#purely because???oh my lord??? people like my AU enough to draw it????? thank you?!?!?

[emersonfreepress]

ok ok in the spirit of community, how would the ros fair in a paintball war?

(referring to this ask! like the zombie au post this ended up making me think a lot 😅)

ohh... interesting, interesting... p sure the only paintball wars i’ve really seen were the ones featured in The League, Peep Show, and Community... but let me wrack my lil head...

ok, i ended up coming at this from multiple angles like the zombie au post 😅 always so much to consider in battle environments! and in the spirit of community, I'll stick with the individual player elimination style paintball match. in the woods with other e prep seniors. last one standing wins bragging rights

Gabe

Shooting skill | 6/10 - Experience with shooting and practice with Kile ofc

Stealthiness | 8/10 - He's done a fair amount of sneaking around during his after school activities, is super observant (or just paranoid lol), and naturally light on his feet. Good luck ambushing him.

Strategy | 8/10 - Strike deals. Do favors. Form alliances. Shoot 'em in the back once they’ve outlived their usefulness. ...What? It’s just paintball.

How does he win? | Graciously. Gabe likes winning, and especially via strategic manipulation, so it puts a smile on his face. And he's in a good mood so he treats a bunch of you to ice cream or smth 👀

How does he lose? | Slumps in frustration at being outwitted or taken off-guard, sulks about it for a little while. He's not that sore of a loser but needs time to lick his wounds and stop thinking of the different choices he could have made.

Kile

Shooting | 9 - The most accurate shooter of the cast and easily one of the best shots at E Prep. Lots of practice + talent

Stealth | 10 - They're stupid good at climbing trees and 100% consider that a valid method of ambushing their classmates. People start having flashbacks to 3rd and 4th grade recess and P.E. Scanning the trees. They just start taking people out with such efficiency it quickly starts ruining the game 😂

Strategy | 0? 10?? - “...Strategy? You just stay out of sight and kill 'em all, right?” (immediately scolded by Gabe for word choice 🙄) They really do mainly stay out of sight and pick people off with max stealth, like 😆 they'd be such a terror, people would need to take them out early for anyone else to stand a chance! They spend a lot of the game staking out the most frequented paths in the area and taking out groups quickly, all at once. Then they'll get around to stalking and picking people off one by one. The real fun...

Winner type | Stoic. Likes winning combat but the stakes were non-existent, so... the win is meaningless! this just infuriates the losers more 😅 such disrespect

Loser type | Sucks their teeth and tosses their paintball gun to the ground. "Y'all suck." (they're over it five mins later tho lol)

Jack

Shooting | 3 - This is nothing like shooting light guns... ☹️

Stealth | 5 - Not just due to his size making him an easier target, but homeboy is liable to get distracted by a cute squirrel or some pretty flowers 😂 He's not great at keeping his voice down either so good conversation would make him easy to seek out. He's just out here enjoying a beautiful day 😅

Strategy | 7 - All that movie-watching (and DMing) make him a valuable creative mind for problem-solving, but he needs a cooperative team to be effective. Rescued and recruited by Rupan/Rohan early on in the game ^ ^

Winner type | Disbelief! And everyone’s content and satisfied with him winning. Except Vivian/Vincent, that jealous fool

Loser type | Doesn't mind losing at all! He just hopes he was a good teammate and was glad to have fun ☺️

Jessie

Shooting | 7 - Comes from a family of hunters, girly knows how to shoot.

Stealth | 6 - Familiar enough with woods and stalking prey to be capable of sneaking around. Having too much fun to not giggle and get overly invested in the developing plot of the game. Even more easily distracted by critters and flora than Jack 😅

Strategy | 5 - Oh, she's just here to have fun. She'll go with whatever the person she's teaming up with decides, but can adapt easily enough.

Winner type | Surprised... then elated! Bouncing and happy and it's completely contagious. No hard feelings about a single thing. Convinces Heidi to invite people to the Emerson Estate—it's a hot day and they have a nice pool

Loser type | Same as Jack! Congratulates the winner with a hug because she's sweet like that 🧁

Rain

Shooting | 2 - This... thing is so cumbersome. And ugly. At least it shoots pretty colors.

Stealth | 7 - Small and used to sneaking around different environments and seeking out hiding spots. Their height and frame makes them harder to spot too.

Strategy | 4 - Hide!!! They’re not getting assaulted with paint and pellets!! Especially not after managing to make this ugly jumpsuit look cute?? Waiting it out is perfectly legitimate. Might share snacks if you decide to join them in hiding 😆

Winner type | Falls asleep in an unexpectedly cozy hiding spot and emerges as everyone thought they’d declared the winner. I imagine R and others yelling at them to get their gun while the original winner scrambles to get theirs, just for Rain to win by pure luck of the draw. Won’t stop them bragging about it, though! (I want this spurned runner-up to be Vi bc ofc)

Loser type | "So I can stop holding this thing?" Yawn. "I'm so hungry and bored, we've been at this for hours..."

Rupan/Rohan

Shooting | 4 - Ah, shit. These don't shoot anything like light guns.

Stealth | 7 - They sneak out and around town a lot 😂 They just force themself to be careful about how loud grass and bushes are.

Strategy | 7 - They’re treating this shit like an action movie and banding together a ragtag team of misfits to take down the strongest alliances and players. Savvy enough to reject Gabe’s and Curt’s offers to join, not opposed to strategic backstabs. They're very clearly just as focused on having fun as they are on winning—and playing Predator, which honestly works with Kile runnin around. They even brought war paint and borrowed a tactical vest. Is it mostly packed with snacks and weed? Maybe. Does it prove useful for negotiations? Hell yeah.

Winner type | Raucous celebration, just pure joy and adrenaline ☺️ Celebrates with their team, brags a bit, rubs it into Vi's face, makes fun of Curt, the usual. Then invites allies out to get pizza because it's the obvious next step

Loser type | Mostly disappointed they can't keep playing. They're a little sore about being left out of the action, but soon just start chatting with other marked players about how the game went for them. Plenty entertaining on its own, they want all the details

Vivian/Vincent

Shooting | 5 - They've got a little bit of shooting experience.

Stealth | 4 - They're overly sensitive and hate being in nature. Their skin is sticky, they keep feeling bugs everywhere, they've gotten dirt all over their pants, it's so hot, they keep WALKING into SPIDERWEBS, [flails about, screaming furiously]

Strategy | 8 - They have good ideas, they're just difficult to execute alone, especially since they're getting sunburnt and getting crankier and can't stop swatting at insects 😅 they're one of the first people to figure out that someone's taking out groups from the trees, so they stay solo and try to find a single person to team up with. Really what they need is someone who's a better shot but easy to boss around. They can probably just owe them for an in-school favor...

Winner type | Barely suppressed gloating. Vi somehow finds a way to be an obnoxious winner almost entirely by the look on their face. Once they're in a smaller group, they're passionately discussing the details of the game and happily boasting about their triumphs (while glossing over all of the whining and and slip-ups lol)

Loser type | Booo, such a sore loser. (Especially in the scenario where Rain wins 🤣) If they're outsmarted or outgunned in a clear, transparent way they'll growl and stomp off, then quietly glower and sulk for way too long. If they're double-crossed or beaten in an underhanded way oh lord —they're fighting it to the end. R can't help but get involved either way, reminding them it was a damn game with literally no prize. "C'mon, Vi, chill. You want ice cream? Let's get you ice cream."

Heidi

Shooting | 6 - Some shooting experience.

Stealth | 8 - She's very aware of her surroundings and her body. Perceptive yet quiet. Tactical. All residual traits picked up from her many activities over the years.

Strategy | 9 - Most likely to outsmart everyone. The first one to figure out groups are being targeted from the trees. Goes it alone and only open to trading (unless she sees Curt with Jess in which case she puts a quick pin in her plans to rescue her 😂). She also immediately figures out it's Kile, because ofc it is. Keeps close tabs on what groups are doing, knowing that eventually Kile will come down to ground level to pick off individuals and couples. Predator becomes prey 👀

Winner type | Proud but not boasting. She doesn't need to be. Victory looks good on her, natural and fitting. Thanks everyone for a good game then takes the girls for a long ride in the Cadillac 😎 top down on a bright day, baby

Loser type | Damn. She should have won this. Maybe if she'd... She probably could have... Then she snaps out of it, roped in by the celebratory mood of congratulating the winner. She's over any feelings of frustration or regret after getting to discuss the match with the person that took her out/the winner and there's no hard feelings. If anything this was fun as hell, it should be an annual thing. ☺️

Curt

Shooting | 8 - Some shooting experience and a natural knack for it. Good reflexes.

Stealth | 8 - Curt likes to say he gets along with the woods around these parts. Sneaking around is second nature to him. Really good hearing too. He's an easy target if you manage to seduce him though, having no issue leaving himself vulnerable if it means that kind of fun 😂

Strategy | 7 - Honestly, he's most interested in seeing how long he can get away with using charm and seduction for both protection and double-crossing 😂 Eventually becomes persona non grata and gets all of his ammo stolen by a vengeful mark, barely getting away in the process. Since that jig is up, he finally starts thinking a win might be nice... and so he teams up with the only competent player who would never betray him and also inspires the least vitriol in others: Jessie. What? Is his back-up plan using her as a human shield? No! 😚 Of course not! 👉👈

Winner type | Insufferable and gloating. Rubs it in a lot of people's faces, specifically Heidi, Rupan/Rohan, and any participants who genuinely don't like him. Brags to Gabe (who is completely disinterested in gassing him up 😂), then promises he'll make things up to Jessie (who didn't mind and had fun lol). Then celebrates by asking whoever he's flirting with these days for a quick date—and a ride in the Ferrari. Makes a scene pulling out of the parking lot. Ass.

Loser type | Doesn't care one bit as long as he had fun! And he always finds a way to have fun, it's why he's so carefree 😅

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Three

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 2.5k → click here for the next part !

The wind beats down on the bustling market and the scarf tied to your head which masks just how messy your hair is today flies away, neither you or Sasha realise as the street is scattered with stalls which bloom like flowers peeping out of rocky cement and the babbles of the citizens of the Asmye District are all you can hear. The Sun has begun to set ever so slightly, and the night is a convincing ruse to avoid anyone from noticing who exactly you are. Nobility such as yourself venturing down here is looked down upon.

Twisting and turning through the streets you both do your best to locate a specific man, balding and in his late thirties you have some unfinished business with him.

After a solid thirty minutes your goal is met in the form of his book store. Rubbing your eyes in disbelief you and Sasha sigh with relief and clap eachother's hands in triumph.

Now to get that refund.

Researching magic is a new past time of yours and you find it to be intriguing but you've been scammed into paying for a few useless storybooks. You admit it's your fault for hurriedly purchasing "A boy and his broom" and "The tales of seven witches" without checking the contents inside but you thought you could trust the review the owner gave you. The way he smiled reminded you of Mother and that was more than enough for you to make an immediate purchase.

"Four silver coins." You try to be assertive and when that doesn't work you bite your lip, thinking deeply before alternating to your puppy dog eyes.

The merchant looks away, a faint blush is spotted, swiftly you take it as your opportunity and plead "Please. Please. Please." Looking up at him through your lashes you rub your hands together expectantly. Eventually, he yields and hands over what he owes you begrudgingly.

"Sashaaa. I got the money." You joyfully exclaim. She looks a little disappointed that you've been begging for money but she's promised to not tell the Duke about what you do down here.

You're actually gathering emergency funds if you need to run away which is why any money being wasted is a big deal to you even if it's just four coins. Sasha doesn't know of the magic or the reason why you're collecting money and you want to keep it that way.

"Mmhm Next stop is the Emerald Silk merchants I'd like to invest in some of the silk and reserve it."

Sasha gives you another weird look. You know it's because the Duke owns the Emerald merchants and you may run the risk of being recognised, it would be far easier for you to simply ask Levi for the rolls of silk but you never know if he'll revert to his past self. The last thing you want is for him to behead you as soon as he returns purely because you've leeched off of him.

"Sometimes I find it hard to believe you're Duke Ackerman's wife and do not find the urge to spend money in the way you should." Sasha confesses.

As you both walk you respond "Well, what way should I be spending money?" you inquire.

"As if you've got a never ending supply. You're a duchess." She whisper shouts at you.

Patting at your head you feel around for your scarf and realise it's been blown away by the wind.

"Ah. Your scarf oh no." Sasha frantically looks around panicked and you wonder who on Earth she had to have been serving before you for her to be so on edge by this minor occurrence. It's a scarf, nothing of much value or importance to you.

"It's alright I never liked it. I'd much rather let my hair flow free." Releasing your hair from the cramped confines of the ponytail it's in you skip ahead of her letting your hair fall naturally.

"M-My lady PLEASE. You can't walk around with your hair out like that."

"No one will know who I am so long as you don't call me Duchess." you call over your shoulder.

Little do you know a certain someone already has your scarf in their hands eyeing you from the distance.

It takes a while for you and Sasha to navigate through the crowded streets but you end up finding your way and requesting to reserve the twenty two rolls of silk.

On your way out you eye the sign and wonder why you find the name Emerald to be so endearing. You wonder if he chose the name himself, you assume he did because he had consulted you on other variations too. Pearl, Diamond, Amber, but Emerald sounds sincere and sweet.

Your attention being placed so intently on the sign leads you into the hard body of a stallion. Thankfully, the horse is docile and doesn't mind.

"Miss with the pretty hair!"

The height difference means you have to shield your eyes with the palm of your hand as you look upwards towards the mystery man. A shining face is what you are met with and a cheeky grin is plastered across it. Choppy chestnut locks frames his face, he shines brighter than anyone you've met - Apart from Levi of course. No one outshines him in your books.

