating down on her back, she deposited the fresh greens into the basket, and wiped the sweat off her forehead as she carefully treads through the moist plantation.

Annette provided a clean towel to her mentor upon arrival. Byleth motioned thanks to the youngster before patting her scarred hands dry, her navy hues locked to their three guests.

They were clearly adventurers… and new ones at that.

A Thaumaturge, a Marauder, and a Conjurer.

Her eyes fell upon their get-up. The equipment they had was rustic and had seen better days. Byleth stifled a grumble. Do all guilds provide their new members weathered weapons? She could not recall a time when she ever had a sword or katana in such a sorry state. Then again, times are a-changing. Old mentors of guilds were replaced with newer ones. Catherine and Shamir were fitting examples, respectively teaching and guiding Gladiators and Archers.

“So, what is it that you need from me?” she asked.

Out of the newcomers, the shortest one of the three stepped up. “I would like to become a Botanist.” She placed a hand on her chest with a smile. “Master Eisner, I want you to teach me.” When the Marauder noticed Byleth eyeing her comrades, she shook her head. “Don’t mind them. It’s just me that wants to join your guild.”

Byleth tried not to sigh. She had half-expected the trio to be here for minor tasks. Adventurers always came and went to help the Botanist out with her duties. When she could not traverse the rough terrains, they did so diligently, but with a small price. Some even became full-time students like Annette. Others became part-time students, their mind set into stone with other guilds. This youngster most likely came as the latter. Byleth crossed her arms.

“Tell me, what do you hope to achieve in this profession?”

The white-haired responds, “I want to be able to distinguish what’s appropriate to gather and harvest in the wild.” She motioned to her friends. “If we’re going to travel and find work, I want us to be able to survive out in the wild, at the very least.”

“I see.” Byleth nods. “As an adventurer, you will be out in the wild more than an average civilian. Your reasoning is sound.” She extended a hand towards the Marauder. “I will teach not only what you need to know for the field, but the importance of maintaining a symbiotic relationship with Eorzea’s plants.” When her hand was shaken, she asked, “And who do I have the honor of teaching?”

“Forgive me for not telling you my name,” the female’s cheeks slightly pinkened. “I am Edelgard von Hresvelg.” She glanced over her shoulder at her teammates. “The Thaumaturge is Hubert von Vestra and the Conjurer is Mercedes von Martritz.”

They both bowed to Byleth.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Eisner,” Mercedes clasped her hands together once she straightened her posture, her head tilted to the side with a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yes, you seem to have a wonderful reputation here in Gridania,” Hubert added. “Everyone says you’re reliable.”

Byleth chuckled. “Their expectation must be dangerously low. All I’ve been doing is harvesting and logging for the community.”

“But the head of the Seedseer Council said you’ve done many great things for Eorzea.”

“She must have been exaggerating.”

Their conversation came to a closure, though rather abrupt. Byleth made a scheduled meeting would follow up the next day for Edelgard, but only after Byleth had spoken to Kan-E-Senna.

The secrecy of her past life as both a survivor of the Sixth Umbra Era and Warrior of Light must remain behind closed doors.

“It’s painful,” she admits to Kan-E. “Hearing that title or my accomplishments only reminds me of him.”

Kan-E could not find the words to comfort Byleth. And that was okay. Byleth didn’t need it.

[-----]

The days that followed afterward were that of varying tasks Edelgard must take up. Byleth had offered her new equipment and tools to get started. Logging, harvesting, gathering, and learning how to identify items in the wilderness were taught at a steady pace.

“You have a knack for this,” Byleth complimented. Under the relentless sun, Edelgard wiped the sweat from her brows and leaned her hatchet against the tree trunk. A large volume of chopped woods settled nearby, its usage exclusively for Gridania’s winter preparation. Annette, Marianne, Hubert, and Mercedes offered to take them to the town’s square. From there, Shamir and her guild would evenly divide and deliver the firewood for their citizens. The teal-haired ruffled her student’s hair. “It hasn’t even been a week, but you’ve mastered the basics of gathering and tending. Today, you’ve done well with timbering.”

Edelgard managed a smile. “Only because you’re my teacher,” she said, swatting Byleth’s hand.

“You jest.”

“She’s right, you know,” Annette hollered in the background. A red mark pulsating on her head, Byleth bent down, grabbed a small rock, playfully tossed it into the air, and swung it at the speaker. The air whistled and Annette yelped. It was going to hit her, and it was going to hurt. Badly. Byleth clicked her tongue when Annette avoided her throw. “What do you think you’re doing, Master!?” she shouted. “Are you trying to kill me!?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe!? What’s wrong with you?”

“Stop embarrassing me in front of my student then.”

“I’m your student too, you know!”

Edelgard could hardly contain her laughter. But it was one of the biggest mistakes she’s made in her life. Byleth crossed her arms and glared at Edelgard.

“I hope you’re ready to be out on the field. You’re getting some Tree Toads for me.”

“…How many?” She instantly regrets asking. A sly smile bloomed on Byleth’s face. Hearing the numbers caused her knees to buck. Edelgard’s features paled as she exclaimed, “100?!”

This is an impossible feat! Hadn’t she already done enough for the day?

“It’s all a part of your training. This will also teach you the delicate balance of nature. Overpopulation is a major issue here in The Black Shroud, after all.” Byleth pats her shoulders. “Also, please make sure they are alive. I need to deliver them to Flayn.”

“…you’re lucky that I like you.”

“Did you say something?”

“N-Nothing, Master Eisner.”

Edelgard hung her head and dragged her scythe, hatchet, basket, and net outside of the premise.

Hubert and Mercedes watched from afar, a crate of chopped woods at hand. “I can only hope milady can stop provoking Master Eisner…” he sighed.

The blonde magus giggled. “I think she might be having fun.”

“Our definition of ‘having fun’ is different, I’m afraid.”

“Speaking of that, when do you think Edelgard will ask Master Eisner out?”

“Wha— Why are you bringing up a silly matter like that?” he scowled. “I’m returning to my duty!”

“But this is the last—”

“And so should you!”

Mercedes watched Hubert storm off, leaving her alone. Annette emerged in his place, her hands behind her back. She softly hummed. “That’s something you don’t see every day.” Mercedes chuckled. “I agree.”

[-----]

Days marched to weeks, and weeks marched to months, and months marched to a year. Edelgard no longer was a Marauder, but a Warrior. By that time, training began to move from location to location appropriate for her student, the environmental conditions becoming harsher.

Unlike her students like Annette and Marianne, Edelgard made a commitment to perform various other tasks at hand for Eorzea. Hearing of her student’s adventures with Hubert and Mercedes reminds Byleth of her own. Each story told was like hearing from her own memories. The achievements, the accomplishments, the heroic deeds they were known for… It was like looking at a mirror. She smiled awkwardly. Edelgard’s tales were full of optimism and pride. Byleth’s was the complete opposite.

Eventually, the days they’ve spent together must come to an end. Edelgard would have to graduate from her Botanist guild. It was bittersweet, but a farewell was soon in place.

They were now seen in Coerthas Western Highlands. A thick, brown overcoat covered their bodies as the four stood over the café’s table, a crinkled map rolled out.

“Your final task is to find this,” Byleth tapped on the booklet with a sketch of a Rainbow Cotton Boll. “However, due to the nature of this assignment, I will allow you to have your allies with you.”

The Warrior looked up. “What about you?”

“I will also come.” Byleth adjusted her overcoat and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to miss my final moments with one of my students.”

“Only because I’m your student?”

Byleth deadpan stared at Edelgard. “Yes.” Edelgard lightly scratched her discolored cheek and looked elsewhere. “I had expected more, but if you say so, Master Eisner.”

Oh… Oh, it was swinging in that direction.

“Don’t push your luck, young lady. I’m not going to pass you just because of our relationship.”

“That’s not what I’m implying— Oh, nevermind, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

“…remind me why I chose you over my suitors again?”

In the background, Hubert and Mercedes exchanged looks. They shrugged their shoulders. It was always like this between the two women. Byleth and Edelgard were entranced and intoxicated with each other’s presence since the day they’ve met, their banters nonstop. It had only worsened since the day they began dating last month.

Hubert sighed. “Can we go now? Let’s not waste any time.”

The party eventually exited the bar. Cold air tickled their nose, snow gently falling upon their figures. Their metallic and leather boots crunched the white plain as they traversed to their destinations.

Yet somewhere along the way, they had taken a detour.

Byleth felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of her face. They were far from their destination. Very far. Edelgard, Hubert, and Mercedes were enticed by their curiosity, and so they chased after it. Far north from their assigned areas, the four marched into The Steel Vigil.

‘ I don’t like where this is going… ‘

Call it instinct, Byleth could not soothe the butterflies in her stomach. Their White Mage ran up to what remains of the watchtowers. She traced the uneven concrete slabs of the outer walls, the majority of its content destroyed by the Dravanian Horde.

Edelgard dropped her hatchet and scythe. In lieu, the Warrior reached for the large axe behind her back and dashed past Mercedes. A gust of wind blew against her party members, forcing their arms up, as she bellowed. In conjunction, the dragon screeched, hurting their eardrums. Edelgard breathed deeply and tore her weapon from the massive black creature. Crimson trail slithered down its scale as it screeched once again.

Almost half as tall as the watchtower, they were mere insects to the magnificent beast.

“I knew this was a bad idea!” Byleth took a step forward. She paused, placing a hand on her side, a dull ache resonating.

Was she able to participate in this battle?

It matters not for now. Mercedes and Hubert immediately jumped in front of Byleth. Their hoodies were blown off, electricity crackling from Hubert’s fingertips.

“Thunder!”

He threw his hand out and lightning shot from his palm. Edelgard bounced back just in time for the spell to slam into the dragon. It howled and stumbled backward.

However, the dragon reeled its head back, an orange glow beginning to emit from its throat. The color brightened drastically as it neared its mouth. Edelgard’s eyes widened. It was aiming at Hubert, Mercedes, and Byleth. She ran until she was on the opposite side of her comrades, charged at the creature, and too reeled her arms back. The young woman leaped high into the air. Edelgard focused on the creature’s scaly neck. A battle cry chortled from her throat once her axe swung at full force.

It diverted its attention, but the energy it gathered could not dissipate. A fiery beam shot out of its mouth. Edelgard had to summon her strength to brace for the impact. She gritted her teeth as her overcoat burnt away, the thick armors cracking under the pressure. By the time the dragon was done, Edelgard was still left standing. Breathing heavily, the Warrior crumbled to her knee, the axe used as support.

Mercedes hastily cast healing spells to Edelgard as Hubert continued to send Thunder in its direction. But the dragon stared at the four, their presence so miniature compared to its destructive powers.

“We should make a strategic retreat!” Mercedes beckoned. She swung her staff as another Cure was directed to their injured comrade. “We might outrun it!”

“Are you sure about that?” Hubert asked. Flames danced around his wrist, fire shooting from his hand at the powerful dragon. Despite his attempts, the monster shook off any ill effect. The Black Mage cursed under his breath. “This dragon will chase us until one of us admits defeat!”

Edelgard grimaced. When the dragon focused its attention on her comrades once more, the female dragged her axe on the white ground, running to it.

“Pay attention to me!”

Another smash was delivered. Sure enough, she had the huge creature’s undivided attention. Its claws slammed on the ground, shaking their balance. Edelgard rolled out of the way with each attempt and knelt on one knee. This dance composed of dodging and striking at the dragon continued for some time. Hubert and Mercedes also continued their support, the Black Mage casting offensive magic and the White Mage casting shrouds of healing spells.

Byleth was the odd one out.

She watched the adventurers beat down the dragon bit by bit. The Botanist bit her lip. At that instant, the dragon roared, spread its wings, and flapped them. Strong gusts knocked everyone but Byleth off their feet, their bodies sinking into the snow.

Compared to Edelgard and Hubert, Mercedes was unfortunate, the beast slamming its hand into her. Mercedes felt its claw dig into her innards, the healer screaming. Red colored her vision as the creature raised its bloodied limb. Then, it struck again. Again. And again. Dread gripped their souls as Mercedes’s squeals of pain pierced the sky.

“MERCEDES!”

Edelgard scrambled to her feet, but her knees gave way, face greeting the chilly ground. Hubert combined Thunder, Fire, and even Blizzard, but it had done little to the fearsome foe. The dragon was squarely in control of the situation.

Were their efforts from earlier fruitless?

The sound of snow crunching perked the two’s ears.

“B-Byleth?” Edelgard hoarsely whispered once she raised her head. The white-haired watched her mentor slowly approach the dragon. Since the day they have met, Edelgard had never seen Byleth engage in a fight. Seeing her older girlfriend face the dragon without a weapon was suicidal. She shook her head and tried to crawl. “Byleth! Don’t do this!”

