#what emerges on the border between two things

[blood-orange-juice]

Accidentally deleted an ask instead of replying, so I'll just make a post. The ask was about how me valuing Traveler and Childe's friendship makes my view of the character biased.

Idk, mate, I think it's impossible to separate a person from their system of relationships. Would Childe be the same character without his love for his family, his loyalty to the Tsaritsa, his fawning over Skirk and his strange obsession with the whale? I don't think so.

Maniacs and blood knights are found in media in abundance, it's his attachments that make him unique.

So why should we make his interactions with Zhongli or the Traveler an exception? Just because they can also be shipped and there have been bad OOC takes? Please.

What matters is not their *relationship* (whether the Traveler reciprocates and how exactly the result looks is left to the player), but rather Childe's ability to offer this relationship to an enemy. The strange amount of trust he shows, the reason he picks this person specifically, the way it ties into deep lore. Attachments and sympathies add depth to characters and this one adds a particularly rare kind of depth.

He saw someone who is trying to transcend their limits and possibly reality itself (someone like him) and offered his trust and admiration with no questions asked. That's incredibly beautiful and it tells us so much about him. He wouldn't be the same character without an ability to do that.

I don't think it shows my bias, I think it shows good writing on Hoyo's part. Characters sharing a story should interact and have synergy, it's not much of a story otherwise.

[ckret2]

Bill hates it when people mention Euclydia. Everyone thinks it's because he doesn't want to hear his home's real name; it's actually the opposite.

Here, have some fic. The naming of Euclydia (among other things), the birth of the Nightmare Realm, and the Axolotl planting the seeds of a trillion-year-long plan to keep Bill from the death penalty.

This is the 🎉FINAL PART🎉 of a 9-part plot about the Axolotl in the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. If you wanna read the others (or look at the art), here's one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.

####

With the immediate crisis averted and the triangle, for the moment, not attempting to invade and/or demolish the multiverse, most of the god militia pulled back. A group remained stationed near the unstable border between dimensions to watch the triangle; but the less powerful gods could trickle back in to get back to their own work, first and foremost the construction workers doing emergency repairs to reformat and stabilize the neighboring dimensions.

The Axolotl—who, he suspected, would have been arrested himself for interfering if they weren't still focused on the triangle—wove through the crowd until he found the Time Giant; and then swam angrily up to her and demanded, "You used me as a distraction?"

She turned a stone-hard look on him. "That was the agreement."

"No! The agreement was that I'd try to talk him down! We'd only resort to distracting him if I couldn't get through to him!"

"Ya didn't get through to him." The Time Giant nodded at the Axolotl's burned side. "Look at you. Your leg's off."

He looked down at his missing foreleg. He'd been so distracted by the near end of the multiverse, he'd barely noticed the pain. "It's just a flesh wound," he insisted. "I'm an axolotl, it'll grow back!"

She shook her head.

"I would have gotten through to him! You saw me talk him down after an entire army threatened him!" the Axolotl said. "What if I had succeeded, and when we left my tank he found out you already wrote him off?! You never gave me a chance—"

"We did give you a chance," she said testily, "and I saw that you weren't gonna succeed." She hooked a thumb over her belt and tapped a finger on her time tape; the stylized symbol of the Time Giants glowed on the side, an unsubtle reminder that she knew what was coming far better than he did. "So I did my damn job."

So she'd sent him in already knowing that he would fail. The Axolotl was speechless for a second. "But—you couldn't know—I got so close, if I'd had just one more try to talk to him..."

"If I'd let you, I'm sure you woulda kept trying until the end of time," she said. "You seem like a good guy, Ax—but you can't save everyone." She pushed past him to get to work. "There's first aid near where Dimension 2 Gamma was. Get those burns looked at."

"They're fine."

She was wrong. He could save everyone. Because he wouldn't stop until he did.

####

"You're replacing it?" the triangle asked petulantly.

"I'm not talking to you," VENDOR said, turned away from the triangle. "You had your chance at diplomacy and you blew it." The crablike cop was holding up a clipboard with some paperwork for VENDOR to review, and didn't look pleased to have been temporarily reduced to a secretary.

"I'm just asking a question!"

"We're not speaking."

At the top of his lungs—which was, it turned out, very loud and very shrill—the triangle said in the direction of the reporters, "Oh wow, that's a crazy thing to say about Lady Morgenstern! And talk about obscene! She'd be furious if she could hear that—!"

"Shhhhh!" VENDOR rounded angrily on the triangle. "You don't even know who she is!"

"I know her name and I'm not afraid to use it," the triangle said. "You're really replacing my dimension?"

"If I can be left alone long enough to finish signing the authorization paperwork," VENDOR muttered. "The construction crew's already out here and waiting, so if you don't mind..."

"It just seems pretty tacky, replacing a universe just like that." The triangle spoke like dimension he was talking about was just a pawn to be used in a trivial argument about etiquette, rather than everyone and everything he'd ever known. "No memorial or anything? Yeesh."

"So hold a memorial for it," VENDOR said. "We don't have any choice, we have to repair all the fallen walls to keep reality stable. If you'd let us into your hovel to sweep up what's left of your old dimension, it could have at least been incorporated into the new one."

The triangle half reached for his hat, stopped himself, and curled his hand into a fist and thrust it down at his side. "Over my dead body," he said. "Which I'm pretty sure got incinerated! So that means never!"

"You're pretty sure?" VENDOR asked archly.

"It... I had more important stuff to take care of, okay? I'm a busy guy!"

"I'm sure," VENDOR said. "Well, it's too late for any cleanup operations anyway. Enjoy rotting away in your landfill."

"Wow, that's how you talk to a refugee from the biggest disaster ever?" The triangle laughed. "Hey, bet the muckrakers over there would love to hear how sympathetic you are to the—what'd you say I am—the 'last surviving soul from my dimension'—?"

"Let's find somewhere quieter to work," VENDOR said to the cop.

He looked relieved "You got it."

As VENDOR and THEIR impromptu secretary moved away from Dimension Zero, the triangle shouted after THEM, "Hey! How do I vote for Municipalitron!"

Volcanoes on several of VENDOR's planets erupted. THEY whipped around to face the triangle. "You don't! You aren't in my district!"

"Well, whose district am I in? This Morgenstern creep you keep bringing up?" the triangle asked. "How's voting work, do you toss a ballot across the border and I toss it back—?"

"You're not in anyone's district! If you were, you'd have been arrested already!"

The triangle stared in dumb shock. "Wait, so I don't get to vote for which of you idiots I have to deal with?" He hollered at VENDOR's retreating back, "That's fascism!"

Fuming, VENDOR passed the Axolotl muttering under THEIR breath about showing the triangle fascism; then stopped, abruptly turned to face him, and snapped, "You."

"You," the Axolotl agreed.

"You're an optimistic fool."

Yes, well, he knew that already. He'd been voted Most Adorably Idealistic in his law school yearbook for a reason. "I don't think I like you, either."

"No one does." THEIR camera whirred irritably as they looked the Axolotl up and down. "What are you doing here, anyway? I assumed you'd been sent to figure out who's liable for this whole mess—but no, you only handle afterlife cases, don't you? Who sent you?"

The Axolotl was silent.

Furiously, VENDOR said, "Are you serious?! We could have avoided half this mess if it weren't for you!"

"If it weren't for me, he'd have knocked down the multiverse before anyone realized he's setting the fires," the Axolotl snapped. "And if you had figured that much out, you'd have gotten your cops killed before anyone realized he's a god."

"The professionals here to handle the situation could have figured it out faster if you weren't derailing their investigations," VENDOR snarled. "And arguing about jurisdiction! We could have arrested that that little troublemaker the moment we figured out just what he's done—"

"Right after you arrested that kid with the spray can who didn't have anything to do with this?"

THEY growled in frustration. "Forget it! I hope you're happy with your genocidal pal over there—you seem about as concerned with public safety as he is." THEY stormed off, the cop with THEIR paperwork chasing after THEM.

The Axolotl watched VENDOR go; then turned to look ruefully toward Dimension Zero.

When the triangle caught his gaze, he formed a heart with his fingers over his top point and called out, gleefully singsong, "Genocide paaals!"

It wasn't exactly the reaction he'd hoped for.

####

The Axolotl was attempting to distract himself from scratching his itchy leg while it regrew by eavesdropping on the triangle. It seemed like the triangle was entertaining himself by darting around the border of Dimension Zero to start arguments with anybody he happened to recognize (except the Axolotl, whom he seemed to be trying to ignore outside of throwing a few odd quips at him.) At the moment, the triangle and the Time Giant were hollering at each other about her decision to reinforce the second dimensions by making them splinter into multiple timelines.

"So you're really willing to sacrifice zillions of lives by letting me incinerate all their parallel timelines?" The triangle laughed in disbelief. "And everyone here thinks I'm the killer! That's not a good look for you, buddy!"

She glanced up from a table full of paperwork to give him a totally neutral look. "You're the one who's willing to incinerate them. You could not do that."

"When I do it, it's justified."

The Axolotl was distracted from the argument as the storm cloud with the apoc agents gloomily blew past him. It was talking into a walkie-talkie as it went: "Yeah, I know he's a nut. But he's a nut that can't throw fireballs outside the border of his dimension, and I've got to finish this report before we can get outta here." He sighed at whatever the walkie-talkie said in response, and said, "Yeah. We'll rendezvous after I have his testimony." It let its tornado suck the walkie-talkie back in and drifted to the Time Giant. "Mind if I steal your conversation partner for a minute? ATTF business."

She grabbed a binder to try to shield her papers from the worst of the storm's rain. "Please. Take him."

"Thanks." It floated closer to Dimension Zero and raised its voice to bark, "Hey! Magister Mentium!"

The triangle looked over mistrustfully. "What?" As he'd talked to the Time Giant, he'd been playing with the fabric of reality, creating a circle out of raw... stuff. The Axolotl couldn't tell what the stuff was, but it looked like it was some sort of animal tissue, except far too uncannily homogeneous to be natural, disturbing in its uniformity. Like a slice of baloney. When he saw who'd called out to him, he rolled his eye and turned his attention to extruding the circle into a baloney cylinder. "Heeey, Officer Fun Police! Here to rain on my parade again?"

"Rain jokes aren't as funny as you think they are," it said. "No, this is Apocalyptic Threat Task Force business."

The triangle's eye narrowed. "What business? Are you gonna complain about my renovations again?"

"No. If you're not about to knock reality down, I don't care what you do anymore," the cloud said. "It's not my business to punish anybody for previous apocalypses, I just want to prevent future ones. Answer a few questions for our incident report and I'll be out of your life." There was an implicit and you'll be out of mine in its tone.

"All right," the triangle said dubiously. "Fffine. Then we're on the same side. I'm not fond of apocalypses either."

It paused like it wanted to argue with that claim, but said, "Good enough for me." It pulled out the soggy notepad it had been using all day, flipped through it, couldn't find a free page, and with a sigh pulled out a tape recorder instead. "You're from Dimension 2 Delta, right?"

"If you say so," the triangle said, lifting his hands in a shrug. "You guys are the ones who named my dimension."

"Uh-huh." Under its breath, the cloud muttered, "Not exactly a name, but... If you're from 2Δ, that makes you the only direct witness to how your universe was destroyed."

The triangle paused. "Mm."

"Can you explain what happened, exactly?" When the triangle didn't respond, the cloud added, "I'm not gonna arrest you for it. If we want to have a chance of stopping something like this from happening in the future, we need to know what happened here."

"Uhhh, yyyeah. Suuure," the triangle said.  It wasn't clear exactly how Dimension Zero rearranged, but the view of the eternal dance party simply vanished. There was no sign of the millions of shapes. The music had fallen near silent, just a constant distant low thumping noise, like your heartbeat in your ears; quiet enough that it couldn't drown out the whispery hiss leaking out of Dimension Zero. "It's not like I have anything to hide." Whatever he was about to say, it seemed like he wanted to hide it from his party prisoners, at least.

A bolt of lightning shot through the storm's recorder, turning it on. "You said you were an active participant in the end of the world, right?"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He eyed the recorder suspiciously. "What is this, some trick to try to get a confession out of me?"

"Again, I'm not a cop. And you already confessed in front of a thousand reporters," the storm said. "If you were involved, you've got a different perspective than some guy ten superclusters away who only witnessed it, that's the only reason it matters."

"Oh," the triangle said. "Then—yeah, I was there for the whole thing. Start to finish."

"Great," the storm said gruffly. "Then could you explain in your own words what happened when the universe ended and, to the best of your knowledge, what caused it."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. The cause," the triangle said. "It... it was a—monster."

"I thought you said you—"

"It was a monster," the triangle said, more confidently now.

The cloud hesitated. "All right," it said. "Tell me what happened."

The triangle took a deep breath. "Okay. So. It uh—started with the third dimension."

"The monster came from the third dimension?"

"No, we were going to the third dimension. But we needed—"

The hissing background static exploded into a roar.

The void filled with the staticky screams of countless dead voices, pleading for mercy, pleading for it to stop. Death rattles, howls of agony, wails of terror. Most of the crowd of gods outside Dimension Zero fell silent, turning to stare at the disembodied hysterical shrieks.

One voice, strained with pain, rose above the cacophony, crackling, "Emergency services! We need medical assistance! Ambulances, or—please—I don't know what happened—it's like everyone's internal organs spontaneously ruptured, there's—there's hundreds of people here! Some of them are missing parts of their body, they just—disappeared! I'm hurt too, I don't know what it is—I can feel it inside me—"

A second voice replied, "We can't send assistance. Everyone's bleeding, the whole city's dying! We can't help you!"

Whatever the triangle said was lost beneath the roar. He didn't even seem to notice it. His eye was filled with static. The word "blood" was just barely audible. The word "mandibles."

Another voice, trying to sound professional, trying to sound authoritative, but trembling with fear, "This is an emergency announcement! This announcement will not repeat! The fire can transmit over radio waves and sound waves! Turn off all radios and TVs! Turn off all radios and TVs and destroy any wireless phones and pagers! Do NOT listen to the screams! Again, the fire is transmitting over radio waves, this message will not repeat, destroy your radio and warn your neighbors!"

The Axolotl saw images flash in the triangle's eye, too fast for him to mentally process one before another ten had gone by: a plane like infinitely thin glass with tiny delicate shapes painted on its surface shattering in a rolling wave; a bleeding body reduced to shards and then the shards reduced to chips and then chips reduced to dust; fire spitting and crackling into every crack split in existence; a light shaped like a triangle. (Was that the light that had blinded the Oracle's seer?)

Another voice gasping, "It's doing something to the gravity, I-I don't understand—we don't even have the equipment to read... it's like gravity's turned in a direction that doesn't exist! Does anyone know how to stop it?! Our universe is tearing ap—" and the words were cut off with a scream; and the scream was cut off with a sudden silence that was swallowed whole by the other voices.

The triangle had peeled open, shining golden panels stretching out like petals, his mandibles unhinged and curling around his eye in a ring of teeth, like a blooming carnivorous flower, sun-soaked and mesmerizing. God, he was so bright. He shot light in every direction like an explosion that never ended. Like a star trapped in the moment of supernova.

Another voice, shaking with rage, "Did you hear that, you monster?! I told you we weren't ready yet! Why didn't you listen?! I can see the destruction from here—the sky's on fire, everything is burning. How could this happen?! YOU killed them all—" and the rage cracked, revealing the fear and grief just barely hidden underneath, "Remember us. If you're the only one left, you have to remember us. Please—"

The static snapped off; the triangle's body snapped back into place; his eye snapped back into focus; "—and then they appointed me their god," he said cheerfully, "and here we are!"

And with only a couple more dying cries of pain and pleas for help, the voices fell back to their constant background whisper.

The storm cloud had started sleeting.

The Axolotl had stopped breathing. Just the sound of the carnage was enough to make him sick.

But the triangle sounded perfectly at ease—more than he had before he'd answered the cloud's question. "So is that all you needed?" He'd resumed playing with the cylinder of meat he'd been constructing—extruding it further, and then, dissatisfied with the results, collapsing it back into a circle.

His hands were trembling as he messed with the cylinder. There was a tightness around his eye.

"What..." The storm cloud let out a low rumble of thunder, ahem, "what... did you say about blood? I didn't catch it."

The triangle blinked blankly at the storm. "I didn't say anything about blood."

It paused.  "All right, then—what about the other voices? Who were they?"

"What voices?"

The storm stared at the triangle, baffled sunbeam fixed on him; then swung the sunbeam over to the Axolotl. "You heard—?"

So his eavesdropping had been noticed. He nodded. Oh, he heard, all right.

The triangle glanced between them. "I think you guys are hearing voices," he said. "The only one talking here is me."

He said it like he meant it. The Axolotl was sure he did. Had he not heard the voices?

"Never mind, forget it," the cloud said uneasily. "You said someone... Who appointed you their god?"

"Uhhh..." the triangle tilted to the side as he tried to think. "Pretty much all my people? Yeah. It was everyone!"

"Your people? From your universe?"

"Yup!"

"They didn't appoint you their god," the cloud said. "They're all dead."

The triangle scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about. They're all in here with me!"

"You mean the mortals from the other universes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the triangle repeated, a little slower, warningly. "They're all from my universe."

For a moment, the cloud just stared at him, at a loss. It glanced again toward the Axolotl. The Axolotl had nothing to offer it.

"Is that everything?" The triangle tried to keep his voice peppy, but there was an edge of exhaustion that hadn't been there earlier. (Yeah, him and everyone else here.)

"I guess that wraps up that part of the questionnaire," the cloud muttered uneasily, trying to recover its professional tone. "Just a couple more questions. I need your name. For the report."

Dimension Zero's hissing background static rose again: "The murderer... The name of the murderer... is—"

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!" The triangle turned and chucked the cylinder he'd been working on into the Dream Realm. He grumbled under his breath, created another circle, and started stretching it out again.

The triangle could hear the voices. Then why hadn't he been able to hear them earlier? Unless he had been able to hear them—and he just... couldn't remember that he'd heard them?

Even if the Axolotl hadn't known about the incomparable trauma the triangle had survived/caused, it would be pretty obvious by now that something was going terribly wrong inside his head. Contradictory stories about his own reality, memories he refused to remember, facts he simply set aside as not relevant. Was he refusing to face them, or was he unable?

From their conversation in the Axolotl's tank, he thought the triangle understood more than he was willing to admit. But the Axolotl might be the only one who knew that.

And that was beginning to give the Axolotl an idea.

"Just—put me down as the Magister Mentium, okay?" the triangle told the cloud. "Everyone'll know who you're talking about."

"If you say so," said the cloud. "What was your universe's name?"

"Its name?" The triangle glanced up from his new cylinder and gave the cloud a perplexed look. "You asked already. You said it's Dimension 2 Delta."

"That's its serial number. Every dimension's assigned one at its Big Bang. But it's standard to let a dimension's own residents choose its name. It makes it more personal." The cloud sounded as though it had memorized this explanation. The Axolotl wondered how many times it had had to take statements from a destroyed dimension's grieving survivors. He hoped it usually got to give this spiel to witnesses of a narrowly averted apocalypse. "Typically the first explorers to leave their dimension get to name it; but the only person ever known to leave 2Δ is... you."

"Oh," he said. "Right."

"So, what did your people name your universe?"

He stared at the storm like it was stupid. "We called it... the universe?"

"Everyone calls their universe The Universe," the cloud said. "Followed by The World, The Dimension, Reality, and Home. They're all taken, come up with something else."

"Seriously? You're making me name my whole universe and now you're telling me how to name it?"

"They're not my rules," the cloud said. "If you don't have a native name, we usually name a dimension after the first known explorer to leave it. Was that you?"

The triangle was quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. His gaze twitched away; and for a moment the Axolotl thought he saw another image flash in his eye: a triangle floating in space, eerily serene, dead. His voice was small when he said, "No."

Surprised lightning quietly flashed in the storm's cloud. "Oh. Do you know the name of the first?"

"Of course I do. He's my..." He stopped himself. He said, too evenly, "His name is Euclid."

Obviously, the triangle wasn't speaking a language that can be spoken with human mouths or written with human symbols. "Euclid" is a stand-in word for an unpronounceable name; trying to say the name without the right anatomy—without even the right laws of physics and sound waves—would only mangle it.

But the rest of the multiverse didn't have the right physics or anatomy either. "Euclid," the cloud repeated, mangling it. The triangle winced. "Fine. How's Euclydia sound?"

"It sounds stupid," the triangle said.

"Well, it's your dimension. Do you have a better suggestion?"

"I..." The triangle floundered helplessly. "That... Okay hold on, I've had a very long..." He floundered again as he tried to figure exactly what kind of time span he'd been having a long one of.

"If you want me to come back later..." said the cloud, who very obviously did not want to have to come back later.

"I don't knowww, gimme a second," the triangle whined. "I've never thought about a universe having a name! It's—it's fine. Euclydia's fine."

"If you're sure—?"

"Of course I'm sure," the triangle snapped. "Euclydia. Yeah. Great. Fine."

"All right." The cloud zapped its tape recorder, turning it off. "Thanks for your time."

As it started to hover off, the triangle said, "Hold on! I answered your questions, you owe me some."

The eye of the storm reluctantly swung back toward the triangle. "What?"

He held up the shape he'd been extruding. "What do you call this... 3D circle thing?"

The sunbeam swept over it. "A cylinder?"

The triangle pointed toward VENDOR, who was out at the edge of the crowd answering the questions of some reporters who'd caught THEM attempting to slink away from the scene. "And what are the 3D circle things Coin Slot over there is hauling around?"

It glanced at VENDOR's stock of planets. "Spheres."

The triangle shook his cylinder. "Well, what am I doing wrong, then!"

"I don't know, math's not my thing," the cloud said. "Try rotating it."

The triangle waited until the cloud had moved on; then created another circle, extruded it again, but curled the extrusion around into a circle. He ended up with a shape like a donut. He said, quietly, "Oo-oo-ooh." He sounded impressed.

The Axolotl swam up alongside the storm cloud as it left. "So. Find out what you wanted to know?"

The cloud laughed ruefully.

That was what he thought. "Are the interviews you've been taking classified?"

"No, our reports are open to the public. Anyone can request copies. The database is a nightmare to navigate, though."

"Let me know who to contact for the records on this incident. Especially the witness testimonies."

"I take it you're also planning to go through that noise we just heard with a fine-tooth comb?"

"That's hardly the start of it."

If the Axolotl had been convinced of anything during all his conversations with the triangle today, it was that the triangle could barely begin to grasp just what it was he'd done to his dimension and all the dimensions around it—and he did a very poor job of communicating what he did grasp.

And if the Axolotl could prove that—if he could build a convincing argument that the triangle hadn't understood what he'd done, psychologically couldn't understand, that even now he only had the fuzziest comprehension of what he was involved in...

Someday, that triangle's sins would catch up to him. Someday, he would be in the hands of the gods of death and justice, and they would have to decide what fate his actions had earned. And when that day came, it would be the Axolotl's job to ensure that the triangle didn't end up damned or erased from existence.

As it was now, that triangle didn't stand a chance in the multiverse of being found innocent. But there was more than one way to avoid a "guilty" verdict.

By the time the triangle stood before a judge, the Axolotl would make sure that the right laws were in place for him to do what he wanted to do.