Is he a noble? You look to his stallion then to his high end, sophisticated garments. He must be.

Your scarf is in between his fingers and he dangles it in front of you.

"Is this yours my lady?"

"Oh, why it is thank you." he gently places it into you hands and you take a look at Sasha. You don't really feel like being found out by a noble today. The Duke's reputation would be in tatters if others of nobility were to catch you mingling with "common folk", that term makes your face twist. You despise it.

Nonetheless, It would be miserable if they saw you arguing passionately for your rightful refund of four silver coins when you resided within the walls of the Ackerman estate, you're sure four silver coins is petty change to Levi. It would be even worse if they eyed what exactly you were refunding.

Sasha senses your nerves and chimes in just in time. "Well, we must get going good Sir. We're running late for an event until next time!"

Taking your hand she leads you towards your carriage and you wave at the young man. With the same bright smile he waves back and calls out "Until next time ladies!" he seems menacing but in the manner of a mischievous younger sibling.

Once you and Sasha have escaped and are in the enclosed space of your carriage do you ask her questions.

"That man, Who was that?" you question.

Hushed Sasha whispers "I heard he's called the crazy bee." You chuckle at that witty nickname, his honey like expressions were sweet it did add up. "There's rumours he sticks it into anyone." Oh. My Lord. Your mouth gapes open. That nickname, it makes a whole lot more sense now given this perspective.

"Viscount Kirstein, A womaniser who's recently returned from studying abroad not too long ago. Best to stay away from him."

Makes sense, you have no recollection of who he is the only conclusion you can draw is that he has to be from abroad.

Your legs kiss your chest as you sit in the carriage curled up. From that point on the rest of the trip back is quiet as Sasha has unknowingly nodded off to sleep and you want her to rest. It irks you how the other staff members push her around despite her position as Head maid. The least you can do for your friend is let her sleep.

Smiling at her you cover her with your shawl and sit down content with how you've left her. You too are about to drift off to sleep.

That is until you see the Duke outside. You didn't tell him you were going to the market and he won't stop inquiring until you or Sasha let him know what's going on.

Quickly ducking out of view it's too late and your sudden movement has woken Sasha up too. Levi's seen you through the corner of his eyes for sure. Damn him and his senses. He hates back handed tricks and if you encounter his real personality you'll be in trouble.

He just had to decide to come out on tour today of all days??

The carriage halts to a stop and Sasha exits making sure the door is closed, you hear her giving one of the Duke's knights a lukewarm excuse as to why she's out supposedly alone in a noble's carriage. Guilt fills you, she's always covering on your behalf.

"You there, stop." The Duke's icy voice enters the scene, seconds of silence pass, you're holding your breathe. It feels like the first time he came hunting for you.

Out of nowhere he flings the carriage door open.

Oh no, there's too many people outside. You can't be seen on the floor of a carriage with your hair out like this. No Duchess can be caught dead this way.

Without a seconds thought you yank him inside shielding yourself from the view of any outsiders, the door echoes closed.

There's an exchange of heavy breathing and just as you're about to look up at him with a brazen smile you realise he's drawn his sword out on you at a furious speed, it's dangerously close to the nape of your neck. His body is tensed up and so is yours. Huh. This feels...different.

"I thought I was being attacked by a mutt." he spits out, his brows are furrowed, the veins in his neck throb, stance wide, his teeth are bared. A mutt? This feels hostile, lips pressed together in a fine line your heart stops beating for a second.

"My Lord...?" you meekly call out to him.

Then out of nowhere he seemingly snaps out of it.

"I'm sorry." He releases you from the compromising position "I didn't even notice it was you my love. Are you hurt by an chance?" He's back to his usual self and is panicking checking every part of you, ensuring he hasn't left a scratch.

Hugging you warmly his embrace soothes you automatically and you feel the relief course through your system, of course he's on guard he's the Duke and he's out on tour after all.

"I'm fine." You quickly explain your reasoning for hiding and he nods "So, could you give a random excuse to the knights? I just didn't wish to lose my dignity so soon. You know the Duchess on the floor of her carriage with her hair like this." You laugh airily pointing at the birds nest on your head.

"You look beautiful either way. But I'll do as you please." And he leaves after gently pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Later that night you're getting ready for a good nights rest. The Duke has yet to return, he's always caught up in his duties and noble activities, You wish he'd take the time to relax. Hard work and dedication to his people is an ethic of his he'll never give up on.

He always gives you the option to excuse yourself from partaking in noble activities. The only real reason as to why you don't ever venture outside with him and are yet to make a public appearance together is fear. Fear that he'll wake up one day and throw you away.

You want to make it easy for him if he ever decides to do that. He won't have to erase your existence if you don't make yourself known.

Tossing and turning you shiver, something feels off. You've been feeling that way since he drew his sword against you earlier today. The way he looked at you, it's reminiscent of the first time you looked into those feline eyes. Once bright and full of life they had become charcoal and devoid of any distinct emotion, the duality between his two forms makes your breath falter.

Being reminded that the Levi you know and love isn't real only gets harder as time passes. It's all overthinking and being pointlessly anxious but it still gnaws at your mind at least once a day. He is all you have and he is all you will have until he too turns on you. Just like everyone else.

Suddenly, the acidity of the situation settles into every part of your being, you can't have anything can you? All the love you've ever received is short term - only available for intermittent periods of time.

You feel bitter tears pricks at the edges of your eyes. You want to control yourself, act with jurisdiction over your body, so you do. No tears are shed.

Later that night you awake. Rubbing at your eyes you stir in bed, and eventually one of your splayed arms feels Levi's solid form next to you. Half awake you shift to put an arm over his chest, drawing him in closer he squirms at your touch. That's when you feel a harsh iron grip on your wrist, it's bruising.

That alone is enough for you to become undone from your drowsy state. Opening your eyes you're met with an expansion of cold emptiness.

"Lev...? Whatever is the matter?" Innocent gaze staring at your husband you act oblivious purposefully. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you find that shocking. You're surprised that it hasn't failed yet. Hope is the only instrument fueling it.

Silence.

Levi is no longer present, in his absence you are face to face with a rock hard glare, the fire in his eyes is also felt by you. The man who almost murdered you in cold blood months prior shows no signs of changing his previous choice, this whole situation is damp. If this were a movie this would be your last scene.

His fury is wordless but it vibrates and makes its presence known. There's a vortex of resentment brewing inside of his chest.

Everything is a blur, breaking down you hear nothing from Levi. You don't feel his warm palms at your cheeks, or his thumb swiping your tears away, this isn't one of your nightmares.

He's disgusted even touching the surface of your skin, it scalds him having to touch someone as morally impure as yourself. Releasing the hold he has on your wrist he tosses your arm away forcibly.

"Refer to me with that name once more and I'll see to it that your neck is snapped in two. Fucking Brat." His voice curls into a low hiss.

[erable-writes]

Prucan Week Day #6: Noble Souls

Day 6: Partnership, Duality, Union

Matthew didn't know why he was here. 

Really, he didn't belong. The gathering was for nobles, meant for the highest class and the most pure of blood. That was not Matthew. Sure, Matthew lived in a castle, but that was as good as it got for him. unfortunately, Alfred had decided that instead of leaving Matthew at home, he needed someone to accompany him to the “Grand Seasonal Banquet” or some equally pretentious name. Matthew had not wanted to, partly because he was painfully shy, mostly because of the aforementioned not royalty thing, but Alfred was the one housing him, and therefore the one in charge of him, so he couldn't really say no.

Matthew sometimes wondered how different his life would be if he was truly royalty. Sure, it would probably be easier to be a royal. He wouldn't be the first in line, so his only job would be to look presentable, maybe talk to visiting aristocrats every once in a while. That part seemed appealing. However, Matthew was also acutely aware of the fact that he would not be a highly respected noble. The world maintained a certain order, and Matthew happened to be born into a low standing. He wasn't upset by it, not at all. He lived with his papa Francis in a small community, where he knew everyone by heart and did not fear being criticized or gossiped about. He was never on display, never the central focus of anything. That held its own comfort.

In short, Matthew was fairly certain that if he were truly a nobleman, he would crumble under the pressure.

But the world had not been kind to him or his people, and so Francis had sent him away to the Honeyfield Kingdom. At that point, it had been pure luck that he had stumbled upon Crown Prince Alfred, who had exclaimed delightedly (read: loudly) that they had the same face and promptly insisted that he come to the castle for further investigation. It had then been proven that they were not blood siblings (shocking, Matthew had thought dryly, though Alfred had looked genuinely surprised), but that didn't deter Alfred. Instead of sending Matthew on his way, like any sane person, he had instead declared Matthew ‘Charge of the Castle of Honeyfeld’, which was fancy speak for ‘Adopted Brother’. This was all fine, in theory, but now it had led to this night, which meant Matthew really wished he had never met the hyper blond, no matter how much his life had improved.

Matthew didn't really like people.

Which was perfectly fine, he thought, because people didn't like him much either. Ever since he had moved to Honeyfeld, he was often subject to double-takes, side-glares, open gawking, and other forms of not-so-subtle scrutiny. Although, he couldn’t exactly blame the citizens either. 

He was a moth, in firmly bee territory. In all honesty, he’d probably gawk at himself too.

Yes, Matthew was a moth, not a butterfly, despite how colourful his wings were. It was an unfortunate truth that moths were low class citizens, Often seen as dirty and ugly, not good for anything but work or wilderness. Matthew thought this was awfully generalized, as outsiders to his hometown had often commented on how lovely the villagers wing colours were, only to flush and stammer when told they were in a moth township. Matthew was often saddened to see his people suffer when they had truly done nothing to deserve it. However, despite his protests and advice to Alfred, there was never anything that could be done. 

If Alfred was ignoring that Matthew was a moth, or if he didn’t care, Matthew was uncertain.

And yet, despite knowing that Matthew was not fit to be in a gala, full of lords and ladies that would look down on him and sniff haughtily and call him ‘Alfred little pet’, Alfred still brought him along.

“It will be fun!” He announced.

For one of us.

“I need to bring along my loyal advisor! Everyone would be delighted to meet you!”

They would be delighted to mock me.

“C’mon, I need my brother by my side!”

Well, Matthew couldn't really argue with that. So now he was here. At the biggest, most lavish, most expensive party in all the kingdoms. Joy.

Matthew shuffles his wings nervously (causing a few people to skitter back a few inches), trying to rearrange them to press closer to his back as if they would disappear. He quickly runs a hand through his hair, making sure his antennae are adequately covered, and sighs.

“Mattie! What’re you doing over there! C’mere!”

Mustering the best smile he can, Matthew rejoins his brother.

----------------------------

In all fairness, the party isn’t bad. The music is nice, the food is excellent, and no one has any desire to talk to Matthew, which is great for him. Nothing truly terrible has actually happened to him, and it likely won’t, considering he has the crown prince backing him. Still, Matthew cannot simply enjoy the party. Every person that passes leaves him on edge. Anyone that walks up to him to speak to his brother makes him nervous. He would really rather be at home, with a good book and a warm drink. At least in Honeyfeld Castle, he was well enough known that the attendants knew not to stare. Here he was exposed, left completely open to any snide look or shocked expression. He felt a bit like a spotlight had been placed above him. Even when he was alone, off to the side, the prickling feeling of eyes on him never left. He didn’t like it. 

A hand suddenly connects with his shoulder, and Matthew jumps, letting out a small gasp as his wings instinctively flare out. He whirls his head to face the attacker, only to come face to face with Alfred. Matthew relaxs, his wings resuming their neutral position as he smiles to his brother. Alfred offers him a comforting smile in return, pity shining through his eyes.

“Hey, Mattie. There's nothing to be scared of, alright? No one's going to hurt you. I’ll make sure of it.” If only that's what Matthew was worried about. Then he could have taken comfort in those words. As it stood, Matthew returned the gesture with a meek nod and a small ‘thank you’ as he continued to subconsciously scan the room. Alfred sighs, drawing Matthew close into a protective hug.

“Relax. Enjoy the party for a little bit. and watched out for the prince of eye-- ees-- ah... The ones with the funny accent. He’s been eyeing you up all night.” Eisenrinde, Matthew tries to correct, but Alfred chooses to take his leave at that moment. “Ridiculous,” Is Matthews next thought, “He doesn't even know which kingdom his own allies are from.”

...

Wait.

The Prince of Eisenrinde was watching him?!

Matthew whirls, frantically trying to confirm this fact. How could he have missed that? There was no way. He couldn't possibly have overlooked something as massive as the Prince of the most militaristic kingdom eyeing him up. And if it was true, Matthew might as well throw in the towel. The only feasible reason someone would be watching him would be because they were disgusted by him, and Matthew wasn't exactly fit to fight. He would be so absolutely and entirely dead. Truly, this had just become the worse night of his life.

Suddenly, Matthew saw him.

The Prince of Eisenrinde (His name was Gilbert, Matthew remembered) was not a very imposing man, at least physically. Matthew was actually fairly certain he was taller than Gilbert. Unfortunately, that was Matthew's only real advantage. Gilbert was much stronger than his height showed, with fortified chitin plating and an absolutely terrifying spiked ridge that ran from the back of his neck to the middle of his back. As if he wasn't already the most intimidating man on the face of the Earth, Gilbert also sported eyes the colour of blood, which was fine when he was a country away but not fine when he was in the same room as MAtthew and also staring him down.

Did Matthew mention that Gilbert was staring at him like he committed a felony? Because that was also happening.

Timidly, Matthew met the gaze of the Life-Ender (He was scared, he’ll come up with a better nickname later.)