Edelgard’s outcry caught the dragon’s attention. The creature kept its hold on the White Mage, its bleeding blue eyes staring at the Warrior. Then, it turned to the last standing person, its claws finally removed. Mercedes weakly gasped as it marched towards Byleth. Hubert hurried to her side to tend her wounds. Buffs of hot breath escaped its nostrils once it stopped before the Botanist. It gave a thunderous roar, knocking back her hood. Byleth frowned and held its blue eyes, weighing its gaze.

The dragon made no hesitation to blow hot blue flames at the teal-haired woman. Edelgard screamed.

“BYLETH!”

The flames had eaten the thick overcoat, but left the pristine, red robe underneath unscathed. A glimmer pierced the raging vortex. Byleth swept the fire, clearing her position, with a katana at hand. Edelgard’s heart pounded. Her girlfriend was standing in the middle of the blue flames, unharmed and armed. The roles were now reversed.

“Looks like I can’t run away forever.”

Byleth ignored the strong aches that reside from her years-old injury. She adjusted her stance. The dragon flapped its wings, producing more wind, fluttering her robe. They glared at each other, a period of silence hanging in the still air.

Then, the enemy reacted.

It breathed more blue flames. Byleth sidestepped and rushed head-first to the creature. She swiped and flickered the katana, its blade creating lacerations in its wake. It screeched from the top of its lungs. Its claws reached out for her, but she parried and dodged it with ease. Byleth kept the momentum up, driving the dragon backward, persistent with lightning strikes.

“Getsu.”

She angled her katana into a crescent shape, a faint illusion of the moon drawn from her blade.

“Setsu.”

Solid icicles burst from the dragon’s fresh cut, freezing its innards.

“Ka.”

Cherry blossoms scattered from her katana and danced around Byleth as she slashed in a flurry.

The dragon snarled. It reached out to grab Byleth once she regained her composure. Byleth sidestepped once more, but winced, a sharp stab to her side. She staggered and the beast easily pulled her into its grip. She gasped as it tightened. Then, it flew into the air. They disappeared into the snowing clouds above the adventurers’ head.

Seconds ticked by, yet there is no sign of return.

Edelgard got to her feet, stumbling in the process. “W-What’s going to happen to Byleth?” She propped herself upright with her axe. “Am I going to lose someone I love again?”

Those words stung. Hubert cursed as he sprinkled more potion on Mercedes’s crimson gash. “She will survive, milady!” His stained hands continued to apply first-aid to the mangled flesh exposed in this rigid environment. Sweat slid over his brows as the Black Mage said, “Have faith in her!”

“Should I be concerned that it’s coming from your mouth?”

“Milady, if you have the time to tease,” a katana stabbed between the two from above. “I suggest you help Master Eisner.”

Just as he predicted, the clouds had dispersed, leaving the center empty. A black blur flew down. The dragon twisted in the air as it descended, tossing Byleth to the side. She smashed into the outer wall, debris and smoke filling the area. Once it dissipated, Byleth groaned, laying still in the rubble.

“Byleth!” Edelgard rushed to her side. Snow kicked up in front of her. She skidded to a stop and took a step back. Looking up, she saw the dragon in her path, rosy fluids dribbling from its mouth. It roared, but weakly, at the Warrior. She grimaced and raised her axe. She had to keep the dragon’s attention off Byleth.

Edelgard roared, swinging her axe. “I’ll be your opponent!”

Amidst the crumbled structure, Byleth struggled through her swimming vision. The impact had cut her scalp, drawing blood that trickled between her eyes. Byleth slowly rolled onto the snow. She hissed as needle-like sensations relentlessly jabbed into her side.

Byleth reached for the item pouch around her waist. A shaky hand retrieved one Hi-Potion. The substance poured into her mouth, its potency quelling the pain. Byleth flung the empty glass bottle aside. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and rose. Hubert, who now carried an unconscious Mercedes, ran to the Samurai.

“Here!” he tossed. Byleth’s outstretched hand caught her weapon. She nodded. “Thanks.”

She turned her attention to the dragon and Edelgard. Byleth’s brows furrowed.

“Edelgard!” she said. “Bring it closer to me!”

“Byleth, wha— you’re okay!?”

The white-haired female nearly bit her tongue, ducking from a swipe. Edelgard straightened her posture and shot a glance. Byleth began to kneel, her hands resting on the sheathed katana, staring at the beast. There was a pause. Then, Edelgard nodded. The axe in her grip tightened and spun. Both the creature and Edelgard roared in synchronization as they raced to land the first strike.

A burst of flames and lightning sprouted upon the dragon. Hubert had released his hold on the injured Mercedes. Decorated staff in one hand, he grunted and unleashed a torrential of magic onto the field, its destruction rivaling that of the beast.

The adventurers and Byleth felt invigorations mere seconds later. Mercedes leaned against what’s left of the outer wall, her white magic going into effect. Edelgard was granted silent permission to recklessly throw herself into the enemy, ramming her heavy axe.

They were slowly inched closer to Byleth. Soon, the dragon shook the ground with its roar, reeling its head back. The same orange light started to emit from its throat. Sweat slid down her face. With the wall, Hubert, and Mercedes behind her, she was trapped, Edelgard stalling for the final blow. Byleth drew her lips to a line.

It was only a matter of time until they were blasted into oblivion.

Byleth slowed her breathing, her knuckles whitening. Three components of Iaijutsu had activated previously in battle. She exhaled. A calm wave washed over her, Byleth narrowing her eyes. The instant Edelgard smashed her axe onto its belly, Byleth pivoting on her heel.

NOW!

Byleth sped through the dragon. Not even a second passed and she stood on the other side of it, her katana flicked out.

Silence.

Then, blood spewed from the dragon.

It screeched and thrashed as the bright light from its neck disappeared. Hubert, Mercedes, and Edelgard hopped back as its tail swished. Byleth remained still, the rampage narrowly missing her. She twirled the katana at hand. When she sheathed it, the dragon collapsed, the surrounding snow painted in a ruby splatter.

“…”

Byleth’s tense shoulders eased, her head lowered.

It was over.

The Samurai was immediately greeted with a crushing hug from behind, Edelgard’s face nestled into her shoulder. “I’m so glad we’ve defeated the dragon,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine what would happen if we didn’t…” Byleth turned to face Edelgard in her embrace, her smile soon strained as the Warrior frowned. “Though I have questions for you. A lot.”

As Edelgard wiped off the blood from the older female’s face with a singed handkerchief, Byleth said, “I will answer them all once we’ve headed to safety.”

She and Hubert would then whistle, two yellow birds coming just as quickly as they were called. Sothis tilted her head and cooed softly once Byleth and Edelgard sat on her back. As for Hubert and Mercedes, he took the rein for her chocobo, Pom Pom (clearly named after Annette’s suggestion), He offered to head to the nearby town first as their White Mage required medical attention.

They hurried off. Both Byleth and Edelgard would shortly follow after them, albeit at a slower pace.

Byleth blinked. She was seeing doubles. Another blink and a shake of her head.

“Byleth?” Edelgard touched her on the arm. “Are you feeling alright?”

She went limp in response. Edelgard muffled a grunt and caught her girlfriend from falling off their mount. Despite the everlasting winter environment, Byleth felt cold to the touch. Colder than ice.

“No, this cannot be happening!”

The Warrior took the rein from behind and, after adjusting the taller female to rest on Sothis, sprinted into the snowy town.

The chocobo squawked and leaped off a high cliff. Edelgard leaned forward, almost hugging the unconscious Samurai. Sothis squealed when a jolt of pain traveled up her legs. However, she continued running as fast as she could. Her owner was in danger! Edelgard bit her lip as they neared Camp Dragonhead.

“Don’t you dare die on me!”

Their arrival startled many. Blood splattered their attire, bruises and patches of peeling, hot red skin had many citizens turn away. Guards from Camp Dragonhead approached the four warriors.

The interrogations did not last long.

Mercedes and Byleth were transported to the premise’s medical facility in a hurry. Doctors and nurses brought them into surgery while nearby White Mages offered to heal Hubert and Edelgard. The two sat outside of the operating room. Hubert crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. Edelgard buried her face into her palms, not a peep heard from the tank.

“They will be okay,” Hubert rested a hand on her back, his eyes soft. “I believe in them.”

“Are you sure…?” Edelgard raised her head, her bandages wet from the tears. Her lips quivered as she asked, “They will not meet the same fate as my brothers and sisters, right?”

He nodded. Then, he pulled his childhood friend close. Resting his chin on her head and rubbing her back, he whispered, “El, they will never leave your side. I promise you that.” Hubert knew of the loss Edelgard sustained as a child. The false promises of becoming the next emperor of new territory in Eorzea, the Adrestian Empire. Surviving the assassination that took the lives of her parents and siblings. Fending for herself in Limsa Lominsa. Reuniting with Hubert in Ul’dah and becoming friends with Mercedes in Gridania. She had gone through so much.

Hubert tucked a stray strand of white hair behind her ear. He stared at her face, then smoothed her head, almost as if he were her older brother.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.”

The two eventually fell asleep sitting up, waiting for the return of their comrades.

[-----]

One week later…

“Are you still here to ask me questions?”

“Yes.”

“Persistent, aren’t you?”

Edelgard shrugged, peeling the apple’s skin with a knife. Byleth huffed in her bed. Resting in a shared recovery room with Mercedes, the four were present with their own business. Hubert tended to Mercedes with news about the day. As for Edelgard, well, it was self-explanatory.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t willing to open up about your past with me.”

“I… just need some time.”

“Time?” she raised a brow, hands still occupied with the fruit. “How long?”

“Until I feel the time is right.”

“Pfft. That’s going to take forever.”

The Samurai’s hands balled into fists. Though it is a jest, it has some truth behind it. The weight of her past continues to chain Byleth down. If anything, just as she confessed to Kan-E, Byleth wants to stay as far away as possible from her past title and occupation. Surging memories of Jeralt was inevitable, and she shuddered, her heart beating fast.

“…perhaps I should ask you something...” Edelgard raised her head, the peeled apple placed on a plate, all ears on her. Byleth’s navy hues wandered elsewhere, her thumbs tapping and toying with one another. She jolted from feeling her girlfriend’s warmth. Edelgard enveloped her hand with hers, lilac eyes staring into the Samurai’s. Byleth dryly swallowed. “What if… What if I’m afraid to talk about it?”

“Afraid?”

She nods. “Let’s start from the beginning. You’ve heard of stories about the Seventh Umbral Calamity, right?” When her student and allies admit, she continued, drawing in a deep breath. “Then, you must’ve heard rumors about those called the Warriors of Light.”

“Bits and pieces. Always thought they were nothing more than a made-up story about Eorzean heroes. Why do you ask?”

“If I were to tell you that I was once labeled as one, would you believe in me?”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. Louisoix called me one when I first met him.” Byleth recalled her meeting with the old man. Still a budding sprout, the Gladiator and Jeralt were invited to speak with the key figure. Feats they’ve achieved for the sake of Eorzea went unnoticed. It was likely they would talk about them. However, Louisoix had said very little. Instead, he motioned his aged hand to the two, a smile blooming. “…and that was when he called me and father the Warriors of Light.”

Mercedes, opposite of her bed, clasped her hands and wondered, “Oh, Master Eisner, so the reputations from the Grand Companies were not untrue then! To think that I would meet one in-person.” The blonde grinned. “Helping others, upholding justice, and doing what is good for Eorzea… You must’ve accomplished so much in your life.”

“Yet I’ve lost so much too.” Mercedes’s features drooped, Byleth staring at Edelgard’s hand. “If anything, I wished I wasn’t the Warrior of Light.”

A chill slithered down her spine. Byleth slowly opened about the moments during the Calamity. Rocks turned to ashes from the intense heat, flames spreading throughout the battlefield. The Garlean Empire unleashed mighty magiteks, weapons, and soldiers on the dreadful landscape. And Byleth was there in the frontline, acting as the Paladin. All f their efforts to stop the empire and Bahamut… In the end, she was the lone survivor from her father’s mercenary guild.

“I remembered,” Mercedes said. The others looked at her. She cast her sight to the floor. “Although I was not at the frontline, I witnessed Dalamud approaching our planet from the church.” True to her words, before she was a White Mage and a Conjurer at Gridania, Mercedes was raised and served at the Church of Saint Adama Landama in Thanalan. When tragedy struck, she could only offer prayers for the lives that were lost and hope to repel the enormous dragon. “I could only imagine how much you’ve suffered.”

Edelgard rubbed Byleth’s arm. “You’ve done so much for Eorzea…” she bitterly smiled. “You were out there, protecting us… You’ve saved us all.”

