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tekumaniac311 · 3 months

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Rider Rescue: Briefing.

This chapter takes place right where the Prologue left off, After Dogday and his entire Space Rider squadron had been captured by the cult.

At a different Space Rider ship, black and red in colour. In the mess hall eight Riders were having supper together, like Dogdays squad, this one consisted of four males and four females.

A large brown mammoth was conversing with a small, brown furred, ring tailed lemur. The little lemur was trying not to laugh at whatever the huge mammoth was saying, sitting also nearby was a brown wolverine eating..rather crudely. Nearby also was a hybrid fox with indigo fur, finishing her supper with a simple drink of soda.

On the other side of the table was a white, rather attractive looking secretary bird with violet feathers, makeup and a mole under her left eye, she was finishing calmly eating her food. Alongside was an pink furred snow leopard sipping her soda, she looked eager to get to training or playing a game after eating. Then calmly slurping a bowl of nicely cooked noodles was a black dragon with a silver ponytail hairstyle, his tail and wings settled calmly. Finally was a dog with colors similar to Dogdays but darker, he even looked younger and finished eating his supper.

"Masterpiece as always, Mammoth." The dog spoke. The mammoth gave a gesture, "I always aim to please, Captain." She chuckled.

Before any further word could be spoke, Poppy's hologram appeared, she looked serious and stern after what had happened just a few minutes ago.

"Poppy!" Prettybird spoke smiling. "How are you?"

"Not too well, Pretty." Poppy explained before turning to the captain of the team, Dogbite. "Pop, what can we do for you?" He spoke with a smirk.

"Well, ahem. Dogbite, you and your team have been activated for a most urgent rescue mission." She said sternly. "Rescue mission? What happened?" Drago spoke sternly.

Here goes...Poppy thought. "Just a few minutes ago, Captain Dogday Solaris and his entire squadron have been captured and their ship hijacked by the cult."

Dogbite's eyes widened when he heard the name, a huge smug smile crept onto his lips "Pop! I wanna thank you personally for lending us with this job! This is great! If you weren't an android or a hologram, I'd kiss ya!" Drago meanwhile facepalmed, his captains cockiness was definitely peaking with this news.

"Well..you and your crew were the closest from Dogdays at this moment. THAT'S pretty much why I'm giving you folks the mission." The android explained. "He's your big brother, right?" Lean Lemur piped in.

"Correct, Lemur." Dogbite spoke "I've been dying to see what he's been doing lately, and I wonder what kind of crew he's got."

Drago Kitano stood up from the chair and glared "We'd better get to finding them fast, for each second their in the cults clutches, there is no telling what'll be happening." Poppy nodded, relieved that at least this crew was serious about the situation, save for their own CAPTAIN. "I've already updated your ships computer with the coordinates to Dogday's ship so finding where their landing won't be hard, rescue Dogday and his squad, do whatever it takes." She finished, ending the transmission.

"Let's roll!" Leopardaisy piped in, the team nodded and headed for the bridge, as Dogbite got into the pilot seat, he smirked to himself.

"Okay big bro, i'm on my way. Mammoth! You tracking their ship?" He asked. The large brown mammoth nodded, interfacing with the ships radar systems "Got a signal, tracked it to a planet called Xuacury." She told Dogbite.

"Anything to note?" Dogbite asked as he set course. "Relatively low cult activity, but i've tracked the ship to an abandoned town in the planet's desert."

"Sounds just like their style." Drago said crossing his arms. "Been aching to smash a few more cultists up." Berserkerine said, cracking his neck to the side.

Meanwhile, on Xuacury.

Dogday woke up blinking his eyes, it was too dark to see anything. All he could feel was that his arms were strung up high and far apart like a cross. "G..guys..Guys!" He tried to move but he couldn’t, the straps holding his arms up were too strong.

“Cap? What’s going on?!” Squeaked Piggy as she struggled, she along with the other 6 riders were tied up and hanging from the ceiling like Dodgday was, but with their arms tied around their backs instead. And for Crafty, her legs were also tied up! “Can anyone move??” Bubba asked, each rider replied with one word: “No.”

“Hmm? Oh! They are awake! If some of you would be so kind to remove their masks, please.” Said a sinister voice. A few cultists walked up and remove the masks covering each of the Riders faces, Dogday shook his head and looked around, it looked like he and his squad were in some abandoned building. The riders looked at each other and then looked ahead.

“Welcome, Space Riders! To your inevitable ritual of JOY!!” Boomed the high priest, flourishing his arms wide as the crowd of cultists behind him laughed and cheered maniacally.

“……We’re in trouble.” Bobby said with a sarcastic smile.

TO BE CONTINUED

Space Riders belong to @onyxonline

Rider OCS by me.

#dogday #poppy playtime #poppys playtime oc #smiling critters au #smiling critters oc #space riders au #space riders au oc #smiling critters #catnap #craftycorn #bubba bubbaphant #bobby bearhug #hoppy hopscotch #kickinchicken #picky piggy

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thedroneranger · 1 year

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Doggone It

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: Jake convinces Mrs. Seresin she needs a furry companion.

Note: I needed a serotonin hit, and dogs make me happy. This piece is an imagine in the To-Do List collection.

Warnings: So fluffy you might die, disabled dogs, inaccuracies around how military working dog adoptions work

Word count: 1.1k

Jake was nervous. Although he thought he was hiding it well, he wasn’t. She knew. She always knew. No one read Jake better than she could. Of course, he found it particularly annoying. Especially if he were planning any sort of surprise.

Pretending to be none the wiser, she sipped her latte and hummed along to the music. The wind siphoning through the cracked passenger window, streaming through her hair felt wonderful. Sun was hitting her face as she stared through her aviators at the passing scenery.

All of Jake’s tells were on display: thumbs thrumming on the steering wheel, knee jumping nervously and he wasn’t serenading her to their shared playlist, but instead mumbling to himself under his breath.

Finally, he broke the low lull of the music. “We’re headed to base.”

“I know.” She turned from the window to look at him as he shot her a quick glance before putting his eyes back on the road. She continued to watch his profile, waiting for him to elaborate further.

A breath he didn’t realize he was holding left his body. “We have an appointment,” he added. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth for a second.

“An appointment?” She prodded, taking another sip of her latte.

“Yes, an appointment. You’ll see when we get there,” Jake finished. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine what would require both their presence on base. Her ID card wasn’t up for renewal. Her vehicle tags were up to date.

Once the truck was parked, Jake came around to the front of the vehicle, hand ready for her to take. They exchanged smiles as their fingers interlaced. Inside the building, nothing appeared familiar as they strode past sterile doors, and the overhead lights glimmered off the well-waxed beige tile.

At the end of the nondescript hallway, Jake pushed open one of the double doors to reveal a gymnasium dotted with dogs and handlers. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “You cannot be serious, Jake!” She turned to look at him.

His expression was guilty yet hopeful. “Serious as a heart attack, sweetheart. We’re here to see which dogs are matches for us.” Her mouth hung open for a few seconds but nothing came out.

For months, she and Jake had been going back and forth about getting a dog. Given the uptick in the duration and frequency of his deployments and tours, he wanted her to have a protective companion around when he wasn’t. Plus, he couldn’t always rely on his friends—their assignments were as sporadic as his.

First, Jake looked at breeders, thinking a purebred puppy would be perfect. Although the idea of a pudgy puppy cuddled in her lap with velvet fur, premature wrinkles and unmistakable breath made her melt, she knew they had to adopt. So Jake changed his attack, sending her adoption events from rescues throughout the county.

One day, he was on his way to the mess hall for lunch when a flier on the hallway bulletin board caught his eye. A smile curled his lips as he read the details for an upcoming military working dog adoption event.

He captured the information through the posted QR code and continued on to the lunch room. His squadron buddies ribbed him while he filled out the digital forms to ensure they got on the list as soon as possible.

Jake remembered the day he got the approval email. He’d been incessantly checking. It also took all his willpower not to tell her. So often she did things for him that he really wanted to do this for her.

“Lieutenant Seresin? Mrs. Seresin?” A woman dressed in fatigues addressed them with a warm smile. They nodded in unison and each shook her hand. After introducing herself, she offered them beverages and then took the pair to a small sitting area. Then, she walked through how their application was vetted and they were matched.

“You’re perfect candidates for any of the dogs here,” the woman commended them. They exchanged affectionate looks as Jake slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it. “But there’s a specific dog we think is the best fit for you. Would you like to meet him?”