There was a sudden warmth to his cheeks, and the room seemed to go silent. The only thing Matthew heard was his heart beating, every instinct in his body telling him that whatever problems he had were irrelevant as long as he was looking at Gilbert.

Oh no.

Gilbert also seemed to be aware of the feeling, as his eyes widened ever so slightly.

Oh shit.

Gilbert smirks at him, raising one hand slightly and gesturing for Matthew to come to him.

Prince Gilbert of Eisenrinde was his soulmate.

Matthew gulped nervously.

He was so fucked.

----------------------------

What's this? Two posts in one day (at least in my timezone)? I’m surprised too. This is Royalty/Soulmate AU, With Canada as a peasant and Prussia as a royal. This little bug bit has been floating around in my head for a while, so it's nice to actually write it out. Maybe I’ll do more for this world?

(If anyone is curious, Canada is a Harlequin Moth, Prussia is a Wheel Bug, and Alfred is a Bumble Bee.)

[Edited, so any more errors are just me being stupid.]

[likecastle]

Witcher Noir AU, pt 15

More Witcher noir AU! Previous parts here.

This one’s a little long, folks! Whew, so many twists and turns! But it’s going somewhere, I promise!

Yennefer tells her driver to take them home—her home. Geralt glances up at her, surprised, but she looks back at him impassively.

“I can’t,” Geralt says. “I’ve got to—”

“Is that any way to return the favor I just did you?” Yennefer asks archly.

“Thank you,” Geralt replies pointedly. “But, Yen, Cirilla’s out there somewhere, and if I don’t—”

“You’ve spent the last several years pretending that child doesn’t exist,” Yennefer cuts in. “You don’t get to use her as an excuse to play the martyr now that it’s convenient to you.”

Geralt recoils as if she’s struck him. The shame cuts deeper than any blow from Stregobor’s men. Yennefer knows why he walked away, back then. Cirilla was better off without someone like him in her life. Even now, he isn’t sure he’s the best person for her, but he’s the only one she’s got. “She wasn’t in danger then,” he grinds out.

“Well, you’ll be no good to her now if you’re half dead.” Yennefer looks aloof, but Geralt recognizes the subtle working of her jaw as a sign of profound fury. “You need a doctor, or you’ll be in no fit state to help anyone.”

Geralt glares down at his fists where they’re clenched in his lap. He’s been through worse, he wants to point out, but doesn’t.

“I’m with Yennefer on this one,” Jaskier volunteers cautiously, and Geralt shoots him a mutinous glance. Instead of having the desired effect, the look seems to spur Jaskier on. “Really,” he continues, “I know you can’t see yourself, but you look a fright.”

Between the dust and dirt of the warehouse and his own sweat and blood from the interrogation, Geralt has to admit he’s seen better days. He hurts all over, but that’s nothing new. His own comfort is nothing compared to Cirilla’s safety.

Jaskier’s voice softens slightly as he says, “You don’t want meet Cirilla for the first time in years looking like you just lost a prizefight in a gutter, do you? You’ll scare the daylights out of her.”

Geralt has to admit that it’s been long enough that Cirilla might not even remember him, and the last thing he wants to do is frighten her. And Yennefer is right, he’ll be of no use to her if he can’t defend her when they do meet. “Fine,” Geralt mutters, unable to bring himself to look at either of them.

“I’m so glad we’re all agreed,” Yennefer says, her sarcastic tone making it perfectly clear she would’ve had her way regardless of what either of them thought about it.

They ride the rest of the way to Yennefer’s place in relative silence. Jaskier makes a few attempts at small talk, but Yennefer quashes each overture succinctly. Geralt watches Jaskier slowly deflate under Yennefer’s disapproval, until, finally, Jaskier slumps back against the seat with a defeated air and resigns himself to staring out the window. He’s never seen the singer look so dejected—but then, Geralt reminds himself, he doesn’t really know Jaskier at all.

When they reach Yennefer’s brownstone, she orders Geralt up to one of her guest rooms and goes to call the doctor. Jaskier follows Geralt upstairs and leans on the door frame, apparently unwilling to come all the way in.

“Looks like Yennefer’s done well for herself,” Jaskier says, glancing at a painting Geralt happens to know is the original, a very convincing copy of which hangs in one of the city’s art museums.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Geralt replies, remembering a time when she was living week-to-week in a cold water flat above a pawn broker’s. But Yennefer wouldn’t thank him for sharing her personal history to a near stranger. And anyway, it’s true. Yennefer has done well for herself. She’s built her business from nothing, surviving on her wits alone at times when nobody else had her back. She has everything she ever wanted—or, well, almost everything.

To distract himself from his thoughts, Geralt struggles out of his jacket. Pain flares in his ribs, the bruising there not helped by his rough treatment at the police station. When he goes to loosen the knot of his tie, he hisses as it jostles his throat, still tender from where Stregobor’s goon hit him.

“Let me,” Jaskier says, and before Geralt can protest, he’s stepped into the room and is crowding into Geralt’s space, nimble fingers working at his tie.

This close, Geralt can still smell the faint tang of his own aftershave on Jaskier’s skin, comingled with the scent of sweat and dust. He tries not to let it work on him, thought it’s hard to resist. But more than he wants to kiss Jaskier, he wants to know he can trust him. So he hasn’t told you who he really is? Stregobor had said, with obvious pleasure. Geralt hates himself for letting Stregobor put the question into his head, but now that it’s there, Geralt can’t stop thinking about it.

“There,” Jaskier says, finally undoing the knot. He tugs gently, and Geralt’s tie slithers out of his collar, sending a shiver up his spine. Jaskier undoes the top button of Geralt’s shirt and lets out a low breath at the mottled skin there. “That’s going to be quite a bruise.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees. And then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “You don’t seem too much worse for wear.”

“Who, me?” Jaskier takes a half step back, self-consciously smoothing down his tousled hair. He tries for a roguish smile, but the expression falls flat. “I’m sure this will come as a surprise to you,” he says with a lightness that doesn’t reach his eyes, “but not all threats are physical.”

Geralt frowns. “What does that mean?”

Jaskier turns away from him, refolding Geralt’s jacket so it lies neatly over the back of a chair and dropping his tie into one of the pockets. “I didn’t tell him anything, I promise.” He looks up sharply, his blue eyes fierce as he meets Geralt’s gaze. “I don’t care what else you think of me, but please believe that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Geralt feels another pang of shame that he ever doubted Jaskier, even for a second. Jaskier’s trusted Geralt much further than he should—much further than Geralt deserves—and Geralt’s made a poor return on his faith, getting Jaskier into trouble and mistrusting him based on nothing more than the word of a known liar. But as Jaskier’s words sink in, that twist of guilt is replaced with a cool feeling of dread. “What do you mean,” he repeats slowly, “not all threats are physical?”

Jaskier is silent for a moment, smoothing his hand over Geralt’s jacket again, then sets about straightening objects on the table that are in no need of tidying. He can’t seem to stop himself from moving, like the position of the ashtray on the table is all that’s keeping him from making a break for it. Finally, he lets out a deep breath. “First of all, you should know that Jaskier’s only a stage name.”

It’s not quite the damning admission Geralt was expecting. “OK . . .”

“I picked it so that my family wouldn’t— You see, they’re, well—” Jaskier swallows. “I presume you’ve heard of Cintran Oil?”

Geralt blinks. “Yeah . . .” It’s only the largest oil company in the country.

Jaskier waves a hand. “Well, that’s them.”

Geralt decides it’s time to sit down, dropping down hard on the edge of the bed. Geralt’s read about the Pankratz family, of course. Countless buildings in the city bear the family’s name, from skyscrapers to churches to wings of art museums. One of the Pankratz brothers runs one of the city’s largest banks, as Geralt recalls, and he’s pretty sure another is highly placed in the government, one way or another. It’s hard to imagine Jaskier as part of the upper echelons of polite society. And, yet, perhaps it’s not quite so difficult after all. “So the secret Stregobor threatened you with is that you’re . . . rich?”

“Oh, lord, no!” Jaskier barks out a giddy laugh. “My family disowned me ages ago. Not a penny to my name, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to abandon your dreams of being a kept man.” He gives Geralt a tight smile.

“Then I don’t . . .”

Jaskier bites his lip. “They may not want anything to do with me—and believe me, the feeling is mutual—but that doesn’t mean that even the slightest whiff of scandal wouldn’t reflect poorly on them. I’ve managed to keep my distance from them for this long by making certain . . . arrangements—mostly using a stage name and staying out of any kind of trouble that might stick in the papers.” Jaskier draws in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly. “But if it gets out that I’m mixed up in something this—a murder, organized crime—it could do real damage.”

“If they disowned you,” Geralt asks, “what should it matter to you?”

“You don’t understand what they’re like.” Jaskier shakes his head. “After I first left, they had me followed. They bribed people in my life to inform on me, people I was—close to.” Jaskier’s bright eyes are uncharacteristically dull. “It got to the point that I didn’t know who I could trust, who I could . . . be myself around. It, ah, wasn’t good, for a while there. I thought I would—

“But,” he continues, and the smile he gives Geralt is pure force of will, “around that time, a man approached me and told me he could arrange things so that my family wouldn’t bother me again. He’d give me new documentation, set me up in a new place where they wouldn’t ever find me. All I had to do was tell him things—about the people I saw at the club, conversations I overheard between Calanthe’s guests. Nothing that would put me in any danger, he said. So I made a deal.” He looks at Geralt now with an expression he can’t quite fathom, some mixture of defiance and regret. “It was easy, really. And it meant I could live on my own terms for the first time in—well, ever.”

Geralt considers Jaskier, weighing his words carefully. This does explain a few things about Jaskier’s initial reaction, when Geralt showed up at the club that first day. “Do you know who he was, this man?”

Jaskier shrugs. “He called himself Sigi Reuven, but I always assumed that wasn’t his real name. To tell the truth, at the time, I didn’t even care whose side he was on. I just knew that I couldn’t go on the way I’d been living, and he was offering me a way out.”

“And you’re still in contact with him?”

“Less now that the war’s over, but yes. Every few weeks, we’ll meet up at a park or a café, and I’ll give him my latest update. It’s not much. Honestly, I doubt I’ve ever told him a single thing of any value, but . . . anyway, now you know.”

“And Stregobor,” Geralt says, “he knew about this Reuven character?”

Jaskier nods. “And about my family, although that’s more of an open secret. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t know about that already. I was rather . . . infamous, in my younger days.” A rueful smile twists his lips. “But anyway, yes. Stregobor started by threatening to tell my parents where I was, what I’d gotten mixed up in, how disappointed they’d be if I besmirched the family name.” He rolls his eyes. “And then, when that didn’t work, he let it slip that he knew how I’d gotten away from them in the first place, and what would happen if it came out I’d been—well, spying, I suppose you’d call it. But, Geralt, I—” Jaskier tries once again to smile at Geralt, but the expression falters this time. “I don’t care what Stregobor does to me, or Sigi, either. Whatever happens, it’s worth it if you and Ciri are safe. I couldn’t—I would never—”

There are tears brimming in Jaskier’s eyes, though he’s trying his damnedest to blink them back.

“Hey,” Geralt says. Jaskier looks at him with a wild, aching sort of desperation, and though the distance separating them is only a few feet, it feels vast. “C’mere.” Jaskier comes to stand beside the bed, and Geralt takes one of Jaskier’s hands in his own, presses their joined hands to his lips. “I won’t let that happen.”

He knows better than to make promises he can’t keep, but he wants to keep it, desperately, and that’s got to count for something.

*

part sixteen

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 4

AN: Hello ! In this chapter we go on an investigation! But also we get closer to God Jake. I’m writing the 7th part at the moment, and I think the 8th one will be the end of my dream, but not of this fanfic. Let the fluff begin !

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre: College AU

Previous parts: Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3

Masterlist : here

Chapter four : Need a hand ?

It became obvious to both Mandy and I that I was starting to have a crush on Jake. How could I not ? For a far as we knew him, he was perfect in every way.

At first it was discreet. My new hobby of staring at him during lectures was unnoticed by both of the Kiszkas, or if Josh noticed something, he at least thought it was me waiting for his next paper ball notes and getting impatient. Regarding my class daydreamings, they weren't new so classmates and teachers didn't think much of it. Although it became very apparent something was up when I started unintentionally drawing his face several times in the workshop during portraits studies. Even though my photo reference was Kurt Cobain. It could've been easily mistaken for a very bad observation job (and it did), if it weren't for Mandy who saw me coming home after a long day with a painted 50x70cm Jake canvas under my armpit. Judging by my defeated look, she didn't address it, but she knew.

It's a few days later that we had that talk. It was getting so bad that I began mistaking people in hallways for him, smiling or even giggling to myself as I was remembering stuff he did or said, and again, drawing him.

- I can't focus on anything, I sighed defeated. I have this assignment due to next week and I can't draw any character right. I even dreamed of us doing grocery shopping.

I let my head bump loudly against the dining table as she made me a cup of tea/coffee and placed it in front of me. She knew perfectly how I felt because we all went through the same, that's why she softly pulled the chair opposite mine to sit and have a chat.

- You should talk to him more, get to know him, she encouraged. He's nice and now we sometimes hang out so it's not that weird wanting to know him better.

She was right. Sooner or later I'll had to talk to him and even tell him how I feel anyway. Not now though, it was too soon. I kind of got struck by lightning when I first laid my eyes on him and it got worse when we spoke, but it still rarely happened for people to fall instantly like that. There was no way he'd understand if I just confessed my feelings out of the blue. I should wait and see if there's any chance that my feelings are shared, because there was no way in hell I'd tell him if I wasn't sure I had a chance to date him. Speaking of which...

- Should I ask him out on a date?

