#pgr fic

[unhappy-last-resort]

The Puppet In A Forest (Yandere Roland x GN Reader)

Warnings: forced kissing, bone breaking, drugging, implied minor surgery performed without readers consent, tracking

A/N: I apologize for any stiff writing or grammar mistakes. This was literally just supposed to be this short little 1 AM thing for his birthday and it fucking spiraled into this

Status: edited

You wade through crystal waters, fireflies twinkling around you like little stars in the night and comforting you ever so slightly, the quiet chirping of crickets in the distance is calming enough to make you almost forget there was an ongoing war outside this place, but unfortunately not enough to make you forget why you're here. The letters you received six hours ago have led you to an rural town in the outskirts of Kowloong, to a pond with bamboo growing in its edges.

You suck in a breath and steady your grip on your gun. You really shouldn't be here, not for the reasons you're weaving through towering rods of bamboo, anyway. Your heart tussles with itself, one part saying that you should turn back, the other telling you to push forward. Meeting an Ascendant isn't just dangerous to your prestigious position as Gray Ravens commandant, but also physically.

You're going to the coordinates you found inside the Russian dolls Roland sent you and the thought that it's just a trap has never once left your mind. Roland is a trickster, murderer, manipulator, and an actor, there is absolutely no reason you shouldn't have forwarded those letters to Hassen and Nikola, no reason for you to be here alone, and no reason for you to feel a painful tug in your heart when you read the last line of his second letter.

"I'll be waiting for you and gladly accept whatever you have for me, whether it's a bullet, a restraint, or an Activation Date gift."

In your uncertainty, you've prepared all three, your gun loaded and drawn at any potential danger, the restraints dangling off your hip, and a small box of chocolates sitting securely in your bag. It's unconventional for a birthday gift, but you don't have time to look, or make something more appropriate and frankly, there's no reason for you to put more effort in. You're enemies, not friends, and you don't owe anything to him.

You keep moving, the mud of the ponds floor squishing beneath your thigh high boots, the water beneath you littered with fallen leaves from the bamboo above you. Gradually, the bamboo starts to thin out, easing you into a small empty space. There's a rock sitting in the center, bathed by the moonlight as fireflies dance around it.

You can't see anyone, or a sign that anyone was here to begin with, although it's not like you'd find much in a shallow pond at night. You carefully feel out the ground ahead of you before stepping forward, it's easy to fall for the illusion of ground beneath you and end up much more wet than you intended and it'd be much harder to explain your little trip to your team if you came back dripping wet.

You reach the center of the clearing and look around. No one's here, it's just you. The water sloshes and ripples with every movement you make, announcing your presence to the surrounding silence...was it always this quiet?

Plunk.

You whip around, gun pointed in the direction of the sound as you glare into the dark, as if the very darkness itself would somehow lift to reveal what hides inside it. You stay like that for half a minute, ears and eyes straining for movement, but there is none. No more noises, just silence. It's only now do you realize that the fireflies that were here have disappeared, as if they'd been scared off by something, but what could scare a bunch of bugs?

You look around again, re-observing your surroundings. You look down and see these tiny little black dots in the water, confused you reach down and scoop one up in your palm and bring it close to your face.

It's an insect, it looks like a firefly. Your eyebrows furrow and you check your terminal, scanning the air quality...nothing. Punishing levels are low, and nowhere near fatal for a human, and there are no other toxins present in the air. You rack your brains, trying to think of anything that might cause a bunch of bugs to just die like this, but you come up with nothing.

You inspect the bug again, as if there's anything else a simple big would be hiding-

Wait.

There are tiny, inconspicuous little ball joints on each of its legs, and a very thin seam where the body connects to its abdomen, which on closer inspection is just an LED light trapped in a casing. It's mechanical. It's a fake. You've been surrounded by hundreds of mechanical bugs since you came to the clearing, maybe since you first stepped foot near the pond.

You drop it from your hand, it's body making a small plink sound as it falls into the water. You sigh and look up, only to find yourself caught in the gaze of a pair of eyes.

A figure clad in black and white with grey hair stands as still as a statue. His hair is undone and pulled forward, his long locks falling over his shoulders, his eyes glow like jewels in the moonlight, the cool tones of his outfit making his eyes stand out even more.

"Prefiero un minuto contigo a una eternidad sin ti." He whispers, the silence around us making even the quietest whispers apparent. "I never thought you would come. Hah...I thought I'd made myself a fool again."

You sigh through your nose, your grip on your gun is tight, but pointed at the water. In your shock you hadn't pointed it at him, your mind still trying to fathom how many fake fireflies there were and what else around you was an illusion that, you hadn't thought of giving yourself a defensive position. And getting into one now may escalate things.

"You're always a fool." You mutter ruefully, keeping your eyes on his. "Why would you think your enemy would respond to you?"

A grin stretches across his face, growing wider until he bursts into a chuckle. "Well, you did, didn't you? Besides," He pauses, smile dropping into a deadpan. "I did say I wanted to get you out, no matter what. Didn't I?"

"What would you have done if the letters hadn't worked, then?"

Another chuckle. "Oh, wouldn't my little rabbit like to know? Tell you what, if you can win my game, I'll tell you."

Roland starts moving towards you, he moves silently, so much so that if you hadn't seen the water moving you would have thought he was a ghost or a figment of imagination. It was like he was one with the space around him, seamlessly fitting in as if he belonged there- as if he was always there.

You breath, feeling more anxious by the moment as Roland closes in at a steady pace. "What game?"

"It's just a simple question, if you answer correctly you win, if you don't..." He smiles again.

"...What happens if I lose?"

"Hmm....I get to take a present from you." He stops at arms reach from you, smile still plastered on his face and an undeniable glee glinting in his eyes.

"I already brought you one though." His eyes widened in surprise, his smile faltering for a moment.

"You really brought me a gift? Here I was expecting you to restrain me and bring me back to Babylonia."

You watch him for a moment before reaching a hand into the bag at your hip, Roland's eyes flickering from your hand to your face, the flurry of emotions behind them tells you he's as desperate as he is distrusting of you right now. Slowly, you pull out the chocolates and hand it to him.

"Aww, do you really have to be so stiff?" He chuckles, tilting his head slightly, it felt half mocking, half curious as he graciously took the box from you and gingerly opens it.

"Oh my, this is quite a romantic gift. Could it be the Gray Raven Commandant is harboring feelings for an Ascendant?" He muses, feigning shock.

You roll your eyes and attempt to snatch the box out of his hand. "I can always take it back."

He leans back, looking almost offended, keeping the chocolates out of your reach. "Of course not! Anything from you is treated with the utmost care."

"But this is the first time you're getting something from me?"

He smiles, popping a chocolate in his mouth before tucking the box away in his coat. "Well now, should we start the game?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Is this place real, or an illusion?" He stares at you, smile still on his face as the question hangs in the silence.

"...What?"

"Is it real, or an illusion?"

His expression is indiscernible, emotions hidden behind the thick curtain of a jester's smile. The silence of the area you're in is deafening, the previous chirps of crickets had long gone, leaving you and Roland in a pool of knee deep water, sprinkled with mechanical bugs on its surface.

As much as those things may have been fake, you were certain the rest couldn't be. The lake, the bamboo, those things had to be real. The amount of materials required to do something isn't something Roland would have access to, not to mention the time required.

"It's real."

He looks pleased, too pleased for your liking. "Is that your final answer?"

You hesitate. Are you wrong? Or is that just what he wants you to think? Indecision rips at your mind, your thoughts circling each other over and over, never getting any closer to an answer. Is he playing a trick, or are you overthinking? But he looked so happy when you said it was real, so you must've gotten it wrong, right?

"Uh...No!" You fumble, almost out of desperation. Your answer swings like a pendulum in your mind.

"No?" He drawls, putting a hand to his chin as he watches you.

"No...it's fake." You breath.

Roland raises a brow. "Are you sure?"

You suck in a breath, if you take it back again, you'll just be stuck in a never ending loop of second guessing yourself. "Yes."

Roland laughs and it makes you flinch, it feels especially loud in your ears for some reason. "Alea jacta est. Congratulations, my dear little puppet."

He announces with all his usual bravado as he closes the distance between you two. Alarmed you move back only for his hand to grip your wrist, rendering your hand with the gun useless. You pull at your arm as hard as you can, but you only succeed in earning a chuckle from him.