Jake was out of his chair before the word “yes” left his lips. The soldier smiled at his giddiness and waited for her to also stand. Once all three of them were on their feet, she guided them around the perimeter of the room until they reached another soldier, standing with a brindle Belgian Malinois. “Say hello to Ruck.” She motioned toward the dog.

Jake listened so well to her list of must-haves that they were here, standing in front of a retired military dog in need of a home. She looked at Jake with a genuine smile. He thought his heart might stop. She looked so happy, which made him so happy.

“May I?” She looked at the handler for permission to pet the dog.

“Please!” He looked at Ruck, giving a wordless command. Looking back at her, the handler offered a couple pointers for a successful first impression. Jake listened but watched his wife as she absorbed everything.

Once briefed, she knelt to Ruck’s level and presented the back of her hand to him. Curiously, he nosed it, eventually nuzzling her palm. She smiled as she began to scratch his jaw, and then eventually behind his ears.

While Ruck warmed up to her, they learned he was a six-year-old that had served two tours in the Middle East and has been to almost all 50 states. The timing could not have been more perfect. As the handler finished with Ruck’s list of accolades, the dog excitedly popped up, rushing forward into her arms, revealing he was short a hindleg.

Both she and Jake couldn’t help but smile, and the soldiers sighed in deep relief. Usually a hard sell, the pair was unfazed.

Heck, Jake felt his heart melt a little more.

After a couple hours of socialization, Jake managed to convince the program manager to give a special release so Ruck could leave with them. Usually, they coordinated a home drop-off later, but Ruck had really taken to them.

While they were outside, practicing commands and playing fetch, the handler came toward her only to be warned by Ruck not to come any closer. A smile crept across her face as she looked at the dog and rewarded him with a pat on the head. The handler and program manager were just as pleased.

On the ride home, Jake had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road as she and Ruck sat in the backseat. Ruck laid across the seat with his head in her lap as she stroked between his ears.

She caught Jake staring at her in the rearview mirror and pouted her lips in his direction. He cocked his cheek as though her kiss landed there and winked at her.

Jake’s heart was so full, he thought he might burst.

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prosaic-bun · 2 years

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Envy and Jealousy Part 2

Genshin Vignettes Genshin!men x Male reader Characters featured: Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh & Kazuha;

Content: Fluff and a hint of spiciness.

Note: Boy oh boy did I take my sweet time to put this out. I hope you all like it as much as part 1. The problem is never the ideas, but more the time and motivation to actually type it out. Thank you so much for the flood of interactions I really felt the appreciation.

Gorou - The moon was slowly rising in the night sky, and even if your day shift was over, you were still carrying out your duties to the Watatsumi army. Under the sharp overhead lights specific to the infirmary, you were cleaning up the wounds of a novice soldier who had an encounter with a fatui squadron on the north beach of the island. The newly trained soldier's absence was quickly noticed by the general of the Watatsumi army and he was quick to come to his junior aid bow blasing. The man was quickly brought back to you in Bourou village and thankfully most lesions and contusions were superficial. However, the colouration of the soldier’s ribcaged worried you. Gorou stayed to help and brought some water to the unnerved soldier in hope it would help him feel marginally better. You bandaged the now cleaned wounds and proceeded to osculate the soldier, asking him to take deep breaths. Gorou watched your expert hands move the stethoscope to the different areas on the soldier’s back, torso and side, carefully listening to his heartbeat and breathing. With extra care you asked your patient to lie down so you could continue your examination. Your fingers gently palpated the soldier’s ribcage and you cautiously reached the bruised area. Behind you, Gorou watched you intently as you inspected the soldier's torso for internal injuries. You made sure to examine the soldier's traits when you would touch a new area to make sure he wasn’t trying to hide away the pain. Your assured movements were almost hypnotic, but the amount of care you exhibited also made the general yearn for the same treatment. How would you behave if you were to heal him, try to soothe his body or alleviate the pain? Well he already knew since he remembered the numerous times you had patched him up during the war. How you were always concerned regarding how he was pushing the limits of his body. Your hand had applied ointment many times to his wounds - now ashen scars covering his body. Lost in thought, Gorou was brought back to reality when his junior thanked him once more for saving his skin before it got ugly. Gorou reassured him it was nothing and that he would always be there for his troops.

Once the soldier left your infirmary, you took the road leading up the Sangonomiya Shrine where the quarters you shared with your partner were located. Gourou was unusually quiet and after spending so much time with him, you were able to read him better than anyone else. You took his hand and squeezed it lightly making your valiant hound of a lover turn his attention to you. You leaned closer to murmur softly into his ear that you wanted to take care of him tonight, your favourite patient still needed to have monthly check-ups. You could see that your words had an impact because the tip of his ears shuddered, along with his tail which confirmed everything you needed to know. He answered that he would truly appreciate it, but with a determined look he added he wanted to make things fair and reciprocate everything you would do for him. You started with a relaxing midnight bath which led into you tending to his tail’s fur, half naked on your bed while sharing how your respective day went. In that moment of proximity and warmth, you gently kissed each and every scar adorning his body, applying some regenerative lotion after your lips had appeased the skin. Satisfied with your work, you finally kissed his lips. Gourou delicately led you into a different position where you came to be lying down on your stomach, your limbs sprawling across the mattress. He made you blush once he straddled you, which he assured was only to have a better access to your back muscles. Your lover started his massage, relieving you of the stiffness and the discomfort. From time to time he would interrupt the massage only to press himself against your form and enumerate everything he liked about you. Maybe it was his words or maybe it was his body heat combined with yours, but in those moments you wondered if you were going to melt away into oblivion. Once he finished rubbing off any residual tension in your back, he freed you from underneath him. He moved aside to lie down on his side, facing you and started massaging and kissing your overworked, gentle hands, preparing them for your next shift.

Heizou - It must have been at least 3 days since you hadn’t seen Heizou. You knew he was deep in a case and looking at every relevant document from the police station archive, but you still missed him and decided to go see him before going to work at the Yae publishing house. You felt a smidge more house husbandy than usual and decided to cook a serving of radish and fish stew for him. You were aware of how he likes fried food so the warm dish was sure to be appreciated. As a side bonus, the omega-3 contained in the fish would help your boyfriend’s overworked brain. You were at these reflections when you realized your feet brought you to the police station’s main entrance. There, you were greeted by a doushin that introduced himself as Uesugi. He said that you would need to be accompanied to the archive because no civilian could go unsupervised. On the way there you patiently listened to the new recruit gloat on the fact he was only waiting for an exciting case to show everybody how great he was.

When you arrived at your destination Uesugi leaned on the archive room door and commented on the mouth watering smell that was coming out of your neatly wrapped bento. He affirmed that he should be rewarded for coming to your aid and guiding you to the archives. Before you had the time to answer, the door the doushin was leaning against abruptly opened and made him fall to the ground. Heizou came into view and peeked to the man at his feet stating that he was paid to be a public servant and not the other way around. He then mentioned he should get going before Owada, the yoriki of the police station (in other words their superior), noticed his prolonged absence from his post. The scolded man took to his heels and was quickly on his way back, feeling that the glint in Heizou’s eyes wasn’t that amicable. Before you could ask your boyfriend if he was always this way to his kōhai, he pulled you into the archive storage room and pulled you lower so he could kiss you properly. After inquiring about each other's respective last few days, you offered the lunch you had prepared to the detective who opened it as soon as it was in his hands. He took a seat at the nearest table and after a few bites, a string of compliments left his lips only to be halted by the next eager bites. He somehow must have felt that you were about to leave, so he pulled a chair next to him and tapped the seat to invite you over. You explained you had to go to work or you would look like a bad employee. In response he pleaded that he just wanted to spend a few more minutes in your company. You agreed to spend ten more minutes with him, but he would have to accompany you to work and give an excuse to Kuroda.