####

Where there had been swarms of firefighters earlier, now the scene swarmed with construction workers, working on the emergency genesis of over half a dozen replacement universes—carefully, so that the big bangs didn't do any further damage to an already unstable situation; but quickly. Already every destroyed one-dimensional universe had been replaced. Several half-burned dimensions had been supplanted with oddly-shaped undersized universes that met at the older universes' burned edges; jagged 1D dimensions sealed the gaps between these dimensions like a line of solder between two panes of stained glass.

By now, the flat planes and edges surrounded the zeroth dimension like the sleek shifting surfaces of an infinity-sided die; all except for one last missing wall in the middle of the damage.

Dimension 2 Delta. "Euclydia."

The construction workers were already setting up the scaffolding and equipment to set off another big bang.

As the Axolotl looked at the copious warning signs around the construction site—"DANGER! COSMIC EXPLOSIVES" "GENESIS IN PROGRESS"—the specialized equipment, the veritable army of workers, the mountain of papers the Time Giant had been reviewing earlier to ensure that everything was up to code and nothing would go wrong... he couldn't help but think of the triangle holding the seed of a big bang in his bare glowing hand, threatening to set it off right there. The Axolotl had known it was foolish, but seeing all the workers' preparations put just how reckless it was into perspective. Like a toddler holding a stick of TNT over a campfire.

He spotted the Time Giant among the workers, flickering back and forth across the scene as she tried to literally be multiple places at the same time. When she settled down for a moment over a worktable to double check a pile of blueprints and forms and calculations and even more paperwork, she caught sight of the Axolotl passing by, and tipped her chin up at him in greeting.

He paused, then nodded back to her. No hard feelings. He was just following his principles; and she was just doing her job. They'd each found their own way to help hold up the multiverse.

"Hey," she called out, and gestured for him to come over. As he did, she said, "Your leg's healing nicely."

He glanced down at it. His new toes were stubby, but at least they were back. "I don't like being uneven." He'd take a few more days on his tail. "I'll probably pay for it tomorrow, though." When he finally got home, he'd have to see if he could cancel his morning appointments.

"Reckon we'll all be feeling this tomorrow." She tilted her head toward Dimension Zero. "I've got a message for the god of DIY over there. I think you're the only one he likes—you mind carrying it over?"

####

It wasn't hard to find the triangle; he was leaning against the membrane around the zeroth dimension, moodily staring out at the third. He seemed to be gazing past all the gods, unfazed by their hubbub. The Axolotl tried to see what he was looking at, and didn't spot anything of note. As far as he could tell, the triangle might as well just be stargazing.

Along with the police tape and the ATTF barrier and the long-forgotten cordons to hold off the reporters, there was now an additional grid of orange cones set up blocking anyone from getting too close to the destroyed wall and the construction site. The Axolotl glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before he slipped past the cones and swam up to the triangle.

When he approached, the triangle was muttering under his breath: "Stupid, now it sounds like an STD. I should've named it something cooler. Like... Triangletopia. Or the Party Plane. Or Margaritaville—I bet no one's ever used that one before..."

"Magister," the Axolotl said.

The triangle's eye snapped to him. "Hey, look at that! The pompous psycho is back! If you're even thinking about sticking me back in your 'office'—"

The Axolotl held up his forelegs appeasingly. "I'm not." He wasn't even crossing the threshold into the triangle's turf. "This is the last time I'll speak to you today."

"Finally, some good news," the triangle grumbled. "What do you w—ha! Ah-haha! I caught myself, that one didn't count."

The Axolotl decided not to count it. "The Time Giant wanted you to know they're about to set off the big bang where Dimension 2 Delta used to be. You probably don't want to be too close to the wall when it goes up."

The triangle's expression darkened; but he just said, "All right. Fine. Have fun. Not my problem! Just keep the construction noises down."

That was all he'd been sent to tell the triangle; but he added, "If you ever want to leave your dream realm, this is your last chance."

The triangle groaned. "This again? Listen, frills, I already told you I'm not interested! And you don't have the right to drag me out, this is my sovereign god territory—"

"I'm not threatening to," the Axolotl said gently. "I just—wanted to make sure you know. If you change your mind later, you physically won't be able to leave."

That gave the triangle pause. "I... don't see why not."

"For something to pass from one dimension to another, it needs a large enough hole to pass through," the Axolotl said. "For a person carrying the mass and energy of an entire universe to cross from one dimension to another... they need a hole the size of a universe. The missing wall where 2Δ was is the size your universe used to be. And now... it's the only exit big enough for you to pass through. Do you understand?"

The triangle stared at him silently. There was that hard, heavy look in his eye. It was awful to see. He did understand.

"If you don't come now..."

"We came up with a way to fit my entire universe into this one," the triangle said. "If I ever want to leave, we'll invent a way to get it back out."

"Your universe didn't fit in without incinerating it."

The triangle tapped the side of his hat with a finger; somewhere inside it was the speck that used to be his universe—the seed of a big bang. "It's travel-sized now. The next time will be easier."

For the first time since seeing the awful ruin of Dimension 2 Delta, the Axolotl forced himself to turn his fearful gaze chronologically forward. He squinted toward the hazy, far-flung future; and then he gave the triangle, in the present, a sorrowful look. "No, it won't," he said. "But I'll do what I can for you."

The triangle stared sullenly at him, unmoved by the offer. "I don't see what you're getting out of helping me. Everyone else is dying to send me to ghost jail or however things work around here."

"Isn't it enough to help you just because you exist and that makes you worth it?"

"If you ever, ever say something like that again, I'll kill you. I will find a way."

He wasn't particularly surprised. But that was truly what the Axolotl believed—and believed strongly enough to guide everything else he did. 

The things this triangle had done were too ghastly for even an ancient, experienced god to fully wrap his head around. Without exaggeration, he might have done the worst thing anyone anywhere in the multiverse had ever done.

But.

But if the Axolotl could prove that he, the worst person ever, was worth giving a second chance—that he could change, that he could show remorse for what he'd done, that he could be a force for good in the multiverse... then he would have proven that everyone, no matter what, was worth it.

The Axolotl had been voted Most Adorably Idealistic, but he'd never been called soft. His ideals were harder than diamond and sharper than obsidian. He hadn't decided to protect the triangle in spite of the impact that might have on the multiverse; he was protecting him because of the impact it could have. 

The Axolotl was a god of justice, of monsters, of second chances, and through his actions he could shape what justice meant throughout the multiverse as if he were sculpting clay; and he thought a small, sharp little equilateral triangle would make a perfect sculpting tool.

"In truth, I just don't believe in punishment. Not even for you." The Axolotl lay a forefoot on Dimension Zero's bubble. "But I don't see why you trust me." Because it was clear the triangle did. He'd trusted the Axolotl to judge the character of the other gods. He'd kept looking toward him like he was trying to gauge his own situation based on the Axolotl's reaction to it. He'd admitted the truth about the remains of his universe and his plans for it. It seemed like the Axolotl was the only one the triangle trusted in all this mess.

The triangle thought that over; then said, "You seem like a grade-A sucker."

He laughed. "I'll try to live up to your opinion of me." He had a guess what kind of people this triangle thought were suckers. The charitable; the caring. The people who didn't think that seeing the worth in everyone was a kind of illness.

"You should know, I intend to legally register my tank as a purgatory. I'll probably submit my application before the end of the week. If you claim it as your afterlife, you'll be transferred to my tank for holding while awaiting trial to decide your final afterlife."

"Ugh, now it all makes sense: you're starting a cult! I don't wanna join your cult, frills—I've got my own."

"But you do want to go straight to your lawyer's office if you're about to go on trial for your sins," the Axolotl said pointedly. "I don't intend to house anyone in my tank permanently. It will just be a transfer place for clients preparing for trial or figuring out where they want to go next—another afterlife, reincarnation... You're already technically dead; you can request at any time to come to my tank, and you'll be there."

"Sounds great for your other clients! But I'm not planning to go on trial and I don't want to be in an afterlife," the triangle said testily. "I'm pretty sure we've been over this!"

"I know you don't. I wish you didn't have to face it. But when you have no choice," the Axolotl said. "When you need it. When your time comes to burn like your people—" (the triangle flinched) "—call me. I'll offer you a second chance at any time."

"Low blow," the triangle muttered. "Don't put yourself out on my account. I'll be fine by myself."

"I'm sure." The Axolotl suspected he'd be putting himself out on the triangle's account for a long time. "What's your name? Your real name."

The background hiss of cosmic noise roared louder. The echoes of billions of erased ghosts said, "THE NAME OF THE MURDERER IS—"

With a flinch, the triangle cranked the distant dance music louder so it spilled cacophonously out of Dimension Zero again. It was too late, though. The Axolotl had heard the triangle's real name.

He pretended he hadn't. He waited.

The triangle didn't answer for a long moment. "You probably wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

"Maybe not." He'd seen how the triangle had winced hearing the cloud try to pronounce the name of some other shape. "I still want to know who you are."

He wrestled with his words; then finally gave up and asked his question. "What... is this place? We're not in the third dimension. When I—freed my dimension, I expected to go up; but we went... down. I didn't know there was a down." He confessed his ignorance in a near whisper, almost drowned out by his own music.

"You're in Dimension Zero." But that wasn't right. Dimension Zero was—should be—a point, and it's impossible to be "in" a point. A point simply is. "You are Dimension Zero."

The triangle said, "Then call me King Zero."

The Axolotl considered that. "Yes," he said. "I think that is your name."

Someone shouted, "Clear the way!" One worker at the construction site was looking directly at the Axolotl. "That means you! Unless you wanna be boiled frog legs!"

"I'm not a frog," the Axolotl muttered; but, he turned one last time to newly-crowned King Zero, said, "Call me," then hastily swam to the safe side of the orange cone barricade.

"Five, four, three..."

The Axolotl watched the triangle—and the triangle watched him—until the detonation. The big bang went off in a flash of light bright enough it would have incinerated anyone in the vicinity had it not been contained to a flat plane.

When the Axolotl looked away from the light, the afterimage of a triangle was burned into the center of his vision.

Dimension Zero was sealed off from the rest of reality—locking its king in for the next trillion years.

####

When the triangle said his name was "King Zero," of course, he wasn't speaking English. English wouldn't exist for a long time. The name King Zero is simply a convenient translation.

The English word "zero" comes from the French zéro. Zéro comes from Italian zefiro. Zefiro comes from Medieval Latin zephirum. And zephirum comes from the Arabic صِفْر—ṣifr.

####

Centuries ago, in the dream of a naive, trusting human, the human asked in Arabic, "What should I call you?" And King Zero responded, "Call me Ṣifr."

And years later, a dreaming human asked in Medieval Latin, "What should I call you, o muse of mathematics?" And of the two Latin words descended from his current Arabic nickname, Ṣifr responded with the one he thought was closer: "Call me Cifra."

A dreaming human asked in Old French, "What's your name?" And he replied, "My name's Cyffre."

Speaking Middle English, he told a dreaming human, "My name's Siphre."

And in Modern English, he told Edward Bishop Bishop, "The name's Cipher. But you can call me Bill."

In a year's time, and two years before his death from sleep deprivation, Edward would write Flatworld, a book about a 2D shape and his Muse journeying up to the highest dimensions; and also all the way down, below the spaces and planes and lines, to the self-absorbed King Zero, buried in the point-sized zeroth dimension, who thought a whole universe was contained inside him.

####

(It's FINISHED. 🎉🎉🎉

Hi y'all, if you just joined us for this Axolotl plot arc, usually this is a post-canon human Bill fic. I took a break from the main plot for one week to post a one-chapter flashback and then it was nine chapters. This bitch is 50k words. It's a novel unto itself.

Anyway if you only showed up for this story about the Ax, it only exists in service of a much longer story; so if you enjoyed this check out the rest of the fic. This is technically chapter 69 (lol). (If human Bill isn't usually your thing, I've been told that this is The Human Bill Fic For People Who Don't Like Human Bills because Bill is clearly very much a triangle unhappily trapped in a human body, rather than just chill with being human—so you might wanna give it a shot.)

And for the regulars who are already reading the whole fic: OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY FINISHED, WE'RE FREE, WE CAN RETURN TO THE PRESENT. Listen I love the Ax and his bizarre but unbending morality, but guys. Guys. I miss Mabel so much.

Pre-warning that I may end up needing to skip a chapter or two before the end of the year, because work's piling a LOTTA extra work on me this month and I might just flat out not have time to edit & do art. I'm up at 3 a.m. editing & queueing this post and I was up til 3 a.m. another night doing the art because I HAVE NOT HAD TIME this week to do it any earlier. I did this because I love y'all.

No that's a lie, I did this because I want to FINISH this DANG ARC. That's my birthday gift to me.

Anyway lemme know what y'all think!! 💕)

[kradogsrats]

Timeline Revisions, Archdragons, and the Cosmic Order

This was supposed to be a post about Shiruakh and Laurelion, but I got derailed momentarily by discovering that there's actually no evidence that Sol Regem was the first Dragon King, meaning the Dragon Monarchy did not start only 1200 years ago, which is something I based like 80% of my history speculation and analysis on. As stupid as I feel about this and as interesting as it was in terms of elf/dragon/human political climate... well, it has made less and less sense as we learn about the other Great Ones and the Cosmic Order. So probably for the best.

Revised/Updated Timeline

Let's do a reset on what we actually know:

Pictured: The official timeline slide as presented at SDCC 2019.

5,000 years ago: Primal elves emerged, elves and dragons were not allied (i.e. presumably the dragon monarchy did not yet exist), and it sucked to be human.

3,000 years ago: the archdragon Shiruakh and the Startouch elf Laurelion battle to the death.

2,000 years ago: Humans acquire (primal) magic, and Elarion is founded. Humanity ascends toward a golden age.

1,200 years ago: The Dragon Prince Anak Araw ascends to the dragon monarchy throne as Dragon King Sol Regem.

1,000 years ago: Sol Regem confronts Ziard, the first dark mage, and threatens Elarion before being blinded with corruption. Luna Tenebris ascends the dragon monarchy throne and expels humanity from the eastern half of Xadia. The archdragons form the Border to keep the two halves of the continent separate.

300 years ago: Luna Tenebris dies without a suitable heir. The Sunfire elf Queen Aditi vanishes before she can resolve the ensuing succession crisis. Aaravos, the "Fallen Star," is defeated and imprisoned by the Archdragons and the Orphan Queen. Avizandum ascends to the dragon monarchy throne.

2 years ago: Avizandum is killed by the human King Harrow. His mate Zubeia ascends the dragon monarchy throne, with their son Azymondias as Dragon Prince.

"Now": Aaravos escapes captivity, but is returned to his heavenly form until his stars realign in 7 years. The archdragons Zubeia, Rex Igneous, and Domina Profundus perish in the battle. Azymondias is the last known living archdragon, and the status of the dragon monarchy is unknown.

and here's things we know happened, but not exactly when:

Between 5,000 and 2,000 years ago: the Startouch elf child Leola teaches humans the secrets of primal magic. Her violation of the Cosmic Order is reported by Dragon Prince Anak Araw, and she is executed for it. Her death forms the Sea of the Castout in Eastern Xadia.

Between 3,000 years ago and 300 years ago: the fang of Shiruakh is forged by humans into the Novablade. At some point, it winds up in the hands of the Celestial elves at the Starscraper.

Between 1,000 years ago and Now: the city of Elarion is either destroyed or naturally falls into ruin. (Anyone who can actually cite a reliable source for Elarion being destroyed is more than welcome to do so, otherwise I will die on the "we have no evidence that Elarion was ever destroyed, actually" hill.)

Sometime before 300 years ago, and probably before 1,000 years ago: the (arch?)dragon Aithne Solaire, mate of Anak Araw/Sol Regem, is killed, by him unwittingly burying her alive in an episode of rage. (I say "probably before 1,000 years ago" because she presumably would have succeeded him as Dragon Queen, if she was alive.)

Between 1,000 years ago and 300 years ago: the modern human kingdoms are founded. The mage wars end as the western half of Xadia is depleted of magical resources. (Unclear whether those two events are directly related.)

Some Speculation: The Archdragons, the Cosmic Order, and Shiruakh/Laurelion

This was originally supposed to be a post about Shiruakh and Laurelion, but let's rewind a bit. We know the Great Ones (a.k.a. the "First Elves") built or instituted something to either create an ideal Cosmic Order or preserve one they had foreseen, because that's what Aaravos wants to destroy as his revenge.

This Cosmic Order seems to be tied to an idealized state of stability—humans acquiring magic is known to be the first step in a descent to "chaos"—but also hierarchy. Archdragons are at the top. Elves venerate them. Humans are lesser beings than both. I think there's a very strong chance that the dragon monarchy was instituted either by the Great Ones, or by some agreement between them and the archdragons. The dragon monarchy oversees and preserves the Cosmic Order while the Great Ones... do whatever it is they do, because they don't actually seem very interested.

Destroying the archdragons (instead of just Sol Regem in particular) could be on Aaravos's agenda simply because they betrayed him 300 years ago, but I suspect they are considered a foundational pillar of the Cosmic Order in some way, and taking out three of the last remaining four was a pretty big win for him. We don't know where archdragons come from—like if a primal has no archdragon, whether one will just... coalesce. If that's the case, it clearly either takes more than 300 years or there's some kind of problem with Luna Tenebris's death and the Moon primal (possible).

Now, as for Shiruakh and Laurelion:

I'm assuming we'll get a translation for Shiruakh's name at some point, the best I could get was Hebrew shir ("song") and ruach/ruakh ("spirit", "breath"). Personally, given Shiruakh's coloration and the fact that her scale empowers Claudia with fire, I would lay money on her being an archdragon of the Sun. Since sometime after her death, Anak Araw is Dragon Prince, a Sun archdragon dynasty on the throne also makes sense. I would also have zero surprise if she was Anak Araw's mother, the mate of the at-the-time Dragon King, just because that would set off some animosity, there. Especially if she was hunted down because of some Cosmic Order bullshit, which would also be delicious—him and Aaravos angry for the same reason.

So why did she and Laurelion fight? Well, we just don't know.

Hmmmm. But no, we don't know.

Now, I would bet that either the Death of the Immortal poem was written long after the actual events, or else large chunks of it are missing, since Kazi skimming over "Laurelion fought an archdragon and its bite killed him" and/or "and then he exploded" would be... kind of weird. The archdragons seem to be aware of what will happen when Aaravos's mortal form dies, so presumably they wouldn't be too keen on delivering a suicidal bite if there are other options available... but the other option is the Novablade, which has the same problem. The Orphan Queen, having the same problem as the main cast, may have "spared" Aaravos less out of some mysterious compassion and more out of also sparing herself and everything in what looks like probably a multi-kilometer radius.

I (and I think a lot of others) had just kind of assumed that Laurelion was targeted for death because of some transgression, but now it seems at least equally likely that he was enforcing the Cosmic Order against Shiruakh going rogue. Given the close relationship that's implied between the archdragons and the Great Ones, with no clear point for it to have soured (except with Aaravos, specifically), it seems unlikely that the archdragons or the elves would feel the need for such a weapon. Which is consistent with the fact that, as we now see in the illustration of Aaravos's tale, the Novablade was actually forged by humans.

Given the trajectory of human civilization over the timeline, I wouldn't expect them to have the technology or knowledge to work draconic ivory that way a thousand years before they acquire primal magic. On the other hand, if Shiruakh's tooth was kicked around for a couple thousand years, why did they suddenly feel the need for a Startouch elf-killing weapon? Is this just a case of dick-swinging, like driving a car that can do 250 MPH when you're never going to go above maybe 90, and that's if you're a huge asshole (which you probably are)? "My sword is made from an archdragon's tooth and can kill a god"?

Was Aaravos behind this, somehow? I would not be at all surprised if Aaravos was behind this, somehow. It's unclear whether one Great One could kill another in single combat, or otherwise force them back to the heavenly plane—if not, the advantages of such a weapon might outweigh the risks for the person with the most motivation to dispatch other Startouch elves. A contingency.

(But I personally also think that Aaravos's manipulation was behind things like... the formation of the Border, so.)

Anyway, since either arc 3 or the leadup to it will presumably involve a lot of frantic researching, maybe we'll finally get some of the Orphan Queen story and learn some of what she figured out.

[melestasflight]

Arafinwëan Reading List

compiled by Melesta, in no particular order, for @arafinwean-week. Why not find someone new to read?

Wanderlust by @cuarthol The finrodest Finrod. Finrod the explorer, the one who seeks and finds beauty in all things. Fenomenal worldbuilding.

Finrod: 30-Day Character Study also by @cuarthol An in-depth exploration of Finrod’s character, canon analysis, headcanons, beautiful written and visual creations to inspire.

Many a Dreadful Path, part of the Atandil series by @eilinelsghost Beren comes to Nargothrond in hope and grief, and stirs Finrod’s oath to wakefulness. The entire Atandil series is a masterpiece, but this segment is fresh in my mind and had me gasping.

keepsake by @welcomingdisaster Another fantastic piece on Finrod and his Bëorians over the generations. A family archeology and a nice dose of heart-wrench. 

The Gift by @fadesintothewest An oldie but goodie, pairing my beloved Finrod with Russingon. Full of magic, songs, eroticism and all that good Finwëan rebelliousness.    

Little Lords of the Brine by @eilinelsghost One more by frankie that’s close to my heart: Finrod and Orodreth reborn, all feelings and a new beginning.

Let Not My Love Be Called Idolatry by @sallysavestheday In a Dark Wood Wandering by @elentarial Speaking of Orodreth, I have been thoroughly sold on the appeal of the Orodreth/Túrin ship, particularly by these two stories.

Across So Wide a Sea by @emyn-arnens Half-way through this Galadriel epistolary piece and loving it so much already. Digging into the little-explored “what after Beleriand.” 

Scion of— by @gwaedhannen A short thing that, nevertheless, bites. On Galadriel and the newest High King of the Noldor.

Tapestry of Years by @niennawept The Patience of the Oak by @imakemywings I have a weak spot for all things Galadriel/Melian and these two pieces tick every box about this ship.

Snakes and Ladders by @polutrope A Valinor smut burlesque featuring the Arafiinwëans and their respective Fëanorian lovers. Young Artanis under polu's pen is quite something, trust me.   

empty spaces by @queerofthedagger An angst fest of the highest quality, starting with papa Finarfin and going down the line. This one has me in a chokehold.

in the hills of dorthonion by @emyn-arnens More by Arveldis because they are my go-to Aegnor/Andreth writer. Stories full of feelings, of gorgeous nature, of all the bittersweetness that keeps this pairing so close to my heart.

Fire Dance by justonelastdance Aegnor/Fingon, tethering on that sweet border between friendship and romance, is a pairing that I have been stuck on for ages and justonelastdance finally made my dreams come through.

Sundering by @zealouswerewolfcollector Fingon faces the Arafiinwëans in the aftermath of his participation in the kinslaying at Alqualondë. I’ve read this 3 times, at least.  

Song of Sirion by @welcomingdisaster I learned to love Finduilas with this fic. Featuring long journeys, battles, dogs and her emerging friendship with Edrahil. 

one whole with my other by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor Indis rules, endures, lives, until one by one, her beloved people return to her from the Halls. And yes, she is on this list, because without the matriarch there would be no Arafinwëan anything. 

The Forest House by @balrogballs Every Blessed Mark by @searchingforserendipity25 Two gorgeous Celrond pieces, my comfort pairing, featuring love, scars and the complexity of all things endurance over the ages.