He pulls you close and before you can realize what's going on you feel lips press against yours in a greedy, pawing kiss. His teeth nip at your bottom lips, his tongue swiping over and attempting to push through your lips. You resist, refusing to open your mouth and using all your strength to break yourself free.

"Quit struggling." Roland grunts and twists your wrist unnaturally, a snap sounding up your arm and you open your mouth to scream, only for it to never make it out into the world and being swallowed by Roland instead.

His tongue explores every inch of your mouth with a fervor that speaks of an untold longing and desperation, an insatiable need that quickly overwhelms you with the pain in your wrist.

You feel drowsy, the edges of your vision blurring as continues his forced affection. You try to fight it, but you can't, your vision fading on a string of saliva between you and eyes of amber and ruby aglow like flames.

You gasp, your heart pounding as you stare at the wooden beams above you. It takes you a moment to realize you're in the abandoned tea house, the one you and your team decided to camp in.

You sit up slowly, your sleeping bag rustling quietly as you move. Your head hurts and you feel woozy just from sitting up, it takes you a moment to realize one of your wrists is bandaged, although it doesn't feel like it was done well despite it appearing to be wrapped properly.

You groan, how did you end up hurting your wrist again? Everything feels so foggy in your head that you can't remember.

"Hey Command- what the hell?" A captain dashes over to you, you vaguely remember his name being Casper.

Ah, that's right. You were sent on a mission to Kowloong to help assist a team that had gone for artifact retrieval. The battle ended a while ago and your team agreed to wait until day break to return to Babylonia.

Casper looks flustered, gently bringing your arm up to inspect your cast.

"Hey, Didi! Get Mao and have him dress a wound the Commandant got!" He yells to the door before turning back to you. "How did you do this? You should've asked one of us to help you if you didn't know how to wrap your injury."

You consider saying something, but instead you give a half-hearted smile and apologize. You don't want to cause them more grief than you likely already have.

An airy chuckle dances in the wind as the transport craft from Babylonia lifts off with its passengers. Pointlessly, Roland waves it goodbye as if you could see it- not like you'd appreciate it even if you did. Maybe you'd even hate him by now, if you hadn't before.

Still, like a fool he clung to the hope that you'd be someone he could count on. No, that's not quite right. Something he could own, a person he could claim for himself and not share with others.

As much as the temptation to whisk you away as you rested unconscious in his arms was deliciously enticing, he would be a fool to think he could protect you from Babylonia's lackeys, let alone in this old frame. Without a doubt the best of the best would come from you and he had difficulty enough with just Gray Raven, and that Kamui fellow and his original have been a pain too. The only way he'd be able to do that now would be to go to Der Meister himself and he made his skin crawl. He would never trust the likes of him with Luna, or you.

For now, he'll just have to settle with knowing where you are. He did his best to make sure everything was sterile when he made the incision, although he was still worried that it might get infected...Oh well, even if it did and that tracker got discovered, there are still others among your things, so it won't be that big of a deal.

"La vie est une fleur dont l'amour est le miel. 'Til we meet again, my dear."

[glassessence]

(ΦωΦ) PGR requests! PGR requests! Can I please have some cute dating headcanons with Lee? Or even like, just a cute and soft oneshot with Lee?

It's completely 100% up to you what scenario they're in if you go with the oneshot~. (*´∀｀*)

Hello! I'm alive (and back). Life has been insane and no, it's not under control but I'm back nonetheless (to fulfil ancient fic requests that people have probably forgotten about and no longer care for but no matter; we persevere.)

I'm an angst writer through and through, but I tried my best to do cute and soft. I'm sorry if it's not what you were looking for, but I hope you can derive some enjoyment from it regardless.

Also, I really am sorry that it's literally a hundred years too late. I just suck LOL

a moment of peace   |   lee 

"One day the war will end. I want people to remember that there was more."

In the wake of a catastrophic injury, Lee helps the Commandant remember what they're fighting for: a life, a dream. A hope for the future that once was.

You grunted with effort, levering yourself awkwardly from the comforts of your bed. It had been six weeks since the accident. Lucia and Liv continued to refer to it as ‘The Incident’ and adamantly dodged questions from other teams. Anyone talking to them would think you’d died. In fact, you were pretty sure Kamui thought you had.

Three weeks ago, it’d been amusing. You’d even encouraged it. But now, as the second month of your handicap loomed on the horizon, all you felt was angry. You were sick of being sick, tired of being tired. Those who had seen the planet, who’d borne witness to the ruinous beauty of a broken earth, could never be contented to stay. And while you were idling away in the sterile comforts of Babylonia, the Punishing advanced below. 

Frustrated, you shifted in the wheelchair, punching the cushion behind you into submission. The contraption was uncomfortable, no matter how many curses or how much violence you inflicted upon it. Liv liked to say that it was as stubborn as you, but even her gentility couldn’t ease your latest black mood. It was hard to sit still while your comrades fought and bled; hard to watch progress find Constructs in leaps and bounds while it found you in stumbling steps. There was no doubt that you were recovering, but it was slow. Every day a step farther. Every night a little easier. Now, more than ever, you were reminded of your mortal fragility. A brave heart did not equate to a strong mind. And a strong mind did not mean a strong body. 

It’s bad, Asimov had said. A wheelchair for now and well, maybe forever. You’ll have some time. Use it to come to terms.

Somehow, perhaps through sheer stubbornness, you’d managed to avoid that dire fate. You would walk again and one day return to the maws of the Punishing. To be crunched up and spat out again? Such dark thoughts permeated your mind often. You couldn’t help it. You were as much a soldier as anyone, but these last weeks had reminded you of just how hard it was. The hurt and aches, the tears and fractures that had never been given the chance to heal. And in the dead of night, away from prying eyes, the terrible, consuming pain. It was hard to forget the wreck of your body in the aftermath: the limp dangle of your legs in Lee’s arms, the blood that poured out of you like a swollen river, bones and flesh unmade into fragments of dust and meat.

But harder still was watching your Ravens grounded and flightless, as trapped on Babylonia as you. Harder still was noting the prolonged absence of Strike Hawk and the rising tensions between Vera and Lee. Every sympathetic eye in the hallways made you sick. 

That was what had driven you to explore Babylonia. For all that it wasn’t earth, it was something. A home for some, even if it would never be for you. Sighing, you swiped away the holographic puzzle you’d been working on. These wheels aren’t going to turn themselves…

“Maybe I can threaten Asimov again,” you muttered under your breath, hands already reaching for the spokes of your wheels. “Maybe if I commit to being a nuisance…”

“If that’s your plan, you’ll have to do better than pouting over puzzles.”

Lee stepped around the corner, pristine in his palette of black and blue. Your breath caught. He was vivid against the stark corridors, a bold stroke in the emptiness, so painfully beautiful that it hurt not to stare. Every line of him was sharp and calculated, placed just so by an artist’s loving hand. But there was no talent in the world that could capture the pale fire of his eyes. Those haunting, expressive eyes that bared his soul when words could not. 

A blond brow arched. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you muttered grumpily, feeling your mood lift despite yourself. “Go away. I’m contemplating going legless.”

“Then you’d better get to it. Once Asimov hears, you’ll lose more than just your legs.”

You shot him an unholy glare. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Yes,” Lee said, apparently content to leave it at that. He studied your furrowed brow and the purple shadows beneath your eyes. “Have you been sleeping?”

“No. I do nothing but sit around all day. It’s terribly restful.”

“I think that’s the point.”

“No need to rub it in.”

He sighed, “Only you would miss going to war. No wonder Vera likes you.”

“She likes me the way a cat likes a rat,” you countered. “I’m only interesting until she gets hungry. Or bored.” Lee was silent, but you could hear his reproach all the same. “What? Cynicism is healthy, you know.”

“And when did you become a pessimist, Commandant?”

“Since I started throwing a tantrum,” you said primly, meeting his unflinching gaze with solemnity. As you’d hoped, Lee’s lips quirked. It was only the slightest twitch, hardly more than a trick of the light, but your heart fluttered all the same. He was perfect as a Construct, the very pinnacle of human beauty, but when he smiled — when his cheeks dimpled on the left — you could see beyond that inhuman magnificence to the soul beneath: Morian. The boy you’d never truly known, but somehow always had. 

