#hades ii—・❥ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asaarii · 2 months ago

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just some various works that will prob never get finished chars included (in order) aka you can see all of my phases

mark grayson (invincible) [1.3k]

heartseel kayn and phel w streamer (league) [1.8k]

sett (league) [1.7k]

zagreus (acc might finish lowk) (hades) [856]

genji shimada (overwatch) [1.5k]

iso (valorant) [1.1k]

yasuo (league) [1.5k]

Mark Grayson [1.3K]

If there was one benefit to the cowl, it would be being able to hide the look of confusion on your face when a familiar sonic boom thunders through the sky before crashing into buildings with little regard to the people within. The ground tremors from the sudden force, splintering at the apex of the collision into loose and jagged debris.

Your breath hitches when the first building falls, your legs moving faster than your mind as you leap from your post atop a building. Just barely, you manage to save a family from death’s waiting maw, screaming at the top of your lungs for everyone in the area to keep moving. Though your voice is altered significantly by the modulator, the evident urgency in your tone sends many running; clawing and crying for a chance at survival—one you’re not sure many will have.

You do your best to help, grappling between buildings to save who you could, and pushing down waves of regret whenever you were a few seconds too late.

It had been a normal patrol at the start, and you’d even considered turning in early due to the lack of activity. You rarely took patrols during the day as your powers were dampened significantly by the presence of the sun, but a few days ago Rex had requested you take his place while he helped Rae move into her new apartment.

(“Please,” he whines, gripping your shoulders, batting his lashes in a way that has you reeling back, shoving his face away with your hand. “I’ll get your favorite takeout whenever you want! Just do me this one solid, I swear.”

You turn to Mark, your boyfriend caught up in a conversation with Eve, unable to catch your pleading gaze. As if sensing your unease, he looks at you, eyes alight with curiosity as they flicker between you and Rex before he shrugs unhelpfully with a small smile.

Your eyes narrow as your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek while you weigh your options. Against your better judgment, you spare one last glance to his pathetic, pleading face before ultimately giving in. “Fine,” you groan out reluctantly, pushing him fully off you only for him to crush you in a hug to which you return stiffly.

He deserved his moment of happiness, you suppose. You all do after everything that’s happened.

Rex pulls away from you, playfully slapping Mark on his shoulder before running off to tell Rae the good news. “Dude, you’re girlfriend is the best!”

“I know,” Mark says proudly as he comes up behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, his lips pressing a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head. “C’mon, mom made your favorite.”

“Mark…” Your quiet murmur is picked up easily by his enhanced senses, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of hesitation.

He raises a hand before you can protest, pinching your cheek lightly. “Surely the Moon Knight can take just one night off, right?”

You really could never say no to this man, could you?

You flick his nose playfully, your scowl bearing no real heat as Khonshu’s voice echoes in your brain, likely arguing against going with Mark. But, for the first time in a while, you ignore the god, opting instead for a rare occasion of putting yourself first.

That was the first time in weeks you’d spent the night together, sharing your feelings and fears beneath his protective comforter while your insomnia took its hold, keeping your mind awake late into the hours of the night.

Luckily Mark had a few other ways to tire you out.)

Your muscles throb dully beneath your plated super suit in exertion, the white plates now stained a deep scarlet hue. You push forward, hands catching onto a flying car before it can crash into yet another building. The force drags you forward, but you manage to plant your feet and stop it just before it collides into the building which you now recognize as your favorite café.

A win amidst a sea of losses.

At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself, eyes flickering between the dilapidated buildings and the multitude of corpses left behind by the unknown threat. That’s when you see it. The figure that floats above it all, his familiar red cape flowing with ominous grandeur.

You know that suit.

But his face isn’t the same as you remember.

“Mark…?” His name leaves your lips a breathless question, confusion and doubt growing in the pit of your stomach with each cautious step you take toward your boyfriend.

Something’s wrong.

You feel it in the way his eyes snap to you without an ounce of recognition, cold behind his trademark goggles. And you most certainly feel it when his hand tightens around your throat before throwing you face-first into the asphalt. You make a choked noise at the feeling of your shoulder dislocating, the ground fracturing beneath you as a result of his strength.

It’s only then that you realize that the man above you isn’t your Mark, but an echo of what could’ve been. His hold on you is tight as he holds you up by the cape, scrutinizing every concerningly steady beat of your heart.

He leans closer, taking in the small details of your mask and suit, confusion settling on his face for the briefest of seconds before it returns to clinical stoicism, and he drops you unceremoniously onto the jagged ground. He clicks his tongue as you gasp for breath, glaring down at you with his lips pressed into a tight line.

You take the opportunity to muster the ability to kick him away from you, momentarily stunning him with your strength as he crashes into the café you’d just saved. The strangely dressed Mark reappears from the rubble with furrowed brows, brushing off stray dust from his suit.

You don’t give him a chance to recover, pinning him to a wall by the cape with an ahnk before popping your shoulder into place. You stalk closer, truncheons in hand as the sun disappears behind the horizon line. The Mark before you follows your movements closely like a predator waiting to pounce.

His jaw ticks as his hand closes around the ahnk, no doubt feeling the sting of Khonshu’s wrath as it burns through his glove and skin. Regardless, he pulls it free from the wall, throwing it at you with newly renewed conviction. “Who are you?” Though his tone is detached, you pick up on the smallest inklings of curiosity.

You hate the similarity he bears to your Invincible down to the very intonation of his question. But you can’t falter—you will not falter; not as a defender of Earth, nor as Khonshu’s sole avatar. Rubble crumbles above as the false Invincible before you holds your gaze both of you silent as a moment passes with rising tension.

He’s in front of you before you can blink, his fist pulled back before he punches you hard enough to level a whole city block.

You brace for impact, just barely finding time to raise your arms before you’re sent flying back. Had the sun still been up, you would’ve been nothing more than another stain on the concrete, even if only for a few moments, but all you feel is the blinding pain in your arms and back as you’re sent flying through a multitude of crumbled buildings.

