#[ ⋆ ] decay . ruin v.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

dark!mike with vanessa sister…

perhaps she’s a police officer (or cop whatever people call them) like her sister or vanessa just brings her along.

Vanessa gets a call about a break in somewhere else and leaves her sister with mike at the pizzeria, one thing leads to another and mike her up against the desk.

(not the best at trying to explain stuff, sorry!!)

Good Cop, Bad Cop

PAIRING: Dark!Mike Schmidt x fem!Afton!Reader

WORDS: 2,352.

WARNINGS: swearing, p in v sexual intercourse, breast play, degradation kink, slight praise kink, dark!Mike, possessive qualities. Mike being a tease.

A/N - thank you for sending this request in! hope I did it justice x please feel free to leave a comment / reblog :)

It was nothing out of the ordinary, being paired with your elder sister, Vanessa, tagging along her side during the night shifts. If you were being quite honest with yourself, you had suspected it. Besides, she was your senior, a colleague, as you were just a fresh, new recruit in the local police department. To break the ice, your sheriff thought it best to pair you two together, nonetheless.

"Just need to make a quick stop-"

As the alluring neon red and blue lights flickered off from the reflection of the dark, stained glass, your curious eyes wandered towards the desolate, outdated building before you. From the sheer glimpse of the ruined exterior, an uneasy sensation, some hesitation to even leave the vehicle began to churn in the pit of your stomach. This place did not look welcoming by the least, despite the shattered fragments of cartoonish figures decorated on its exterior: most likely an attempt to appeal to the children of previous generations.

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria?" You confounded, naturally feeling the puzzling flex of your brows furrowing with confusion, as you turned to face your elder sister in the driver's seat.

"Just need to make a quick round, Mike here is the new security guard... This place is known for vandals and criminal activity. And he's only one person."

With the swift mention of his name, Vanessa's head instinctively nudged towards the direction of the older, rugged looking brunette, who stood by the locked entrance of the neglected complex. Eerily as if he had heard the mention of his name, even with the substantial distance apart, his head flicked upwards as means of a wordless "hello."

His features felt unthreatening, strewed with a tinge of exhaustion, as you noticed the dark circles that saturated beneath his eyes. Regardless, you could not deny, he was quite pleasing to look at, a handsome face nonetheless: it was a shame he spent his nights hidden away in some remote corner of town, and his days asleep.

"Glad to see you made it through another night. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't run into trouble already. This is my sister, by the way, and our new rookie, Y/N-"

"Dragged you along, did she now?" Mike remarked, and although you surmised it was his attempt to kid, his tone remained monotoned, except for the subtle, sly smirk across his face, as he assertively leaned his hands over to shake your own. His grip was strong against your own, his hand larger in size, swallowing your own, his texture rough. His lingering eyes had been fixated on you since you came into his vision: catching fleeting yet blatant glances, he showed no shame when you had caught him those few instances. A sudden, flustering wave of heat flashed across your face, feeling your cheeks turn shamefully scarlet. Even disguised in your uniform, declaring such authority, you felt bashfully meek in his presence, rather a school girl than a cop.

As Vanessa's familiar voice echoed in the background, your attention panned to the vacant, decaying building. It felt somewhat eerily familiar, a faint memory you could scamper in your mind in the distance and yet nothing jolted a clear vision.

The abrupt static whirring of the radio from the vehicle had snapped you back to reality: immediately she excused herself as she scattered off, leaving you to bask with Mike.

"S-So you've only just started as security... Here?" You softly stutter, intent on maintaining direct eye contact with Mike in reciprocation, even though it felt conflicting against your meek nature. Despite the practical training and experience dealing with delinquents, this vulnerability was a first. He seemed timid yet unnerving simultaneously: you felt uncertain whether he was simply just a quiet, introverted man or if he truly intended to disguise and deceit himself as one.

"No-No, I've been here for a month now, your sister just likes to make her rounds. Think she's still uncertain about me, but I don’t blame her."

His response ignited a satisfying wave of relief: as you leaned towards the hurtful notion that he would ignore you. The huskiness in his low voice almost made it feel as though he was sleep talking, only loud enough for you to hear.

"Just a curious thing though, your uh- sister. She's never mentioned you before...W-Why's that?" He uttered, as his brows frowned in sync with his words, a bemused look tinged across his face, as he patiently awaited your answer.

"W-Well V's always been private about her personal life. Since I could remember, sh-she's always been this particular way. Just her innate nature, I s'pose," Defeatedly sighing garnishing your final words, with an indefinite shrug, before glancing back at Vanessa, caught in her own world.

"Well, your sister took no time trusting me... But you- You are the undetected anomaly in her story. There must be a reason..."

Vanessa had abruptly left in the company of a man you had just met.. Having hastily returned from the radio call, from a fellow colleague requesting for her senior presence as backup, she was bound to follow. She had insisted you remain with Mike as he settled for the night, whether he approved of it or not however, you could not say with certainty. He remained silent and sullen, as you both carefully watched your elder sister driving off into the nightly distance, the glaring neon blue and red lights flashing in the distance.

Mike had led you in, gesturing you to enter first as a gentleman would, before shutting the entrance close once more. Thankfully, he had broken the awkward silence, excusing himself momentarily to boost the electricity, only to give you a brief tour of the premises before guiding you into the security office, where the blank monitor screens echoed your reflection.

"So you really just sit here the entire night? And watch the screens?" You intrigued, feeling the natural flex of your brows furrowing, as you fiddled with the papers and dusty stationary on the desktop. A part of you, unable to fathom that a job like this would exist in such a deserted place like this.

"A job is a job for me. At that point, I was willing to take anything they offered." The monotone level of his voice was unwavering, deep, his tiresome eyes remained fixated on you though, as you remained unwilling to return the favour.

"I suppose so, don't you get lonely all by yourself though? Nothing to make the time go by-"

With no spatial awareness, you hadn't even realised how close Mike had slowly crept towards you. Closing off the distance inch by inch, before he assertively strode towards you. The unfamiliar sensation of his arm snaking around your waist, was what had caught your deficient attention, as he plunged his lips against your own in a passionate kiss. And although your eyes had widened in bewilderment, your body froze like an ancient statue in the initial seconds, as your mind raced to comprehend. As he lingered on, pursuing the kiss, your tense muscles easing, you felt no obligation to shove Mike off. No urge to decline his advance, it felt destined, relaxed into his embrace.

"W-What was that about?" You breathlessly stuttered: not wanting to decline Mike nor give the impression that you had disapproved. Despite only having met the man an hour ago, he made you feel helpless, like some schoolgirl with a pathetic, little crush that devoured her from the inside out.

Was it truly the boredom of the night that had consumed his rational mind, to do something that seemed quite extraordinary for him?

"You don't think I didn't notice you blushing outside? How nervous I made you? You don't think I would take advantage of a pretty girl like you gushing on me, huh?

His soft lips once more made contact with you, although this time exploring the sensitive crook of your nick: eagerly sucking at your tender skin.

"M-Mike we sh-shouldn't, I-I'm an off-"

"Nah-Nah, baby... You're going to be my fuck toy tonight. My little, pretty whore to keep me company. That's what you really want to be, right?"

His gentle kisses in between the suckling of your skin was bewitching enough to send your mind into an abyss. You knew this was wrong, you knew that if Vanessa found out, if your department found out, it would stain your career, or worse. And yet, your body said otherwise, disintegrating into Mike's lustful appetite.

"I-I sh-shouldn't."

*tut tut* "You know you want to, baby... Why deny it? I didn't think there were any pretty girls worth it left in this fucking hell hole... You think I'm going to pass it up?-"

With his words, Mike had swiftly lifted you momentarily, nesting himself between your spread legs as you sat atop the desk. One of his rough, calloused hands remained pinning your hips, whilst the other snaked its way smoothly beneath your uniform, firmly cupping and kneading at your breast.

"No-No... I've already put up with enough, I deserve something special. M'gonna fuck you so good, I'll have you forgetting you even were on the job."

"Y-Yes" You pathetically whimper, your hands instinctively wandering over Mike's body, itching to feel his bare skin against your palms. You manage to sneak your arms beneath his shirt, feeling the thickness of his flexing muscles beneath his moving body, as you grip at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.

"Look at you, princess, already so needy for me. You desperate for my cock, huh? What happened to the talking stage?" He lowly teases, a smirk spewed across his face, as you feel its curvature press against your skin, his low chuckle in harmony to your mindless whimpers and moans.

"L-Later- I-I want you now, M-Mike."

"That's my girl," His deep growls vibrating against your tender, cool skin. You hadn't even realised how swift and slick Mike was, unclasping your bra, as he began to unbutton your polo shirt, before undoing your pants. Returning the favour, with much haste and eagerness, you began to unbuckle Mike's worn out belt, as you undid his jeans.

"Easy, baby, easy- What would they think of you back at the station? The police department's little slut... My pretty, little slut."

For a few split seconds, Mike ogled at your lace panties, savouring the sight before pulling them down to expose your bare, wet cunt. Noticing how his eyes lit for the first time since meeting, an ecstasy glistened in his dark orbs, as he licked his lips with desire.

"I'm gonna have you at my beckon call from now. Spoil me with your services."

Mike pulled his body apart from yours, the heat exuding, as both your bodies felt flushed and moistened with sweat: panting as you caught your breath. Mike naturally pulled his underpants down, exposing his rigid, girthy cock: just above average length, although the sheer size was mouthwatering. His tip reddened, with a few veins protruding with anticipation.

"Look-Look at what you've done to me, Y/N..."

Without a moment to spare, as Mike once again closed the faint distance between: his throbbing cock teasingly brushed against your sensitive folds, before plunging himself in. The lightning, raw pain was exhilarating, as you felt your walls stretching beyond relief to accomodate for Mike's bulky mass. His steady pace was sloppy, as his thrusts would quicken with each pump, pummelling your body further into the desk. If you hadn't been clinging to his back dearly, nails drilling into his skin [you were certain evidence of reddened, defined marks would show] that you'd knock of a monitor or two.

"F-Fuck you feel s-so good. So tight for me, baby. Th-This was meant to be. M-Meant for me."

Endless curses and swears escaped from Mike's mouth, in sync to your moans of his name. Each time his name left your mouth, his thrust grew more vigorous, igniting something animalistic in him.

With each sloppy, hasten pace and forcible thrust, Mike had finally reached his peak, shooting his hot, thick seed inside of you, drenching your insides. Your stretched, tight walls coated now, some seed spilling through the gaps onto your inner thighs, once again was a gesture that made Mike pleased. Pleased with himself, more so.

Inevitably, this ignited the same peak, as your wetness pooled over his cock, still buried and throbbing inside of you.

"F-Fuck Y/N... Th-That was s'fucking good."

After having regained your senses and thoughts, you'd managed to clean yourself up, Mike humbly passing you a spare cloth or two from the cleaning storage. He remained by your side, intently watching you from a shy distance, interjecting just once to make certain you were okay. As you finished, he exhaustedly sat himself down on the desk chair, rubbing his palms against his thick, sprawled thighs.

"You make sure it's you visiting me from now, baby. Your sister talks too much for my liking... And she's not as pretty to look at as you."

Despite the familiar, bashful feeling Mike made you feel, as foolish as butterflies in your stomach, you felt somewhat used, and dejected.

"I-I'm not some girl you can just sleep around with Mike. I have morals, and I have a respectable job... You can't just use me like-"

"I don't want to use you, Y/N... I-I want to make you mine, the fucking is just an ugh-added bonus."

Sighing in defeat, although Mike's sly smirk was a devious looking one, his eyes however remained unchanged and stern. In the pit of your stomach, your instincts told you there was truth to his words.

Just as you were about to fathom a response, the sudden, screeching ringing sound of an outdated buzzer blared through the speaker. Mike leapt over towards the monitors, deciphering a button or two, before multiple screens lit up with the perspective of some camera in a corner. On one screen the familiar, blonde hair of your sister shot through, before her face turned towards the camera.

"Our time's up, princess. I'll see you later, okay?"

credit for dividers - @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[hs-transfusion]

> ARADIA MEGIDO

HEMO: Fuchsia (#99004D) TROLLTAG: ariolatesAftermath [AA] SIGN: Piari, Sign of the Vengeful STRIFE: 2x2dentkind MODUS: Sacrifice LUNAR SWAY: Prospit MYTH. ROLE: Sylph of Doom LAND: Land of Glaciers and Ruins

AA: there is n()thing the v()ices have been inc()rrect ab()ut as ()f yet

Once upon a time, Aradia was a worthy candidate for the ALTERNIAN THRONE. That was before she was SACRIFICED to her lusus B'AHBLAHK as part of a VICIOUS REVENGE CYCLE. She now roams Alternia as a GHOST, diligently working to SET THE EVENTS OF SGRUB IN PLACE, along with a few detours to PETTY ACTS OF REVENGE.

At present, Aradia has NO INTERESTS beyond being a COSMIC PLOT POINT. Before her ill-timed demise, she had a strong passion for HISTORY, working hard to maintain her PERSONAL MUSEUM of STRANGE ALIEN RELICS. She also had a fascination with THE WORLD OF THE ETHEREAL, knowledge that has served her well in her LITERAL AFTERLIFE.

Aradia's SACRIFICE Fetch Modus requires her to sacrifice a NEARBY ITEM to retrieve something from her sylladex. Thankfully, her WORN-DOWN PALACE is filled to the brim with RANDOM CHUNKS OF RUBBLE she can use as cannon fodder.