Hubert, though, crossed his arms. “If you so claim that you are the Warrior of Light, then why did you hide that vital piece of information from everyone, especially from us?” The Black Mage frowned. “Why did you pretend to be a Botanist?”

“I…” Byleth’s heart squeezed. She placed a hand over her chest, the wounded Samurai shakily exhaling. “I was a coward.” A pause. “I still am.”

The past was always haunting her. Its shadows prickled the back of her neck, darkness looming over the survivor. Byleth rubbed her arm. “I’m afraid of the ghost of my past— My dead comrades, my dead father, and the Calamity.” The rubbing intensified. “Hearing that title reminds me of them. I would rather live my life in peace, forgetting about it all.”

Though sympathy was gained by the ladies, Hubert thought otherwise. He got up from the wooden stool, marched up to the teal-haired, and shook her shoulders.

“Get a grip, Byleth!” he yelled. “To live like this is no better than to die!”

“Hubert—”

When Edelgard too stood up, he shook his head.

“Milady, forgive me, but I cannot stay silent.”

He placed a hand on his chest, glaring into Byleth’s navy eyes. “I too have a past I wish to never remember. Everyone does.” He swept his arm to Mercedes and Edelgard. “They have a past they wish to make amends with. To change the course of history for a better outcome. However, we only have today and tomorrow.” Hubert tightened his grip. “If you are to continue acting this way, then it’s no wonder why you’ve abandoned your duty as the Warrior of Light.”

“I’m sure there are others that would carry the future of Eorzea—”

“But you are here right now!”

“I am unable to fight at full strength. You saw how I collapsed after the battle last week. It’s impossible to return to duty as I’ve had when I was by myself.”

“We are here for you! Did you seriously forget that we are also your comrades?” The older male released her, still scowling. “I’m sorry, but I cannot deal with a person who wishes to waste their potential on a meaningless life.”

“Isn’t she the Botanist guild master though?” Mercedes quipped.

“That is not enough for someone with her capability.” He turned his back to the Samurai, walking to the exit. “I don’t even think she’s worthy of being Edelgard’s woman.” The door then slammed from behind.

Edelgard scratched her cheek. “I’ve never seen Hubert so angry before.” She glanced at her girlfriend. Hand still on Byleth’s, she gave another squeeze, leaning in. “I want to let you know that, unlike Hubert, whatever you choose to do with your life… I will support you.” The Warrior captured Byleth’s lips. “Don’t you worry about protecting anyone,” she said after parting. Getting up from her stool, Edelgard gave another kiss, this time on the head. “You’ve protected us once during the Calamity, and you’ve protected us a week ago with the dragon. I think you deserve to rest.”

“El…”

Compared to her male companion, Edelgard was gentle. Yet the two of them had a point, their arguments well-supported.

Her lover waved farewell for the evening, visiting hours over, and returned to the inn for the night. That left Byleth with Mercedes. She looked to the White Mage.

“I’m not even sure what to decide anymore.”

“Hm…” Mercedes cupped her chin. “This is a difficult choice to make. But I know that so long as you remain true to yourself, then you’ve made the right decision.” She settled into her blanket, the nurses coming in to dim the candles. “Have you ever thought of becoming an adventurer again?”

“Sometimes,” she answered truthfully.

Mercedes hummed again. “Then you’re being chained to the past. Though, knowing you, I know you’ll reach an answer before we fully recover.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I think that’s too soon to say.”

The rest of the night, they slept in silence. Mercedes did, at least. Byleth found herself staring up at the ceiling, her gauzed hands resting over her stomach. Her thumbs casually tapped at an even, rhythmic interval.

What is it that she truly desired?

She sighed. It was time for some self-reflection.

[-----]

Another week crawled by in Camp Dragonhead. During the days she and Mercedes were out of commission, Edelgard and Hubert traveled around Coerthas Central Highlands. Small quests and duties with other party members were tackled, the latest task partnering them with Ingrid Brandl Galatea and Dorothea Arnault, respectively a Dragoon and Scholar.

Was this busywork? To keep their minds off about Byleth’s true identity? Or did they use this chance to make new relationships and make some spare gils on the side?

Whatever it was, it matters not, the time for their friends’ discharge finally here. Mercedes had left first, leaving Byleth alone. Or so she thought she was alone.

“Congratulation on your discharge, Master Eisner!” Annette and Marianne, who had traveled from Gridania, greeted Byleth, a bouquet of scarlet carnations offered. “Just wanted to stop by here and make sure you’re still kicking.”

“I-It would be… terrible if you were to die…” Marianne fidgeted.

Annette laughed in response, slapping her colleague’s back, hard. “It would be terrible, huh! But I’m glad she’s still here with us.” Marianne yelped and tried to swat her friend’s hand. “Can you… please not do that?”

“Oh, you’re no fun!”

Seeing their cheery selves caused Byleth to smile. Then, she stood up from her mattress, walking to the closet. Folded neatly was her decorated red robe. Nearby, her katana stared at its owner, begging for usage. Byleth glanced over her shoulder. Annette and Marianne were still in the room. She dryly swallowed, the Samurai’s fingers delicately rubbing the silky material.

“Annette, Marianne, I have something to tell you both.”

“Hm? What’s up?” Annette said. “Are there materials you want us to harvest or gather for you?”

Byleth shook her head. “That’s not it. I’m actually thinking about putting you both as the new masters for the Botanist guild.”

“…I heard wrong, did I?”

When Byleth shook her head, Marianne felt a rising dread from her chest, as Annette wondered, “Is there a reason as to why you want to make us the new guildmasters?”

An answer was already in preparation for a question like this. Soon, Annette and Marianne’s eyes sparkled, shaking the Samurai’s hands.

“I wish you the best of luck, Master Eisner,” Annette said, a tinge of sadness hinted. “We’re going to miss you.”

“It… It was fun studying under you,” Marianne added with a smile.

"I might stop by, so don't slack off."

The two shuddered, Marianne especially. She trembled in her boots, her fingers still tasting the slimy toads years prior.

Soon, the three left together. Both Marianne and Annette departed back to Gridania. As for Byleth, the mentor approached the three-man group she had seen so often. Edelgard, Hubert, and Mercedes waiting for her return.

“Glad to see you’re doing better, Byleth,” Edelgard said. “There aren’t any complications that we need to know of, right…?”

“Other than my damaged side from six years ago, no.”

“I see,” Hubert crossed his arms. “Have you thought about your future?”

Jumping right to the gun. Hubert was not the kind of person to be dilly-dallying. Byleth shrugged her shoulders, causing his furrowed brows to deepen. However, she said, “If I were by myself, no. But with you all… I believe I can follow my heart’s true desire.” The mentor laughed. “After some self-reflection, I’ve come to terms that I want to become an adventurer once again.”

“But what about your trauma?”

It's not easy getting over the past. Still... Byleth took Edelgard’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m okay. So long as I have you, I… I won’t be afraid anymore. I’ll try to, I promise.” She looked to the Black and White Mage. “I hope you have room for an additional member of your party.”

“We always have room for one more,” Mercedes giggled. “We actually need someone of your expertise to form a perfectly balanced group.”

“Glad there’s a spot waiting for me to fill.”

Hubert quietly nodded in the background, satisfied with her answer.

Edelgard rushed into her lover’s arms, pressing her face against her breasts. She closed her eyes, whispering, “I’m glad you decided to travel with us, my love.”

"Me too." Byleth kissed the top of her head. “It’s good to be back in business.”

This time, with new comrades, the ghost of her dead allies only able to watch from afar.

Soon, Eorzea will hear of the news that the Warrior of Light has made her return. Accomplishments of her past are soon forgotten in place of newer ones. Impossible assignments that would turn anyone’s tail around were deliverable. The tales of Byleth Eisner stretched far and wide, her reputation spiking. However, the Grand Companies pointed out her closely knitted party, the three on equal standing with the teal-haired female.

“Are you thinking of what I’m thinking?” Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn, leading the Grand Company of Limsa Lominsa, remarked during a meeting with the other two Grand Companies.

Raubahn from Ul’dah chuckled. “I’m not surprised. That kid managed to find a band of warriors that share the same motivation as her.”

“And they’re always together too,” Kan-E added. “They continue to forge a powerful bond that rivals many alliance leaders of the past.”

“You don’t say,” Merlwyb tapped her finger on the wooden table. “I say that they remind me of Byleth— No, that isn’t right. What I meant to say is how they share similarities to the heroes of the past.” She leaned forward, a grin breaking out. “Could they be the new Warriors of Light?”

And it turns out, Byleth, Edelgard, Hubert, and Mercedes would become just that: the Warriors of Light.

[sirro85-blog]

Dark Horses 2

Captain Becca stood in the main square of the Dark Horses compound staring at an office door, she shook her head and turned away, moving to sit with a group of other off duty soldiers.

"I don't want to go in, she fuckin' scares me," Becca said pouting.

"You need to return the petty cash you checked out, you need to go in," said Panther unsympathetically, "I mean if you'd taken me I'd return it but as you left me behind..."

"But I didn't spend it, Kovac did, I just collected it," she pouted again, "Wolf, you need to request some new kit for your troop don't you, can you return the petty cash at the same time?" There was a wheedling tone to her voice.

"Not a bloody chance, she already calls me Rat and half the time she refuses my request before I make it, I'm not pissing her off more than I need to."

"Rat!? Ha ha, that's amazing, I sort of see why though," Becca laughed.

"What does she call you then?" Panther asked, eyeing Becca suspiciously.

"Captain, sometimes Becca...alright fine she calls me Stilts and she always glares at my legs like I'm tall on purpose."

"She calls me brat," sighed Panther.

"She has a nickname for everyone, I'm amazed she remembers them all, the only people she is ever nice to are Knickers and Kovac," Dorman said matter of factly.

Three heads turned to look at Dorman, "and what does she call you Mark?" Asked Becca.

"Uhhh, Hero," answered Dorman with a slight mumble.

"Really!? That's not so bad," said Wolf.

"It is the way she says it," Dorman said dully.

Becca stood, squared her shoulders and walked toward the door marked 'RQ' with a deep breath she pushed the door open.

"Stilts," came the grunt, "What do you need this time? Another set of uniformsmade to order?" A glare at her lower limbs, "impossibly long legs!"

"Uhh no, I, uhh see I just have this 36" inside leg and none of the standard uniforms fit my leg and my waist...but no, not today Quartermaster, today I just wanted to return your petty cash." She fumbled the roll as she passed it over, dropping it and stooping to pick it up, as she straightened the Quartermaster looked over her shoulder.

"Hello Sweet, how are you? What do you need?" The Qm asked in a warm voice.

"Just in to see you Leese, been missing you," Knickers replied warmly leaning over the counter to kiss the enormous woman on the cheek.

Becca backed away hoping she might escape with Knickers distracting the Qm, one glare from the woman who was as wide as she was tall froze Becca where she stood.

"Take a seat in the office and make a brew, I'll deal with Stilts here and be through."

"Oh be nice to Bex, she ruined her best shoes by stabbing a guy with them when we were away," Knickers waved at the Qm as she disappeared into the back office.

Becca almost called out for Knickers not to leave her as Lisa the Quartermaster's sharp eyes snapped from Becca's face to the roll of petty cash, instantly spotting it was smaller. Her dirty red ponytail seemed to bristle and grow as the Qm advanced on the Captain.

"Another bar fight Stilts and let me guess you paid for the damages?"

Why was this woman so intimidating? Becca felt sweat drip down her back, of all the terrifying beings in existence; Lisa the Quartermaster of the mercenary unit known as the Dark Horses was the only one she had ever known to freeze the very marrow in her bones.

"Yes," she squeaked.

The Qm glared and then pulled out her ledger and looking at Becca -who was hoping against hope that she hadn't started to sway where she stood- traced her finger down the paperwork. Paper who in this century used paper!?

Just as Becca thought the silence and the sighs punctuating it were going to make her start weeping the door flew open and in walked Major Kovac.

"Hello mother," he said beaming at her, "need to order some ordinance, got the numbers here."

"Troop, POUR ANOTHER ONE SWEET, TROOP IS HERE," Lisa bellowed through to Knickers.

"Is Knix here aswell? I'll stop for a cup then, gonna need a quarter's worth RQ,"

"I'm not a Regimental Quartermaster anymore," Lisa said wagging a finger.

"And I'm not commander of a single troop anymore and Knix hasn't been sweet for longer than I hate to think, but you call me troop and I call you mother and you'll always be my RQ, now, let's get that cup and order a shipment."

"A shipment now?" Her eyes narrowed, "how much are we talking?"

"Ordinance, weapons...all in...a million?"

