#how exactly do you bring up he has sick sword knowledge

[redrobin-detective]

I can't stop thinking about how funny it is that Aang had all this secret lore on Zuko because of the Blue Spirit that he just, didn't share with the Gaang. That boy knew that Zuko was capable of fighting extremely well without bending, was excellent with swords and unnaturally good at infiltration and espionage. And then just never brought it up.

Katara's yelling at Zuko on how he thinks he'd be able to find and break into the Sun Warrior Temple while Aang is fidgeting in the background. Sokka starts giving Zuko a hard time about his swords, asking if a spoiled prince would know how to use them. Aang is vibrating unsure of how to explain that Sokka Might Die if he tried to swordfight Zuko unprepared but now its been too long and it'd be super awkward to bring up.

[skipppppy]

Anyway I’m bored and Carmen Sandiego renaissance is on the brain. What are these characters like when they aren’t focused on the main plot?? Non VILE/ACME/Caper related dialogue seems so few and far between.. I wish we got to see their lives outside work. So I made some headcanons abt it

CARMEN

Player was her first exposure to the outside world so she probably holds a lot of his nerdy interests close to her heart. She’s not the best at video games but plays them regardless. She especially enjoys sci-fi horror movies from the 80s that go big on practical effects

Finding random trivia about different countries is genuinely one of her favourite hobbies. The little info segments she does are not part of the edutainment show. She is genuinely just like that. This woman is a trove of fun facts please let her unleash them upon you

In the same vein she LOVES quizzes. After missions she will drag Team Red to any bar doing a trivia night in her vicinity and will wipe the floor with everyone there. Fear her

Enjoys people watching. It’s why she’s so good at charming strangers despite her socially stunted upbringing. She’ll sit alone in a busy train station for hours and watch everyone pass her by

PLAYER

Look. We know this kid is a nerd. It’s canon. But which niche of nerdiness does he fall into exactly?

Despite being an avid gamer he isn’t very competitive about it. He prefers single player rpgs, especially ones with active modding scenes. He doesn’t even know what vanilla Skyrim looks like he probably wasn’t even born yet when it released

He will, however, duo queue with Carmen on unranked Overwatch. They are both terrible at it and think it’s the funniest shit

Enjoys sitting back and watching a good speedrun. Will have a video of someone doing a stupid BOTW challenge in the background while he hacks security cameras and such

Runs a DnD campaign for Team Red which they’re all crazy invested in. Shadowsan is the only one who doesn’t care for it but he keeps rolling nat 20’s on the dumbest shit and derailing the campaign and he finds everyone’s reactions too entertaining to stop. They have a rivalry only a DM and a stupidly lucky rogue could have

ZACK

We already know he’s kind of a meathead that enjoys sports and cars and cheesy action movies but I also think he has a lot of softer hobbies that he keeps to himself bc he knows they won’t take him seriously

He’s a secret crocheter. He’ll mend the team’s clothes when they rip but that’s the extent of their knowledge. He’ll sit for hours by himself and knit while listening to music. Sometimes Shadowsan will find a new pair of socks in his bag. When Carmen got sick once she woke up with a handmade blanket draped over her. Ivy has her suspicions but doesn’t wanna intrude

He loves animals. He never really brings it up because no one ever asks. He always checks out local zoos and aquariums if he has the chance. Grew up watching Steve Irwin-esque nature shows and still does to this day

His love of eating is less out of greed and more his own form of cultural appreciation. Idk what happened to his and Ivy’s parents but for reasons he can’t explain their cooking is one of the few things he hasn’t forgotten, so he has a lot of sentimental food-based memories. And experiencing other countries cuisine connects him with that

IVY

PERIOD DRAMAS. They don’t have to be good they just have to be steamy. She enjoys the hot women in pretty dresses. She and Carmen watch Bridgerton together and laugh about how historically inaccurate it is

She LOVES renfaires and similar high fantasy roleplaying communities. Someone please buy this woman a suit of armour

As an engineering prodigy AND fantasy buff she has a massive interest in Blacksmithing and Swords. That’s her designated lesbian hobby. She’s been trying to politely worm her way into a conversation with Shadowsan about the blade he returned to his brother for months now but isn’t sure if it’s too personal of a topic for him so she’s nervous

Her sweet tooth encompasses more than just chocolate. She’s secretly grateful to Zack since he takes most of the flack for being a glutton. She makes note of any bakeries they pass by on capers so she can come back later in secret and go ham on the pastries

SHADOWSAN

I think his interest in Samurai history starts and ends with his love for Hideo. He’ll happily discuss it and he’s studied it passionately, but out of a sense of respect and duty to do right by the brother he betrayed

He will NEVER, EVER admit it to anyone but he genuinely misses the adrenaline rush from committing petty crimes. He was a criminal for over 20 years. Lifestyles are hard to shake and change isn’t linear. He’d never succumb to impulse but he’s just kinda bored

He microdoses on the urge by pranking people. Everyone always blames Zack so he never gets caught. He also enjoys sneaking up on people and making them jump. He’ll always insist it’s unintentional. It isn’t

He’ll read and meditate and train to keep himself centred but he’s still a rowdy young punk at heart. Team Red is the first taste of freedom he’s had after a lifetime of VILE faculty monitoring him. The first thing he bought for himself after settling in at the San Diego HQ was a motorbike. The second was a new tattoo. The third was a potentially lethal amount of whiskey that he drank in one sitting

JULIA

We know she has a passion for history outside her work in Law Enforcement so she definitely goes to all kinds of museums in her free time. She’s the kind of person who enjoys learning just for the sake of learning (she and Carmen have that in common)

Outside of that she’s surprisingly good at karaoke? She gets stage fright but really likes singing and will go all out if you hype her up. Her taste in music is the exact opposite of her appearance and personality. Lots and lots of death metal

An aficionado for different types of tea. She keeps like 10 flavours in her house at all times. She especially likes floral ones that taste light and sweet. She hates iced tea with a passion though

Goes to botanical gardens whenever the weather is warm and the season is right. She likes the history of the old manor houses but she also loves admiring the landscaping and the blooming flowers. She could sit on a bench surrounded by local flora and fauna for hours

DEVINEAUX

Chase is an entirely different person when he’s off the clock. The unhinged high-energy maniac who froths at the mouth about La Femme Rouge goes dormant once he gets home. Especially after he got stranded on VILE island. That really gave him some introspection about work/life balance

The biggest, softest, sappiest hopeless romantic you will ever meet in your life. Passion is just part of his nature and he gets his heart broken A LOT. It’s why he throws himself into his work

He’s a really good chef. Like REALLY good. Before he was a cop he did a few summers as a line cook in his teen years and he retained most of the knowledge. His pantry is STACKED and he tries out recipes he picked up from his ACME travels in his free time. He’s a tad snobby about it because he’s French but you will not complain about the stuff he feeds you

Old movie enjoyer. His favourites are film noirs, cheesy romances, creepy eastern european animation and german expressionism. He has a fervent hatred of Marvel

Also one of those insane people who get up at 5am to do cardio. One morning before a mission he met Agent Zari with barely a glisten of sweat on his forehead and sadly informed her that he only got to run 15k and he wished he had time to do more. That was the first time she ever knew fear

[midnightmoonkiss]

now you got me THINKING:

reader picking the lock to her holding cell for the hell of it, wandering the deck at night and catching deku muttering to himself, compass in one hand, tugging at his lips with the other, to which she helps him using scraps of knowledge she picked up from her snob of a father, learning her father was the the reason for a few of his scars in past battles, tracing them gently and explaining how she hates her life and blah blah bLha my brain rot is REALL

YESS OMFG???? HOLD ON I GOTTA.. GOTTA WRITE THIS..

Kidnapped By A Pirate (Cont.)