Itto - Your boyfriend was getting more and more cranky because he hadn’t seen you all day and he was missing you terribly. Itto knew you had prepared this fishing activity with Thoma for weeks, but this was one of those days he wished he could have stayed in bed with you since he wasn’t feeling like his usual bubbly self. How could he predict that not receiving a morning kiss would feel like an arrow pierced his heart. How could he predict that not being able to share breakfast with you would feel like eating his last meal in a cell. He didn’t want to impose, but everything felt so dramatic today of all days. He spent some time with the members of the Arataki Gang, but winning a TCG battle didn’t feel like it should. To make matters worse you probably had the time of your life with that housekeeper twink. No it wasn’t the thing. YOU were making Thoma’s day super great and the one and oni was left aside. Itto was brooding in your shared apartment when he heard the front door open. You were putting away your fishing gear when the oni sprinted towards you and embraced you into a hug. After kissing him on the cheek you told him that Thoma was treating you to dumplings and bubble tea in Ritou and that you would be back later that evening. Itto told you to have fun mechanically, but in a panic he started to ask you the whereabouts of his elusive lucky comb, the location of his favourite drums and asking what he was going to eat for supper. You answered that it was in the bathroom, under the bed and that there was miso soup he could re-heat and some leftover onigiris in the kitchen. Itto watched you decrease in size until you had left his line of sight on the road leading towards Ritou and then closed the door. He was devastated. Maybe you didn’t like him anymore. No he couldn’t doubt you like that, you were the boyfriend of The First and Greatest Head of the Arataki Gang. The one he would put his life on the line if needed. He reheated the miso soup and ate the onigiris. He smiled at the little note you had left him next to the platter. But maybe you were faking your affection with this little note to make things easier for him. No it couldn’t be. Or could it.

Itto was stuck in this very mindspace when you finally returned to Hanamizaka. He heard you come back and announce that you were home, but he didn’t flinch. He heard you make your way to your shared room where you would find him seated upright on the mattress with a blanket covering him. You approached him and teased him asking if he was sulking. You noticed how he refused to look at you, his eyes glued to the wall and if you tried to turn his head towards you he would exert all the strength his neck could exert to make sure he wouldn’t budge. You regained your seriousness and gently told him that if he was giving you the silent treatment he was either trying to make you feel bad or he was trying to signal he wanted to be comforted. One way or the other Itto needed to tell you what was happening for you to help. Your boyfriend finally looked at you and started to cry hugging you and admitted it was a hard day and he didn’t know why but he felt bad all day. You got seated next to him and made him lay his head on your lap. While you twirled his hair between your fingers you asked him to remember the exercises you had done with the wheel of emotions and to take his time to name the emotions he was feeling. He frowned in concentration and stayed silent for a little while. He then said he felt many emotions at the same time. At times he felt jealous, but also abandoned and lastly inadequate because he wanted for you to have fun, but couldn’t control himself to be better. You answered that sometimes even the almighty Arataki Itto couldn’t control his emotions and that maybe it was better to acknowledge and accept them and just let them be for a while and let them wash over him until they didn’t feel so intense.

He scrunched himself against you and hid his face in your lap. You gave him time and he eventually moved to hug you tightly. You then asked him to list 10 things you liked about him. At first the question seemed to puzzle him a bit and he tentatively answered that you liked his smile. You nodded and encouraged him to continue. Each new statement was becoming easier to say. You liked how he didn’t judge you, how he was genuine, how he listened to you, his enthusiasm, how he was helpful, the way he hugged you, how he took care of you and how he was always trying his best. Each thing he was able to find made him feel lighter. Each time you nodded to notify he was right, he got more earnest - smiling brightly. Once he reached the 10th thing you liked about him, he looked at you passionately and opened his arm to draw you in. Once in his arms he started to kiss you fervently, only you could bring him in this state of desire. You two were the perfect pair. How could he have doubted that? You both spent the rest of the night proclaiming your love for each other.

Kaeya - You were tasked by Hertha, Captain of the 6th Company - Logistic, to show the new recruit around since you were one of the most experienced field officers under her. She also knew you had a good work ethic and wouldn’t cut corners while showing the most mundane tasks there were. The new recruit wasn’t exactly your favourite type of colleague. He seemed to care more about the appearances than the efforts needed to back them up. You blamed it on his nervousness, he probably tried to play the tough guy as a way to hide his nervousness. You spent most of your day teaching him the basics, but as the good senior that you were you also instilled in him the sense of why the 6th company was important for the knights. The charter and administration of baggage train, resource management and record-keeping weren’t exactly glamorous tasks, but they were still cogs in the machine that is Ordo Favonius. You also introduced him to the other personnel he would work with, Noelle as a representative of the maids, Lisa who helped with bookkeeping, etc. You then left the library and headed to the office of the quartermaster. As you found the office empty, you concluded your presentation of the Knights of Favonius and indicated he would be appointed to a regular task and schedule tomorrow morning. He thanked you for your help. He seemed to hesitate to leave, and you raised an eyebrow, wondering if he still had any questions. He decided to shoot his shot and put on his bravado once again. He leaned towards you and asked you if you were going to invite him for a drink since you were so obviously pining after him. You couldn’t help yourself, but to burst into laughter, effectively turning the proud expression of the recruit into a meek one. You told him you only did your job and that he didn’t receive any special treatment. Obviously vexed, the man cut his losses and turned around to leave the quartermaster office.

Kaeya came into view and blocked him from retreating. With a devilish smile, Kaeya introduced himself offering his hand out, cold air seemingly coalescing around the recruit who extended his hand only to be caged into the other’s grip. After ending the rigid handshake, Kaeya mentioned he occupied the role of Cavalry Captain and quartermaster, but more importantly he was ‘his’. The recruit babbled that he didn't quite understand. Kaeya took the expression of a patient teacher and explained that he had the utmost honour of being able to call the man beside them - you, his beloved partner. The recruit understood all but too late that he had made a move on someone that was already taken. He bowed his head several times, apologizing to the both of you while hastily leaving the office. You looked at the pleased expression plastered on Kaeya’s smile and could only snicker to yourself. Kaeya came closer to you and asked what was so funny. You answered coyly that you didn’t know that ‘being his’ was one of his titles. Kaeya answered that he was serious when he said that it was his honour to be yours. Kaeya had closed the distance between you and him and looked intently at you while you tried to chase away your chuckles to remain impassive. He softly reached out to hold your chin up and asked if he may. You agreed and he started to kiss you passionately. Each time he would take his breath, he would mumble ‘yours’ to your ear. Sometimes he would say it shyly and sometimes like a one word statement; changing tone each time you were catching your breath from the passionate kiss. His voice was now a faint whisper, and he let out one last ‘yours’. However this time he clearly denoted the question that was hidden in the word - like followed by an implicit question mark. You smiled and said he was yours as much as you were his. You left the office bickering lovingly at each other and in the following weeks you noticed that Kaeya was more keen on holding your hand whenever you were out in public.

Kaveh - For once you were lucky and had the opportunity to leave the Akademiya early for the day. You had made plans with your boyfriend Kaveh for the evening and took a chance to pass by his place, maybe he would’ve finished his day early as well. The grey clouds above your head suddenly let out the rain they were carrying, as you made your way through the overpass and archways leading you down from the House of Daena. You soon reached the familiar yet impressive house decorated by many stained glass windows. You knocked at the door and you were soon invited in by the Akademiya’s scribe himself. Al Haitham offered for you to wait for Kaveh here since he shouldn’t take too much time to come back home. The scribe then disappeared in the kitchen to boil some water and make some tea while you made sure none of the books in your backpack were damaged by the rain. You put out an aged tome treating of ancient runes on the table to make sure there was no humidity that would linger in between its pages. Al Haitham came back with two cups of mint tea and commented on the book you had brought out. You mentioned you were trying to understand the scripture you had stumbled upon in some Dahri ruins and that you were currently trying to translate it, but it was no easy task. Al Haitham offered his help and you were amazed by his translating skills. After taking some notes and promising that you would get back to him to notify him of your research advancement, the conversation slowly moved on to your respective Darshans, yours being Vahumana - history and social sciences, and his being Haravatat - linguistic and semiotics. Kaveh entered the house as you were talking about the benefits of multidisciplinary research units, especially in your two fields of study. You paused to greet Kaveh and he stole you a kiss before eyeing scornfully his roommate. He excused himself, saying he needed to change his clothes - something about being less formal and more comfortable. You continued your conversation while packing your things in your bag to be ready when your boyfriend would come back.