As an answer, Mandy smacked my head accross the table with an empty box of biscuits.

- Are you out of your mind ? I just told you to wait ! I know you're impatient to get into his pants but think about all the times you rushed things and how many times it worked.

Raising my head to rest my chin against the plastic flowery tablecloth, I considered it, looking at her munching on chocolate biscuits, browsing a fashion magazine for inspiration. Defeated once again, I let out a sigh and shifted so my cheek was against the table.

- First of all, I don't want to get into his pants- Not yet. Second of all, you're right. I don't want to screw up this time because it'll be so awkward afterwards.

She closed her eyes and quickly nodded because she knew she was of good advice, as usual.

- You forgot something essential boo. You don't know if mister doe-eyed guitarist is single.

Fuck, that's right. Neither of them mentionned it but it's not something you just blurt out. We exchanged a look, and she grinned at me in a knowing way.

- Let's investigate.

The first thing to do was to go on his Facebook. It did seem a bit wrong searching him like that instead of asking straightforwardly, and as if karma thought the same, we found that his infos were set on private. We didn't even bother searching for instagram or twitter as nobody puts their real full names on these, so the second thing to do was to go on the field.

Despite all the departments, the school was small so buildings were close to each other and all communicated (except for the fashion workshop). I kind of knew where everything was, since you could tell just by looking at the people hanging around. And as cliché as it sounded, it was true. Illustration students were always carrying ridiculous amounts of art supplies. Entire bags of paint, books and pencil case in their backpacks, giant portfolio under an arm, A3 sketchbooks in the other, and somehow they still found a way to carry their coffee cups. Architecture, Carpenters and Furniture Design students were often seen with big mock ups and models in their arms, tools or wood. Photo and Fashion peeps were carrying the less stuff since they worked mainly on computers in the Photography dep and let all their mannequins and fabric either at home or in the Fashion workshop. It was as easy to spot dudes from the Music dep, with their guitar on their back, hanging around the Architecture building, smoking, chatting, and drinking soda or coffee.

Their building was near the park, so they were mostly seen in that area. And thank God because I would've look so stupid passing by purely « by chance » in an area where no one ever went except for the people who actually studied there. The park was great. A lot of us used to play ball, sit on the grass to drink, chat or have lunch. It was big enough that the Architecture jocks built some cabins in a corner of it to host parties. I still don't understand how the school allowed that, but anyway, the plan was simple, make a little detour to see if I could spot Jake.

It was so cold outside that students were just hurriedly passing by, quickly making their way inside where it was somewhat warm. As a result, there wasn't many people in the park at this hour of the day and I wondered if Jake was in the dorms or in class before catching a glimpse of his hair in the corner of my eye. Okay time to be discreet. I put my bag down near the trash to fake looking for something while watching him. Fuck he looked good with a scarf and head covered with a beanie. Aside from his looks, he seemed rather bummed. Passers by kept shaking him off as he tried to hand them yellow papers. Probably flyers.

- Jake, I'm taking 5 !

Some guy just beside me doing the same task called him loud and clear, and I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes when Jake turned around to reply and locked eyes with me. I instantly felt very dumb, crouched next to the trash with my hands on my bag. The mental image I had of myself at that very moment was that of a raccoon. Running away was out of the question since he was approaching my way already, one hand holding the flyers and the other in his jacket pocket.

- Hey.

- Hi, I replied without moving an inch.

- Need a hand ?

Shaking out of it, I got on my feet by myself and lied about just passing by. Karma really was a bitch, wasn't it ? Henceforth no more weird MI6 strategies for me. Avoiding staring at the blushed tip of his nose, I gazed at my hands and saw his in the process.

- Are you giving out flyers ?

- Oh yeah, for the Christmas school festival, but no one is either interested or invested in it unfortunately. It's a shame, I think it's gonna be great. I don't know what's holding them, he added while scratching his beanie, it's free and there's gonna be music and food and booze, what more could we need ?

To be fair I understood both parties. Jake was right but some students probably had exams or homework, and it was freezing and they were doing it outside. Well if we were honest it never stopped anybody from partying so maybe the event wasn't the issue.

- I saw people displaying posters, I remembered, can I see the flyers ?

Without missing a beat he handed them all to me and dear lord I almost got blind just by looking at them. That yellow and black and these awful drawings weren't doing anything good for the event. He must've saw it on my grimacing face because he sighed.

- That bad ?

- Honestly ? It looks like a Bee Movie add.

It actually made him let out a chuckle before puting a hand to his heart.

- That hurts.

That flawless smile made my cheeks burn, thank god they were already red because of the cold. His thumb brushed mine when I handed the flyers back to him, and at this moment I knew I was gonna act without thinking again, because my brain went on vacation the second his skin got in contact with mine.

- I can make you new ones, if you want.

His eyes searched for any traces of a joke on my face before realization hit him and his brows frowned lightly.

- Are you sure ? 'm not an expert but this looks like a lot of work.

As backup to his words, he shook the big bundle of paper between his fingers. Jake genuinely looked worried about me, and all the work it'd put me through. Deep down I knew there was a little voice in my head screaming that helping him only meant more sleepless nights but all the other parts of my brains ignored it when two gentle brown eyes stared at me with concern.

- It'll be fine, I assured with a smile. I'm working fast. I just have to do one design and the rest will be printed, right ? No big deal.

Hand on his hip, Jake let out what sounded like a relieved breath and cracked a smile.

- Thanks, I really appreciate it. Do you have a pen ?

Of course I did, I even got one on my coat pocket for some reason. Things I just forget to remove. He gave me the flyers for me to hold while he uncapped the black marker and took my free arm.

- I'm giving you my number, so you can text me if you're having troubles for the design, and show me some pics if you need advice.

With cold fingers, he gently grabbed my wrist and pushed back the fabric to expose my already shivering skin, and started writing numbers on my veins. It tickled, and I got goosebumps, mostly because of the cold wind but also because of his hand around my arm. The soft touch of his calloused fingers felt right on my skin, replacing the freezing feeling of his digits by a sweet wave of heat and I unconsciously held my breath to focus on the new sensation. He let the ink dry a bit before covering my arm again, raising his chin to meet my face.

- I could've write it on one of the flyers but I got a feeling you would've lost it, wouldn't ya ?

A playful smile danced on his face and once again I found myself mesmerized by him, nodding and chewing on my lip in a childlike manner. Jake tapped me on the shoulder to thank me again, saying he'll make it up to me, but I was too absorbed by the burning feeling of his skin on mine.

- I have to go, he said after sliding the marker back inside my breast pocket. My band's playing at the christmas party by the way, I hope you'll come!

[ionica01]

TodoMomo Disney AU (2)

As promised, here’s part 2! @kitanoko I’m just giving you more to read lol :) I’m doing a part 3 that’s basically the BakuCamie sidestory and more of the servants’ sheningans, but if you guys like this, I may do more todomomo, too!

Part 1

The next day, Momo wakes up on the luxurious sofa, wearing the ripped dress from yesterday. Jolting awake, she looks around, searching for Todoroki. “He’s in his study,” Kaminari answers, wriggling his eyebrows knowingly. Momo ignores it to walk up the stairs and into her room, where she’s greeted by Camie singing a happy tune and asking if she’s fine and how everything went. Plopping on the bed as Ashido prepares a dress for her, Momo tells them everything.

“Sounds to me like you two finally bonded!” “I wouldn’t call one talk bonding but - I must admit, I’m curious. About this curse, and about him. Just why was a man who’s ready to throw his life away for a stranger cursed?” She’s interrupted by a knock on her door, and she opens it to an awkward Todo, “Would you like to, uhm, have breakfast with me?” Momo beams, “With pleasure!”

Apparently, Todoroki can drink the finest tea from porcelain cups but he cannot, for the life of him, use a fork. Momo needs to stifle a laugh as she herself uses her hands to eat and chuckles, “This feels so weird.” Todoroki doesn’t say anything, but Momo can swear his lips twitch in a smile.

Breakfast also means that she meets Eri, a small and adorable cup that jumps in front of her until Momo runs a finger around her rim, making her giggle. Midoriya, who is not, in fact, her father, but does take care of her, materializes himself as a teapot, from the same set as Uraraka, and Jirou whispers in Momo’s ear, “One good thing about our situation is that it gave Midoriya and Uraraka enough time to finally admit they like each other.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do?” Todoroki asks after breakfast. “Visit the mansion!” “I thought Kaminari and Iida already gave you a tour.” “Mostly through the kitchens,” she answers, and Todoroki gives the two a pointed look. Iida, feeling guilty, answers, “It’s french cuisine, my Lord, and she did not know what the grey stuff is!” Todo just shakes his hand at that and walks ahead, Momo following soon after.

It’s the first time they’re completely alone, and Momo discovers just how quiet Todoroki is. Last night, when she pieced together a puzzle, it was different - it only now strikes her how little they might have in common. “So, uhm,” Momo tries, “do you like to read?” He gives her a dubious look, “Yes?” His eyes suddenly light up, as if he has found something he was looking for in her face. “Do you like to read, too?” When she nods enthusiastically, he picks up the pace, and Momo needs to almost run after him.

Soon enough, they find themselves in front of colossal sculpted doors, and Todoroki gives her a smile - a genuine smile, with his fangs poking out and his eyes glistening. Where did anyone see scary? - before pushing the doors open.

Todo watches the millions of books and shelves reflected in Momo’s eyes, and the way her feet almost lift off the floor as she runs in and glues herself to the closest shelf, reading spine after spine. Once she goes through about a dozen of those titles, she looks up, at the glass ceiling that bathes even the top shelves in a magical glow, and her jaw drops open. It’s the happiest Todo has ever seen her - or anyone else, for that matter - been, and the thought that he contributed to that makes an unfamiliar warmth bloom in his chest.

“All of these - did you - are they -” Todo feels the urge to laugh - laugh! He wonders how that even sounds - at the girl who didn’t flinch in front of a beast, but stumbles over her words in front of a library. He’s about to hit her with a snarky remark, but she looks at him with those starry eyes and grabs his paw - she touches him - to drag him to the center of the room and tilt up her head, letting out a melodious sound of pure and unobliterated joy. How long has it been since the walls reverberated with such a sound?

“You love books,” Todoroki says for lack of anything better, and Momo smiles at him widely. “Yes! Can I-” she looks to the shelves longingly, so Todo interrupts her, “They’re yours if you want them.” Momo gives him an incredulous look, “I can read them?” “All of them,” Todo says, actually smirking. “This is the best present ever,” she mutters, already running towards the first book that stands out to her. “It’s… your birthday?” “Ah yes,” she absentmindedly replies. “I’m turning 18.”

Maybe Todo should have mentioned this earlier to her but he’s not exactly… good with social cues. “We know, you dumbass,” Bakugou huffs. “If we throw her a party I need to schedule it-” Iida frantically turns his cogs (quite literally) while Todo only dramatically sighs, “it’s too late!” Deku pours a drop of water on his brow to get his attention. “It’s not. Does she strike you as the type who wants sumptuous parties?” “No?” “Exactly! I bet she’s going to be delighted just if you have dinner with her and talk.” “And try to have some fucking manners,” Bakugou helpfully supplies.

Meanwhile, Momo is plopped on her bed, surrounded by looks and thriving. “You sure look happy,” Camie sing-songs. Jirou comes in and has a word with Ashido, but Momo is oblivious to everything because she’s reading, and she isn’t being judged for it.

One hour later, she finds herself in a gorgeous blue gown, catching the light and sparkling brighter than the stars. “Why-” Momo tres asking Ashido, but she just waves her off. “You’ll see, dear.” And so, Momo holds her dress to climb down the stairs - it’s the first time they’re lit up by candles, and it almost feels romantic - and is met by Kaminari at the foot of the stairs. He gallantly leads her to the dining room and there-

And there is Todoroki, dressed in his best suit, bowing awkwardly to her. “What’s all of this?” Momo asks, bewildered by the candlelight and glasses of wine and the delicious smelling dishes. It feels like one of the dinners she’s read about in books, the ones people prepare for balls and parties-

“It’s your birthday,” Todoroki explains. “And I figured you might - is this not to your liking?” “This is perfect,” Momo says, her voice catching in her throat. “Nobody ever did something like this for me,” she explains when he flinches and raises a hand, as if to wipe her tears. His worried look melts into a smile and Todoroki pulls out her chair for her. “Then I hope tonight is special.”

And it is, because she finds out that he actually doesn’t care much for meat but loves sweets, and he finds out that she used to cook and that it feels weird to have someone else do it for her. She laughs when he says he isn’t sure how to peel potatoes and makes it a point to have him cook at least a meal a day under her supervision. It’s special because for the first time in forever, she talks about her passions with someone other than her father or Aizawa, and it feels natural.

When she finishes her dessert, music starts filtering through the dining room, and Momo looks at Todoroki questioningly as he holds out a hand for her. When she doesn’t take it, he retracts it as if he’s been burned, and Momo’s hands quickly clasp around his paw. “I don’t know how to dance,” she mutters, not meeting his eyes. When she finally looks at him, she sees surprise and amusement blended together and hides her hands behind her back. “Laugh all you want, but I’ve never been to a party before.”

To her surprise, he holds out his hand again, and this time, she takes it. Gently, he brings her closer, and says, “Why would I laugh?” From up close, he seems… kind. Gentle. A bit awkward. There’s something about the scar surrounding his left eye that looks sad, but his eyes are soft and his mismatched eyebrows shielding equally mismatched eyes are fascinating. “Because girls are expected to know this stuff,” she mutters, and is suddenly aware of her every move, of how foreign the gorgeous gown is on her and how unbefitting, and how majestic he is.