Pirate Deku X Fem! Reader

This basically is a continuation of this short fic, only going further into the early-on relationship between Captain Midoriya and you, (Y/N).

Category: fluff I guess?

Word Count: 2.3k

Just To Clarify:

This is a continuation

“You know,” His mellifluous voice startled you, “It’s awfully rude to stare.”

The sentence sliced through the silence of the night like the sharp sword resting upon his jutting hip.

The sea was calm and the moon was full, not a cloud in the sky. Stars shimmered brightly above, milky way weaving through each dot of light.

And here you stood, on a pirate ship.

Gathering your bearings, you inhale sharply through your nose, the salty scent of the sea nearly making you gag,

“It’s awfully rude to kidnap someone and throw them into a dirty old cell with no food or water as well.”

His hearty chuckle made you gulp, the tickling of butterflies has no place in your stomach. Not now. Preferably not ever with him, but most pirates did have this.. salacious charm to them.

“Very true…” He sighed, “Forgive me.”

The fact that you were having this conversation with his back infuriated you.

He didn’t care enough about your escape from your cell in the dead of night, when all his crewmen were asleep, to even pay you full attention.

It was as if he viewed you as the least frightening and threatless thing on this vessel, a harmless, stowaway mouse.

Swallowing the lump of logical fear lodged in your parched throat, you strung together all the courage you had on you with a flimsy string and strode over to him, hands fisting the fabric of your dress.

The pirate was leaning against the railing of his ship, staring down at a dirty compass resting in the palm of his large hand, lip pulled between his thumb and index finger and he studied the spinning of the needle trapped behind cracked glass.

His features from behind became clearer with every cautious step you took, messy green curls pulled into a ponytail, few strings of loose hair framing his chiseled face. He was practically glowing in the light of the moon that shone in front of him. Beautifully dangerous, like a barracuda.

“It’s broken.” You pointed out to him, the captain who wasn’t wearing a hat, an air of finality in your tone.

If he was plotting a course by a broken compass..

You were royally fucked.

You’d be lost at sea.

Would you ever see land again?

The nauseating rocking of the ship had you almost on your knees, praying. As the days went by, your sea legs grew, but you still weren’t used to it. You didn’t want to be used to it.

“It's only broken to those who don’t understand it,” He teased, sparing you a glance before returning his gaze down to the old piece of junk.

He didn’t seem to want to bother with taking you back down to your own personal hell, yet.

That was good enough for you.

You came up here for air, after all.

It was suffocating below deck.. The stench of mildew having made you sick.

Who knew you took fresh air for granted? Even if it was salty.

At least you could see the open sea and how the moon reflected on the murky water. It was enchanting, something out of a romance novel, but you wished you saw it under better circumstances.

Something about being on a piece of wood out where land was nowhere in sight and the bottom of the ocean was so far out of reach you couldn't even imagine it unnerved you.

You never understood seamen, or pirates, even.

They did this stuff for fun.

At least seamen did it as a way to make income.

The click of his tongue brought your attention back to the freckled man, murmurs under his breath only just now reaching your ears.

Directions and landmarks, sea terminology, things you didn't understand slipped past his chapped lips.. Until something you did know was uttered.

“You’re sailing for the port of Baringham? The low-profile port? That only deals with textiles?”

“Many questions for an answer you already know,” he quipped, “I’m taking you there.”

“How are you going to take me to a place where you cannot even plot a course to?”

Huffing, he finally turned his head to you, amusement written on his face along with a charming smile that would’ve made anyone swoon,

“Alright, you’ve got me.”

Pushing himself up with his cloth covered forearms, he moved to lean with his back against the rail, crossing his arms as he gave you a sliver of respect with direct eye contact.

You briefly considered pushing him over.

“I’m a bit lost.”

“Ah, so you admit it.”

Humming, you mimicked his action, crossing your arms under your chest.

“Fortunately for you, I happen to know where it is.”

“That so?” He mused, leaning toward you ever so slightly, panicked interest cracking through his calm, forest green eyes that you couldn't help but notice twinkle, “Care to tell me?”

“Mmm. I would… but what’s in it for me?”

“What is it that you want? Isn't your guaranteed freedom at said port enough?”

“No.”

“..” The captain was shocked into silence, clear amusement still written all over his face.

Combing his dirty fingers through his messy green locks, he gave you an inquisitive stare,

“Then what else?”

You thought for a moment. What else did you want?

You wanted many things, things of which he could not grant. No one could.

You’d have to settle for something else.

Something you would prefer.. suddenly, the sickness you felt when you were in that gross cell came to mind.

“Don’t put me back in that damned cell!” The shout bubbled up from nowhere, shocking even you, “And.. and water. I want water.” You mumbled out.

Silence settled into the night once more after your loud declaration.

Your face burned with pure embarrassment as he became the one to stare at you..

Until he started laughing.

The kind of boisterous and infectious laughter that forced you to look away from his regrettably handsome self.

“You have yourself a deal, princess!”

The title further made your cheeks burn, drawing your attention back to him just to meet his enchanting gaze.

It draws you in like a sailor to a mermaid.

“Now, mind telling me?”

Licking your lips, you pointed to the heavens, his eyes following, “Travel so the brightest star in the sky is behind you, and follow the little dipper. The port is due north from there.”

It was a route you didn’t mean to memorize years ago.

The loud snap of the compass being closed made you jump, composure temporarily lost yet again.

“Ahh..” His gaze flickered over the sky, no doubt seeing a plethora of routes with each familiar constellation as he mapped the one you spoke of.

“I see it now, silly me.”

Looking down at the deck, he rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, messing with the curly hair that fell loose. Would you be so bold as to think that he may be embarrassed?

He clapped a hand on your shoulder after pushing himself fully off the rail, the whisper of thanks fanning hotly across your ear as he climbed the creaking stairs to the helm, brown boots clicking on each step as he did so.

Spinning the wheel round, the ship croaked as it turned so that the north star fell behind.

“How did you know this course?”

His curiosity was natural. After all, how did you, daughter of a well-off navy general who had never stepped aboard a boat before, know the way to a port not many knew of?

The answer was simple, though it was an answer you didn't exactly wish to know. Cursed with knowledge as you would say, blessed would say the others.

“My father.” Bitterness stung your words, and Izuku whistled.

“Slimy piece of shit he is.” It was grumbled under your breath, and yet he still somehow heard you, offering a grunt of agreement, eyes focused ahead.

“I hate the bastard myself,” he seethed through his teeth, “I’d offer up all the rum and shillings I have to see his blood spill and stain my deck by my own hands.”

The fury that clung to each word he spoke sent shivers down your spine, his aura threatening as he fell to his thoughts.

“I have an obvious reason to hate him,”

“You do?”

Your childlike curiosity warmed his heart, bringing his attention back to you,

“You don’t get scars from nowhere, love.”

Your nose crinkled at the term of endearment, climbing the stairs yourself as you rolled your eyes.

“Your scars are hidden,”

“His scars mark my back.”

Blood drained from your face, bile creeping up your throat at the meaning.

You felt sick and disgusted with the blood that ran through your veins.

You hated being the daughter of a monster.

“Oh..” The whisper caught on the wind pulling at the sails.

Silence fell once more, the unbearable kind that made even his skin crawl with uncomfortableness.

Had the crew been awake, he probably would have laughed, grabbed a bottle of rum, and stumbled into his captains quarters to drink the memories away.. But his crew was asleep.

Oh, how he missed his first mate. He was the whole reason you were on his ship in the first place.

“Just your back?”

“Do you wish he gave me more?” Izuku chuckled, teasing you once again.

“No.” You huffed, furious he would even suggest such a thing.

“I have a few.. Mainly on my hand but I-”

His words died on his tongue, heart beating in his ears when he felt your much smaller and daintier hands grip his own, the only one covered in white scars.