Some of my own attempts to tackle the Arafiinwëans:

Voices That Were Once Ours Finrod and Maglor rebuild a friendship and compose the Noldolantë. 

crowned with the Sun Celeborn expects his first meeting with the golden Noldo princess to be a tense diplomatic ordeal. He’s quickly proven wrong.

as a naked flame and The Golden Poppies of Dorthonion Aegnor and Andreth, Edain lore and foresight.

Stay, Forever and filled with wonder and delight Celebrían and Elrond, falling in love, staying in love.

Scion of Kings  Finduilas and Orodreth at the doorstep of Nargothrond’s fall.

seducing the Edain Finrod, Aegnor and Fingon at Barad Eithel, co-written with @polutrope

This list is most definitely incomplete -- I pulled only what was in my recent-ish bookmarks. Always looking for more recs.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #05 死

† medical emergencies †

"There's something ironic about learning to stitch wounds while he's sitting there half-naked, making your heart do things that probably need medical attention. But hey, at least if you stab yourself with the needle, there's a doctor in the house."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7,5k

rating: mature

content: V being a menace, worried Chaewon, slaps, stitching practice, getting to know the medical chief aka J-Hope, shirtless stormy men and sexual tension.

☠ author's note ☠

DISCLAIMER TIME! I am not, in fact, a medical student. Shocking, I know. My knowledge of medical procedures comes entirely from watching too much House M.D. and falling down WebMD rabbit holes at 3 AM. So if any actual medical professionals are reading this... I am begging you to suspend your disbelief (；一_一)

I did spend like two hours researching stuff though! That counts for something, right? RIGHT? The things I do for accuracy, I swear. My browser history probably has me on several watch lists by now. Between this and the weapons research for chapter 3... Yeah, I'm definitely getting flagged somewhere (◎_◎;)

BUT ONTO THE GOOD STUFF! Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, please welcome our resident grumpy doctor to the stage! My love, my light, the medical chief himself - Jung Hoseok! What are we thinking? Because I'm lowkey living for his whole "I hate everyone but I'll still patch you up while cursing your existence" vibe.

Fun fact: I totally channeled my inner Dr. McCoy from Star Trek for his character. If you know, you know. And if you don't know... well, Spirk are my space parents and Bones is their bratty child. This is the hill I will die on. Do not @ me.

We've still got so many characters to properly introduce though! Remember that info dump in chapter 2? Yeah, we're gonna actually explore all of those personalities. Your girl's got PLANS.

Also, this chapter turned out way longer than expected but like... more content for you guys? You're welcome? I think? Look, my ADHD brain knows no word limits. It's either 500 words or 5000, there is no in between.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this one! Your comments fuel my questionable life choices and enable my caffeine addiction. Much love! (｡♥‿♥｡)

Caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧​​​​​​​

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You can't help but roll your eyes as V carries you through the castle like some damsel in distress. His confidence borders on cocky as he navigates the maze-like hallways, cradling you against his chest like you're made of glass. Which you're definitely not.

"Any chance we can skip this knight-in-shining-armor bit and just let me limp my way there?" You grumble, acutely aware of how your ankle throbs with each of his steps. "I promise I won't sue if I faceplant."

V's laugh rumbles through his chest. "And rob myself of playing the dashing hero? I don't think so, love."

His grin is infuriatingly charming as he spirals down another identical-looking hallway. The air smells like industrial cleaner and... cinnamon? You wrinkle your nose, trying to place that oddly familiar scent.

"You do know where you're going, right? Or should I start worrying that we're hopelessly lost?" Your tone is dry enough to kindle a fire as V makes yet another right turn. At this rate, you'll end up back where you started.

"I could navigate this place blindfolded," V assures you with a theatrical wink. "Just thought we'd enjoy the scenic route together."

"Scenic... sure." You emphasize each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster. But dammit, there's something about his playful banter that tugs at the corners of your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making you smile.

You shift slightly in V's arms, trying to find a position that doesn't make your ankle scream. Each movement is a lovely reminder of how you got into this mess in the first place. t̶h̶a̶n̶k̶s̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶

The castle halls are alive with activity, but everything seems to pause as V carries you through. Other members stop and stare, probably wondering why one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae is playing nurse. Their whispers follow you like shadows.

"If you're trying to show off your navigation skills, I should mention we've passed that painting three times now." You eye him skeptically.

"Bold of you to assume I'm trying to impress you." His grin never wavers. "Though I'm flattered you think I'd go to such lengths."

The silence that follows feels loaded. This little detour isn't just about getting you to medical—it's about something else. A game, maybe, or a message. With V, it's hard to tell where the performance ends and reality begins.

"So what's the real reason for the scenic route?" You can't help asking. It's weird how safe you feel in his arms, considering he could probably kill you fifteen different ways without breaking a sweat.

"Call it... building rapport." His voice drips honey-sweet mischief. "You're quite the talk of the castle these days. Thought I'd see what all the fuss is about."

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. There's something absurdly hilarious about being carried through the gang's headquarters by one of its most lethal members.

"Well, don't get too attached." The words come out lighter than intended. "This doesn't make us friends."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Give it time." When his eyes meet yours, they're dancing with amusement. "Besides, isn't this more fun than limping alone?"

More members pass by, their stares lingering a bit too long. You know tomorrow the castle will be buzzing with gossip about this little parade, but somehow you can't bring yourself to care.

"Fun's one word for it." You crack a smile despite yourself. "But just so we're clear—I'm staying out of whatever's going on between you and Jeon."

Something dark flickers across his face at the mention of Jeon, his thorny aura constricting for just a second before relaxing again.

"Wouldn't expect anything else." There's actual respect in his voice now. "You've got a mind of your own. That's rare around here."

The infirmary door finally comes into view. This weird little moment of almost-friendship hangs in the air between you.

"End of the line." V announces with theatrical flair. "I must say, this has been delightfully entertaining."

The wooden barrier of the infirmary looms ahead, but V shows no signs of letting you down. Before you can voice your protest, he shifts you slightly to pull out his digital card, swiping it with practiced ease. The panel blinks green, and he sweeps through the door like he's making a grand entrance at a red carpet event.

You're starting to feel less like a patient and more like a prop in V's latest dramatic production.

"Not you again, V. Get out of here."

J-Hope doesn't even bother looking up from his paperwork, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation that only comes from dealing with V's antics on a regular basis.

"But it's an emergency, Hobs!" V's pout is so exaggerated it should come with its own spotlight. "This young lady has been severely injured."

J-Hope finally turns around, giving you a quick once-over before fixing V with an unimpressed stare. "That's what you say every three business days."

"Ah, but this time it's different, I promise." V's grin could charm snakes, but J-Hope seems immune.

"And why exactly should I believe you?" He crosses his arms. "You know I only handle council cases and actual emergencies."

V sets you down on the nearest bed with surprising gentleness, his playful demeanor dimming just slightly. "I know, I know. But look at her ankle. It's swollen like a balloon. I couldn't just leave her hobbling around, could I?"

J-Hope sighs but steps closer to examine your injury. His touch is clinical and professional as he assesses the damage. "Fine. But this is the last time, V. You can't keep using the infirmary as your personal clinic for every damsel you distress."

"Damsel I distress?" V laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. "That's a new one. But I appreciate your assistance, Hobs. You're a true friend."

"Don't 'true friend' me." J-Hope rolls his eyes, gathering his medical supplies. "I'm only doing this because it's my job. And because she actually looks like she needs help, unlike your usual guests."

V lounges against a counter like he owns the place, watching J-Hope gather supplies. "Come on, give me some credit. I do bring real patients sometimes."

"Yeah, once every solar eclipse." J-Hope doesn't even look up from his medical kit. His earthy, sandalwood scent mixes with the sharp hospital smell of the infirmary.

V just shrugs, that playful grin still plastered on his face.

J-Hope finally turns to you, all business now. "Let's check that ankle." Then to V: "Get out."

"Think I'll stick around." V doesn't budge an inch. "Make sure she's in capable hands and all that."

"Right, because you're such an expert on medical care." J-Hope rolls his eyes. "Just admit you're bored and looking for entertainment."

V's laugh bounces off the sterile walls. "Maybe. Or maybe I just care deeply about my fellow gang members' wellbeing."

"Ignore him," J-Hope tells you, voice gentler than you expected from someone who looks perpetually done with everyone's shit. "This might hurt a bit."

You try to focus on J-Hope's treatment, but it's hard with V hovering nearby, his thorny aura filling the room. There's something almost fascinating about watching these two interact—like they can't stand each other but also can't help falling into this familiar pattern of bickering.

It hits you then, sitting on this hospital bed with one of the gang's most dangerous members playing guard dog while the chief medical officer patches you up—you've somehow stumbled right into the middle of Kkangpae's complicated web of relationships. And judging by the way V's still watching everything like a hawk, you're not getting untangled anytime soon.

The quiet of the infirmary shatters when the door slams open with enough force to make you jump. J-Hope doesn't even flinch—probably used to dramatic entrances by now.

Chaewon bursts in looking like she just ran a marathon, panic written all over her face. When she spots you on the bed with J-Hope working on your ankle and V lounging nearby, that panic turns to pure rage.

She doesn't say a word. Just marches straight up to V and slaps him so hard the sound echoes off the sterile walls. V, being V, doesn't even have the decency to look hurt. Just keeps grinning like this is all terribly amusing.

"Wow, you're feisty today, Chaechae." He rubs his cheek, still smiling. The nickname only seems to piss her off more.

"You absolute asshole." Chaewon's practically vibrating with anger. "I let you handle cross-training with my division for one day and someone gets hurt? What the hell, V?"

V throws his hands up, the picture of innocence. "Hey now, this one's not on me. Blame Jeon."

"Jeon?" She scoffs like the very idea is ridiculous. "Yeah, right."

You figure you should probably step in before Chaewon decides to slap V again. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but your division chief shouldn't have to deal with assault charges today.

"Actually..." You clear your throat. "It kind of was Jeon. I mean, technically it was my fault."

Everyone turns to stare at you. Even J-Hope pauses his ankle-wrapping to raise an eyebrow.

"I tried to ambush him," you explain, heat creeping up your neck. "There were these weird noises in the forest, then footsteps, and I thought maybe it was an enemy or something. Turned out to be Jeon. And then we found out it was all just V's paintball game."

Chaewon's anger dims a little as she looks at you, but when she turns back to V, there's still plenty of bite in her voice. "Paintball? Again? Are you actually five years old?"

"Guilty." V's grin gets wider, if that's even possible. "But you have to admit, it keeps things interesting around here."

"Can we focus on the actual patient?" J-Hope cuts through the tension, sounding like he's one dramatic moment away from throwing everyone out. "You can kill each other later, preferably not in my infirmary."

Chaewon's shoulders drop a little, but you can still see worry lines creasing her forehead as she moves closer to your bed. Her presence feels protective, almost maternal—which is weird considering she can't be that much older than you.

"You okay?" She asks softly, then shoots V a glare that could melt steel. "I should've known better than to let them handle cross-training. Especially those two."

V just keeps grinning like this is the most entertaining show he's watched all week. He steps back, giving Chaewon space, but you notice he doesn't actually leave. Probably hoping for more drama.

"It's fine," you try to sound reassuring. "Just a sprain. Could've happened to anyone."

Chaewon's face says she's not buying it. The look she gives you reminds you of when your mom knew you were lying about doing your homework. Meanwhile, V's just chilling against the wall, watching everything unfold like it's his personal Netflix series.

J-Hope works on your ankle in silence, occasionally muttering what sounds like curses under his breath. The infirmary fills with an awkward mix of Chaewon's worried sighs, J-Hope's grumpy instructions, and V's unhelpful commentary about proper ankle-wrapping technique that makes J-Hope's eye twitch.

"There." J-Hope finally sits back, your ankle wrapped tight in elastic bandage. "Nothing serious, but you need to rest. Keep it elevated above your heart, keep the compression on. Should be fine in a couple weeks."

Your stomach drops. "I'm sorry—did you say weeks?"

"If you're lucky." He stands up with a scoff that suggests he's seen way too many idiots ignore his advice. "Could be longer if you try to play hero."

You look at Chaewon, hoping she'll say something about how that timeline is ridiculous.

Two weeks of no training?

You'll be behind everyone else, t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶u̶s̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ completely out of practice by the time you're healed.

"I can't just not train for two weeks." The words come out whiny, but you're desperate. Two weeks of doing nothing while everyone else gets stronger? No way.

"Hell fucking no." J-Hope's voice is definite as he digs through medical drawers. "I'm not dealing with Jeon 2.0. You either rest for two weeks or I'll make it two months."

"That's why he avoids this place like the plague." V's still lounging in the doorway like he owns it, looking way too amused by everything.

J-Hope slams a drawer shut. "God forbid that fucker lets me do my actual job." He finally finds what he's looking for—a small bottle of pills. "Here." He tosses them at you with surprising accuracy. "Ibuprofen. One every eight hours. Six if you're dying, which you won't be if you actually rest."

"But—"

"Two. Weeks." Each word comes out like a threat. "Unless you want to become my permanent resident." His scowl could curdle milk. "And you—" He rounds on V, who's still grinning like this is the best entertainment he's had all day. "Get that bastard in here. His check-up's three months late."

V actually laughs at that. "What makes you think I have any control over what Mr. Stick-up-his-ass does?"

"Maybe he'll show up just to spite you." J-Hope's voice is dry as dust.

"Your optimism is adorable."

"Well, hope is literally my name." A rare smirk crosses J-Hope's face before his signature frown returns. "And you owe me, you dramatic little shit."

"As you wish, oh great healer." V throws his hands up in mock surrender, laying the theatrics on thick. "Your humble servant shall attempt this impossible task."

You stare at the bottle of ibuprofen in your hands, turning it over and over like maybe if you fidget with it enough, the label will change from "two weeks rest" to something more bearable. The thought of being benched for that long makes your stomach twist.

Two weeks is forever in gang time. Everyone else will be getting stronger, better, more valuable, while you're stuck playing invalid. By the time you're back on your feet, you'll be so far behind it'll be like starting over.

"Hey." The bed dips as Chaewon sits beside you, her presence grounding and familiar. "I can see those wheels turning. Don't stress. We'll figure something out."

"Actually," J-Hope pipes up from where he's finally managed to shoo V out the door. "You've got cross-training with my division coming up anyway. Could knock that out while you're healing. We always need an extra pair of hands here, and it'll keep you from going stir-crazy."

"Seriously?" You glance between them, hardly daring to hope. Medical training sounds way better than two weeks of staring at your ceiling.

"Makes sense." Chaewon nods, and something in her tone makes you think she's already working out the details in her head. "We can reschedule your Assassination Division training too. They can do individual sessions to work around your injury."

Wait.

Individual sessions? As in... one-on-one training? With V?

With Jeon?

Your brain short-circuits for a second before logic kicks back in. Cross-training exists for a reason—coordination between divisions is crucial in this life-or-death world you've chosen. One wrong move, one miscommunication, and people end up dead. If private lessons are what it takes to stay in the game, then t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ that's what you'll do.

"Okay." Your voice comes out smaller than intended, but you mean it.

"Good." J-Hope shoves his hands in his pockets, already looking done with this conversation. "See you tomorrow before lunch then."

"See you tomorrow, chief." You manage a smile, even as your mind races with possibilities—both exciting and terrifying—of what these next two weeks might bring.

Chaewon insists on wheeling you back to your room herself. The halls feel longer from wheelchair height, and her silence as she pushes you isn't helping. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head, probably already reworking training schedules around your stupid ankle.

She swipes her card at the elevator before you can even reach for yours. The ride up is quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and your own thoughts about how spectacularly you managed to mess up your first cross-training session.

The elevator dings open to your division's floor, and immediately you hear laughter spilling out from the lounge. Eunchae and Sakura are sprawled across the couch, but their smiles fade as soon as they spot you rolling in like some kind of injury parade.

"Holy shit, what happened?" Eunchae practically teleports to your side, crouching next to the wheelchair with wide eyes.

"Yeah, we heard all this commotion earlier but then you just... vanished." Sakura hovers nearby, her gaze bouncing between your wrapped ankle and your face like she's trying to piece together what went wrong.

You let out a long breath. "So... funny story. I tried to ambush Jeon during V's paintball game because I thought he was an enemy infiltrator or something."

"Oh no." Sakura's face does this thing where she's trying not to wince but totally failing.

"What the hell?" Eunchae's protective side flares up immediately. "Did that asshole body slam you or something?"

"Actually, no." You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds now. "He just... countered me. Really easily. I'm the one who fucked up my landing."

"That's rough, buddy." Eunchae squeezes your shoulder, and you're grateful for how normal she's making this feel. "We played it smart—just hid behind trees and watched everyone else lose their minds."

"Yeah, except someone turned out to be weirdly good with a paintball gun." Eunchae nudges Sakura with her elbow. "Better watch out, Jeon. You've got competition."

Quick footsteps in the hallway make you look up. Yunjin bursts into the lounge like she's being chased, pink hair flying everywhere, face flushed.

"I heard voices and—oh my god, are you okay?" The words tumble out of her in a rush. "I couldn't find you after all that shooting started and I got so worried and—"

"Just a sprained ankle," you cut off her spiral with what you hope is a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, really."

Her shoulders drop a little, but she's still hovering like a concerned mother hen. "I got you dinner from the cafeteria. Figured you might be hungry after... everything."

The gesture makes something warm bloom in your chest. "Thanks, Yun. You're the best."

Chaewon clears her throat, reminding everyone she's still here. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Time to get you to bed. Doctor's orders."

Your little entourage follows as Chaewon wheels you to your room—Yunjin with the food tray balanced carefully in her hands, Eunchae and Sakura trailing behind like excited puppies. The scene would almost be funny if your ankle wasn't throbbing with every tiny bump in the floor.

Once you're settled in bed (after Yunjin fusses with your pillows for a solid minute), everyone finds spots to perch. The food smells amazing, and you realize you're actually starving.

"So what happened after I got taken out?" you ask between bites. "Did anyone else get ambushed by grumpy snipers?"

Sakura practically bounces in her seat. "Oh my god, you missed the best part! V did this insane action-movie roll thing when someone tried to corner him—"

"He looked like a deranged raccoon," Eunchae cuts in, making Yunjin snort water through her nose.

You lean back against your mountain of pillows (thanks, Yunjin), letting their chatter and laughter wash over you. Your ankle still hurts like a bitch, and the thought of dealing with Jeon and V for the next two weeks makes you want to scream a little. But right now, surrounded by these idiots who somehow became your family...

Maybe it won't be completely terrible.

t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶e̶

Morning hits different when your whole body feels like it's been run over by a truck. Between last night's paintball drama and your throbbing ankle, you sleep through your usual breakfast time. Not that there's much point in early rising when you're stuck playing invalid anyway.

By the time you make it to the cafeteria, the morning rush is long gone. Your beloved croissants are just a distant memory, replaced by sad-looking toast and a fried egg that's probably been sitting under the heat lamp for hours. You grab a cup of earl gray because there's no way in hell you're touching that brown water they call coffee at this hour.

At least Eunchae's still around. She's like Yunjin's louder, bolder evil twin—in the best way possible. While Yunjin's off somewhere being productive (thanks to that whole "new year, new me" thing), Eunchae's happy to keep you company, practically writing poetry about her breakfast sandwich. The girl takes her food seriously, and honestly? You respect that.

When breakfast's done, she insists on walking you to the infirmary. You've swapped the wheelchair for crutches because hobbling around on sticks somehow feels less pathetic than being rolled everywhere like some kind of injured parade float.

You slide your card at J-Hope's private wing, expecting rejection—his space is usually reserved for council members and people who are literally dying. But apparently he's added you to his VIP list because the scanner blinks green without hesitation.

J-Hope actually looks pleased when you walk in, which is weird enough to make you do a double-take. Then again, he probably doesn't get many patients who actually follow his instructions. Must be a nice change from dealing with gang leaders who think they're too important for basic medical care.

Eunchae gives you a warm wave and friendly nod before disappearing, leaving you alone with the medical chief. The quiet efficiency of his workspace and his focused presence makes everything feel weirdly... peaceful.

"Nice to see someone following orders for once," he mutters, not looking up from what appears to be a small mountain of paperwork.

"You didn't exactly make it optional." Your lips twitch into a crooked smile.

"Never do." He grunts, shuffling papers. "Some people are just too stubborn to live."

"Can't you pull rank on them? Being head of medicine and all?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

"Oh, I do. More than I'd like." His voice carries years of dealing with difficult patients. "In here, I'm god. They pull rank, I pull rank. Doesn't matter if you're the supreme leader of the universe—I'll uno reverse card your ass so fast your head will spin."

"Bet that goes over well with the big shots."

"Their faces are always priceless." He actually smirks, tapping a stack of papers into perfect alignment. "Now, ready to learn how to not kill people with medical supplies?"

"Born ready." You settle into a chair, trying not to look too eager. After all, how hard can it be?

The infirmary honestly feels very different from the rest of the castle—all sterile air and quiet efficiency. J-Hope moves around like he's performing some kind of medical ballet, laying out supplies with the kind of precision that makes you think he could probably do this in his sleep.

Which, you guess, he probably can.

"Alright, lesson one." He snaps on latex gloves. "Stitching wounds isn't like sewing clothes. You fuck up, get sloppy with cleanliness, and your patient gets an infection. In our line of work, that's not just inconvenient—it's deadly."

You pull on your own gloves, the latex clinging weird and tight to your fingers. J-Hope picks up a suture needle, holding it between you like he's showing off a prized possession.

"What about when we're in the middle of nowhere?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "You know, during missions when shit goes sideways?"

He sets the needle down, and something in his expression shifts. The overhead light catches the tired lines around his eyes—probably from years of patching up stubborn gang members at ungodly hours.

"Field medicine is different," he says, suddenly sounding more like a battle-hardened mentor than a cranky doctor. "Clean is still better, but sometimes you've got to choose between perfect and alive. When someone's bleeding out in some warehouse, you work with what you've got."

He grabs a bottle of disinfectant, tapping it with one finger. "This? This is your new best friend. Small enough to carry anywhere, strong enough to maybe keep someone from dying of infection in a pinch."

"What about stitches?" The question slips out before you can stop it. The thought of someone bleeding out because you don't know what you're doing makes your stomach turn.

J-Hope nods like he gets it. His usual grumpiness softens into something more teacher-like. "In the field? Use whatever you've got—fishing line, clean thread, even fibers from sterilized cloth. Main thing is getting that wound closed before they bleed out or it gets infected."

He lets that sink in for a moment, fiddling with something metallic between his fingers. For all his crankiness, there's something reassuring about how seriously he takes this stuff.

"But the second—and I mean second—you're back, you bring them to me." His voice goes hard again. "This isn't permanent fixing, it's just keeping them alive until they reach actual medical care."

He holds up what looks like a weirdly curved needle. "This is what we use for stitching. Curved makes it easier to control, especially for beginners." His fingers dance over different types of thread. "Absorbable sutures for internal wounds, non-absorbable for surface cuts."

"Yeah, that means absolutely nothing to me."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Right. Let's dumb it down." He reaches for what looks like a small medical kit. "In the field, you won't have time to play doctor. Your emergency kit will have basic curved needles and non-absorbable thread. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."

"And the other kind? The absorbable ones?"

"Those are for surgery—internal stuff. They dissolve on their own." He waves vaguely at the door. "Out there? Stick to non-absorbable. Quick and dirty fixes until you can get them proper help."

"So it's basically just... sewing someone up?" You try not to sound as skeptical as you feel.