“You’re not expected anything. You’re you, Yaoyorozu, and you’re doing that better than anyone.” She blinks at his words and steps closer with more confidence than before. “But you may need dance lessons,” Todoroki winces as her heel lands on his feet and Momo laughs sheepishly.

And that’s how it starts: dance lessons once every two days for her, cooking lessons in the other days for him. Reading in the library, discussing books whenever they can. She asks him for clues on breaking the spell and he says that everything they’re doing will help, but it’s not at the forefront of her mind anymore.

One day, Todoroki knocks on her door and she opens up to be greeted by envelopes and ink. “I thought you might want to write to your father. I know you’re close and-” his words die in his throat as she wraps her arms around his torso and breathes, “oh, thank you.” Thus, Tokoyami finds himself a job delivering letters every week (he’s a raven).

“Todoroki, I need something more than ‘you’re involved’ if we want to break this curse!” Momo says on day, perched up a ladder in the library as she hands books to Todoroki one by one. “These are all on curses, but neither of us has magical powers, so I doubt drawing a circle on the floor will help,” she sighs as she raises Kaminari to light up the shelf above her head. “Have you read any fairy tales?” Todoroki asks her. Momo quirks a dubious brow, “Aizawa said those were stories for kids.” “And there’s a lot of magic in them,” Todoroki stresses, pulling out a thick book from the library.

Thus begins Momo’s journey reading the stories of Cinderella and Snow White, but all she can find is a lot of gibberish on “true love’s kiss”. “Why would Todoroki want me to read all of this? Clearly he doesn’t believe that these girls were in love with their so-called princes after meeting them once!” Jirou sighs, “Can I get a refund?” while Camie sings, “She’s gonna realize it soon, fam!”

[littlegalerion]

Shipathon  Meme!

Tagged by @sheirukitriesfandom Thanks for tagging me and giving me an excuse to rant about ships~ Tagging: @foxyhearts @diamond-loki @greennightingale  1.) First Ship you Ever Wrote Fic For? It was for Vanus and Caafire, and it actually got featured front page on an animo! It was old Caafire though, before I had developed her to her current status of unable-to-use-magic-because-if-she-does-she’ll-explode sword swinger master. Back then she was just a free lance battlemage with a bad family life.  2.) Ship you Write Most Now? Well... tech I write for Trechire x Eliindil (Sheogorath) most now because that’s my timeline’s canon, so every time I write using characters in that universe I’m tech writing that ship, as Sunnabela and Kirr are their kids (Sunnabela his step-son, but Eliindil raised him). Just it’s a post-ship writing I guess? In terms of who I formulate for the most, that would probably be Laloriaran X Trechire in the AU, which I really should write more of.  3.)Ship you Read the Most Now? Sotha Sil x S/O, and it’s more just headcanon fluff stuff really. I wish there was more Sotha Sil x S/O, but that’s “not lore friendly” so I think a lot of would be writers get intimidated and scared away by lorebeards to write any solid series with it. I HAVE seen some, and for that I’m grateful. The headcanons at least seem to be multiplying beautifully.  4.) Newest Ship? Some questions are best left unanswered.  5.) Rare Ship you Wanna Read More of? Bring on the Sotha Sil x S/O or the Vanus x S/O.  Please, spoil me.  6.) Your Taboo Ship? Okay, I can already feel the heat of sheer rage from people reading what I’m gonna write under this. But Vanus x Mannimarco is the most toxic ship I have ever seen, in ANY fandom.  Firstly, heavily cliche. “They hate each other so at one time they must have liked or loved each other” No, that is not what that means. Sometimes it could be the case, but if it was romantic, then it wasn’t a “little falling out”. Vanus and Mannimarco are legends in their war against each other. In ESO Mannimarco loudly insults and kills mages of the guild, while Vanus openly spits against necromancy. Both very passionately doing so. If something romantic did happen, it’s a romance with no good memories in it. Secondly, it’s abusive. In Summerset, we get to see the two of them in their youth interacting. During this quest, it’s very obvious Mannimarco is manipulating Vanus, who is very optimistic and wants to believe the best in his friend. Mannimarco, however, doesn’t care. He never saw Vanus as an equal, BUT as a potentially USEFUL mage. He probably did feel a sting when Vanus rejected necromancy, but it wasn’t because “oh dear, my lover has rejected me!” It was most likely because Mannimarco realized he had lost a very useful future second in command, and gained an enemy which would prove a pain for years to come. I like to also point out, Mannimarco wasn’t this lonely little necromancer in the Order. We see a note concerning him in the dungeon that proves he had other friends and, while perhaps not well received overall, he had their respect as a senior member.  What I’m getting at is, if there was ANY romantic or sexual relationship between Mannimarco and Vanus, it was NOT healthy. Mannimarco knew what he was doing, and was most likely an emotionally abusive partner. The type that gets uncomfortably moody or guilt trips their partner to get his way. He is SEEN doing this in the quest, actually, when Vanus catches him raising a skeleton guar, Mannimarco replies, “I thought you’d understand” and “You sound like the Ritemaster.” A chord he knew would hit Vanus hard, which it did, as Vanus stumbles to reply and drops the argument.  Listen, if your s/o does something that makes you feel very uncomfortable and unsafe, then you go to them about it and they pull that crap on you, YOU LEAVE.  Lastly, a lot of the time it seems I see this ship under “cute gay mages owo”. Gay couples deserve healthy relationships. Gay relationships do not need to be soaked in pure drama and dark tones to exist. Especially in Elder Scrolls, where gay couples live happily and were never considered out of place.  Do not hide under the gay tag to get away with an abusive ship. Being gay doesn’t excuse a person for being an asshole, or for someone to be a pushover. But that’s enough of my ravings against that ship. For the record, I adore Mannimarco as a villain; he’s one the best I’ve ever seen, honestly.  So this isn’t just an unfair rage fest against him.  7.) They never met in Canon Ship? I feel like I have a ship on the tip of my tongue, but it just isn’t coming out. I’m drawing a blank. Nerevar with literally anyone else other than Ayem? 8.)Your unexpected Ship? Lyris and her Redguard husband were a surprise. I usually don’t relate to the warrior types in these games, but these two are just sweethearts.  9.) The Ship you Always Forget to give Love to? Verandis x Trechire. GEEZE, I forget about them so much and it’s probably the most logical ship. Verandis is a vampire lord who wants to convince the world vampires aren’t always evil, and to convince other vampires they shouldn’t live at war with the world. Trechire is a werewolf alpha who hides her wolf self from virtually everyone she knows, save for her pack, who she strives to teach to be true hunters with a code of honor. Not just some hounds who bark crazily at passersby who have a bow in their hands.  Both mages, both Altmer, both famous for their family names, so there’s lots of pressure on them.  They’d have so much to talk about, and would be such a stress reliever to each other.  10.) Ship your OC with a canon character? I already do, that’s like half the ships already in this post.  My biggest one is Laloriaran x Trechire.  Although Trechire x Sheogorath is my canon, as Eliindil becomes Sheogorath, so that counts as a canon character? 11.) Ship you’re embarrassed to Ship? She recently acquired his staff motif in this big event on ESO. He recently traded his old staff design in for the new Chapter, but in the main quest line his character model still has it.  That’s all I’m saying, because I don’t take the ship seriously, but it still exists and fuels my nightmares.  12.)Your most Romantic Ship? Trechire and Eliindil, because Trechire was made by me, Eliindil is an OC made by both me and my fiance who helps flesh out his personality, design, and background.  Then of course Laloriaran and Trechire.... 13.)Your Sexiest Ship? If I don’t say Sheogorath and Trechire, pretty sure I’m getting teleported 50 feet above the stone surface of where I shall die.  14.) Your most Tragic Ship? Laloriaran and Trechire, who ARE in my canon but of course, Laloriaran dies.  In her canon, Trechire completed the events of Morrowind, Clockwork City, and Summerset before the main questline of ESO. She had seen so many friends or just good people die. Leythen being ripped from reality right before her, Darien being forced to sacrifice himself and Trechire reading his last words before him fading away forever. Tanval Indoril dying from his own mistake, Verandis making a stupid decision out of desperation and guilt. Not to mention all the numerous little quests where this innocent and complicated person dies or suffers in the end. ESO is vicious. She had witnessed so much death, and in Laloriaran’s eyes she saw someone who understood that pain. More than anything in the world, she wanted the last Ayleid to return to Tamriel, where he’d be among friends that wouldn’t count on him for survival, but live and thrive together. She made a promise in her heart, if ANYONE would survive, even at the cost of her own life, Trechire would see to it that Laloriaran did, be it as a lover or as a friend.  And in the end, he died in her arms, Trechire a healer who could offer nothing to save him.  15.) A Ship You want more Content For? Again, BRING ON THE VANUS WITH S/O AND SOTHA SIL WITH S/O, PLEASE. 

[octopodeez]

Coffee Shop Soundtrack (Loki x Reader)

Here’s a fluffy coffee shop AU that absolutely no one asked for!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dedicated to @devilstrip pls enjoy this steaming-pile-of-shit-fic

**THIS CONTAINS NO INFINITY WAR SPOILERS**

His hand enveloped yours, and you froze.

It was a light feeling. A delicate touch that left your stomach tied in knots and your body tingling from adrenaline. The tips of his fingers rested over your knuckles, and stayed still, even as you twitched. It was an oddly intimate feeling, something extraordinarily gentle and human, which was the last thing you expected from someone like him. But it was nice. And you were losing yourself in your own fantasies. Your entire life had apparently been leading up to this moment, and you—

“May I have my coffee, please?”

You blinked as your brain caught up to speed on the current situation. Somehow the star-struck mix of shock and fear masqueraded as something romantic. This wasn’t love. It was just the feeling of being in the presence of a god.

“Sorry, yeah,” you released the cup and carefully snaked your hand back.

The look of calm remained on his face as he sighed heavily and muttered a brisk thank you, then walked away before you had the chance to return the pleasantry. You almost laughed at how ridiculous it was to think that you’d be able to say anything, anyways. You’d become something of a fish out of water; mouth awkwardly gaping as you gasped for air. Or words. Both were lost to you, regardless.

To your surprise, he took a seat in the back corner, rather than leaving. A bold move, seeing as he was hated by most of the general public for the stunts he pulled in New York a few years back. What was he doing back on Earth, anyways?

You got your answer as he pulled out a book.

Reading. Loki, god of mischief, brother of Thor, was sitting in a Starbucks, reading. And not one person seemed to care…not that there was even anyone around to notice.

Running your hand down your face, you checked your watch. It was almost 1am, and the skies were cloudy. The weather channel had been warning your area of a massive storm for nearly a week, and it was bound to start soon. High winds. Flash floods. The whole kit and caboodle. But your rent was due in a few weeks, and you were going to pay it, even if it meant drowning in sewer water and coffee.  

There was something surreal about being in a Starbucks during ridiculous hours of the night. Time seemed to slow, and despite the soft music in the background, there was a sort of silence that made you feel like you were teetering on the border of your dimension and a hazy dream. You could see the city lights outside your window, and if you squinted enough, Lake Michigan would appear on the horizon. There were always cars, even if they were few and far in between. There were always customers, too, who wandered in with the same frequency as the cars. Maybe fewer. And they all wanted the same thing: a large black coffee. These were not the type of people to use fancy words like venti, or ask for frilly drinks. They kept to themselves. They just wanted to get their caffeine fix and move on.

“Won’t one of your contraptions boil over and explode if you don���t pay closer attention?” He asked suddenly.    

“Uh, no,” you mumbled, feeling embarrassed that he caught you staring. You took a quick glance around your station, anyways, just to be safe.

He made a small, disinterested noise in response, as he licked his thumb and turned the page. The silence between you was now very awkward. At least on your end.

Looking for a way to busy yourself, you went to fumble with the music. It was one of the perks of working late hours: you were freed from the usual playlist of the same dozen songs. As long as you kept the volume soft and switched things back by the time your shift ended, you could listen to anything. Tonight, you opted for something relaxing, but with a steady tempo—the sort of thing that was good to clean to—and grabbed a mop.

Outside, you could hear rain begin hitting the pavement. Thunder rumbled in the distance and you cringed. You hated storms—or at least the noisy ones.

“I don’t care much for them, either.”

You clutched the handle of the mop and forced a smile. “I didn’t know you could read minds, too.”

“I can read frightened humans clutching brooms.”

“It’s…a mop…” A weak counter, but you were trying to process the fact that he’d so casually called you a human. The word rolled off his tongue as if he was speaking to a pet.

“I’m sorry. A mop,” he quipped and closed his book.

You ran your thumb over the grain of the handle. “So can you call your brother and ask him to lay off the thunder?”

“This is nature, not my brother,” he looked out the window and something bittersweet crossed his features. “He likes to put on a much bigger spectacle—“

“Are you actually him?” You blurted. “Are you actually Loki? Or are you just one of those assholes that resembles a celebrity and just rolls with it when people mistake you for the real deal so you can laugh about it later?”

“I’m a celebrity?”

“I can’t think of a better word. Villain sounds too comic book-y.”

“And would you be afraid if I was him?”

“No.” You straightened yourself out, and latched onto the thread of hope that maybe he wasn’t the ethereal being you’d mistaken him for. Maybe he was just some weirdo. In which case, you had pepper spray in your back pocket if things got out of hand. “Loki wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back here. And even if he was, he wouldn’t pick Chicago to hide out in. Not when it’s so close to his last fuckup.”

“You make some excellent points,” he chuckled. “But you’re a bit off the mark.”

In a swift motion he held his hand up, and a thin piece of metal materialized in a flash of green light. Without a second thought, he tucked it between the pages of his book, and shut it.

“That was…so…extra.”