He gulped as you traced the smooth cicatrix on his rough skin, a small blush on his cheeks, your touch soothing the pain behind each one.

Tears not his own fell onto his skin, rolling off and spattering onto the deck below, but he remained silent, allowing you to trace the scars over his forearm, not specifying which were and which were not created by your father.

He liked your touch.

“I hate him too.” Your words were raw with hatred, touch fading as you pulled away and yet he still felt the tingle of it under his skin.

He wanted more. He hadnt felt such gentleness in so long..

That doesn’t matter, though.

“Why?” He found himself asking.

Lips pressing into a frown, he watched the sea as you mindlessly walked around behind him, stories spilling past your fervent lips, stories that made silent anger bubble in his gut, stories that you had never told anyone before - that you were forced to keep inside yourself for so long that they spilled out without care.

His desire to burn that man's ship down, to watch as the bright flames engulf him and it, destined to forever be lost at the bottom of the sea, grew tenfold.

Deku, the infamous pirate, prided himself on not giving a shit half the time, but he couldn’t ignore the empathy he felt in the moment.

You both had a common enemy.

Two strangers.. Where’s the irony in that?

“I don't like you,” You started after finishing up your uncontrollable word vomit, stopping in your tracks, “But the fact that I find this kidnapping to be the most enjoyable days of my life because I’m away from him and all the power he possesses is concerning.”

Why you told this to an untrustworthy, murdering thief.. You had no idea.

Perhaps it was because you had a feeling he would understand after hearing you out.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was currently the only person you could say it to.

After kidnapping you, all he had said to you was ‘welcome aboard!’ before locking the cell you just escaped from days later.

You should hate him, you should wish him to hang like every other disgusting pirate out there, especially for snatching you from your home in the dead of night, transferring you from one cell to the next, but you don't.

You wouldn’t show that, though.

Many words weighed heavy in Izukus mind, words he was unsure if he could say, or if it’d be the right thing to say.

He wasn’t heartless like some assumed, he wasn’t this traitorous asshole stories floating around about him told, he was just a pirate with a kind heart and skilled hands.

He almost felt bad that he planned to give you back to your father.

He felt bad that for that first day you were aboard his ship, he had wicked ideas of marking and ruining you in so many ways your father would only ever look at you and see him. 

It was a cruel way to get revenge, revenge through someone else.

Actually, maybe he was an asshole.

Right then and there, he decided that that would no longer be his course of action, not if he could help it.

Hell, he wanted to keep you as far away from your father as he could. Would he abandon his first mate? No. He’d devise some other plan. Maybe get you somewhere safe, ask for your dress, and then cover a scarecrow in said dress and use that as a tool to get him back.

It could work!

Or maybe not.

Nonetheless, plan A through D were just thrown overboard,

“Well,” He smacked the wooden wheel to get your attention,

“You’re a pretty little thing, so I like you.”

You scoffed, he continued,

“Consider yourself prisoner to your fathers enemy for a long time to come, because darlin’,”

He drawled, sauntering over to you as you instinctively backed up, only to be trapped against the railing.

His muscular arms caged you in, taller frame towering over you as electrifying green eyes intoxicated your soul and sent heat flashes up your body,

“I’m not gonna let you go so easily.”

[favoniuscodex]

inheritance scarf scene - diluc’s pov

ahahahaahahhahah ask and you shall receive! for the lovely @chapioca ,,, a reward for drawing me a pic of diluc smiling ,,, :3333 ,,, sorry for anyone who has notifs on and sees inheritance in the title of the post.

side fic to inheritance, my (decently?) long diluc royalty!au series. find the series here if you’re interested!

pairing: prince!diluc x f!knight!reader word count: 1.8k plot: diluc’s point of view of the scene in inheritance part 1 where he gives the knight his scarf. warnings: spoilers for inheritance part one and act two scene 2 if you haven’t read them already. a/n: haha look at this emotionally constipated dude. the knight should’ve picked kaeya lmao. no beta reader for this one and i havent read over it so sorry for any mistakes!

Much to his behest, Diluc enjoys your company.

The prince has never been one to make such informal attachments to others. Granted, he’s never really been given the chance, but that’s besides the point. For Diluc, the Venn diagram of people he cares about and his family members was a single circle, until, of course, you barged your way in. Sure, he could give a good public relations answer about how Diluc was indebted to the people of Mond for respecting and acknowledging his family’s authority over the territory and allowing his father to lead, but as of now, nineteen-year-old Prince Diluc couldn’t really give a single shit about whether the people of Mond liked him or not.

Of course, Diluc had basic human empathy to wish for his constituents’ needs to be well taken care of, but he had no desire to be viewed as some great savior or leader in their eyes. He wanted to bring honor to his father and be viewed as a righteous man in order to bring the Ragnvindr family honor, but, for himself, he longed not for the praises of his citizens but rather to be left alone. A mutual respect of his boundaries while he respected theirs, if you may.

But you? You had barreled past his walls without him even knowing it, whether it be your smug expression hidden behind a thin veil of stoicism whenever he begrudgingly admitted you were right about something that he had previously asked your advice on (and ignored, of course) or the way you stare at him with steely resolve in your eyes as he challenges you. In those moments, Diluc fails to understand how you don’t have a Vision, as the pools of your irises crackle with the electricity of subdued defiance and you set his heart ablaze with invisible flames.

In the midst of the winter chill that surrounds the both of you, Diluc fails to understand how, even now, you make him feel warm inside. You walk beside him in silence, your eyes looking past him, always looking past him as you scan for threats. Your posture is always on the defense, ready to reach up and grab your sword at any moment. Diluc wants nothing more than to sling an arm around your shoulder and ease the tension within them, to tell you that he isn’t fragile and that it’s okay to drop your guard at times.

However, duty calls your name like a siren luring a sailor and Diluc is left standing at the shore, watching you drift further away from him on the tides. Your back faces him as you swim toward righteousness, a perfect subject of the throne, a perfect potential quee-. The prince shakes his head slightly to clear such intrusive thoughts out of his head and as you look at him out of the corner of your eye, alerted by even the most subtle of movements, he hopes the wintry air gives you a reason to overlook the slight flush on his cheeks.

You do not smile at him and instead continue marching onwards. You’ve always been quiet and Diluc has been the same, never enjoying forced small talk and instead relishing in the silence between the two of you. He was never sure if you enjoyed the quiet moments you shared together or if you were simply counting down the seconds until your shift ended. Diluc wishes he could find the courage to ask what you truly think of him, but he knows that you would simply plaster a false smile and tell him what he wants to hear in your neverending duty to protect the throne. Whether such information would be true or false would fall beyond Diluc’s realm of knowledge, but maybe he just tells himself that you would lie in order to avoid finding out the truth, in order to avoid fraying the tapestry of your relationship with him. Maybe, if Diluc had not been of noble blood, the two of you could have been far better friends than you are now. Maybe, if Diluc had not been of noble blood, the two of you would have-

His gaze pierces into you as you walk slightly in front of him on the defensive. Diluc doesn’t realize he’s staring until he witnesses you shiver, which snaps him out of his morose thoughts. You’re cold. Of course you are. While Diluc is bundled up with a scarf and a proper coat, you’re wearing a thin coat designed for autumn and the armor upon you likely only attracts the cold rather than repelling it. He’s a fool for not realizing it sooner and feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you having gone through unnecessary discomfort for the sake of his own whims.

Diluc has never been fond of the throne but has always prided himself on being a good heir, but how can he pride himself on such things when he makes the woman he cares about most, his most loyal knight, face the winds of winter all due to his own selfishness? He stops in his tracks, which causes you to pause as well and turn around to look back at him.

“Are you cold?” Diluc asks, regretting the way his voice sounds annoyed, but feels too awkward to correct it. You seem to take no offense to his question, yet he sees a nervousness arise in your eyes.