"If you want to oversimplify it, sure." His dark eyes lock onto yours, dead serious. "But this isn't patching up your favorite jeans. You've got to line everything up right, make it tight enough to hold but not so tight it causes damage. And for fuck's sake, keep everything as clean as humanly possible."

You nod along, trying to picture yourself actually doing this in the field. The thought of having someone's life literally in your hands makes your stomach do weird flips.

"What about really bad wounds?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself. "Like, really bad."

J-Hope's hands pause over his supplies. Something in his expression shifts, and suddenly you remember he's probably seen exactly what you're imagining.

"Then your priority is keeping them alive long enough to get to me." His voice goes flat, professional. "Stop the bleeding first. Stabilize what you can. Stitches won't mean shit if they bleed out before you finish the first one." He looks you dead in the eye. "I'm good at what I do, but I can't bring back the dead."

The words hit harder than you expected. It's easy to forget sometimes, working in Seduction, that this isn't just some elaborate roleplay. People actually die in this life.

You watch as J-Hope threads the needle easily, his movements quick and precise. When he turns to what looks like a piece of fake skin, you try not to think too hard about where it came from or why it looks so... realistic.

"Pay attention now." He positions the needle above the practice pad. "Basic interrupted suture—it's your best friend in the field. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."

The way he handles the needle is almost mesmerizing. Each movement flows into the next like he's done this a million times before. Which, considering his job, he probably has. The stitches line up perfectly, neat little soldiers in a row.

"The key is entering at a 90-degree angle," he explains, demonstrating another perfect stitch. "Too shallow, it won't hold. Too deep, you cause more damage."

You lean closer, fascinated despite yourself. It's kind of beautiful, in a morbid way. Like some deadly form of embroidery.

"Your turn." He holds out the needle, and suddenly this doesn't seem so fascinating anymore. "Time to see if you've been paying attention."

Your hand definitely doesn't shake when you take it. Not even a little. And if it does? Well, that's between you and whatever poor bastard ends up needing your stitches someday.

You take a deep breath and try to copy J-Hope's movements. Your hands aren't nearly as steady as his, but he guides you with surprising patience, adjusting your grip here and the angle there. For someone so cranky, he's turning out to be a pretty decent teacher.

"Not completely terrible for a first try." The words sound almost like praise coming from him. "This kind of skill? Could mean the difference between life and death out there."

A soft beep cuts through the quiet, followed by the infirmary door swinging open.

Cool air rushes in, making goosebumps rise on your arms.

You don't need to look to know who it is—there's only one person whose presence makes the air feel this heavy, like the moment before rain.

Jeon walks in, all dark clothes and darker mood. His eyes find yours first, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns to J-Hope.

"Looks like V didn't hold back," J-Hope says with a smirk.

Jeon just grunts, which seems to be his default response to everything.

"Sit." J-Hope points to a nearby chair like he's commanding a particularly stubborn dog. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

You try not to stare as Jeon drops into the chair, but it's hard to ignore how he fills up the space. Everything about him radiates tension—from the set of his jaw to the way his fingers tap against his thigh. The guy looks about as comfortable as a cat in water.

The contrast between them is almost funny—J-Hope moving around with his usual efficient calm while Jeon sits there emanating pure "don't touch me" energy. You catch a whiff of pine and mint when he shifts, and something in your chest does this weird little flip that you choose to ignore.

You try to focus on your suturing practice, but your eyes keep drifting to Jeon. It's weird seeing him like this—quiet, still, almost t̶a̶m̶e̶ docile. The great Chief of Tactical Assassinations, reduced to sitting in a medical chair waiting for J-Hope like some kind of obedient schoolboy.

He looks... different here. Less like the intimidating force of nature who uses you as paintball bait, more like someone who really, really doesn't want to be at the doctor's. His knee bounces slightly—probably the only sign he'll allow of his discomfort.

The door clicks shut behind J-Hope, and suddenly you're very aware that you're alone with Jeon. The silence feels heavy, broken only by the soft rustle of medical supplies and his measured breathing.

You force yourself to concentrate on the needle in your hand. These stitches aren't going to practice themselves, and the last thing you need is to look incompetent in front of him. But it's hard to focus when you can feel him there.

It's just so strange seeing him hold himself back like this. Usually his presence fills any room he's in, but now he seems almost... contained. Like he's trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

It doesn't work though—you're still hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes.

The silence stretches until it feels like another person in the room. You've never been good with awkward silences, but starting a conversation with Jeon feels about as appealing as pulling teeth. Besides, what would you even say?

Thanks for using me as bait earlier, that was super fun?

"How's the ankle?"

His voice catches you off guard—low and quiet, missing that sharp edge he usually carries. For a second, you're not sure if you imagined it.

"It's... getting better," you manage, your voice too loud in the quiet room. "J-Hope knows what he's doing."

The corner of Jeon's mouth twitches up, and for a second he looks almost human. "Yeah, give that man a white coat and suddenly he thinks he runs the place."

There's this weird undertone of respect when he says it though. Like maybe he actually appreciates having someone who isn't afraid to boss him around. You get it —there's something weirdly comforting about J-Hope's no-nonsense attitude, even when he's being a grumpy dictator about your ankle.

"He definitely doesn't take shit from anyone." You find yourself smiling a little, because it's true. Even the mighty Jeon has to sit and wait his turn in here.

Something flickers across his face and he looks away quickly, like he just remembered he's supposed to be an intimidating gang leader, not someone who makes small talk about cranky doctors.

You go back to your stitching, trying to focus on the fake skin instead of how weird it feels to have an almost normal conversation with him. The silence creeps back in, but it's different now. Less like you're both waiting for the other to attack, more like... well, like two people just waiting for the doctor.

You try to focus on your stitching practice, but something feels off. There's a rustle that doesn't quite fit with the usual infirmary sounds—too careful, too measured.

When you glance up, you catch Jeon staring at... a pastry bag? One that definitely wasn't there when he first walked in. Or maybe it was and you were too distracted by his whole everything to notice.

He's looking down at it like it holds the secrets of the universe, brow furrowed in concentration. It's weird seeing the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, terror of rival gangs, looking almost t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶e̶d̶ uncertain about a paper bag.

What could possibly have the human hurricane so wrapped up in thought? The last time you saw him this intense, he was lining up a sniper shot. But now he's just... staring. At pastries.

Before you can ponder this mystery further, J-Hope bursts back in, arms loaded with enough medical supplies to patch up a small army. The sudden entrance makes Jeon flinch—just barely, but you catch it. His eyes snap up like he's been caught doing something wrong.

Then, in a move that feels almost panicked (if Jeon did panic, which he obviously doesn't), he thrusts the bag at J-Hope.

"For you." The words come out gruff and quick. His tattooed hand extends the bag like he's diffusing a bomb, gaze fixed somewhere over J-Hope's left shoulder.

J-Hope freezes mid-step, and honestly? Fair reaction. If this was V pulling something like this, it'd be normal—probably part of some elaborate prank. But Jeon? The same guy who treats medical check-ups like personal attacks? Bringing peace offerings?

"You know I don't even like croissants, right?" J-Hope stares at the bag like it might bite him. The disbelief in his voice makes you pause mid-stitch.

"It was the last one." Jeon crosses his arms, all defensive posture and clenched jaw.

J-Hope holds the pastry bag between two fingers like it's evidence in a crime scene. When he looks up at Jeon, his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "What's the catch? Trying to bribe your way out of the physical?"

"What am I, V now?" Jeon's shrug carries enough attitude to fill the room. "No catch. Just thought I'd... you know." He waves vaguely at the bag, looking like every word physically pains him.

You focus very intently on your stitching practice, pretending you're not eavesdropping on whatever this weird interaction is. The silence stretches until J-Hope breaks it.

"Right..." He drags the word out like he's talking to a particularly suspicious child. "Since when do you do random acts of kindness?"

Something flickers across Jeon's face. His eyes meet yours for a split second, and your stomach does this weird flip that you choose to blame on hunger. The scent of pine gets stronger as his irritation builds.

"Since now, apparently." His voice could freeze hell over. "If you don't want it, give it to her. I don't give a shit."

J-Hope's eyebrows climb even higher as he turns to you, lips twitching. "Want a potentially poisoned croissant? I can test it first if you're feeling brave."

Your ears definitely perk up at the mention of croissant. After that sad excuse for breakfast this morning, you're practically going through withdrawal. The smell of butter and fresh pastry wafting from the bag is t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ tempting.

"I'll risk it." You can't help but laugh a little. "Can't say no to a good croissant, even if it comes from suspicious sources."

Jeon's eyes find yours for a split second. Something colors his face—too quick to catch—before that familiar blank mask slides back into place. He doesn't say anything, but some of that rigid tension leaves his shoulders.

J-Hope passes you the bag, but his attention stays locked on Jeon like he's trying to solve a particularly frustrating puzzle. The pastry's still warm when you take it, and honestly? If it's poisoned, at least you'll die happy.

"Right then." J-Hope's voice goes stern. "Your turn, Mr. I-Can-Walk-It-Off. You're three months late for your check-up." He emphasizes each word like he's scolding a child. "Three months, Jeon."

Jeon responds with his signature grunt, finally hauling himself out of the chair. He moves to the medical bed a few meters away from you, and you can smell the pine notes slowly dissipating. Not that you're paying attention to how he smells. Obviously.

The infirmary suddenly feels smaller when Jeon steps into the medical bed area. There's something about the way he moves—all quiet power and deadly grace—that reminds you of his rank. Every single one of his steps looks calculated, like he's constantly ready for anything.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, and you try really hard not to stare. t̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶k̶e̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶ The movement is unfairly fluid, drawing attention to arms that definitely come from years of training. The kind of definition that makes you think he could probably lift you without breaking a sweat. (You already know he can)

Your eyes drift to his hands—the same ones you've seen wrapped around coffee cups or handling weapons, but never really looked at before. The infirmary's harsh lighting makes the tattoos on his wrists pop, intricate designs disappearing under his black t-shirt like secrets waiting to be discovered. His fingers are long and elegant despite their strength, decorated with simple silver and black rings that somehow make them look even more dangerous.

He grabs the hem of his shirt and—oh.

Oh.

The movement is so casual it's almost offensive, the way he just strips off his shirt like it's nothing. Like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing to your blood pressure right now.

A tattoo catches your eye, peeking above his waistband. "Devil never sleeps" inked in bold letters right above the waistband of his pants, and suddenly you're very interested in what that might mean. t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶t̶e̶r̶

Your gaze definitely doesn't trail up his torso. You absolutely don't notice the thin silver chain you've never seen before, probably always hidden under that stupid leather jacket. And you certainly don't catalog how the muscles in his chest look strong but not bulky, or how his abs are defined but natural-looking, the kind that come from actual fighting instead of just gym sessions.

And for some stupid reason the pine scent comes back, stronger, and you realize you might be staring. But honestly? If he's going to just casually strip in front of you, he can deal with the consequences. You're only human, after all.

You try to focus on your stitching practice. Really, you do. But there's something magnetic about the way his scars and tattoos map stories across his skin. Each mark feels like a chapter you shouldn't want to read but can't help being curious about. It's not just that he's t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ physically impressive—it's the way he wears his battle wounds like armor.

Jeon doesn't seem to notice or care about your wandering eyes. He carries himself with this casual confidence that suggests being shirtless in the infirmary is just another weekday for him. He shifts a bit, settling on the edge of the medical bed.

You snap your attention back to your suture pad so fast you nearly stab yourself with the needle. This is not the time to appreciate how the fluorescent lights catch on his silver chain, or how his muscles shift when he—nope. Absolutely not. Back to stitching.

J-Hope transforms before your eyes, seemingly possessed by professional focus. He grabs his stethoscope with ease, moving toward Jeon like he's approaching any other patient. Not a deadly gang leader who could probably kill someone with his a snap of his fingers.

"Let's check that heart of yours first, Jeon." The words come out clinical, detached.

Jeon just nods, and it's weird seeing him this... compliant. His stormy presence seems to settle into something quieter.

When the stethoscope touches Jeon's chest, the room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You definitely don't notice how the metal disc sits right above one of his tattoos, or how his breathing stays perfectly steady despite the cold touch.

"Heart sounds good, strong and regular." J-Hope moves the stethoscope, all business.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes because of course his heart's perfect too.

Stupid, perfect Jeon with his stupid, perfect everything.

Jeon stares straight ahead at some fascinating spot on the wall, the perfect picture of indifference. His chest rises and falls steadily under J-Hope's stethoscope, and you definitely don't notice how the muscles shift with each breath. Nope. Not at all.

"Deep breaths," J-Hope instructs, all business.

Jeon complies without a word. The movement makes his chest expand more noticeably, and you suddenly find your suturing practice absolutely fascinating.

Super interesting, these fake stitches. Totally worth your complete attention.

Except it's not.

Your hands are going through the motions, but your mind keeps wandering. The needle weaves in and out mechanically while you try really hard not to think about the way the infirmary lights catch on Jeon's silver chain, or how his jaw clenches slightly when J-Hope's stethoscope touches a cold spot.

You feel like you're intruding on something private, which is stupid because it's just a medical exam. But there's something weirdly intimate about watching someone like Jeon—who's usually wrapped in leather and attitude—sitting here half-naked and compliant.

The needle slips.

"Shit—" The sharp sting makes you jump.

A bright red bead of blood wells up on your fingertip, because apparently you can't even do basic stitching when you're t̶o̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶s̶y̶ ̶o̶g̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ slightly distracted.

"You okay over there?" J-Hope looks up from his examination.

You're about to brush it off when you feel it—Jeon's eyes on you. The weight of his gaze hits like a physical thing, dark and heavy and way too knowing. Like he can tell exactly why you stabbed yourself, and t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ that's... interesting.

There's something in that look—something that makes your skin prickle and your breath catch.

Is he annoyed? Amused? Or maybe...

He turns away before you can figure it out, but the heat lingers on your skin like a brand.

Jeon grabs his shirt and pulls it back on in one smooth motion. You try not to notice how the fabric clings slightly before settling into place, or how his hair gets messed up for just a second before he runs his fingers through it. Just like that, the mask slides back on—Chief of Tactical Assassinations restored, that glimpse of something more human safely locked away again.

Your finger throbs, a tiny punishment for letting yourself get distracted.

t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ Real professional, getting caught staring like some rookie. In this life, distractions get people killed. Though usually not by sewing needles.

J-Hope's already moving around the room, putting away his supplies. He definitely catches you trying to hide your pricked finger, because suddenly he's there, slapping a band-aid on it with more force than strictly necessary.

"Pay attention next time," he grumbles, but there's something almost fond in how annoyed he sounds. "These needles aren't toys."

Jeon's already heading for the door, leather jacket back in place. He moves like someone who can't wait to put as much distance between himself and this medical checkup as possible.

Can't really blame him—you'd probably bolt too if you had to deal with J-Hope's judgment this early in the morning.

He pauses at the door though, just for a second. Those dark eyes find yours one last time, and something in your chest does this weird little thing that has nothing to do with the pine and mint scent he leaves behind.

Then he's gone, and you're left wondering what kind of storms are brewing behind those gloomy eyes.

next | index

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[altverse-invertverse]

Meeting + Kitty Bath right after

(I can’t draw backgrounds so I “borrowed” these from pinterest and then put a filter over the first two, to make them to make them look like drawings)

AU/Headcanon yapping for this lol ⬇️

Kallamar and Shamura met in their teenage years, living with eachother as close besties who found some random ass crowns along the way. They both shared a cabin on the border of early-day Anura and Darkwoods (there was no distinction between the areas, both areas were relatively the same). They shared a bed because it was comfortable enough for them, and lived an average life.

Now during his 30’s, Kallamar really wanted to take care of a child, even though he wasn’t as capable to carry one himself(intersex, infertile, AND he was single lmao). Shamura didn’t care for children as much, but wanted to see their best friend happy, just didn’t know how.

One day the two were sitting around and playing knucklebones with eachother, when they heard a knock on the door. Shamura got up to answer the door, looking around before glancing down, seeing a young black cat staring back up at them. Shamura was in a state of confusion at first, asking the kit where he came from, only getting a shrug as a response.

It was only a few seconds, before it clicked to Shamura that this child had been abandoned. With no second thoughts, they knew exactly what to do next, as they gently took the child by the hand to offer them a new home. Walking back into the living room, Kallamar had put away the board and dice, asking Shamura who was at the front door. Shamura replied with a simple “Just look for yourself”, as Kallamar gave them a look of confusion, before spotting the child stepping out from behind Shamura, while holding their hand.

Shamura explained to Kallamar the child’s situation, they brought up the idea of taking in the child, as if he were their younger sibling and such. Kallamar became ecstatic, agreeing to the idea almost immediately while going over to hug Shamura tightly, then greeting the little boy.

However, first things first, the kid smelled like trash(despite looking clean), which called for an “emergency” bath. I won’t go into big detail about the rest of that day, but let’s just say that Kalla and the child, nownamed Narinder, had alot fun getting to know each other.

This is literally “revised” lore I made up in my head for two weeks, finally had motivation to draw a bit of it, I just really like seeing interpretations of Narinder and Kallamar. So I thought instead of the usual sibling battles, they started off with a loving caretaker their adopted child type relationship, only becoming more sibling tied once growing up lol

[lanormie]

blipped - mcu crossover au (pt. 6)

what if? the event of Thanos snap happened in the BNHA universe? you're forced to navigate the aftermath of The Blip, where half of the population get thrown back into existence after disappearing for five years. pairing: pro-hero!Shouto x f!pro-hero!reader (ft. slight katsuki x reader) read on AO3 previous part

Two months flew by, and the apartment search is going nowhere. The government has quickly seized up a large number of empty housings and facilities to turn them into temporary shelters, and now any new listing would immediately get scooped up as soon as they are posted, no matter the cost. Not like you or Shouto have time to stalk the market anyway, when crimes have been on a scary uptick for the past few weeks. Hawks has been apologetic about all the overtime, but you all know the world is far from peaceful.

An anti-nationalist group called The Flag Smashers has been on the rise. They’ve been gaining more and more followers everyday, vowing to restore the world order to how it was before the re-emergence.

A world without borders and patriotism. Even as a pro-hero, you can’t say you disagree. But when the line between ideology and violence blurs and innocent people get hurt, you refuse to stand by.

“Here’s the address of the juvenile shelter on 42nd, please tell Mandalay I said hi when you drop him off.” 

You hand the piece of paper to the sidekick who just showed up for the night shift, then turn to the small frame that’s clinging to your belt like super glue, tiny hiccups escaping from behind the mop of unruly hair that conceals most of his face.

Even though you can’t make out his features, you can tell he’s just a kid. A kid who had no family left when he returned, a kid who met the wrong people and got swept up in doing the wrong things. He was a lookout for a store break-in when you finally intercepted the group, and the grown men he was with had no problem turning him into a bargaining chip.

Nothing you haven’t seen before, sadly.

The standoff ended pretty quickly, with the men hauled off to the authorities. Your decision of keeping the little one from getting sent to the youth detention center thankfully didn’t encounter much resistance.

Everybody is too busy to care.

You send him off with a promise to visit once you find time, then take off towards the agency, the short conversation you had with him playing in your head like a record.

“Miss," The little guy meekly muttered in between sniffles. “When will things go back to normal?”

When?

Will they go back to normal?

“I don’t have the answer to that, I’m sorry. But in the meantime we can make the best of our new normal.” You emphasized the last part, but for him or for you, you didn’t know.

And you still don’t. If making the best of your new normal is working yourself to the brink of collapsing then do it all over again the next day, you’re doing great.

As the agency rooftop comes into view, you glance at the clock on your phone. It’s 3:30 AM. Looks like the sleeping bag under your desk is your friend again tonight.

There’s a warm light coming from the small covered patio on one side of the rooftop, and your eyes zone in on the figure sprawled out on the hammock, an open book resting on top of their face. Red and white locks peek out from under the book, or more accurately, the manga volume, now that you’re closer to see it. Broad chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the arms resting on it coming along for the ride. You chuckle to yourself as you land. Shouto really does sleep like a mummy.

You lightly tap on the manga volume before lifting a corner of it. “You didn’t go home?”

Shouto squints at you sleepily. “I just finished the report–” He pauses to yawn. “Report backlog. And we have a shift at 7, so I figured it wasn’t worth it. Plus,” He picks up the manga and tosses it onto the coffee table nearby. “This is surprisingly comfortable. Here, try it out.”

Shouto slightly scoots over and stretches out the fabric to make space.

You should’ve known how much of an ordeal it is to get into a hammock with another person already in it. It takes a lot of maneuvering not to fall directly on top of your friend, but in the end you still end up smushed against Shouto’s left side. Despite that, he was right, this is terribly comfy. 

The stretchy fabric cocoons you in like a swaddle, the cool night breeze gently caresses your skin, which you don’t mind too much cause the heat emanating from Shouto is more than enough to ward off the chills.

“Ten out of ten.” You conclude, eyelids growing heavier. Maybe all that overtime is catching up to you.

* * * * *

“But they look so cute!”

“I don’t give a shit, they’re about to be late.”

The sound of aggressive whispers pulls you away from your dreamless slumber.

Daylight greets you through your eyelids, as you register a certain weight draped over your side and some humid warm breeze fanning your forehead. Your bleary eyes open to find yourself face to face with a white T-shirt covered broad chest, and it dawns on you. You and Shouto both fell asleep on the hammock last night.

Groggily tilting your head up, you find Shouto already awake. His dual colored eyes are focused elsewhere, indicating that he’s listening in on the whispering match happening behind him.

“I’m going to wake them up.”

“Wait, Touya no!”

The hushed tone does nothing to hide the very distinct voices of Hawks and Touya, clearly being at odds (as usual) about letting their employees snooze on premise.

Shouto finally notices your stirring, and the cool arm that was lazily resting on your side curls in ever so slightly.

“Wait.” He speaks, voice low enough for only you to hear. “I want to see if we stay still, they're going to let us sleep in.”

Soft as his murmuring is, it still reverberates through his chest and onto you, and you try your hardest not to squirm at the proximity. In your still-freshly-out-of-a-relationship brain, hugs are different from cuddles. Not that you’d ever shy away from your best friend who mostly shows his affection through non-verbal cues (the majority of them is touch), cuddling with someone who’s not your boyf–, well, ex-boyfriend, is some sort of line you haven’t brought yourself to cross.

It’s a sort of intimacy that you didn’t know you longed for until this very moment, but god if it isn’t intimidating at the same time. Like standing in the sand staring out at the azure of the ocean, its calm waves gently ebbing and flowing around your feet, urging you to follow them into the depth.

Should you let them lead you further into its water, when you know what drowning in a stormy sea feels like?

You look up at Shouto, and find the ocean staring back at you from his left eye.

Its serene surface seems to glitter under the cloudless sky, featherlight breeze nudging its ripples ashore.

It’s so, so different from the crashing ocean of molten lava you used to call home. 

‘You okay?’ Shouto mouths the words, puzzled by the way your eyes are trained on him but your mind is clearly elsewhere. His hand presses gently on your back, his thumb patiently draws small circles atop your spine, letting you take your time coming down from whatever plane of existence you find yourself on.

The world comes back into focus as you mutter an unconvincing ‘yeah’. As Shouto searches your face for the real answer, the bickering between Hawks and Touya is getting louder.

“Look how cozy they are!”

“Oh yeah? Cozy huh?” Touya then amps up his volume, like he really wants you two to hear this last part. “Cozy on the same hammock you got a blowjob on last week?”

You’ve never flown away from anything so fast.