It doesn’t take long for your bones to mend, but it takes even less time for the caped imposter to find you, appearing in a heartstopping gust of wind a few meters away from you.

“It’s rude to not answer when someone asks you something.” His arms remain crossed across his chest as he stares down at you from his place in the air. Next thing you know, glass shards dig into your back as he throws you by the ankle into another building.

So much for answering his question.

HEARTSTEEL with Streamer!Reader [1.8K]

kayn:

always comes in at the most random times. which can lead to a mixed bag or reactions ranging from a victory kiss to a scream of terror from the depths of your soul

most likely does it on purpose too because he’s a bitch like that.

could not give any less of a fuck if people knew you were together or not

sure pr is always on his ass but blah balah ablaha

you’re his partner and he’d be damned if he didn’t show you off to both your fans and his.

(he does reign himself in when yone steps in, though. holy shit that man is scary when he wants to be.)

Your headset sits heavy on your head, a sponsored brand you find yourself mentally critiquing as you focus on the game before you. A bead of sweat drips from your brow, a fruit of your concentration while your hands remain shaking and clammy on your controller.

The sound a heartbeat echoes distantly, though whether it’s your own or a game mechanic, you don’t quite know.You don’t notice a shadow shifting behind you or your chat trying to warn you, having muted it in order to focus solely on the game.

Arms curl around your chair as you turn down an infamous hallway, each creaking step of the rotting planks below your character sending a jolt of fear down your spine. Kayn watches behind your oblivious figure, trying to find the perfect moment to execute.

Unlike you, who wanted to go in completely blind, he’d watched numerous gameplays in order to pinpoint each jumpscare. Sure, he’d caught some flack from Yone during practices, but the thought of your reactions was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

It doesn’t take long for a familiar door to come into view, followed shortly by a series of quick-time events.

The ghost of his touch trails up your arm, yet you remain wholly unaware due to the stress of every new event. His hand removes one of your headphones, breath warming the cusp of your ear just as the final event appears on screen.

“Boo.”

Your sudden jolt causes you to hit the wrong button, successfully triggering a rather brutal jumpscare. As you jump back in pure fear, your controller flies from your hand, connecting squarely with your boyfriend’s nose.

The next few moments are pure chaos, with you screaming about an intruder in your house and Kayn keeled over in an attempt to stop the blood.

When you finally come to your senses, you’re shocked to find that your so-called intruder is actually your boyfriend, finally home from an extensive tour around Valoran following the success of Heartsteel’s latest album: STORMSURGE.

“Shieda?!” You’re quick to make your way to his side, panic rising in place of your previous fear. Blood pools in his cupped palms as he rushes out of the room with you trailing close behind whilst you apologize profusely.

Your poor, poor viewers are left with a view of an empty chair and an open door on your facecam while the death screen lingers on your monitor. Though muffled, they can hear snippets of the interaction transpiring between you and the rockstar from down the hall.

“Tip your head—forward not back, dumbass!”

“Fuck! Why’d you throw the controller so hard.”

“I was scared! And you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow…”

“Was s’posed to be a surprise.” There’s clear fondness in his tone despite the nasally sound of him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t even hear you open the door.” You’re rubbing his back in soothing, trying your best not to wince at the copious amount of blood staining your sink.

“Well you also didn’t hear me leaning on your chair.” There’s a pause as Kayn sighs before mumbling a low, “I shadow traveled anyway,” uncaught by your otherwise sensitive mic.

It gets really hard to stay annoyed by his little prank when he looks like a kicked puppy. Even from this angle, you can see the small jut in his lip as he pouts, scowling slightly from the pain of his injured nose.

“M’sorry,” he apologizes after you bandage his thankfully unbroken nose. You can only chuckle as you clean his face and hands free of any blood, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, leading the two of you back to your studio, “never apologize for feeling scared.”

Your chat rejoices at your return, half consoling Kayn and half making fun of him for being taken out in such a hilariously stupid way. He discreetly flips them a middle finger while you settle back in your seat, quickly closing the horror game in favor of a more lighthearted multiplayer. You miss the way he smiles when you respond to chat, though your perceptive viewers see the way his heterochromatic eyes shine in your dim lighting.

They see a downbad loverboy instead of the coldhearted rockstar face he offers the rest of the world.

yeah… sometimes he games with you, but he insisted to have his own controller and setup

if you look closely in the very right corner of your face cam, you can see the edge of his monitor peeking through; a candid shot of you the lockscreen

to tell the difference, he says

bullshit

sometimes he barges in without even knowing your streaming, already ranting about something that pissed him off

you always mute, ready to listen and offer advice on whatever he needs

he’s a mod when he’s not physically with you, banning any freaks who think they have a chance with you

he loves you and loves that you’re so confident in yourself, but your safety will always be your top priority

aphelios:

he’s with you every step of the way

he was your first supporter, after all

usually, he sits just out of frame and if you listen closely, you can hear a few of his mixes in the background when you speak

or he’s your camera man whenever you’re filming something outside the comfort of your home

there are also times he appears as a figure in your door—an ominous shadow, standing there menacingly for moments at a time before disappearing down the hall

this has led to a multitude of conspiracies about your apartment being haunted by a tall, lanky ghost

he finds it funny

you do not—okay it’s a little funny trying to suppress your smile as you dismiss your viewer’s concerns

your chat has grown a bit suspicious of your odd behavior, but you always brush it off as them being paranoid

you both finally decide to introduce him properly after you reached a particularly big follower goal

The camera blinks a bright red as your stream comes to life, a slew of comments come flooding in your chat, congratulating you for finally reaching the goal you’d been striving for for quite a while.

“Hey, guys! Welcome to my 500k follower special.” You wave at the camera, clapping your hands together while your eyes quickly scan the comments. “Thank you, ๑pinpinipi for the ten dollar dono! Yeah, as you guys can see, we’re gonna be baking today.”