“No.” The word falls from your lips and suddenly Diluc understands your nerves. You were afraid to lie to him, yet you did. Unfortunately for you, the prince was more than willing to call your bluff as he narrows his eyes at you.

An idea hatches in his brain and it’s terribly selfish. Unfortunately for him, Diluc wasn’t afraid to be selfish.

“Take my scarf,” He insists and he watches your eyes widen slightly in surprise and confusion before your neutral expression returns.

“I couldn’t possibly do such a thing.” You insist and he feels his heart rate quicken at your polite tone. Diluc wants to both yell at you and kiss you due to your insolence and your refusal of his orders, even if your intentions are kind. He wants to do something for you and he’s willing to drop onto his knees and beg you to let him do this for you.

“You’re cold, therefore take the scarf.” His explanation is simple, but it is one of annoyance. He doesn’t trust himself to speak any further.

“It’s my duty to ensure your comfort. Therefore, you keep the scarf as you should stay warm,” You explain and Diluc’s inner conflict on whether he should embrace you or scream at you subsides with an odd warmth in his chest. The prince wants to kiss you, he wants nothing more than to warm your face in his hands, to wrap you up in his coat and watch as you walk around in what is blatantly his, a mark of possession that announces to all that you belong to him.

However, you don’t belong to him and Diluc is far too aware of such a fact. It eats away at him at night, it eats away at him as he stares at you when your gaze is turned the other way, and it eats away at him when the two of you are apart. Therefore, he can offer you no more than his scarf at the moment and will have to make do with the more subtle of the options he can provide you at this point in time.

“It would make me more comfortable if you wore the scarf instead,” Diluc insists and he knows he’s coming off as an asshole at this moment, but he would give you the world if you let him, so why won’t you take something as simple as a scarf? He decides this is a battle that he must win and preps the arrow of his words on the bow of his lips and fires, aiming for the bullseye of your pride. “Plus, what kind of prince would I be if I let my constituents suffer on my behalf?”

You freeze at his words, eyes widening in surprise and indignation as you realize exactly what game the prince is playing at. He’s aware that you’re aware of the implication of his words, yet he can’t bring himself to care as he seizes your hesitation to transfer the scarf from his neck to yours. His gloved fingertips brush against your neck and Diluc wonders once more if you have an Electro Vision hidden within your uniform from the way the mere gesture sends lightning bolts rippling through his fingers and up his arms, shocking the butterflies within his stomach into overdrive.

Diluc steps closer to you as he adjusts the fabric around your neck, narrowing his eyes as he does so. You deserve nothing less than the best, so the prince makes sure it looks perfect before stepping away from you, still staring at the scarf. Heat spreads throughout his body at the sight of you in his scarf, but he decides to tear his gaze away from you before the thoughts can consume him whole.

“There. Now was that so hard?” The words come out as a sneer and Diluc doesn’t want to sound so mean, but his emotions are a whirlpool inside of him as his heart beats in overdrive and adrenaline rushes through his veins at the thought of you wearing his clothing. Before his face can fully blossom into the color of a cherry tomato and before Diluc would be unable to blame the red flush on the chilly air of Mondstadt, he elects to move in front of you this time.

He notes how it takes you a moment to scamper after him and he notes your silence on the way back to the castle. Diluc is appreciative of the avoidance of the subject at hand, but when you catch up to him, he notes that you no longer shiver. While his heart soars with pride at being able to get away at such a brazen act of affection, his stomach can’t help but drop at the thought that you likely view it as no more than the chivalrous actions of a prince and not one of a…

Diluc refuses to dwell on the thought, nor does he ask for the scarf back. Maybe, just maybe, if you take a piece of him back with you to your chambers, you’ll think of him in a way that extends past the realms of your knighthood. It’s a hopeless dream, yet one Diluc cannot help but indulge in nonetheless. After all, the prince has always known himself to be selfish.

[braiawrites]

Lost & Found - Chapter 3

Summary: A messenger fills Jude and Madoc in on important news. Jude and the cat pay a visit to the palace. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 3188

Rating: T

Warnings: Brief description of a murder in the first section.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

Send me an ask!

A/N: So I thought writing a multi-chapter would be much easier once I had a solid plot laid out but when I tell you I was dragging words out by my teeth—yeah, I'm not super happy with this chapter but it's here and technically I had it finished in time, just not posted so uh. Good for me? Yeah I'll shut up now, here's chapter 3.

***

Dead. One of the princes was dead.

Jude stood stock still for a long moment, the shock on her face palpable as the words echoed in her mind.

Prince Dain was dead. Did that mean Cardan was, too?

Finally, she swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Prince Dain is dead?"

“Did you not know?” Madoc’s voice was heavy, his eyes sharp.

“No,” Jude gasped. “No, I–no. I thought this was about Cardan. I thought—I don’t know what, exactly, but not this.”

Madoc ran a large hand over his jaw, and then—

“Sit.” He gestured to one of the chairs set along the wall. “You might as well stay to hear the rest.”

She nodded numbly, hesitating before turning to the chair. The cat was standing next to her, black fur fluffed up and small body trembling, his eyes fixed on her foster father. He seemed as horrified as she felt.

“Your guest can stay as well,” Madoc said, tilting his head curiously at the cat. “We will talk about keeping pets later.”

With a nod, she scooped him up as she moved to sit down, tucking the trembling form into herself. She wanted to murmur comforts into his soft black fluff—as much for him as for herself, she suspected—but with Madoc and the messenger looking on, she settled for soothingly stroking the length of his back.

Madoc turned his attention to the messenger boy. “Report,” he instructed, like the boy were one of his soldiers.

He certainly reacted like one, his spine straightening and his chin lifting as he snapped his liquid gaze up to Madoc’s.

Jude didn’t blame him. The old redcap could have that effect.

“Prince Dain never returned to his quarters yesterday,” the imp said. “He was found by a librarian this evening in the royal lineage section, propped against the shelf and—” the imp paused, looking slightly sick, “and with his throat slit.”

“Any other injuries?” Madoc’s voice was cool and steady, as though he were asking about the weather, not the murder of a prince.

“I didn’t—I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see the body.”

At the general’s displeased grunt, the boy rushed to add, “But—at the time of my departure, they were just going to fetch a royal physician. They’ll have the report by now, I’m sure.”

“Hmph,” Madoc responded. “I’ll just have to go and find out for myself. Dismissed.”

As the imp bowed and turned to leave, Jude found herself blurting, “Wait!” the word coming out before she had a chance to think better of it.

The imp halted, glancing first at Madoc, who shrugged, and then at her.

“What about Prince Cardan?” she asked. “Has there been any news of him?”

The cat on her lap stirred slightly, his paws kneading into her legs at the mention of the disfavoured prince’s name.

“Not to my knowledge,” the boy said, shaking his head, and Jude felt her heart drop.

She nodded her thanks as the messenger bowed again and left, not trusting herself to speak through the tightening of her throat or the worry washing through her. For all he’d done to her, for all that he was her worst enemy, she never would have wished him dead.

Madoc’s commanding rumble broke through her fear. “Go and have the stablehands prepare me a mount,” he said. His eyes glared into hers as he repeated, “One mount.”

“I’m not—” Jude started, her fists clenching, but she swallowed her protest. There was no point in saying anything—he’d already made it clear that he wouldn’t allow her to come.

“Fine,” she said instead, and gathered her cat up as she left.

~ ~ ~

Jude did not go to the stables, but instead marched straight to her room, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floors. She caught a servant along the way to demand a mount be made ready for Madoc, and then set about preparing for her own trip to the palace.