Buoyed by your success, you added, “Though I prefer the term venting.”

Lee was unconvinced. “You mean being unreasonable?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

A soft exhale stirred the air above your head. You imagined the phantom brush of it against your skin. “You’re impossible,” Lee said, moving behind you to grab the handles of your wheelchair. “Watch your hands.” 

Without another word, he slid you forward, gliding through halls of recreational rooms. You craned your neck to peer into one. Swaths of blue light danced on the walls, pierced irregularly by spears of gold and white. Somewhere in the distance, close enough to be a dream, rumbled the soft, lonely call of whale song. 

Aching, you looked away. Babylonia may pretend at heaven, but there was some things that could never be captured. The thunder of waves breaking against your feet. The tug of wind against the anchors of your being. And the clouds, tender and bruised in a sky that stretched forever.

Still, you’d seen more in the past month than you had in all your years of service. Human kindnesses and human virtues; small hopes and big dreams. Love, that singular bastion of hope at the end of the world, gathered so strongly in a single place that you could feel it in the air. Against all odds, humanity had taken this empty husk and given it a soul, one filled with the very best of man. Was it the body or the soul that made a home? Every day you spent here had watered the seeds of doubt: that life could go on, and neither humans nor the Earth truly needed each other. So then what were you fighting for?

Perhaps, you thought as Lee wheeled you around an unfamiliar corner, it’s time to let go.

A frosted glass door appeared before you. Beyond lay a blurry landscape of greens and browns, like those abstract paintings Ayla had once shown you. Babylonia had gardens of course, but they were mostly fake — structures of steel and plastic that imitated life. Waging war left little time for tending plants. It was sensible, economical even, but part of you had always mourned the loss. 

But now... Your breaths were short as Lee swiped his access card.

The red eye blinked blue.

Bright notes of birdsong greeted you, carried on the wings of a warm summer wind. Jasmine and lavender perfumed the air. Above you was the percussive rustle of leaves, thin branches dancing in their places; beneath, vibrant and alive, was a verdant green sea, stretching as far as the eye could see. Pathways meandered into the sunscape like great snakes, arching gracefully through copses of bushes laden with berries like glistening jewels. Trees towered overhead. You recognised the statuesque trunks of oaks and redwood, but also the elegant silhouettes of aspens and birch, and far in the distance, the bowed boughs of weeping willow. “This is…”

Lee wheeled you forward. The door clicked shut, locking you in, away from the aseptic and cold, away from the hungry maw of space into a remembered world. He was quiet as gravel crunched underfoot. For a while, there was only the sound of wonder. Your silent breaths and roaming eyes. The thundering beat of your heart and the awakening song in your soul. Then came the comfort of companionship. His staccato steps and your legato tread. The murmur of young leaves. Birds, singing unseen in notes that dipped and weaved.

You basked in the sensations. Never had you experienced anything like this. Not even on Earth — a tranquility so complete it seemed a dream. Gravel gave way to the hush of soil. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the gurgle of water, falling and falling, splashing into a pool that would not dry. Sunlight kissed your skin and you were surprised at the sting. Ultraviolet light, you realised with a jolt. How much energy does that cost?

“What is this?” you asked quietly, tilting your head to find Lee looking at you. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Is this… is this real?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his lambent gaze full of feelings you couldn’t follow. You watched him as you always did. You had always been able to parse him, to lean on a connection you shared not even with Liv or Lucia, but he had retreated from you. What was it about this garden that pained him so?

“Lee?”

You reached out, fingers soft against his mechanical palm. Though he didn’t look at you, his fingers found their way into the gaps between your own. Hands braided, threaded together as if it was always meant to be. He had never touched you so intimately before, but it didn’t feel strange.

“It’s real,” he said at last, blue eyes fixed on the spread of green before you. “All of this is real. In a few months, it’ll finally be ready.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “Ready for what?”

His eyes cleared like the sky after rain. In them, you recognised what you’d always known: love. So much love carried by those tired blue eyes. Wherever he had gone, Lee had come back, and he’d come bearing a hidden part of his soul, ready to be shared with you at last. “For humans,” he said. “For the children who have never known this.” He gestured around, encompassing the world with a wave of his hand. “This will remind them. Connect them with their history. They should feel things, while they still can.”

His hands closed around yours. The tips of his fingers dug into your skin, but you didn’t move. His pain was your own; you would bear it with pride.

“How long has this been happening?” you asked. “How long... I mean, how did you even grow these trees?”

“I brought seeds from Earth. Whenever we were sent on a mission, I’d retrieve some. It took years, and it was started way before me, but Hassan wanted—”

“Yeah,” you said gently, turning from him to face the garden once more. “Something for us to leave behind.”

Lee said nothing, but you could feel his conviction in the press of his palm against yours. “I believe in us. In you. One day the war will end. When that time comes, a decade or a thousand years from now, I want people to remember that there was more. That living once meant tranquility and beauty, not just blood. Not just violence.”

You nodded. His words struck a chord within you, his ideas a skeletal echo of your own secret thoughts. Alone in the dark, you had wondered of your legacy. When the fight was won and fabled peace found at last, what would the people think? Would you be a hero who reclaimed the Earth or a villain who had destroyed the very thing it sought to possess? 

“Not just violence,” you echoed. Sometimes it feels like that’s all we are.

Lee knelt by your side. His eyes met your own. “Commandant, I—” 

Something wet plinked against your forehead. You glanced up. The light receded with alarming speed, leaving a trail of pregnant clouds in its wake. Wind whipped through the branches, threatening to rip the very leaves from their homes. Birds scattered to unseen havens. Within moments, the garden was a roiling landscape of adverse weather. Rain poured down in an endless torrent, stirred by vicious gales to tempestuous rage. 

“What’s happening?” You had to yell to be heard above the howling storm. Lee had risen and was moving for the handles of your wheelchair.

“It’s the weather program!” he explained. “It’s supposed to emulate real-world meteorological conditions. Probably needs a little work!” 

You laughed, a full-bellied thing—the first in a long, long time. “You think?”

“I told them to keep it on spring. This… isn’t quite what I had in mind.” Your wheels churned in the soil that had become mud. Lee grunted behind you, but the chair stubbornly refused to move. With a huff of frustration, he gave up and circled around to face you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Leaning in, he dipped one arm beneath your legs and wrapped the other around your back. Your cheeks warmed despite the lashing wind. “Wait, what—”

“Hold on, Commandant.” His breath was warm, his lips so close that they brushed against the shell of your ear. Lee lifted you from the chair like a treasure. You could feel the steady beat of his heart as he cradled you against his chest. Somehow, your arms had found their way around his neck. Water plastered his hair to his forehead and dripped into his eyes, but he didn’t let go. His eyes, when they met yours, were as clear as a summer sky. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I will be,” he said grumpily. “Once we get out of this tempest.”

You chuckled; something about his aggrieved tone was just so Lee that you couldn’t help it. “I like this!” you said above the storm. The rising wind and rain, the biting cold against the warm press of Lee, the hint of him in every blade of grass and velvet petal—you loved all of it. This place was a wild heart in the carefully planned rhythm of Babylonia. A sliver of the Earth captured in a truer way than you had ever known possible. “I love this!”

You whooped like a child, laughing as you opened your mouth to the taste of fresh water on your tongue. Your joy was infectious and soon Lee was laughing too, his soft giggles calling to more of your own. With water sluicing down your faces, with wind-chilled skin and soft-centred hearts, Lee carried you across the mud and slick, his steps confident and sure. You held on as tightly as you could, your fingers making divots into the smooth skin of his neck, his arms. There was a feeling between you with no name. An understanding so deep that it needed no voice. 

You gazed out at the wonder before you. It truly was a miracle. Real trees and real grass. Real flowers that would wither and die and live again. Life and hope, you thought as the doors hissed open. A moment of peace.

They slid shut, sealing the wild beauty of the garden from you once more. You could still feel the rain slicking your skin, running down your face to pool like crystals on the pristine ground.  You looked up at Lee with liquid eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked breathlessly. “Why did you labour alone?”

“Because,” he said. “It’s a gift.”

A gift. But you knew Lee, knew him like you knew your own soul, and you heard all the things he did not say. It was a gift, but it was also a dream. A promise, and a hope. It was all the things that existed in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, unseen and unheard, but known all the same.