๑getdiffed: we?? hmmmmm very very suspicious…

๑colon3: not rlly…but they’re doing the staring thing again

๑fardeded: IM SO EXCITED JBGJBONLNMK IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS STREABM FOREVERRRR

“Haha, I’m happy to see the enthusiasm, fard! Glad to know you’re still with us after all these years. Today, as many of you have guessed, I have a special little helper in the kitchen today—well, not exactly little, but you get the point.” You nod to the empty space beside you, encouraging the blue-haired male to join you in front of the camera.

He steps closer hesitantly, but stands tall with a soft nudge of your shoulder. Anything to see you smile.

๑willMYseed: NO FUCKING WAY IS THAT APHELIOS

๑colon3: WHAT THE HELLL

๑getdiffed: I KNEW THEY WERE SEEING SOMEONE BUT HOLY SHIT I DIDNT THINKNIT WAS HIM

๑fardeded: its all making sense now. i KNEW the music in the bg of someof their streams was familiar I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS THE COMPOSITION FOR STORMSURGE

๑averagegodling: who in the world is aphelios

๑averagegodling: WAIT HE’S THAT GUY FROM HEARTSTEEL???? :[user]_wtf:

๑ily[user]: gn. ive lost.

๑averagegodling: bros acting like they had a chance w [user] :skull:

You let out a boisterous laugh, leaning on your lover for support as your legs buckle beneath you. He holds you, smiling down at you gently as helps you back up.

“Sorry,” you wave a dismissive hand, “sorry, you guys are just too funny—fuck, what were we making again, Phel?”

He smirks as he whispers the dish in your ear, making sure to cover the mic clipped to your shirt to ensure that only you could hear his voice. His eyes stare dead into the camera, his hand lovingly stroking down your arm with the full intention to stake his claim.

“Right! Thanks, love,” you kiss his cheek absentmindedly before turning back to the camera, “we’re making yakgwa! It’s one of Phel’s favorites.”

๑willMYseed: WRITE THAT DOWN GUYS YAKGWA IS ONE OF APHELIOS’ FAVORITE FOODS

๑colon3: good googly moogly dID YOU SEE THAT SMIRK

๑fardeded: we get it king, they’re yours:[user]_sob]

Aphelios bends down, allowing you to pin his hair up with the gaudiest clip you could borrow from Alune without much protest, even allowing you to leave a lingering kiss on his freshly exposed forehead. With a roll of his eyes and a ruffle of your hair as payback, the two of you set to work in order to make the fried dessert.

It doesn’t take long to discern which of the two twins holds the culinary expertise.

(Hint, it isn’t Aphelios.)

He’s squinting at the iPad placed between the two of you. There’s a cute furrow in his brows you’ve only seen when he was making music. It’s rare to see him so concentrated on something other than his craft.

What you didn’t know is that he’s only like this because it was you who asked. Had it been Sett, Ezreal, or, god forbid, Kayn asking him to do this, he would’ve rolled his eyes and pushed Alune their way and called it a day. But it isn’t. It’s you; the person he’d tear down the moon itself for if it meant seeing you smile one last time.

“…Phel?”

He turns to you, slit brow raised in silent question.

“Does this flour look off to you?” You tilt the bowl toward him and he leans closer only to blanch at the odd concoction stirred within the bowl.

Oh. Haha. He was wondering where he misplaced K’sante’s protein powder. Silly him. Without much thought, he takes the bowl, chucking it in the sink with a quick text to Alune to pick up some wheat flour.

Oops?

๑PrideOfNazumah has donated $15: hey :)) could you check if aphelios has some birthday cake flavored protein powder left :)) both sett and i seem to have run out :)) no pressure :))

Sett [1.7K]

The world was cruel, often uncaring of those it brought punishment upon. Mothers, children, fathers, and lovers; nobody was safe from the ever-winding threads that wove history together, creating an ugly amalgamation of wars, famine, and ruination.

Regardless, you do your best to create a safe place in the world for your son, even if it’s difficult for the two of you to see eye to eye on most occasions. He has his father’s stubbornness, bearing the same crinkle in his nose whenever he bears the fangs he had inherited from you right back at you. Though, perhaps the worst thing he’d gotten from his father was his venom-laced tongue which spewed poison that hurt your heart more than any blade.

You never once blamed him, though.

You were the reason papa wasn’t around anymore. You were the reason he had to move to the outskirts of Navori away from everything he grew up with. You were the reason he had nothing. You reason your child—your own flesh and blood—despised your very existence.

Your fault.

Your fault!

It was all your fault!

Yet you took it all in stride. Still smiling and greeting him every morning with a gentle kiss to the forehead that he reels away from. Still tidying his uniform despite his protests, and still walking him to school even if he refuses to walk anywhere near you. It’s all worth seeing the smile that lights up his face when he catches sight of his friends in the schoolyard, completely disregarding the bidding of good luck you offer him.

Every day you smile to yourself as you turn your heel, breathing deeply in hopes of finding a job as funds are beginning to dwindle and the thought of selling your body sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d done it before, though, and ironically it was actually how you met your son’s father. The you of the past would have been quick to hop on the idea as it paid well and was relatively simple, but you could never make the mistake of falling in love with a client ever again.

Friends had warned you, truly they tried to help, but you didn’t heed their words. Their pleas for your well-being fell deaf in comparison to how your heart initially beat upon first forming a connection with the man. He was kind, gentle, and handsome to boot, but the flags—both green and red—were tinted by rose lenses as you found yourself falling a bit too hard too fast.

Maybe if you’d been a bit more preceptive you would have seen the glaring signs, like how his previously warm touches became cold, or how he smiled less when the two of you met up, or how his once soothing words began to make you doubt yourself and your worth little by little. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been so shocked by his venomous words when you’d told him about the pregnancy.