As she strapped her sword belt to her waist and hid daggers under her sleeves, she kept glancing sidelong at the little cat pacing her floor. His tail lashed viciously with each step, his eyes bright. He must sense her own agitation.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m just worried. But I’m not staying home until Madoc brings word. For all I know, he’ll leave out all of the most important details to keep me from getting involved.” She scowled. “I’m not a child anymore. And I’m going to find out what happened to Cardan.”

The cat meowed and when she glanced over he met her eyes full on with his own amber bright glare. She could have sworn he’d sounded annoyed as she glared back at him, trying not to let her unnerve show. It wasn’t natural how human he seemed sometimes.

With a deep, steadying breath, she strapped the last sheath to her thigh and double checked the blade before sliding it into place.

She glanced at her cat again. “Are you coming?”

He mewed and clambered up her clothes, his claws pricking her skin.

“I swear you do that on purpose,” she grumbled as she checked out her window.

In the distance, Madoc was galloping astride a dark horse, almost at the edge of the Milkwood. By the time she had a mount saddled, he would be too far ahead to notice her.

With the cat slunk over her shoulders like a warm scarf, she made her way down to the stables and chose a light-footed creature reminiscent of a reindeer with glassy eyes and long fangs on either side of its mouth.

She made good time through the woods, her mount swift and smooth as it dodged trees and leapt fallen logs. The cat perched on the saddle before her, little face upturned in the wind, eyes slitted in pleasure, and Jude would have joined him had there not been a knot in her stomach at the possibility of Cardan being dead.

When the palace of Elfhame came into view, she pulled her mount to a stop and left it to graze out of view. Though it would have been quicker, coming careening up to the castle on the back of a fanged reindeer would be far from inconspicuous.

She continued on foot, the cat riding on her shoulders once again until they neared the base of the hill where the entrance was hidden by humming magic.

Two guards stood watch today, a precaution to keep unwanted visitors out after the news of Prince Dain’s murder. She had planned to enter quietly, but that may be impossible now.

As Jude drew closer, the guards moved in unison, drawing their weapons.

“What business do you have at the palace?" the taller of the two asked.

Jude lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I’m here with General Madoc,” she declared, to which the shorter guard snickered.

“Sure you are, mortal.”

The taller one shook her head. “The general specifically stated that he came alone.”

Jude fought the urge to clench her fists as the guards remained unmoving. “I need to see him,” she tried, “it’s important.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” the short guard drawled. “No one’s allowed in or out without explicit orders.”

The taller one shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. We can take a message, if you like.”

Jude shook her head, already turning away with a mumbled excuse, when her cat leapt off her shoulder and disappeared into the hill.

“Hey!” she called after him, moving to follow, but the guards stepped in front of her.

“You can’t go in.”

“But my cat—”

“You live in the general’s household?” the taller guard asked.

“Yes.”

“We’ll make sure the cat gets sent back with him if we see it again.”

She ground her teeth but nodded. “Fine. Guess I’m leaving then.”

“Guess you are,” the shorter guard challenged.

She fought the urge to say something smart back, or draw her sword on him, and instead walked around the hill.

“Where are you going now?” one of the guards called.

Nosy, she thought, but yelled back, “Visiting a friend,” and rounded the base of the hill until she was out of their view.

There had to be another way in, and so long as there was one, she would find it. She paced a half circle around the side of the hill opposite the guards, searching for another illusioned entrance or tunnel, a servants’ door—nothing.

Jude was just about to give up when she heard a triumphant, “Mrrrow!” from somewhere above. It was her cat, his little black head poking out an open window halfway up the hill.

“You genius little kitty!” she praised him, jogging up the sloping earth and climbing through the round window. As she eased the wood-bordered glass pane shut again, she whispered, “I didn’t even know these opened.”

The cat purred, looking decidedly smug, and Jude marvelled again at his strangeness.

“You don’t happen to know the way to the dungeons too, do you?” she asked, half jokingly.

He chirped and wound around her leg before trotting out of the room.

~ ~ ~

Jude entered the dungeons on quiet feet, trailing after the little black cat. The moment his paws touched the cold stone he yelped and leapt back onto her shoulders, his claws digging in.

“Spoiled rotten,” she accused him. “You have twice as many legs as me, you know. If anything you should be the one doing the carrying.”

She could have sworn he stuck his tongue out at her in response, or maybe it was just a coincidence, so she blew in his face.

The dungeon was mostly empty, with the few cells that were filled being deeper down. She supposed crimes weren’t oft committed in a land were a forceful promise was binding. Or, Jude thought as her eyes caught on an executioner’s sword mounted on the wall, maybe there was a darker reason.

She tried not to shiver in the damp air as she stalked past rows of cells, her eyes scanning the shadows for a pixie girl in a gown fit for a revel.

When at last she stopped before a small figure in a dirty gown, the cat sprung from her shoulders to stand, hissing and hackles raised, before the bars.

Behind the bars, the pixie sat up from where she was lounging on her straw palette, a laugh spilling from her lips, bitter and grating to Jude’s ears.

“Well, hello again,” the prisoner smirked, ruby red eyes flashing in the low light. “It looks like you came back to find me. You miss me that much?”

Jude tried to hide the confusion swirling inside her as she picked up her yowling cat. “We’ve never met,” she stated, to which the pixie laughed again.

“Not everything’s about you, love.” Her eyes locked on the cat as she jerked her chin at it. “Cat bring you here?”

Jude frowned. “Leave him out of it.”

“Alright, if you insist,” she shrugged. “So what do you want? Because as much as I’d like to think you came just to visit, I find it hard to believe you would appreciate my company so much—especially since we’ve never met.”

Jude shifted. She hadn’t thought about what she was going to actually say once she got here—ask nicely for the return of the prince? Grab the prisoner through the bars and shake her? Instead, Jude steeled herself and dove straight in, barrelling through both tact and diplomacy in one fell swoop.

“I have questions.”

“And what makes you think I have answers?”

“I already know you’re connected to Cardan’s disappearance,” she said, stepping closer, “and you’re going to tell me where he is.”

“Oh?” Red brows lifted over honey gold skin as the prisoner regarded Jude with some interest. “Am I now?”

“Yes, you are.” Jude ground the words out through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to lay her hand on her sword hilt as the pixie seemingly considered her options. Finally, she leaned back on her straw palette like it was the most comfortable bed in the world.

“No.” Her tone was flat, void of emotion, but there was a flicker of something—anger? Regret?—behind her eyes.

“I’m not asking,” Jude said, meeting the pixie’s glare.

“Oh, but I think you are. What else are you going to do? Threaten me? I’m already behind bars, darling, and you snuck in here. As soon as I called for a guard, you’d have to run, or risk being caught.”

Jude thought about bluffing or lying her way out of the trap, but curiosity got the better of her.

“How did you know I snuck in?”

“I didn’t, for sure, until just now,” the pixie responded, and Jude cursed herself for her stupidity. “I’d guessed it, because you have no uniform and no keys, and because no one ever enters from that direction.” She gestured down the hall where Jude had come from minutes prior. “And because the castle already came to see me today.”

At Jude’s frown, the girl elaborated with a roll of her eyes.

“They come down here every single day to ask me if I’m ready to tell them what I did with our dearest Prince Cardan, and every single day I tell them no, I’m not ready, I’m still literally unable to talk about anything I’ve done EVEN IF I WANTED TO, because I’m under a damn OATH!”

She threw her hands up in frustration before covering her face with her arms, huffing a sigh before continuing. “And then they walk away and tell me well then, no food until you’re ready to talk, and I always scream my worst insults at them as they leave, which I have to admit makes me feel just a teeny bit better.”

She sat up and met Jude’s eyes with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not nice of me, but I think I deserve it after all this.” She gestured to the mildew damp walls and bounced a bit on the creaky bed.

A pang of sympathy wormed its way into Jude’s heart, but she shut it out.

“How are you not dead?” she asked. “You have to have said something or you’d have starved by now.”