And shared, sometimes, in the tender feelings between two soldiers wondering, and silently wishing for more.

“Come on,” Lee said after a moment. “You’ll catch a cold. I’ll come back for the chair later.”

You smiled as his footsteps rang out in the empty corridor. Swaying in his arms with the smell of petrichor still in your veins, you felt something ignite in your chest. It was small and fragile, easily buried amid the chaos of war, but you knew where to find it again. Tucked away behind a frosted glass door, there was a piece of Lee that would always be ready to remind you of what you were fighting for.

Not just violence.

For life. And for hope.

—

“Thanks for that. I owe you one.”

Murray watched happily as Morian cradled his Commandant close. He’d asked the technician to cut the audio, but there was no mistaking the depth of feeling between them. His brother was far too awkward for any declarations of love, but he hoped he’d at least given him a chance, an opportunity to express those feelings he so obviously harboured for his leader. Knowing Morian though, he’d probably squandered it, but well, a man could dream. 

The tech shot Murray a disgruntled glare. “Anything else? I have better things to do than meddle in Construct affairs.”

He sighed in mock sympathy. “More’s the pity. I love meddling in people’s lives.”

“This is why nobody likes you, Murray. Lee’s going to scold me enough as it is.” 

“I had enough of that as a kid. I’ve done my time.” With a casual wave of his hand, he left the scowling technician to his muttered insults and his bribe. Murray walked down the corridors feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Morian—Lee now—had sacrificed his life for Murray. Though he couldn’t quite do the same, he wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t the weak, younger brother that needed protecting anymore. 

It’s my turn now, brother. I may not be able to return your heart, but I hope I can give it back to you all the same.

[northerngoshawk]

bleeding heart

Rating: T

Word Count: 13.2k

Summary:

She never thought a mechanical heart could bleed. Not until she held your broken body in her arms. - spoilers for CH31: Shaper's Ripples

She never thought a mechanical heart could bleed.

Technically, Constructs could bleed—they had vital fluid after all, something about making sure their body closely mirrored the human body for M.I.N.D. reasons—but even then, Constructs couldn’t bleed like humans could. There was never a risk for death when a Construct bled out, only a momentary shutdown that required rebooting.

And just as Constructs didn’t need vital fluid, they didn’t have a heart either. In place of something made of a beating warmth were cold mechanical gears churning quietly within each Construct’s chest, gears that would not forever silence a Construct even if they were pierced through. It would hurt—Lucia would know, she’d felt it before—but it would never cause enough harm to kill.

But, she supposed, if vital fluid was the blood of a Construct, perhaps those gears thrumming in her chest could be considered the heart of a Construct too (perhaps Lee would disagree, perhaps not, he was always better at this sort of thing anyways). And the heart of a Construct couldn’t pump vital fluid through their veins, not like a human’s heart.

So she never thought a mechanical heart could bleed.

Not until she held your broken body in her arms.

read more on ao3

[naomikazumi]

I recommend this pgr fics. I love them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41821917#main

[sabotsen]

Afterglow

Pairing: Noan x (gn!) Commandant / Reader

Notes: Set shortly after Noan’s affection story 6; word count 1.3k

Warnings: Subtle possessiveness

A fluke. 

Fate disguised as a coincidence. 

Isn’t that how it always goes in hero stories? 

A chance encounter that alters the alignment of stars and rewrites destiny for the better, with hope woven into every word and touch. 

But this is not a hero’s story, and fate has never been kind to him. 

It is not a moment of joy, with warm smiles and gentle laughter in the company of friends. It is not a moment of anticipation, spirits soaring high before the oncoming fight. This moment — quiet and peaceful — has been won only after the blood of comrades has stained your hands beyond recognition and their corpses paved the way to the top of this hill upon which you weather every storm. 

But even so…

Despite it all, he is grateful. 

How could he not be, with your head on his shoulder? 

Your breathing is slow and steady, his cloak a poor cushion against the hard, unyielding metal of his frame. Yet now and then, you drowsily nuzzle against his shoulder and almost seem to burrow into the worn folds of the fabric before settling once more against him. It’s enough to trigger an itch in his wires, a slow rolling brushfire that sweeps across him — quiet, without flare or noise. More than once he has brushed the hair from your eyes, his fingers curling as they trace a path from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw. 

Still you do not wake. 

Not when he calls your name or when his touch drifts across your cheek like butterfly wings, a ghost of a touch too delicate to truly be missed. Just how much have you been pushing yourself lately? It hasn’t even been three days since you returned from a month long mission down on the surface and already the shadows beneath your eyes are just as concerningly dark as the first night he kidnapped you to this blind spot in Zone Z. Do you always throw yourself so recklessly into the fray, heedless of your health? 

How does Gray Raven stand it, watching you tear yourself apart like this piece by piece? How does Simon hold his tongue every time your paths cross, despite the endless worries that flow over like rain behind the closed doors of Dark Ares? 

You nuzzle against his shoulder again, a faint furrow in your brow as the blanket draped around your shoulders slides away. Noan cannot help the small smile that pulls at his lips as he adjusts the blanket and dutifully ensures you are properly bundled. His hands hover near your cheek, an itch in his fingertips to brush against your brow and coax that furrow away. 

You trust him — foolishly, kindly — and he still cannot wrap his head around why. It’s such a heavy thing — your trust — and he has long since known cold, metallic hands cannot grasp delicate things forever. 

Would that wake you? 

Would it cross a line somewhere, somehow? 

He settles for lightly brushing the hair from your face, touch far too light and mindful, before his hand drifts down to your hands resting in your lap. Slowly, with all the careful movements of a child reaching for something forbidden in the middle of the night, he cradles your hand in his. Immediately, your warmth sinks into him, gradual and welcoming. 

Your head on his shoulder, your hand cradled in his — a fragile peace lay nestled against him. 

It feels like Spring.

It feels like home.

Delicate, like a folded paper crane. Even the slightest moment could tear and rend everything asunder. The smallest bit of rain could eat away the body. Carefully, so carefully must he act — every word and action mindful and calculating. He can��t lose this — this friend, this trust, this warmth. 

Slowly, he laces your fingers in his, marveling at the softness of your skin against the hard edges of him. You stir in your sleep, fingers curling around his hand and weakly returning his grip. 

“Commandant.” 

Your title is a whisper upon his lips, gentle like flower petals. 

“You’re scowling again.” 

His free hand brushes against your cheek, thumb tenderly swiping just under your eyes as if to wipe away tears. Beneath his light touches, you seem to relax, the faint traces of tension fading from your expression. He feels the subtle shift of your weight as you lean upon him further, like a bird burrowing into a corner of the nest. 

Warmth seeps into him, sinking beneath cold metal and bleeding beyond colored wires. Down, down, down it travels — to a vast white expanse within him, where only snow thrives. It seeps in, like springtime rain, and melts the unending snow. Noan gently tilts his head, lips brushing against the top of yours as he soaks up every bit of your warmth like a sunflower desperate for the sun. 

The empty bridge framed by the black expanse of the stars are the only witness to this moment of weakness. He knows when the timer runs out, this will all be over. He will return you to your Gray Ravens, likely carrying you upon his back much like he did before. He will return to the cafe and slip that shackle back on his wrist once more. 

“Shall we run away again?” You had asked just hours prior, the playful smile on your lips marred only by the exhaustion you could not hide. 

He didn’t tell you the response he suppressed — suffocated, really — that you need only say when and he would answer your call without fail. He did not tell you how he hid a blanket in the library on the impossible chance he could sneak you away to Zone Z again. He did not speak of the joy that flared in his chest, bright and blooming, to hear your request. 

He had merely held out his shackled wrist to you, a small smile on his lips as he had replied, “You really shouldn’t make a habit of getting kidnapped by an infamous bad guy unless you want to be lectured for hours.”

Your laughter as you disarmed his tracker still rings in his ears. A precious sound — what would it take to make you laugh more often? How often do you laugh around your Ravens? 

Noan closes his eyes as his thumb brushes over the back of your hand in his as he curls himself around you. If only there were still softer parts to him left, maybe he could be of more comfort. You’re still sleeping so soundly, but it can’t be comfortable to use him as a pillow like this. The blanket he brought couldn’t be enough — it’s not, not to him. He has to do more, be more. 