You’ll never forget the look of raw anger and disgust that crossed his face as he clicked his tongue and stormed off with the excuse of cooling off. Your parents offered little support in the ordeal, ashamed of you for earning your keep in such an unkempt manner and getting pregnant so early on in life as a result of it. At least you had your friends to pour your burdens out to, or at least you used to, until you turned tail and fled the province, unable to look your parents in the eyes, or bear the scorn imposed upon you by your supposed lover.

Before you can delve too deep into the painful memories, you bring yourself back to reality, nodding kindly at your interviewer who gives you an unimpressed look in return.

She’s human, you note; her nails are trimmed short in comparison to your razor-sharp claws that fiddle restlessly in your lap, her ears are at the side of her head and bear skin unlike the fuzzy ones at the top of your head, and also unlike your own, hers don’t betray your emotions with a downward tilt. Her eyes travel between you and your resume, and you can’t help but feel scrutinized under her predatory stare.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Vastaya are typically known to be far stronger than the average human, bearing magic that most could only dream to hold that’s usually bolstered by their animal-like attributes. Yet here you were, cowering before a human who bears not a flicker of magic trickling through her veins. You do your best to shrink into yourself, eyes flickering anywhere but on her as a result.

The gaze of your interviewer softens a near-unnoticeable amount as she gnaws the inside of her cheek and once more, she glances at your resume. “Look,” she starts, quiet and slow as if to not startle an already frightened animal, “I don’t believe our business is the best place for you.” She can’t help but wince when you deflate, forcing yourself to pull through despite the harsh sting of being rejected by yet another job.

“It’s just…” She struggles to find the words, “Our business deals primarily with business transport, and it says here that you’re a single parent, right?” You can only muster a weak nod in response, desperately attempting to hear her out through the torrent of thoughts in your mind. She grabs your hand from across the table, rubbing soothing circles into your palm with her thumb.

It’s far beyond the boundaries of a normal interview, but she can’t help but empathize with you and your clear anguish. “You wouldn’t want to leave your son alone, would you? Most in our line of work don’t return from the first job, and I don’t think you want to imagine your son without you. So please, if not for you, then for your son, find another place of work.”

Her words do little to comfort you, but you nod along anyway, simply wanting to leave the vicinity as quickly as possible. However, just as you think she’s finally finished with her long-winded rejection, she fishes into her loose-fitting hanfu, pulling out a small slip of paper resembling a talisman.

“Here,” she states, pushing the paper into your hand. You come to realize that it’s a coupon for a free meal. As if feeling your confusion, your interviewer laughs lightly, a stark contrast to her cold persona mere moments prior. “For your troubles and a testament to your good luck in the future.”

You can’t help but stare at the coupon when you exit the building. It’s got a cute little design in the corner reminiscent of the badgers back in your home province and the black characters seemed to be hand-inked with love and care. You smile down at it, running your hand across the dried ink before pocketing the slip.

The sky is darkened slightly by the time you reach the entrance of the school. Towering whipwillow trees arch into a beautiful gate connected to an even larger tree that serves as the base of the school. It’s difficult not to admire such a work of art, cultivated through years of dedication to the act of magic.

However, every beauty comes with its own mars.

Holes and burn marks litter the tree from the Noxian invasion a few years back. Though most had been repurposed into open classrooms, they still serve as a reminder of the past and a sign to all that all that was once broken can be crafted into something beautiful.

In your moment of admiration towards the school, you nearly miss your son scurry past you, eager to go home and hole himself away in his room away from you. Luckily, you’re quick to catch him, much to his disdain. He shakes your hand off his arm, and you smile lovingly at him despite the added weight to your already heavy heart.

“I heard you were doing well in your classes. Why don’t we celebrate with a meal? I know a place you may like.” That was wrong, you didn’t even know if the teahouse was safe to bring a child. Regardless, your proposition was met with nothing but cold silence, causing your smile to falter slightly. Swallowing your pain, you guide your son through the active streets of Navori, sticking to well-lit streets and occasionally asking stall owners for directions while simultaneously purchasing ingredients for later with the little money you have on you.

Eventually, you and your son find yourself in front of a quaint teahouse, the same little badger etched into the sign above the entrance. When you push open the flaps, you’re immediately welcomed by a warm aura and the scent of fresh food.

A Vastayan woman is quick to greet you. Her ears seem naturally downcast, her lilac hair mostly held back by a band on her lower back, though a small portion is held together by twine next to her face.

“Welcome,” she greets, showing off her fanged smile that exudes the same homely aura as the rest of the establishment. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, are you new to Navori?” She guides both you and your son to the front, and it’s then you realize that the teahouse is practically empty. Guilt begins to seep in at the thought of catching this woman right before closing.

“Huh? Oh, yes, we just moved recently.” Your answer elicits a soft hum from the woman as she pours you and your son cups of tea.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself then.” After she places the cups down, she brings one of her clawed hands to her chest, “I am Ginora, owner of this little teahouse.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ginora. Ah, where are my manners? I’m [Name], and this is my son, Kuon.” You place your hand proudly on your son’s shoulder, only to have him shrug it off with a grumble. You’re quick to hide your wince with a strained smile as the two of you take the menus from the kind restaurant owner.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she smiles before perking up when she sees you struggling to choose something. “Would you like some recommendations?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Ginora is kind; the type of woman you wish was your mother as well as the type of mother you hope you are to your son. She’s patient in the way she guides your son through the menu, who’s reluctantly polite to seemingly everyone but you.

“This is my son’s favorite.” She points to steamed pork buns on your son’s menu. Something in your brain clicks; it make sense that she’s a mother with her infinite patience and calming presence

Zagreus [856]

“What was he like?” Melinoë’s soft voice draws your attention away from the cauldron. It simmers quietly as you turn to look at her, the light of the eternal flame illuminating her already ethereal face.

You blink dumbly for a moment, trying to process her question ever so slowly. Hecate’s laugh rumbles a few meters away, and you cast your questioning glance to the elder witch. She merely raises her hands in defense, returning to the new scroll she’d scouted out along her many travels. Right.

“My brother,” she finally clarifies after a beat of silence and one-sided communication between you and the headmistress. “What was Zagreus like?”