"A million!? I quit."

"No you don't, you'll never leave me, Captain what are you doing here, haven't you got men to oversee?" Kovac suddenly addressed Becca.

"Yes sir," she replied immediately.

"Well hop to," Becca forced her numb legs to work and as the door swung shut she heard Kovac saying, "relax mother, we have a contract."

Becca walked while warmth returned to her body. She had always thought she knew Kovac as long as anyone but she forgot that while she had met him at the academy his first deployment had been without her and that seemed to be the point where Lisa had "adopted" him and Knickers had come back from that campaign with her new nickname, one that stuck to this day.

Becca stopped her walking infront of 1 troop who were formed up and being inspected by Sergeant Glover, the Sergeant snapped to attention and snapped off a salute. "Leave to carry on ma'am, please"

"Carry on sergeant," Becca didn't salute as she wasn't in uniform.

She stood watching as Fluke studied the ranks, moving up and down scowling as he found minor faults, of all the soldiers in the Dark Horses, Fluke seemed to miss the military settings most of all.

"Fluke got the guard posting?" Said a voice behind her.

Becca turned to her Sergeant and shrugged, "yes, Wolf wanted it, he wants to see who is running the raids and scope them out."

"Thought you'd want it, considering, or Dorman he's more suited to defence than either of you," Panther continue.

Becca shrugged again, "Major wanted us here, we've got another rep coming, wants us there."

"Another rep? We're looking for more work?"

"That business with the Flet really ate into our reserves," Becca explained, this time it was Panther's turn to shrug as the two walked off.

It was the early hours of evening when Major Kovac was sitting with his remaining officers and sergeants, the Towoli representative walked in. He gave an approximation of a human bow, his hide gleaming dark red and green the Towoli colours of accord.

"May the two rivers always flow to you," the representative said, "I am Gethrev, of the Towoli settlers on Rivers-enough-to-support-life-but-not-enough-to-flourish-fully-it-has-tactical-benefits,"

Kovac blinked at the garbled name and adjusted his translator, "Welcome Gethrev of Fol-ro-shall, may the two rivers never run dry," he completed the traditional Towoli greeting.

"Major Kovac, I come to request your assistance, the settlements on Fol-ro-shall are subject to raids from Bartuq and, I regret our forces are not enough to both resist them and seek them out. When we saw the magnitude of the task, there was only one name on our list. The Dark Horses of Major Kovac."

"No there wasn't," Kovac fired back, "If there was only one name then you're fools and I don't work for fools, if you had more than one name then you've been to at least three of them already as you've already had to pass them to reach Pelcar-3." He leaned forward in his seat, "I know the human playbook says we are susceptible to flattery but it should also say we can see through it."

He stood and gestured to an adapted seat, one suited to the tentacle like lower limbs of the Towoli.

"Crossing off the Rhul as the Towoli won't work with them and the Flet are self aware enough to know this task is ill suited to them you approached Ovette who won't risk her men against, well anything anymore, Bayrun the Karnac lacks the resources but I bet it took him a long time to admit it.

That means you went to Daniels, and Danny boy, he has the man power but he took one look at the defences and realised he was out of their league. Which means you looked at the bottom of your list, the expensive end and you saw the humans only one system away and you took a look at our prices and decided to see why we charge so much. Am I close?"

Gethrev had taken the offered seat and looked at the Major, "the Karnac was most frustrating," as he muttered his hide blurred to purple, a sign of irritation, before returning to red and green, "yes, you are correct, you are the fourth to be approached but reputation says you will probably be our solution."

"You know our price?" Kovac asked and received an affirmative gesture and colour change, "we're expensive because we aren't just soldiers, we're combat engineers, artisan soldiers was the phrase, we can take the Bartuq but we expect the payment in two halves, one before and one after completion."

The Towoli gave a flash of bright colours as it stood to grip Kovac's hand, there were details to iron out but it sounded as though the Dark Horses had a second contract.

An hour later Kovac returned to his meeting looking tired but pleased. Sergeant Webb left with the contract to pass it to the Quartermaster.

"We need a clerk to sort these things," he said fatigued.

"We can find one, are you ready?" Becca responded.

"Yes, we can start now," Kovac turned to Panther.

"Sergeant, I'm promoting you, as of right now you are a sergeant-major, my right hand. Congratulations Panther,"

"Sir? What?" Said Panther in a startled voice.

"Sergeant-Major Panther, congratulations."

"But 2 Troop, Becca." The sergeant-major said confused.

"Knickers is my best section commander, she's going to be my 2IC now," Becca explained.

"Sergeant Knickers?" Panther said a little startled. "...she'll be great."

"Right then sergeant-major, I'll see you first thing," Kovac stood and shook her hand, Becca followed suit.

"Well done Pants, you'll be great!"

"Wolf knows already, he wanted to be here but...you know, congratulations sergeant-major, god knows you've earned it," said Captain Dorman shaking her hand.

Panther was left alone in the room, a smile on her face, "sergeant-major," she said in a voice mixed with pride and disbelief.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

the mercenary and the witch

Summary:

Lance is in bad company, spying on Sendak's band of outlaws for hire and reporting on their movements to his friends. But his position within grows precarious when Sendak reaps the spoils of battle...

Word count:  8265 (one-shot, complete)

A/N:

for @rueitae since she helped a lot with developing the idea and because she’s just really into Sendak fic right now

also please note this is darker than what i typically share. there’s implied torture/whump as well as an implied threat of...well, the R-word (though nothing is portrayed)

in any case, i hope you like it!! and if you do, please comment and/or reblog!! also i’ll just say right now i can’t guarantee a sequel

Read below or here on ao3:

Sendak found no gold in the village, which naturally put him and the rest of the mercenary company in a foul mood. They flushed the rebels out and received no payment in return, so they vowed to take it in whatever way they could.

Lance would’ve been content with a hot dinner and a warm bed to spend the night, but his comrades had other plans. For every unsavory ex-soldier pillaging silos of grain and casks of ale were two outlaws turning millers and thatchers and tailors out of their homes; for every boy with an ax stuck in his hand and enlisted against his and his parents’ wishes was a girl getting leered at or felt up or worse.

And Lance bore witness to it all with nausea curling in his gut and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

But Thace couldn’t always be there to stop him from saying something.

“You’d take their only cow?” Lance demanded of Morvok, a weaker willed Galra ex-soldier - a deserter, he suspected from his shifty manner. He crossed his arms and stared down the mercenary as if he could force him to drop the lead rope through sheer force of will.

“I like a good cup of milk as much as the next baby,” Morvok retorted, though he didn’t quite meet Lance’s eyes. He tried to veer past him, but he blocked the barn doorway.

And, well, Lance couldn’t claim to be as broad in the shoulders as Shiro or as large in the gut as Hunk, but he still had half a head on Morvok. “Leave the cow alone, Morvok,” he said, voice low and threatening (he hoped).

But Morvok didn’t quail. Instead he finally raised his gaze, eyes narrowing, and said, “I don’t think I will, boy.”

“Why not? It’s not like you need a cow!” Lance flailed his arms; if threatening wouldn’t work, maybe reason would. “And how the hell are you going to care for a cow while we’re on the road?” He gestured towards the poor, too-docile-for-her-own-good creature, who only mooed listlessly. “She needs hay and needs to be milked early every morning, and what about when we’re on our next job and—”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Morvok interrupted with an ugly little smirk Lance wanted to punch off his ugly smug face. “Sendak’s thinking of making this charming little village our base of operations. The villagers have been oh so hospitable since we cleaned up their infestation, and they have that delightfully strategic tower that—wait, boy, where are you going?”

But Lance barely heard the tail end of his explanation. He spun on his heel and deserted Morvok at the barn, leaving him to his victim in favor of sprinting away to where he pitched his tent near the base of the tower - the one and only fortification upon a hill with a perfect vantage of the fertile wheat fields surrounding the farming village. His heart pounded wildly both in exertion and from a panic that grew more familiar with each “surprise” job that Sendak took.

“We’re attacking that village,” Sendak announced at sunrise as the last straggling mercenaries emerged from their tents in various states of dress. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but one of its residents hired us to flush out an unsavory rebel presence.” He barked a humorless laugh, his empty eye socket glowing yellow behind the smoke filling it. “I told him we would be more than happy to free them of their menace.”

Lance’s heart jumped into his throat, eyes widening as he exchanged an alarmed glance with Thace, the only halfway decent mercenary in the band. In his time with them, he’d yet to face any rebels against Zarkon’s conquest. What if he encountered someone he knew in battle? If any of his fellow mercenaries observed him hesitate, they wouldn’t think twice about serving up his traitorous head to Sendak on a stolen silver platter.

And Sendak never—

“Why’re ye on’y tellin’ us about this job now?” someone demanded. “We been marchin’ for weeks, and ye ain’t told us nuthin’!”

Others echoed his sentiments, and Sendak, with all the gravitas of a once-favored Galra general, let the grumblings die out before he replied, “And inform the traitor in our midst so he can alert the Voltron Mercenaries? I think not…”

While a slow smirk curled Sendak’s lips, while the deserters and criminals and scum raised their voices in angry, indignant shouts - of denial, of reproach, of suspicion, Lance swallowed before forcing himself to join in - but not without reaching for the two-way mirror hidden inside his coat.

Its presence failed to reassure him.

Lance tore his tent flap open, barely pausing to activate the ward against eavesdroppers woven into the canvas - likely as not he’d have to pay for a mage to renew the charm soon before it faded. He fumbled for the gleaming silver mirror, breath fogging the surface as he held it up to his face and said, “Show me Pidge.”

His heart stuttered in his chest while the mirror’s surface blurred and shifted, his face and the gloomy interior of his depressingly impersonal tent fading to…well, he wasn’t really sure what. Something dark, he assessed with his brow furrowed. He squinted at the mirror, hoping to glean something else, turning it around in his hands before sighing, his heart sinking into his stomach and a dreadful ache in his chest.

Lance missed Pidge so much it hurt worse than any arrow to the arm or sword to the leg. He missed all his friends and family in the months since he enlisted in Sendak’s renegade mercenary band, with whom he felt more lonely than he ever had in his life despite his singular friend, but it was Pidge he longed to see, to speak to, to hold most of all.

Well, if there was one good thing that would come of Sendak discovering him, it would be an inevitable reunion with Pidge and the others after he fled.

Lance gave up on contacting Pidge for the moment; she probably left her mirror facing down on her desk or beside her bed, too distracted by an experiment or with a rebel intelligence report to remember to pick it up. It’d happened once before, and she contacted him barely an hour later herself, the mirror nestled safely in his hand flashing white before he brought it to his eye and felt the smile splitting his face the instant her gaze met his.

So this was nothing.

(Or so he tried to convince himself.)

Lance sat cross-legged on his bedroll, tapping his fingers against his knees. An agitated energy sat under his skin, so he almost tucked the mirror away. But he didn’t fancy holding himself back from stopping his repulsive comrades from harassing and stealing from villagers (lest they scrutinize him too much), and he needed to tell someone about Sendak’s plans.

He raised the mirror again and muttered, “Show me Allura.”

His face faded, another far more beautiful and ethereal (he was man enough to admit as much) face taking its place.

Allura grinned, but when he couldn’t muster a grin of his own, hers faltered. She raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, and Lance reached for the slate and chalk he hid under his bedroll.

The chalk screeched as he scribbled a simple message on the slate and raised it so Allura could read:

Sendak suspects.

Allura’s eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth in an oddly dainty expression of horror. She reached for something out of his view, her face lowering, and after a few painstaking seconds she raised a scrap of parchment that read in her calligraphic scrawl, Are you safe?

Lance swiped his sleeve - dirtying it, sadly - over the slate before scribbling, For now. When Allura frowned in obvious concern, he managed a reassuring smile and a simple two-fingered salute. “I can make a quick escape if I need to,” he promised.

(Wait, could Allura even read lips?)

Before Allura could respond to his words - whether she understood it or not - Lance wiped the slate clean again and wrote, Pidge?

After he showed it to Allura, she smiled but shook her head. She again raised the same scrap of parchment with a new addition under the first message:

With Matt.

And if Pidge was with her brother…well, Lance could rest easy knowing there was a simple explanation for her distraction (and that if anyone would keep her safe, it would be Matt). A relieved smile pushed at his lips, a tension easing from his shoulders, but with the most pressing information out of the way, he needed to report to Allura about the ambush on the rebel hideout.

Again he wiped the slate clean, but as he pressed the tip of the chalk to the board, the flap concealing the entrance to his tent flew open.

Lance’s heart leapt. He shoved slate and chalk back under his bedroll and covered the two-way mirror with his hand before turning to face the intruder.