For a moment he seemed taken aback; disappointed that this human wasn’t falling down, shocked and impressed and maybe a bit fearful of his power. But he had to remind himself that this wasn’t why he was here. This wasn’t why he was in this form. This wasn’t why the storm raged so violently outside.

“I’ve been called many things, but extra is not one of them.”

***

Four cups of coffee later, and you were seated across from him, laughing as if you’d known each other for years. He told you about his brother. His sister. His father. His mother. His home. He asked you about the music you played, and why someone like you was in a place like this, and what your aspirations were; a reminder that questions like those used to be genuine before the douche bags of the world got hold of them.  

He made little trinkets disappear and reappear, at your wide-eyed requests. In turn, you showed him how to draw hearts and swirls in latte foam. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as what he could do, but from the way he seemed so enamored by your words, one wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

You were hunched over, forming the outline of a cat when a particularly loud crack of lighting rattled the windows. Startled, you dropped your utensil into the mug, and cursed.

“Dammit. That was the best one I’d ever done.”

‘You could always try again,” he replied, waving his hand fluidly over the mug to make the foam flat and white once more.

Pursing your lips together, you stared at the coffee, and then looked up to meet his eyes.

“Why are you here? Why sit in a shitty coffee shop in Chicago when you could be literally anywhere else in the world?”

“Because,” he laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the table, “I made a promise to my brother and his wizard friend that I’d remain within a certain radius of them. This city is as far away as I could get without breaking that promise.”  

“And this specific place?”

“I came in here by chance, saw something I liked, and decided to stay,” there was a sort of sheepish tone to his voice.

“Well…I’m glad you did. And if you’d like, maybe I could show you around a little. It’s a great city.”

“I’d very much like that.”

His lips were soft against yours as he leaned in to kiss you, and his skin was cool to the touch. It had a magnetic quality to it that drew you in deeper and deeper, until you kissed him with such fervor that you thought you might drown in him. Outside, the storm started to subside; a coincidence that made the moment all the more poetic. Lord help you if this didn’t work out in the end, because you knew that nobody on this Earth could ever kiss you like that.

***

For the first time in a long time, Loki was feeling good. Truly, honestly, purely, good. The sun was just coming up, and already the streets were filled with sleepy drivers yawning the whole way to work. Perhaps if he was alone any longer, then an actual bounce would’ve worked its way into his step, but his moment was rudely interrupted.

“So how did it go, brother?”

He choked on his coffee and looked to the side. There was Thor, chipper as ever, with a mischievous smile on his face. This was one in only a handful of times that he’d ever managed to sneak up on Loki, and he was sure he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Come now, brother,” Thor scoffed, matching his pace. “We could do this all day. You being coy and stupid; me, feigning naivety. Back and forth, back and forth, stupid and naïve, stupid and naïve,” Thor slung his arm over Loki as he spoke, “But in the end, I think we’re just postponing the inevitable.”

“And what might that be?”

“That in 1500 years, you still can’t get a date. Not even with my help—”

“Oh, were those sparkles outside yours?” Loki halted and shook his brother’s arm off his shoulders.

Thor narrowed his eyes. Months later and the Grandmaster’s pet name was still a sore spot. Loki could only hope it’d stay that way for at least another thousand years or so. There was just so much fun to be had with it.

“I try to help you, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Terrifying the poor thing with a storm is not help.”

Thor huffed and crossed his arms, clearly offended.

“I only meant to encourage closeness—“

“Loki!”

Both men turned at the sound of your voice as you jogged towards them. There was a brief falter in your steps as you realized Thor was there. He was nearly unrecognizable from behind after his apparent haircut. You cleared your throat, awkwardly.

“Hey, you forgot your book…”

“Did I? Ah, well thank you,” he replied lightly and took it from your outstretched hand.

“No problem. I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Yes. And I suspect the weather will be much nicer,” Loki shot a sideways glance at his companion.

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then,” you smiled and gave a small wave as you walked away, feeling very proud of yourself for keeping your composure.

As you turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Loki drummed his fingers against the cover of the book. A content grin crossed his features.

“See, brother? I didn’t need your sparkles, after all.”

Master List (x)

[ohmytheon]

Good Men Don’t Become Legends (FMA/Fate Zero AU, 14)

Oh my god, can you believe it? I actually updated this fic twice in the span of ONE MONTH. I know, I know. I'm shocked too. Many thanks to my baby girl, who has jumped up in milestones for playing on her own more in the past month, allowing me the opportunity to write more. This chapter is all action and we all know how much I hate writing action. We also get to see Rider’s, uh, ride. I had an amusing time with it. Also, who can spot the Lord of the Rings reference?

good men don’t become legends great heroes need great sorrows

Ling wakes up almost a second too late. He just barely manages to jump up and throw himself over his Master’s sleeping form before she is stabbed in the middle by Saber’s sword. However, because he was so focused on saving her, he didn’t haven’t the time to form his own Noble Phantasm over his skin to save himself. The sword pierces him in his side, going all the way through and into the bed.

For a brief moment, May’s eyes fly wide open and stare at into his, just only inches away. There is pure terror in those eyes and rage swells up in his own. This is the only place she has felt safe in years. He was able to pry out the truth of her home life: how she lived in poverty near a border devastated by constant war, how even as the lowest daughter of her country’s emperor she was subjected to abuse and assassination attempts, how as that daughter her family sought to use her.

With him here now, with her Servant guarding her, she could sleep soundly.

And of course Saber had to ruin that.

When Saber jerks his sword out, growling in displeasure at having missed his intended target, Ling’s blood spills over the bed and blanket covering May. In the time it takes for Saber to retrieve his weapon, the ultimate shield covers Ling’s skin and he is able to twist around and wrap his hand around the sword.

“Too slow,” Ling snarls as he jerks on the sword and throws it and Saber with it through the window. The glass and wood shatters, falling to the ground, while Saber is more agile. He lands on his feet as glass rains down upon and around him and slices a piece of wood in half with the sharp edge of his sword before it can hit him. Ling jumps onto the broken window sill and glares down at him as his two swords appear in his hands.

“Ling?” May queries from behind him.

“Stay back,” Ling tells her. He can’t afford to have any distractions during this fight. Saber didn’t come here just to win -- he came here to kill -- and Ling isn’t about to let that happen.

With that, the fight is on. Saber rushes up to him in a flash, quicker than the blink of an eye, and Ling parries him as he leaps from the window and over him, landing on the ground. Saber is quick to change course without even stopping, jumping over the window and pushing off the side of the building so hard that the bricks under his feet crack. Ling could’ve ran, but he meets Saber’s attack head on instead.

Their swords become a blur as they slash, stab, and dodge one another. Saber is a better swordsman, as his title in this War suggests, forcing Ling on the defensive for most of their fight, but whenever he’s struck, Saber’s sword only scrapes against his ultimate shield. Despite being a Noble Phantasm, he can’t cut through Ling’s own and it begins to infuriate Saber.

A terrible grins cuts across Ling’s face. “Having fun yet?”

Saber doesn’t respond. He slashes hard at Ling, who is unable to dodge him in time, but he can only cut through Ling’s shirt, the sword scraping along his chest and causing sparks to fly as its sharp edge connects with his hardened skin. Ling takes advantage of Saber’s momentum and close proximity, slashing at him with his fingers turned claws instead of one of his swords. Unlike Saber, Ling’s attack connects with skin and blood spurts out of his arm from the gashes that Ling made.

Instead of swinging at him again, Saber kicks out and Ling, having grown used to not worrying about swords, is thrown at least thirty feet down a dead end alley until his back slams into the wall. It knocks the air out of his lungs and he is busy gasping for breath when Saber appears through the dust, his eyes glowing red and a black fog hanging over his swords.

Ling barely manages to duck and roll out of the way of Saber’s swords, which pierce the wall so forcefully that the brick explodes and rains down upon them. Holy hell, the Servant is fast in an ungodly manner.

“Why are you doing this?” Ling questions. “Did your Master command you to hunt down a little girl or do you enjoy it?”

Saber stands up ramrod straight, glaring furiously, like a statue made of ice. There is nothing but cold hatred emanating from him. Ling can sense things like that. He could always read people, but his abilities have been heightened as a Heroic Spirit. It is the kind of hate that can make a person shiver on a cold night when you feel that glare land on you. Luckily, Ling is made of harder stuff and so is May.

“A child,” Saber finally speaks, his voice filled with contempt. “You would listen to her? Were you not an emperor of half the world in your time? Have you fallen so low?”

“Have you?” Ling counters. “Taking orders from a man beneath your station -- a man who is clearly under the thumb of someone else?” He laughs, caustic and filled with no warmth. “It’s pathetic.”

They circle one another, the anger and hatred bubbling in the air between them. Ever since the moment they first ran into each other and fought, Ling has felt only disdain towards the other Servant. He’s not like Berserker, who was mad and depraved, or Assassin, who is pure darkness. No, Saber is something almost worst. He acts as if he is above the rest of humanity when he is one of them. He’s more of a sword, a weapon. It doesn’t fill him with joy but with purpose.

He’s no leader, no king, no emperor. He doesn’t care about the people below him.

“I will kill you and her,” Saber tells him, getting into a proper sword stance.

Ling drops his swords. He doesn’t need them. “You will not touch her.”

*

Raising her bow, an arrow in the notch, Riza is ready for war. Even from this distance, where the black form against the sun is barely more than a speck, she knows that she could hit her target. She had impeccable aim when she was a mere human; as a Servant in this Holy Grail War, she is capable of unimaginable feats. She draws the arrow back, aims directly at the target, and--

She doesn’t let loose. Her eyes widen and she nearly drops the bow and arrow when she realizes just what exactly she is seeing. No, not what -- who. It’s Alphonse.

Impossibly, it’s him, clinging onto the neck of a firebird. She recognizes it as a phoenix and instinctively knows that it is Roy’s. He did this. Somehow, some way, he was not only able to find Alphonse, but save him. It’s an incredible sight, one that has Riza smiling, but then she realizes something was wrong and her heart sinks in her chest. It isn’t what she sees that bothers her; it’s what she doesn’t see. There is only one person riding the phoenix.

Where is Roy?

Even though she was told to stay back, Winry peeks her head out the window, probably having seen Riza’s strange behavior. “Riza, what is it?”

“Alphonse!” Riza calls back. “It’s Alphonse!”

Before Winry can rush outside in excitement, Riza holds out a hand to stop her. Something isn’t right. She can feel it in the air. The phoenix is close now, close enough to be seen by even Winry, but Riza isn’t about to be passive in this. She takes aim again and quickly releases an arrow. Winry chokes back a scream as the arrow flies directly at Alphonse and the phoenix, but then cuts herself off when the arrow flies past them and curves downward toward the ground in an arch. It’s impossible to see from here, but she knows that her arrow connects with something when it hits, light exploding above the houses.

“What are you doing?” Winry demands.

Riza’s heart is pounding as she notches another arrow. “He’s not alone.”

Winry pales. “Another Servant? It’s not Mustang?”

No, it’s not. It’s someone else and that someone is not on their side. She can see Alphonse’s frantic face now as he looks back at whoever is behind him. Stones shoot up at him like rockets and the phoenix twists out of the way just in time to avoid being hit, but Alphonse slips, unable to grip the bird’s body with his legs, and loses his hold around the its neck. His body is limp as it falls through the air. This time, Winry doesn’t hold back her scream as Riza runs at breakneck speed, hoping against hope that she can reach him. If not…

She doesn’t think about that possibility. She doesn’t have the time.

*

They have to get the fight out of the inner city. The number one rule of the Holy Grail War is that civilians aren’t to be involved. If they are, the church that runs the War will have to get involved -- unless the witnesses are silenced. The problem is that Ling is more careful about what he’s doing while Saber doesn’t care. He’ll kill anyone that stands in his way, including innocent bystanders, and May won’t tolerate that of Ling. He will either be expected to intervene or, even worse, she will do something about it.

His little Master has far too big of a heart. Why did she have to join this War? She’s too compassionate, too kind, too loving. She does not have the ability to allow her soul to be condemned in order to win. He won’t let it besides.

Ling slashes at Saber’s middle, missing by mere millimeters, and is then forced to black flip out of the way of a counterattack. He doesn’t even have time to recover before he has to duck and roll out of the way of another vicious swing from Saber’s sword, which cuts a street lamp pole in half. The metal comes crashing down, which Ling deftly leaps away from, but then Saber manages to kick one of the sparking wires his way. He’s unable to dodge it and the snapped electricity wire connects with his leg, shooting thousands of volts through his body.

He’s never been hit by something like this and his body spasms violently as heat scores through his body. His ultimate shield works against him, making him like a conduit for the electricity, and he’s blown off his feet. He skids across the ground, gasping for breath when he stops, and actually smoking a little. If he had been human, it would’ve killed him. As it stands, it only pisses him off that something so pathetically human actually managed to hurt him.

By the time he realizes that he’s grasping at actual skin on his leg instead of his shield, it’s too late.

Saber is upon him and he pierces Ling’s leg with one of his swords. The scream that tears out of Ling’s throat sounds more like an animal’s, so high and loud. He bats Saber’s other sword away with his hand, still encased in his shield, and kicks out with his free leg, hitting Saber’s jaw and sending him flying to the side. He grasps the sword with his hands and pulls as hard as he can, yowling as it goes through his skin. Blood bursts out of the wound once the sword is free and the shield goes over it again.

It looks as if he was never struck, but Ling can feel it -- the throbbing pain, the tear in his muscles, the damage. As a Heroic Spirit, he will heal quickly, but he still needs that time for it to heal. Still, he ignores the pain as he stands up fully and sharpens his claws. Anger boils in his blood. He’s furious at getting caught off guard, furious that he let Saber hit him, furious that Saber found them.