Aradia's lusus is dubbed B'AHBLAHK, BRAYER OF THE BLEAK. A massive, curled mass of TENDRILS AND HORNS, this eldritch sea-goat threatens to extinguish ALL EXISTING TROLL LIFE should its voice be raised too loud. It is said that anyone naive enough to MAKE A DEAL WITH IT will get whatever they wish for, but at a much steeper price than expected.

The Land of GLACIERS AND RUINS is an arctic area, covered in DECAYING RUINS OF AN ANCIENT CIVILISATION of consorts. Though they may have lived to see The Sylph through her personal quest, it seems denizen THANATOS didn't see fit to maintain a world for a player that has ALREADY MET THEIR END. Or perhaps that's just a defeatist attitude on his part...?

Aradia's ancestor is known as HER IMMORTAL OPULENCE, otherwise known as THE IMMORTAL. Though most fuchsiabloods live for FREAKISHLY LONG TIMES, HI() has lived longer than any other empress by a landslide. In fact, unbeknownst to many, she has walked the soils of Alternia on its VERY FIRST DAYS, witnessing each and every significant event in ALTERNIAN HISTORY personally. Alternia's bloodthirsty environment was influenced by her for nothing more than SHEER ENTERTAINMENT VALUE.

[galamalion]

⚔︎. 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 (𝐢)

summary. you join mizu on her quest for vengeance, discovering more about yourselves on the way towards her ultimate goal.

⤷ contents. mizu x fem!reader, blue eye samurai spoilers, violence, mention of suicide, themes of racism + misogyny, slight slow burn, slight enemies to lovers // wc. 10.6k

⤷ notes. i don't have name for this series yet, i just really wanted to write something for mizu lol idk if i want it to be reverse harem? probably won't see any taigen or akemi x reader, or x mizu for that matter (mizu only has eyes for you <3) anyways i hope you enjoy this story and what's to come!

chapters. [i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v] [vi] [vii] [viii]

Pure, untouched snow crunched beneath your worn-out sandals as you trudged behind Mizu, choosing each step carefully to avoid shoving your foot deep inside a snowbank and ruining your shoes further than they already had.

The weather hadn’t been great, all things considered. The wind was a tad too harsh, nipping bitterly at your cheeks and nose, letting the falling snow melt into your kimono and dampen the fabric slightly.

Despite your light-hearted complaints, Mizu insisted that you keep walking. Mizu was nothing if not determined to reach your destination in a day, not wanting to waste any more time than you already had. And so you trekked across the white frosted forest, following the hidden path that was completely buried in snow.

“You really think the man you’re looking for will be here?” you asked, side-stepping a thick layer of snow.

Mizu hummed in response.

“And if he’s not here?” you pried.

“Then I’ll find out where he went from here,” she answered curtly, not bothering to turn around.

You sighed, pulling your hanten tight over your chest. In addition to shelter, you’d also like to stop by a town, a busy one, if you were able. Clothes weren’t a necessity—you could walk a couple more miles in your sandals, and your kimono was at least still fairly new. But on account of Mizu’s proclivities, you were in desperate need of more bandages. You still had a few bundles of herbs and plants you picked before the snow fell, but you were fearful those would eventually rot or decay inside your inro.

“Just try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,” you sighed, “or at the very least, your bloodshed.”

“I make no promises,” she stated plainly.

You just rolled your eyes.

After a few more minutes of walking, your thin trail ended, leaving you in the midst of a ramshackled town. Mizu continued walking through it, not sparing a glance to anything except for the building that lay straight ahead. A noodle shop, or so the sign said.

You walked ahead of Mizu to get a closer look at the dilapidated building, dodging more snowbanks to reach your goal. As you got closer to the shop, you noticed Mizu had stopped in her tracks, standing still behind you. 

Spinning around to see why she paused, you immediately saw three children, the leader holding a small rock and preparing to throw it at Mizu. She turned her head slightly, not quite looking at the children, only just enough for them to catch a glimpse of her unamused expression.

The children quickly ran back to their homes, dropping their stones as they fled. Mizu resumed her stride, stepping up beside you in front of the store.

You lightly poked Mizu’s shoulder, “Are we here strictly on business, or can I get something to eat?”

Mizu grumbled, fishing some coins out as she slid the door open and stepped through the loose fabric that hung above the entryway.

The two of you made your way to a table in the corner, Mizu obscuring her face with her hat and you keeping your head down. As a woman should, or at least in public. Mizu wanted to keep a fairly low profile, and so you were willing to make at least some sacrifices on her behalf. The slight jabs and insults you received on account of your gender, after all, were nothing compared to the ones Mizu received. 

“Welcome, sir and madam,” a portly young man said, sitting down beside your table, “I'll bring you some tea. It's not good tea, but it's hot, and you're frozen, and I'll bring you a rag because when I'm frozen, my snot drips. Then a nice big soba. We make the best soba. Honest. Bad tea, great soba. Okay?”

Mizu gave a polite nod in response, while you just stared bewildered at the talkative man. You managed to muster out a ‘thank you’, doing your best to put a kind smile on your face.

The man smiled back and rose to his feet, marching jovially back to the kitchen to prepare your tea and noodles. He was stopped at the next table, however, as the scrawny man sitting there jutted his leg out to stop him.

“Stumpy!” the harsh voice crowed, “more noodles, fast.”

The lanky man sneered as the waiter-cook obliged, returning to his station in the back. His upper lip curled as he turned to the two young women next to him.

“I paid your fathers good money for you,” he snidely remarked. “The brоthеls will pay me even more once you get some curve on, you skinny country nothings. Eat!”

Your nose wrinkled at his loathsome behavior. It was the one thing you were never able to stomach, the gross maltreatment of women, like meat being prepared for eating. Mizu’s perceived appearance as a man earned your envy, knowing that she wouldn’t be viewed in the same way you were. But you knew that you both weren’t accepted in the circles you wanted to join, and that just because Mizu looked like a man, didn’t mean she would be accepted with open arms.

The bald young man returned with two bowls of noodles and tea, setting it down gingerly before you. Mizu, suspicious as ever, sniffed before diving into her meal, while you greedily downed the bowl entirely, placing the empty container down before Mizu could finish her last bite.

“It’s good, right?” he grinned, swiping your dirty bowl away from you while you took your cup of tea.

He left your table momentarily to deliver the tray of noodles to the old man, standing before him with the fresh steaming bowls.

“Finally!” he barked, snagging the face of the poor girl sitting closest to him. “Eat up, girls. Eat it all!”

The fearful girl swatted his hand away, causing it to crash and spill one of the bowls of hot noodles across the lap of the old man, who angrily stood up and slapped the poor man.

“What are you, a dog?” he growled, turning to point a finger at the cook who had just run out. “You let a dog serve food!”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, keeping your head down to avoid exploding. If only by his boisterous attitude, you assumed this was the man Mizu had been looking for. All the men Mizu searched for were similar, fitting into two categories: loud and overconfident. There was often overlap between the two.

“F-Forgive my son,” the man laughed nervously, bowing to the furious customer. “Can’t go a day without breaking dishes.”

The cook turned to his son, anger in his voice, “Ringo, clean him!”

“I’m sorry,” Ringo said, attempting to walk towards the man, only to slip on the noodles he had just dropped, causing the tray to drop the other bowl of noodles onto the man’s lap.

You wished you were anywhere else right now.

“Agh!” the old man cried out, reaching for his chest. You were unable to see his movements as his back was towards you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ringo repeated, desperately trying to salvage the situation by picking up the mess below.

The old man’s hand retracted from his chest, pointing straight towards Ringo. The gasps around the room told you what you couldn’t see. And as the room swiftly grew quiet, you could barely make out the weapon grasped in his hand when he shrugged.

“Ah…I should put down this lame dog,” he growled, bringing the gun back up to point at Ringo.

Ringo stared unflinchingly, as if confused by the man’s words, “I’m not a dog,” he said confidently, yet with a twinge of fear present in his voice.

“Did you just bark?” he chuckled darkly. “Do you know who I am? I am Hachiman the Flesh-Trader, and no one messes with Hachi!”

Ah. So it was him. You turned to take in Mizu’s reaction, only to see her staring straight down at the table beneath you. And, in a moment that made you wish you were deaf, Mizu pushed the table forwards, causing a shrill squeak to echo throughout the room as it scraped against the floor., earning the attention of Hachiman.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you hissed under your breath, praying that Mizu wouldn’t be dumb enough to goad the man with a gun. She’d threatened and bribed men for information in the past, some merchants, and some fellow samurai. They could be dangerous, and they often were, refusing to give up the necessary information without a fight. But they hand knives, swords. Not guns.

Mizu stood from the table and slowly strode over to Hachiman, keeping her eyes trained on his gun as she moved to stand in front of him.

“Impressive,” she hummed, taking small steps towards him, “I’ve never seen a gun like it.”

You grabbed the tea kettle and poured some into your cup, taking a deep breath in an attempt to cool your nerves. Mizu had gotten into worse situations before—none involving a gun, of course, but equally as dangerous. Those samurai that refused to give up, those merchants who feared for their lives, they all died like dogs beneath Mizu’s blade. 

‘He’ll be no different,’ you thought, bringing the cup up to your lips. Looking down at your hands, you realized they were shaking ever so slightly. 

She placed her hand on her chin, tilting her head to gaze down the barrel of the gun, “Front loading, not a Japanese pistol,” she remarked, grazing her finger across the weapon. “A European design, isn’t it?”

Remaining silent, you sent a sharp glare towards Mizu, who had not yet disobeyed your one request of her, but was getting real damn close to it. Her eyes flickered towards yours in acknowledgement, although whether it was her trying to tell you that she understood your concerns or her telling you that she had it under control was a mystery. You just assumed the latter.

The other customers fled the building, leaving you as the only patron still inside, although you weren’t exactly eager to stay, not wanting to get caught up in the ensuing firefight. Your eyes darted to Mizu’s hand, noticing her middle and index finger were pointing straight down, which was Mizu’s signal for you to leave.

You rose from the table and quickly walked outside the store, not bothering to look back at the standoff behind you. Mizu could handle herself, especially against a crotchety old pervert like that man. All that was left for you to do was wait, and hope that your patient didn’t get herself killed.

It was spring—not early, though. All the snow had melted and it was beginning to pour into summer, the sun becoming hotter with each passing day. You were out in the woods, a couple paces away from your small town, but not far enough away as to have to worry about bandits. 

You were on a mission to fetch medicinal supplies, both for your own collection as well as for your fellow villagers who had paid you for your efforts. Mixing and making salves and herbal blends was your specialty, and it had earned you a pretty penny. 

On account of being an orphan and lacking family to support, you had to become resourceful. Your former village lacked a structured orphanage, leaving you to wander the underdeveloped streets as a scavenging rat. It was hardly a life, but you made do. Learning that people would pity a poor, starving girl was the greatest weapon in your arsenal, though you knew it could easily lead to your downfall.

Joining a wealthy household would be effortless, but it would come with dreadful and unpredictable consequences. A daughter would only be accepted if there were a son, one you would have to marry once you came of age. Or at least, that was your thought process. Perhaps a family could, would take you in and expect nothing of you. But you were a talentless orphan, one who could give nothing even if nothing was needed of you. 

And so, you left your village, moving in the dead of night along the dirt path in search of a new home.

Your travels brought you to a new, ever so slightly smaller village, and yet there seemed to be more people, more faces. At first you simply watched, trying to get a feel before sinking your teeth into anyone here.

And your patience was rewarded, finding your long-awaited prize.

You’d discovered an old man, a doctor, judging by his customers and conversation you’d picked up. One night you knocked on his door, begging on your knees for a place to stay and promising everything you could give. And so, under the guise of being his doting attendant, you began keeping an eye on his carefully guarded work. Over the years you began assembling your own guide, making improvements upon his recipes and even crafting a few of your own. Once he died—natural causes, of course—you lacked any competition. 

You weren’t allowed to practice medicine, at least not directly, but you were easily able to play into the role of a concerned woman with old recipes generously shared by your master when you were ill. 

And nobody was any wiser, praising you for your teas and ointments and whatever the hell else you managed to conjure up. You could heal sore throats, rejuvenate women’s skin for the pleasure of their suitors and husbands. Who wouldn’t buy from you? 

In the end, you were alive, happily unmarried, and had a stable income. It was the dream of so many young girls, and you were living it.

You’d already collected enough to meet your quota, but you were after your own batch of herbs. It was important to start prepping medicine early, as once the first frost struck, everything would wither and die. But as you discovered a rich cluster beneath a tree, you heard an anguished groan nearby, causing you to whip around.

The sliver of an arm poked out from behind the tree, clearly not wide enough to hide whoever was sitting before it. You took a deep breath and carefully circled around to the other side of the tree, keeping a fair amount of distance between as you looked upon the unknown being.

Lying beneath the tree was a man, one you hadn’t recognized. Most, if not all, of the men in your current village were rather hairy and brutish, whereas the stranger was lithe and clean, a pair of shaded glasses covering their eyes. But what really caught your attention were his obvious wounds, clearly injured from some sort of weapon, though you’d need a closer look to really assess any kind of damage.

“You’re bleeding,” you noted, marching up to the injured man sitting before you.