His heart stopped in his chest when he recognized Haxus - Sendak’s loyal lieutenant, the only man that followed when Emperor Zarkon exiled him - towering over him. “Commander Sendak requests the presence of every man in the company,” he said, speech almost jarring in its formality.

Lance stiffened his spine, carefully composing his expression into something more apathetic. He nodded - the band, for all Haxus’ efforts, wasn’t disciplined enough for salutes - and said, “I’ll follow you out.”

Haxus appraised him for a heartbeat - did he suspect Lance of the treachery? - before saying, “Hurry it up, boy. The commander doesn’t have all day.”

The instant he turned his back, Lance rolled his eyes - being called “boy” all the time just because he was the newest and youngest recruit (at least before they kidnapped a handful of village boys) grated on him - and, after carefully tucking the two-way mirror back into his coat, trailed after Haxus.

The mercenaries milled about in the courtyard in front of the fortified tower, an armed mob just shy of unruly. Villagers mingled with them - some obviously terrified judging from their hunched shoulders and shifting eyes, others looking more curious - while they grumbled about being called away from more important tasks like looting.

Haxus cut a path through the rabble to the base of the tower, but Lance lingered at the edge of the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently - he needed to return to his tent and pass his message along to Allura - and a scowl twisted his lips. Even Thace’s arrival didn’t set him at ease, so he only greeted him with a sullen nod.

“I heard you tried to stop Morvok from stealing a cow,” Thace observed.

That only darkened Lance’s mood. He crossed his arms, glowering at the ground; he did not need his warnings now. “It didn’t work,” he muttered.

“I know, but…” Thace trailed off with a sigh, but Lance knew what he was thinking anyway.

“You can’t stop this lot from having their fun, and getting in their way will only anger them and draw their attention to you.”

Thace was spared the trouble of saying anything else by Sendak’s arrival.

It was a small blessing: Sendak didn’t leave them to wait long in the humid heat, sweating in their boots and armor. But the genuine and triumphant grin - broader than the one he donned when their ambush succeeded in driving away the rebels - on his face, with his teeth flashing in the waning light and his smoking eye glowing, instantly set Lance on edge.

Good news for Sendak was not good news for him.

“Today was an even greater victory than I even imagined!” Sendak announced, tone full of barely repressed glee.

“You’d think Zarkon just declared him the heir to his empire,” Lance mumbled under his breath.

(When Thace flashed him a grudging smile, he considered it a personal triumph.)

“We drove the rebels away from a poor, defenseless village they victimized for so long—”

Lance rolled his eyes, the irony making him sick to his stomach again.

“—and we reaped the spoils they left behind!”

“Of course…” he scoffed, almost too loud.

But the mercenaries, riled up by Sendak’s speech, drowned his voice out with their own cheering and jeering.

The rabble only grew louder at the stirring of some commotion at the front of the crowd, at two mercenaries dragging a slumped figure between them, so Sendak fought to make himself heard:

“And among the fleeing rebels I found the most precious of the battle’s spoils: the rebel witch herself!”

Lance couldn’t deny his curiosity as the mob cursed at whomever was brought before them. His heart pounded relentlessly against his ribs, tension filling him as he stood on his toes to peer over the heads of those standing between him and the tower.

His eyes found Pidge.

A bound, gagged, barely standing yet seething Pidge, glaring at her captors with unfocused eyes.

Lance didn’t know he’d stepped forward - he just knew the blood rushing through his veins filled him with a furious energy - until Thace’s fingers clamped around his arm and dragged him backwards. “Let me go,” he hissed after failing to wrench himself out of his grip.

“No.” Thace grabbed his shoulders and shook him, stepping between him and the mob - between him and Pidge.

Pidge, Pidge, Pidge.

Just moments ago he thought she was safe, but now he found her here, amid a crowd of deadly, angry, dreadful mercenaries whose commander was once a notorious Galra general that captured the Castle of Lions itself.

But Pidge…oh, it was Pidge that thwarted and expelled Sendak, and the bastard remembered.

Lance wanted to kill him, and Thace stood in his way. He glared up at him, heedless of the noise and witnesses around them. He didn’t care; he could take them all if they tried to stop him too. “Let. Me. Go.”

“So you can do something stupid?” He shook his head. “Return to your tent, Lance.”

Lance couldn’t. Tension filled his muscles, turning them into taut springs, and all he saw was Pidge, her fear obvious behind her defiance as Sendak gloated. But his rage faded ever so slightly, giving away to a gut-wrenching fear of his own. “I need to—”

Thace flung an arm around his chest and shoved him away, tugging him closer and speaking directly into his ear, “Sendak is waiting for the instant you - any one of us - steps out of line. If he has any reason to suspect treachery, justified or not, he won’t hesitate to kill you - and her.”

Lance swallowed the sudden lump lodged in his throat, blinking angry tears from his eyes. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” he demanded, gesturing towards the tower and the crowd milled around it. “Thace, she’s—”

He broke off; he couldn’t really trust Thace, friendly and decent or not.

“She means something to you?” Thace wondered, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

Lance nodded, too choked up to speak. And what could he say? Would he really pour out his heart, confess that Pidge was his lover - that he asked her to marry him before Allura sent him to infiltrate Sendak’s mercenaries - to a near-stranger whose intentions he still couldn’t glean?

“Then I will listen for her fate,” Thace promised, “but you will return to your tent.”

His tone brooked no argument - it reminded him of Coran when he forced Allura or Shiro to rest before they overworked themselves - but Lance still found the wherewithal to protest, “But I need to see—”

“Think of what will become of her should Sendak discover the true purpose of that mirror you keep hidden on your person.”

Lance stiffened, almost so startled it superseded his anger. “How do you—”

“I know how to spot magical objects,” Thace said simply, “and you’re not nearly as careful as you think you are. That ward on your tent is nearly dead, by the way.”

“You won’t tell—”

“Of course not,” he said, frowning almost grumpily. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

Lance glared at him - Fine, keep your secrets. - but forced his limbs to unwind and relax. “Tell me as soon as you know something. I need to know.” For once he didn’t care to modulate his tone, didn’t care he sounded like he was begging.

“I will,” Thace promised. “Now go.”

And finally Lance turned towards his tent, each step taken - each step that carried him further away from Pidge - more difficult than the last.

***

Thace didn’t keep him waiting for long - and definitely not long enough for him to scramble for his two-way mirror and try and fail again to contact Pidge. And, oh, that was why he got nothing, he realized with an awful twisting in his gut.

He didn’t know she was in the very village the mercenaries ambushed - didn’t encounter her in the battle - didn’t know anything. How could he be so useless to her when she needed him?

He buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Pidge…I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Lance bit back his automatic denial, instead raising his eyes to look up at Thace. “What did you find?”

Thace crossed his arms and sighed. “She’ll be under constant rotating guard inside the tower,” he said. “Sendak doesn’t intend to slaughter her like he did with all the other captured rebels; he wants to cart her off to Daibazaal and present her to Emperor Zarkon. But…” He glanced at Lance, his brow furrowing, and added, “I doubt you’ll like this next part any better.”

He jumped to his feet, unable to hide his urgency, and said, “Tell me anyway.”

“Sendak won’t be stopping his men from…harassing her,” Thace said. “His only condition for her arrival to Daibazaal is that she be alive.”

Lance barely heard the last of his words, the blood rushing past his ears drowning them out. He didn’t know if he was more furious or horrified, his heart somehow racing and tightening in fear at once.

He’d spent the better part of a year with this rabble of mercenaries; he knew what they were capable of without the slightest provocation. Pidge could be beaten within an inch of her life or suffer the same fate as any defenseless village girl and Sendak wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it.

And Lance would be powerless to stop it.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try anyway.

Escape would be their best bet, but he doubted he’d be able to manage it with Pidge locked up in a tower cell. But just the thought of waiting till they marched again in two days’ time filled him with nausea.

Lance needed to see her, just hold her and hear her voice again, make sure she was as all right as she could be trapped here, promise he was already planning a way out for her - a way out for both of them. He needed—

He turned to Thace and said, “I want guard duty.”

“No.”

“For the ancients’ sake, quit telling me no!” Lance roared, throwing his fists into the air. “I don’t even need your permission!”

“No, you don’t,” Thace agreed, to his surprise, “but you do need my advice.”

“What the hell do you know?” Lance sneered, aware but uncaring that he sounded petulant. He paced the tiny space in his tent, his head brushing the canvas ceiling, and seethed. “She’s my betrothed, Thace! I can’t just not do anything!” He waved in the general direction of the tower (probably) and glared.

“I know more than you think,” Thace said, “and for these ancients’ sake, keep your voice down. Your ward—”

“—is fading, I know.” His foot tapped, and tapped, and tapped. “Where’s your compassion?” he demanded. “And what good are we if all we do is watch and wait?”

“Watch and wait,” Shiro advised Lance before he set out.

“The Blade teaches us to watch and wait,” Keith said in lieu of a proper goodbye.

Well, how was Lance supposed to watch and wait with Pidge’s safety at stake?

“I’m going to see her”—Lance met Thace’s eyes in a useless battle of wills—”with or without your help.”

Thace rubbed his face and sighed. “You and your friends and your thoughtless ways will be either the death or salvation of us all.” But, to his surprise and relief, he clapped Lance on the shoulder and swore, “You will have my help.”

“Thank you,” Lance said with a slight smile. “I’ll be careful.”

“See that you do,” Thace said. “I fear this won’t be so easy as we hope.”

***

With Pidge so close yet so far from his reach, Lance slept worse than he did in his first nights marching with the company, when fear kept him on edge lest Sendak discover him and have someone slit his throat in his sleep. In the rare stretches of slumber he snatched, nightmares plagued him - of Sendak strangling Pidge, her pale face turning blue while he watched, helpless with quicksand sucking at his legs and dragging him down till dirt filled his mouth and he startled awake gasping and fumbling for his empty water skin in the darkness of his tent.

It took all his self-control not to bolt out and sprint for the tower.

He didn’t bother trying to sleep again and instead slipped on his coat and stumbled out of his tent with the water skin in hand. After a trip to the village well, he parched his thirst, but he couldn’t so easily dismiss his nightmare.

The tower stood as a velvety black silhouette at the top of the hill, a silent watcher in the night, with a torch half-hidden by a crenelation burning atop it. Sendak likely stationed someone he trusted - and with sharp eyes - up there to watch for anyone taking advantage of the darkness to sneak around…

The doors to the only tavern - which, in a village so small, should’ve locked up soon after sunset - burst open, a few drunken mercenaries slipping over their own shadows. One fell, landing on his hands and knees, while his fellows doubled over and guffawed, the sound disturbing the otherwise quiet evening - the only peace the village got with this rabble in residence.

“Stupid girl,” the one on the ground grumbled. He stood, rubbing his chin, and added, “She ain’t so pretty she can play hard to get.”

One of his companions laughed even louder. “You aren’t so pretty she’ll play hard to get.”

The first one raised his fist, swinging it with a wordless bellow, but he was so drunk he missed and stumbled while his friends laughed at his expense.

Lance rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy - he wasn’t so naive he couldn’t admit that he suffered many a stinging rejection before he met Pidge, although with the company this job forced him to keep, the mercenary probably deserved the red, hand-shaped mark on his jaw.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” one of the others said, kind enough to help the first climb to his feet. “That one mightn’t have wanted you, but I know there’s another girl in the village who can’t say no.”

The mercenaries’ shared laughter shifted to something dark and unpleasant that filled Lance with an ugly knot of dread. He watched them tread through the village, past dark shops with windows broken after days of looting, past cottages with shutters torn off their hinges and the stables empty of horses - up the hill and towards the tower.

Any sympathy Lance had vanished, all wisdom Thace ever spoke to him forgotten in the heat of a fresh wave of anger. His heart pounded as he ran to overtake the mercenaries - his own, distasteful comrades - and protested, “Didn’t you hear? Sendak said only the posted guards can ‘visit’ with his…captive.”

“No, he didn’t,” one immediately retorted.

Lance gritted his teeth to bite back his frustration, trying to rethink…what would Pidge do? “Then don’t you think you should get some sleep while you can?” He shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he hadn’t felt since the instant he saw her trussed up and gagged and dragged before a mob. “We’re marching again in a day, and I’m sure you’d rather rest in a bed you stole than the hard ground.” He smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner, but when the men still looked doubtful, he extended his arms over his head and faked a yawn. “I, for one, know what I’d rather do tonight than bother some rebel prisoner.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” one said while the others nodded in agreement. “I want my fun now while I can take it, before Sendak marches us all to death on the way to some other battle.”