Next time, then. 

The thought freezes Noan, barely suppressing the flinch that would have squeezed your hand — he could have hurt you. Next time? Will there be a next time? Would it be alright to hope for that? To trust in that? 

Noan calls your name softly, devoid of any titles. Caution laces his tone but it is no less gentle. 

Still you do not wake. 

Soon, this peace will end and his time will run out. You will return to the frontlines and he will return to his shackles, worn weary by painful tests and experiments under watchful eyes that neither trust nor care for him. 

“It would be nice,” he murmurs into your hair, “if you called upon me like this again.” 

Silence settles and the stars in the instance still frame the otherwise dark and empty room. Noan quietly tugs the blanket tighter around you and curls himself that much closer to you, every bit a child clutching a jar of fireflies for comfort. 

The feeling of you cradled in his arms — a paper crane, a firefly — 

This is enough for now…. 

[punishing-eden]

Short-Fic

Lee (Palefire/Entropy)

Tags: comfort fic, short

══════════════════

"You know, if you don't get much sleep, your hair is going to fall out."

Lee approached you, looking down at you sitting on the stairway. Your face was hidden in your arms resting on your knees.

Usually, you would answer Lee whenever he speaks to you. Yet, this time, you simply don't feel like it. You just want to be alone for a while.

"..." Lee continued to stare at you. Your lack of answer made him feel awkward. You are not known to reply with silence when he asks about your well being. Not knowing what was going on in your mind, the construct only looked at you.

"Are you working late again?" he asked. This time his tone was a little softer. You still didn't answer back.

"You are feeling unwell?"

"..."

Your silence got Lee a little worried, he knew you were not ill; he gave you a body scan, but he knew you must be upset about something.

"...[Y/N], if you need something..." He said, and went to join you, sitting on the steps next to you, "I will be sitting right here."

You didn't answer.

"I am not going anywhere..." Lee added.

True to his word, Lee stayed by your side, silently offering company with his presence. He figured there was nothing he could say that would magically make you feel better. However, he knows how to be your support, just like how he does during your missions together.

Staying by your side, is what he does best.

[koukouture]

Kou's AO3 ffxiv fic rec list

I am so insane and I literally have only been reading FFXIV fanfics for like the past four or so months so here r some of my favorites

I will split it up into three categories: reader inserts, WoL OCs, and then yk fics with only the characters.

WARNING: I read lots of unsavory shit so please heed the tags in the links as I will not be going over those in this list.

*length of fics will be rounded to nearest thousand

Reader insert's

The Rise of Emperor Solus zos Galvus by amandaterasu

(Emet Selch x reader) Length: 25k Status: Complete (one shot) Review: You don't understand I think about this fic at least once a day oh my fucking LORD. 25k words just GONE in an instant I read this in like under an hour. Actually gigging and kicking my feet this shit bro liiiiiike the way this author writes Emet Selch... ouuuuughhh. I love it when a man is just so insane for his woman that he finds her in another life and immediately starts courting her. Honestly, this shit is just so good it reads almost like a historical drama in the best ways possible. Yeah it's romance (and smut) but it's also politics (kinda) and idk about you but those are my two favorite things. I now need a full length novel about Emet Selch's rise to emperor of Garlemald but yk what this shit is just as good. Bonus points for this author for introducing me to fanfic reading extensions to replace certain terms I will be using this from now on.

Tremble, Duck, & Weave by OwlEspresso

(Estinien, Aymeric, Haurchefant, Urianger x reader) Length: 31k Status: Incomplete Review: This inspired my current big project, Hellbound and yeah idk something about Ishgardian politics man. I'm gonna warn you right now a lot of these reader insert recs WILL be yandere/yandere-adjacent with a lot of unhealthy themes, general debauchery, and doves ranging from beaten to dead so uh... yeah. That aside, this is just a really fun time. Seeing everyone interact with the reader insert and all the different ways they show (or think about) their twisted affections... hnnnng it makes me a little insane okay. Also, shout out to pervert Haurchefant you will always be near and dear to my heart. We were ROBBED in the English translation

Captivate by samsaur

(Aymeric and Estinien x reader) Length: 41k Status: Incomplete Review: Remember what I said about doves ranging from being beaten up to dead? Well, the dove is definitely dead here, but it's rlly juicy because this shit really does feel like a horror story. I am not qualified to speak on it, but I think this is a great portrayal of Stockholm syndrome and the way it's written really puts you into the shoes of the reader insert and you kind of feel that hot and silent shame of being held captive like this. Also, one of my favorite niches of FFXIV fanfics is apparently villain Aymeric. Idk why but he is so good as a villain probably because he had every single reason to turn out one, and he would be a far more terrifying villain than Thordan. If Aymeric wasn't our ally during Heavensward, he would undoubtedly be a huge threat to us and this fic kinda takes that and dangles it over your head. Because, yes, Aymeric is holding the reader captive but he is also helping Alphinaud and Tataru out. It's this balancing act where we know Aymeric is capable of really fucked up things but he is still playing at the perfect image of our noble ally. You find yourself yelling at everyone else not to trust him because you, the reader and his captive, know that he is a piece of shit in this AU and I think it's glorious. Uhhh Estinien is there too ig. It's no fault on the author's part but I just don't really vibe with Estinien as a love interest. Though, his dynamic with Aymeric and the reader is extremely interesting to me. I can't say too much without spoiling all the fun, but I think in a way Aymeric has him trapped under this thumb too.

I'd Ask For Your Soul, But It's Already Mine by Dotharl

(Zenos x reader) Length: 29k Status: Incomplete Review: Guys it's fucking Zenos PLEASE read the tags on this one. Anyways I love my porn kjakjfjkjakhshjfjhk. Okay but genuinely I always say this, but Zenos is surprisingly genuine as a love interest because he doesn't put WoL up on a pedestal and just loves them for all of their worst bits and THAT is the appeal of enemies to lovers. This fic plays with that, especially with the reader insert being a Dark Knight WoL where Fray talks some sense into them and helps them recognize their self worth. I won't lie to you, this fic starts out with VERY fucked up Yandere fuckboy Zenos energy with all of the dubcon included, but I kinda don't care + it's just genuinely well written at times. The dynamic between WoL and Zenos is very nice here, bc yeah it starts out... like that and then it evolves into mutual respect when the reader realizes that Zenos would treat them well and not yk use them as a weapon. Albeit, it does go kind of quick but eh, it's like 4 chapters so I can't fault the author THAT much. Besides, not to diminish the fic, but it IS pretty clearly just kind of a pornfest and that is A-Okay with me! This shit was also last updated in like 2022 so I'm pretty sure it's abandoned.

Not a Champion, Just a Knight by Kei_Cordelle

(Haurchefant x reader)

Length: 23k Status: Incomplete Review: This one is in kind of a weird position because this is an AU where WoL dies at the Vault instead of Haurchefant, so there isn't exactly any HaurcheWoL action to speak of. But, WoL definitely haunts the characters' actions. Bro, when I tell you, the worst part of this fic is actually Alphinaud being very NOT OKAY bc WoL is dead. He is just a baby what the fuck do you mean he watched his friend, confidant, and hero die in front of him???? Yeah sorry I love Alphinaud a normal amount. (that is my SON) Anyways, this is written in first person which is weirdly a turn off for some people? I don't get the hate tbh, because first person just opens up so many fun opportunities! You can break the fourth wall much easier and directly address the reader, and you can also have the vibe that this is a retrospective of what the character saw. The later is definitely the vibe this fic gives. It's like, if the Heavensward memoir was written from Haurche's perspective in this AU. To me, I like to think that this fic is Haurchefant telling the tale of his greatest love and regret in writing. I feel like the action scenes could use some work but they're not terrible. It's just that they're literally one to one recounting of the Heavensward trials and it's just not the best. I think there's also the issue of the cast becoming slightly bloated so it is a bit rough to account for everyone's actions during fight sequences. I really do love this fic though because I think it's really interesting to see how everyone is unraveling. Obviously, we as the WoL take on a lot of things that are almost impossible for everyone else so to see them take on the monumental burden of the hero is very interesting. How would our companions react to certain things? Since during most trials in canon we take it on alone, how does everyone else fit in? Are they all doing the mechanics correctly? All in all, solid fic and I am holding out hope for that fated final fifth chapter since the last time it was updated was back in January and it was started back in 2022 so one day I hope that this will be complete and I get to see the final mental breakdown as the squad completes Heavensward with the legacy of WoL looming over them ✨