If he was startled by your presence, he didn’t show it, but perhaps his injuries were making him delirious. His side had a small cut, light bleeding and probably didn’t require stitches. The shoulder, however, was in far worse shape, blood seeping out through his shirt and down to his forearm. You couldn’t know how bad it was until you looked at it, but the man seemed apprehensive.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, pressing a thin piece of torn fabric to his shoulder.

Your head nudged towards the sword at his waist, “You’re a samurai, not a doctor. Let me see it.”

“You’re not a doctor either,” he said, pressing his back further against the tree, and  away from you.

“Well, I’m the closest thing you’re going to get,” you glared at the stubborn man. “Unless you want to let the old bastards in my town drain your blood.”

The stranger glared back, clenching his fists and chewing his cheek in thought. It was a bluff on your end, knowing that not a soul in your village had any kind of medical knowledge. You could feel in your heart that he was a stubborn soul, and he’d certainly bleed out if you tried to bring him back to your town. Or maybe he’d just be chased out, on account of his strange and mysterious getup. 

“Please,” you implored, “I can help.”

He grunted, looking down at the wound on his shoulder, moving a shaking hand up to it before turning his eyes back to you.

“Fine,” he mumbled, gritting his teeth as he pressed on his shoulder. “Just make it quick.”

A deafening shot rang through your ears, bringing you out of your thoughts, but the strident cry that followed it eased your on-edge nerves. It was a garish noise, one that Mizu would never make, especially not in combat. She was more of a grunter.

It was fairly quiet until Mizu came out, another scream echoing behind her as she slammed the door closed.

“Successful?” you asked, trying to gauge her reaction at what had transpired.

“A name,” she responded, walking ahead.

You followed her, a pout forming on your lips, “It’s always another name.”

“This one has a direct connection.”

“So did the last one.”

Mizu didn’t respond, only continuing her determined walk out of the village.

The wind hadn’t let up at all, still blowing snow across your face and freezing the tips of your fingers. But gradually, as you followed Mizu on the path, the wind began to die down, only the snow falling from the sky was left to land on your skin, leaving a tingling feeling as they melted away.

And cold weather aside, the environment that surrounded you was beautiful, from the cliffside view of the water below to the towering bamboo that stood proudly, if only slightly disturbed by the snow and frost that covered it. You took time to marvel at these sights, while Mizu continued to keep her head down, head covered by her conical hat, keeping the snow away without any effort on her part. Perhaps there was more you envied about her than you thought.

Your peaceful journey was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps, though they were still some ways away. Both you and Mizu had turned around, seeing no one in the immediate distance behind you, either. She put a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you behind her as she drew her sword, walking on the path of which you came.

“Stay here,” she whispered, prowling towards the sound.

You shrugged and grasped the knife that was tucked inside of your kimono, watching as Mizu left you alone, though she wasn’t gone for long. Returning with her sword sheathed, Mizu continued walking right past out, resuming the journey.

“Did you find anyone?’ you asked, ever so slightly curious.

“Yes.”

“...Did you kill them?”

“No.”

The lack of explanation in her single word responses clued you in to stop asking questions.

Slowly the bamboo grotto you found yourself in transitioned into small trees, crowded around one another in entangled root systems and branches above. The trees grew sparser and sparser with each step on the path, though they were growing larger, thicker. Soon the trees towered far, far above you, holding up heavy batches of snow with their needles, branches bowing down under the weight of the thick white blanket that coated them.

After another ten-or-so minutes of walking, the two of you encounter a small, decaying temple. It was in better condition than any of the buildings in the village you had come from, standing out among the lonesome path and soaring trees. but it seemed to grab Mizu’s attention, as she began walking up the broad stone steps.

You stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at her, “Would you like some privacy, Mizu?”

Mizu stopped amidst the stairs, looking down at you below with an expression of pleasant surprise.

“That…would be nice,” she took a few more steps up to the entrance, turning back to you one last time. “Thanks.”

Brushing some snow off your self proclaimed seat, you leaned against one of the short stone pillars, doing your best to find comfort against the rough and uncomfortable material. Mizu shouldn’t be too long, unless she was planning on spending the rest of the day praying for her vengeance. In the past you’d believe that, but you were more in tune with her personality now. 

You’d been traveling without a lead for so long, passing through rain, wind, and snow for days without rest. Name after name after name perpetuated the eternal journey you found yourself on, leading you on a wild, unending chase to find a single man. This was the guidance she needed, a direct path to the man in question, creating a new opening for her to walk upon in search of her goal.

Mizu had finally found the spark to reignite her self-righteous fury, and she was going to let it burn for as long as possible.

“You need to be still, moving can lead to the wound opening,” you hissed, tying off the last bandage.

“It’s my arm that’s injured, not my legs. I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, samurai,” you reached for his hand, “you can’t just—”

Before you could get close to even touching his palm, your wrist was caught tightly within his hand, squeezed uncomfortable as he stared deep into your eyes, past them, into your soul.

His free hand, the injured one, shakily went to his tinted glasses, tilting them down to the tip of his nose, giving you the first real glimpse of what laid behind them.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but no noise would exit your parted lips.

They were blue—not like the sky, they were brighter than that. And yet there was still so much darkness within. He had distinct eyelids, different from everyone you had ever known or seen. And there was beauty in that, but it was a shameful beauty. A beauty that screamed his difference to the world, proclaiming for all to see that he was not like the rest. That a white man had aided in his creation. But to blame a creation for the faults of its creator was a cruel decision, wasn't it?

And yet you could not conceal your shock at his mere existence.

His straightened mouth briefly twitched into a frown before returning back to his cool facade, releasing your wrist and walking away, a hand clutching his shoulder.

“That wound is bound to get infected,” you called out, stomping after the samurai. “And those stitches in your side will need to be removed, not to mention those bandages will need to be changed out with the amount of blood already seeping through them.”

He continued his gait, not bothering to look at you, “I can take care of it.”

“You need me,” you insisted, pacing right behind him. “If you wanted that wound fixed up, you wouldn’t be lying against a tree like you were.”

“I need no maid nor nurse.”

“I have money.”

Although he tried to keep it contained, you could see the way his shoulders tensed up at your words. Or perhaps his injuries were worse than even he thought.

“Let me care for your wounds; I’ll pay for any medicine and accommodations until you’re fixed up. Then we can part ways.”

“Have you nothing better to do?” he pried, a mixture of annoyance and genuine curiosity within his question.

“The only people that require my services here,” you gestured behind you, “are old people knocking on death's door, and women who are constantly pregnant. You are the freshest breath of air I have ever had in my years of living in this shitty village.”

You took a deep inhale before continuing, “Like I said, once we’re done and you’re fully healed, I’ll leave you be. You get a free, temporary doctor, and I get a nice story to tell my future children.”

He stared through you once again, piercing eyes contemplating your offer. From your perspective, at least, it seemed flawless. Doctors were expensive, and as a samurai he clearly lacked any stable income. A free, mobile doctor guaranteed him at least some financial security, although having a companion could potentially lead to unfortunate situations if he were to land himself in danger. Which begged the question: did he have reservations about your safety, or his?

“Fine,” he sighed, head falling in resignation. “But I make the rules, and you’ll stay out of my way.”

He moved to sit on a nearby rock, carefully moving the lower half of his shirt out of the way, giving you access to the injury on his side.

“I can take care of my shoulder later,” he muttered.

You shrugged, moving to inspect and apply your salves.

“Does the samurai have a name?” you questions, dabbing an ointment into his cut.

He growled as it entered his wound, “Mizu,” he hissed, clawing at the boulder beneath him.

“I’m ____,” you said, carefully wrapping bandages around his side. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, master Mizu.”

“...Don’t call me that.”

“Let’s go,” Mizu announced as she hiked down the stairs, joining you at the bottom and continuing the path before you.

“Any specific destination in mind?” you probed, leaning forward to see Mizu’s expression.

“Kyoto,” she answered, face unchanging. Truly an envy to statues everywhere.

“You said you got a name from that old geezer, so what are we looking for? A place, a person, a thing…”

“I’m looking for a man.”

“So, nothing new,” you sighed, tucking your icy hands inside your hanten.

The walk wasn’t much longer, the constant crunching of snow beneath your feet filling the void of silence between you two, though its calming effect soon dissipated, leaving you annoyed with each step until you reached Kyoto.

Soon enough you were standing in line before the towering gate, guards standing in front and above the entrance. You’d never been to any kind of central hub before you met Mizu, only knowing less than a hundred people, and that’s after combing from the two villages you’ve lived in. One thing you did know, however, was that women weren’t allowed to enter without an escort. Women in your village would complain about it whenever they had to go out and sell their goods and products, though you never had to leave for your business. Perks of being a monopolist, you supposed.

“Don’t speak,” Mizu leaned into your ear, voice a hush whisper. “Stay behind me, and stay close.”

“Not my first city entering with you, Mizu,” you shot back, folding your hands in your sleeves. 

“Next!” the front guard called out, beckoning the next person forward.

A woman and her child stepped forward, showing their travel pass to the guard who sneered at it.

“This travel pass is invalid,” he declared.

You peeked over Mizu’s shoulder to get a better view at the situation taking place.

“My husband is dead. I made the baskets, he only sold them,” the woman begged, “please, or I can’t feed my children.”

The guard rolled his eyes, “You know the rules. Women can’t travel without a chaperone.”

‘Barbaric,’ you thought, sinking your nails into your forearms. Stupid rules written by stupid men. How lucky you were to have a chaperone on this trip.

“Next!” he shouted, not giving the sobbing woman another glance.

Mizu stepped forward and you followed closely behind, keeping your head down to conceal your rage.

“Travel pass,” he said boredly, his eyes briefly flickering to your form before looking back at Mizu.

Reaching into her clothing, Mizu withdrew a couple of coins, flashing the glimmering pieces to the guard who eagerly swiped them up, looking at the next people in line.

You shared a quick look with the daughter who was comforting her distraught mother, wishing there was something you could do to help. Looking up at Mizu, you saw her also gazing at the child with far less emotion on her face. Only a second had passed before Mizu looked away, marching her way past the gate and into the city, leaving you to catch up.

“Are we really not going to help her?” you blurted out as you followed Mizu through the busy streets.

If Mizu heard you, she didn’t respond, just looking at the tall snow-covered buildings lining the streets, colorful banners adorning detailed walls.

“Mizu—”

“There was nothing I could do, ____,” she scolded, turning back to look at you. “It would have caused more trouble than it was worth. I can’t afford to bring two more girls into the city, and there was no way anyone there would have left me.”

You exhaled shakily, clenching your fists and taking deep breaths in order to calm down.

“It’s just not fair,” you muttered, looking down at your feet.

Mizu sighed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, “I promise I will try to do something for them.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing your head up to look at her face, those kind and thoughtful eyes hiding behind her glasses.

She stepped away briefly, attempting to approach strangers for directions with little results. It almost caused you to feel embarrassed for her unfruitful efforts, if not for the three horses barreling straight towards her.

“Mizu, watch out!” you shouted as Mizu caught sight of the incoming horses, shooting backwards in response.

“Watch it, asshole!” the lead rider yelled, pulling on the reins of his horse.

You ran up beside Mizu, glaring at the pompous man. Mizu stuck and arm out in front of you, a silent message to contain your anger, lest you get the both of you in trouble.

“Apologies,” Mizu said, mouth pressed into a straight line, “I’m looking for something, but Kyoto is quite large. Do you know where I could find the Shindo Dojo?”

“Shindo?” the man to his left scoffed, peering down at the two of you. “That’s our dojo, and you think you’re going to apply?”

The man to his right laughed, “You look like a blind beggar!” He took his riding crop and slapped Mizu’s glasses off.

All three chuckled, pleased with their actions, one nodding his head at you.

“Are you really traveling with this guy, lady?” He extended his hand to you. “Hop on and I’ll take you for a real ride.”

Your lip curled in thinly veiled disgust, “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m quite pleased with my current situation.”

Mizu let out a long sigh, putting on a smile, “If you would please show me how to find your dojo, I would be grateful.”

“Sure,” the left man said, “follow the road to the shrine. Once you go around the gates, you'll see the sign across the puppet show.”

“Good luck!” they called back, laughing as they rode. You spit on the ground they had been as their horses galloped away.

Wiping off the snow that had been kicked up onto her shoulder, Mizu began to follow the directions given to her, leaving you to do most of the talking, as per usual.

“Bastards,” you growled, “pissants, the lot of them.”

“Calm down,” Mizu ordered, searching for your destination.

“Calm down? Calm down? Those cocky dickheads deserve every misfortune they come across.”

“Keep your eye out for a puppet show.”

“And the way he thought I’d just crumple to my knees and get on his stupid horse! Can you believe that?”

“Around the gates…”

“Not even mentioning the way they treated you, as if you couldn’t kick their asses with one arm tied behind your back. Shindo Dojo my ass.”

“There are consequences for attacking without consent of a duel first, and the last thing I want to do is be sent to prison for something as foolish as defending my honor,” Mizu said, turning the corner.

“Would you defend my honor?” you smiled, waiting for an answer.

“No.”

Well, it was an answer, at least.

The bustling city around you left no room for conversation, only the need to dodge passersby and merchants attempting to sell you goods that you had no use for. As you walked further and further into the city, the traders trickled away, only peeping men lined the streets now, peering inside the countless brothels.

“Why would a dojo be in a red light district?” you pondered aloud, trying your best to not make eye contact.

“For once,” Mizu answered, nose scrunched up, “we’re having similar thoughts…”

Your destination was only a few buildings down, and judging by the lewd ongoings within, was certainly not the Shindo Dojo.