This was May’s only safe place and now it’s gone.

I’m going to tear Saber apart limb by limb.

*

Riza speeds through the streets, little more than a blur, and then jumps, one foot connecting with a wall to push off so that she can land on the roof of another building. Without stopping, she leaps from that roof to another until she is leaping houses in bounds. She barely breathes as she runs and keeps her eyes on the prize. With one last burst, she uses a chimney as a stand and jumps long and hard. With near perfect timing (or perhaps at the last second), Alphonse lands in her arms midair, solid weight but little more than a sack of flour for her. He gasps in shock, no doubt her armor still painful to land on, but it’s better than the ground.

When she lands, her feet skid on the street and they slide nearly ten feet before coming to a stop. Alphonse has his arms wrapped around her neck, his normally neat blonde hair windblown, his cheeks red and wet. However, what she notices the most is that his whole upper body is shaking. He must be exhausted, his muscles tense from holding on so tightly to the phoenix.

There is a piercing cry from above and Riza looks up just in time to see the phoenix shimmer and vanish into the sunrise, its purpose complete now that Alphonse is in safe hands.

“I d-didn’t think--” Alphonse’s voice is as shaky as he is. “He was f-fading and I-- Mustang, he--”

“Later,” Riza tells him, even if it’s not what she wishes. She wants to know everything -- she’s desperate to know, if she’s being honest -- but she doesn’t have the time and it’s not her place to know. As much as it pains her, Roy is not her true concern. Her sole focus needs to be on Winry, her place in the Holy Grail War, and the battle ahead. Because she knows one is coming. She can feel it. “Who’s chasing you?”

“Rider,” Alphonse replies. “He’s not super fast, considering, but what he lacks in speed, he… He makes up for it.”

A grim frown cuts across Riza’s face. She can’t fight Rider here, not with Alphonse in her arms and unable to escape on his own, but she doesn’t want to lead Rider to the house either. She has little choice in the matter. Her first priority is to get Alphonse to safety. Then she can lure the other Servant to safer grounds. It’s the only way.

A terrifying roar from behind causes Alphonse to jump in her arms. Riza doesn’t bother to look back, not wanting to waste the time, and instead rushes back to the house at breakneck speed. She can hear trees breaking and falling behind her as whatever Rider is on crashes through them, far too close for comfort. He might not be fast, but he’s certainly quicker than she is on foot.

It takes too much energy for her to reach the house whereas Rider has saved his for the fight, but she knows where she’s going and that gives her a small advantage. When the house comes into view, she sees Winry standing in the doorway, waving a hand, but then the girl freezes, eyes wide with shock, as she sees whatever is behind Riza. Still, even then, she doesn’t look back. Because she knows something that Rider and his Master don’t. Riza is able to cross the line of defensive spells without any issues. Rider will not have the same luck.

She spins around so quick that dust blows up around her heels. What bursts out into the clearing has her tensing in surprise and even Alphonse gasps. Out of all the things Riza was expecting to be chasing them, Rider sitting upon a massive armored polar bear is not one of them.

The beast is beautiful, its armor gleaming in the moonlight and carved with spells that match Rider’s metal gauntlets, its white fur shining like snow. If she didn’t notice the sharp teeth and deadly claws sticking out of its large paws, she might have even loved it. When the bear comes to a stop, it lets out a mighty roar that makes the trees around them tremble.

Atop of the polar bear sits Rider in glowing silver armor that matches the bear’s. “Archer!” he booms. “Hand over the boy and I will spare you this once!”

“If you want him,” Riza responds, “come and claim him!”

Rider guffaws mightily and then sets his bear to charge forward. Despite the ground shaking underneath her feet and the large monster of a beast roaring ferociously, Riza stands her ground. The second Rider’s beast touches the edge of the defensive spells, a nasty red shock of magic explodes, electrocuting both Servant and animal. The two of them roar as one, frozen on the spot as the spell finishes its assault.

“Take him,” Riza urges Winry and Pinako as she hands Alphonse over to them. Winry gives her a worried look before she turns around and they carry him back into the house. By the time Riza returns her attention back to Rider, the spell is over and he is left smoldering in its wake. Roy had strengthened them alongside of Pinako last night to go on the offensive should someone unwanted cross. He must have done it knowing that he was going to leave them to find Alphonse on his own.

Where is he? She tries not to think about it -- she can’t waste getting distracted -- but it’s hard. Roy wouldn’t have let someone chase after Alphonse… Unless he isn’t capable of fighting back. Was he captured while freeing Alphonse? Was he killed or injured?

No, she can’t think about it, not with Rider’s bear slowly standing up again.

Rider works his jaw. “Very clever, Archer, but such a thing cannot keep us down.”

Snapping the reigns, Rider forces the bear to charge forward. It roars again as it runs, smoke still coming off of its now patchy fur. Riza runs directly at it, despite the animal being massive. Right before it can take a bite out of her or swipe one of its large paws, she drops to her knees and bends backwards, sliding underneath the bear’s stomach between its legs. She’s so close that its soft fur brushes against her face before she’s free and jumps back into a standing position. The bear, strong as it may be, is too large and cumbersome to turn around quickly, which she takes advantage of.

When she pulls an arrow back, it turns from looking normal to glowing until it is white hot and then she lets loose, a beam of light cutting through the air instead of an arrow. Rider tries to block it from hitting his bear, using one of his metal gauntlets as a shield, but then the light hits him, it splinters around him into a hundred thinner beams of light, like sparks hitting the ground, and pierces both the bear and Rider’s legs. Unlike arrows, the strings of light don’t stay stuck, but they burn something terrible.

Rider pounds his chest repeatedly, as if beating the pain out of him, and then leaps off his bear. When his feet hit the concrete, he creates a crater and a shockwave blows through the air. He fondly places a hand on the bear’s snout, as if telling it that it has done a good job, and then turns back to face her, raising his fists and bending his legs into a fighting stance.

Riza knocks another arrow back. She can’t fight Rider head on, so she’ll have to be creative. One hit will send her reeling. So she can’t let him get a single hit in.

*

Ling was exhausted, but he was not going to give up.

After finding out his weak spot with electricity, Saber has done his best to exploit it more throughout their fight and Ling has done what he can to avoid it. All in all, he is hit two more times, a fact that burns through him also hotter than the electricity itself. He manages to get a few more digs into Saber as well. The two of them are left breathing heavily, glowering, and bleeding as the dust settles around them.

“Tired, old man?” Ling taunts. He’s bleeding from a cut on his cheek, the other wounds hidden underneath his hardened charcoal-colored skin, while blood drips down Saber’s wrist and hand to fall on the ground. His torn up shirt is no longer simply white, red blossoming all over his chest and arm from the blood leaking out of the gashes Ling gave him.

Saber doesn’t give in to the taunts, staring back with those dead angry eyes of his. When he lifts his swords up to make an “x” in front of himself, the two twin blades begin to glow a furious black and purple aura, reminding Ling of a bruise and a gaping hole. Saber throws them back and the fog explodes all around him, covering his body as if engulfing him in flames, his eyes shining red like a demon’s.

And then he’s suddenly there, right in front of Ling, in less than a blink of the eye. Ling throws his arms up to block the swords, which slam down on his forearms so hard that the concrete shatters underneath his feet. The next swing he leaps away from, but Saber flies at him in a flurry that he’s not even a blur. It’s like he’s not even there at all, even though Ling can feel every scrape of his swords against his shield. It’s impossible to dodge him an Ling is forced to jump back every time. Sparks fly and metal sings. It’s like Saber is trying to hack away at Ling’s skin. Ling makes the mistake of trying to grab for one of the swords to stop the insanely fast onslaught and is met with another kick to his chest.

The power is way more than before. Ling is tossed backwards, his body rolling around the ground like a ragdoll. He digs his claws into the concrete to stop himself, rock and dirt flinging all around him. The kick was so hard that it knocked the air out of him and he bends over trying to catch his breath. It’s only for a second -- he has to release the shield to properly breathe -- but it’s a second too much. Saber is on him again with that impossible speed and Ling leaps backwards, but one of the sword slices through his shirt and grazes his skin.

It’s a pitiful wound, little more than a papercut, but it drops Ling cold.

Blood spurts out of his mouth as he collapses onto his knees, one hand pressing against the ground to hold him up while the other wraps around his waist. There’s barely any blood to tell of the wound, but Ling can feel the dark magic seeping into his veins through the cut and it burns something fierce. He curls in on himself and lets out a scream, as if it might bring him relief, but it just hurts more.

Saber’s swords must be cursed. He tries to think of something -- tries to get his body to move -- but his mind dizzy and scattered from the pain. Eyes focused on the ground, Ling watches as the tip of Saber’s other sword scrapes across the ground, the sound toe-curling. When he tries to move, he coughs up blood again and curses under his breath. Damnit, damnit, this can’t be happening. He can’t do this. He can’t fail.

“Pathetic,” Saber condemns with a sneer.

Ling growls. No, no, he can’t die. This can’t be the end. He clenches a fist over the wound, his claws tearing into his shirt, and he wills his body to get up. His mind screams at him to fight. He can’t die. If he dies, then May will be thrown from the Holy Grail War. No, worse, if he dies -- if he dies -- Saber will kill her. The second Ling fades from this world, Saber will hunt her down and brutally end her life.

Damnit, May, I--

“Ling!” she shouts from somewhere.

He pounds a fist on the ground as Saber raises his sword. “Run! Get out of here!”

“No!” she cries out, her voice closer now. She’s running towards them. Ling closes his eyes and grits his teeth so that he doesn’t groan. No, no, she needs to leave. She needs to escape. She needs to live. What kind of Heroic Spirit is he that he can’t protect a little girl? What kind of emperor had he been?

“Her blood is on your hands too,” Saber tells him without any emotion in his voice.

“May, go now!”

And then Ling feels her hand on her back, so small, so clean, and the sword is falling and he body is on fire and May screams, “STOP!”

The explosion swallows the whole block, bathing them in a light so bright that it’s devoid of any color, and sends Saber flying back like a bomb landed at his feet. May’s magic washes over them so overwhelmingly that it’s like he’s drowning in it. He doesn’t know how it doesn’t knock him flat on his stomach, except it’s like her hand touching him is keeping him locked in position on his hand and knees.

Then he feels the magic burrowing into him, tiny little slivers of light digging into the wounds. Ice chases away the fire in his veins, sliding through his blood, until it feels like he’s glowing too, white like a star despite the black of his Noble Phantasm. The air is too rich, like it’s filled with pure oxygen, and when he breathes in deeply, he lets out a scream. It’s too much -- it’s way too much -- her magic and mana flooding him until there is nothing left.

As suddenly as it happened, it ends, the light of her magic winking out as if turned off and the darkness of the night hangs over them.

When Ling stands, he’s stunned at how he feels. His whole body is healed, not a single scar remaining. He feels great -- better than great. He feels like he can go another ten rounds with Saber without getting tired. He’s never felt so alive in his life, like he’s riding the high of magic and can’t come down. His eyes fall to May standing slightly in front of him to his left. She’s standing there limply, eyes blinking in confusion until she finally looks up to him.

Ling grins at her. “I knew you were holding out on me.”

“I…” May looks around. Saber is nowhere to be found, although one of his swords lies in pieces a few meters from them. “What happened?”

“You saved my life,” Ling tells her.

She shined like a star, more precious than anything he had taken or been given in his lifetime as an emperor of half the world. This is power. This is strength. It is something that someone like Saber or his Master will never be able to understand. Ling is not even half close to deserving it.

For a moment, May stares up at him, mouth parted and eyes wide, and then she blinks and exhaustion rushes into her eyes. She staggers and then topples over, but Ling catches her with ease. Once more, he thinks of how light she is in his arms. He hauls her up and holds her against him with one arm, holding his other out with his fingers curled into claws, but there is no Saber to be seen. He knows that she didn’t kill the other Servant, but it appears as if he left them alone.

Ling takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t let his guard down. He has to find them a new place to lay low. May lays limply in his arm, breathing quietly against his shoulder. It crosses his mind that he has never had anyone put their faith in him so implicitly, but what he thinks about more is the way she threw herself in front of him. This tiny girl, this innocent, was ready to risk her life for his.

It reminds him painfully of a girl he used to know. Her near-constantly serious face. Her pure determination. Her reckless abandon to jump in the way of a poisoned dagger to save his life. Ling slumps against a wall despite not being tired. He can’t let that happen again. He won’t. Enough people have died for him. Now it is his turn to protect.

*

Rider looks particularly frustrated with the current status of their fight. No matter how many times he comes charging at Riza, she manages to dodge him, sliding out of the range of his fists and kicks at the last second. So far, she has managed to avoid him, jumping out of the way to take petty shots at him. While he’s been able to block most of them, a few arrows stick out of him from vulnerable spaces in between his armor. He acts like they aren’t even there, not showing a single sign of wearing down.

Still, they can’t keep this up forever. He might not be tired, but Riza can feel herself getting slower. Winry can supply her with only so much mana. Rider appears to have much more stamina than her, but then his Master is a full-grown mage. Riza doesn’t begrudge Winry for this; she only thinks that it isn’t fair that the Holy Grail would choose a child for its war.

Rider stomps on the ground hard, sending slabs of concrete in the air, and then punches them so that they fly in her direction. There isn’t time to dodge these, so Riza jumps up, her feet landing on the slabs mid-air, so that she leaps onto them like stairs until she launches herself higher in the air over Rider’s head. As she flips over, she lets off three more arrows while upside down and then twists and lands so that she’s facing him again, another arrow ready to be let loose.