Looking down, you catch a glimpse of Shouto scrambling off the apparently tainted fabric with a huffed ‘nope’, before you both turn towards Touya, who’s now doubling over in laughter, one arm holding on to a mortified Hawks and the other clutching his stomach.

“For the record,” Hawks exasperatedly yanks Touya’s collar like a momma cat to set the silver haired man upright. “He was just saying that to get a reaction out of you.”

“You knew we were awake the whole time?” You land back down in front of the two intruders.

“Uh, yeah. Birdy didn’t have these for nothing.” Touya reaches back to pluck a wonky looking feather out of Hawks’ wings and waves it in your face.

You can see Hawks visibly fights back a shudder. For a former spy, he sure seems to lose the grip on his reactions a lot when it comes to Touya. You decide to file the thought away to investigate later.

“Why were you two brats canoodling up here anyway?”

You sputter a barely audible ‘were not’ while Shouto finally approaches you three.

“We came off our shifts late last night. Going home would take too long.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve slept over at work.” You shrug, with a concurring nod from Shouto. “I’ll stick to my sleeping bag next time though, the blowjob hammock–”

“It’s not–” Hawks starts to protest.

“The Schrodinger blowjob hammock is all yours.” You cut him off, not entirely convinced by either of them.

“No luck on the apartment hunt?” Touya finally pipes down once you’ve mentioned your sleeping bag. He disguises it well, but some remnants of concern still slip through in his voice.

“Not in this area.” Shouto shakes his head.

“Not even studios? I mean by the look of it y’all have no problem sharing a bed.” Touya smirks, his teasing lilt creeping back in.

“Touya, can you not?” You frown, warning him to knock it off.

A faint wave of heat hits your side for a brief second before disappearing completely. You turn toward it but you’re met with nothing, just Shouto scratching lightly at his left arm. The poor guy must’ve got some bug bites last night.

“Hey, Touya…” Hawks quietly calls out to the blue flame user.

Touya turns to look at the winged man and seems to immediately recognize the look in his eyes. They proceed to have a back and forth exclusively through eye contact and unreadable facial expressions for about a minute long before Touya rolls his eyes and concedes.

He grumbles something about the blond's ‘bleeding heart’ then gestures to his feathered roommate(?) to go ahead, to which Hawks mouths a quick ‘thank you’ before turning to you and Shouto.

“You guys can come live with us while you look!” He chirps a little too excitedly, before reeling it back. “If you want to, of course. We have a spare bedroom and an office that we rarely use, and it’s only five minutes from here.”

Five minutes of commute is a dream. You’d be sad to part with Fuyumi’s cooking, but some extra hours of sleep every night sounds downright heavenly. You’d be foolish to refuse.

You look over to Shouto. “I’m down, you?” 

“Likewise.” He nods, mind already made up since the moment you perked up at Hawks’ offer.

“Well, you’d better be.” Touya looks up from his phone. “Cause I already told my assistant to print some spare keys.”

* * * * *

Patrol is surprisingly slow today. Even evil is somewhat thwarted by inclement weather, you think. The rain spell has been unkind, thunder haunting the heavy grey sky above. You opt to walk, not taking the chance with the stray bolts that stretch the heavens every few minutes or so. You’ve been zapped by Denki before, while he was doing a Thor bit, and you’re not in a rush to experience it again.

The hood of your costume is waterproof, but it doesn’t help much since the frigid and earthy droplets of rain are coming from all directions, hitting your face like toy gun pellets and leaving a sheen of dripping water on your hair.

Step by soggy step, you trudge through the unusually barren streets. There’s only two minutes left on the clock when you hear the sound of water rushing gets louder and louder. You press forward, until you literally can’t hear anything else.

The man made waterfall at the entrance of the Memorial Park greets you, in all its deafening glory. You heard it was supposed to represent the flow of time as people move forward, or something like that. The flow of time seems obscenely intrusive, you think.

You head into the park, and you realize this is the first time you’ve stepped foot in here. Usually you would observe it from above, the long rows of dark granite looking like dots as you pass by. But now that you’re here, the maze of stone columns dwarf you, standing at least eight feet high. Rows and rows of letters are etched onto them, spelling out what must be millions of names in alphabetical order.

Names of those who disappeared during the Blip.

You carefully scale the letters, searching. People must have started coming here and crossing their name out, as you find multiple names with different levels of chicken scratch lines over them. Withering bouquets lay along the path, water pooling on their plastic wrapping.

All of the sudden, the rain stops pelting you, as the shadow of an umbrella appears above your head. Turning to find its owner, you come face to face with a pair of crimson eyes.

“It’s over there.” He tilts his head toward the north side of the park, and starts walking. You wordlessly follow.

You fall into steps with the man you’ve been trying to avoid for the past couple of months, and you mentally clutch your wound, praying it doesn’t reopen.

Katsuki is wearing civilian clothes, simple joggers and a plain tee shirt and some rain boots. On the hand he’s holding the umbrella with, a silver band decorates his ring finger. You have to physically tear your eyes from the sight.

He traverses the maze of stone like a seasoned navigator, knowing exactly where to turn and how many steps to take. Soon enough, you both stop in front of what you’re looking for. 

It doesn’t take you long to find your name. It’s at eye level, and you feel like it’s staring right back at you. Katsuki too, is peering at you through the faint reflection on the stone.

“I um…” He clears his throat. “I can find you a rock, or something. So you can scratch it out.”

“You’re encouraging vandalism now?” You look back at him through the reflection and joke, though it’s humorless.

“It’s a grave for the living.” He shrugs. “’s lost its meaning.”

“You know, the last time someone was talking in symbolism, you gave them shit for it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before saying. “That was five years ago.”

Upon hearing his reply, you turn to look at him. Not through a grainy or blurry reflection. Not distorted by relief or rage or frustration. Truly, truly look at him this time.

The silhouette of the Katsuki you know is still firmly there, but like colors that bleed over the line, there are parts you no longer recognize. You’re reminded again that five years of layers have been added to the puzzle that is Katsuki, the puzzle you had a hand in breaking apart.

Did he heal alone? Or did his new lover help put the pieces back together?

You watch the fissure between you and him grow wider, and you desperately want to latch on to the other side and hold it close.

But you can’t. You’re too late. You’d fall into the crack if you keep trying to hold on.

“I think I’ll leave it be for now.” You turn your gaze back to the letters in front of you.

It’s a grave after all, and some parts of you did die. Perhaps when you’re not in mourning anymore, you’ll come back and scrape it away from existence.

Perhaps one day.

[mieanme]

I had a Hualian brainrot that I wanna turn into a comic in the near future, but I'm hella slow, so bear with me, HOWEVER, here's the idea:

Merman x Siren au

Those who know me - you probably saw that coming.

BUT hear me out!

Xie Lian is a merman (yeah, no shot, no-one expected that), he lives in a huge pod with hierarchy and social roles as hunters, gathers, nursery guardians, etc. He's still an outcast though - he's the only one among countless merpeople in their society that has snow-white scales. He also wasn't born in their pod, he was rescued from an orca attack by two merkids aspiring to become hunters (Feng Xin & Mu Qing) at a very young age, so no-one knew where he really came from.

The Emperor of the pod let him stay though, so how could anyone argue, right?

Years pass, Xie Lian tries to fit in. It's been difficult, but he's not the one to give up, always kind and gentle to fellow mers and creatures of the ocean. He's not allowed near merkids, even if he would love to be a nursery guardian, because others believe he brings misfortune; he didn't manage to become a hunter, because his unusual white tail is visible from ten miles away, not a fit to not alarm the prey at all; no-one wanted to eat or use anything he gathered, because no-one trusted him, so eventually he settled on collecting and discarding trash from the various areas of the pod's territory. This way somehow he's able to contribute to the pod's life and secure his meals.

He lives like that for a good couple of years, until one day at an emergency gathering of the pod, it is announced three mers have caught a strange disease - one that could be cured only by a very specific type of algae. If not provided the medicine, the mers would not only die, but also spread the illness to others.

What's the problem, let's go and grab that algae, right?

The point is, the algae grows only in almost complete darkness, within the depths of oceanic trenches. And the nearest trench falls into the territory of a Siren.

And not just a siren. This siren everyone knows and loves to call all kinds of nicknames, the most popular being: cruel disgusting monster.

Mers always feared sirens, because, on the contrary to the merpeople, they resemble reptiles more than fish or humans. They usually live on their own, gather only for the mating season and even then they often pick fights with each other. Their territories are sometimes equal or almost as big as those of merpeople; how does one even manage to patrol such a huge area?

However, the most terrifying thing about sirens is that they don't hesitate to feed on even their own kin - not to mention humans or mers. Feral beasts, as most merpeople would address them.

This particular siren was even worse. No-one even knows what the monster looks like, because whoever crossed paths with it, hasn't come back alive. It's been expanding its territory for years, slowly swollowing the remaining unclaimed area between its own teritory and that belonging to the pod. Who knew what would happen if they would have to fight to defend their borders? Would they even stand a chance against that beast?

Venturing into its territory was not an option.

But there's no other trench anyone knows of. So, was it a death sentence for the pod?

Not on Xie Lian's watch.

***

Wooohooo, that's it for now, if you wanna know more or you think it's a good idea, lemme know!!

PART II

[salt-clangen]

Moon 13

New leaf

A/N: gonna make a separate post for the new leaf festival

“Let all cats old enough to swim gather for a clan meeting!” Wolfstar’s voice rang out from her perch atop the rocks, clear and steady against the crash of distant waves.

Cats began to filter in, their movements purposeful yet calm. Lynxdawn emerged from her den, her steps measured and reluctant. Instead of leaping to her usual spot, she lingered near the back, her blue eyes sharp and watchful.

The clan seemed to hum with anticipation. Snowspeckle had been grooming Ripplekit and Otterkit since dawn, her usual playfulness tempered with pride. The kits sat between their parents, their eyes wide as the moment they’d been waiting for finally arrived. It was still strange for them to see Nightleap and Snowspeckle side by side, but for today, that didn’t matter.

Ripplekit’s tail flicked impatiently, while Otterkit’s paws kneaded the sand. Both struggled to keep still.

Wolfstar’s voice carried across the gathered cats. “Ripplekit, Otterkit, you’ve reached the age of six moons, and it’s time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your full names, you will be known as Ripplepaw and Otterpaw.”

A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as the two kits puffed up with pride.

“I understand you both have chosen the path of warriors. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Wolfstar!” Ripplepaw chirped.

“Yeah!” Otterpaw’s voice cracked with excitement.

“Otterpaw, your mentor will be Shadowdive. Ripplepaw, I will be your mentor.”

Gasps of surprise rippled through the gathered cats as Wolfstar’s words settled. Ripplepaw’s eyes sparkled with a mix of awe and determination.

Wolfstar turned her gaze to Shadowdive, her voice steady. “Shadowdive, you are ready for an apprentice. You’ve proven yourself to be loyal and relentless. I expect you to pass on all your knowledge to Otterpaw.”

Shadowdive dipped his head respectfully before stepping forward to meet his new apprentice. Otterpaw bounded up with such enthusiasm that their noses nearly bumped too hard. Shadowdive chuckled softly, his dark tail brushing Otterpaw’s shoulder in reassurance as they sat together.

Wolfstar leapt gracefully from her perch, landing lightly in the sand before Ripplepaw. She lowered her head, meeting his eager gaze as they touched noses. His energy buzzed like a spark ready to ignite, and she felt a flicker of pride.

The clan erupted in cheers, their voices harmonizing with the crash of the sea.

“Ripplepaw! Otterpaw! Ripplepaw! Otterpaw!”

Wolfstar raised her tail, dismissing the meeting as the apprentices joined their mentors. She lingered for a moment, watching Ripplepaw’s tail sway with excitement and Otterpaw’s laughter as he pounced playfully after Shadowdive.

The future of SaltClan shimmered like sunlight on the waves, but beneath it all, the weight of what was to come still lingered.

Wolfstar led Ripplepaw to the small field just north of camp for their first patrol. They’d gone over hunting stances and basic stalking techniques earlier, but now it was time to put them into practice.

“Move like me,” she signed, the blustering winds making it hard for Ripplepaw to hear even on his good side. He nodded eagerly.

Crouching, she demonstrated a proper stalking stance, watching closely as Ripplepaw mimicked her movements. With a flick of her tail, she made small adjustments, nudging his paws and shoulders into position. Satisfied, she picked up a leaf and set it a few paces away.

“Pounce,” she signed.

Ripplepaw leaned back on his haunches, shifting lightly as he crept closer. His eyes gleamed with focus as he launched himself forward, landing squarely on the leaf with a satisfying crunch.

“Good,” she signed with enthusiasm. “Pounce good for small things.”

After a few more practice leaps, they moved toward the border. Ripplepaw followed her lead, moving carefully through the tall grass. Wolfstar paused, her tail lifting as she scented the air.

“Mouse,” she signed, but Ripplepaw’s ears were already pricked, his eyes alight with excitement.

He crept forward, silent and deliberate. Wolfstar hung back, letting him take the lead. Just as he pounced, the mouse darted away, vanishing into the grass. Ripplepaw let out a frustrated grunt.

“It’s okay,” she signed reassuringly, but he shook his head.

“No, it’s not,” he signed back, his pout unmistakable.

Wolfstar rolled her eyes playfully and led him further east. By the end of their patrol, Ripplepaw hadn’t caught any prey, his growing frustration leading to clumsy mistakes.

“Alright,” Wolfstar said as the sun reached its peak, her voice loud enough to cut through the softening wind. “Let’s head back to camp.”

“What?” Ripplepaw squeaked, spinning to face her. “We can’t go back until I catch something!”

“That’s not how it works,” she said gently. “You’re not going to catch something on every patrol, especially at first. Hunting takes practice, and failure’s part of the process.”

Ripplepaw huffed, his tail lashing.

“Besides,” she added, “when we’re frustrated, we make more mistakes. Let’s go back, do some stretches to calm the spirit, and take a nap.”

Ripplepaw hesitated but finally nodded. “Can we come back out after?”

Wolfstar smiled. “We can, but we’ll be gathering firewood. We can try hunting along the way, though. I promise.”

Ripplepaw’s steps grew lighter. “Can I lead the way back?”

“Sure, dear,” she said, following him, silently hoping he remembered the route.

Meanwhile, Otterpaw followed Shadowdive west to the river’s end, carrying a small basket. His eyes shone with excitement for his first patrol.

“The water moves fast here, so we’ll cross where it’s shallow,” Shadowdive said, pointing to a calm stretch. “This is where the east river meets the sea. The river’s fresh water, but the sea is salt water. Together, they make this brackish, silty water.”

“Can we drink it?” Otterpaw asked.

“Try it and see.”

Otterpaw lapped at the water and immediately spat it out. “Eugh!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty gross,” Shadowdive laughed, wading into the shallows.

Otterpaw splashed after him, bumping playfully against his side. “You meanie!”

They crossed together, their laughter carried by the breeze.

When they reached the tide pools, Shadowdive perched on a black rock. “These pools are where we scavenge. Stick to clams and fish. The spiky purple things are urchins—they sting and it hurts. The orange ones are starfish. Not edible.”

Otterpaw listened intently as they started gathering clams, gently prying them free and plopping them into their baskets. Shadowdive demonstrated how to snag fish trapped in the pools, and Otterpaw eagerly followed his lead. After a few failed attempts, he caught two fish, his mentor handling the rest.

Once the pools were cleared, Otterpaw eagerly jumped into the ocean water. He’d practiced swimming in camp pools and with his mother before leaf-bare, and his legs remembered the motions. He paddled in circles before diving under the water, his tail cutting through the surface.

Shadowdive joined him in the shallow waves. The water rocked them with its rhythm, but Otterpaw kept his head above water and even managed a few short dives.

They practiced until sunhigh, the young apprentice exhausted but glowing with pride. When they returned to camp, Otterpaw rushed ahead to show off his haul.

“Look!” he chirped, setting his clams and fish before his mother and Wolfstar. “I caught two fish and a bunch of clams!”

“Very good, honey,” Snowspeckle said, licking his head affectionately.

“Well done, Otterpaw,” Wolfstar added. “Would you like to join me and Ripplepaw for some stretches before a nap?”

Despite his aching limbs, Otterpaw nodded eagerly. He didn’t want to miss a chance to learn from the clan leader.

Later, as they settled into their nests, Otterpaw noticed Ripplepaw’s unusual quiet. “So, did you do anything cool on your patrol?” he asked.

Ripplepaw stayed silent for a moment, his nose pressed to his paws. “It was fine. We went on a border patrol,” he mumbled.

“Oh, did you hunt?” Otterpaw asked.

Ripplepaw sighed. “Yeah, a little.”

Otterpaw didn’t press further, figuring his brother was tired. The den fell quiet as they both drifted into sleep.

After sunset, Snowspeckle approached the cleric’s den, a bundle of leaves held delicately in her jaws. At the entrance, she cleared her throat softly.

Lynxdawn turned, her fur slightly ruffled with surprise. “Snow? What are you doing here?”

Snowspeckle blinked warmly, setting down the leaves. “I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?” Lynxdawn leaned forward, her curiosity piqued as she nosed through the bundle. “Basil and mallow leaves? These seem more like something Mallowstripe would need.”

“They’re not for him,” Snowspeckle said with a light laugh. “They’re for you—to decorate your pelt.”

Lynxdawn blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

The white molly nodded, her voice bright with cheer. “I realized, with everything that happened during your graduation, I hadn’t given you anything to celebrate.”

Lynxdawn stilled, her breath catching in her throat. The memory of her ceremony felt so muddied by arguments and tense glances that she’d barely thought of it as a milestone, let alone something worth celebrating.

“Here, let me weave them into your fur,” Snowspeckle offered, already settling down behind her. “Your coat’s lovely—perfect for braiding.” Her tone was casual, as if they were sharing a simple moment, but there was a distinct tenderness in her touch as she began working the leaves into Lynxdawn’s tail.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” Snowspeckle continued, her voice warm and melodic, “but Wolfstar suggested basil and mallow. She said they’re wards of protection and healing. Personally, I just think their scent suits you.”

Lynxdawn let the gentle chatter wash over her, filling the quiet of the den with familiarity. Her body relaxed under Snowspeckle’s soothing movements, the fresh aroma of basil mingling with the light warmth of the molly’s breath.

“There, all done,” Snowspeckle said, stepping back. The warmth of her presence ebbed slightly, leaving a pleasant tingle behind.

Lynxdawn glanced over her tail, where the neatly woven leaves shimmered faintly in the dim light. A sprig of basil rested behind her ear, the fragrance grounding her in the moment. She turned her gaze to Snowspeckle, her heart swelling.

“Thank you, Snow,” she said softly, her voice carrying more weight than she intended. “I love it.”

Fennelheart’s condition was worsening. His tail throbbed with heat, yellow pus oozing from the infected wound. As if that weren’t enough, he’d developed greencough, his breathing ragged and his hacking cough relentless despite the new leaf weather.

“Drink this.” Lynxdawn passed him a bowl of herbal tea, the faint aroma of catmint and mullein wafting up. Next she passed him some

“Thanks,” he rasped, his voice rough and strained. Lynxdawn grimaced, mentally noting to add more honey to his next dose.

She turned, letting the moss and pelt curtain fall back into place, and nearly jumped when a voice spoke behind her.

“How is he?”

Mallowstripe stood to her left, his golden eyes cautious. He took a step back, nervously flicking his tail when she startled.

“He’s…” Lynxdawn hesitated, glancing back at the curtain as another raspy cough rattled from within. “He’s stable,” she said, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty.

Mallowstripe nodded, his face somber. “I see.” He hesitated, then fell into step beside her as she headed toward her den. “I’ll start this evening’s meal. Do you have any requests for him?”

She paused, considering. “Something soft and hydrating. His appetite’s been low, so maybe a bit of clams to tempt him.” She began pulling down bowls and a pestle, her paws moving with practiced precision.

“I’ll make sure it’s suitable,” Mallowstripe replied, shuffling his paws awkwardly when he realized she wasn’t looking at him.

Lynxdawn gathered horsetail, marigold, and goldenrod, her mind already on the poultice she needed to prepare. She glanced back when Mallowstripe lingered, still rooted in place.

“Thank you,” she said curtly, her voice carrying a note of dismissal.

Mallowstripe shifted again, glancing toward the camp’s empty clearing before looking back at her. “Do you… need anything else?”

Her tail flicked in irritation. “What is it, Mallowstripe?”

He jumped slightly, his golden eyes wide. “Just… how have you been?”

Lynxdawn froze for a moment before setting her tools down with a deliberate thud. “Fine,” she growled, her hackles rising. “Aside from the fact that my entire life has been a lie.”

Mallowstripe’s ears twitched, but his voice remained soft. “Has it, though? Hasn’t she loved and cared for you? Was all that a lie?”

Lynxdawn whirled on him, claws digging into the sandy ground. “Maybe it was!” she snapped. “How would I know?”

Mallowstripe flinched, his golden eyes darkening as his face fell. The scar across his face seemed to deepen in the low light. “That’s not true, and you know it,” he said quietly. “You can be angry, Lynxdawn, but don’t be cruel.”

Before she could respond, he turned and padded away, his tail low but steady.

Lynxdawn stood frozen, her chest heaving with the remnants of her anger. She glared at the den entrance, but the sharp edges of her fury began to dull.

With a sharp exhale, she turned back to her tools, grinding the herbs with more force than necessary. Her paw slipped, and the pestle slammed into her toe.

“Fuck!” she hissed, jerking back and cradling her paw as pain throbbed through it. Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she sat in the silence, her chest aching with more than just the sting in her paw.

Most of the leaf-bare snow had melted, leaving the camp and much of the territory a soggy, muddy mess. Daily tasks became a battle against the sticky earth, and no cat escaped without a pelt caked in grime.

But the rain and mud brought gifts, too—new shoots and sprouting herbs. Herbal patrols had grown fruitful once more, though Lynxdawn took to them alone. Her swirling thoughts made for constant, if not comforting, company.

This morning was bright and clear as she padded toward the abandoned nest, searching for dandelions and chamomile.

Wolfstar had warned the clan about visiting the nest alone, given the rising tension with DuskClan. But Lynxdawn didn’t want an escort. She was a cleric; she could go where she pleased.

Her confidence wavered as she arrived and heard faint, unfamiliar sounds on the wind. Her hackles rose as she crept closer, sticking to the treeline.

The sounds grew clearer—tiny mewls.

Heart pounding, she rushed forward and froze at the sight of four small kits nestled beneath a fallen branch, their bright eyes blinking up at her. The smallest one wobbled to her paws, her tiny frame trembling, while the others huddled close behind.

Lynxdawn’s gaze darted around. Surely their mother was nearby. Circling the area, she scented the air and soon stumbled across the queen’s body. The lifeless form startled her, and she crouched cautiously, her breath catching. A quick check confirmed the inevitable—the queen was cold, her ribs sharp against her thin pelt. Starvation, Lynxdawn concluded grimly.

She returned to the kits, crouching a few tail-lengths away. “Hi, my name is Lynxdawn,” she said softly.

“Wynx-don,” the eldest, a brown tabby, repeated in a small, trembling voice.

“That’s right. I’m a friendly cat.” Lynxdawn smiled, blinking slowly. “Are you friendly cats too?”

The littlest kit, a sandy-colored molly, raised her tail and stepped forward. “Yea!”

“Just you? Or all of you?” Lynxdawn teased gently, her smile widening.