The girl laughed again. “Oh, but that’s the beauty of it! See, this cell is enchanted specially by High King Eldred himself.” Her eyes flashed and her smile faltered, so momentarily Jude could almost have been convinced it didn’t happen. Almost.

“Once you step inside, you can feel as hungry or as thirsty as you like, but you’ll never die from it. It’s a special kind of torture,” the pixie grimaced.

Jude swallowed the pity rising in her throat and lifted her chin. “Well, you probably deserved it. You’re a murderer afterall.”

“I—” the girl began to protest, but she stopped before she could say anymore. A moment passed before she coughed.

“Like I said, I can’t tell you anything about what I’ve done, but I can tell you that if I had been given a choice, I wouldn’t have gone after Cardan.”

“And Dain?”

“Dain?” the pixie echoed. “What about him?”

“They found him murdered this evening. Did you go after him?”

“What?” If the look of utter shock on the pixie’s face hadn’t convinced Jude, her next words did: “I didn’t kill Dain. You know I can’t lie, so you believe me, right? You know I’m telling the truth.”

Slowly, Jude nodded. “I believe you.”

“Listen: I can’t tell you what I did to Cardan, or why, or who I work for, but I can tell you this,” the pixie said, moving to stand by the bars.

“Desires sometimes take unexpected forms, but chasing them does no good when they’re already within your grasp. Cardan is closer than you think, but there is a power that will always hunger, and if you don’t stop it soon, it’ll devour not only your prince, but the rest of Faerie as well.”

Silence fell over the jail like a blanket, disturbed only by the drip, drip, drip of water.

Finally, the prisoner raised red brows. “So?”

“Thank you so much, that was so helpful and I now know everything,” Jude declared flatly.

The pixie girl sighed and propped her fists on the soiled waist of her gown. “You can be sarcastic all you want, babe, but I swear, that was as much as I can tell you—you know, binding oath and all? I mean, have you not been listening this entire conversation?”

The cat on her shoulder mewed and Jude glared at him sidelong.

“Whose side are you on?” she huffed, to which he meowed again and lashed his tail.

“Alright, fine.” Jude pressed her lips into a thin line as she turned back to face the girl in the cell. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

With the cat on her shoulder, Jude stalked out of the palace the same way she’d come in.

~ ~ ~

Cardan sat on the windowsill of Jude’s room, watching as the sun began to creep above the horizon, painting the sky in the golden light of dawn. Behind him, Jude was deep in slumber, snoring softly into her pillow, but with everything that had happened today, he couldn’t sleep.

Dain was gone and the palace was in shambles—he’d seen as much when he’d slipped inside. Guards had been everywhere, servants carrying cleaning supplies milled about, and curious courtiers had drifted through the halls, trying to catch a glimpse of what had happened.

When he’d passed by the library, Cardan had paused, resisting the urge to enter. When he breathed in, he’d nearly vomited.

Scents were much stronger to his cat nose, and through the must of old books and scrolls, beneath the scent of centuries of dust, he had smelled the cooling blood of his brother as it seeped into the carpets. It had taken all his willpower not to collapse in his sorrow.

The blankets rustled from inside the room and Jude’s groggy voice reached his ears.

“Kitty? What’re you doin’?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder and gave her a soft mrrm of amusement. Her hair was escaping its braid and dried drool had left a trail down her cheek.

“Come here, kitty,” she crooned, patting the blankets, and Cardan complied, slinking across the room to curl up in the curve of her arm.

Jude’s fingers played in the fluff around his neck and he couldn’t help but purr into the silence. He’d always been disgusted by how much he craved her touch, but he’d discovered of late that her fingers scratching his jaw or playing with his fur was one of his favourite things. He blamed Pellia’s cat curse.

They stayed that way for a long while, Jude stroking his fluff and his purrs warming the ever-lightening room.

When he twisted his face up to look at her, she brushed a kiss to his nose before settling into her pillows and pulling him closer. If cats could blush, he would have been bright pink.

“Sleep tight, kitty,” Jude whispered. “You’re safe here.”

And Cardan knew she was right.

***

A/N: Hello, loves! Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!! I'm sorry this was a bit late, as I said earlier I struggled with this chapter so much. Thank you all so much for your support though, reading your lovely comments was a big motivation to get this chapter written, and I can say with absolute certainty that I would have given up long ago if it weren't for your kind feedback. I'm sending lots of love to all of you!

(PS: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list!)

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[taito-vs-takatsuki]

Bring It On (Blade Maiden vs Shattered Moon)

[Eldrid:]

My dear, sweet Kirumi, I truly apologize I really don't want to do this, but I refuse to compromise Your stupid bitch of a leader pissed me right the fuck off! So don't stand in my way, you can't afford the payoff! You call yourself Crystal? Ha, don't make me laugh! With a single punch, I could break you right in half! This is the end of Shattered Moon's piss-poor saga! Say goodbye to Earth, and hello to Valhalla!

[Kirumi:]

Violence is never an answer, but for you, I’ll make an exception You think you can beat me, well I’m bout to raise an objection You're a good fighter, but can you explain this Do you have a brain? Or are you only good with your fists Do you know who you're up against? I speak for a fucking living! Don't underestimate me, I won't be so forgiving I’m sorry to inform you, Blade Maiden is done The era of the broken moon has only just begun!

[Fleuret:]

Broken Moon, you say? And exactly what use is that? If you have something broken, then simply fix it, little gnat! But none of you would understand, because you have no format Enough talk and words, time to commence combat! Aiko-san, Overdrive, whatever you call yourself Tell me, has all that vulgarity you call music made you deaf? If not then listen closely before you fall with your pride You will never defeat the one who has Honor by her side!

[Aiko:]

Time to make some noise, the true king is here Bow down to me, or I’ll show you the true meaning of fear Combat? Very well, take up your sword little knight I highly doubt you’d stand a chance in a fight All talk and no action, where’s your honor now! Give it up Blade Maiden, the end is coming soon Kneel for your new rulers, welcome the era of the moon

[All:]

Bring it on! We're not stepping away from this fight! We'll stand tall against our enemy, day or night! Bring it on! The battle lines have now been drawn! We'll not cease until all foes are dead and gone!

[Battle Maiden:]

Defeat is not an option, Battle Maiden!

[Shattered Moon:]

We refuse to submit, Shattered Moon!

[All:]

Victory is a must, nothing else to discuss So draw your swords and prepare for war! Now, bring it on!

[Azusa:]

'Think lightly of yourself, and deeply of the world' Wiser words have not been spoken, and I hope you heard Ryoko-san, tell me truly, are you happy with your life? You'd probably say yes, but I can tell you're full of strife Lashing out, causing trouble, picking needless fights It's a wonder that you even know your wrongs from your rights It's quite fitting that you named your team, 'Shattered Moon' But the only thing I see shattered here is you!

[Ryoko:]

What do you know! I’m being preached at once more Honestly Azusa, your words are such a bore I'm tired of these games, let’s go, Samurai Think you can beat me? You're more than welcome to try Your swordsmanship can only get you so far Especially when your rap game is so sub-par Come on darling let me see what you can do It's almost a shame that I’m gonna have to crush you

[Azusa:]

You three lack foresight, you can't see what's in front of you Until you look beyond yourselves, you'll fail at all you do

[Fleuret:]

What a weak defense! It will fall before our sword None of you can see that you're just pawns on the chessboard

[Eldrid:]

Be happy, all three of you will soon become angels It's just a shame that your deaths will be slow and painful!

[Ryoko] I'm sick of this shit, let’s settle this fight Its time for us to leave blade maiden in the dark, and for us to step into the light

[Aiko] No matter the attack, our claim to victory is not lost Give up now or pay the cost

[Kirumi] Our words are our weapons, our mics wage war Come now, it’s time to settle the score!