WoL OC Inserts

Coerthan Traitor by Cascanora (@cascanora here on Tumblr)

(Zenos x OC, a bit of typical Emet Selch and Azem reincarnation messiness) Length: 190k (GOD DAMN-) Status: Ongoing Review: The author of this fic is highkey like a celebrity to me bc I gobble up their art like it's fucking Christmas morning. Imagine being God's favorite and being blessed with the ability to draw AND WRITE??? Fucking insanity bro. Also, their OC, Crow is fine as hell like one chance ma'am pleeeeeeaaaaaseeee goddddddd- Anyways onto the actual fic, I am admittedly only on the first arc which is kind of like the childhood arc ig. But I really love it so far because I've just never seen anyone really write Zenos being kind of young and vulnerable and playful? That's a lie, I think I've read like one Zenos fluff that I'll have to dig through my AO3 history to find again (bc you'd best believe none of my bookmarks are fluffly...) so I just really like the change of pace. Zenos is obviously always put in more enemies to lovers type scenarios so I kinda like this different angle because yeah maybe he was something resembling normal at one point. Obviously he's very fucked up for a reason, but he was a kid too. He didn't always go off about biting jugulars and drinking blood or something, he got fucked up. I am so far absolutely living for a lot of the political stuff bc as I've said before, romance with a side of politics (or vice versa) is my cup of tea and nobody pulls this shit off better than fanfic authors. I'm really interested to see where the political stuff goes but it's like 2am (sheesh) as I'm writing this so I will have to delve further into this fic later. Anyways can I take a moment to talk about Crow and Zenos? Because they're so fucking cute I love themmmmm. I feel like I'm coming at this as someone who has seen a lot of Cascanora's art so I see when Crow and Zenos' relationship develop into when they're adults, so seeing the early stages of it is really cool to me. I don't quite know how to explain it? But anyways I am raving about this fic bc I think it just builds them both up so well and again, I don't see Zenos written to be playful and yk act his age the way he does around Crow. They just work together so well and while at the point of the story I'm at they're definitely just friends, I think that's the beautiful thing about friends to lovers. Regardless if it's romantic or platonic love, Zenos and Crow are a package deal. Also, Emet Selch/Solus in this fic is perfect. I LOVE my geriatric old man telling stories about his past. I would go off about how I am very captivated by the whole Galvus family dynamic but I will save that for the other fics bc this review section is already super fucking long and you had BEST BELIEVE I'm scouring the internet for Galvus family fics. I lied I will talk about this a little more because this strikes an odd chord with me as someone who wrote a lot of my own longform OC x Canon growing up. I kinda shamed myself off doing that kinda stuff as I got older, but diving into FFXIV where everyone becomes fucking Shakespear with their WoLs has made me let go of my fears of being a cringefailure and embrace the OC x Canon. To see really well written and thought out OC insert stuff is very comforting to me bc I often worry abt my own OCs being shitty and not really fitting in but fics like this assure me that hey, maybe I can make cool shit and that really is the most beautiful part of fanfiction and fandom in general. Fandom is this incredible loop of finding amazing shit and thinking "wow, I wanna do that too" and it's just really rewarding.

Save the Last Dance For Me by lalahganaja

(Alphinaud x WoL OC) Length: 11k Status: Complete (yatta!!!!) Review: ALPHINAUD MY BEAUTIFUL SONNNNN AAAAAAAARRRGGHHHSJGFKJGSGKHJHJF. This fic is so delightful bc it feels like I'm cheering on my children to kiss. A'tahja is so fucking precious and her and Alphinaud just bounce off each other so well. This fic also has the other Scions making an appearance and I fucking love it so much. Found family will never NOT make me absolutely batshit insane. Like yes, Y'shtola mamma cat <3 anyways *chews on Alphinaud and A'tahja* This is just so insanely fluffy and it made me slam my desk every few minutes bc cute teenage love story!!!! How can I not!!!! Alphinaud just acts like an adult a lot of the time and gets put in a lot of adult situations, but in this fic he just gets to be a little guy. A'tahja too, obviously as the WoL she's often off doing insane shit that no teenager should ever have to do and bearing burdens that are too much for a little skrunkly such as herself. But here they just get to be silly little kiddies who are very down bad for each other and it's adorable. I think another thing I really liked was A'tahja getting more in touch with her femininity? Idk how to put. But basically she had really short hair for most of her life bc she pretended to be a boy while in poverty, so to see her be A) pampered and B) learn to take care of herself and be more girly was super cute to see. Also, I am just always really surprised whenever I remember that Alphinaud can drink lmao. Like no, you are a baby (I was the same age as Alphinaud when I started playing this game) put the beer down and go sip on a capri sun or smth. God. Kids these days...

Canon character fics (?)

and i'm your clone, your strange creation by egg(strwpup)

(Fortemps familial angst from Artoirel's pov) Length: 6k Status: Complete (oneshot) Listen to me, I love this fic beyond words, but for the sake of my mental health I will NEVER read this shit again. My daddy issues go fucking DEEP like this is utter insanity. Don't get me wrong it is beautifully written and I love complicated family dynamics- but by god this fucked me up so bad. See, I like to personally believe that Edmont was a good, albeit flawed father but his sons know that he loves them and they love him in turn. But I know deep down in my heart of hearts that it is so much more complicated than that because you know, we can't have nice things here at Square Enix. It just personally fucks me up because I too, like Artoirel in this fic, am a momma's boy at heart and I... kinda hate my dad lmao. Basically, I kin Artoirel in this fic. Oldest child who has it out for my father + hates that I'm kinda like him. He loves his mother but holds contempt for his father, perhaps unfairly but can you blame him? (yeah I'm not only describing Artoirel here...) Edmont is a less than stellar father in this fic but you can tell he loves his kids and aaaaaaaaa I'm tearing up again. The complicated family dynamics + the drama of what happened in Heavensward is just so fucking delicious bro. 10/10 this fic destroyed me in every sense of the word and I do not want to go through that emotional reckoning again. However, I will be writing Edmont as a shitty dad in my fics now. Sorry but I am always just so insane for that sweet sweet eldest child and father dynamic because it's always so disastrous. Having parents is just so strange.

mon corps, le mien; mon coeur, le tien by steelthighsvoideyes

(Aymeric x Haurchefant x Estinien with a side of angst + Haurchefant survives the Vault AU) Length: 43k Status: Incomplete Review: I also started tearing up while writing this review because Haurchefant just does that to me okay? I feel like with a lot of Ishgard trio ship fics Haurche is always kind of left out? Or, he feels a bit tacked on to the Estimeric dynamic. That, or he's just sitting there with unrequited love bc clearly this man has not suffered enough. With this fic however, it definitely feels a lot more balanced. Like yeah a majority of the fic is just Haurchefant and Estinien bonding in the hospital, but Aymeric still feels present because of their shared past and how it's constantly being brought up. (in a good way) All three of them get the spotlight so you don't really lean towards one pairing. Romance aside, I really like the Ishgard trio's established dynamic in this fic because they're just guys being dudes. Besties who were in the military together. Like, Aymeric balances the trio out, Haurchefant is the sort of boisterous youngest member and Estinien is gruff and sarcastic and the banter between the three of them just flows so naturally. It's an actual friendship dynamic that serves as a solid foundation for what will hopefully be a romantic dynamic later on. Once again, friends to lovers is so good for this reason because the foundation is already there. You appreciate them as a person and you are aware of their flaws from the get-go, so when it turns romantic you skip a lot of the awkward exploration phase and can just be comfortable with each other. Anyways as for the crying part- the Fortemps familial drama follows Haurche throughout this fic and it does make me a little, tiny bit crazy. Not gonna spoil it, but the way Haurchefant feels about his family in this fic is just so real and visceral because of course it's super complicated. Once again, I like Edmont being a good dad, but realistically, it's shades of gray. Another thing about Haurchefant that not only this fic does but a lot of other people also head canon, is that his selflessness and willing to give can be self destructive at times. Once again, not gonna spoil, but it's just super heartbreaking to read Haurchefant be almost hypocritical, telling his friends to take care of themselves only for him to almost completely disregard himself. That's kind of what he does at the Vault in the first place, like that man died knowing that he did the right thing and protected his friend and oh god I'm gonna cry again I should stop talking... (I am not even kidding when I say that I will eventually write a Haurchefant character essay...)