A fluffy gray molly tottered forward, beaming. “Me! Me!”

Lynxdawn chuckled and looked expectantly at the last two. Twin tabbies—one gray, one brown.

The gray one didn’t move closer but offered a timid smile. “Yes, me.”

Her sister stayed rooted, wide-eyed, and only nodded.

“Since we’re all friendly, why don’t you come with me?” Lynxdawn coaxed, her voice light. “I live with some other friendly cats who’d love to meet you.”

“But mama?” the brown tabby whispered, glancing back at the fallen branch.

Lynxdawn’s heart ached. “Let’s meet my friends first, and I’ll come back to take care of her, okay? You four must be hungry. We have some fish waiting for you.”

The kits seemed uncertain but followed her, their tiny paws splashing through the mud.

When they reached camp, gasps rose as the clan gathered, eyes wide with surprise.

“Lynxdawn!” Wolfstar called, striding from her den, her steps lighter than they’d been in days. Her gaze softened as it fell on the kits. “Who are these little ones? Where’s their mother?”

Lynxdawn stepped aside as Snowspeckle and Nightleap approached to soothe the kits with soft murmurs. Lowering her voice, Lynxdawn replied, “I found them at the abandoned nest. Their mother… she didn’t survive. Likely starvation.”

Wolfstar’s eyes darkened. “Poor things. It’s good you brought them here—they wouldn’t have lasted long on their own.”

“I’ll need to return to retrieve her body,” Lynxdawn said firmly. “She deserves a proper burial.”

Wolfstar hesitated, then nodded. “No, you stay. The kits trust you. I’ll take Shadowdive, and we’ll make sure she’s laid to rest.”

Lynxdawn started to argue but thought better of it, nodding stiffly. “Thank you.”

Wolfstar approached the kits, lowering herself to their level. “Hello! I’m Wolfstar, the leader of this clan. Lynxdawn tells me you’re her friends.”

The sandy-colored kit’s tail fluffed with excitement. “Wooftar!”

Wolfstar chuckled, her warm gaze shifting to the others. The two gray kits lingered close, curious but quiet, while the brown tabby cast nervous glances at the crowd.

“Do you have names?” Snowspeckle asked gently.

The brown tabby shook her head, her siblings too distracted to answer.

Wolfstar straightened, addressing the clan. “Someone will need to care for them.”

“I will,” Lynxdawn said, stepping forward as the gray tabby kit rubbed against her leg with a soft purr.

“But mama?” the brown tabby asked again, her voice trembling.

“She won’t be joining us,” Lynxdawn murmured, crouching to meet the kit’s wide eyes. “But my friend Wolfstar will make sure she’s taken care of. Okay?”

The kit hesitated, then nodded, trust slowly forming.

“They’ll need names,” Shadowdive said.

Lynxdawn smiled, gesturing to each in turn. “You’ll be Sandkit,” she said, nodding to the sandy-colored molly, who beamed and repeated her name with a delighted cheer. “And you’ll be Kelpkit.” She touched her nose to the gray tabby. “You’ll be Coralkit,” she said to the fluffy gray molly. “And you’ll be Dropletkit,” she finished, pointing to the brown tabby.

The clan chuckled as Sandkit bounded around, chanting her name. Lynxdawn’s chest tightened, her grief for the mother momentarily eased by the sight of new life among them.

It was nearly nightfall when Wolfstar and Shadowdive returned from the burial. They had taken their time deciding where the unnamed molly should be laid to rest. Eventually, they settled on the cliffs east of the camp and south of the twoleg nest, where the ground overlooked the vast, churning sea.

“Funny how the first burial of our clan isn’t even one of our members.” Shadowdive said, his voice quiet and reflective as they neared camp.

Wolfstar let her tail brush against his flank as she passed him. “Funny isn’t the word I’d use,” she murmured, a teasing lilt softening her tone.

He snorted lightly and nipped playfully at her tail, earning a surprised yelp. She swatted him gently in return. The clearing lay still before them, the rest of the clan already tucked away for the night.

Their laughter mingled in the quiet, and they walked shoulder to shoulder, their shared warmth a comfort against the cool breeze. Shadowdive pressed his head against hers, his touch fond and familiar. “So, do you want me to join your nest tonight?” he asked softly.

“That’d be nice,” she purred.

“Careful, the clan might start to suspect something’s going on between you two,” Lynxdawn’s voice cut through the moment, light and teasing. She approached with a playful smirk, her paw steps lighter than they’d been in days.

Wolfstar pulled back, glancing over at her cleric with an amused flick of her ears. “Not the worst thing that could happen,” she replied, nudging Shadowdive’s side.

He smiled, his green eyes fixed solely on her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wolfstar purred again.

Lynxdawn coughed awkwardly, breaking the moment. “If you’re done, can I have a moment with Wolfstar?”

Shadowdive nodded once, glancing between the two before striding off toward the leader’s den. With his departure, the air between Lynxdawn and Wolfstar shifted, growing heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Lynxdawn motioned toward her den, waiting until they were both seated before she spoke. “I, uh, well, Mallowstripe saved you some dinner. Roasted fish wrapped in seaweed. I kept it warm here for you.” She nodded toward a lidded pot resting on dying embers.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Wolfstar’s smile was genuine but tinged with curiosity. She didn’t move for the pot, clearly waiting for what Lynxdawn truly wanted to say.

“How was the burial?” Lynxdawn asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“It was… strange,” Wolfstar admitted, her gaze drifting. “I’ve never buried anyone before. I’ve shared tongues with a fallen clanmate once, but this felt different.” Her voice grew quieter, thoughtful. “We buried her on the eastern cliffs overlooking the ocean. It’s a peaceful spot—a good place for the clan’s fallen.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Lynxdawn chuckled nervously. “I guess I never thought about a clan graveyard before.”

Wolfstar stayed quiet, her sharp eyes fixed on her paws, waiting patiently.

Lynxdawn cleared her throat again, forcing the words out. “The kits asked where their mom was a few times. I told them she couldn’t stay. That seemed to help.”

“They’re young. It’s hard to explain,” Wolfstar agreed, nodding slowly.

“I get it,” Lynxdawn whispered.

Wolfstar’s head tilted, her eyes snapping up to meet Lynxdawn’s. “What?”

“I… I get it,” Lynxdawn repeated, her voice steady though her gaze wavered. “You know? I get why you didn’t tell me.” She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “I can’t bear the thought of telling those kits their mom is dead and never coming back.”

Wolfstar’s breath hitched, but she said nothing, letting Lynxdawn find her words.

“I can’t imagine how hard it was for you,” Lynxdawn continued, her voice cracking. “Alone and barely a -paw. I get why you didn’t tell me. I mean, I can barely lie to them, and what you kept secret was way worse.”

“It was… tough,” Wolfstar admitted, her voice low. “But it’s not an excuse. I should’ve told you when you were old enough to understand, but…” She sighed deeply. “Shit, it snowballed out of control.”

Wolfstar reached out, placing a paw gently over Lynxdawn’s. They leaned in, pressing their foreheads together in a moment of quiet understanding.

“No… it’s not,” Lynxdawn murmured. “But I understand better now. And I forgive you. Like, really, truly.” A few tears slipped down her cheeks, but her voice held steady.

They stayed like that for a while, swaying gently together, their shared purring a soft counterpoint to their unspoken grief.

Finally, Wolfstar leaned back, her eyes warm. “Come on. How about you join me and Shadowdive for a late meal?”

Lynxdawn smiled, a genuine, wide smile, but shook her head. “I’d love to, but I have a nest of kits in the nursery waiting for me.” She laughed softly, her heart a little lighter.

Cat Allegiances:

Wolfstar- 19 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Natural intuition. Apprentice- Ripplepaw.

Lynxdawn- 14 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Loving. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 30 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Playful. Good singer.

Nightleap- 34 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner.

Mallowstripe- 20 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer.

Fennelheart- 19 moons. Warrior. Charismatic. Playful. Good hunter. Conditions: frost bitten tail. Green cough.

Shadowdive- 18 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Good swimmer. Apprentice- Otterpaw.

Ripplekit→Ripplepaw - 6 moons. Warrior apprentice. Bossy. Fearless. Never sits still. Mentor- Wolfstar.

Otterkit→Otterpaw - 6 moons. Warrior apprentice. Attention seeker. Bouncy. Splashes in puddles. Mentor- Shadowdive.

Dropletkit- 1 moon. Skittish. Shy. Interested in clan history.

Kelpkit- 1 moon. Charming. Quiet. Plays in mud.

Coralkit- 1 moon. Noisy. Bossy. Never sits still.

Sandkit- 1 moon. Impulsive. Noisy. Moss ball hunter.

Next

Prev

Moon 0

[ckret2]

Above: Bill showing off the messed up things he can make the Nightmare Realm do.

Below: Bill literally an hour later.

Here, have a fic. In which the gods try to figure out what to do about the new omnicidal chaos god who would rather destroy reality than politely exit Dimension Zero so they can arrest him for burning down multiple dimensions.

This is part 7 of a ???9-ish??? part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and then getting repeatedly slapped in the face with all the atrocities Bill's committed. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, five, and six.

####

There was fresh fear amongst the many gods crowded around the site where Dimension 2 Delta had once stood.

The perimeter around Dimension Zero's turbulent border had pulled back dramatically, leaving a barren no man's land between the police cordon and the triangle's territory.

The fires in the 1D and 2D universes, for a moment so close to doused, had returned with a vengeance—and by the sound of some chatter amongst the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force agents, they suspected it was a literal vengeance. The storm cloud heading the ATTF operations had needed to personally visit the burning dimensions again—see which previously contained fires had reignited or jumped their firelines, and see which new fires had broken out so that it could redistribute the available firefighting forces appropriately.

The Time Giant had gone along to inspect the damage and figure out which dimensions could be repaired—provided they ever stopped the fires—and which would ultimately needed to be rebuilt.

And anyone who wasn't actively engaged in trying to control the fires was still trying to process the newest crisis: the leader of the mortals who'd fallen into Dimension Zero wasn't a fellow mortal victim, but an out-of-control new god with the power to move and burn entire universes who didn't seem to understand that he was about to destroy all of reality, himself included.

VENDOR had finally run out of excuses to avoid the media, and was now reluctantly holding an impromptu press conference with the reporters on the scene—and THEY looked so miserable the Axolotl nearly felt bad for THEM. He overheard THEM blurt out, probably far louder than intended, "I will not be remembered as the god who was in charge of the emergency response efforts that got the entire multiverse destroyed!" and he wondered whether VENDOR remembered either that THEY weren't in charge or that, if the multiverse were destroyed, THEY wouldn't be remembered at all. No one would be.

From the conversations he overheard, the Axolotl got the impression that no one, even the most senior ATTF agents on the scene, had ever dealt with a threat to the multiverse this dire. No one knew what to do about the triangle—least of all the Axolotl, who was only here because everybody still hadn't realized that he wasn't supposed to be.

So while everyone else was arguing, privately panicking, or actually doing something useful, he was floating at the cordon holding people away from Dimension Zero.

####

There were a few stars and rocky bodies on the wrong side of the cordon. The triangle's sun—the star that had once shone down on his 2D world before it burned down (before he burned it down)—was still out there. Once again, it was falling toward Dimension Zero.

He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then swooped under the cordon, scooped up the sun, and carried it back to the safe zone. He opened a portal to his tank, slid the star inside, then shook out his forefeet and inspected the burns on the soft skin. He'd been playing with a lot of fire today.

"Axolotl!"

The Axolotl looked up. He wasn't surprised by the familiar sight of his Oracle's soul emerging from the aether—she'd already come by once—but he was frustrated by it. One more person he had to protect in this mess.

"Something happened—"

"I know." He quickly curled around her, doing his best to shield her from the other gods in case any of the nearby arguments escalated—or the triangle decided to lash out at the third dimension again. "You shouldn't be here now. It isn't safe."

Of course, she ignored him. She wouldn't be the kind of person he picked as one of his Oracles if she weren't the kind of person who ignored gods' warnings. "Our seers heard the whole sky scream in pain, and then saw a vast eye—"

"Over there." He lifted his tail out of the way just enough to let her see the border of Dimension Zero.

No matter where you looked at Dimension Zero, that golden fleck of light seemed to twinkle in the center of your field of vision. The Oracle squinted. "The little flat yellow creature?"

"He was bigger earlier."

"What happened?"

"A showdown with the cops."

The Oracle paused as she tried to reconcile that with the seers' apocalyptic vision. "Who won?"

"He did."

"Good." And she wouldn't have been the kind of person the Axolotl picked for his Oracles if she didn't say that, either.

On most days, he'd agree with her. But after seeing what the triangle could do—knowing what he would do... The cops weren't the answer, but he had to be stopped somehow.

(He could feel the triangle's eye on them. Was he listening to them now?)

"He's shaped like a triangle. Is he connected to the blind seer's final vision?"

The seer who'd seen the sky burn and collapse into a blinding triangular light. "He is. He's the last survivor of the first dimension to burn. His people called him the Magister Mentium; he was a seer to his people, too." It tore the Axolotl's heart to say more than that—but he wouldn't mislead his Oracle. "Somehow, he started the fire."

Before the Oracle could ask him how, a faint voice yelled, "Hey!"

They turned toward Dimension Zero. The triangle was on the border, looking straight at them. He shouted again, "Hey! You with the pink freak!"

"What?"

"How many fingers do you have!"

She gave her four arms a puzzled look. "Twenty!"

"Wow!" The triangle sounded genuinely impressed. "What do you use 'em all for?!"

"Normal finger things?" She asked, "Why's your hat so skinny?"

"What hat?"

She paused. "Never mind!" She turned back to the Axolotl and whispered, "Is the hat part of his body?"

"I don't think so. He didn't have it the last time I saw him."

She kept trying to look at the triangle until the Axolotl curled around her to stop her staring. "That's the seer who's destroying universes?"

He wanted to make excuses for the triangle. He wanted to defend him. "Yes."

She was silent a moment before asking the question she'd really come for: "Is my world in danger?"

"Not yet. Not directly. But... if he isn't stopped, it eventually will be," the Axolotl said. "He's fallen into the center of the multiverse and is trying to build a kingdom there. If he fails, it will collapse and kill him; but if he succeeds, it will destabilize and kill all of reality."

"Wh—?!" She gave him a look of disbelief. "But—that doesn't make any sense! He loses either way!"

"I know."

"So why is he endangering everyone for nothing?!"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to find out."

"Wait—!"

The Oracle's astral projection could be very slippery when she wanted; she was already past the Axolotl and flying toward Dimension Zero. "Hey! Magister Mentium! I want a word with you!"

"Don't cross the border between dimensions!" The Axolotl clutched the police tape in both forefeet as he watched.

After five minutes of shouting and death threats, the Oracle flew back to the Axolotl.

"I think he's stupid," she said.

He smiled sadly. "I fear it's something much worse than that."

He had the skin-crawling feeling that the triangle was staring at him. He forced himself not to turn and find out for sure.

####

The Time Giant was the first to return from the frontlines of the fire. She joined the Axolotl next to the police tape, muttered something about needing to pick up some "stuff" from "a couple centuries ago," snapped out a length of time tape, and returned three seconds later in a different shirt with sleeves rolled up and carrying a folding table, a bundle of blueprints, and an energy drink. She unfolded the table in the void, spread out her blueprints on it, chugged her drink, hunched over the table, and ignored the rest of the universe.

The Oracle gazed up at the Time Giant and instantly fell in love. The Axolotl politely pretended he didn't notice.

VENDOR was the second to float over—slumped forward, lights dim, looking like THEY were returning from a war zone rather than a press conference. Heaving a weary sigh, THEY positioned THEMSELF next to the cordon with the Axolotl and Time Giant; which was the point at which the Axolotl realized he'd accidentally formed a club of people who didn't want to be in charge of this mess but were. "Any change?" 

The Time Giant grunted distractedly. The Axolotl said, "No." The Oracle said, "I accidentally taught the triangle an obscene gesture." 

VENDOR turned toward Dimension Zero.

The triangle sprouted two extra arms and gleefully pantomimed something filthy.

VENDOR turned away from Dimension Zero and sighed even more heavily.

When the storm cloud drifted over, VENDOR said, "Go away unless you have good news." The arrogance had drained out of THEIR voice; what little pomposity THEY had left was a thin mask over exhausted fear. (The Axolotl could sympathize; he felt the same dread weighing low in the pit of his stomach.)

Before the storm cloud had left to check on the other dimensions, it had still been hailing in fear; by now, it had whipped itself up into a furious blizzard. It had to stay back from the group to keep from freezing them too, and even at that frost still crept across VENDOR's glass and the Axolotl had to shield the Oracle from the cold. "Well," it said stiffly, trying to rein in its rage and sounding even colder as a consequence. "Almost all the new fires have already been contained. I'll say one thing for that—" It paused as it mentally glided over what was no doubt a long and creative list of insults, "—guy; at least he's making an effort to be more careful of where he kicks the neighboring dimensions so the damage doesn't spread as fast." It sighed a chilly, angry gust of wind. "Unfortunately, he's gotten more aggressive about kidnapping mortals from other dimensions. He's narrowed his focus, but he's kicking ten times harder."

"That wasn't very good good news," VENDOR whined.

"Sorry. Fresh out," the cloud said. "Fact is, if we don't stop him, we're toast."

Nobody was surprised by that. VENDOR asked, "How much time do we have?" THEY turned to the Time Giant.

While VENDOR had gotten pathetic and the cloud was seething with barely-restrained rage, the Time Giant had only grown more stoic. Her face was set in a stony mask; her jaw was tight enough that she could bite an airplane clean in half. Since she'd come back, she hadn't glanced up from the stack of blueprints she'd retrieved.

It took her a moment to realize the question was directed toward her. She jerked her head up as if ready to snap at whoever had interrupted her; but caught herself as she processed the question. "Uhh, pffff..." She squinted toward the horizon of time, face scrunched up to expose her teeth. "If we get the fires put out? Few years. Couple decades at the outside. Reckon it's more than enough time to jury rig something that'll keep reality propped up while we get in a construction crew to set up a new Big Bang, no problem."

The Axolotl whispered reassuringly to the Oracle, "A couple of decades to us is over a thousand of your people's generations."

"A couple of decades," VENDOR muttered, voice rough, a few stray moons rattling around behind THEIR product dispenser door. "This multiverse was built to last an eternity. To think it could be destabilized enough to collapse within a couple of decades, all because of one..." THEY fell silent. They could all feel the steady staring eye watching them from deep within Dimension Zero.

The cloud said, "And if he doesn't let us stop all the fires?"

She pursed her lips, brows knit tightly. "If the fires keep spreading and that triangle keeps destabilizing things, the whole thing could collapse in a week tops."

"That's still a few years for your people," the Axolotl told the Oracle optimistically.

She swatted his paw. "Aren't you powerful enough to, just—stop him? You're gods." They must have seemed undefeatable to her—living beings the size of mountains and vast world-moving machines and forces of nature. That was how the gods always looked to mortals.

But unfortunately, when you got right down to it, they weren't much more than weirdly big people.

VENDOR muttered, "Well, I don't have the authority to call in the kind of reinforcements that can take that thing down." (More cautious now that THEY realized this wasn't a threat THEY could effortlessly crush in THEIR gears, weren't THEY.)

The cloud said, "The Apocalyptic Threat Task Force can make that call in any situation that poses a credible threat to multiversal safety and security, but..." It asked the Axolotl and Time Giant, "Just how strong do you think he is?"

"Could be omnipotent," the Time Giant said. "Wouldn't be surprised."

The Axolotl reluctantly nodded in agreement. "He doesn't understand what he's doing yet, but he's already manipulating the fabric of reality with his bare hands."

VENDOR made a tiny noise like a malfunctioning motor at that.

Grimly, the cloud said, "I could put in a call to HQ. We have a few higher dimensional types on call. Creator gods and the like. They're probably the only ones who'd stand a chance against an omnipotent god that can make a whole universe do a barrel roll. But if we aren't sure we could win the fight, and fast..."

The assembled group of gods cast a nervous look at the gaping hole into Dimension Zero.

The triangle, smaller than one of the Axolotl's fingertips, stared back from the border. He solemnly spread his arms wide. "You wanna go? Come at me."

They did not want to go. They turned away.

"Bad idea," the Time Giant said. "If the laws of physics are unstable, even the strongest god wouldn't have an advantage. It'd be like putting the fastest sprinter in the multiverse on a racetrack without gravity. And since he's the one running the physics, he could practically hand himself a win."

"And on top of that, any fight down there risks knocking the multiverse down," the cloud said. "It's too dangerous. We can't risk attacking him."

"We'll just have to hope he doesn't attack us first," VENDOR muttered.

The Axolotl's stomach flipped. He knew something they didn't. "Actually, I... don't think he can."

All attention was on him. VENDOR said, "Please tell me you have some actual good news."

"I don't know." He wasn't sure whether it would make any difference. All he knew was that he felt like he was betraying the triangle. He lowered his voice to what for him passed as a whisper. "But, I think... I think his power is limited to the borders of his realm." As he said it, he knew he was telling the truth. Some beings got like that when they were old enough; they could just feel when something was right. "He can't impact anything that isn't touching his dimension. He's essentially harmless to the rest of the multiverse. The only real threat is... well." He gestured helplessly at the frothing chaos. "The fact that the dimension is like that."

Voice hushed, the cloud said slowly, "Hold on. So... he's trapped in the crawlspace beneath reality."

"No—he's trapped in the 'dream realm' he's built inside the crawlspace. He can drag the realm out with him, but... we saw what happens when he does that." They'd all heard how existence had howled in pain. They'd seen how even the triangle had been scared enough to stop.

"So we have no hope of fighting him in his bunker—but if we drag him across the threshold... the fight's over." THEY turned to the two cops THEY'd been leading around all day.

The crab and burning wheels tried very hard to look like they hadn't noticed the conversation at all. 

VENDOR and the cloud exchanged a frustrated glance. Sarcastically, the cloud muttered, "Yeah. Easy."

The Axolotl said, "I'm not even sure we can drag him out of his bunker. I don't know if he won't leave, or physically can't leave—just that his power stops at his borders."

VENDOR sighed, "So we're back where we started."

The Time Giant smacked her mess of blueprints, making the other gods start. "No we aren't! If his influence can't spread outside his dimension, then I've got a fix." She held up a thick binder. "It's a fiddly chrono-construction technique to shore up brittle dimensions. It can work as a stopgap measure to stop him from destabilizing any more dimensions." She looked at VENDOR. "It'll make a lot of extra work for the urban planning committee."

VENDOR's lights flickered off. The Axolotl could see the numbers on THEIR digital display as THEY slowly counted to ten. Then THEY turned their lights back on and said, with an air of forced calm, "All right. I don't think there is any getting out of this without extra work. Tell me the idea."

"Right now, all our dimensions are connected adjacent to each other—corner to corner and edge to edge. It's simple that way. But, if we restructure the dimensions parallel to each other, we can use the pressure of the outside dimensions to press in on the crawlspace and keep its contents in place. It's gonna be a mess. Forget about the Dimension 1, Dimension 2, Dimension 3 system we have right now; by the end of this we're gonna have Dimension 143 and Dimension M and Dimension 6.5 and Dimension -17 and imaginary number dimensions and quadratic dimensions..." She shrugged helplessly. "But if we can't get this bozo out, it might be our only option."

"Parallel universes? It sounds ridiculous." VENDOR let out a low moan of pain, "We'll have to restructure the whole multiverse."