Kaveh came back looking even more exquisite than you had expected with richly decorated garments and accessories. Your boyfriend was a sight to behold. He walked directly towards you and offered his hand to help you stand up. Kaveh simply stated that Al Haitham shouldn’t wait up as you would spend the night out. Kaveh escorted you outside and took the direction of your favourite restaurant. Although he was all smiles while inquiring about your day you halted and asked him if there was something bothering him. He knew he couldn’t hide anything from you as you were the one that read him best. He asked if you were going to do a joint research with Al Haitham since you get along with him so well and that your Darshans were closely related. He went as far as to mention that if he was going to have the house to himself at the cost of you bringing Al Haitham with you in some ruins he didn’t want the empty house at all. You reassured him that you didn’t view Al Haitham as someone you would want to pursue a professional endeavor with (nor a romantic one). You just happened to have similar academic interests and that he knew about some runic language you wanted to decipher. You resumed walking in the direction of the restaurant, but felt Kaveh still harbored some negative feelings. You squeezed his hand and mentioned you were thinking about writing a paper on the architectural style of the Dahri ruins you were currently investigating. Kaveh perked up at your words waiting to hear the rest. Having his attention on you, you asked him if he would like to accompany you during your next expedition. After all, Al Haitham wasn’t the only one with whom you could do a multidisciplinary research project. Kaveh knew how much you value and enjoyed your expeditions and the fact you invited him meant a lot. He asked if you were suggesting this idea only because he was jealous, to which you answered that you had planned to ask him for a while, but you didn’t have any good opportunity to do so. He bashfully lowered his head and said he would really enjoy coming with you. He hugged you tight and you were back on your way to the restaurant, Kaveh asking you about your day once more.

Kazuha - The Alcor and its crew had been quite on demand during the last few months. Different commissions took the crew all over the seas of Teyvat and Beidou was able to strike plentiful commercial deals with important actors of the trading business. As a reward the beloved captain decided to hold an evening celebration including a feast and some music on the side. You and your partner were able to eat to your heart's content, you couldn’t decide if you had preferred the Golden Shrimp Balls or the Lotus Flower Crisp. Your partner was delighted by the Stir-Fried Fish Noodles to which you took a mental note to try and get the recipe from Xinyue Kiosk. You weren’t sure your cooking skill would be enough to recreate the dish, but you were confident that Kazuha would appreciate it anyway. Kazuha suddenly stood up from beside you and kissed your temple before getting to the small stage in front of the dining area. It wasn’t a stage like the one Yun Jin or Xinyan, but more a cozy little platform that could accommodate solo artists. Kazuha took out his zitar and started playing a tune, sometimes humming along with the melody. After a few minutes of rehearsal and warming up, the beat morphed into something livelier and fast paced. Soon the tables were out of the way and the crewmate made their way on the newly formed dancefloor. You were softly gazing at your boyfriend’s finger brushing against the cords of the zitar when a big hand landed on your shoulder. Taken by surprise you turned around and none other than Suling - the Alchor’s chief smith, came into view. For once it seemed the ironworker had his mind off the maintenance of the weaponry. He offered you a dance to which you accepted after looking at the concentrated yet elated expression on your lover's face. You stood up and joined the others on the dancefloor and let the notes carry you around, guiding your movements. You didn’t expect Suling to be such a good dancer and paired with Kazuha’s music, time really flew by. The moon was now high above you and you requested a break, going back to sit at the dinning table to bring some relief to your legs. You accepted the cup of tea Yinxing offered you to rehydrate yourself. As you were drinking the liquid, Kazuha finished the last notes of the tune he was playing and everybody cheered for him. Kazuha came beside you and asked for you to follow him. As exhausted as you were, you managed to get up and Kazuha pulled you aside to a more secluded area where he leaned his elbow on the wooden railing of the Alchor. You felt the salty air on your face and Kazuha’s finger running on your arm. you turned to face him and asked him if he was bothered that you had danced with Sulin; each time you had checked on him you couldn’t meet his gaze, but he always harbored a soft smile on his lips. Kazuha chuckled and answered that in the end he was the one that really made you dance so it didn’t matter in the slightest. However he got closer to your ear and asked you if you would have preferred him as a jealous boyfriend. His traits kept an enigmatic demeanour and before you could answer he pulled you towards your shared quarters. If Kazuha isn’t the one to fall subject to jealousy, he still dedicated all those songs to you while longing to have you in his arms.

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sweetrevxnge · 2 years

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Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter One

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

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Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Happy Halloween!!! I wanted to share the first chapter of the medieval/vampire AU fic that I've been working on for the past few months. Basically, I rewatched Game of Thrones and Castlevania and set out to write a Kylo Ren AU related to both. And what better time to start uploading it than Halloween!! My primary focus is still finishing Like Phantoms, Forever, but my goal is to continue working on and uploading this story as well. Let me know what you think of it!

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Icy wind burned your eyes as you rode under the moonless sky. Sparse trees passed by as your steed marched along the dark path, treading through the thick blanket of snow that covered the forest floor. Around you, delicate snowflakes floated down from the heavens, catching on the limbs of towering pines and landing on your cheeks, only to melt on your warm skin.

There was something hauntingly beautiful about this weather, with storm clouds draping the inky sky like a wool cloak, snuffing out the cool light of the moon and her stars. In the winter, nights like these were familiar. But not tonight.

This night was bitterly cold, the type of cold that even the thickest furs couldn’t warm. Now, after hours of trekking through the forest, you resented Commander Dameron’s decision for the squadron to not wear helmets. In theory, it seemed like the best way to increase visibility in the midnight hour. But now, with chattering teeth and a visibility of less than a few meters, you were less than pleased.

Commander Dameron had left his helmet behind at the base as well. Although, it was less of a rare occurrence for him. He seldom wore a full suit of armor, which under any other circumstance could be attributed to a plethora of reasons. Pride, confidence, or his incessant need to make his enemy aware that he was being slain by a more handsome man than he. Regardless of his reasoning, you didn’t outwardly oppose the Commander’s decision. If there was one thing you had learned during your time in the Resistance, it was to never question your commander, even over something as frivolous as a helmet. His orders came directly from the General, which meant regardless of your opinion on the matter, his discretion was final. General Organa was a pragmatic woman, and after six years of serving her, she had yet to lead you astray. You expected that tonight would be no different.

Covert operations were nothing new to you, having taken part in over a dozen successful missions before. Even when things became precarious, you were able to keep your wits about you and get your men out in one piece. It was for this reason that the General trusted you with the most sensitive missions, like tonight’s.

As you neared the location of the reported First Order encampment, trepidation rolled through your stomach. There was something uncomfortable about these woods, more than the typical unease of marching into the unknown, or the prospect of losing your men in a bloodbath. The forest felt suffocating, as if you were being swallowed by the trees the further you rode. Perhaps it was the moonless sky causing your skin to crawl, or the eerie silence that surrounded you.

In front of you, Commander Dameron was barely visible through the heavy snowfall, and further away than you would have liked him to be. But then again, that was how he typically operated.

His daring attitude and hunger for battle were just a few of your favorite qualities of his, with his striking good looks and razor-sharp wit following closely behind. He was a natural leader, often utilizing every quality in his arsenal to earn cooperation from his soldiers, including yourself.

The two of you worked well together, sharing a chemistry both in leadership and out in the field. Thanks to his effortless charisma and affinity for your presence, you had been his loyal right-hand for many years. The General could always rely on your squadron to extract the intelligence she needed, or defeat any amount of stormtroopers that impeded her cause.

For six long years, the sovereign state of Hosnian Prime had been plagued by war, its people forced to bend the knee to the usurper First Order or lose their head. While many citizens chose to submit their will, there were those who refused to comply, who sacrificed everything for liberty. The Resistance was born from their bravery, their determination to fight for what was just. It was their emblem that you wore proudly on your armor, the same emblem that inspired hope in the downtrodden and oppressed throughout the world.

The moment Vice Chancellor Snoke flaunted the severed head of Chancellor Villecham to the people of Republic City, you knew that fighting this war was your only option if you wanted to save your home. The carnage that ensued in the city square was nothing short of pure evil and to this day, despite the brutality you had since witnessed and partaken in, still made your stomach churn. In the days that followed, Snoke led vicious attacks on the remaining New Republic officials, with word of his violence reaching you and the other fugitives not long after. The destruction of Hosnian Prime’s liberty was the catalyst for your enlistment in the Resistance, and remained as the motivation to end this civil war.

You tried not to dwell much on that horrific day, but it was difficult to avoid on long rides like this, finding that your mind would often drift there when you were riding towards an imminent battle. The tight secrecy of this operation was unsettling, but what little information you did know was repeating ceaselessly in your head.