“You two look lost,” a sultry voice cooed, arms stretching out to grab you and Mizu.

Standing in front of the brothel were two very dressed up women, crimson dusting their cheeks, matching the vibrant red that decorated their lips and eyes.

“We were just leaving,” you asserted, shaking out of their hold.

The woman laughed, going over to hug Mizu’s arm, “Why don’t you come inside, lost boy? Rest a while…with us.”

You found it difficult to conceal your revulsion, not eager to picture Mizu having relations while you had to wait in the other room. Though judging from Mizu’s shocked face, she didn’t seem too fond of the idea either.

“I’m looking for the Shindo Dojo—” she began, quickly interrupted by an old man being thrown out of the brothel. A naked, old man.

“Which, I can see…” Mizu grimaced, “this is not.”

“You think?” you snorted, earning a dirty look from Mizu.

“It’s better,” the shorter prostitute said, smiling. “It's the Shindo House. If it’s sword skills you’re wanting to show off, you can do it here.”

The taller prostitute grinned, “We can polish up the tip for you…”

A shudder went down your spine at the sight of their flirtations, giving you the strength needed to put an end to this conversation.

“We’re terribly busy, and have urgent business at the Shindo Dojo,” you insisted, trying to pull Mizu away from the women.

“Oh, are you sure, little pearl? If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask. Jealousy is a painful vice,” the tall one purred, snaking her arm around your shoulder. “And there’s no fee for adding a third…unpaid party.”

You could feel the heat flooding to your face, unable to even sputter in response to her offer.

A hand suddenly struck out between you and the woman, grabbing her wrist and gently removing it from your shoulder. Mizu glared at the woman, watching coldly as she shrunk away from you.

“You’re serious, huh?” the short woman smirked, nudging her coworker to step away from you. “Alright, love birds. Walk east to the Kamo River. Take the bridge to the temple with the thousand creepy statues. It's on the hill just past.”

Mizu’s head swiftly dipped into a bow, not looking up at you.

“I wish you a successful day of business,” she muttered, covering her face with her hand as she began raising her head up.

Interrupting her bow, however, was a loud crash from the puppet stand behind you. Looking at the show, or rather, what remained of it, revealed a portly young man standing above the wreckage. The same young man from the noodle shop.

“Hey, Mizu, isn’t that—”

“How much for one night?” she quickly asked, noting the price given to her.

“...How much for three.”

.

.

.

“Mizu,” you began, “would that man, by chance, be the person following us on our way here?”

“I didn’t think he’d get out of those ropes,” she groaned, walking across the expansive bridge.

“You tied him up?” you gawked, staring in shock at her nonchalant attitude.

“I could have killed him,” she pointed out, bringing a hand up to crack her neck. “I was merciful; he would have disrupted my quest.”

“And I don’t?”

“You provide a service.”

“Don’t make me sound like your pocket prostitute,” you half-heartedly teased.

Mizu sputtered, her collected facade briefly crumbling after hearing your words.

“I—ahm, hadn’t meant to imply—”

“Make way for Princess Akemi!” a voice rang out some distance behind you.

Traveling down the bridge from where you had just come was a gold accented palanquin being carried by an assortment of attendants. Those walking alongside you quickly made their way to the sides of the bridge, bowing before the royalty before them.

A tug on your sleeve by Mizu pulled you out of the way, standing beside her as the palanquin passed by you. Through the bars of the carrier you could see its passenger, the Princess Akemi, or so they announced. Perhaps you could have quipped about her status, the fact that she probably looked down on everyone around her. Or maybe her vanity, refusing to use her own feet to walk anywhere, relying on servants to carry her to and fro.

But a single glimpse of her face left you wordless—breathless. The makeup she wore only enhanced her best features, though it looked like all her features were her best. One look at Mizu confirmed you felt the same, her lips parting slightly as the palanquin continued down the bridge.

“She’s awfully pretty,” you sighed wistfully, watching the palanquin disappear into the city.

Mizu cleared her throat, regaining her wits, “Beautiful women can be found everywhere. It is our status that defines our beauty to the world.”

“It’s alright, Mizu,” you shrugged, “jealousy is a normal emotion, even for samurai.”

“I am not jealous,” she swiftly defended herself.

“Denial is an even worse look,” you sang, following her along the final stretch of bridge as you made your way up to the dojo.

It stood atop a hill just above the city, a single lone temple amidst a barren field it was laid upon. A lonely dojo, in your opinion, although the path to it was rather serene.

“If I have to walk up any more stairs, Mizu,” you groaned, approaching the temple, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Air your grievances now, then.” she curtly replied, moving to hit the door knockers. “Walking is only a small part of this journey.”

“Then why is it all we do?” you muttered, crossing your arms.

A small slit opened after a couple seconds, revealing the judgemental eyes of a man.

“No new students, find another school,” he barked, shutting the opening.

“Pretentious, aren’t they?” you snickered.

Mizu rolled her eyes and banged on the door again, the man appearing quickly.

“I’m not a student,” she said, annoyed, “but I do bring a message for the master of this place.”

The opening shut, only for one at the bottom to reveal itself, a hand sticking out expectantly.

“I must deliver it personally,” Mizu muttered, eyes narrowing.

The man vanished from the slit, shutting it behind him. Only a few moments passed between you and Mizu before the grand entrance began to slowly open, revealing the incredibly vast courtyard to you.

Mizu began walking forward to join the sentry, only for him to raise a hand towards you.

“Women are forbidden from entering the dojo,” he said solemnly, taking up a cold expression as he refused you entry.

You tightened your shoulders, standing straight and giving the man your best smile, tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Oh, sir, I must beseech you,” you pleaded, running up and clinging to his robes. “For he is my husband, and I would loathe to separate from him even for a single second! I fear what may happen to me if he were to disappear from my sight, for he is my protector, and I his perfect blossom. That is why I beg you, do not allow us to be apart!”

The sentry turned to Mizu for a response, raising an eyebrow.

She cleared her throat and you could immediately tell she would be giving you a dirty look if she had not been so surprised by your improvisation.

“...Yes, I would be most pleased if my wife were to accompany me. She is rather…frail and weak, and it would break my heart if anything were to happen to my…wife…” she said, her less than convincing acting leaning heavily on your own performance.

“Fine,” he grimaced, peeling you off. “But you are not permitted to speak in this place, keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

You smiled in response, walking over to join your ‘husband,’ looping your arm into his beneath his shawl, smirking internally at her pink-dusted face.

Arm in arm you walked up to the main room of the dojo, passing by different groups of men training. You could tell that Mizu was alert, noting each and every person you passed on your way to meet the head.

Upon entering the sweeping room, you kneeled beside Mizu, keeping your head bowed so as to not cause any disturbance during her negotiations. Though the man in front of you seemed unconcerned with your behavior, if interested in you at all.

“You may leave any message with me,” he spoke, not pausing his calligraphy.

“What must be said must be said to the master directly,” Mizu pressed.

“I assure you, what is for the master is for me,” he continued, “as I assure you the master does not meet with messengers.”

“He will for me.”

Her blatant disrespect caused the man to pause, setting his brush down and looking directly at her.

“​​You stand before the Shindo School.” He stood from his table. “For 200 years, we have taught here the Shindo-Ryu, secret methods passed down from Priest Soto, taught to him on the peak of Mount Kurama by the mystic Tengu themselves,” he snarled. “Show your respect!”

Mizu continued to stare at the floor, unaffected by the man’s long speech.

 “I must insist,” she said.

The man’s mouth pressed into a thin line, looking at the samurai standing behind you both.

“Escort them anywhere you please that is far from here,” he ordered.

One man, a part of the group that harassed you when you arrived in Kyoto, stepped forward and reached an arm out, “Come on, you blind beggar.”

“You are bound by hospitality to feed a traveler within your gate,” Mizu said hurriedly. “My wife and I came very far, and we’re very hungry. Or has the Shindo Dojo done away with etiquette?”

His lip curled in annoyance at Mizu’s demands, “Feed them,” he sneered, “then throw them out.

The samurai surged for your arms, dragging you down hallways and into a cramped storage room with a single barred window.

“Eat,” one said, chucking a bowl of rice (if you could even call it that) onto the small table, “then take your whore and get out.”

They laughed heartily at their insults, taking their leave and slamming the door shut behind them, leaving you and Mizu alone.

You chose to sit on top of a barrel while you waited, observing Mizu’s face as she watched the training going on outside, a tiny smile finding its way on her lips.

“Daydream all you want,” you spoke up, “but you’re the one who’s gonna have to come up with a plan.”

She broke away from her view, turning to look at you with a glint in her eye.

“I already have one.”

.

.

.

“Move it, you two,” the samurai ushered, pushing you forward as you walked through the turning halls.

Mizu stopped in her tracks, remaining still despite their threats.

“This will be much simpler if you allow me to speak with your master,” she said slowly, not bothering to look at them.

“Mizu,” you hissed, “don’t make this any more difficult.”

“You heard your wife, beggar boy. No one sees the master, least of all you.”

One stretched their hand out, aiming to grab your shoulder, only for Mizu to step in between the two of you.

“I cannot leave here until I speak to the master of this dojo,” she pressed as he attempted to dislodge her, unable to do so.

“Oh, good,” the men chuckled, drawing their swords. “We get to kill you.”

Mizu’s fingers extended, pointing her middle and index downwards. You smiled, giving a polite bow before continuing the path out of the dojo, arriving at the entrance to the main room. Stepping out into the thin snow and leaning against a pillar, you removed your inro, unpacking the supplies you might need after Mizu’s activities.

You could hear the events going on inside, a mixture of yelling and screaming, of rage and pain brewing within the fighters. Not a peep from Mizu, however. Soon enough, the old samurai from earlier—perhaps he was second in command, though you didn’t exactly care—came running outside, nose bleeding and with a nasty mark spanning diagonally across his face. It seemed that Mizu was getting excited.

“See you later, samurai,” you cooed as he sprinted out of the dojo and through the gates, leaving you alone to laugh at his cowardice.

You hadn’t expected him to return, however.

Entering through the wide open gates, followed by the older man, was a much younger one. He wore a green kimono decorated with the symbol of the dojo, hair tied back into a tall bun with stray pieces framing his face.

“You come to fight, pretty boy?” you teased as he approached, still fiddling with your supplies.

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow at your words, “You? I was told—”

“Inside, dumbass. Does it look like I’m a warrior?” you sneered, rejoining your inro to your obi.

The old man’s eyes widened at your disrespect, “How dare you, a woman—!”

“You got your ass kicked by some country boy. Come back and correct my attitude after you’ve killed him, you shitty old man.”

It seemed impossible for his eyes to get even bigger, but after your words they seemed to be the size of plates.

He attempted to march up to you, only to be stopped by the young man.

“We can deal with this after the samurai is dealt with,” he reasoned, giving you a dirty look.

You laughed to yourself as they entered the dojo, leaving you alone outside once again.

The familiar sounds of fighting broke out shortly after the man’s entrance, joined in harmony by the harsh sounds of breaking wood, undoubtedly caused by Mizu’s quirk of using the environment around her to fight. It was fun to watch, until you had to pay the bill for a duel inside an inn. 

Eventually, the noises began to grow louder—no, closer. You caught a glimpse of the chaotic symphony as Mizu and her enemy, the young man from before, fought their way into the main room. Before you could even blink, Mizu had been thrown across the room, a wooden sword hurled right at her. 

“With a naked blade,” he scoffed, “you’d be dead.”

You immediately stood up and ran towards her, picking up her fallen glasses as you made your way over. She brushed you aside, however, turning her neck to look at the young man, not bothering to shield her eyes. 

A small gasp left him, his cocky demeanor quickly vanishing the moment he laid saw her.

“You had a name for me,” she stated, rising to her feet.

“Taigen, you cannot allow that to dishonor us or you,” the old man commanded, fuming at Mizu. “Kill him.”

The battle quickly changed to a formal duel as the two young samurai made their way outside to take the other’s life. You followed Mizu, standing a fair distance behind her to give her space to butcher the man. Taigen, or so he was called.

He drew his weapon first, discarding the sheath onto the fresh snow below and pointing it directly at Mizu.

“Are you afraid to fight with steel?” he asked, brows furrowed in determination.

You snorted at his comment.

Mizu just chuckled softly, “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “No one has yet deserved my blade.”

She slowly removed her sword from her sheath, drawing the magnificently crafted blade and wielding it with two hands, taking a stance before Taigen.

“You have a blade by Master Eiji?” he gawked, only serving to change Mizu’s smile to a snide grin.

A tense moment was shared between the two, and all you could do was stand by and watch. You knew Mizu was smart, least of all capable. She wouldn’t throw her life away in some stupid duel, not when she still hadn’t gotten her revenge. This was just a simple stop on the way, something to remind her of what was at stake.

Mizu wouldn’t lose, not here.

Taigen was first to act, running up to Mizu with his sword at his side, prepared to strike. She reacted unusually, however, breaking in a crouch and swinging her sword at the ground, kicking up a flurry of snow. Taigen hardly faltered, only spinning around to avoid blinding himself and swung his sword across to hit Mizu. His maneuver was a short-lived victory, as Mizu ran her sword beneath him, the blades moving across one another and letting sparks fly. 

Mizu had made the first wound, slicing a shallow cut into Taigen’s neck, crimson drops of blood blotting the pure white snow beneath them.