"Yup. Probably."

"Everything's so nice and tidy now. A perfectly arranged planned community. Nice, straight, gridlike dimensions..."

"Parallel dimensions do have some potential benefits over adjacent dimensions," the Time Giant offered comfortingly. "Easier interdimensional travel—"

VENDOR grumbled, "Oh, I know, I know, Municipalitron's been pushing to experiment with parallel dimensions for the past two hundred billion years. He won't shut up about how it would benefit mass transit."

The cloud said, "All I care about is the multiverse surviving long enough to worry about mass transit."

The time giant said, "The biggest downside is that once we've completely closed up the crawlspace, when that dimension he's set up inevitably collapses, there's no easy way to get back all that energy and dark matter. If we ever decide to rip open a rift big enough to drain it out, it could take trillions of years if we don't want the flood to destroy the receiving universe. We might never clear out the rubble. But on the other hand, if it's sealed up well enough, it won't matter if the ruins are left to rot."

"What about the hostages?" the Axolotl asked. "Won't that trap everyone inside?"

"We'll have to leave manhole covers and maintenance shafts, obviously. Until the fabric of reality's finished unraveling, we'll have a chance to get them out," the Time Giant said. "Even that 'Magister' can leave if he decides to surrender himself. Assuming he's willing to leave his construction project behind."

If he could leave it.

VENDOR let a heavy whoosh out THEIR vents. "Balls. Very well, submit your proposal to the committee. I'll vouch for it. But I won't like it." THEY muttered, "Municipalitron's never going to let me live this down."

The storm aimed its sunbeam at the Time Giant. "Can't start construction as long as he's still starting fires and picking fights, though—can we? Unless you can build new dimensions on top of an active inferno?"

"N—Hold on." She squinted toward the future to check. "Nope. Though once I get down a fireproof foundation, we won't need to worry about it anymore. Got a trick called timeline splitting: you reformat a dimension so that the timelines fork infinitely, any time a choice is made. If he tries to burn 'em, they split: one timeline he burned and one he didn't. He'll just add more timelines and thicken the foundation every time he tries to attack the neighbors."

Horrified, VENDOR said, "I've been trying to pass an ordinance to ban timeline splitting for an eon."

"Has it passed yet?" the storm asked.

"No!"

"Great. Then that's our plan," the storm said. "We just need somebody to talk him down long enough to put out the fires and get the fireproof foundation in place." Its sunbeam turned toward the Time Giant. "Maybe if someone explains the stakes to him—?"

She shook her head, expression flat. "I'm a civil engineer, not a hostage negotiator. If he didn't get it the first time I laid it out to him, he ain't gonna get it the second time."

VENDOR asked the cloud, "Isn't the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force trained in talking down apocalyptic threats?"

"Yes, but no," the storm cloud said.

"What does that mean! Just... go up to that thing"—THEY tilted toward Dimension Zero—"and keep him calm."

"Are you kidding? I'm not suicidal!"

"This is your job, you're an apoc cop!"

"Apoc agent!" It raised its voice, "And talking down threats is not my speciality! I was sent because we thought this was a structural issue, not an actively malevolent entity!"

"Hey!" the triangle shouted. "Who are you calling malevolent?! Hey! Hey! Look me in the eye and say that again, I'll kick your base! I'm the most benevolent entity you've ever met!"

They wordlessly avoided eye contact with the triangle, scooted another solar system farther away from Dimension Zero, and lowered their voices again. 

The storm cloud asked VENDOR, "Shouldn't this be your department? We're dealing with the possible genesis of a new god, and his first act was destroying a dimension and destabilizing reality. Sounds like politics to me."

Delicately, the Axolotl said, "I don't think THEY're the best choice."

"I'm certainly not. I handle the urban planning committee's budgeting," VENDOR said. "I deal with accountants, not terrorists! The only reason I'm here is to provide planets for those flat refugees, and I am sick of being at every humanitarian crisis in the multiverse just because I vend planets—"

The Axolotl had taken all of VENDOR that he could. He rounded on THEM, snarling, "Why are you even in politics, if it's not to help mortals? Is that not why you accepted the title of 'god'?" He flared his gills and his eyes glowed in rage. "Because it's why I did! I wish there was more I could do to help! And you, you can do more than anyone, and you're complaining about it?!"

VENDOR jerked back from the Axolotl. For a moment, the whole group was stunned silent. The Axolotl's eyes stopped glowing. He had to fight the urge to shrink back self-consciously from their staring. His Oracle patted his side comfortingly.

And then VENDOR's lights brightened. "You know how to talk to mortals like that. This triangle is just like the omnicidal monsters you represent every day." THEIR camera whirred as THEY sized him up. "If you want to help more, then why don't you?"

Ah. The Axolotl paused to swallow his anger. 

He glanced down at his Oracle, who had been hiding in his shadow as she took notes and attempted to surreptitiously ogle the Time Giant. He said, "I think..."

She nodded. "I'll wake up." And then she faded out as her spirit sank back down to a lower plane.

The Axolotl tried to avoid looking at VENDOR—how could someone without a face look so smug?—and focused on the Time Giant. "What do you need me to get him to do?"

####

Biologically there was really no such thing as a god, in the same way that botanically there is really no such thing as a vegetable. Tomatoes are fruits; spinach is a leaf; carrots are roots; broccoli is an unfinished flower. The word "vegetable" just indicates the cultural role a plant performs in the kitchen.

The word "god" indicated the cultural role an entity performed in cosmology: a god was anything that people considered powerful enough to be worth worshiping.

A trillion trillion priests and philosophers and theologians and politicians had attempted to pin down a firm definition—but any definition was only ever valid to the worshipers who agreed it was right. The simple truth was that a being who had created a universe could be called a god, and a particularly impressive tree could be called a god, and a con artist who used clever stage magic to convince people he could teleport and raise the dead could be called a god, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to prove than any one of them "really" was or wasn't a god, no trait that universally separated the false gods from the true. If other gods thought you were a god, or if enough mortals worshiped you that the other gods had to bow to public pressure, that meant you were a god. 

Different beings honored with the title "god" handled it in different ways. Some, unsurprisingly, developed a god complex. Some picked up debilitating scrupulosity in an effort to be perfect enough to be worthy of their people's worship, and their people developed scrupulosity in an effort to live up to their god's perfect example, and so it went in a vicious cycle until somebody finally got therapy. Some printed their titles on the party invitation flyers they tossed out on busy streets. For the Axolotl's part, he thought it was a useful designation to help with networking, but mostly it was a pain that meant he was put up on a pedestal for doing his job.

The Axolotl was a god of justice. Not the god of justice, but one. He held dominion over an abstract concept; over millions and billions of years, his words and decisions slowly, inexorably altered the idea of "justice" on a multiversal scale. Mercy, retribution, punishment, rehabilitation, equity, equality, fairness, and righteousness were like multicolored clays he could twist, squish, sculpt, and blend in his wet little salamandrine grip, permanently altering what those ideas meant to the mortals they affected.

Which was to say: he was a lawyer.

He was also known as a god of rebirth. Which was to say: he specialized in afterlife law. Before going into law he'd only been a psychopomp, but after having to escort too many despairing souls to afterlives he felt were too severe for their sins, he'd decided he wanted a say in where he took his souls. For a while, he helped clients get their charges reduced so they were eligible for a higher-tier reincarnation, or got their purgatorial sentences reduced. Though for a long time he'd steered away from damnation cases. He didn't always win—and those ones were too depressing to lose.

And then he'd thought he should be doing more. It wasn't enough for him to help his clients get the best option available under the system to which they were subjected; he wanted to change the system. He'd started pursuing bigger cases.

Now, he had a reputation.

For the past few centuries, he'd been working on a damnation case. He was defending a supervillain who'd developed a weapon that could slice open the fabric of spacetime so severely it could rip clean into another dimension—a mortal who'd committed an interdimensional crime against reality. The villain had died in the jurisdiction of an afterlife that had legalized eternal damnation.

Case law had long established that, unless other arrangements had been made premortem, the dead were to be sent to—in order—the afterlife of their birth, their death, or their choice, provided that the afterlife in question accepted them; and that they would be judged and sentenced by that afterlife's laws.

But if this villain had been extradited to his home world, the heaviest sentence he could have faced was a thousand years purgatory with an option for early reincarnation for good behavior after a hundred years.

So the jurisdiction he'd died in had summoned up some bureaucratic red tape to dismiss his native afterlife's extradition request, and he'd been sentenced where he'd died. Crimes against reality were often handled differently from regular sins; and the gods of vengeance in the domain where he'd died would love to see the courts declare that the gods who'd brought down a criminal against reality could call dibs on punishing him, rather than hand him back to his motherland. They hoped they would get away with it just for lack of anyone protesting the move. After all, everyone involved would much prefer that a mortal wicked enough to damage spacetime and obliterate multiple populated planets receive eternal punishment.

Everyone involved except the Axolotl. 

Taking this case hadn't made him many friends. He didn't care; he had his principles. Let an interplanetary supervillain be dragged away to a foreign afterlife just so that he can be forced into damnation, and next it'll be a planetary dictator; let a dictator be dragged away, and next it'll be a murderer; and next it'll be a burglar; and next it'll be a jaywalker that a psychopomp has a personal grudge against. If the Axolotl could establish that even the most undeserving mortal imaginable still deserved the right to be sentenced in his home afterlife, then he could ensure that everyone less evil received the same right.

If he had anything to say about it, in two or three trillion years he'd see eternal punishment outlawed completely; but until then, he was not going to sit idly by and let this flagrant abuse of interdimensional law become the new meaning of justice! He would get that supervillain out of eternal damnation, personally escort him to his native afterlife, and see him reincarnated on his own home world; and mark his words, he would rain so much bureaucratic hell on the judges and psychopomps that had let this abuse of justice take place—he would wreak such vengeance upon the vengeance gods who had tried to claim his client—that no god would dare keep a soul from its rightful afterlife ever again, or he wasn't the Axolotl!

All of which was to say:

Yes, unfortunately. This triangle was like the omnicidal monsters he represented every day.

And so he was appointed hostage negotiator.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 7 of a probably-9-part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl almost fucking die.

It's ALSO chapter 67 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: okay THIS is now probably the least cosmic-horrifying chapter of this arc. Which is a necessary interlude, because NEXT CHAPTER is the big climax woohoo!

Even if not much horrifying happens this chapter, I like the worldbuilding in it. The section on what being a god of justice means to the Axolotl was one of the first things I wrote for this arc.)

[vienssunshine]

Distracted Driving

pairing: Yuki Tsukumo x fem!reader nsfw: dom!Yuki wc: 1.9k author's note: I skimmed a motorcycle tutorial for this description: Yuki convinces you to ride her bike and rewards you for your bravery

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yuki says, holding out her spare helmet.

You’re floored she would even suggest the idea. “I’ve only ridden on your motorcycle, what makes you think I can drive it?”

“You’ll be a natural,” she urges, pushing the helmet into your arms, “and this is the perfect place to try it out.” She gestures to the abandoned dirt lot you’re standing in; it doesn’t have much to crash into. The only other thing out here is the road lined with glowing streetlights heading back to a city you passed around fifty miles back, a distance like that meaning an ambulance would take forever to arrive if you had an accident. You can’t even get started about wait times in emergency rooms.

“You said we were coming out here to go stargazing, not to see how fast I can kill us both by crashing your bike.”

Yuki laughs and steps closer. “It’s cute when you get all worked up over nothing.” She presses a kiss to your flushed cheek. “What if I give you a reward for your bravery?”

“It’s not bravery, it’s stupidity,” you respond. This is a bad idea, no doubt about it. You have trouble driving a car, which has four wheels, a motorcycle only has two. It’s like making the jump between rollerskating and rollerblading, but with the potential of much more severe consequences. Your eyes flick back up to Yuki—she’s dressed in her stupid, dangerous, sexy motorcycle jacket and goggles—and see her watching you with a tilted head and smirk. She’s been your girlfriend long enough to know that curiosity is tugging at you and isn’t surprised when you look away and ask, “But…what is the reward?”

Yuki turns, walking back to her propped-up bike. “Only one way to find out.”

She’s such a tease. What’s more frustrating is how it works so well on you.

You huff, strapping the helmet on. “All right.” It can’t be that bad, can it?

It is indeed bad when you’re on the thing, the angry engine rumbling beneath you and the exhaust spitting out fumes of gray smoke. The glare of the headlights just barely scares off the darkness of the night so you can see the dirt a few feet in front of you. If Yuki’s arms weren’t wrapped around your waist, you would’ve been off the motorcycle in a second.

Your fingers tighten around the handlebars. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Yuki purrs in your ear, sending a tingle down your spine. Or is this death machine activating your fight-or-flight response? Either way, you readjust yourself in the seat.

“Okay, whatever, how do I even do this?”

One of her arms loosens from your waist and she lays her hand on top of yours on the right handlebar. Her riding gloves leave her fingers uncovered, so you’re able to feel her skin as well as the rough leather coating her palm. “This is the throttle, and you twist it toward you to move forward.” With Yuki leaning forward to demonstrate the mechanics of the handlebars, her chest is pressed against your back. Her motorcycle jacket would muffle the sensation if it wasn’t unzipped like it is now, so you can feel the plushness of her breasts on your shoulder blades as she’s describing another lever on the bike. “…is the brake. Got it, angel?”

“Um, yeah…yeah I got it.” Doesn’t seem that hard, just a few twists and levers. Maybe it is possible you’ll survive this ordeal.

“Okay, I’ll just–” You twist the right handlebar toward you and the bike kicks up and starts rolling forward.

Yuki laughs, “Attagirl! Look at you go!”

You laugh a little too, not because you’re amused, but because you’re in disbelief that you’re moving the thing and haven’t blown up yet.

Still cautious, you turn the throttle slightly further, bringing the speed of the motorcycle up past the pace of a casual walk. And when you steer the bike into a gentle turn at the border of the dirt patch, you find it easier to control than you expected. Soon you’re successfully circling the lot while Yuki cheers you on. As impossible as it first seemed, you’re actually doing it, you’re driving her motorcycle.

“That’s my girl,” Yuki says. You want to turn and show her the smile her encouragement brings to your face, but you’re not comfortable driving without looking straight ahead yet.

“This is kinda fun,” you say, still leaving room to change your opinion in case of the terrible crash that your nerves are convinced will happen.

“You’re so good at it,” Yuki responds, giving your waist a small squeeze with her arms.

These kind of situations are why you like dating Yuki so much, she knows how to pull you out of your comfort zone, help you grow and try new things. Despite your anxiety, every experience she’s helped you through, though usually miserable whilst occurring, has been rewarding after pushing through it. It’s how you feel now, you’re proud of yourself for doing something that scared you.

You’re about to express your gratitude when her hands unclasp themselves from around your waist and travel up your torso. Your brows furrow, but you’re able to focus on the upcoming turn until her fingers splay out on your breasts, squeezing and kneading them.

You look down to the gloved hands on your chest. “Yuki, what…what are you doing?” The motorcycle lurches to the side and you snap your eyes back up to the dirt ahead of you, scrambling to re-center the bike until it steadies. The close call leaves your heart pounding and breath short, but Yuki is unaffected.

“It’s your reward, silly.” Her fingers pinch your nipple through your shirt and you gasp. “For being so brave.”

“What?” you whisper. You can’t make sense of this. Heat burns through your body and you’re not sure if it’s from her touch or your panic. This has to stop. Where did she say the brake is? You can’t remember.

“If you keep doing this”—she nuzzles her chin onto your shoulder and nibbles at your ear—“we are going to crash. This is literally distracted driving.” You steer through another turn, having a much harder time with it than your first attempt. With her touching you like this, if you make the smallest mistake, like hitting a rock or going into a turn too fast, you’ll both get sent flying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuki coos, “I’ll make sure nothing happens. Just enjoy the ride, m’kay?”

“This–this is crazy, you know that?” A sharp exhale leaves your lips when Yuki moves from your ear to your neck, opening her warm mouth to lick and suck on your pulse. You shift in the seat of the motorcycle, trying to keep your attention on the land ahead while Yuki’s every movement is pulling it away.

“Fuck, don’t–” Her hands are moving downward, unbuttoning your pants and traveling underneath your underwear. Surely you’ll crash if she touches you there.

“You’re doing great, angel. Just keep those pretty eyes on the road.” You whine her name and she gently sinks her teeth into your neck, her arm slinking around your waist as other her hand descends to your heat. “Thought you’d be too nervous to be this wet,” Yuki breathes against your skin, hungry. The bike wobbles.

She slides her fingers through your folds and your vision blurs, the glow of the headlights melting into the dark of the night until you blink and refocus your eyes.

“Yuki–shit–I’m–”

You’re driving. You need to tell her to stop, but you can’t get the words out, you don’t know if you want to. Even if you think this is bad, idiotic, truly a one-way ticket to the hospital, the excitement flooding your core, swirling and churning deep inside you, is impossible to reason with. Any tension or tightness in your abdomen is softened with the swipes of her elegant fingers. You’re helpless when she’s making you feel this good.

It’s hard to keep your attention on the road, but you’re still trying, so you don’t notice how your hips angle themselves forward so she’s able to start circling your clit. You also don’t notice how your tightening grip on the handlebars—your body unable to bear the pleasure spreading out within you—causes the motorcycle to pick up speed, now traveling at the pace someone could pedal a bicycle at. The wind whisks your moan away into the night and the muscle memory built in the first few minutes of riding takes over to help you steer.

“I want…more,” you say, grinding your hips against her hand.

“Gotta focus on driving, angel,” she responds.

“I–fuck–I know, it just–feels so–”

“Uh huh?” Yuki skims her teeth over the heated skin of your neck.

“It feels so…good…when you touch me,” you say, and she kisses you. You try to keep your eyes from fluttering closed as she continues to swirl her fingers around you, tending to the pressure pushing up against your insides. It’s interesting how you’re being built up to an orgasm so much faster than normal. Splitting your attention between an activity like driving while pleasure is sailing through you wipes out any of those thoughts you have that take you out of the moment—how your body looks, whether Yuki likes what you’re doing, if you’re being sexy enough. In this moment, you’re out of your head, able to feel her touch without insecurity marring the sensation. Maybe Yuki knew this would happen. She knows you well.

You moan her name, doubling over. You shoot your head back up immediately, keeping your eyes on the road even though your legs are attempting to press together, trying to shut out the pleasure overwhelming your body, though the tangled metal of Yuki’s motorcycle keeps them apart and you susceptible. The bike rocks again.

“Yuki–I can’t–I can’t take anymore,” you plead, “I can’t focus.”

“I’ve got you,” she says, her hand stroking your waist. Her skilled fingers pick up to the pace she knows you like when you’re close.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“It’s okay,” Yuki tells you, “Just let go.”

So you do. The rope holding you together snaps as strings of pleasure whip through your poor body. Any consequences of releasing yourself, thoughts of crashing, dying, long ambulance wait, it’s all washed away; you even let go of the handlebars. The motorcycle bucks for a second, but Yuki wrangles it with her free hand, holding onto the handlebar as you cum all over the hand working at your clit.

You grab onto her forearm, clamping down on it as pleasure rolls over you, making it hard to realize how reckless letting go of the handlebars of the motorcycle you were driving is. You don’t really care though, with this feeling washing through your body, you don’t care about the bike, your stupidity, or anything that doesn’t relate to the motorcyclist behind you who’s slowing her strokes and cooing in your ear as the last muscle spasms of your orgasm calm.

Yuki takes her hand from your pants and is unfazed by the wetness coating it when she reaches it forward and to the lever sitting underneath the right handlebar. She pulls on it and the bike slows to a stop. So that’s where the brake is. The realization makes you laugh a weak, fucked-out laugh.

She kicks out the bike stand and you unfurl from your hunched form and sit back so you’re leaning against her chest.

“That was insane,” you heave out, “and stupid and dangerous, and…”

“…and?” There’s a grin in her voice.

A hazy warmth settles over you. You pull her arms into your lap, running your fingers over her gloves palms.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say.

She knows you mean more than just for the orgasm, she knows you appreciate how she pushes you from your comfort zone and helps you try new things. Even if those new things are reckless and crazy.

Yuki leans to your side and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You’re welcome.”

[streets-in-paradise]

Secret Presents

Relationships: (platonic) Faramir x Sister!Reader, (platonic) Boromir x Sister!Reader.

Genre: family fic, sibling bonds, fluff, birthday fic.

Warnings: Denthor's terrible parenting, use of she/her pronoums. I am not sure if birthdays are culturally accurate for gondorians, but since in lotr we saw at least one hobbit birthday let's pretend they also could have birthday customs for the sake of this.

Summary: Boromir and Faramir surprise their sister on the morning of her birthday filling her with affection while furtively bringing her different sorts of gifts their father wouldn't approve.

Note: (Late) birthday gift for my bestie @beautifultypewriter, also inspired in her gondor girl concept. I hope the fluff will be good enough to compensate the delay <3

She didn't expected anyone to remember, there were allways more important things going on in such convoluted times.

Completely absent from her father's thoughts, only her brothers could possibly think about it. During the occassions in which Denethor do cared to celebrate her, he was always actually celebrating himself. Birthday parties that were generic social events for the nobiity, occassions for him to show off his might in decline and pretend for the public that he could resemble a father.

If he could possibly be thinking on doing something, she would rather hide far away from it for as long as possible. The only good reason the Steward of Gondor could have to remember that he had a daughter were the men arround him making the recall. He would only use it as an excuse to push yet even more insufferable nobles in her direction.

Feeling the call of the servant announcing her waking time that morning made her groan of frustration, wanting it to be over before it ever began. She emerged from the covers only caring to make sure to be in a visible state before opening the door, trying hard to remember not to share her mood with the servantfolk through terrible manners.

What she found instead were her two brothers hidding their presence on the usual call, ready to join forces as soon as they will find her. Their happy faces said it all, and she almost regretted her grumpyness.

" What are you doing here? "

To a gestural sign of Faramir, Boromir went ahead to lift her up from the ground. Almost like a father would do for his child, only with tons of chuckling in between.

" HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR SISTER!!"

In a matter of instants she was smiling again while being carried back inside her bedroom.

" Are you insane? What is this? "

Faramir calmed his own laughter to explain.

" Your birthday surprise! I bet you thought we would forget. "

She was perfectly aware of how strongly they loved her, but war kept them always bussy and she was perfectly ready to forgive them if that was the case.

" Orcs are constantly pushing the limits of our borders, of course you could forget! "

" But we would never. " Boromir cheerfully insisted, releasing her on her bed. " Have we ever failed you? "

She giggled and nodded negatively.

" ... Then why did you seem so upset looking at us from you doorframe ? " Faramir inquired. " It think somone really needs to get their spirits lifted. "

With a mischievous look he approached for a strong hug ending only when he sneaked one hand to her already known ticklish point. Her loud laughing comforted them all, so Boromir encouraged Faramir to keep going untill she started fighting back and the situation could escalate into an actual tickle fight unleashed right in front of the servants.

She was red from laughing and playfully smacked them in return, when her eldest brother gave premission for the maidservant to enter. She was carrying a curiously long chest with the help of one lad and presented it to the lady by command before retiring.

" See, if we would have waited untill you would come down for breakfast, we wouldn't be able to bring your presents. " Faramir continued. " These are of the kind our father will not wish to see. "

A sparkle of excitement lighted her eyes.