They roughly pushed past Lance, but he grabbed one by the arm and wrenched him back before hissing, “What fun is an unwilling victim that’ll sooner scratch your eyes out till you have as many as Sendak than submit?” He glowered, staring him in the eye, his gaze and fingernails digging into his flesh promising bloody murder.

“What’re you yapping about, boy?” one of the others said. “The ones that fight are the most—”

“Shut your trap,” the one Lance grabbed spat, his gaze steadier and steelier than he would’ve expected of a drunken lout. “You…” His finger jabbed him in the chest. “You’re the one who tried to stop Morvok from taking a bloody cow.”

Lance swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He had a reputation, did he?

“Always standing to the side, never eager to take any spoils,” the mercenary sneered. “You’re even too good to take weapons off corpses, as if dead men need them where they’re going.”

“W-why would I steal weapons off corpses?” Lance wondered, his eyes wide…as if he could profess innocence. His comrades apparently were more observant than he gave them credit for. “I take good care of my bow and sword; I don’t need anything else.”

“What’re you, a lord’s spoiled brat?” he scoffed. He tugged his arm from Lance’s grip. “We can’t afford to let good weapons go to waste, boy, just like we like to have our fun before we die fighting someone else’s wars. But fine”—he rolled his eyes and trudged away, back in the direction they came—”I’ve lost my taste for rebel flesh thanks to your preaching.”

Lance watched the rest of them follow, not one throwing him a dirty look as they passed. He met their eyes unflinchingly, his tension refusing to abate, and even when the shadows swallowed them he felt no relief.

If one faithless mercenary made note of his post-battle habits, then all of them very well could, and if the news traveled to Sendak…

It was just one more reason for him to suspect Lance of treachery.

He needed to get Pidge out before he did anything stupid that compromised them both.

***

“You’re on duty guarding the witch until dawn.”

Blue’s brush nearly slipped from his hands when Haxus addressed Lance while he fought a yawn. His eyes shot open in surprise, but he composed his expression into something he hoped was nonchalant - rather than the stupid, triumphant grin that pushed at his lips - as he turned to face Sendak’s lieutenant. “Until we march?”

“Until we march,” Haxus confirmed. His eyes narrowed, sharp enough on him that a shiver traveled up his spine, but he didn’t let it bother him.

He was finally getting a chance to approach Pidge! The thought filled him with the energy that evaded him all day thanks to a sleepless night, and when Haxus’ footsteps faded behind him, he resumed brushing Blue’s coat to a sheen.

“Hear that, girl?” he said to his mare, allowing himself a smile. “I’ll see her tonight, and soon…” He rubbed Blue’s snout down to her soft, velvety nose. “Be ready, all right? We’ll be on our way back to the Castle before you know it.”

***

Time is short, Lance scribbled on his slate before showing it to Allura on the surface of his two-way mirror. He wiped the dust away and wrote his new message,  Is Matt safe?

Allura’s eyes widened, and she scrawled on her parchment, Why do you ask?

Sendak captured Pidge, Lance replied simply. We leave soon. He paused, assessing Allura for her reaction. When her eyes slipped shut and she nodded in agreement - or in simple acceptance, because Lance refused to be convinced to stay - he cleaned his slate and wrote, Watch for us.

Explain when you return, Allura ordered, gaze sharp. But her expression softened, and she added underneath, Be careful.

Lance flashed her a reassuring smile and a two-fingered salute and said, “When aren’t I?”

(He sincerely hoped Allura couldn’t read lips because he did not want to know the answer to that question.)

Allura rolled her eyes, which Lance took as his cue to end the communication. He returned the mirror to his pocket and stood, his heart stuttering in his chest.

It was time for his guard shift.

The ward Lance used to shield his tent from eavesdroppers was little more than a pebble with a rune carved into it that he set just within the entrance. He picked it up, his heart pounding with excitement (and heavy with dread), and ran his thumb over the rune.

He knew it was losing its effectiveness…but it had to do if he wanted to seize this chance to speak with Pidge.

Lance pocketed the ward with his two-way mirror before belting on his sword and pushing his way out of his tent.

The trek up the hill to the tower dragged on as he forced himself to modulate his pace, to not seem too eager. Too many close encounters filled him with a wariness he hadn’t felt since his first month with the company, and Thace’s persistent warnings echoed through his head.

The tower door opened with a creaking of rusted hinges, and Lance entered a round room with a staircase spiraling up along the wall through the ceiling. A single mercenary leaned against the wall outside a second heavy metal door with bars over a window, cleaning under his fingernails with a knife.

“You the next one?” he asked when he glanced up at the sound of Lance’s footsteps.

“That’s right,” Lance said. He paused before him and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Who’s your partner?” the guard wondered, his eyes slipping past him.

His eyes widened, fingers tightening around his sword. “My…partner?”

The guard nodded, angling his head towards the cell door right as a pained yelp drifted from within.

Lance stiffened, jaw setting and blood running hot. “Where’s your partner?” he asked the guard.

He grinned nastily and said, “Visiting. I already got my turn with the witch.”

Lance forced his fingers to uncurl, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax. “Well, tell him it’s my turn now,” he said as levelly as he could.

(He doubted he succeeded.)

“Not till your partner gets here,” the guard said. “Commander Sendak’s orders.”

Lance rounded on him and grabbed his collar. “Listen, you—”

“No need to be so impatient, boy!” someone announced behind him. “I’m here now! I’ll even let you visit her first since you’re in such a hurry to have her to yourself.”

Lance’s eyes pinched shut as he silently begged for the patience he really did not have. “Morvok is my partner.” He let go of the man, resisting the urge to shove him away, and turned to the short deserter, eyes narrowing. “How’s your cow?”

“Taken care of,” Morvok promised with a smirk. “I milked her this morning and even offered to share some with my comrades; you might’ve taken a cup if you bothered to break your fast with us.”

Morvok’s oddly formal diction grated on Lance’s nerves, reminding him irresistibly of Sendak’s; it gave away their origins as high-ranking Galra soldiers…and rubbed his nose in what they had in common.

Lance wouldn’t put it past Morvok to spy on him and report back to Sendak.

The guard knocking on the cell door burst the tense bubble. “Shift’s over,” he called inside. “Hope you left something for the next two.”

The door swung open and closed in quick succession, the second guard emerging rubbing his nose and scowling. “The witch bit me!” he complained.

Lance smirked, pride filling him. “Guess it wasn’t a nice visit.”

“Oh, it was.” The mercenary smiled, his gaze falling to his balled fist. “I made sure she paid for it.”

His smirk froze in place, though his racing heart urged him to launch himself at the mercenary. “I’ll charge her extra just for you,” he said through gritted teeth.

The mercenary grinned and clapped Lance on the shoulder on his way out, but his partner leveled him with a suspicious gaze before following.

The tower door shut, leaving him and Morvok in a shadowed, torch-lit room���with Pidge so close he could almost touch her.

Lance grabbed the latch to open the cell door and smiled at Morvok. “And now it’s my turn to slap her around,” he said, the words tasting foul as they slipped from him.

Morvok laughed. “You surprise me, boy,” he said. “Just a few days ago you tried to stop me from stealing a cow. A cow!”

Bile rose in his throat as he said, “A cow is worth more to me than a rebel witch.”

Morvok’s awful cackle followed him into the cell as he slipped inside, guilt heavy in his gut. He set the ward with its rune at the base of the door before at last seeking what he came for.

She slowly, gingerly rose from where she crouched on the stone floor, the chains binding her to the wall rattling and her eyes wide in disbelief. “L—” she cut herself off with a startled squeak before covering her mouth with a hand and bursting into muffled, heart-wrenching sobs.

His own heart fractured as he watched her fold in on herself, the defiance that had been on display when she was paraded before the band gone. “Pidge,” Lance muttered while a lump stuck in his throat. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, her warmth, her heartbeat, the uneven rise and fall of her chest reassuring despite her broken, silent cries.

Lance buried his face in her neck and ran his fingers through her hair, unbothered by her unwashed state. Holding her - comforting her however he could - was more important than her hygiene.

Pidge pressed her face into his chest, her hands tucked against him while she shook. “Y-y-you’re here,” she managed between sobs. “I-I-I thought…the worst…L-Lance…”

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he muttered into her ear, squeezing her tighter as if that would erase all that befell her since her capture. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, Pidge.”

“Y-y-you—should y-you be here?” Pidge mumbled, her voice muted in his coat.

“It’s my turn to guard you,” Lance told her with a bitter laugh, “and nothing could keep me away.” He pulled away from her just enough to cup her face in both hands, wiping away a few tears with his thumbs and meeting brown eyes sharp despite their unhappy shine. “I would’ve been beside you the instant I saw you if I could’ve.”

Damn Thace, he thought, an angry heat filling him at the sight of yellow bruises under her eyes, marring her pale skin, at the cuts and scrapes visible through the tears in her ragged, dirty clothes. Damn Sendak most of all.

“I-I know,” Pidge said, a slight smile on her lips, “and I wondered - I hoped - if you would, but y-you shouldn’t—”

“I warded the cell,” Lance promised. “I-I’ll tell Morvok I gagged you and I d-didn’t feel like mocking if he asks.”

(Even the explanation stuck a knot of dread in his stomach, as if just pretending to beat his betrothed was something he could relish.)

Pidge’s brow furrowed, nose wrinkling in a way that might’ve been sweet in any other situation. “Lance—”

“I had to see you,” he insisted, “and I’m going to free you. We’ll both escape these degenerates once we’re on the march.” He rested his forehead against hers, their noses brushing and her breath warming his face. “We’ll find your brother and return to the Castle, then we’ll marry because if you’re ready I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Pidge smiled very slightly, her hand sliding up his chest and neck, her touch soft and sending a shiver down his spine. “I was ready to marry you before you even asked me, y-you fool.”

“Fool” wasn’t an insult coming from her, so a grin pushed at Lance’s lips as he retorted, “You would trust a fool with your heart?”

Her palm rested against his cheek. “Only if that fool is you.”

Lance kissed her, her lips soft and warm beneath his. Her breath stuttered, his own heartbeat erratic, and her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer.

Until she broke away with a hiss, eyes pinched shut and lip curled.

“Pidge?” he said when she bent over, clutching at her abdomen. His hand fell on her shoulder, worry making him nauseous. “Are you—”

“I-I think I have a few broken ribs,” she explained breathlessly, and when she glanced up at him, her eyes glistened with pain.

Lance knelt on the ground beside her, gingerly grasping her arms as fury again threatened to overrule him. He contented himself with a scowl and demanded, “Who—”

“They take turns,” Pidge explained. “It’s worse if I fight them.”

“You bit the last one’s nose,” Lance remarked, frowning with his heart heavy. “Pidge—”

“I-I’ll be fine, Lance,” she promised, her hand finding and covering his. “I trust you t-to get us out of this.”

“I will,” he swore, “and I won’t let anyone else touch you again.”

He sealed his words with another, softer kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair until he pulled away just enough that they still breathed the same air. “I love you, Pidge,” he whispered, because he needed her to hear, to understand it.

She smiled, but there was something shaky about it. “I know.” She cupped his jaw, her thumb wiping away a single tear he hadn’t noticed he shed. “I love you too.”

Pidge dragged his face down to hers until their lips touched again, the taste of hers bittersweet despite the salt of her tears. His heart pounded, an awful dread twisting his gut into knots before he parted from her, breathless and with his chest aching.

He fervently, desperately hoped that kiss wouldn’t be their last.

***

When Morvok declined his “turn” with Pidge, Lance breathed the easiest he had since Sendak dragged her before a crowd.

“What do I want with a witch?” he said. “She could curse me with a look.”

Lance didn’t bother arguing with him and instead suffered through the rest of the shift with Pidge miserable and alone only on the other side of a cell door and refusing to be baited by Morvok’s needling.

“I bet she didn’t mind you so much,” Morvok said, flashing him an unpleasant smirk. “At least you’re prettier than her other visitors.”

Lance’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Oh thanks,” he said through lips pressed together. “I’m definitely prettier than you.”

Morvok only chuckled. “You must’ve been gentle too,” he observed. “I didn’t hear a single peep from her when you—”

Lance chucked the ward at Morvok, but he was faster than he looked, ducking his head before it connected with his forehead. It struck the wall behind him with a clack and fell to the floor for him to pick up and examine with a thoughtful tilt to his mouth.

“Curious,” Morvok said, raising an eyebrow. “You carry a rock around in your pocket?”

Lance’s heart jumped, the rage that had filled him so quickly at his mocking fading fast. “It’s just a good luck charm,” he lied. “My sister gave it to me, so if I could have it back”—he held his hand out—”I’d appreciate it.”

Morvok smiled, and for once it almost looked friendly. He set the ward on his open palm and agreed, “Wouldn’t want to part a man from his beloved family heirloom.”