The next strikes were harsh, as Taigen hadn’t so much as flinched at his injury, striking with the same vigor he had before. Despite Mizu’s skills, Taigen found a hole in her defense, using his strength to his advantage to press his sword into her shoulder and throw her to the ground, knocking her blade away.

You felt your body grow cold as Taigen stomped over to Mizu, angling his sword to her neck. Was it really going to end like this? All that traveling, killing, and plotting, just for Mizu to die at the hand of some low life samurai?

“Death comes for everyone,” Taigen spat, bringing the blade closer to her. “For you, today.”

He turned around and gave a nod to his fellow samurai behind him, giving Mizu one final look before sending a hard kick into her chest as a final blow to her and her ego.

You attempted to rush to her side, only to receive a scowl from Mizu, stopping you in your tracks. From your current viewpoint, she looked relatively uninjured, at least nothing terribly deep. She was clutching her shoulder, but the cut looked shallow. The doctor inside begged you to ignore her scornful face and help her, to put your work to good use, though you knew her anger would be twofold what it was if you were to intervene.

You watched intently as she brushed a fistful of snow across her face and swept her lingering strand of hair out of the way, those sapphire eyes shining with anger as they shot open.

She reached for her arms, pulling a string and releasing the weights that had been wrapped around her forearms. Repeating the action to the other arm, as well as her ankles, Mizu made eye contact with Taigen who turned around to witness her revitalization.

Reaching for her sword with lightning fast reflexes, she charged towards Taigen and side-stepped his attack, disarming him without a second thought and dealing a brutal slice to his calf. Disoriented and in pain, Taigen was easily lifted and tossed, skidding across the snow and meeting the edge of Mizu’s blade.

The two were panting heavily from exhaustion, whereas you were releasing a breath you’d been holding for the past minute. Mizu had bested her opponent and lived, earning you another day of employment.

“Stop!” a strong voice bellowed, their cry echoing across the courtyard of the dojo.

Your eyes darted to the new figure, one dressed more elegantly than his fellow samurai, a dark kataginu worn over top of his burnt orange kimono.

Mizu joined you in gazing at the man, still out of breath, “You, are the master of this school?” she panted.

He gave an affirmative hum.

“Your students need better training,” she quipped, withdrawing her blade from Taigen’s throat.

“You have a message for me,” he said, the command of a leader in his voice.

“A question,” she corrected, putting strong emphasis on her next words. “Where may I find your brother, the black market merchant Heiji Shindo?”

You felt your eyes go wide at her words, unknowing of her plan during your travels to Kyoto. All this? Just for the name of another man? You had to clench your teeth in order to stop yourself from interrupting their conversation.

The man was just as shocked as you, a myriad of expressions moving across his face all at once, finally arriving to dwell in his voice as he spoke, “You did all this to find my brother? Why?”

Mizu’s blade returned to Taigen’s throat, a silent threat to prevent any more prying questions.

Clearing his throat, he answered with an air of mustered strength, “Heiji Shindo is in the fortress on Tanabe Island, protected by the Genken Clan,” he said, beginning to narrow his eyes. “Whatever business you have with him, you will never reach him.”

Without another word, Mizu sheathed her sword and gave a mockingly polite bow to the head before walking to your side. 

“You're still…a dog.” Taigen groaned, attempting to gain his bearings from the ground.

Helpless and unwilling to stop Mizu’s righteous anger, you simply watched as she whipped around and slid across the ground, not even bothering to unsheath her sword for an unworthy opponent such as Taigen. The blade made its purchase, swinging just inches above his head and decapitating his top knot with the talent and skill of an unrivaled barber.

His golden hairpiece clattered to the earth, softened by the lingering snow it landed upon. Mizu scooped it up and tucked it into her shirt, continuing her pace without sparing a look towards the countless wounded samurai behind her.

The glimmering hairpiece was tossed into your hands as Mizu walked past you, stepping past the towering gates with you in tow, finally making your exit from the dojo she had undoubtedly made a fool of.

.

.

.

“Heiji Shindo, huh?” you said, breaking the silence as you both descended the path down the hill. “Can we buy horses this time around?”

“No,” she immediately responded, “we need to be careful, at least while leaving this city. I have made enemies of many men here.”

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve fully removed their ability to ride a horse, though I don’t really care to hear how you did it…” you trailed off, trying your best to not imagine the horrors Mizu inflicted on those pitiable samurai. “Could we buy horses in the next city? We’ll be farther by then, putting more distance if there are people after us.”

“If you can afford it, then we can buy two. Until then, we walk.”

“Two? Why, my dear husband, we only need to buy one!” you sang, reveling in the way Mizu’s body briefly froze up at the intimate word. “Unless you want your useless, obedient wife to ride alone.”

“...I have no comment for your unending teasing,” she finally replied, crossing her arms.

“If you want to see teasing, you should turn around.” You finished securing her conical hat to your head, tying the last knot just as Mizu turned around to see you, letting you see the newly-formed pout on her rosy face as she saw you in her hat.

“Enough,” she ordered, stopping in front of you to reclaim her headgear, standing at least two heads above you.

“I think it suits me,” you whined while copying her pout, unable to stop her from reclaiming her hat.

She adjusted her hat and quickly tied it beneath her chin, continuing the walk through the cold, empty streets of Kyoto. The wind had kicked up since your time at the dojo, blowing harshly through the streets and depositing snow onto the roofs above. It made you wish you held onto Mizu’s hat for just a little longer, if only to escape the snow falling into your hair.

The gates at the front of the city opened for your exit, letting you step out onto the path leading into the forest. You stopped, however, noticing the mother and daughter from earlier, from when you first arrived in Kyoto. They were freezing, icy puffs of air pulled from their lips as they huddled close together for warmth. Your heart tugged towards them, clenching your fists in a moment of helplessness. The hairpiece gently pricked the walm of your hand as you squeezed, and you reopened it, looking at the expensive decoration and dropping it near their huddled forms.

You did your best to remain quiet as you walked away and down the path, into the sparse woods alongside Mizu. The trees did not grow in number as you walked, only growing in age, becoming thicker and taller, framing the night sky above. Mizu stopped in the middle of a clearing, causing you to stop behind her, trying to give her some space. You could tell she was looking up to the cloudy sky, and although you could hear her mumbling, you couldn’t catch the words in full.

You were, however, able to catch the familiar red droplets of blood that landed and melted into the snow below, reminding you of Mizu’s forgotten shoulder wound.

“You couldn’t have reminded me?” you hissed, stomping over and throwing her arm across your shoulder, which she brushed off.

“It’s my arm, not my leg,” she reasoned.

“If you didn’t want me to play doctor, you shouldn’t have brought me.”

“You brought yourself,” she snorted, turning her head in a different direction. “There’s a hot spring that way, you can ‘play doctor’ when we get there.”

You rolled your eyes, following her as you made your way to the hot spring. It was more impressive than you thought, multiple spouts of water differing in intensity spilling into the warm pool below, life barely blooming amidst the freezing conditions surrounding it.

Mizu began removing her accessories while you removed your inro, gathering your needed supplies to care for her wound.

“You need help with your bandages?” you asked, gesturing to her chest.

“I’ve got it,” she said, giving one last look around before letting her hair down.

She slowly removed her clothes, unwinding the bandages that bound her chest tightly. You did your best not to look, giving her much needed privacy as you began to undress yourself, folding your kimono nicely and resting your inro on top.

“Mind if I take a look at it, Mizu?” you politely requested, sinking your body into the warm spring. 

Mizu hummed, joining you into the water. Her body wasn’t entirely covered by the water from where she was standing—as well as her height, leaving her to stand awkwardly as you inspected her wound. It was both worse than you thought and better than you expected, long but not deep. The wrapping would be awkward, but infection wouldn’t be a worry, especially after this short bath.

It took all the strength you had to keep your eyes trained on her upper chest, though, luckily, her lower chest was being covered by her arms. Her very strong arms, that is. Her whole body was a surprising wonder, no doubt in part due to her constant wearing of those weights. She was able to throw Taigen a fair distance, she could probably pick you up with no problem. No problem at all…

“...You alright down there?” Mizu interrupted your thoughts, and immediately you could feel your face heating up.

“Yeah, ah—I can take care of it afterwards, just try and clean it out a little bit,” you stammered, moving further into the water.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment more before she moved closer to one of the low water falls, climbing atop the stone beneath for some brief meditation.

You spent your alone time cleaning up, rubbing off any dirt and deep cleaning your hair, the buildup of grease and who knows what else disappearing into the water below, leaving you to grab your needle and thread from your inro.

“I’m ready when you are, Mizu,” you called out, waving your needle for her to see.

She begrudgingly moved to the side by you, biting her lip as you gently applied the stinging ointment to her wound. You’d done this song and dance with her before, and as time went on Mizu had grown used to the bite of your medicine, her howls and cries dying with each new injury.

“Need something to bite on?” you asked before continuing your work.

“I’ll be fine,” she exhaled, shutting her eyes tight.

And so you began, weaving the needle in and out of her wound, carefully pulling it closed and tying the string off.

“Alright, good as new” you muttered, cutting the string. “Don’t touch, don’t scratch, don’t—”

“Not our first time, I know the drill,” she chuckled.

“Well, feel free to relax now,” you sighed, slouching down into the water and shutting your eyes in bliss. 

You enjoyed the time you had in the spring before leaving, reveling in the brief relaxation. Your eyes remained shut while you laid down, hearing her eventually join you in laying down. 

Loud footsteps caused your eyes to shoot open, and you saw that Mizu had already risen from the water, rushing to the ground and grabbing her sword. You scrambled for your kimono, searching for the small dagger tucked on the inside, planning to defend yourself, or worse if the situation called for it.

The figure stumbled through the shadows and into the clearing, meeting Mizu head on and shrieking loudly. You peaked from the spring, seeing Mizu pointing her blade and Ringo, the noodle maker’s son from long ago. He tilted his head, staring with wide eyes at Mizu and finally landing on your frightened expression.

“...Peaches?”

The dojo master prostrated himself before the man seated in the opulent chair, the dimly lit room illuminated only by the moonlit and roaring fireplace.

“Forgive me for giving your location, my brother. He was unstoppable,” he apologized, slowly rising into an upward kneel as his voice began to trail off. “He defeated my every student…” 

The man released a displeased hum, “Your students need better training,” he sneered, turning his head to the old face that walked in.

“The samurai, he's not human,” the old man—Hachiman—said, a mix of fury and bewilderment crossing his face as he recollected. “I saw its eyes.”

“A lone samurai, then?” the man asked, flickering his gaze between the two men before him.

“He had a companion,” the brother spoke, raising his head. “She had no weapon nor joined his fighting.”

The man scoffed, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, “So, a lone samurai with a useless woman.”

“The Four Fangs,” a rich, yet rough, accented voice spoke up, clearly bored by the conversation taking place right next to him. “Send the Four Fangs after this samurai and his girl.”

He grabbed an apple and twirled in between his fingers, “Double their price and be done with it.”

A sickening grin formed on the man’s face as he took in his companion’s words, rising from his chair as he left to distribute orders.

Alone in the room, the Irishman stared at his reflection in the apple, tilting his head as he questioned aloud.

“I wonder, lonesome samurai,” he cooed, taking a bite of the fruit, “why carry a whore ‘round with you when you have so much to lose?”

He tossed the unfinished remains of the apple behind him, turning his head to the window beside him.

“Ah, who gives a shit,” he laughed, snatching another apple. “They’ll both die anyways.”

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Sun and The Moon

(Prologue: Meeting By the Sea) Alfie Solomons x Shelby!OC

Summary: In early November of 1917, you are over a year into your service to the Crown as a volunteer nurse. Following a hollow victory, you make your acquaintance with one Alfie Solomons. WC: 3.1K Warnings: Mentions of war, death, g-re, v-mit, foul language, angst, psychological distress, etc.

November. 7, 1917.

You know you need to hurry. It's almost nightfall; you won’t have much light left to write in. Yet you cannot help but linger at the sight of today’s victory. Before you, there is an ocean. It is a vast sea of gray, thick, and cold. Unfeeling and joyless. An ocean of standing water, crumbling buildings, and miles upon miles of mud. The buildings once housed people, but now they resemble the ruins of a bygone era. A necropolis.

Rolling clouds of dirt and gunpowder float just above the ground like phantoms. It’s the only piece of this that reminds you anything of home. Beckoning to the fog and soot that rolled in the early mornings when you would walk with your brothers to Charlie’s yard. Behind you, white tents flap in the wind, and cloth clings to metal rods that hold the structure in place. A field hospital. The only taste of civilization left for miles.

Rings meant to fasten the flaps down rattle like windchimes against the winds. A sudden updraft carries the stench of decay from the trenches up to where you stand. You press a cloth into a small bottle of peppermint oil. Quickly, you put that cloth on your nose. One of the first things you learned after joining the VADs was to keep your feet dry and to have plenty of peppermint oil on hand. It wards off the smell of rot, both in the living and the dead. The first time you smelled it, you vomited. Now, you barely gag. Still holding the cloth to your nose, you turn back to the field hospital.

Your name is Maeve Shelby, and you are twenty-four.