" Certainly not fitting for a lady, by his expressed opinion. " Boromir added. " He would be very dissapointed of me if he would find out I'm letting Faramir present you with this."

" Not as much as when he will see what you got her. " He commented in response. " ... And yours can't be hidden easily, as one can do with mine. "

Curiosity was growing with each of their teasing recalls and she rushed to open the mysterious casket used to hide such secret present from the world untill reaching her.

It revealed a bow, perfectly new and with its matching quiver following the style of the one that was her brother's favorite.

" Nurturing your passions is important to me, and being honest i'm slightly jealous you have gained more practice with Boromir's weapon of choice. "

He was joking and she could perfectly tell. Her brothers never had to compete for her love the way their father intended them to.

Here eyes were roaming the weapon with increasing surprise, then inmediately directed to look at her brother with the happiest adoration.

" It's perfect!! Just, ... perfect!! Beloved brother, I would love to practice with you. " She thanked, hugging him from up front and practically jumping from the joy. " I can't wait to try it!! "

" We will tell father is an harp." Faramir joked, sharing her excitement. " I doubt he would ever ask you to play music for him, so he will never discover it."

You chuckled together seeing that Boromir was allowing you the mean spirited commentary.

" My gift will also work as a distractive strategy: he will never get a moment to wonder about anything else. "

She questioned Faramir with her glance, but he provided no clues.

" Boromir ... what have you exactly done?? "

Their eldest brother began to chuckle, assuming the mysterious guilt for some possibly memorable mischief.

" Come down with us and you will find out. "

She smiled and quickly followed the instruction, begging them to leave her proper space to at least dress decently before being publicly perceived for the first time in the day. Neither of her brothers wanted to miss what was about to come, so they awaited outside only to find themselves going after her later because excitement made her run her way down.

Hardly catching his breath, Boromir indicated her to go outside. Her cluelessness made her even more desperate for finding the surprise, but she inmediately stumbled with it once the final instruction was correctly followed.

A magnificent horse, one that she never recalled to have seen before.

" It was almost impossible to import, but your dear brother planned things with time and sent clever merchants on the quest for it. " Boromir recalled, pridefully. " They wouldn't have sold this easily for a mighty lord of the city, but couldn't refuse when told it would dissapoint a young lady. "

She looked at him in disbelief, unsure of the guess she was about to make.

" No,no, no ... There is no way. You couldn't ... "

" Send men to Rohan despite the uncertain danger it implies just to get you a horse? " Faramir followed, finishing her sentence in a wondering tone. " Don't worry, your present also worked as harmless excuse to obtain trustable testimonies about the state of our old allies. Something we have been wanting to find out for a long time, but father kept refusing to investigate. "

The clarification amused her more than the explanation itself.

" You are unbelievable!! How are we going to hide this? "

Boromir wasn't troubled by her very logical reasoning.

" We won't, and I will assume all guilt. Wait to see how fast he will find a reason to excuse me. "

He made her laugh through that lighthearted mock of his unwanted privilege, aspect he manipulated in contructive ways when it could bring a side benefict to his siblings.

Looking at her smiling brothers awaiting her final verdict made her feel the luckiest girl in Middle Earth.

" I have the best brothers in the world. "

[aalinaaaaaa]

Deadly Proposition

for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt!

this piece takes place before this one, it's the beginning of this character's story

word count: 908

—

Poison had a taste to it. A sharp bitterness, a creamy tang. It languished on the tongue as potential gone sour. Wasted, some would say.

Nepheret arose to the rackety musings of a rickety tavern. Wretched squeaks scraped his ears, the sharpness not blunted by time nor the floorboards.

His sight drifted into wakefulness, his senses close behind. The throbbing headache he nursed had made its unwelcome appearance.

The little box of a thing the tavernkeep called a room had a consistency to it. Half a wardrobe, a single nightstand, a brace of knives and vials stuffed under the bed.

A single note, placed beside the lamp that never worked.

He plucked it between two fingers, brow rising at the lack of a seal.

Sunset, Moura-Chalifes, blue mask.

The tavern’s lady saw him not at lunch.

He drifted down the cobbled paths, bordering the stream pouring vibrant bursts of blue and purple towards the sun-kissed sea. People emerged from their houses and their hovels, the night’s merriment only the start.

Some other folks dressed as he did, in flowing cloaks and decadent masks, though of higher extravagance. Scales and stars adorned the lot, some wearing the sea itself.

An arch and a laneway and a song for the stars later, and he was in.

A series of shrouded alcoves curved upwards along either side of the atrium, bordering a wide floor facing the stage. Twinkling bursts of light broke the shadows, carrying shrieks and laughter in the lilted air.

He glided his hand along the railing, eyes darting around. The floor below had a sparseness to it, but not the feeling he sought.

Silky, fuchsia curtains adorned the alcoves, many of them closed to the rest. The steps were getting few.

At the stairs’ peak, his mind rose with it. A perfect occasion to seek a mark, and perfect still for plotting.

Behind him stood an open alcove. “It’s unusual to see someone alone at this hour.”

Nepheret turned. A man with a blue mask and a darker cloak lounged in the plush corner, the bursts of dim light highlighting traces of gold embroidery.

“I could remark the same of you.” He held the note in his pocket, taking a single step forward. “Did you send me a note at some point?”

The man chuckled. “You tell me.”

“What did it say?”

The man’s accent had the airiness of the sea breeze, touched with a second dash of salt. “Do you have it on you?”

He narrowed his eyes. Possibilities started culminating, twisting, turning, churning.

The door stood at the bottom.

He brandished the note in his spindly fingers, the words facing himself. “The words, Monsieur.”

The man gestured him forward, offering a stool. “Methodical, precisely the type I seek.”

Nepheret sighed and sat down, closing the curtain behind him. For an assassin to make a name for themselves is to not be doing their job properly. He prayed it was not a trap.

The one before him pulled out a trinket, illuminating the little tealight on the table.

“Who’s your mark?” The candlelight reflected off the end of the fellow’s mask, where it ended before the mouth.

“This is more than just an assassination, boy. This, is a proposition.”

His brows furrowed. “Of what?”

“I want you to be my aide, to be with me almost wherever I go.”

“Who are you?”

“I am one of the nobility, highly renowned within the country.” A smirk appeared beneath his mask, two sharp teeth poking through. “You’ve heard of my surname, I bet.”

Nepheret kept his mouth neutral. It would be dawn by the time he got out. “So that’s what you want of me, a guard? What will you give me in return?”

“This is where things get interesting, but before we do,” Nepheret bit down a groan. “What’s your weakness?”

He shook his head. “Poison’s not my weakness.”

“Then what is?” The man swayed his hands out, clasping round, ringed fingers.

“What’s your purpose?”

Another expression lit up the man’s face. “What if I was to offer you a great deal of political acclaim? Of power, glory, and comfort? You would never have to kill another soul, unless it’s on your terms.”

If he stopped thinking for a moment, the offer would almost weigh him into it. Perhaps it would be nice, to sip on fruit drinks and dance in the fray of lethal deals of voice and trickery, under a backdrop of feathers and starlight.

Maybe he liked the misery. “So in exchange for being your aide, I get status? How long would I be bound to you?”

The man waved him off. “Oh just a few months, until Solstice’s end. There is one thing I especially need you to do for me.”

“Which is?”

The crowd’s rhythm lit the air, a contrast with the tapping of nimble fingers on the tablecloth.

“Right.” His face solidified into a knot of calm. “There is this one lady, in a place I cannot say. I will keep the details light, only that I want her gone.”

Nepheret’s face contorted, lines hidden by his mask. “So why not send me to her now?”

“We must wait until the time is right, when— “ The man gulped down a cough. “Solstice is upon us. Then, and only then, can we make our mark.

“What do you say?” He pushed an envelope with a mermaid seal towards him. “Do we have an agreement?”

—

Tagging the General taglist for this (ask/comment/reblog, etc if you'd like to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @thelaughingstag @oros-ash3s @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @agirlandherquill

[theelderhazelnut]

Rise of The Villains: The Advocate

Warnings: mentions of death

Words count: 1.5k

Pairing(s): None

Characters: Quan Chi, Raiden, Sonya Blade, Johnny Cage, Cassie Cage

Summary: Quan Chi is back from the dead, but his punishment is far from over. The Special Forces have captured him to use for their own purposes.

Author’s Note: Here it is! This series is best described as an AU of Rise Of The Villains (An au of an au lol). This takes place somewhere between MKX and MK11, and is not canon compliant. ALSO, writing from his pov is the medicine I didn’t know I needed.

Writing Taglist: @cassietrn @raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @mids-stupid-shit @thedragonholder @tommyarashikage @malicedragoness @afraidofrabbits @ash-shark @darialovesstuff @bloody-arty-myths @vivilovespink @starneko123 @inafieldofdaisies @chaosrealm @voidika @aceghosts @euryalex @elderglocks @averytiredbitch @strangefable

Returning from the dead wasn’t really a good idea; at least not when it was about me. The silence among the corpses and, as they say, damned souls was where I felt most comfortable in.

Death was never an issue for me. I knew the rules of this board game. I knew which pawns to move and exactly which houses to move them to. And I would always stand up with a proud smile, and shake hands with death with pure confidence.

But this time was different. This time, the game was new. I didn’t know the rules. This time, Raiden slammed my fist down onto the table.

The path to the main headquarters was more crowded than I would usually prefer. Living eons in the Netherrealm had forged my mind to fit well with that incomparable isolation among jagged cliffs and eroded souls, so now it was doomed to endure the endless, lively chatter of humans everywhere. Every single one of them minded their own particular business. They blended together; out of my control.

I leaned my temple against the car’s window while my handcuffed hands subconsciously stroked the fabric of my uniform pants, silently getting accustomed to them.

“No longer allowed to open portals to your destination?” The Special Forces agent asked, his raspy voice was nearly unreadable.

My chest clenched. “But, still, I will survive a car accident.”

His green eyes lingered on me through the rear view mirror. My lips slowly stretched into a smirk. That was the fear I knew with my flesh and blood. At least something from home accompanied me this morning.

After about half an hour, a dark vast border of a fortified wall emerged from the horizon. I shifted to the middle seat to take a better look through the front window. As far as the eye could see, the wall stood persistently, stoically protecting what was behind. As we drove closer, I noticed that it wasn’t actually a wall. It consisted of angular observation decks, and tiny dots of light leaked through the concrete.

The winding road lead us towards an enormous gate. And soon, we were among armored vehicles and hurried soldiers. I got out of the van. The cold wind whipped my face. Immediately, the trigger of another round of headache came forward.

“This new face is in the biggest spotlight today! I’m envious.” Jonathan Cage nearly shouted, grinning from ear to ear while he wheeled a wheelchair.

“As you should.” I replied. The last thing I needed was him rubbing his hatred for me all over me with an unnatural cheerful tone.

“You even ordered first-class?” He whistled, and tapped the back of the chair. I sat down, and immediately, two soldiers tied my wrists, chestand ankles to the chair.

Mr. Cage wheeled me on a wheelchair through the hallways which were mostly constructed by metal, I presumed. The pale fluorescent lights leaking through the stiff folds of the ceiling and the floor were bright enough to bring any creature back to their senses immediately.

As we reached the very end of one of the many hallways, a metal gate slid open, and we entered a much darker room. It took my eyes a whole several minutes to adjust to the abrupt change of lighting.

“Here he is!” Mr. Cage announced.

Raiden’s white robe quickly caught my attention once he stepped into the dim light. His straw hat shadowed half of his face, per usual. The source of all of my miseries was a few meters away from me, but I was forced to sit on a wheelchair and just watch.

“After eons, you will make considerable use for the realms.” He began firmly. “Even though you are meamt to suffer the consequences of the long list of your crimes.”

“What makes you so certain of that?” The words came out without my knowledge. I let out a sigh and shrugged. “You couldn’t possibly think of a more easier punishment?”

“You are in the Special Forces’ grasp, Quan Chi.” Raiden raised his voice slightly as he repeated his words.

“And as your punishment, you will be working as a secret agent.” A female voice continued. General Sonya Blade stepped forward into the light, shoulders square and hands behind her back.

I would never predict this moment in million years. I held a hysterical laugh behind a sudden burst of a smirk. “You truly are so desperate, lord Raiden. Have you finally succeeded to kill your champions one after another?”

His nostrils flared, his lips creasing in a pout. “In fact, I have always been anticipating this moment to have your cooperation. And it has finally arrived, but not in a situation you certainly desired.” He spoke nonchalantly.

“And if I refused?”

“Your soul will forever be banished to the in-between.”

The blood in my veins froze. Raiden had never made such an existential threat to me, so now this was a sign of a gigantic dog on a leash, ready to be released.

“And how this current moment differs from being banished? Granted with the chance to live among humans is supposed to be…nurturing? Rewarding?” Fortunately, my voice remained tamed and neutral.

General blade dodged my teasing question firmly. “After a medical checkup, you will receive a set of essential gears. And you are also obligated to pass the shooting, and driving training.”

+++

The walk through the hallways wasn’t strange at all, having all eyes on me and all the necks craned up to take a look at the necromancer was quite a familiar sight.

In the inventory, a female voice parroted Mr. Cage’s words.

“They’re being too kind to you, baldy.” Cassie Cage stood up from her seat, sauntering to the circular table at the center. “Guns? That’s too much for you.”

“I am already too much for you soldiers.” I pronounced the last word slightly more emphasized, as though it was a rude insult.

“Talk after you survived a gunfight.”

I rolled my eyes and neared the table. My gaze roamed around the various weapons - which were mostly guns - arranged neatly under the intense fluorescent light. I had to squint a little.

“Have you ever touched a gun before?” She probably had guessed the answer, yet she seemed annoyed by the obligation to ask it aloud.

“After eons of studying, there still remains many fields I haven’t even peeped into.” I picked up a black pistol. “Do I have freedom in my choice?”

Ms. Cage shrugged. “You gotta learn how to handle all of these sooner or later. Most of them at least.” She crossed her arms. “Pick a pistol and a rifle for now. And let’s just get over with this training crap.”

+++

The training session was more of an issue than I had thought. That was the moment I learned aiming with a pistol is considerably more difficult than shooting a large green skull from your bare hands.

One more cylindrical obstacle hitting my shin was enough for my rage to flare. I tripped over and fell onto my elbows. My fist clenched around the pistol. It was all its fault, distracting me from numerous moving obstacles. My chest vibrated from the low growl that escaped my throat.

I turned onto my side, and opened my palms. The heat of rage coursed through my arms, morphing into several shooting skulls. The massive twirling cylinder staggered backwards, the background now visible through the burnt hole in it. The long shafts attached to it went flying in the air. A few of them struck the monkey bars. Targets on the wall collapsed, slamming against the floor with a thunderous clash.

Commander Cage slurped her drink. “Wow.”

I took a deep breath before sitting up on my knees.

“Where’ja wanna get the money from?” She vaguely gestured to the mess before her. “Come on, you’ll perform better on the streets. Like a dog chasing cars.”

“At least I don’t have a golden leash given by my mother.” I forced a smirk on my bitter expression. My chest heaved with my heavy breaths.

She shot me a glare before leaving the training room.

I stood on my feet, and adjusted my uniform. A part of me admitted that she was right; I was now going to chase cars and people like a dog. But since when did they collected the courage to spit facts in my face?

I gripped the fabric of my pants and stared at nothing on the floor. I was only one step away from tangibly tasting this new life. Everything was going smoothly around me and against me. Instead of wrapping it all around my finger, I could just sit there and have a young soldier order me here and there.

I stood up and walked up to the metal gate. At least I could show them why they made a wrong move by making me their secret agent.

[05raine]

Playing 'Detroit: Become Human' the way they definitely, 100% intended

Spoilers for Detroit: Become Human, if for some reason you haven't seen or played the game yet

So my older sister downloads DBH (she's a sucker for a good father-child dynamic, so Hank and Connor have her by the throat), but before she does so she talks to me about getting it. It is here that I propose a silly fun idea: We co-op the game. We take turns with the laptop and controller, hiding the screen and choices we make from the other. She plays Connor, I play Markus, and we both get a say in Kara's story.

She doesn't go through with the idea at first, she does her own playthrough first. She ends up with the peaceful/pacifist ending where no one dies (hurray!!). But on her second playthrough she invites me to play with her. Let's fucking go.

Now before we had started the new run, she expressed her desire to make different choices with Connor to better complete the game and get achievements. She mentions that she's thinking about doing a machine Connor route instead of a deviant one. Now I'm fucking scared. Cause I don't have it in me to kill anyone, let alone do a violent protest with Markus.

Anyways, with Kara, Alice, and Luther, we fully manage to get them across the border into Canada (Which my sis didn't manage to do on her first playthrough, she got them caught during a stealth section L). With that she gets a new achievement for doing so, all thanks to me 😏 I get her another achievement for pushing Leo- Carl's son- since she just let Carl die like a monster(/j). She of course gets some new achievements on her own with Connor.

But back to how we played Markus and Connor. Since we didn't know what the other was doing with them, it made the crossroads chapter REALLY FUCKING TENSE. The only hint we got of the other's choices were how it affected the story and dialogue; I left an injured Simon behind on the roof of Stradford tower and she followed him up there leading to Simon self-destructing (that got her a freaking achievement, bro...). But I had no idea that Simon had died until it cut to Markus again. I was a bit distraught when finding that out :(

When it came down to the confrontation between Connor and Markus at Jericho, it was so tense to go between the two of them. Me fighting to convince Connor to deviate, and her trying to keep Connor on his mission. Scary shit. Now before we had begun, we had agreed- if it comes down to it- that should Markus and Connor be in a 'only one lives' type of scenario, we'd rock-paper-scissor to see who would get to live.

I had no clue if my sister had made enough choices to unlock the option for Connor to deviate, so when the option finally came up and Connor deviated, I was freaking ecstatic. I did not want her destroying all the work I had done with Markus and Jericho 😭

She even admits after we finished the game that she was originally going to play a machine Connor route, but 1: would feel bad putting an end to the peaceful route I was going, and 2: didn't have it in her to be mean to Hank lmao

Two other stressful scenes with how we played was Connor's infiltration into Cyberlife tower and the ensuing fight between the other Connor and Hank. The reason it was so stressful was because she genuinely could not remember if she had learned Hank's son's name. Luckly, she did, so Connor didn't die there, and Markus got his reinforcements, but still, phew!

The next was Markus' speech at the very end, and Connor being taken over by Amanda and the whole emergency exit thingy. She struggled to remember where the freaking thing was, and she messed up the inputs to press it the first time. Not to mention how she was sort of freaking out because things were happening differently than how her solo run did. But we got that W.

But I feel like playing the game this way adds a sort of tenseness and finality to it. Because you truly don't know what the other people are doing with the other storylines until they meet up during crossroads. This was just with the two of us, imagine if we had a third to play Kara so all storylines would be a mystery until the converge!

She played the game all in one sitting on her own the first time, and we both did the second. Now I imagine she will do the same on her third run where she'll kill everybody like the completionist monster she is

[pearlcatcher-problems]

a few finished projects that I've been vibing with a lot! and their bonus lore rambles under the cut to keep things a little more trim ; w;

» the wives [ Padparadscha | Bunanuhnanuh ]

antique jaguar ᛜ ginger breakup ᛜ terracotta koi bronze piebald ᛜ white basic ᛜ terracotta koi

» the twins [ Naberius | custard ]

stone piebald ᛜ white basic ᛜ spruce koi tarnish pharaoh ᛜ white basic ᛜ brown basic

» acolyte goblin ambassador [ moss ]

white basic ᛜ obsidian paint ᛜ hickory koi

I swear I'm normal about naming dragons-- I'll have serious names alongside dumb meme ones and treat them equally as seriously as characters. I swear, it makes sense in my lair. I promise.

» the wives [ Padparadscha | Bunanuhnanuh ]

Pad and Bun are wives, with Bun being the elegant airhead and Pad being the gruff behemoth. Pad is near twice Bun's size and tends to be more protective/defensive than the wildclaw is. Her pearl tends to stay with Bun when not in her pearl pouch, who keeps it in one of her silk scarves padded with dry moss and lavender sprigs.

The two of them are residing in the Bazaar, currently travelling between there and the Oasis to finalise some trade agreements before the encampments decide to make proper paths between them. While Bun is more than happy to keep the conversation for the two of them, Pad is just.... always listening. The pearlcatcher beast somehow always seems to know what is going on and can quickly get the answer to the most obscure questions if given enough time to think. This includes knowledge from any of their other outposts, somehow able to just.... know. ( Behind the scenes, she's actually a fraction of a hydra, and despite them being split, they are still able to communicate telepathically with each other, resulting in easy relay of information between allied outposts nearly instantly but the only one who controls/knows of this is Quail. )

Bun used to be part of the Roost outpost, which is why her namesake is so strange compared to the desert-dwellers. She's kept her name, although able to change it any time given how Roost customs are, and finds some joy in how hers and Pad's mirror each other in length. Those close to her may call her Bun or Bana, although Pad tends to call her Sprig, Sweetbean, and other soft little nicknames. When relaxing, Pad often gnaws on Bun's horns when cuddling to keep her tusks in check, something Bun doesn't mind as her horns constantly grow regardless.

» the twins [ Naberius | custard ]

The youngest of the Acolytes ( a subterranean clan that only emerges for three weeks a year and spends the rest of the year worshiping the Solstice trio I / II / III and tunnelling. More Info on them is heeeeeere! ) They have the same affliction post-hatchling that ogi and his younger sibling do, where they just haven't progressed further physically or mentally. They have a lot of inherent volatile magics because of what they are, but they can't always act on it in the way they want due to whatever is stunting them. This leaves the two a little hard to predict, scrapping as often as they'd play, all while leaving arcs of fulgurite along the tunnels from their warring elements.

They are often underfoot, eager to help tunnelling efforts and harvesting lichen, but are easy to tire out and will just nap wherever they run out of energy. It's not uncommon to find both of them blocking a tunnel because they need a quick powernap. Good luck moving them.

Naberius and custard's energy came from an old elemental, also named Naberius, who decayed on the Acolyte border after leaving the bounds of the Oasis. The two spawned from his fall and have many of his powers, but with the stunt and divide between them, it is just a grain of what it used to be. Sezha knew what they grew from, and decided to keep Naberius' name for one as a way to honour his fall, while casket was allowed to name the other, resulting in the mock-roost name: custard.

» acolyte goblin ambassador [ moss ]

Moss is the 'ambassador' for the Acolytes when they're out of the ground, or when dealing with people who come to 'trade' ( drop gifts and supplies, they don't actually want anything from the Acolytes in exchange and are just encouraged to do so by Quail and repaid for it in other ways ) at the outposts' entrance during their submerged seasons. She loves the idea of bartering and making a trade, only really knowing how trade works from her few visits to the Oasis grounds and seeing the elementals make pacts.

When trading, she wears The Hat. The hat is a combination of a few hats she's traded for over the years, worn around the edges and lovingly cared for. She often puts feathers, gemstones, or dried flowers tucked into the brim for flair, and will outright refuse to accept offers from other outposts if she can't get her claws on her hat at that time. All business MUST be done with the hat.

When not being Very Important, she spends most of her time tunnelling and setting up the lighting system in the deeper section of the lair. The Acolytes currently use a lighting method that leeches off the ley lines beneath them, giving them an easy method to track the health of the flow of magic and know when their worship is required. These free-floating orbs can be placed at any area of the lair as long as they're still connected to the earth, and so often will be rooted to the walls with vining plants from handsome's farm.