This wasn’t the first she’s asked about your husband, but it’s the first time you actually feel ready to share his memory.

“He’s…” you pause for a moment, “he’s exactly how the tales regale.” A fondness glitters in your eyes as you step away from the cauldron, beckoning the younger spawn of Hades towards a table at the lounge. The shades are happy to serve you, offering only the nicest nectar provided by none other than Charon himself.

You take a sip, savoring the soothing taste of the golden liquid. Melinoë does the same, her eyes never once straying from your content expression.

“Zagreus was—is the oddest man to ever grace the Underworld.” Your chuckle is melancholic as you meet your sister-in-law’s two-toned gaze. Her eyes are the same shade of forest green and vermillion, though switched on opposing eyes. Unlike her brother’s carefree ones, they’re heavy, weighed down by a burden that should never be held by one person alone. God or otherwise.

Yet, even then, she holds the same stubborn determination the rest of her family seems to have, and you’d be damned not to help her in her goal.

“Have I ever told you how we met?” A swig of nectar forces down the bitter loneliness built over the century without the presence of your husband.

The younger goddess shakes her head and you chuckle, downing the rest of your drink with a small smile.

“Well…”

—

Filling in for Hermes as a messenger was not often a responsibility placed on your shoulders, but when the speedy god pled to you to make this one, itty-bitty delivery, you couldn’t say no.

He leaves you in one of Elysium’s vast fields with a pouch of…something and instructions to do nothing but “wait until he appears”.

“Who?” You quirk a brow, unamused by your friend’s vagueness.

Hermes only grins with an equally ominous: “You’ll know when you see him.” He readies himself to part, only to turn back to you one final time. “Oh! And if he asks, tell ‘em I was busy running an errand for the big boss, he’ll understand. Now, I know this is sudden and I swear on my life I’ll pay you back later, but looks like I’ve got to run! Take care of him, yeah?” All you feel is a gust of wind and the grass billowing at your legs before no trace of the messenger god is left behind.

Blast these gods and their stupid mind games.

Would it have killed him to at least give you a name?

You grumble obscenities that would have the most profane god fainting, kicking at the soft grass as you continue to wait idly. A few spirits of notable figures cross your path. They bow respectfully as they pass by you, unable to withhold their awe at the sight of your ethereal form.

“Thank the gods. Finally, some peace! Now, where is it…” A sudden voice cuts through your conversation with one of the shades. The owner ambles closer, huffing out a breath of relief as he sheathes his sword. The scent of ash reaches you before he does, and your nose twitches. There was a reason why you rarely ever ventured to the lower depths.

The man—the godling—stares. And stares. And stares…His pretty, heterochromatic gaze blinking slowly in confusion while his hand finds its way back to the hilt of his sword once again.

“You’re not Hermes.”

That much is obvious.

Burning grass follows every step he takes, and it doesn’t take long for the blade to be pressed against the column of your neck. “You’re another blasted witch,” he seethes, contempt clear in the way the blade pierces through your skin, drawing only the smallest inkling of divine blood. Again, another obvious point. Where in Olympus was he going with this line of thought?

Suddenly, all the pieces come together and you want to smite Hermes all the more.

Before you was the Zagreus, the notorious spawn of Hades whose presence has rippled throughout Olympus’ upper echelon due to his persistent climb to the surface. You’d heard of him in passing, though never found much of an interest in Olympus’ latest gossip hub.

There’s an awkward beat of silence before you recall Hermes’ request. It’s difficult trying to locate the pouch in your bag with the prince’s sword still pressed into your neck, but you do eventually manage, holding out the brown pouch as a peace offering in place of your neck

Genji Shimada [1.5K]

One of the first things he felt when he opened his eyes was anger. A red-hot inferno that scorched his core from the inside out. Next came the numbness in his limbs that once seared with an incomprehensible pain as they were cut down by his brother’s blade.

His brother.

The thought alone was enough to send him into another fit of anger, though unable to move due to his current predicament. He settles for glaring at the blindingly stark white wall of the unfamiliar room. It hurts to breathe—hurts to think. He tries to close his eyes in an attempt to find a semblance of peace in the darkness behind his eyelids.

However, just as he does so, the door leading to the hallway slides open.

“I see that you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

He opens his eyes slowly, glare landing on a blonde woman who merely tilts her head questioningly. He can barely process her words, his mind slowly translating it to his mother tongue. He never was the best at English.

The slow blinks he sends her are enough to have the doctor clicking her tongue as she taps away at the holographic computer. A file pops up between the two. It’s his. It lists his name, age, birthplace, and even what schools he went to. Yet, what perturbed him was the picture associated with his file.

In essence, yes, it was him, there was no doubt.

But, something felt off. Like it wasn’t really him anymore.

As if feeling his stare, the blonde woman tears her gaze away from the screen. Pushing up her glasses, she minimizes the holographic screen before making her way over to his side, a bottle of water in hand.

“You seem thirsty, please, drink up.” She slowly tilts the water bottle past his parted lips. He accepts greedily, allowing the soothing liquid to quench his thirst.

“Angela Ziegler,” she starts, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips while she caps the water bottle. His look of confusion causes her to let out a small chuckle. “My name,” she clarifies.

The woman, Angela, returns to her swivel chair across the room, tapping through the seemingly unending files before landing on one in particular. “You’ve caused quite some trouble, Mr. Shimada.” Her hand cups her chin gently, glasses reflecting the bright blue light from the monitor.

“You’re quite fortunate that one of our agents found you when she did. Had she not…well you can guess what would have happened.”

Of course he does. He wasn’t exactly expecting to wake up.

The door slides open once again, revealing an injured soldier clutching at her arm with a grimace tugging harshly on her lips.

“Speak of the devil,” Angela murmurs with an amused huff. The soldier—you—raises a questioning brow at your trusted friend. She merely shrugs her shoulders, tilting her head slightly to the injured man on the hospital bed.