The purpose of this mission was to ambush a suspected First Order camp, one that was said to be housing a handful of its leading officers. By all accounts, it was meant to be a fairly typical intelligence extraction and execution, except there would be no execution, as the General had placed a strict defense-only order on this mission, meaning you were not to strike an attack unless it was a defensive measure. Such an order left much to be answered, but from what you knew of war, it likely meant that General Organa couldn’t afford to lose the men. It also meant that whichever First Order officials were residing at this camp were not vital to its operation, for if they were, the next sunrise they would see would be from the top of wooden spikes.

The General’s briefing was not unlike many of her others. It was short and eloquent as always, but by the end of it, she was practically ordering the group out of the room, rather than her usual dismissal of telling everyone to get back to work. You, along with every other person involved in this operation, were left confused by her behavior, left to your imagination to fill in the gaps. It wasn’t long before gossip began to spread throughout the unit.

A misstep from your horse pulled you back to the present, prompting you to soothe her fright before she could make too much noise. It was imperative to the success of this ambush that none of your men—or their horses—made a sound.

After a few strokes down her spine and quiet, reassuring whispers, her pace steadied. You looked ahead for the signal from Commander Dameron that you were approaching the encampment, but in the hazy clearing, his presence had been reduced to a set of tracks left into the snow.

The festering dread in your gut became unbearable as you continued to trudge through the dark foliage, debating whether or not it would be appropriate to catch up to Commander Dameron and share your concerns. You could only imagine the lecture you would receive from the General if you strayed from the plan in any manner, but at the same time, you trusted your instinct. Something didn’t feel right.

The crunch of snow beneath hooves and the light rattle of armor were the only sounds that filled the air. That was until a scream pierced the night air, sending a chill colder than the snow down your spine.

Panic rose in your chest as your horse reared off the ground and spun wildly, frightened beyond your control. You tried to orient yourself in the darkness, scanning the white haze for your men, as well as your commander.

Another scream followed shortly after, along with a string of cries from the soldier’s horse. One final wail sliced through the air like a banshee cry, full of agony, before the world fell silent.

There was someone else—or something else—in these woods.

The soldiers behind you erupted in a cacophony of confusion, worry, and pleas to the gods for mercy. You steered your horse away from them, more concerned with Commander Dameron’s safety than theirs. As terrible as it seemed, soldiers were expendable, leadership was not. Besides, if you fell back to help them, your fate would be the same as theirs—bloody and mangled.

More anguished cries rang throughout the dark woods, following you as you rushed forward, whipping the reins to keep your pace.

“Commander? Commander?!” you shouted into the abyss of the night. You uttered a quiet prayer as you waited for his response.

The whisper of wind was all you received in return.

“COMMANDER!” you screamed, your throat burning from the wintry air as you cried out.

Nothing.

With bleary eyes, you continued to ride, dodging the brush and rogue branches hanging in your path. It was then that a horrible realization occurred to you. Aside from the sound of your shallow breaths and hooves stomping, the forest was utterly silent.

Your panic quickly transformed into terror. The sounds of slaughter that had been trailing you had ceased. Whatever had been hunting your men could now only be hunting you.

There was no time to waste. Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you unlatched your boots from the saddle and prepared to dismount your horse, hoping to be a smaller target on foot.

Before you could swing your leg over the saddle to jump down, an invisible blow struck the center of your chest, hurling you backwards through the air until you collided with the rough bark of a tall pine.

Bright spots filled your vision as you hit the frozen ground, gasping for air despite the ache spreading through your ribs. A high pitch rang in your ears as you pushed yourself up and staggered to your feet. The snow beneath you was stained red, and from the taste of copper in your mouth and the tender sore on your tongue, it was clear that you had bitten it during the fall.

Away from your sight, your horse neighed and reared wildly, galloping over the roots buried beneath the snow and snapping dry branches that covered her path. For a moment, you hoped that she was running towards you, that her senses would guide her back to you. But you were a fool.

The sound of ripping flesh and a final, harrowing cry from your horse resonated through the woods, followed by a heavy thud and a deafening silence.

You blinked the falling snowflakes away from your eyes as you stood there, rooted in the snow, trying to see which direction the midnight creature would attack from. Your heart was a few beats away from bursting through your chest, which would likely be a less painful death than what was to come.

The outline of a figure breached the snowfall, stalking towards you as you retreated on your heels, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through you.

As you reached for your sword, your limbs were frozen in place, as if your body had been wrapped in nonexistent restraints. Your breath caught in your throat. Resisting the energy proved futile, tiring your muscles and leaving you entirely defenseless. You watched in horror as the creature came into view.

“Was that you I heard calling for me, my dear?”

You could barely hear the question over the hammering of your pulse. The voice was low and brassy, and almost sounded amused. As it drew closer, you were surprised to find that the owner was not a bloodthirsty monster, but a man.

You lifted your chin and blinked back the tears that welled in your eyes, hoping to appear brave in the face of death.

“You certainly were difficult to catch,” he growled, stepping through the haze. “But the difficult ones always make for the best hunt.”

The man stepped into view, his dark armor a stark contrast to the backdrop of snowfall. In the drops of moonlight that spilled through the clouds, you could make out the details of his helmet—a haunting, black mask with silver ridges outlining the eye shield, gleaming in the waning light.

“What are you doing all the way up here, officer?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he raised a gloved hand to your face, his outstretched fingers nearly grazing your skin.

“I–” you began to say before you choked on your words. An excruciating pain split your skull, unlike anything you had experienced before. The sensation could only be compared to something found in nightmares, crafted in the fires of Hell for the most unabashed sinners. The tears you had fought to hold back finally spilled from your eyes, freezing as they rolled down your cheeks while the masked man rummaged through your mind.

“You’re a lieutenant,” he said quietly, his intrigue evident even through his helmet.

You didn’t try to deny his statement, all too aware that your rank was the only thing keeping you from suffering the same fate as the rest of your men.

“A woman as second-in-command…” He traced the back of his hand along your jaw, the smooth leather interrupting the stream of tears that ran from your eyes.

Slowly, he moved behind you, examining you how a butcher would inspect a lamb before the slaughter. Through the shield of his mask, you could feel his eyes roaming over you.

Acid bubbled in your throat as you stood there, helpless to the force that held you in place. The fate of your men seemed like salvation in comparison to what was likely awaiting you.

Would he take you prisoner? Would he violate you? How long would you suffer before succumbing to your inevitable fate?

Each thought piled onto the other as they raced through your head. You were grateful that he had released his grip on your mind, that your fears were known only to you.

Behind him, a handful of other men emerged from the night, standing in a tight formation behind their leader. The other parties responsible for the massacre of your men, you presumed.

“Sir, we were unable to locate the Commander,” one of the men informed him.

He moved closer behind you, pieces of his armor grazing yours. “Forget him. We have what we need.”

Before you could process his words, the energy around your limbs disappeared and you swayed, suddenly dizzy, like you had indulged in one too many glasses of wine. The edges of your vision blurred and despite wanting to kick your attacker and run as far as you could, your legs wouldn’t budge. The last thing you felt before darkness rushed in was a pair of strong arms wrapping around you as your body went slack, sealing your fate.

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ltwilliammowett · 10 months

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Captain Sir Edward Brace, circa 1769-1843, by Thomas Stewardson, 1816

Brace entered the navy in 1781, became Lieutenant in 1792, Commander in 1797 and Captain in 1800. In 1803 he became flag-captain to Admiral Cornwallis. He held commands at home and later in the Mediterranean until the end of the war with France. In 1816 he took command of the ‘Impregnable’ in Lord Exmouth’s squadron at the bombardment of Algiers where the ship was badly damaged because she failed to anchor in her proper station. He died while Commander-in-Chief at the Nore. He is wearing captain’s full dress uniform of the 1812–25 pattern, with the CB (Companion of the Bath), the Order of Wilhelm of the Netherlands, St Maurice and St Lazarus of Sardinia, and Charles II of Spain. He faces the sitter and wears a cloak with a red lining over his uniform and a fur collar. Painted in 1816–17, a later inscription upper right gives his name, his rank as rear-admiral, dates and position at the Nore. In the upper left corner are his arms as knight, probably also a later addition.

#naval art #naval history #persons of the navy #captain sir edward brace #early 19th century #history #age of sail #uniform #royal navy

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topaz-witch-tea · 1 year

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Yanqing’s Happy Family AU: Baiheng’s Parenting

I can finally drop all the stuff I've been working on now that I don't have to work overtime!!! It was torture watching all my stuff be in-progress and not being able to work on them.