It’s warmer inside the tents. Uncomfortably so. The warmth is from all the bodies; most lay about in cots; the rest are your fellow VADs and doctors. Humidity mixed with stagnant sweat and all the bed pans that ever come clean enough to be rid of acrid remnants. To save yourself from having to sit in the midst of it all, you set aside a chair for yourself at the mouth of the field hospital. It is a plain, simple wooden chair with one leg shorter than the other three. Beside it is a stack of empty ammunition boxes. You have a small lantern weighing down an unfinished letter. With a sigh, you sit down and resume your writing from earlier that day: 

Dearest Aunt Polly, Ada, and Finn ,

I know once my letter finds you that this will be well-known, but the Allies have finally claimed victory here in Ypres. The soldiers say we are nearly finished ousting the Germans from Passchendaele. Only a few remain. Too injured to retreat. It won’t be long before we can claim this as ours. Still, we have yet to celebrate. It’s strange. All these months we spent fighting, and this doesn’t feel like a victory. So many lives were lost. There are too many to even try to count.

My work keeps me busy, but it is at night when my mind is most busy. Even with the fighting stopped, it has been difficult to find the dead and the wounded. I do not know where these men will be put once they’re found. We have hardly any beds left to offer. I have taken to sleeping in a chair by the entry to the main tent. Partly to free a bed for those that need it, partly to keep an eye out for any soldiers still trying to make it back. 

For so long, all I’ve done is race from place to place. Now all I do is change bandages, sooth the restless, and listen for the wounded who remain stuck in the trenches. Those still well enough to fight are sent out to recover their comrades. It’s hard work. Idle bombs and lurking landmines are all still out there. Some men come back worse than they left.

I know that the boys aren’t out there, but still, I strain to listen for them. John, Arthur, and Tommy. In my dreams, I do hear them. Just as I know, you hear them in your dreams too, Polly. It makes me wake with such a fear in me that my feet carry me forward before I’m fully awake. I rush toward that ocean of muck and blood, and I stop only when my fingers pierce the earth; the feel of it under my fingernails brings back my senses for some reason. 

I wonder if all the victories we’ve won felt like this. I wonder if, when all is said and done, any of this will amount to anything at all. Does anyone remember why we’re even here? Who will take our bodies home if none of us survive?

“God,” you say, taking your pen and scratching out the last line. Then, you scratch out the last paragraph. You cross out line after line. They don’t need to read this. This madness. It was good of Ada to back out of volunteering. Not just because of this lonely sea of mud and blood, but for little Finn, too. With you and the three eldest men gone, someone needed to take care of him. Mom has been dead for almost five years now. Father may as well be dead; he felt like a ghost when he was home anyway. Aunt Polly was holding up “the business,” from what you could gleam from Ada’s letters back to you.

In the year you’ve spent out on the fields, you have yet to receive a letter from your brothers. Not that you blame them. All of you are on the move. What you know of their state comes from Ada, or Polly. Arthur and Tommy are together, which somewhat soothes you. You think of John often. He’s in France with Danny and Jeremiah. I think you joined so that you could look after your brothers. It’s been years since you’ve seen them in person. Who knows what state they may be in? There are men behind you who will never be whole. Broken bodies, shattered minds, and more scar tissue than flesh. Are your brothers as you remember them? You hate to linger on the thought.

You fold your ruined letter three times and rip it in half. The give-and-take of it feels good somehow. It reminds you of something you read once about children being destructive to gain some form of control. You can’t control how long this war lasts, when you can come home, what home you return to, or what state you find your brothers in, but you can control this paper. So, you rip it again. And again. Each tear becomes more jagged and childish. You throw up your hands, and the bits of paper fly away in the cold November winds.

‘Snow from Birmingham to Belgium,’ you crack a small smile.

You once dreamed of journeying across Europe. It was a lovely fantasy filled with long train rides and French pastries. Winking at handsome strangers while hiding your smile behind a lacy white glove. Now, you feel like you’ve seen too much of it. When all this fighting is over, maybe you’ll take a holiday to Margate. Clean your memory with a long look at an ocean of water instead of this hellscape.

“Shelby!” Your head turns sharply to see Nurse Burgess charging towards you. Her round face was blotchy as always, her thin lips drawn down in a harsh frown. “Miss Shelby, you are needed in the back.”

Tucking your scented hanky back into your apron, you ask, “Is someone in throes?” Some men, in the throes of despair, couldn’t always tell the difference between a nurse and a German soldier.

Her meaty hand takes you by the upper arm and says, “No, I need you to keep an eye on someone.” Nurse Burgess drags you through the maze of malaise swiftly, despite the growing night. The nurses have navigated this place in near darkness many times now. You could probably make it from one end to the other, blindfolded. Tonight, the field hospital was quiet aside from the moaning. Nurse Burgess guides you deeper inside the field hospital with a hoarse, “It’s Captain Solomons; that bastard won’t lay still, and I haven’t the time to keep on him.”

You try to keep your voice low as soldiers in their cots roll over to follow you and Nurse Burgess’ mad dash. “Captain Solomons? I thought he was sedated, heavily!”

Nurse Burgess, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She hollers, “That man is a bloody bear. We keep trying to give him more, and he shoos us off. Now, he won’t stop trying to get out of his cot... with a blown-out leg!” Two soldiers sat on their cots with a barrel between them. They played cards under the glow of a flickering candle on their shared nightstand. As you passed, they snickered.

“I can’t imagine he would be able to move much; Doctor Gill said he nearly lost that leg,” you noted wearily. Burgess was nearly done with her escorting or you; the back of the tent was not far off. You stepped over a pool of what could have been rainwater, bile, or piss. There is no point in stopping to check.

At the back of the field hospital lay two specific sorts of patients. Those who could not move and those who absolutely should not move. Captain Solomons was in the former category. Days ago, he sustained a bullet to his shin that nearly shattered it. He had been under strict orders, and a heavy dose of sedatives, to stay right where he was. Each cot in this back section has its own privacy curtain. When you first joined, you thought it was for the nurses to sleep and change in. The other nurses had a good laugh about that. When she comes upon Captain Solomons’ curtain, Nurse Burgess lets you go. S yanks back the curtain, shielding the Captain from view, and lets out a deep grunt.

You peer around her shoulder and sigh. The captain sits on the thin cot with a sterile sheet pushed down to his legs. His back is raised from the metal headboard, and he has his body turned with his good foot nearly touching the ground. Still on the bed rests his wounded leg. It lays at a stiff, awkward angle. You know he must at least be aware of its precarious state. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out all of his features.

“Captain!”

He’s a big man, with broad shoulders and heavy muscle on his back and arms. You can see it pushing against his long-sleeved undershirt. What strikes you most about him is not his mass or his leg, but his grin. His cheeky, cheeky grin.

Captain Solomons keeps on that grin as he says, “Hm, it appears I have been caught, right?” His accent is thick. You know very little about Captain Solomons aside from the most basic of details. You know he’s from London, you know that he’s Jewish, and you know that he can be difficult. The Captain’s tone remains glib as he remarks, “And you brought a friend, ‘ello there.”

“You are to be resting, Captain Solomons!” Based on her tone, you can imagine Nurse Burgess is turning purple about now. Captain Solomons gives her a boyish shrug and stays upright in his cot. That alone makes Nurse Burgess turn to you and hiss and say, “Keep him here so he doesn’t rip his bloody stitches, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you hum. She leaves you there in the parted curtains with Captain Solomons. He regards you for a moment, then restarts his attempt at standing. You let out a sigh and hurry to him before he gains enough traction to hurt himself. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you try to ease him back into his crib. “Captain, you really must follow the doctor’s instructions.” You feel him push against your palms.

“Fuck the doctors; pardon my verbiage, but I’m about to go mad lying about this miserable lump you call a bed,” he says, putting his hands around your wrists. You are taken aback by how easily his hand wraps around your wrist. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to just shove you aside. “I need to take a walk.”

Politeness doesn’t seem to work on him, nor does roughness. While you weren’t tough like John or ruthless like Arthur, you were clever with people. You could get a sense of how someone’s mind ticked quickly. You hoped you could catch on about Captain Solomons too. “And when your stitches rip and you’ve lost your leg, what cot would you like me to move you to?”

He stops pushing against you. His chest is still heaving, and his hot breath fans your cheeks. You swallowed thickly; you really underestimated how close you were to him. This is a is a big, big man. One who had rumors of a violent temper that took very little to agitate.

“You have been injured and are lucky to be alive. And you still have all your parts, Captain. Why are you risking that just to go on a fucking walk?” He stares you down with a furrowed brow. For a moment, you worry you’ve poked the bear a bit too hard. “If you refuse to take the doctors seriously, what do you think the men who answer to you will do? They’ll all be trying to walk about despite their pain and end up injuring themselves for pride.”

Solomons puts you at ease when he sits back on the cot, releasing your wrists. “I can’t just lay about like this. I’ll lose the rest of my marbles waiting around for those doctors to get these stitches out. There’s not a single thing a man can do to occupy his mind in this place. It smells of piss, rot, and pus. If they would give me back my knife, right? I could cut out a little window in this tarp behind me and get a whiff of fresh air. But they won’t. Where’s the respect, hm?”

You cross your arms and ask, “So, you’re bored?”

He stiffens. Oh, you hit the nail right on the head with that one. You can’t exactly blame him. The longer you stand still, the faster all your fears catch up with you. All those ugly things you’ve seen and heard find you. That’s why the soldiers play cards and the nurses trade that single copy of ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘A Room with a View’ back and forth. Distraction. “If you can stay still where you are, I can try to get a book or a deck of cards. Would you like that?”

With a sweeping gesture to the darkness, he says, “Can’t exactly read a page or play a hand in the dark, now can we love?”

Shaking your head at his childish attempts at derailing your little plan, you take out a matchbox from your apron. With your last matchstick, you bring life to a lantern by his bed. You turn to face him, a warm orange light reflecting on your face. In the dim lighting offered by the lantern, you can see the Captain’s face. He’s young for a man of his rank. And handsome, you can admit as much in your own mind. His eyes are bright, and his features are deeply masculine. A hard jawline with a prominent brow and pouty lips. Most soldiers, regardless of rank, are required to be clean-shaven. This is not true for Captain Solomons. He has a well-maintained moustache and beard, cut close to his jawline. You heard from somewhere that Solomons was an exception due to his faith or his demeanor. Captain Solomons is looking up at you, too. His expression was all aglow. Bright gray eyes stare at your face. Confused almost as they regard you.

“Do we have a deal, Captain?”

He’s still staring at you, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. Finally, he says, “If you can get ‘Frankenstein,’ I’ll stay put. That’s a piece of fiction I can sit with for a good bit of time.”

You beam at him and take the chance to push his healthy leg under his blanket. Solomons grumbles, “Easy now, easy. I’m injured, remember?” He allows you to gently move him safely into his cot.

Finding the nurse who had taken possession of the book was no easy task, but she was quick to give it to you when you informed her a captain had asked for it. When you came back with the book, Solomons was still in bed. You thanked a God you no longer believed in and handed him the book. Just as you attempted to leave, Captain Solomons made an admission: “My eyes, yeah, they don’t pinch up the written word so easy these days. If there’s not a grisly scene out there for you to attend to, might you do me the service of reading this aloud for me?”

For a moment, you think about refusing. You never know when you’ll be called away. But then again, you’re the one who came up with the idea to get him a distraction anyway. Settling down at the edge of his bed, you take the book from his hand and begin to read. Captain Solomons leans back against the metal headboard, listening to you begin reading the preface. What you didn’t know was that this was the start of a near-nightly ritual. Captain Solomons would attempt to slink out of bed to go'stretch his leg(s)’ until you would rush over to distract him with another book or game of cards. He became a welcome distraction for you as well. A friend, almost. Perhaps more than that, if the way he kissed you one cold night in late November told you anything.

His lips were as soft as they looked. 

Whether it was friendship or not, it lasted for about a month. Captain Solomons and his men were removed from the area for transport to the west. You and your fellow VADs would go north. He didn’t stop to say goodbye to you, which bothered you. The morning after he kissed you was the day you found out about the move. And he was already gone.

In one year and three days, the war would be over. You would return home to find that all your brothers had survived. But they weren’t quite themselves anymore, and neither were you.

[caelanglang]

"From afar the Fata Morgana makes absolutely no sense. It's a floating fucking ship, and you probably think you're going insane, right?" - Mors Vincit Omnia, Chapter 10

no thoughts empty head, just think about. @itotypes well-written well-designed pirates orz

no srsly pls read it it’s so darn good im so aksdfhakjhakg *frantic hand gestures to express my love*

anyways i’m gonna ramble about it so-- spoilers ahead (pls don’t let me ruin your reading experience)

hi Ito!!! I finally finished Mors Vincit Omnia and there are so many things I wanna scream about it but at the same time I am just at a loss for words—it's so so good!! ToT) I don't think I caught all of your well-made metaphors and motifs but I absolutely adore the ones I noticed!! Especially Odasaku's pendant TvT !! Your storytelling was really well-done! I was on my toes the whole time reading this ;v; I really love the entire vibe you built in the story, it really felt like I was sucked into the world and and and each of your characters is so lovely and endearing from the people in Decay to Stormbringer ToT all of them, no matter how little screen time they had, you could really feel their personality and humanity !! I am absolutely in love with your fata morgana analogy too—it's so darn good IT'S LIKE MAGIC AUASGASGKLJSA And that dam line "Chuuya genuinely wants Dazai to suffer like a human." BRUH THAT WAS SO WELL EXECUTED MY JAW DROPPED IN REAL TIME READING IT *banging head on the floor* aughaugha i still have so much more i wanna say but idk how to express it so *drops a drawing instead* (one of my fav moments from the entire fic im so aksjhdgslkg) So many darn times while reading i was debating if I should book bind this fic I swear that’s how good it is aklsjdhfaksgj anyways I’m sorry for the ramble I just wanna thank you for sharing this fic with us and blessing us with your wonderfully drawn designs aaaaaaaaaa I know you’re probably tired reading this again but  I LOVE IT SO SO SO SO MUCH !!!!!!!