Unicorn's Favor by Neyasochi

(Aymeric x Haurchefant x Estinien, yet another Haurche survives the Vault AU) Length: 34k Status: Complete Review: So, this is one of those fics where I feel Haurchefant is kinda just taped onto the Estimeric dynamic, and that's fine, it's whatever, I'm here for the porn and the banter. The premise of this fic is that Haurche helps get Estinien and Aymeric together and then smutty gay things happen. And that's all well and good BUT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE FORTEMPS BROTHERS IN THIS FIC!!! *holds them gentle* For me, the best part of this fic was Haurchefant's relationship with his family which for a change, is NOT super angsty and complicated. It's all very heartwarming to see how in this fic the brothers get along very well (contrary to canon where unfortunately we know they were never very close) and to see Haurchefant really appreciate that he's still alive and gets to be around the people he loves more. It's just super cute and fluffy and now I just need fics like this in general. Yeah whatever it's not canon that the Fortemps bros actually like each other this much BUT IDC!!!! YOU NEVER SEPERATE TRIOS!!!! Speaking of trios, the Ishgard trio dynamic in this is yk it's fine it's whatever. In this particular fic, I find it quite cute that Haurche had a crush on Aymeric as a kid, so even if they aren't all buddy buddy in this fic there's still that lingering admiration and it's cute. I also completely swear by pansexual Haurchefant bc that man does NOT discriminate. Okay enough abt the French I will talk about the Italians (Romans) now.

Far colder on the earth than in the heavens by Altimas_Bane

(Galvus family things) Length: 7k Status: Complete Review: I told you I love my familial angst. No, I'm NOT okay. It DOES make me absolutely rabid that Emet Selch as Solus couldn't help but have some hope for the sundered because of Lucius because can you fucking imagine that??? Your son who gave you a little bit of hope for the broken, shattered people who replaced your brethren dies and that is the nail in the coffin. That is what makes you fully believe that they are unworthy. It was briefly mentioned in the short story "Through his Eyes", but Emet Selch had a little bit of hope for Lucius, and he was probably distraught when his son died. This fic goes over that agonizing feeling of watching someone slowly waste away from sickness. It is slow, it is painful, and it is gut wrenching. Idk man, just read it.

Son, Father, Emperor by January Blue

(Varis reflecting on his life and especially his relationship with Zenos)

Length: 12k Status: Complete Review: Heyyyyyy do you bitches remember when I said that Varis probably loved Zenos when he was younger but eventually held contempt for the monster he created? You all probably thought I was crazy for reading them like this BUT I'M NOT!!!!! Anyways fatherly angst strikes again (I am in shambles and this fic goes onto the list of fics that I will never read again for the sake of my mental health) LISTEN TO ME AND LISTEN WELL; Varis and Zenos' relationship isn't so black and white. No I'm not defending Varis- but come on the entire Galvus family is fucking crazy man. Anyways, to quote the comment I left on this fic because I do not want to repeat and retype it myself: "Varis, in a lineage of men that are strong, born into the arena that is politics, is WEAK because he is EMOTIONAL. Solus/Emet Selch calls him emotional in the cutscene he was introduced in (unless I'm hallucinating) and that SENT me because I was forced to rethink all of the information we had been shown of Varis until then. I wrote him off as a shallow villain but I did some digging and Varis is surprisingly the most empathetic in the Galvus household and it SHOWS whenever Solus berated him in cutscenes." Varis had emotions, he had morals he had a line that he would not cross. He has been shown to be merciful (when we parlayed with him in the Ghimlyt Dark) and it's known that he at least cared for his late wife, Zenos' mother. Obviously, he would extend that to his son at one point, right? Perhaps when he was still young and unmarked by the world- right???? See, I really like this fic because it frames Varis' absence from Zenos' life as unintentional, but at the same time, it does not absolve him of the fact that he is a terrible father. I don't want to say too much because I would very much like it if YOU, my dearest reader, took as much emotional damage reading this as I did- but I digress. Varis and Zenos' relationship is not as simple as "Varis hates Zenos" there's obviously some shades of gray here. I personally believed that there's no way Varis hated Zenos because Zenos' mother died in childbirth, and clearly, other people think the same. Listen, you don't just hate your own flesh and blood, at least, not from the very beginning. It's a slow process, and I know it in my heart of hearts that Varis regretted what he let happen to Zenos This fic is just so wonderfully written and I was actually kinda bouncing around my room reading this. Once again, major daddy issues, so maybe that's why I like believing that Varis loved Zenos once upon a time. Something, something, father's love their kids until they grow a mind of their own.

And that's my list! In the future as I make my way through fanfics I have marked for later due to spoilers, I might make another one of these because I think people need to read this shit!!!!

If one of your fics is on here please send me an ask so that I might go back and edit this to tag you!

[teecupangel]

I'm quite sure you guys don't play WuWa but I just find it funny that WuWa decided to schedule their 2.0 Livestream on Desmond's death day

2.0 is going to be set in WuWa's take of Italy and there's even a carnevale type of setting. I'm sure it's just a coincidence but I did hear that the new region is inspired by AC Odyssey's Atlantis so who knows anymore XD

You guys are lucky that they use UTC+8 on their schedules, otherwise Desmond Deathday Megaposting this year would have been late (and take this as my reminder that Saturday, Dec 21, will be Desmond DeathDay Megaposting in AO3 XD)

[commandantexekial]

File: Commandant Exekial

NAME: Exekial

DATE OF BIRTH: August 16

GENDER: Male

HEIGHT: 173 cm

WEIGHT: 68 kg

HAIR COLOR: Light gray

EYE COLOR: Bluish gray

NOTABLE FEATURES: Black cloth eyepatch over right eye, thick scar running up left side of neck

HOBBIES: Card throwing, weapons training, hand-to-hand combat, reading, drawing, journaling

LIKES: Bubble tea, video games, Gray Raven

DISLIKES: Bureaucracy, Punishing Virus, hospital visits

WEAPONS OF CHOICE:

PRIMARY: Standard pistol

AUXILIARY: Twin kamas

STRENGTHS:

Above-average marksmanship with pistol

Excellent at dual-wielding blades

Quick thinking and snap judgment

Tenacious and persevering

WEAKNESSES:

Overwhelming tendency of self-sacrificing

Difficulty in understanding big-picture view

Handling bureaucracy

Making speeches in debates

[toastthewolfie]

I NEED TO SEE SKK HAVING AN EXPLOSIVE BREAKDOWN LIKE

WE ONLY SEE THEM WAKE UP AND HELP LIV AND THEN THEY HAVE A CONCUSSION AND IN NOAN’S AFFECTION STORY, IT SAYS WE’RE OVERWORKING OURRSELVES BUT ITS NOT E N O U GH

I WANT TO SEE THEM CRYING IN A MEETING ROOM WITH NO ONE AROUND BEVAUSE THE GUILT HAS BEEN EATING THEM FROM THE INSIDE OUT, CRYING BECAUSE THEYRE WONDERING IF IT WAS BETTER THEY JUST DIED IN PULIA, I NEED TO SEE KICKING OR PUNCHING A WALL IN THEIR EMOTIONAL STATE AND THEN JUST COLLAPSING TO THE FLOOR AND SOBBING.

PLEASE KURO MAKE SKK MENTALLY UNSTABLE AND P A T H E T I C

[starryficsfinishwen]

the Halloween fic I've been writing for a few days now will unfortunately be moved (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) partly because I've been busy with real life responsibilities.

I also didn't want to spoil this but: not only that, I'm currently writing/planning something not only one, but TWO books (is that the right term? LOL).

why don't we play a guessing game? (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

hint: from PGR, one of my favorite constructs, blonde hair, one of y'all chosen husbando.

another hint, related to him:

he who moves up and down, straight

leaves no room for mistake

he who swore fealty to his royalties

as long as there are no casualties

he who roams the battlefield fearlessly

protecting who he holds dearly

When I'm done planning this and starting the initial drafts, I'll defo share it soon.

goodluck guessing :>

[unhappy-last-resort]

In the interest of keeping ones darling safe, many opt to keep them at home or within some confined space while the yan is away with the intention that they'll always know where you are.