“They’re children, Rider!” Riza exclaims, hoping that she can appeal to him. Despite his burly nature and the fact that he and his Master had a hand in kidnapping Alphonse, she doesn’t see the same cruelty in him as she has in Assassin or Saber. His Master might be cold-hearted in order to win, but Rider clearly is not. He has too much passion. Even his simple fondness for his massive polar bear gave him away.

Even though Rider doesn’t respond out loud, when he turns around to face her again, she can see the anguish in his bright blue eyes. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be doing this. It’s not an honorable fight. He would enjoy it then -- a fight for glory, for honor -- but this is not that. He’s here to retrieve a child. He’s here under the orders of darkness and it is killing him.

Riza wonders if his Master used a Command Seal on him to come here or if he was here to prove to his Master that he didn’t need one. Either way, Riza knew that he would not be fighting her right now under these terrible circumstances if it was up to him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Riza said, barely louder than a whisper.

“I must!” Rider shouts defiantly, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than her. “I must do as my Master says! That is my role in this war. I will not fail her!”

“By kidnapping a child? By hurting him?” Riza demands. “I saw the bruises on his wrists and ankles.” At this, Rider flinches. Perhaps he doesn’t know the extent of what had been done to Alphonse and she won’t until she is able to speak with him. Still, she saw the markings on his skin and her stomach rolls just thinking about it. “What kind of hero does that make you?”

Rider falters, his fists falling ever so slightly.

“Do you want to win this War?” Riza asks.

“Of course!” Rider looks aghast that she is even questioning him.

“At what cost?” Riza questions. “Are you prepared to stain your soul with the blood of the innocent in order to win that precious Holy Grail for your Master?”

Rider shakes his head. “That’s not… I’m not…” His face is pale. “When we win, I will see to it that all innocents are protected. I will keep them safe.”

Thoughts that she long kept to herself come rising to the surface. She has been thinking them for a while until now it consumes her. “Rider,” she asks, very serious, “how can an omnipotent object be capable of such good when it forces us to do this?” When he blinks at her, seemingly confused, she presses on. “It forces us to kill. All Servants but one must die in order for the Holy Grail to be taken and no doubt many Masters will die in the process. And I learned in my lifetime that nothing and no one that demands blood as payment is truly good.”

There is a moment when Rider lifts his fists up and shakes his head when Riza is certain that she failed to get through to him. But then his eyes, while still in her direction, go far away and she knows that she has won this battle. Slowly his hands drop, shame marking his face, and his shoulders slump in defeat -- not by her, but by his own heart. She knows he must think himself weak, but having a good heart is not a bad thing.

“You must get the children out of here,” Rider tells her hoarsely.

Riza lowers her bow and the arrow she had in place vanishes into thin air. “I will.”

“My Master will not be pleased,” Rider continues. “She will use a Command Seal on me and no words of wisdom and compassion will stop me then.”

“I understand.”

Rider turns, but then hesitates. “The boy… I meant him no harm. I did what I could to protect him, but Assassin and his Master are cold beings. They feel nothing but darkness. They must be destroyed.”

Riza nods her head. It is not up to him. As of right now, his Master aligns herself with them and so must he. Still, there is one more thing she must ask of him before he goes. She takes a step forward and then stops. “Caster--?” She can’t bring herself to ask the question. Is he alive? Is he okay? They would know if Roy was killed, wouldn’t they? But no, the Command Seals were ripped away from Ed…

“I’m sorry,” Rider says without looking back at her. “Assassin’s Master took him. I doubt he will be the man that you remember when you see him next.” He glances back at Riza, sorrow in his eyes. “I would put an arrow in his heart to ease his suffering quickly, if I were you.”

He vanishes into his incorporeal form, shimmering lights in the night sky, leaving Riza alone with her thoughts. Her bow dissolves in her hand. Roy is gone. She doesn’t want to believe it -- she can’t believe it -- yet she doesn’t know what else to think or do. How could this happen? How had she not known what he would do? She forgot how so willing Roy was to throw himself into the fire.

“Should I stray from the path of the light, you have my permission to end my life.”

An arrow to the heart. Three times she has aimed her bow at him in this War. If she has to do it again… Riza closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t know. She knows what she must do, but she doesn’t know if she can. Gods help if Winry needs to use a Command Seal on her again. But she doesn’t know.

[cxruscxte--archive-blog]

300+ FOLLOWER FOREVER (Speech && mentions under the cut)

Inhales

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

OK BUT

WHAT ???

I can’t believe I already have 300 followers!!! I don’t think I can say anything more that I haven’t said in my last follower forever. I love every single one of you to no absolute end, you guys! It’s a stupid thing to say, but I do not think highly of my portrayal of Angie, she’s much sadder than she should be hahaa,, but all of you have done such a great job of making me feel better about it, like following me or wanting to interact with me. All of it makes me feel like my Angie isn’t as bad as I think it is! You’re all absolute sweeties and I keep making more friends as time passes. It feels amazing here, even if I do encounter a few bumps along the way!

I know I take a long time to make replies and I probably should be writing up ask replies instead of doing yet another follower forever, but oh WELL WHAT CAN YA DO

Like before, I’ll tag a few of my good acquaintances (BC I DON’T KNOW IF YA’LL CONSIDER ME A FRIEND–) and pat their backs virtually for being nice to me.

BUT BEFORE I DO SHOUT OUT TO MY NON-RP FRIEND

@bettynayo | BBY I LOVE YOU ??? YOU’RE LIKE THE ONLY PERSON I’M GONNA CALL A FRIEND HERE BC I’M FAIRLY CERTAIN WE’RE FRIENDS HHHA—I’LL NEVER FORGET THAT FAITHFUL NIGHT YOU SENT ME THAT DRAWING OF KOA AND I ACTUALLY STARTED CRYING??? I will literally never get over that ok, your art is super beautiful and I love it and I love you most importantly and you’re like always there and hHHH A A we totally need to do a skype call someday bc we can sing Hamilton songs I’ll scream “TO THE GROOM” at you bc that’s the only line I know out of the hour I listened (That’s a lie, I can probably sing You’ll Be Back from memory) you’re my Shinnaga, musical, Kenichi Suzumura, relatable daily struggle™ and most importantly – my hentai art friend and I absolutely love you ok REMEMBER THAT LET’S NEVER STOP TALKING MY DUDE IN 60 YEARS WE CAN BOTH SIT ON BENCHES OUTSIDE IN OUR OWN ENDS, FEEDING THE PIGEONS AND CHATTING ON FUTURISTIC TUMBLR

Ok now that this little shite is over with FOR MY MAIN ROLEPLAY BNITCHES

@zxtsubxu | I felt like I had to mention you first idk why. YOU MAKE ME FEEL PAIN—literally let’s just kill each other with angst,, I love your writing and I never thought that ?? I could ship ??? Mastermind Eggo and Idorru Anggg ??? LITERALLY WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME (jkjk Ily)

@mxgicxlrxd | HI GIN ur a good Himiko and we never actually had a thread but oH WELL HAH A maybe one day when we both manage to finish our replies. But for real tho, I absolutely love you, you’re really great and UR THE SHIT UR MY HIMIKO UR A GOOD I LO VE Y O U BEEEEPIPIPI

@not-a-suspicious-guy | Goldy, MY DUDE- I have to make you a reply im sorry omg don’t hurt me,, but okay really, you’re like a super great Amami and your writing is top notch™ PLUS UM ??? YOUR ART ??? WHAT THE HELL GOALS ???? listen, you actually made me love Amami even more than I did before and I don’t understand,, let us both sit in a problematic chair position as we pray to our one and only lord Ran Through A Mommy (remind me to marry u in 8 years btw)

@kxaito | NGL I ALMOST FORGOT TO MENTION YOU I’M ADDING YOU LAST MINUTE—I was like “GASP SHIT PEYTON–” it’s no follower forever without everyone’s favorite Kaito ; ) you’re really nice and like I hope we’re both gazing at the same stars right now ah our love shan’t die—what am I even talking abt soRR Y SORRY UR THE STAR BAE and your Kaito is so ?? good ??? if it wasn’t for you I’d probably wouldn’t be wallowing in despair for Kaito rn GEE THANKS

@pseudxcode | WE’VE NEVER HAD A THREAD EITHER OOP but ur great, ur art is great, please, if I talk good shit abt u will you let me kill all the magical girls and present their corpses to Chihiro (JKJK) srsly tho, your Chihiro ??? more like GOOD SHIT™ and we should probably make an actual thread ( ; ) magical gals)

@hcnorcoded | UM AHRI AHRI A H R  I !!!!! MY FIRST FRIEND!!!! THANK ! YOU ! FOR ! EXISTING ! You’re an absolute beauty and so is your Ishimaru, I love you x25 and just ?? just ??? kudos for being such a beautiful human being and actually taking your time and talking to Living Breathing Trash Can Em,, I’ll be the Rin to ur Pana (KAYOCHIN)

@positivepianist | POSI YOU ARE MY GOLDEN HUED SWEETHEART AND I JUST ?????????????? BNITCH WHY ARE YOU SO GOOD TO EVERYONE ?????? whY ARE YOU SO GOOD TO ME WHAT ??? I don’t deserve your super duper preciousness and you totally deserve the love people give you and the more you apologize the more I’m like “the hell are you apologizing for you’re the best human here you’re super puRE DO NO T” I want to hug you a lot you seem so huggable + ur Kaede is just the best Kaede and I just I WANT TO HUG UR KAEDE TOO

@docilexdisguises | DEST YOU LITERALLY JUST MADE A FOLLOWER FOREVER THANK U FOR MENTIONING ME AND LIKE LISTEN the world needs to know abt the Ikea thing we have. Magical girl group verse ??? nah that’s shit. Lost in Ikea group verse??? HERE’S WHAT’S MCHECKING LIT FAM THAT’S THE SHIT MAKE IT KNOWN – no but seriously, your Tsumugi is great, it made me warm up to the actual Cosplay Trash no matter how infuriated she makes me feel lma o—

@relixum (and ur other blogs im too lazy to mention) | it us !! the uncoolest kiddo squad !!! I haven’t talked to u in like a week and I feel bad for doing that lmao oops—but seriously, I love your writing !!! your Hinata is the perfect Hinata and I love how you portray him ??? idk what it is buT YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOUR HINATA SPECIAL !!! Maybe it’s because ur a special human too hohoho—alright but seriously (ALSO IMMA MENTION IN EVERY FOLLOWER FOREVER BUT THE SALT && PEPPPER AU–)

@ahogerobotto | at this point, all my compliments are drained and idk what to say anymore and AAAAAA—Sai, your Beep Boop Robotto is super good and you too are super great and I swear to god, you’re making me love Kiibo more like I just ??? uGH AAAA I blame you for my emotional pain for Kiibo hahA

And now, a line-up of Shinguuji’s

@hominumfabula | RIGHT UH I HAVEN’T SAID HI TO YOU IN AGES BUT YOU’RE STILL A SUPERB GUUJI and u too are a superb human being, you’re nice and you’re a meme and idk what else to say you’re a Golden Trash Can™ I can’t keep coming up with new shit abt u, ur just rlly good and remember that ok

@xshinguuji | there’s too many Shinguuji’s for me to even talk abt anything extra hhO—buT SERIOUSLY you’re super good and you’re a real sweetie ???? I’d hug you as much as I’d hug Posi tbh and I’d also hug your Guuji ??? he’s a sweet boi™ (probably takes it from the equally sweet mun

@shinguvji | confession time, I actually just spent 20 seconds trying to remember your url name bc I’m typing it all in word and I just ??? “wait what’s Iggy’s Guuji url heck” but seriously I just ??? I’m sorry about Foodfight, I’m sorry you have to live through that bullshit bUT I’M NEVER GONNA LET YOU LIVE IT DOWN AFAFSAFSDAS srsly tho your Guuji’s great, you’re great, I’d let you be my bath demon any day and I’ll share all my Kappa facts with you

BABES I FEEL LIKE I DON’T TALK TO ENOUGH AND I FEEL LIKE I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO CALL YA’LL MY GOOD BNITCHES BUT MAYBE IN THE FUTURE—

@malchancevilain | ARE WE FRIENDS OR ???? Idk I like you and we need to meme around more and make like 1252835923582 inside jokes so I’d be like “OH LOOK IT’S A GOOD TOGAMEME” and I mean you’re still a good togameme BUT ARE WE LIKE ACQUAINTED ENOUGH FOR ME TO SAY THAT WITHOUT BEING WEIRD OR—OK BUT SERIOUSLY thanks for like thinking of literally everything for the magical girl verse thank u bby

@snappshot // @cantatory | ok so RIVAL GROUP ASDASDAasf we need to plot more so I could write that magical girl starter for u aaaaaaaaaa—ok but rlly ur great, ur muses are great, we need to talk more hhhaaha

@nullverum | im too lazy to mention ur oc blog bye- BUT INHALES – YOU’RE T OXI C I’M SL I PP ING UND E R srsly ur good keep being a meme

@gambogeish | I WASN’T SURE WHICH CATEGORY YOU BELONG TO AAAAA but seriously, I enjoy talking to you and hhh thank you for the beautiful image of Saihara with a magical girl skirt (Marilyn Monroe vent scene with Saihara tho haha wink wonk)

@thirdtimemasterpiece | hhHH I DON’T KNOW IF I SHOULD CONSIDER YOU A SUPER FRIEND HH—BC I CONSIDER EVERYONE A SUPER FRIEND BUT IM NOT SU R E – but ok uh thanks for getting the MH theme permanently stuck in my head ??? // your Angie is good tho u are the senpai I shall learn from you

HEY HO I THINK THAT’S ALL ????