“Shit…I didn’t know you moved him in here.” You sound embarrassed, unwanting to meet the ninja’s harsh glare. Angela makes her way over to you with an odd-looking staff and a medkit, her lips are pulled into a smile, but you can see the concern swimming in her deep gaze. Genji watches from his place on the bed.

The blonde takes your arm, uncaring of the blood that cakes her hand after. She tells you to raise it and you wince.

“What happened,” her once veiled concern is now bleeding through her tone. Your expression pinches further at her prodding.

“Operation went south and Reyes sent me to you.”

She hums in understanding, already inspecting the wound, “But you have Dr. O'Deorain on standby, no?”

You click your tongue, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head whilst she tightens the bandage. You hiss harshly, glare boring holes into Angela’s head, yet she remains unaffected. “I don’t trust her,” you snip curtly as if any mention of the redhead burns your tongue.

In a way, it did, that much Angela knew, which is why she never sends you away when you came to her.

“Oh, I have another reason for stopping by, too.”

This gets the doctor’s attention, causing her to look up from your arm with a raised brow.

“It’s a deal from Morrison and Reyes themselves regarding our little friend over there,” your chin jerks over to the bed-ridden Shimada. Your gaze is pitying as it drifts between his missing calves and arm. He does not take kindly to your blatant patronization, instead, his glare increases tenfold.

“Well, out with it.” Angela snaps your focus back onto her. Her foot taps rhythmically whilst she scrubs her hands clean at a nearby sink.

“They want him in Blackwatch. Says he’d be a good help for taking down the Shimada clan—”

“Have they seen him? Do they know he’s missing limbs? That he’s barely alive?” Her sudden outburst was to be expected, yet you remain unflinching under the scrutiny of her narrowed eyes. Her jaw is clenched, seemingly out of character in comparison to her usual persona.

With a clenched jaw, you attempt to move your arm, leaving her questions to hang tensely in the air. It hurts a lot, but you still continue to move it nonetheless. Angela grips your forearm harshly, stilling it, “Stop that, you’ll only hurt it more.”

The warning has you sighing, finally relieving your arm of its strain by allowing it to fall limply at your side.

“Cybernization.” Your voice was quiet and would have most likely been drowned out had the heart monitor been any louder. You knew Angela would disagree with this. Turning a man into a weapon wasn’t exactly humane, after all.

“What?”

“They want to turn him into a cyborg. Uh, with his consent, of course.” Your reassurance does little to placate her.

As you await her response, she lets out a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the one you need permission from.” Both of your gazes fall onto the silent man, who had yet to say a word since his awakening. Even while weakened and bed-bound, he still retains the ferocity and rage of a scorned man.

A stark contrast to the bleeding man you had found during the raid on the Shimada estate. You recall how his one remaining hand gripped tightly onto your uniform, his delirious gaze swirled with betrayal and rage as he faded in and out of consciousness.

Slowly, you shuffle over to him under Angela’s scrutiny. His eyes—the only part of his body he seems to be able to move freely—remain trained on you, judging each movement you make, from your careful steps to the nearly unnoticeable twitch of your fingers.

“Hello.” It felt like it had been years since you had last spoken Japanese when in reality it had only been a week.

He seems shocked to have his mother tongue fall from your lips, but that fleeting look leaves as quickly as it arrived. While he doesn’t ward you away, he isn’t accepting of your presence beside him.

You smile slightly as you introduce yourself, unbothered by his intense stare. “Do you know where you are, Mr. Shimada?”

He remains silent.

At this rate, your break would end before you’d be able to get any sort of reaction other than a glare. With thinning patience, you huff. First, the successful escape of Hanzo Shimada, and now the lack of response from his brother.

This entire family truly was troublesome.

Always keep a calm head, your mentor’s words echo within your mind.

Breathe in.

“Mr. Shimada,” you start, the previous politeness you once held now replaced by the stern tone you used on duty. Angela clicks her tongue, rubbing her temple as she places her glasses on the desk.

“We,” you motion to yourself and the room around you, “are Overwatch. We want to help you, alright?”

With his anticipated lack of a response, you continue.

Breathe out.

“I’m sure you know of a man by the name of Shimada Hanzo, yes? The assumed head of the Shimada clan?”

This gets a rouse out of him. The withheld rage surfaces. Though unable to move much, his nostrils flare, his lips pulling into an animalistic snarl and nearly tears the delicate stitching done to his face.

“Where is he?” His voice is low, hoarse from lack of use and damaged vocal cords. Your hand clenches at your side under the heat of his feral glare. He sits impatiently, awaiting your response, akin to that of a ticking time bomb. Angela watches you from the corner of her eye, ready to step in should things go south.

“We don’t know,” you shake your head solemnly, “which is why we need your help locating him. Of course, your contributions won’t go unrequited. We will do everything in our power to accommodate to your… situation.”

At long last, his glare falters.

A dry, mirthless laugh falls from his cracked lips. “You speak as though I’ve already accepted your offer.” His head lolls back onto the crumpled sheets and flattened pillow of his hospital bed, defeat and fatigue etched into the creases of his frown. “But, I suppose I have no other choice.”

ISO [1.1K]

2XXX, FLORENCE, ITALY

“Grazie,” you smile kindly at the waiter who brings you your food, taking in the beautiful architecture of the city. It’s a shame that you can’t stay to enjoy the sights, so you do your best to enjoy what little downtime you have.

After your light lunch, you find yourself wandering through the streets, occasionally stopping to window shop, partially to not rouse suspicion, and partially to gaze at the luxuries of the life you had lost long ago. With a shake of your head, you cast those thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand.

A small, holographic map emerges from your bracer, marking your location with a white arrow, and the rendezvous point with a blinking red dot. Pushing through the throngs of people would have been a lot easier had you not been barred from using your abilities out in the open. Instead, you find yourself uncomfortably tucked into the corner of a bus with the smell of cigarettes emanating strongly from your seatmate.