However, this provides alone time- and while alone time is important, it gives you lots of time to ruminate about how much you hate your situation, formulate escape plans, and execute them.

That's why you never get to be alone. Maintenance, briefings, training, missions, frame changes, you'll be there for it all and more. You will never get a moment to yourself. Yes you will bathe under their watchful gaze, yes you will use the bathroom in their presence, yes you will dress and undress while they watch, yes you will breakdown on the floor sobbing with them near and dear.

You'll get used to it eventually. You will adapt to this new way of doing things, it's for your own health and safety. Besides, they're always under constant supervision from a higher power and they've grown accustomed to it, so you can too. Just relax. Let them take care of you.

Alpha, Bianca, Chrome, Hacima, Lee, Luna, Roland, Vonnegut

[narastories]

there is a performer who wants you on the stage a little longer

Again, if you're not a Punishing: Gray Raven fan: don't worry about this.

Unless you are curious and/or concerned about my sanity seeing the tags, of course, I welcome questions in that case lol

For PGR fans this is just your run-of-the-mill, soft, mildly poetic Commandant/Construct fic, but I'm a little concerned that it might come across as highly weird for anyone else ^^" Fandom: 战双帕弥什 | Punishing: Gray Raven Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Commandant/Roland (Punishing: Gray Raven) Characters: Roland (Punishing: Gray Raven), Commandant (Punishing: Gray Raven), Reader Tags: Present Tense, POV Third Person, (1st Chapter), POV Second Person, (2nd Chapter), POV Alternating, ambigously gendered Commandant, with they/them pronouns, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Waking from Coma, spoilers up until the beginning of Chapter 17, and Roland's affection story, I wrote it for myself but you can read it too, The Author Regrets Everything, Game Logic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

In Evernight Beat, Roland had a hand in the events that led to the Commandant's injury. Let's say, he doesn't feel very good about that.

Read on AO3

Listen to my random audio moodboard

[northerngoshawk]

literally nobody asked for this but oh well lol

wip i'm currently working on for a pgr fic!

Never again, she vowed to the wind, to your cold body, to her shattered heart. Never again. But never again became again and again, a promise turned into the cursed loop of endless death and tragedy and tears. And always, always, it was you who paid the price. You, who had always driven yourself towards the same endings. You, who had always chosen the same sacrifices. You, who had always, always, put others before yourself, who had never seemed to care what your death meant to those left behind, who had long forgotten how to cherish yourself the way she did. You, who had always slipped from her grasp as she reached for you, a second too late. A second, a second—always a second, only ever a second. But a second was enough for a beating heart to go silent forever, for the warmth of a body to grow cold, for the light in a person’s eyes to vanish.

[elegyofthemoon]

i need to go back and replay through hidden chapter 5 bc the pseudoconscious liv in a dress made me want to eat shoes thinking about liv who took her sisters dress before she became a medic

[sabotsen]

Extended Connection 6

It does not happen the first time. Nor the second or third. Only after you have made a habit of it does he even dare to act upon the fleeting impulse.

Sleep still eludes you on most nights, and as the dark nights bled into pink hued mornings, he had long since narrowed down the reasons. Stress powered by the demands and expectations of those who have never walked upon the battlefield and nightmares shaped by both memories and deep rooted fears. So when you first fall asleep sitting beside him, it is a precious stolen moment he shields in the same manner he sheltered your presence in the library. Quietly, ardently -- the diligent watch of the sheepdog around the herd.

It is only when your breathing measured out, slow and deep, did he gently and carefully gather you in the mindful embrace of his arms. Every movement is carefully calculated to minimize the chance of disturbing you -- metal fingers cautious not to brush against bare skin, the purposeful position and bundling of his scarf and clothes to soften the hard planes of his frame. Slowly, gently, he would carry you back to the Gray Raven lounge and lay you down upon the couch, his touch always hesitant to leave.

It starts small, after he has carried you back enough times to fill a row of tally marks hidden in a journal on the last page. It's little things at first -- lingering, kneeling beside you for too long in the silence before he tears himself away agonizingly slow like bloodied gauze peeled from wounded flesh. Then it's his hands, finding their way into the folds of your sleeves and pressing his head against the couch cushions as if praying.

Once, he slips the tips of his fingers into the delicate curve of your hand -- hoping, praying that perhaps the touch would provide some solace somehow. When you don't react -- no flinch from the chill of his touch or slow curl of your fingers against the light pressure against your palm -- that is when the damning thought pops into his head. In the dim light of the lounge, he sees the muted hues of winter. In the silence that hangs in the room, he hears the deafening absence of sound in the wake of the train wreckage. The small flicker of your heat beneath his touch is the fading warmth of the departed.

That is all it takes for the fear and unease -- the guilt and remorse -- to bloom bright and bold like blood upon snow and sear his wires down to scrap.

He moves on instinct.

He moves on doubt and prayer knotted together -- inseparable and stained.

Careful, touch light with measured distance, he rests his head on your stomach and only when you breathe in does the fabric if your shirt brush against his cheek.

You're alive, he knows this.

You are not upon the battlefield nor are you nursing a wound so critical that you may never wake.

You're sleeping, safe.

He knows this. But he slowly strips away his hesitation and allows the weight of his head to fully rest against you. There’s a longing scratching at the walls of his heart — a yearning that burns at his fingertips. It nips at the base of his skull — an ache to press his ear to your chest instead and listen to the steady rhythm of your heart.

But it would wake you, he’s sure. How you’ve yet to wake from him practically nuzzling against the softness of your stomach is a marvel in and of itself. How exhausted must you be? How much longer must you wear yourself thin?

Is there more can do for you — more he can be for you beyond just an assistant and a shoulder to lean upon? Where will you draw the line as he inches closer to you?

Noan blinks, noting the furrow in your brow that deepens the longer he lays there. He’s careful about the pressure he’s placing on you — and he is ever mindful of your vitals — but there is a nagging worry gnawing at the back of his mind. Is this causing you discomfort? Pain?

A chill seeps into him at the thought, merciless as winter.

It crawls up his spine, and forms delicate like frost yet damning all the same as it chills his cheek pressed against the warm folds of your shirt. Noan closes his eyes.

He should stop. He should go. It’s been long enough, he can’t stay here. Heroes never meet kind ends when they linger in the company of monsters for too long, after all.

A bitter smile plays upon his lips as he slowly lifts his head and withdraws.

Something light brushes against the crown of his head, however, and he freezes. A flash of panic flares, painting his expression in a rare display of emotion as his eyes snap up to your face. Your brow is still furrowed with a faint press of your lips into a troubled line, but the deep and steady pace of your breathing tells him you’re still asleep. The touch returns, fumbling before it settles fully upon his head and the gentleness of that touch shakes him down to very nuts and bolts that hold him together.

Your hand.

It’s your hand.

Clumsy with sleep, your hand slowly and gently ruffles his hair, blunt nails occasionally idly scratching at his scalp.

Warmth sinks into him, sweeping through him with all the natural grace of spring coaxing flowers from winter’s slumber. It’s enough to leave him shaking — it’s enough to shatter him to pieces. Helplessly, Noan curls his fingers into the fabric of your sleeve, clinging to you in the only way he can without risking waking you up.

Ardently, he follows the subtle pressure of your palm and allows his head to rest upon your stomach once more. The furrow in your brow lessens slightly, your expression softening just a fraction as your hand runs through his hair.

Noan hears, as well as feels the faint rumble, when you hum softly.

“Good boy,” your voice is a soft, sleepy murmur.

Immediate is the blush that spreads across his face, warmth spreading from more than just your touch. If he still had a human body, he doubt he’d be able to hear anything over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. Noan buries his face in the fabric of your shirt, hands trembling as he pressed his knuckles into the couch cushions.

Slowly, the movement of your hand ceases, buried in his hair as you fall back into the depths of whatever dream held you.

Noan remains as you sleepily coaxed him, soaking in every bit of your warmth like a sunflower reaches for the sun.

Just a little longer. Just for now.

Surely you will forgive him for this moment of greed.