[puhpandas]

just finished the interview with 7 filled sticky notes lmao.. here’s a little bit of a synopsis of some bigger things :)

ruin is one of scott’s favorites from steelwool! the mimic is also a character he likes and he said that it wont be the last that we see of it. VANNY IS ONE OF THE CHARACTERS HE ALSO LIKES FROM THE SW GAMES THERE HOPE GUYS THERES HOPE. (i wrote ‘vanny omfg’ in big letters)

burntrap was never supposed to move in SB, more like a “decaying movie prop” as scott puts it. The story he had in mind for SB was never fully communicated with SW, instead he just gave them certain things (plot points, ideas, lines of dialogue) that were placed in the game and SW filled in the gaps. the end result was very different from what scott had in mind.

in terms of the movie, the mci were treated with lots of care in regards to how they were portrayed in the movie. the goal was to keep them as innocent victims who only know that the last time they were with an adult, they ended up hurt. so the scene with the break in was a way to get a kill count while still protecting the idea that they are just kids. fort scene!! also the newton bros intro will show up supposedly in the second movie grins

SW has big stuff planned outside of jsut this week! there’s hopes for another game made by the same company thats doing into the pit rn! Fetch is a story that scott said he thinks would be a good fit

the box. there is something in it, but its not what it was when scott first created it. whatever was in it then has kinda abstracted and the box is just. there. the og idea was meant for a different story direction

and thats pretty much it! this turned out much longer than i thought it would be lmao sorry for the huge ask 😭

OH MY GOD thank you so so much V this helps out so much!! ur a livesaver!!

THANK GOD VANNY SCREENTIME OTW🙏🙏🙏

oh my god that second one is groundbreaking. that literally just explains everything that happened with SB. scott didnt communicate with them for some reason and the story they made from the bits and pieces he gave them wasnt what he actually wanted then boom. content massacre of 2021. insane information

OH MY FUCJING GODDD THE HYPE IS SO REAL WITH THAT. SW HAS BIG PLANS OUTSIDE THE WEEK EVERYBODY SOUND THE ALARMS

and oh my God FETCYHHHHHGH FETCY FETCH ID ACTUALLY CRY SO HARD IF THEY MADE A FETCH GAME. THAT WAS ONE OF KY FIRST PICKS FOR ANOTHER FAZBEAR FRIGHTS GAME!!

oh my godd that box is so annoying LMAO. I wish he had said what was in it originally tho since theres no point in hiding it if it was strictly for a different story direction that isnt canon anymore

once again THANK U V this helps out so much I appreciate it a ton🙏🙏💜💜💜

[sempersirens]

nostos | prologue

nostos (vόστος) [v.] homecoming; to return, to reach someplace; return to light and life; salvation, not death; the [sweetness] of returning and coming back again home. from the sweetness of your homeland, for nothing is sweeter than your fatherland

author's note: hello! welcome to my new series, nostos. this prologue is intended to set the scene slightly, the following chapters will be much more plot/dialogue heavy. i hope you all enjoy, pls let me know your thoughts (good or bad!) love you all. dee x

Sing to me of a woman who, amidst a world's ruin, was expelled to purgatory.

Suspended between the ache of then and the uncertainty of now. Her existence, an enigmatic slow dance between shadows and faded light, bore witness to the collision of dreams and decay. In this suspended realm, time bent and wavered.

She had been an artist, once. Now, she painted scenes in her mind of days when laughter echoed and hearts beat without the constant burden of the unknown. A world upturned, a love once nurtured now suspended in the gossamer threads of what could have been.

/

Her breath fogs the window when she screams. She pleads with the gods who never answer, for it to be his frame emerging from the snow this time. The cold glass she claws at takes pity on her, unmoving beneath her fingertips to remind her how permanence feels. Time stretches its sinewy fingers, each crack of its weary joints a mocking tick of the clock in the corner with a broken face.

Their son stirs in her arms, but he does not wake. In those moments of waiting, she bites down so hard on her lower lip that she can taste the desperation bleeding on her tongue.

When the end of the world came, he decided to become a hero. She, in turn, was to become a housewife. He'd forever whispered promises to her, vowing to carry her away to any corner of existence; but this was a corner she had been backed into.

Their son was three when he left, still testing the capacity of his lungs each night and day.

She loved him, a love that burned fierce and unyielding, a beacon of warmth in a world grown cold. With every fibre of her being, she loved him. Her devotion ran deeper than the ravines left by the cataclysm. And she loved her child, a precious life born into a landscape of desolation, a fragile bud that had never struggled to bloom amidst the chaos. Each night, she held what was left of them tightly against her chest.

But time, relentless and unapologetic, was too heavy for her to hold on her shoulders alone. He had promised they were a team, a unit bound by their love. Yet, with the passage of days and nights, the weight of survival had frayed the edges of his promise. The notion seemed quaint, a distant memory from a time when his words could heal all of her fears. And now, he was gone.

So, she waits. Her heart's rhythm entwined with his across the vast expanse of time. Time heeds its intricate tapestry, revelling in his trials and her persistent clutch of hope, she longs for the return of her beloved. A lone wanderer, navigating the territories of a world that does not belong, that never belongs, to any of us.

[saltydogsmut]

do you think that the questionable burial route won’t be much different than decay despite Andrew choosing to see his decision to stay with Ashley as a personal choice (based on mutual trust) rather than forced on him? I’m not sure what to make of it either, the issue of the dynamic between “Andy and Leyley” is also acknowledged in both routes (in burial it is through Andrews asking implicitly if Ashley finds Andy more fun “am I no fun anymore?”),

(also another question: do you think the Ashley we’ve seen has been “Ashley” or “Leyley”)

Tldr; I think the routes will be different, even if the results may be the same. I think the questionable burial route could lead to death of at least one of the graves siblings, or a bad end where they more or less perpetuate a cycle of misery and become their parents.

---

[Meta wise: The thing about nemelei's v/ns is there's always a more or less good ending somewhere in there, even if it's not what the protagonist thought they wanted going into it. Doing what the protagonist thinks they want leads to more complications down the way, and your choices to follow through on it can lead to more pain. I think through other nemelei works you can see they are pretty critical of the idea that love innately leads to a happier life.]

And while decay has the more ominous start, I don't think it's going to be a guaranteed bad end (death) just for going down that route. Even as they kill each other it's clear they still hold deep affection for each other. Decay is more them falling into their bad habits, Andrew back into blaming Ashley, and Ashley back into breaking her promises to Andrew. It's possible we'll never get the "best" ending this route, but I think a small relapse in their behaviours is expected and shouldn't doom us entirely.

Decay and non-questionable burial have a more obvious sibling tone, but on questionable they may try to disguise themselves as a married couple. I feel Julia is going to be a major part in either case. I feel if you disguise yourself as a couple it'll definitely throw off any possible links to the past, not that they should have many people looking for them, but they are in a stolen car right now and who knows if that assassin was chatty. So maybe being a couple is "easier" at least superficially. You might get to avoid certain dangerous scenarios that you wouldn't be able to as siblings. That being said I think Julia will show up and if you're a couple that's not going to go well. Maybe you'll have to kill someone who is genuinely not a bad person for once. A scenario you might avoid as just siblings at the expense of other dangers which Julia may try to hide you from. Even with all the bad blood, I don't think she'll want more of her childhood friends dead.

But disregarding all of that, non-questionable burial is the only route where we still have a psychic vision remaining(assuming you can't overcharge the amulet). And I think we may need it to save Andrew from the demon's control as we get to see what that hand thing is. Even if we can meta game and go get the items in another route without the characters knowing why, the player will need that vision. Of course it may just be for seeing how your chosen ending plays out and allowing you to go back to pick another option.

But speculating on the future is easy. Onto the second part.

---

This question is more complicated.

I think to Andrew, the issue of Andy and Leyley comes down to power. Andy is a childhood moniker Ashley throws out when she wants to elicit a certain response from him, support and potentially affection. To Andrew its a reminder that Leyley practically owns him and he has to do what she says or she'll send them both to prison, ruining their lives. But even with that, he can't deny that he enjoys following her whims because most of the time they are enjoyable, at least more than what he'd be doing otherwise.

When he's throwing out "am I no fun anymore" in burial, it's to avoid talking about why he's so giddy and treating her like a girlfriend. Him using it is to distract her.

To Ashley, she's always been herself. There's no distinction in her mind, but acting more childishly has always been an effective way to push Andrew into behaving more like "Andy" and forcing him to take care of her. The only reason she has a distinction is because Andrew has made one. Because its about power for Andrew and Ashley, calling him Andy and him not reacting negatively is her way of checking in with him to see if she needs to do damage control or not, at least recently. Before it was her way of being childish and trying to get him out of a bad mood and play around.

Because Andrew is such a control freak the reminder of the time he has no control, even when he brings it up himself, pisses him off. Even if he knows she's not trying to exert control consciously and it's her way of introducing play, he still accuses her of using it as a way to get out of promises and piss him off intentionally.

To Andrew, Leyley is a bratty liability that does whatever she wants and he has to coddle her and put up with her whims to keep his life going. The trinket causing visions is yet another tool of control to him, one he doesn't have access to in the non-questionable route and thus, will always put stress on him because he can't just use it for himself. He has to rely on Ashley. I feel that too is going to be a crucial factor in his behavior, as even that small doubt that he can't use it and must rely on her really sours his mood.

He wants to be free to leave at any time but then make the choice to be with her. I think even fake marriage would be too far for Andrew because then he's not "free" to leave and would have to get divorced first. For Ashley however marriage means Andrew can't leave, and that's all she wants. She doesn't care if she has no control (yet) just so long as Andrew doesn't leave her. If that remains unaddressed then the friction could definitely tear them apart, no matter what route they're on.

[funbonded]

[ ⋆ ] ❝  Fearless ?! Fearless ! Such an ugly word . Such an ugly thing it is to be without FEAR .  ❞ The mechanical panda meanders around the word , almost rolling it around like a marble lodged into his head cavity .

❝  What is life without FEAR to lose it ? Is that not why you little lambchops come here ? To this desolate place , for just a fleeting moment praying for self - preservation the video games just aren't doing it anymore now are they ? !  ❞ He prattles . ❝  No , no ....but you see , Cassie , I'm not a video game . I'm very much real . I only want to give the audience what they desire ! Consternation ! DREAD ! DEATH ! - I like to see how quickly they change their minds when death stares them right in the eyes .  ❞

At that the animatronic cranes down , upper endo spine slithering oddly like a snake as he twists the end of his head , snapping downside - up , killers eyes meet with hers as his face plates burst open . Intimidation . A laugh . He moves away . Back to circling . ❝ ... In my game everyone wins because everyone gets what they wanted ! ... Tell me, Cassie , are you afraid ?  ❞ / @curseofbreadbear starter

[deconreconstruction]

In a general and objectively fair fight who'd win... Edolon , Pozzol and Talald or sober Gamzee ?

this question got multiple people chiming in so enjoy your very in depth answers

AUSTINWYNN: Gotta be real here? Team Culitst would pretty easily fuck up Sober Gamzee. Gamzee has durability, but the only reason he could kill Equius and Nepeta was a) Equius's highblood superiority fetish and b) element of surprise. He is strong but he doesn't do one v ones well. See: Kanaya bisecting him or his bisection in Caliborn's masterpiece. I think people overestimate Gamzee's capabilities a lot. Edolon, though, as we've seen, literally has a durability factor akin to Gamzee due to his doom alchemy. Not just that, but his ability to decay and disintegrate would simply ruin Gamzee. Not to mention Pozzol's sheer strength and fury outclassing a 13-16 year old Gamzee's.

I also just think Talald outclowns Gamzee.

This has been: My Take™️.

AUSTINADO: yeah i agree with all of austinwynn's assessments here. gamzee does have an advantage purely due to narrative circumstances but that's solely because he's plot relevant for juju stigmatisms and timeline wraparounds. even playing field? no chance. double juggalo backbreaker? pozzol wouldnt even give him the time of day

[employee052]

HELLO IVE HAD MANY A BRAINBLAST FOR THE TSPxDBH AU AND IM GONNA MAKE THIS A SEPERATE POST FROM THE FIRST ONE

[IF U WANT CONTEXT TO THIS AU HERES THE FIRST POST]

This is V, The Explorer who finds Virgil's body in the office ruins just a few years after Humanity has gotten their freedom.

Some more AU spitballing:

His name is V because of Stanley's Wife. She probably has heard a lot about this android at his office and how this android has taken care of Stanley while dealing with the intense pressures at the office, so she knows that they are a friend to Stanley of some sort. (Highlighting her bc i'll mention her again later)

So when V is born, she names the baby Vi. (Stanley probably didnt know about V at all. Perhaps his wife was going to bring up the news to him when he got home one day. Only for him to never come back.) She wouldn't remember Virgil's name fully though, so she names him V.

Since the game is essentially a VR world for Stanley, everything inside is probably a mix of things taken from Virgil or Stanleys memories. Only due to the decay on Virgil's body and Stanley's forgotten memories, they're half of the whole picture, but taken at face value on their own. Hence the endless sprawling office, non-sensical catwalks and locations, etc.