1. Spoils him the most out of the five. She has spent an outrageous amount on her nephew. Yanqing, as a kid, while easy was also quite picky about certain things, and one of them was clothes. He hated onesies and would cry and fight when people would put him in one, preferring a cross-collar top and trousers. The issue was that there were not a lot of options when it came to that. Baiheng proceeded to spend hundred of thousands of strales on custom clothing for baby Yanqing, who like all babies, would spit and vomit on them. When asked about it, she stated "You cannot honestly expect me to sit there and watch you put Yanqing in plain, unstylish clothes." This would continue as she would order for him more and more custom clothes. Yanqing currently had 5 winter cloaks in a variety of colors, fur trims, and clasps from his auntie.

2. She taught Yanqing how to drive a Starskiff. In fact, I am convinced she taught everyone in the HCQ how to drive. She was a renowned pilot back in the day and definitely knows her way around one. But it should be prefaced, that she taught Yanqing way before the legal age to drive a starskiff. Her mentality was that if Yanqing was old enough to join the battlefield, he should learn to drive since it might one day save his life. She is a very chill teacher and had gone out to buy an old starskiff to teach him in. However, she did it in secret since the three dads were already very against Yanqing going out to fight even though he had earned his position as lieutenant and any possible incident/issue could cause them to revoke Yanqing's mission. Yanqing, being the responsible kid he is, never drove in public and his dads did not know for a long time. They only found out when he was 15 and his squadron was ambushed by the enemy. After getting his men out first, Yanqing commandeered an abandoned starskiff to escape as well. Despite the fact it was hidden from them, the three could not be mad in the slightest since it saved their son's life.

3. Baiheng has fought many families at PTA meetings. She has the most available schedule and participates in a lot of daily school events for Yanqing. Yanqing goes to a fancy private school where a lot of children of the nobility go, and Baiheng never forgot the comments that floated around when Yanqing was first taken in (comments are in the fic Family Dinner). Some nobles still keep the belief that Yanqing is a nuisance that lived too long and the attitude trickles down to their easily-influenced children. Baiheng does not stand for this at all, she attends every meeting with the intention of throwing down. While she doesn't fault the children, she does not hold the same patience for the adults. She actually punched a mother in the face during a PTA meeting for bad-mouthing her nephew and dared the woman and her family to retaliate. "Go on then, you can fight back if you want. Or you can even go and report what happened to the Cloud Knights, where you can repeat what you said about Yanqing to the General instead."

4. When Yanqing was just a little baby and was left in her care, she would constantly send photos every hour in the group chat so no one would miss anything. There were a lot of photos of him sleeping or smiling at the camera. There was one photo of Yanqing in a sea-green cloak where the hoodie had little horns resembling Dan Feng's. The photo was his screen saver for a year.

I hope you like them! Feel free to let me know if you want a part 2 to any of my headcanons or want a drabble written about them.

#yanqing #dan feng #baiheng #yanqing’s happy family au #honkai star rail #hsr #yanqing's happy family au headcanons

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whump-me · 1 year

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Conquest, Chapter 2: The Exile

Chapter 2 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order.

Contains: fantasy setting, male whumper, royal whumper, whumper POV, no onscreen whump (we’re doing a slow build here)

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Kezul

In a land where the earth was bare of snow for more than half the year, Kezul didn’t know how the palace could feel so damnably cold.

There were no fires, for one thing. Of course there were none—they didn’t need it, not at the dawn of summer, when the sun alone graced this land with enough warmth to make Kezul sweat under his fur cloak. But a home without a hearth fire was nothing more than a ruin. A palace without a fire was worse. It was a home without a family, a body without a soul.

A fitting place, then, for one who had no family anymore—or wouldn’t before long, at any rate. And if he had a soul, it was a withered thing, unworthy of the body in which it resided. Or so his father believed.

No, the palace wasn’t cold at all. The halls were stuffy with heat, and summer hadn’t even come into full bloom yet. The cold lived inside him.

The hallways were tall and cavernous, with practically enough room for an entire squadron of Wolves to march side by side. Columns carved in the shape of beautiful but maddeningly modest women held up the high ceilings. Everywhere, light poured in from high windows to throw intricate latticework patterns across the broken mosaic of the floor tiles—as if this place needed more sunlight. No doubt all the windows were half the reason for the sweat dampening his chest.

The tattered ruins of bloodstained tapestries littered the floor, along with the occasional finger or eye or unidentifiable chunk of rotting flesh no one had bothered to clean up. The stink of blood was everywhere, and it was the most pleasant of the smells that filled the palace. Kezul supposed he should be grateful the Wolves had bothered to drag the bodies away.

The empty halls echoed with the distant shouts of Kezul’s Wolves. A soul without a body, indeed—all the souls had vacated this body at once, leaving a hollow husk full of warm but empty light.

Of course, they hadn’t departed without help.

All the shouting made Kezul’s head hurt. The Wolves sounded as if they thought this was their victory. In reality, the blood was long since cold, the stink of it almost unnoticeable on the air. His Wolves could play conquering warriors if they liked, but Kezul wasn’t in the mood to pretend. He hadn’t won this battle, and neither had the Wolves his father had sent here with him—the dregs of his father’s army, no doubt. They hadn’t been sent to Danelor until word had come to his father that the war was won and there were no more enemies left to fight.

One final humiliation.

He turned away from the raucous voices and strode down the cavernous halls without a destination in mind. He found himself at a set of thick wooden doors that stretched from floor to ceiling. Strips of gold worked into the wood formed an intricate design of flowers and vines. Abstract shapes curled and twined between the vines, patterns within patterns. It made Kezul’s eyes hurt. Why had anyone wasted their time on this? Had their monarch had no better use for them?

He pushed open the doors.

If the door had been unnecessarily fussy, this room was worse. Every inch of space, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling that was curved like a fish’s eye, was taken up with intricate mosaics made of pieces of chipped tile no larger than his thumbnail. A circular skylight filled the room with light and heat, exposing the glints of gold worked through the floor mosaic.

The sticky smears of blood across the floor spoiled the effect somewhat. The bloodstains led to the far corner of the room, where they spread up the wall. Although corner was the wrong word for it, since rather than joining at a right angle, the walls there formed a gentle curve that served as a backdrop to the low dais and the wooden throne that sat atop it.

The throne room. His father’s gift to him.

His footsteps echoed hollowly on the tile as he walked to the throne and sat. It felt fragile under him. As fine as the wood was, as intricately as it had been carved, it was plain compared to his father’s massive stone seat at the center of his fortress. It felt no different from sitting on any other chair. It wasn’t as if he could look down on his country from here. All he could see was an empty room.

His country. He let out a sharp bark of a laugh. An empty palace with floors washed in blood. A little nothing country full of poets and artists, all with smooth hands and stone faces and sticks up their asses. And it was all his. Lucky him.

His father never had been a thoughtful gift-giver. Then again, this wasn’t a gift. Nor was it a test, no matter what his father said. A test designed to be failed was no test at all.

Test was a more pleasant word than exile. But changing the name of a thing didn’t change the thing.

It made sense that his exalted father—the Unmaker, the Midnight Scourge, Commander of Wolves—would have chosen this place for him, so carefully tucked away from anything of real importance. His father had claimed it was a test—a way to prove himself and wash away his shame. If he ruled the conquered land with a firm and steady hand, if he turned this worthless patch of dirt into something worthy of his father’s empire, he would be allowed to keep his birthright.

But more than that, it was a way for Vorhullin the Unmaker to hide away his embarrassment of a third son. The son who hadn’t earned himself a title, unlike Gatalh the Victorious who had inherited his father’s strength, or Szorrol the Cunning who possessed his father’s keen mind. All Kezul had earned himself was failure, and a scar that would never allow him to forget it.

He absently rubbed the thick band of scar tissue halfway down his abdomen. Never mind that he had ridden twenty miles with a wound that should have been fatal. Never mind that he had killed the man who had given it to him. No, all that mattered was that a son of the great Unmaker had lost the first and only battle he had commanded—and had shed his exalted blood where others could see. Of course his father needed a place to hide him away after that. Kezul wouldn’t have been surprised if his father had conquered this useless little country solely for that purpose.