Morvok endured the rest of their shared shift in silence, but Lance thought he might’ve preferred his mocking.

***

Lance began to realize how much he hated standing still when the company marched at dawn. Perhaps Pidge’s presence and the danger to her hanging over his head made it worse, but when they set away from the village - away from the looted, beleaguered farmers and simple craftsmen - the tense thread threatening to snap loosened.

The morning was balmy even before the sun warmed the earth, the mercenaries lethargic after several days of rest, but Sendak mercilessly pressed them forward. And, despite his certainty there was a traitor in the band’s midst, he didn’t keep their destination a secret.

Daibazaal, the heart of Zarkon’s empire.

But Lance and Pidge would be gone long before they reached Daibazaal’s border.

Sendak called for the first halt at noon. Supply wagons rolled to a stop, mercenaries on foot collapsing where they stood while those mounted - some on stolen horses - had the wherewithal to slide off first.

Lance slipped off Blue, patting her rump before stretching, wincing at the stiffness in his spine. He appraised his surroundings - the Continental Road that traversed the entire continent north to south - and looked towards Sendak, standing beside his giant black stallion while listening to a report from Haxus.

He couldn’t spot Pidge, but he knew she rode with Haxus, slung across the back of his horse like another saddlebag with her wrists and ankles bound.

The sight - the angry heat that filled him if he so much as thought about it - made him more eager to find an opening for them to escape. Doubtless it would look strange to anyone they passed too, especially if Sendak and Haxus didn’t bother to hide her, but no one - and certainly not in the lawless and war-torn territory that lay between Daibazaal and what little was left of Altea - would challenge a band of armed outlaws.

“Look sharp,” Thace told Lance, jerking him from his dismal thoughts. “Haxus is walking towards us.”

Lance straightened, heart skipping a beat when his gaze landed on Sendak’s lieutenant stalking in their direction. His mouth dried as Haxus came to a stop before them, his face impassive…except for the slightest telling curve to his lips.

“Commander Sendak requests your presence, boy,” Haxus said.

Lance swallowed, unable to resist glancing at Thace. “H-hope I’m not in trouble,” he managed to halfheartedly joke. “That would make the rest of this long march awfully awkward.”

“Let’s not dawdle,” Haxus said, his lips pressing together in obvious displeasure.

Lance tried smiling. “I’d never keep the commander waiting, sir,” he said.

Haxus looked less than impressed with that, but he paced away, and Lance followed with his heart in his throat and Thace’s concerned eyes on him.

They wove their way between resting and laughing and whining and eating mercenaries, most of them in high spirits despite the difficulty of the road. But Lance paid them no mind, body too tense and thoughts too chaotic to bother.

Sendak couldn’t know he was the traitor…but he probably did.

Thace was right; he’d been less than careful, especially of late. But Lance didn’t care anymore; so long as he could get Pidge somewhere safe, Sendak could do whatever he wanted to him.

When he stood before Sendak, Lance’s heart pounded so loud he was sure the crows roosting in the nearby trees could hear it. But he held his chin up, and before either he or Haxus spoke, he said, “You know, I don’t let just anyone summon me.”

Sendak’s lip twitched, his brow furrowing in more obvious displeasure when he sarcastically retorted, “Then I’m so grateful you honored us with your presence, boy.”

Lance smirked, finding some reassurance in the weight of the sword at his side. “Well, come now,” he said. “I don’t have all day.”

“No,” Sendak agreed with a slow smirk - one that sent an awful chill up his spine - of his own, “you don’t.”

“Oh?” He shifted his feet, leaning forward slightly. “What’s—”

“Haxus, search his pockets,” Sendak ordered.

Lance froze, eyes widening, but as Haxus approached him he shrugged and said, “Fine. All you’ll find is my shaving mirror and a good luck charm.”

He stood stiffly, leaning away as best as he could, while Haxus pawed through his coat pockets and extracted the two-way mirror and the ward. “This is all I found, Commander.”

Sendak raised the eyebrow over his smoke-filled socket. “Is there anything you can tell me about them, Lieutenant?”

Haxus examined the rune on the pebble. “This is a ward against eavesdroppers,” he reported, his fingernail tapping against it. “It matches the description of the one Morvok told us about.”

Of course.

“And the mirror?”

“The back has modified distance and communication runes scratched into it,” Haxus said, turning it to show Sendak. “It matches—”

“—the one we found on the rebel witch,” Sendak pronounced, his lips twisting into a snarl as he rounded on Lance.

He took a shameful step backwards but refused to quail anymore. He slid his sword from its sheath and held it before him, tip pointed at Sendak’s chest.

Sendak raised his arms…and smiled. “I think this, Lieutenant Haxus, is all the evidence we need to prove him the traitor,” he said, “but what should we do with him?”

“Deliver him to Emperor Zarkon with his rebel witch partner,” Haxus suggested with a sneer. “He will decide their fate.”

“Tempting,” Sendak said, “but he has fought and bled for my company.” The glow behind his smoking eye intensified, almost as if it pinned Lance to his spot. “I will give you a chance to prove your loyalty to me, boy.”

“Why the hell do you think I’d be loyal to you?” Lance spat. His blood rushed past his ears, almost deafening in its intensity, his surroundings fading away and focus narrowing to a point.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sendak beckoned someone behind him forward with a twitch of his hand. “Unless Morvok is mistaken, you and my captive are quite…close, perhaps even…betrothed.”

And in an awful echo of that awful instant, two mercenaries carted Pidge towards them. They threw her at Lance’s and Sendak’s feet with enough force she curled in on herself with a whimper.

“Pidge!” Lance crouched beside her, heart in his throat as he cupped her face and turned her towards him.

Tears streaked down her dirty face, and she sported a new bruise under her ear and a bump on her temple only half-hidden by her tangled, matted hair. He gritted his teeth against that familiar fury when she failed to speak around the gag forced past her teeth.

Lance reached behind her head to untie it, but the tip of a sword in his face stopped him. He raised his eyes to meet Sendak’s, scowling.

“You further incriminate yourself,” Sendak observed.

“What do you want?” Lance demanded. “Just tie me up with her and have done with it!”

“Not quite.” Sendak lowered his sword till the blade rested against Pidge’s neck. “You see, I hold your beloved’s life in my hands, so whatever you decide can settle her fate.”

“Then tell me what you want!” he shouted.

“All I ask is you perform one task,” Sendak said. “Do that, and no other man in this discordant rabble of mercenaries - not even me - will lay an unkind hand on her between here and Daibazaal.”

Lance swallowed, his breath short and body rigid. He met Pidge’s frantic, wide-eyed gaze, watched her furiously shake her head, her small hands grasping his. “Y-you won’t kill her,” he said. “You need her alive for Zarkon.”

“Correct,” Sendak confirmed, “but there are worse fates than death.”

Lance stared at him, as if he could spot any sign of untruth in his words through a look alone. And really, what reason did he have to trust any promise Sendak made him?

But he looked back to Pidge, his heart heavy with regret. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes slipping shut as he tried to conjure some instant of peace for them. Her fingers clutched at the front of his shirt, her body trembling slightly against his.

She still shook her head when he pulled away, but Lance stood and asked in as steady and steely a voice as he could manage, “What do you want me to do?”

Sendak smiled, baring teeth that glistened like fangs. “You will ride beside me for the remainder of the journey, but you can start the task I have for you now.” He tossed something long and thin at Lance’s feet:

A rough, thick leather strap with glittering shards of glass embedded in the fabric - a switch, nasty and cutting but still impeccably clean.

Horror - horror and a terrible, heart-stopping foreboding - gripped Lance. “You—”

“You will torment her yourself,” Sendak pronounced, “and I will watch her suffer a fraction of the betrayal I did at Zarkon’s hands.”

*** 

End

[dogobar-blog]

The Exiles at Sea

Hey! This is a fanfic based on @wirelessshiba��‘s mercenary girls! This one is a prelude to the foundation of A.I.M. I may have taken too many creative liberties but I hope you enjoy it. I’m currently working on a follow up that introduces Leah and Gabby and explores how CLAW came into power. I’d like to eventually write stories for all the mousenaries so please stay tuned!

**********

Ela sipped on a mug of dark coffee as she stared out at the black sea. Official regulations prohibited food and drink inside the bridge, but these days rules were more akin to suggestions for the crew of The Supernova. After all, she reasoned, a rebel organization couldn't survive long without bending the rules from time to time. Her task for today however, was to oversee an operation that would lean more on the illegal side, even in the old world order. As the commander of the last remaining cruiser in the original U.S. Pacific Fleet, it was her duty to protect the nuclear powered aircraft carrier known as The Heart's Content. She was her one and only companion in this vast ocean they'd been stranded in since the CLAW takeover. And she was in desperate need of fuel. Her 25 years of expected service had lasted 40 with only minimal maintenance and a partial refueling.

Docking and bribing workers to look the other way may have worked last decade when The Supernova had to restock her own fuel rods, but security and surveillance had since been beefed up in ports around the globe. Their supply chain was restricted and getting close to land was a death sentence, so the only option now was to resort to piracy on the high seas.

The starry sky transitioned into a solid dark blue, much like the color of Ela's uniform, and the sun began to peek over the horizon. She warmed her hands on the side of her mug as she watched for ships. The icebreaker they were targeting should come into visual range any moment now. Maybe it was just the cold, but Ela had a bad feeling about this mission. Her reflection in the window scowled back at her as she went over everything that could go wrong for the hundredth time. She was confident in her soldiers' ability to carry out the operation, but she couldn't shake the feeling there was some detail she'd missed that could jeopardize the whole thing. They weren't being followed, the target was confirmed to be unarmed, and the simulations went well... What, then?

"Zvezda spotted at one o'clock."

Ela's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the navigator to her left. Sure enough, the red and black hull was just barely visible in the distance.

"Right on time. Lower speed and maintain course."

The mouse sat in her commander chair, eyes locked on the atomic icebreaker. It was one of the few civilian ships to use the same fuel that powered her fleet's turbines.

"This better be worth it," she thought to herself. It had taken over a year to set everything up just for this moment.

Two helicopters passed overhead on the starboard side. Ela grabbed a radio and hailed one of the pilots.

"This is Ela Novabay from The Supernova. You're early."

There was a pause before she received a response.

"We were eager to get this over with."

Typical pilot wisecrack. If only they could see Ela's expression, they'd know how serious she was.

"...Roger that. Let the troops know I'll be watching over them. Oh and no casualties."

"Affirmative, ma'am."

That was the only part from the briefing she felt the need to repeat. Thievery, they could get away with. But murder? It would spark an international incident and have the whole world gunning for them. Everyone involved in this mission knew their own lives were expendable but under no circumstances were any civilians allowed to die.

Ela sat back as the choppers circled around to the back of The Zvezda and tried to match its speed. Ropes carrying the handpicked operatives descended onto the deck. They were to first secure the ship by capturing the 62 crew on board, then make space for one of the helicopters to land and offload the engineers in charge of extracting and transporting the fuel. Before long, a flare shot into the sky and a voice with a thick Russian accent came through the radio.

"This is the civilian vessel Zvezda! We are currently under attack! Armed hostiles have boarded the ship! Please send help immediately!"

Ela smiled. She loved when things went according to plan. She picked up the radio and sent a low power transmission.

"The is Ela Novabay, commander of The Supernova. We recommend you surrender and comply with the demands of your invaders. Over."

The Russian voice responded, much angrier this time.

"You've got to be kidding!"

The navigator next to Ela couldn't help but giggle at their predicament. The commander allowed herself to relax a little, knowing the mission was proceeding smoothly and that they would be long gone before a rescue ship arrived.

Suddenly there was a commotion coming from the radio. Grunting, sounds of a struggle, and finally a gunshot. Ela immediately sat back up and pushed the transmit button.

"Alpha team, come in! What the hell is going on?"

It took several minutes for a response to come through.

"Alpha Two here. We had a situation but it's clear now."

"What kind of situation?" Ela asked through gritted teeth.

"The captain was carrying a pistol, ma'am. He shot at Alpha One but her vest negated the damage. We've captured the bridge and confiscated all known weapons."

Ela sighed.

"Roger that. Be more careful."

"Yes, ma'am."

The radios were silent for a while, giving Ela a chance to regain her composure.

"Just a minor mishap. Nothing to worry about," she thought to herself.

When the strike teams finished their work, Bravo reported in.

"Bravo One here. The crew has successfully been subdued. We've loaded them onto the lifeboats and sent them on their way."

"No casualties?"

"No casualties."

"Good. Commence the next phase. The Heart's Content will be there shortly."