[All:]

Bring it on! We're not stepping away from this fight! We'll stand tall against our enemy, day or night! Bring it on! The battle lines have now been drawn! We'll not cease until all foes are dead and gone!

[Battle Maiden:]

Defeat is not an option, Battle Maiden!

[Shattered Moon:]

We refuse to submit, Shattered Moon!

[All:]

Victory is a must, nothing else to discuss So draw your swords and prepare for war! Now, bring it on!

[Azusa:]

Fleuret-san, tell me truly, are the Mayeda siblings worthy?

[Fleuret:]

Not at all, my friend, they're 100 years too early They made a poor choice waging war against us And now the moon they worship will slowly turn to dust

[Azusa:]

Really now? Are you sure that's not a misconception?

[Fleuret:]

Afraid not, they lack honor, and that's not a preconception Overdrive wastes time doing senseless things He lacks the knowledge to walk the path of being a king And Crystal, though is kind, is simply second-rate When toppled over, like the King, she is put in checkmate In simpler terms, both of them are worth avoiding

[Azusa:]

I see, my, how truly disappointing

[Kirumi] Oh my oh my, what low-class insults

[Aiko]

How about we point out some of your god damn faults Maidens living in the past, your reasonings are a mystery I’ll be sure to leave you both forgotten in the pages of history

[Kirumi]

Now now dear brother no need to be so harsh on our dear friends

[Aiko] Harsh? Hardly a fitting trial for their timely end Azusa stuck in the past, kendo is so damn out of out of style Is going after her even worthwhile? Don't even get me started on Fleuret! That honor happy knight One look at her and I can tell she wouldn’t last in a fight! I can’t even continue! These two aren’t worth the trouble!

[Kirumi]

Very well then, let’s leave them behind in the rubble

[Eldrid:]

Well well, lookie here, it's just me and you, bitch Now to fulfill my promise, get ready to get lynched! You know the old saying that 'Snitches get stitches?' Well around here, snitches wind up in fuckin' ditches! You say you had your reasons, well I don't give a fuck You're a fuckin' stool pigeon, you wannabe ugly duck! Your friendship with Lana was nothing more than a crutch So from me and her to you, we say 'fuck you very much!'

[Ryoko] Hm~? Did I hear something? Was it just a waste of time? Sounds to me like dear Eldrid is running out of rhymes It's not like you’d understand, I did what I had to. If you were in my shoes you’d fucking do the same to I don't feel a fucking thing for her, not sorrow nor empathy Both you and her get no sympathy from me Guilt trips don’t work on me, life isn’t fucking fair Give me a reason why I should fucking care

[All:]

Bring it on! We're not stepping away from this fight! We'll stand tall against our enemy, day or night! Bring it on! The battle lines have now been drawn! We'll not cease until all foes are dead and gone!

[Battle Maiden:]

Defeat is not an option, Battle Maiden!

[Shattered Moon:]

We refuse to submit, Shattered Moon!

[All:]

Victory is a must, nothing else to discuss So draw your swords and prepare for war! Now, bring it on!

[writings-of-a-narwhal]

title ➳ and the moon sets

status ➳ brainstorming & drafting 

pov ➳ third person

genre ➳ fantasy

warnings ➳ war, blood, death, manipulation, self-destructive behavior, unhealthy relationships, ect.

setting ➳ yamatochi; a mountainous country based off of sengoku era japan

synopsis  ➳

At fourteen years old, Neoma Takeda is taken from her desolate home in the mountains and taken to the Clan she is the heir of; the Takeda Clan, a force that was once one of the largest in the war that has wreaked through Yamatochi for generations. With no real-world experience and no knowledge of what war is actually like, plans are put into place for her to enter into a political marriage to protect the territories of the Clan and the Clan itself. However, when it’s discovered that the young woman is a dragonheart everything changes.

No longer will be she used just as a piece in the game of politics, but she will be exactly what the Takeda Clan needs to not only survive but reclaim their place as a powerful force in this conflict and potentially win the war. 

Naïve, the young lord does as what’s asked of her; after all, she’s just a child, she hasn’t a clue what it means to be a warlord or lead a battle. As the years wear on, she is constantly at war. Fighting enemies, fighting her mind, fighting her body, fighting her allies and those closest to her. There is no rest for the wicked, they say, and she is the cruelest of them all.

Down this path of endless bloodshed and death and darkness, how can there be any hope for the sun to rise on a world where there’s peace?

excerpt  ➳

The air in the council room is stifling, especially for the girl who sits in the very center of the room upon the dais. Dark colors swirl in the air around her; the colors of decaying flowers and rotting corpses. She shifts, stares out the open shoji doors, and watches the courtyard beyond. How she longs to be back in her childhood home, in the wild mountainous forest where the wind was always blowing and cutting through her in such an exhilarating manner. The only breeze she gets now comes when she has a sword in her hand.

"A number of months ago," a low and smooth voice captures her attention and that of all in the room, "our Lord Genkei Takeda passed. We all thought our lives were to fall apart without our Lord to follow, but just a few weeks later we met the heir of the clan."

The man -- Isao is his name, the one who has tended to all her needs since she arrived here -- looks at her with a smile that seems to reach his eyes, or is that a trick of the light? Smiling is not in his nature nor does it look natural on his face.

"The granddaughter of our former Lord; Neoma Takeda, the only blood of the Takeda line, the lifeline for our Clan. The gods have blessed us with you, my Lord. The day we met you, our fates changed for the better, for we have been able to continue our service to the Takeda family and in this war."

Neoma almost flinches, biting down on her tongue and curling her hands into tight fists in order to resist the urge to do so. Chest tightening, flashes of fighting flicker in front of her eyes and the scent of blood fills her nose.

It was just to be a small battle; one to give her a taste of what was to come, one to give her a chance to practice with the sword she had been given, one to show her what her life was to be. It wasn't supposed to be brutal...

But the emotions of all the soldiers on either side of the battlefield were too much for her, they choked her as a snake does the rabbit that falls victim to them, and a fear so strong came over her that she couldn't hold it in, she couldn't hold anything in.

Burning worse than any flame that has touched her skin before ran through her veins as her own blood. Silver brighter than the best of metals coursed through the air like lightning. A low grumble rattled the earth beneath their feet and cracked the ground. All those upon the field died, friend and foe alike. Only the ones within the boundaries of the camps were left breathing. 

At least for a short while, anyway. For while Neoma had collapsed to the ground, crying, screaming, choking for air, Isao sent out an order, one she wasn’t supposed to hear but his words still echo in her ears.

"Track them all down. Whoever has seen anything -- no matter if they are our enemy or not -- kill them without hesitation."

With a jerk, Neoma forces herself back to the present. Sickness swirls in her stomach and she can't bear to look at any in the room with her, especially not Isao as he continues to speak about gods know what. It's bad enough that their gazes -- ones of pity and expectation and so many other damned emotions that make her skin prickle and cause colors to dance in front of her eyes -- bore into her relentlessly. Shouldn't they be watching the one speaking rather than her? 

Reaching into the sleeve of her kimono with a shaky hand, she searches for just a moment, and a scaly head comes under her half-numb fingers. A short burst of comfort comes over her, lasting just a breath, but it's enough for now. Having her dragon there at her fingertips to act as a support when no one else can means more than anything else in the world.

"Lord Takeda."

Her eyes snap toward Isao and narrow on him ever so slightly. The sick feeling in her stomach grows stronger, bile creeping from her stomach up to her throat. 

"You are our hope in these troubling times." Isao gives a certain look with those dark eyes, a look she can come to associate with things that are not exactly good and kind. "We are all looking forward to fighting alongside you and reigning victorious."

You are our hope.

Those words choke what little breath she had out of her lungs. Forcing a smile, Neoma gives a respectful nod. Thankfully, from there the food and drink is brought in and she doesn’t have to speak. The attention of most is turned away from her and toward the food and each other as the vassals gossip and theorize. 