Like... maybe the Curator is the voice of Virgil's developers, or the Amanda of this universe. But with the decay coupled with the office terminating his service, cutting Cyberlife's systems off from him, all he remembers is the voice talking to him in a white void and reimagines her in a museum.

Maybe the bucket comes from Stanley's vague memory of going to Home Depot to buy a bucket and finding one really good one in the entire store.

Etc. Etc.

Back to V, however, I bring this up because this is the reason why i colour picked V's hair colour from Mariella specifically.

Since Mariella in the game is the only other person with a model that's human in form, maybe Stanley remembers her face but just doesn't remember who it is. Which is why in this AU im thinking Mariella would be Stanley's wife. He just doesn't remember that her face is his wife, since his "wife" in the apartment ending is a mannequin.

(Ignore the fact that Virgil/The Narrator would go on to say "Who would want to commit their life to you" and that he may have some jealousy to this said wife in the first place. /lh /silly)

Maybe The Narrator saw Stanley's memory of this woman's face, and used it in the game since he remembered it so vividly. But since neither remember it was Stanley's wife's face, it was used for the Insanity ending.

Having V as Stanley's son gave me this idea that once The Narrator leaves the office with him to go live out the rest of his days at the local town of survivors, he ends up becoming close to him as well.

It's almost a miracle in a sense, considering that The Narrator wasn't sure he could trust humanity again after his time back in the office.

But over time, they get close, and The Narrator let's his guard down.

Cyberlife Androids have that feature where they can analyze things with their tongue, right?

When they end up having their first kiss, it would take some time for things to get working much less the Narrator be willing to even kiss someone, his HUD starts studying V's DNA.

As he's kissing him, he sees his systems say that its a 47.5% match to Stanley's.

And if you're wondering how the Narrator has Stanley's DNA. He has a function for CPR. And I am 100% sure that he would've tried to save Stanley using it.

The Narrator wouldn't be upset about it in the slightest however. If anything he finds the situation funny in a sense. That the person he ends up loving is also the descendant of the man he loved first.

If he tells this to V however, he goes silent at the realization. Especially since he never remembered having a Father.

Maybe this could lead to him going to his mother, who's now elderly, and the look of shock on his face when he sees an elderly Mariella look back at him, and the voice similar to the one he used in the Parable.

Maybe she tells the story about her husbands disappearance, and maybe The Narrator tells her about Stanley's fate.

Maybe he tells her about the Parable, about how he desperately tried to keep him alive, only to realize that he was gone and moved on. But he still has whatever's left of him in his mind. Living happily in the newly reformed VR space that has him living out his happiest days and in peace.

Maybe with this, The Narrator and Mariella begin to recount stories about Stanley, with V listening in about his father that he never remembered.

And maybe, they all grow closer, and finally move on.

[merge-conflict]

the damn things overlap ch. 14 - old devils

thank you so much to @streetkid-named-desire for your beta skills they were enormously helpful 🙏

With V out of commission it's up to Johnny to get her out of the hands of Arasaka and back to safety. Unfortunately, Smasher has other plans.

A burst of distorted laughter sent adrenaline screaming up the inside of Johnny’s lungs as he turned to find its source. Half a century later and Smasher was less human than ever: a ghoulish half-skinned skull bolted onto a brutal metal frame and armored with enough heavy plating to make the float shift when he lurched into motion. He towered over Oda, shoulders hunched so the launcher perched on his shoulder didn’t scrape the ceiling. Behind him was the smoking ruin of the hole he’d blown open, the unsettled dust and debris making his red eyes glow like fire: Arasaka’s oldest hellhound. Something about the angle at which he was leering down at him made Johnny feel like he was standing in and out of a nightmare, unarmed and paralyzed while his mind tried to catch up with V’s hammering heart. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his arm ached bone-deep, numbness flickering up and down from his elbow to his fingertips. The air stank suddenly of charred flesh and scorched metal, like saltwater and bloated decay. Black dog dreams. He reached again for V, but she was gone and he was alone. No V, no Hand, just him. “Too stupid to stay dead,” Smasher spat, leaning over Oda in a way that made the man instinctively tense, grip tightening painfully on Johnny's shoulder. “That really you, Johnny-boy?”

>> Read the rest on AO3<<

[kopfkino-o]

SEER’S STONE PREVIEW: THE SMUTTY STUFF

I literally have no self-control and just couldn't stop myself from putting together this little preview even though I'm supposed to be working on the next chapter lmao.

Also, happy Elriel month to all! I'm so thankful for this community, the connections I've made, and the welcomeness I've received as a new fanfic writer. You guys are gems 🖤

I.

“Oh, fuck you.” Elain snapped.

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Azriel's lips. “Only if you beg.”

II.

And then he was in her arms and his hands were in her hair and the kiss between was nothing if not feverish. It burned her, the need and desire she'd been trying to ignore for weeks now, finally threatening to devour her whole. Let it, she thought.

Elain wasn't a stranger to destruction and ruin, wasn't scared of chaos and darkness and decay.

He could devour her if he wanted. He could drag her down deep into that strange place of shadow and shade. He could ruin her and in turn, she would ruin him.

"Don't stop," The words were a breathy moan.

III.

Elain caught his jaw in her hand, forcing Azriel to look up at her.

“Do you want to know what I think?” She asked softly. 

He looked up at her through dark lashes, hazel eyes half begging her to continue. 

“I think you’re always the one in control. The one who always takes charge, and I think,” Elain murmured, tracing a finger over the hard curve of his throat, the strong line of his collarbone. “I think, for once, you don’t want to be in charge," She dragged that finger down the hard expanse of his bare chest, humming as she considered him. Beautiful, utterly fucking beautiful. “I think for once you want someone else to take control. Would you like that, Azriel?” 

He only groaned. 

Elain ran a thumb down his lip. “Use your words.” 

“Yes.”

IV.

His hand came down hard atop her mouth just as a low, desperate moan escaped the back of her throat. Their eyes met over the ridges of his burnt fingers, and, slowly, purposefully, Azriel lifted a finger to his lips.

"I need you to be quiet for me." He whispered.

V.

Elain liked the way he looked like this, desperate and begging. Liked the way he was absolutely determined to please her, liked his willingness to submit to her entirely. Graysen had never relinquished such control, but Azriel...

I am yours, both in body and soul.

Elain couldn't help the wicked grin that settled over her features, couldn't stop the thoughts and wants that flooded through her. She wanted him in every way there was to want someone.

Wanted to make him beg, wanted to wring her name from his lips over and over and over again. Wanted to feel the fullness of him inside her. Wanted to press burning kisses to his scarred hands, along the edges of the sunburst where Hybern's ash arrow had once been, to the very core of his soul.

"Come here."

[lemonhemlock]

Thoughts on rhaencient?

and

Thoughts on rhaencient

and

What are ur thoughts on rhaenyra and alicents relationship?

i hear your grievances and i have come to address them!

what can i say, anons. this was one of the changes i really liked from the books. by making alicent rhaenyra's age, they removed the frankly overdone evil stepmother trope. or, rather, by making them childhood companions, they subverted it in an unexpected way. it's really "shut up or i'll fuck ur dad" only with extra layers of tragedy.

i thought their dynamic was really well done actually? i loved how they were framed. alicent helping rhaenyra dress before her ceremonial investiture. the twin faces of sorrow when viserys announces he will marry alicent in the small council room. the deleted scenes of rhaenyra helping alicent in her wedding dress. the hand-holding after the tapestries farce! the "alicent, your grace, sister"!!!! i was obsessed with THE GIRLS in the first half of the show!

i've noticed that the gay subtext really flies over a lot of people's heads & i think it's bc it's more socially-acceptable for girls to display physical affection towards each other than it is for men. so it's easier for viewers to resort to the traditional reading that "they're just gal pals". i was v disappointed with some male asoiaf reviewers i've watched since so many elements that had to do with womanhood were completely invisible to them. it was so jarring. but there was this permeating sense of YEARNING and melancholic tension that emanated out of these two, like you could sense they were meant to be soulmates

i think it's fair to say that rhaenyra is probably a bisexual woman (esp if we also take into account her dalliance with laena in the books), as she seems to also be very comfortable within relationships with men. but, for alicent, i don't really think she knows what she is. that exploration of self was denied to her and her feelings for rhaenyra were misdirected the moment she was forced to have children & fear for their lives. there's also this little-discussed facet of alicent as a queer woman shoved inside a very traditional female matronly role from a very early age. coerced into having old man sex with her decaying husband, impregnated against her will, just very generally developing a noxious relationship with sex. whereas rhaenyra is afforded the opportunity of reveling in romantic love and inhabits the role of motherhood from a much calmer, more balanced perspective

i've already spoken about the symbolism of The Page in the final third of this post, but alicent & rhaenyra are such representatives of their houses' respective ideologies: soft power & diplomacy vs conquest & claiming. alicent wants to tame rhaenyra. rhaenyra wants to ravish alicent. they could have MAYBE balanced each other out in a utopic world where they would have just been allowed to BE & it's so jarring to see how they're torn apart by gross old men who barter with women's bodies and convince themselves they are doing what's right for them & their families. but ofc it's also The System TM as a whole at fault here. no one wins, no one is happy, no one is safe under patriarchal feudalism.

the breakdown of their relationship doesn't happen overnight, it's a ruin dismantled brick by brick by them, their fathers, the society that has no place for them to explore their bond, the bankruptcy of empathy, the failure of trust, but still they cling onto each other whenever they are rewarded a moment of respite!

[sinnerxroulette]

The hero had simply stopped looking up. Yellow eyes taking in the sight of brightly lit neon reaching higher and higher into the sky 3 letters adorned its mantle..its power. 3 v's. He wondered what it meant...

It reminded him of ruined towers trying to pierce higher and higher into the sky like reaching, climbing to break the limit to free them...laid in ruins pieces of stone tumbling as it decayed.

He never had time to look, to stop, always moving, fighting, gathering...so to stop and simply look at this gathering of brightly adorned color...his head tilted slightly this grey man simply stood and looked unknown to anyone who may approach.

Velvette had had a busy busy day, and that was turning into a busy night as she drove back up to VVV tower. Stepping out of the car with an entourage, she'd pause at the sight of some rando standing right in the front of the tower. In her way.

"OI! Step aside or get trampled, Grey-Scale!"

[mythvoiced]

❝  you will understand in time.  ❞ ( patrick at...maría?? >:3 )

@clemencetaught | PHANTOM OF THE OPERA / SENTENCE STARTERS

---

A tale as old as time: the young and the less so, not quite old, but drained by life just enough that hearing what digits they carry with them in actuality, when contrasted with the age reflected in their eyes, the weight of the time equivalent of the experiences they've gathered, few don't find their own eyes widening when realising, putting two and two together, recognising the implications of a person not yet grey-haired speaking of pain and war with intimate familiarity.

A tale as old as time: the young, reckless, the first year of war, or the second, their first run, their first time smelling decaying corpses and feeling flaws crawl up their nostrils, choking them from within no matter how desperately they attempt to beg them to stop.

A tale as old as time: frustration v wisdom.

She will. She doesn't assume she won't. But as she stands there, body always angled away from Patrick and that wise, old, holder of past hurt look in his eyes, as she stands there and keeps dragging her hands through her hair, fingers getting suspiciously entangled just enough for her to rip, as she stands there and doesn't stand but paces, with her mascara dragging black lines down her face, as she growls in spite of her tears, she realises one thing, what-

"- if I don't want to?!" she hiccups into a shout, whipping around to stare at Patrick. A part of her acts as the spokeswoman to her shame, making her chest feel hot with it, when she recognises what she's doing.

Hasn't he suffered enough?

Hasn't he been here enough, stuffed into a suit, shoved into his victor throne, made to face her as she burns on the stake of her ache? Yes, yes, he has, yes, he knows better, yes, yes, yes, all of that, yes, BUT-

"How can you say that?" she lowers her voice until she's pushing it through her teeth, jaws clenched, stepping closer, face contorted, incapable of sticking to a grimace that manages to hide the desperation in her eyes.

They say, rely on your 'elders'. Listen to those that came before you, let them guide you in a world you don't understand. The Capitol, lights too bright, sounds too foreign, so many of the colours she's broken her back to help put on their clothes, stuck with her neck in the noose of their world and one foot stuck back at home.

One foot stuck in the Arena.

She inhales, sharply, reels herself back in.

"I don't want to," she metaphorically puts her foot down. Then reaches up to mess her hair up further. The Capitol can doll her up all they want. She'll always find a way to ruin it. When her arms drop back at her sides, they do so almost defiantly. She lifts her chin.

"I don't want to understand. I want to do something. How can you ask me to sit here and... and- and just..." her hand tries to encompass what her voice struggles to, but she drops it, bites her tongue, lifts her gaze to meet his once more.

"You shouldn't do that to yourself, either. Understand. They're not kind enough to understand us. Why should I bother to-- isn't that what they want us to do? Sit here and ponder until we realise why we deserve all this? No. There's nothing to understand. All I need to know, I already know."

Her forefinger reaches his chest. She doesn't stab him with it, much like her features soften, mellow out in the pleas of a child hoping the adult she wants to keep safe sees how hard she tries.

"You can't do that to yourself. You have to keep fighting. Don't let them-- don't give up on yourself."

Please.