The carrier had been lagging behind due to limited power but it had caught up to The Supernova by this point. The bridge could see some of its inhabitants waving to them as they passed by. Ela gave a casual salute before going back to watching one of the helicopters land on The Zvezda.

"Bravo Three reporting. Engineers are on board. Escorting them to the reactor now."

"Roger. Proceed as planned."

There were several difficulties in transplanting nuclear fuel from one ship to another, as they had learned during practice trials moving fuel rods from The Supernova to The Heart's Content. For one thing, there is no "off switch" for radioactive material. Normal procedure is to store spent fuel underwater for a decade before it was cool enough for transport, but the engineering team had no such luxury. Special extraction tools and containers had to be procured, which came at a great cost. Ultimately a deal was worked out which involved trading the last of their fighter jets, much to the dismay of the pilots. The Heart's Content had been selling its aircraft in exchange for food and supplies for years and now it was down to a handful of helicopters.

"All this for five years worth of fuel, tops," Ela muttered to herself.

The carrier pulled up beside The Zvezda while the engineers tinkered with the reactor. They had a bit of trouble thanks to the unfamiliar Soviet design but it was nothing they couldn't figure out. In relatively short order they managed to shut it down, cut it open, and begin transferring the rods into concrete containers to be airlifted out by helicopters. The deck of The Heart's Content was kept free of all non-essential personnel during this time for safety. Ela watched intently as the first fuel rods were carried over and carefully lowered into their new home through a hole on the deck. Typically, a ship like this would be taken apart in sections at a dry dock for a refueling and complex overhaul that could take over 36 months to complete, but Ela's comrades were under a strict time limit. A few hours was all they could afford, and accidents were most prone when workers were being rushed.

Without warning, an explosion rocked The Zvezda. A cloud of smoke came rising from the deck, obscuring the vision of the helicopter pilot who was directly above as he lifted a batch of fuel.

"Engineering team, report!"

"A fire broke out on deck! I don't know what- Hey wait, don't move that yet! It's not secure!" a panicked voice said over the radio, muffled by others' shouts and noise from the choppers.

A nightmare unfolded before Ela's eyes as flames shot into the air and a helicopter dropped an open canister of fuel rods onto the deck as it pulled away. Everything that happened after that was a blur. Those involved would rather not remember it anyway.

**********

A month after the botched refueling operation, Ela Novabay announced that The Heart’s Content had sunk in the resulting chaos. In the wake of failing their duty to protect the supercarrier, the crew of The Supernova finally surrendered to CLAW after 23 continuous years of unauthorized naval activity. The last bastion of freedom left in the world had been snuffed out. If ever there was a time for an organized resistance to rise up from the ashes and take on the tyrannical superpower, it would be now.

[kerfufflewatch]

PMW 5: On the Job/Mission

it’s technically day 6 where I live but I’m tired and I played video games half the day and this is just what we’re gonna do now

<< Day 4 || Day 6 >>

--

The streets on the outskirts of Barcelona are quiet in the early evening, the evening air cool but not unpleasant. The team had arrived yesterday evening, and tonight they waited to intercept a Talon transport convoy. McCree can’t see most of the others, but knows that they are nearby. He himself waits on the second-story balcony of an empty department store, a cigarillo between his teeth.

Hanzo, as he often is, is perched atop a nearby building with his bow drawn, his eyes on the streets below. He is backlit by the light of a crescent moon and cutting a dramatic silhouette. A  gentle breeze catches the tails of his silk hair tie and sends them dancing--though McCree hasn’t seen Hanzo wear his traditional gi in some time, the hair ties remain a favorite (for him, too, though he would never say it). He’s close enough that McCree can see the focused expression on his face, and it sends a little thrill through his gut. Hanzo at work is always a treat to watch, and he can’t help but wonder what it might be like to be the center of that focus.

Hanzo must do this on purpose, McCree thinks.

He clicks his comm to a private channel, long ago established just for him and Hanzo to talk. “So’s the flair for the dramatic like a Shimada family thing, or is that just you?” he asks.

He watches and grins as Hanzo turns toward him, a frown on his face. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

“You know damn well. Lookin’ all handsome and dramatic and whatnot.”

Hanzo makes an odd face. McCree only realizes then that the word “handsome” had passed his lips. “I am doing no such thing,” Hanzo says, either missing or completely ignoring the odd word out.

“Bullshit. There’s no way you just happen to put yourself up right against the moon lookin’ all mysterious every time I look at you. Or Genji, for that matter. Must be genetics.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

“No more ridiculous than you are.”

McCree can’t see from here, but he imagines Hanzo is rolling his eyes in playful disbelief, as he often does when conversing with McCree.

Quiet lapses between them for a moment. McCree listens for any communication from the rest of the team, but there is nothing. He sees a brief, bright flash of electric blue down the road--Tracer on the move--but no updates come. He sighs on an exhale of cigarillo smoke.

“Never did like this part of workin’,” he says.

He sees Hanzo tilt his head towards him. “What part?”

“Waitin’ around. Did a lot of it in Blackwatch. Never much cared for it.”

“Some things require patience, McCree.”

“I got patience when I need it. Don’t mean I have to like it.”

Hanzo chuckles, a rich, warm sound that soothes the edges of McCree’s restlessness. “Fair enough,” he says. “I admit, this does get tedious after a while.”

“It really does. I got used to it while I was still with Blackwatch, but I still hate waitin’ around when we could be gettin’ something done.” McCree considers, then adds, “Not that I mind a good vacation.”

“This is hardly a vacation.”

“It could be. There’s a couple bars down the road.”

Hanzo snorts, amused, and McCree can’t help grinning. “I thought we already had this discussion about drinking on missions,” Hanzo says.

“Maybe after, then.”

A beat passes. Then McCree says, “Can I ask you something?”

“That depends on the question.”

McCree worries the inside of his lip. He’s thought of this a few times now, but never ended up actually asking. It wasn’t a question easily brought up in conversation, but nonetheless one that McCree found himself coming back to over and over again--particularly in the lat few weeks. “What are you gonna do after this?”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

“After all . . . this.” He gestures vaguely, though Hanzo may not see. “After we’re done here with Overwatch. It’s not like Overwatch is gonna be reinstated anytime soon, and we can’t keep this up forever, and I know you really only came here in the first place for your brother.”

There is a long pause. McCree tries to ignore the traitorous, rapid beating of his heart.

“I do not know,” Hanzo eventually says. “I suppose I will return to my mercenary work, as I did before this.”

“That’s all?”

Hanzo shrugs, a barely-visible gesture from where McCree stands. “I do not know what else I would do. Perhaps Genji has other thoughts on what we should do, but . . . I truly do not know.”

The answers causes something to twist tight in McCree’s chest. Unconsciously, he had always assumed that he would be at Hanzo’s side, one way or another. Perhaps not romantically, but they were close friends at this point, and those were hard to come by--was he so mistaken to think that Hanzo thought the same?

Most likely. Hell, McCree had plenty of friends in Overwatch when he chose to leave, and that had been after years of working side-by-side. Why should Hanzo feel differently? Because McCree was head-over-heels for him? As though that made a difference, when McCree was too much of a  coward to tell him.

“Why?” Hanzo asks, looking back toward McCree. “Does that concern you?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘concern,’” McCree replies, once again lying through his teeth. “Just wonderin’, is all. Thought you might have given a little more thought to that bar in the States.”

“We have a visual on the convoy,” Genji cuts in suddenly, abruptly reminding them both of the presence of their teammates. “Get ready to move.”

“Well,” McCree says, pulling Peacekeeper from its holster and patting his other hand on his flashbangs, “be careful out there. Can’t start that bar up if you go and kick it now, can we?”

He expects a retort, but none is forthcoming. He risks a glance up at Hanzo, and he looks . . . startled, somehow thoughtful, like something has just occurred to him. But then he turns away, drawing an arrow, and McCree forgets about it in favor of getting down to the street.

The convoy arrives, two dark, unmarked vans driving together down the empty road and into Barcelona city limits. On either side of the road, Tracer has planted a pulse bomb, and both ignite perfectly as the vans pass by. The explosion is painfully loud and dizzyingly bright, providing the cover the team needs to burst onto the scene.

Tracer and Genji lead the assault, swift and invisible. McCree is close behind, hurling a flashbang into the first masked face he sees and following with a one-two shot from Peacekeeper. Overhead, an arrow streaks through the night, catching a Talon soldier in the chest mere seconds after he steps out of the van.

The firefight that ensues is like any other. McCree doesn’t dare call it mundane--any moment where he could be hurt or killed should not be called mundane--but it is reminiscent of the dozens of other scuffles he has been in. Flashbang, fire, duck and reload, scan the scene, fire again--it is simple, as far as fights ago.

Despite the adrenaline and the danger, McCree finds his attention drawn to Hanzo, again and again. Hanzo is always a sight to behold during a mission, and tonight is no different. He starts atop the building, his firing arm a blur as he looses arrow after arrow, but when it becomes apparent that he cannot continue fighting effectively from his perch, he leaps down effortlessly and lands on his feet. He lets his forward momentum carry him through a rolla and when he is upright again, he instantly has another arrow nocked on his bow and pulled tight on the string. Even under his wide-collared jacket, McCree can imagine the shoulders in Hanzo’s back and shoulders flexing with every movement.

Hanzo is graceful, too, moreso than one might expect. He is built strong, the muscles in his upper body seemingly carved into perfection, but every move is calculated and smooth. He twists and dodges oncoming bullets without a hint of distress, and McCree is riveted by the sight.

“McCree, look out!” Tracer shouts, yanking McCree’s attention back to his own life as a Talon soldier takes aim with an assault rifle. A flashbang and a quick fanning of the hammer takes her out quickly, but McCree still grimaces.

He can’t keep carrying on for Hanzo like this. As far gone as he is, he’s going to get himself killed one of these days, and if he doesn’t . . . well, he might just be in for a lifetime of pining and misery, if he keeps it up.

He has to tell him. For better or worse. He doesn’t expect Hanzo to care about him, at least not that way, but he has to know. McCree’s never been one ot let something like this go on so long, and he’s about to reach his breaking point. Maybe he’ll wait until they’re back at the Watchpoint. Wait for one of the nights they drink together, or go shooting. Something casual, so he can ease into the conversation. And if it ends badly, well. That’s better than this horrible limbo he’s trapped himself in.

The fight ends fairly quickly, the Talon soldiers subdued and the cargo seized. Angela makes their report to Winston while Genji and Lena gather the cargo. McCree keeps an eye out with Hanzo for any interlopers, though he doesn’t expect anyone else to show up.

“Well,” he says, holstering his pistol and straightening his hat, “that was nice and straightforward.”

Hanzo does not answer. His gaze is distant, turned somewhere down the road.

“Han? You alright there?”

"Go on a date with me," Hanzo says.

McCree freezes. He stares at Hanzo. Hanzo looks back at him, looking as startled as he feels. "What?" McCree asks, choked.

Hanzo swallows hard. He looks downright terrified, even alarmed by what he has said, but his gaze never wavers. "Will you," he amends, and clears his throat. "Will you go on a date with me?"

"Um."

Hanzo waits. McCree can't find a damn word to say. He's thought about a scenario like this a hundred times, but never with Hanzo being the one to ask. Definitely never with Hanzo looking so terrified, like the world might collapse around him depending on what McCree said.

"Y-yeah, darlin'," McCree finally says. His mouth is drier than any day he spent in the deserts of New Mexico. "'Course I will."

Hanzo nods once, stiffly. His eyes turn toward the ground. "Good," he says. "I--good." He shuffles slightly, his boots tapping gently on the ground. His cheeks flush a ruddy red, the handsomest sight McCree has ever seen. "I realize this is a bit . . .  unorthodox."

"No!" McCree interrupts quickly. "It's fine. Totally fine. It's a date, sweetheart."

Hanzo nods again. He turns away, but not quickly enough to hide the smile that spreads across his face. McCree's heart leaps.

“Is this--” he starts.

“The shuttle will be here in twenty minutes,” Hanzo says, addressing nobody. “We should get going.”

McCree recognizes a request to be left alone when he hears it. He swallows down the rest of his sentence and says instead, “Yeah. We’ll get movin’.”

He doesn’t get moving, not immediately. His boots are rooted to the asphalt beneath them. Lena and Angela pass by him, casting amused smiles in his direction as they follow Hanzo toward the drop zone. Genji, too, starts to pass, but he pauses at McCree’s side. He drops a hand on McCree’s shoulder.

“You are both idiots,” he says companionably.

“Yeah,” McCree says, unable to stop the grin he feels coming on. “Yeah, maybe.”

Hanzo doesn’t talk to him for the entirety of the shuttle ride home, but every time McCree looks in his direction, he catches him smiling.