He glanced out the window to his right. The patterned metal across the glass, worked into a design that matched the doors, made him think of prison bars. In the distance, a few slim fruit trees swayed in a light breeze. Kezul wished he could feel that breeze against his skin. He wished he was on his horse, riding nowhere in particular, for the pleasure of feeling the sun on his back and the brisk air against his cheeks. They hadn’t even let him ride here; one of his Wolves had handled his horse, while Kezul rode in the damned carriage.

Maybe he would do just that. Maybe he would climb on his horse and never look back. He was, technically, the ruler here—who was going to stop him? He could leave this mess to someone else. Someone stupid enough to think it was an honor to sit on this throne.

All of Kyollen Naskor would tell the story, of course, from here to his father’s fortress. And that story would not paint him in a flattering light. But considering the stories they already told about his failure, what was a reputation for cowardice on top of that? Only the sauce that rounded out the meal.

Footsteps outside of the throne room made him straighten his shoulders. He shifted on the wooden seat, trying to approximate a posture of command.

A team of five Wolves came into view, their faces creasing in relief when they saw him. Their wolf-head hoods were pushed back, their thick fur cloaks unfastened or abandoned entirely. For such a show of disrespect, his father might have tied them to a pole and slowly unspooled their guts for all to see. But apparently no one expected Kezul to be capable of enforcing that sort of discipline.

That made him want to do it, just to prove them wrong. But after the long and tiring ride here, he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend he cared about a few cloaks and hoods. Besides, in this heat, he could hardly blame them.

The Wolves stopped short at the throne room doors, as if waiting for permission to enter. Kezul recognized them now. His father had assigned them as his Fangs, his personal guard, to go along with the rest of this dubious gift. They had looked about as excited about this supposed privilege as he had been at the thought of taking this throne. Now that the Unmaker wasn’t watching, and Kezul was seated on his throne, they no longer showed their contempt on their faces. They had that much respect for him, at least.

He didn’t want to invite them in. Filling the room with slobbering, panting Wolves wouldn’t do anything to lessen the heat. But they were going to stand there until he did something, and he could hardly hide away from his own army forever.

“One of you may enter,” he said. “But only one. Whatever you have to say, I’m sure you don’t need five voices to do it.” He nodded to the man in the center, who had seemed in charge on the journey here. “Gyoras, was it?”

Gyoras walked in. The others stayed put, watching with wary eyes, like dogs waiting to see whether their new master would toss them a scrap of meat or kick them in the ribs. Or maybe waiting for their chance to catch their weak master off guard.

“Close the door behind you,” Kezul ordered Gyoras. Gyoras did. The heavy wooden doors creaked shut, then slammed into place with a bang.

Gyoras dropped to his knees on the bloodstained, head bowed. He laid his notched sword on the floor in front of him with the point toward him, as if he planned to gut himself with it. “I pledge my service to you, Kezul the… er…” He audibly stumbled at the lack of a suitable title. “Kezul the son of the Unmaker. May the blood of your enemies flow like water under your hands.”

Kezul sighed through his teeth. “What is this?”

“Only the respect you are due. You have taken your throne by force and by right, and my life is yours to command.”

“I have taken my throne as a gift from my father’s hand, and we both know it,” Kezul said irritably. “Get up, and get on with what you came here to say.”

Gyoras dared to look up, uncertainty plain in his face. His eyes avoided Kezul’s.

“Yes, I mean it,” Kezul said, motioning him up. “Stand up. How am I supposed to talk to you when all I can see is the sun reflecting off your scalp through your thinning hair?”

Gyoras’s hand went to his head. He lowered it a second later with a slight flush. “The exalted Unmaker would have his Fangs killed if they dared to stand in his presence.”

“Then it’s a wonder they can fight for him at all, with the ruin they must have made of their knees. Get up.” An edge crept into his voice.

The man stood, casting a nervous glance at Kezul’s sword arm as if he thought Kezul might run him through here and now. He still wouldn’t look Kezul in the eye. Well, Kezul supposed there was only so much he could hope for.

“Well?” asked Kezul. “You came here to tell me something. What is it?”

“We lost track of you in the palace,” he said. “We feared perhaps an enemy had survived to take revenge. We were relieved to see that you had only come to claim your throne.”

“You came to tell me you were glad to have found me,” Kezul repeated. There was a saying: Don’t judge the strength of a dog’s loyalty by the size of its brains. Kezul hoped that adage applied here.

“Well, here I am,” Kezul said, spreading his arms and twisting one side of his lips at the corner. “You can rest easy—my father won’t be taking off your head for letting me die on your watch. Not that you have much to fear in that regard anyway, I suspect. I suspect he wouldn’t be too upset if it happened. Who knows—he might give you a promotion.” He let his hand drift toward his weapon, and watched Gyoras’s eyes grow wide with poorly hidden fear. “But don’t take that as license to take matters into your own hands. You won’t like where that ends.”

Gyoras looked seasick. Kezul couldn’t blame him. In the space of a minute, he’d been forbidden from offering the fawning deference he was accustomed to performing in order to keep himself alive. He had been forced to hear the great Unmaker slandered by someone he couldn’t afford to contradict. And he had been obliquely accused of plotting treason. “What are your orders?” he asked faintly.

“Do what you were sent to do, and guard me, I suppose,” Kezul said with a shrug. “But I’d prefer you do it from outside the door. It isn’t as if there are many threats to worry about here, not if my father’s army did their job clearing this place out. Unless, of course, he’s too impatient to wait for me to fail his tests, and slipped an assassin into the ranks.”

For an agonizing moment, Gyoras opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish as he visibly struggled to figure out how to respond. In the end, he made the best possible choice, and ignored the last sentence entirely. “I don’t mean our personal orders,” he said. “I mean your orders for the rest of your warriors. As the leader of your Fangs, I am your weapon, your shield… and your voice. If you wish to contemplate your new position in solitude, tell me how you would like me to direct your Wolves, and it will be done.”

Kezul’s irritation at the man’s presence fell away as he took in the words. He was beginning to see the advantages of having a team of Fangs assigned to him. Perhaps they would serve as more than his father’s spies after all.

If only he knew what orders to give. Surely there were dozens of things that needed attending to. The ruler of a country had to do more than sit on his throne all day contemplating patterns of light on the floor. But he hadn’t been trained to rule. Which was what made it such an effective test—or rather, an effective way for his father to set him up to fail.

His middle brother, who had been almost grown by the time Kezul had been born, had objected to any attempts to train Kezul in leadership. Afraid of turning the two-way struggle to succeed his father into a three-way struggle, perhaps. His father hadn’t objected, because keeping Szorrol happy gained him more than training a third heir would have. He had two sons well-suited for leadership already. He didn’t need a third fighting for scraps and making things messy.

So instead, he had decided Kezul would take the role of a great military hero, a living example of Naskori strength and military prowess. A fine destiny for any child—as long as the child had a gift for such things. Kezul, unfortunately for both his father and himself, did not.

His early skill at combat obscured the unfortunate truths that he didn’t have a head for military strategy, and that having an army hanging on his orders made his wits fly right out of his head. But his father had tried. Once Vorhullin the Unmaker had made up his mind, there was no changing it. He had squeezed Kezul into his intended role until something broke—that something being Kezul and the Wolves under his command.

“This is my country now,” Kezul said, too emphatically, “and I’d like it to feel like one. Finish cleaning this place up. Light some fires.” He scowled at the thought of more heat in this already stifling place. “No, forget the fires. But make this place feel like more than an empty ruin. I don’t care how.”

Gyoras drew back, curling his lip. “You want me to order your Wolves to clean?”

“Would you rather live in blood and filth?”

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Gyoras showed some sign of developing a backbone. “Wolves do not clean. That kind of work is for slaves and prisoners.”

“Well, find some, then. We’ve just conquered an entire country, haven’t we? There should be no shortage. Make the people who lived here clean it up. They’re the ones who built it to be so big and drafty, with all those cursed tapestries hanging all over the place.”

“They’re dead,” Gyoras said, as if surprised Kezul might think otherwise.

“What, all of them? My father’s army didn’t take any prisoners?”

“Prisoners with a reason to resent you are liable to stick a knife in your back at the first opportunity.” Gyoras’s tone said Kezul should already have known this.

“Then don’t give your prisoners knives.”

“Would you like me to send a few of your Wolves out to gather slaves for you?” Gyoras offered. “A few hours’ ride should bring them to a town that has some survivors left.”