Yeah, you’re definitely telling Brim that he can leave going undercover to someone else when you get back to HQ.

It doesn’t take long for your bus to reach your stop, or maybe you simply zoned out. Nevertheless, you quickly exit the bus, excusing yourself as you squeeze past the other passengers. The streets are long, winding, and confusing, but you manage to find yourself before where you need to be.

The Kingdom Corporation building stands out against its surroundings, its walls a sleek white in comparison to the dated and faded hues of the older buildings.

You stare at it a moment, gaze furrowing into a sneer before you turn down a desolate alleyway. You loiter there for a while, swapping between the few selective apps you were allowed to have on your phone and messaging other agents with far more interesting assignments. Only when the sun completely sets and the streetlights flicker to life do you make your move.

Under the cover of darkness, you scale up the wall’s shadow, perching on its tiled roof with practiced ease. The Kingdom building is, as expectedly, far brighter than its neighbors, proudly bolstering its prestige with the illuminated K on the front.

Scouring the building, your eyes land on its unguarded roof. With little effort, you find yourself on it in a blink, the only evidence of your presence being the persistent remnants of shadow that linger at your previous position.

“Get in, and get out. Simple enough,” you murmur to yourself, pulling your hands through the Kingdom labcoat you’d brought along and adjusting the collar.

“Che ci fai qui da solo?” Someone grips your shoulder tightly, spinning you around to face them. You’re met with a masked Kingdom guard who, despite the mask adorned on his face, is clearly irked by your presence. “Sai che non ti è permesso stare qui.”

A moment passes in silence as he studies you. He reaches his hand up to alert his unit but is stopped by a hand gripping his wrist. The guard jolts at the sensation, turning to face the perpetrator only to find…you?

There isn’t much time to think as a fist collides squarely in the center of his abdomen, no doubt at least bruising a few internal organs, and with a strangled cough, he falls limp in your arms. You prop him against a nearby ledge, feeling yourself scowl at the sight before disappearing beneath the crack of the roof’s door in a shadowy wisp. You briskly jump between shadows, painstakingly combing through the building’s floors in order to find the opening you need. Impatience simmers beneath your skin as you traverse yet another long hallway with no leads.

The building’s interior is similar to its exterior, just as bright and empty, if not more so, each hallway seemingly more monotonous than the last. Well, at least the upper levels were. The lower levels, on the other hand, were dark, hidden easily by the corporation’s blinding front.

You reach into your labcoat’s pocket, pulling out a candid shot of your prime suspect–Isabella Romano, one of Kingdom’s up-and-coming scientists as well as one of the lead researchers for the ever-elusive Project Landfall. With a groan of frustration, you find yourself running a hand down your face. However, just as you were about to call it quits and report to Brimstone that the mission was a bust, a soft voice chimes down the hall.

“Bene, bene. Spero di risentirla di nuovo presto.”

Bingo.

Your gaze finds her easily in the group of grunts she’s chosen to surround herself with, blinking behind her and allowing yourself to fall into the group’s collective shadow before anyone could take note of your presence. The ride is silent as the elevator slowly descends, though it is soon broken by the scientist’s phone ringing. She takes a deep breath before picking up, but from your position behind her, it’s difficult to tell who she’s answering to.

“Hello? Yes, this is Isabella,” she replies in English. “Yes, Project Landfall has been progressing smoothly on our end, but our location is less than ideal, unfortunately. Yes, I am aware of the, ah, incident in Norway, but I promise that this will not end up the same. No, we’re still working on preparations, but I will update you as soon as we’re ready to commence opening the portal. Thank you for your time, ma’am, we’ll be sure not to disappoint.” The elevator doors slide open just as Isabella hangs up, revealing a linear metal corridor with almost nowhere for you to hide.

You cling to the shadow of every crevice, tailing the unsuspecting group silently. The corridor isn’t very long, luckily, stopping at another set of metal doors that slide open with a metallic whirr. The room itself is very spacious, with at least fifteen monitors lined neatly against the furthest wall, where a group of at least four people hover around, speaking in hushed whispers while observing something you couldn’t see.

You slip between them, becoming tangible for only a moment and grabbing the first manila folder you could find as you duck behind a supply crate. Your fingers are quick to comb through the files, thumbing through the multitude of useless reports before stopping at a sealed-away section with nothing but the Kingdom logo printed on the front. Footsteps near your hiding place, each step echoing louder than the ringing in your ears.

Then they’re gone.

Fuck it, you decide after a moment’s hesitation.

Tearing off the seal, you’re greeted by manuscripts of all languages pertaining to Project Landfall, just as you’d anticipated. Even the recent radivore encounter at the abandoned Norweigan facility had been documented.

You had to give it to them, these people were nothing if not punctual.

Yasuo [1.5K]

It’s quiet; way too quiet.

Something’s off, you can feel it, but your hand quivers around the handle of your blade, unable to unsheath it. You hear your own heartbeat pound in your ears–a daunting reminder that you’re alone, at least, you hope you are.

The bush nearby rustles–the wind, you reason. A twig snaps in the distance–wildlife, you bargain with your crumbling resolve. Footsteps echo through the underbrush of the forest, growing closer before stopping before you.

By now, your eyes are shut tight, blade long abandoned at your side in favor of protecting your head with your arms.

“A Vastaya?” You hear the person mumble to themself before sighing in what seems to be relief. The sheathing of a blade reaches your ears. Slowly, you gingerly open your tear-rimmed eyes to take a look at the stranger.

He’s looking away, mumbling to himself while he combs a hand through his long, tousled hair. You take the chance to examine his figure. He bares a shoulder pad that seems like it would be more of a hindrance than a help, and his cloak is ripped, exposing his scarred, yet admittedly toned midriff.

You force your gaze to his face, watching as he strokes his five-o’clock shadow between his thumb and forefinger with a pinched brow. There’s a scar across his nose, though it doesn’t make him any less attractive. You ponder on how he got it. A fight? An accident, maybe?

He meets your stare, offering a small grin while raising his hands in the air. “I won’t hurt you,” he starts quietly as if you’d run if he spoke any louder, “promise.” When you don’t flee, he slowly lowers one of his hands to point to himself, taking note of the way you tense, your eyes falling to his sheathed blade.

“I am Yasuo. I mean you no harm, truly.” Though his words seem genuine, you can’t seem to shake the wariness gnawing at your gut.

“Why are you here?” Your voice quivers, hand reaching down to the hilt of your blade. Only the clinking of steel clashing with steel is heard before you land pathetically on your back–vulnerable and unarmed. Your sword lands near Yasuo’s feet with a dramatic thud.

Silence stretches over the two of you. It’s a tense silence; one that leaves your mouth dry despite your constant swallowing. It’s only when Yasuo sheathes his sword do you allow yourself to breathe again.

“I take it you aren’t one for visitors?” His half-joke is met with no answer, even as he begins to awkwardly chuckle to himself. He sighs for what seems to be the nth time in the span of twenty minutes.

He parts his lips to speak, running his tongue along the chapped skin as he tries to find the right words. “Look,” he starts, “I just need a place to rest for a week at most. Then I’ll be out of your hair, I swear.”

“A week?”

“A week.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh, weighing to pros and cons of bringing a stranger–a human, no less–to your home. Your mind begins to spin tales of all the horrid things that could happen if you were to take him in, followed by even more outlandish solutions.

All the while, Yasuo patiently waits, watching how your inhuman ears twitch and fold with every new thought that pops into your mind. When it appears that you’ve finally come to a consensus, he stands a little straighter, forcing down that small bout of anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“A week,” you say with a resolution that shocks even you, “but no more.”

He offers a grateful smile, handing you your fallen sword before mindlessly following behind you as you begin the trek home.

“I never did catch it. Your name, I mean.” He brushes away a touchy branch with a small scowl, eyes glancing up to meet your hesitant pout. You opt to give him your name–to make it easier for the both of you, you reason.

He says your name, the syllables falling from his silver tongue like a beautiful melody. It sounds nice–hearing your name from the lips of someone after all these years of solitude.

“Yasuo.” His name slips from your tongue before you even have the chance of thinking to stop it. The said man turns to look at you, tilting his head slightly in a silent question.

“Forgive me,” you look away bashfully, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

Yasuo hums, leaving the rest of the trek to bask in a silence far more comfortable to the one prior.

—

By no means would you describe your home as grand or lavish. It was a quaint cottage with all the essentials and a flourishing garden around the back. Your companion lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed with what you had to offer.

“...Only a week, right?”

He nods, not once looking in your direction in favor of taking in the view of your house, “Only a week.”

You usher him inside, that last thread of tethered hesitance dissipating when he places his blade by the door.

You breathe a sigh of relief, placing your own blade by his to ward off any of his suspicions. By the time you enter the foyer, he’s sitting stiffly on your couch, eyes unfocused whilst he tries to take up as little room as possible.

“You can relax.” You don’t wait to see his reaction, moving to busy yourself in the kitchen, though your ears do pick up on the small breath he lets out and the creaking of his muscles when he lets his shoulders sag. You wince at the sound. Just how tense was he?

You mindlessly drone through making dinner, taking extra care to make portions big enough for your impromptu guest. You call him into the dining room after setting the table, taking your usual seat while allowing Yasuo to choose his own seat.

He picks a seat across from your own. With one final glance at him, you begin eating your own food, filling the otherwise awkward silence with the scraping of utensils.

Hesitation flickers briefly across the wanderer’s face, and it isn’t until you shoot him a questioning glance does he gingerly place the now-cold food on his tongue. He chews in bites so slow and meticulous that you’re left to wonder if he actually enjoys it or if he’s fighting the urge to spit it out.

“It’s good,” he finally concludes. Your heart feels lighter from the statement, for some odd reason or another.

—

After showering the day’s stress away, it’s safe to say you’re shocked when you find Yasuo laying against the hardwood floor with nothing but a pillow beneath his head and an old blanket draped over his form. His shoulder pad sits forgotten in the corner next to your swords, glinting menacingly beneath the moonlight that peaks through the blinds.

He looks at peace with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

“Why are you here?” Tucked into the corner of the couch, you peer over the edge to look at him, voice barely above an inaudible whisper. He hears you, though, because of course, he does.

“I thought we’ve established this already. I just need a place to rest for a bit.”

You sigh, “That’s not what I meant. Why are you here–in this forest? It isn’t exactly hospitable to, uh, humans.” You stumble over your own words, fumbling with the hem of your sleeping gown.

“I’m here because I’m looking for something,” his tone matches your own; hushed and hesitant as if he’s spilling a deep secret to a close friend.

“Looking for something?” You parrot with a curious tilt of your head. He sits up, allowing the blanket to fall and reveal his nude upper half. For the sake of modesty, you focus your gaze on a loose thread on your couch, your ears downturned unconsciously from the embarrassment.

Yasuo watches your movements questioningly, chalking it up to the same fear you had earlier as he stretches his arm behind his head.

“I was…” he trails off, jaw tightening whilst his arms fall limply to his side, landing on the hardwood floors with a dull thud, “I was looking for a way to restore my honor.” His voice cracks at the end of his whispered statement, revealing a sliver of the man beneath his cool and composed bravado.

You hear the self-resentment that seeps deep into his tone–one that you yourself have grown accustomed to. After seeing him in such as disheveled state, you choose not to pry, offering only a soft hum. The silence that befalls the two of you is different than the previous ones.

No awkwardness. No fear. Only serenity.

You fall asleep on the couch that night, feeling far safer than you have in a long time.

–

The first two days pass by without notice. You go about your normal routine, taking care not to take in yet another hopeless wanderer. Yasuo, on the other hand, remains stationed at your humble abode, offering to care for your fauna while you’re out and about. Reluctantly, you agree, handing him a list of dos and don’ts before leaving for the market.

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