“My father’s army does like to be thorough, don’t they?” Kezul muttered. “No, we can work it out later.” Had it been his father’s intention to humiliate himself further by making him, the son of the Unmaker, concern himself with how to clean his new palace? It would have been petty to expressly forbid the taking of prisoners purely to stick Kezul with the job, but Kezul wouldn’t have put it past him. Or maybe the idea had come from one of his brothers. That was even more believable.

He cast another longing look out the window, and wondered how soon he could make his excuses and saddle his horse.

No. He set his jaw. His father intended him to fail this test. That meant Kezul had the chance to spite the old demon. And for that reason alone, he intended to win. He would bring this miserable country to heel if it killed him.

“Cleaning can wait,” he said, straightening on his throne. “Your first priority is to find me people who understand Danelor’s political situation.”

Gyoras’s thick eyebrows creased. “Its political situation is that we’ve conquered it.”

“I know that,” Kezul said impatiently. “I mean its history. Its trade partners. What it produces. Its people’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Gyoras let out a low chuckle. “They won’t be producing much of anything after what we did to their farms.”

Kezul didn’t return the laugh. Gyoras’s mirth trailed off into nothing. He lowered his eyes to his feet and gave a vaguely apologetic grunt.

“I want that information,” Kezul said, in the best imitation of his father he could manage. It was not a good imitation. His father’s voice was a force of nature, a roll of thunder over mountains. Kezul suspected his own voice just then was more like a hiccup in the clouds after the storm had passed.

Nonetheless, his anger must have been plain, because Gyoras flung himself to the floor again.

“I offer my deepest regrets,” he said, his voice muffled by his posture and the way he insisted on addressing the floor instead of Kezul, “but I wouldn’t know where to begin to find that information. Neither would the rest of your Wolves, I suspect. None of them were chosen because they have a head for politics.”

“Get up,” Kezul ordered. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

With clear reluctance, Gyoras got to his feet. He kept his eyes stubbornly lowered. “We will prepare you a lavish feast to celebrate your conquest,” he said in a conciliatory tone.

So cleaning was unthinkably demeaning for Wolves, but cooking was not. Were these the finer points of leadership that Szorrol had blocked him from learning? If so, maybe he was better off. He could think of many more valuable things to store in those portions of his mind.

Like, for example, the political situation of Danelor.

“A feast,” he repeated flatly. “Didn’t you just say you burned the farms?”

“You can’t begin your rule on an empty stomach.”

“Better to begin on one than to end on one. Forget the feast. I’ll eat like a soldier in the field. If anyone objects, I’ll remind them why it’s not wise to question the orders of the son of the Unmaker.”

“Maybe you’d like to visit the dungeons,” Gyoras offered. “You might find a suitable target for your anger there.” A target other than me, his tone pleaded.

Kezul blinked. “I thought you said there were no prisoners.”

“Only one,” said Gyoras, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s not fit to scrub our floors. The only thing that one is fit for is the death one would give an animal. When your father’s army invaded his palace, he didn’t fight to defend his home. He hid.” Gyoras spat on the floor at his feet.

“We can hardly afford to be choosy,” Kezul pointed out. “At this point, I would hitch a mop to a goat if it meant getting this place clean. Put him to work. The Wolves can have their fun with him after—”

He stopped.

“A prisoner from the palace,” he said slowly. “What did he do in the palace, exactly?”

---

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lexygabe · 1 year

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[father-daughter] iron tank!helena & von pushup one-shot

Helena couldn't afford shit. But to be more specific, she couldn't afford a new sink, because the old one (in front of which she stood) was broken (she broke it, while trying to install it).

It was her fourth month as an apprentice coach of Iron Tank' team, so she knew that the lack of a decent sink would not go unnoticed by Colonel Von Pushup.

,,What the heck do I do now, Larry?" she asked mop, which was leaning against the wall. When she turn her head in said direction, mop fell to the floor. ,,Shit."

For a moment, Helena considered the option of returning to South Africa, changing her name and forgetting about this whole farce called the Super League. But then she remembered she didn't have enough money to do this.

She sighed, stood up and started walking towards training base.

,,If anything happens, I will hit him directly in this beer belly" Helena talked to herself, trying to encourage herself. ,,Just like that."

Working for Iron Tanks was the best option for her among all job offers for other teams (Supa Strikas was too boring, even though her admiration for Coach, and on Hydra stadium she was this close to beat the shit out of Liquido). So it wasn't that unexpected that heads of the Super League decided to send her here... to Germany... in the Alps.

While leaving the building, she put on the fleece military jacket that Colonel once had given her when Helena had gone outside, unaware of the frost. Of course, at first he laughed at her and started telling his players some anecdote about why he always finds it funny when tourists come to this area, not expecting such cold weather. Present day was definitely warmer than mentioned one, but Helena still coudn't get used to temperatures of this region so while Iron Tank's players were wearing long sleeve shirts and Von Pushup himself wore a leather jacket with fur trim around the collar, Helena looked like as if she was going to climb mountains.

,,Fuck, my grandfather was a pilot in an English squadron 70 years ago, and I can't talk to my superior like with normal human being?" she thought, standing two steps away from her mentor.

Colonel Von Pushup with an almost smoked cigarette in his mouth and sunglasses on his nose, gave Helena the side eye.

,,The sink broke" she said with straight face.

Von Pushup started chocking on his cigarette. In a panic, Helena started hitting him on the back and then performed the Heimlich maneuver on him, as a result of which the wet cigarettebutt fell to the ground.

,,Vat?!" Von Pushup screamed, scratching his throat.

,,It was an accident!" Helena screamed back, doing pouty face.

,,How the hell did you break the sink?!" Von Pushup looked at Helena with shock on his face and a dead look in his eyes. ,,Verdammt! Was zum Teufel!"

,,I'm sorry. It was unintentionally!" Helena swore, rubbing her shoes on the ground.

,,Holy-"

Von Pushup looked up and down on Helena and just shook his head, running his hand over the bridge of his nose.

When he at first heard that they will sent him a new apprentice, he thought they will gave him some dodger, who would avoid work and probably not survive 3 days in The Fortress.

But they sent him Helena.

She immediately made a positive impression on him, because the first thing she did when she arrived on stadium was getting into a fight with Thor over the last energy drink in vending machine, but it still didn't change the fact that Helena apart from being very first apprentice Colonel truly liked, was also an underachiever.

Suddenly he felt hunger. Hell, he didn't eat anything since 5 am and this memory of the vending machine just made him even hungrier.

,,Missy Supervisor, we are gonna cook and I don't want to hear any mumbling" he said, tapping Helena hard on the shoulder. ,,This is your penance!" he reminded, when Helena opened her mouth with the intention of interjecting something of her own.

,,More like for both of us, sir" Helena announced, shrugging.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards. She is good.

His eyes turned towards the football players standing in place, closely watching his conversation with Helena.

,,And why are you don't do anything?! Faster, faster, faster!" he whistled with his fingers. ,,All of you will be fixing the sink that our Supervisor broke."

Her eyes widened and she looked at Von Pushup with terror.

***

Iron Tank's players have been trying to fix what their friend had done for half a day.

Would it be easier if Von Pushup (or at least Ginerva) just called a plumber? Probably yes, but everybody knew Von Pushup's methods, so as long as The Fortress was not flooded, there was no need to call professionals to fix anything.

,,You know that, it looks like a dead squirrel with sweat from our guys' shirts?" Helena asked Iron Tanks coach, while looking at pork knuckle that she and Von Pushup had been preparing for two hours.

Von Pushup cackled with big smile, slapping his knee.

,,I consider this as a confirmation, sir" she said with sweet smirk, while pecking out a peace of meat with a fork. ,,I'm not gonna eat this."

,,You will! You destroyed our sink, and...!"

Von Pushup couldn't finish his sentence, because after a while there was a loud crash, and water gushed out from the adjoining room.

Von Pushup's face blushed furiously, but before he could do anything, Helena handed him their knuckle.

,,You know what, sir-man? We better eat that while it's hot."

In anger, he took the first bite of his and Helena's meal.

She is a good kid.

,,All of them will eat cat food for the whole next week."

,,Of course, sir. Of course."

☆☆/

i write this bcs of my english grammar exercises

helena, wtf did you do

#supa strikas #supa strikas women #one shot: supa strikas #supa strikas helena #iron tank #supablr #headcanon: supa strikas #relationship: helena & otto von eisen | colonel von pushup

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