Alone on the dais, Neoma doesn't go to eat or drink, even as the maids bring in tea and a variety of foods for her to eat, all of which have been tested for poison beforehand. Another thought that only makes her feel awful.

How can someone risk their life just for her? Why? She is no one special. How can she be their hope? Isao said the magic of the dragon, her being a dragonheart, meant that she is nearly invincible in battle. What use is that if she can't control it, if she kills not only her enemies but her own allies and soldiers? How do they believe she’s the answer to their problems?

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chapter three: psycellic consentia

psycellic consentia: psycellium (or psycelium) is a psychic nervous system that allows sensates to connect with one another. sensates have a solitary "above" existence, and are connected "below" via the psycelium. consentia, latin: knowledge shared with others, being in the know or privy to, joint knowledge; complicity; knowledge within oneself, consciousness, feeling.

ROMAN

It hasn’t even been five minutes since Sasha left to grab dinner, but Roman’s already feeling strangely jittery.

A nap would be a fruitless venture, he’s realized, so he’s gotten up to pace around the room, reciting the lines of the scene he’s meant to be filming tomorrow. He knows them all by heart, naturally, but it’ll be an odd scene to shoot anyways. His character, Pablo, would be escaping from the grasp of his friend-turned-betrayer (who would turn out to have been bluffing and truly Pablo’s friend all along by the end of the movie) by sprinting through the forest, making his getaway by leaping into a river and swimming away.

This stunt he doesn’t get to do; he’s already technically filmed the scenes when he’s in the water, and a stunt double will be “jumping off the cliff.” So tomorrow is going to be entirely on-location, acting then sprinting through the forest.

So Roman chants his lines to himself, pacing in his room with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to sink into Pablo’s mindset. And, after a few minutes of running his lines over in his head, it’s like he’s actually walking in the forest; the snap of a twig under his feet, the smell of leaves and dirt, the cooing of various birds.

Roman’s jaw drops, because—because no way. No way.

No fucking way is his brother standing there, with a bundle of twigs tucked up under his arms, staring at Roman the way a kid would stare at a particularly adventurous snail journeying along the ground.

Well, the way Remus would look at an adventurous snail, as a kid. Roman would have probably just fled the snail in favor of playing with wooden swords and rescuing imaginary damsels.

"Aw, c’mon, man, what the fuck," Remus grumbles, looking skyward as if asking for some kind of divine intervention, though Roman knows that's never been the case, much to their chronically Catholic abuela’s dismay.

She probably would have been pleased if Roman tacked on a God rest her soul there, but considering her abysmal reaction when her grandson decided to be an actor and an even worse reaction when her other grandson informed them all that he was, in fact, a grandson, he's never really wanted to please her anyway.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Remus says tightly, dropping his bundle of twigs. 

Remus. Remus is here. Or Roman is there? Whatever, it doesn’t matter, there he is. That’s Roman’s brother.

“What, are you trying to lure me in for the police to catch me? Because it’s not going to fucking work, Roman.” 

God, he’s alive, he doesn’t look hurt, he’s—well, actually, Roman has no idea if he’s safe or not. He just kind of looks like he’s dirty, with scraggly hair and smudges on his face. This alone isn’t entirely unusual for Remus, but the amount of it is. But—he’s here. He’s alive. He has some form of shelter, he’s probably been eating, he’s okay—

“Or are you just here to—”

Roman staggers forward and flings his arms around Remus’ neck, hugging him as tight as he can, almost as if he can feel what Remus feels, the arms wrapping around his neck and the arms wrapping around his torso in kind, feeling echoes of what he does, and what Remus does, bouncing between like a seismic shock.

Across the world, Janus smiles in his sleep; Emile wiggles happily in his chair while waiting for his next therapy session; Patton grins at a wall about nothing in particular; Logan touches his own shoulders, blinking rapidly in surprise at the weight of phantom arms holding him close.

REMY

Remy is used to experiencing emotions that aren’t his.

When he feels a near-violent joy sprouting up in his chest, he pauses briefly in pouring a customer a cup of coffee to put a hand on his chest and smile to himself.

He’ll ask Emile what’s got him so happy later. He’s just happy that Emile is happy.

REMUS

Remus blinks at Roman after Roman pulls back from the hug, hands on his shoulders, still beaming at him.

“—For a while I thought that you were coming to stay at my apartment with me, but then you never showed, and I was worried sick wondering where you were all this time. I’ve been reading all about the case—oh, that doesn’t matter now, we’re together! Now you can come here to the city, and I can post your bail so you can stay with me, and I can get you a really good lawyer, and—!”

“You’ve been reading about the case?” Remus says, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears.

Roman blinks at him. “Yeah?” There’s an unspoken duh in his tone.

“So you know that I’m the main suspect,” Remus prompts.

“Yeah…”

“So, you,” Remus says, “acting sweetheart of the nation with your dear fake girlfriend—you want to bring in a dirty gremlin accused of murder? The sibling the whole country doesn’t even know you have?” 

Roman looks suddenly anxious, as if expecting Remus to blow up and yell at him.

“Do you even think I’m innocent?” Remus continues, only faking his bluster a little.

“I mean,” Roman says. “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Does what matter?” Remus says. The bluster is much more faked this time.

“I mean, you’re my brother,” Roman says. “I don’t really care if you killed him or not.” 

Remus bursts out laughing.

Roman gawks at him, caught off guard, and Remus doesn’t know if it’s just from seeing Roman again, or the fact that he’s been on the run for over a week now and has only been eating the plants a hallucination taught him about, or what, but the expression on his face is just too good.

Roman! Who regularly gets caught in the tabloids! Getting a snapshot of him escorting a man wanted for murder into his warm, loving home! The mental image of the shocked expression on any pap’s face is just—oh, it would be so perfect.

“And your ‘girlfriend?’” Remus says, using air quotes. “Does she know about me?”

“No, but,” Roman says, still with that stupidly heroic, determined look on his face. “I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her tonight, even. She’ll understand.”

Right. If anyone else was as much of a media darling, it was Roman’s fake girlfriend, with her big, brown, innocent eyes and absolute inability to seem like she’s used to being famous.

“Oh, that’s too good,” Remus chortles. “Yeah, Roman. Okay. Sure. You go ahead and tell her.”

“I’m gonna!”

“Sure, fine,” Remus says, waving him off. “Make arrangements to bring your murderous brother home. I’ll catch a bus or something, I’m sure no cop is gonna see me and arrest me on the way to your apartment.” 

“I will,” Roman says, firm and resolute, and Remus just shakes his head, grinning still.

Of the pair of them, people seemed to think Remus was the crazy one when it was clear that Roman was absolutely bonkers. But at least he’d grown a pretty good sense of humor since Remus had been accused of killing someone.

JANUS

“Fucking finally, Jazza.”

Janus considers getting up and walking right back out, but unfortunately, his stomach is already set on fish and chips with the made-in-house sauce here. He wearily begins to weigh the costs of putting up with Key and the nickname “Jazza” against the benefits of sriracha aioli. 

And money. The money ends up winning out every time.

Three more jobs, Janus tells himself. Just three more jobs, and then you don’t have to put up with the risk anymore. Two, if one of them has a bigger compensation than average, and for the quality of my work...

It’s a lie, of course. Janus has been telling himself three more jobs ever since he clawed his way onto the bar standards board, years ago.

“What’s been going on with you, anyway?” Key says around a mouthful of chips, which garbles his speech beyond recognition. Unfortunately, Janus has known Key long enough that he can translate it with ease.

“Chew with your mouth closed and clean up your face,” Janus says, unable to stop himself. Habits are difficult to kill, Janus supposes.

Key rolls his eyes but obligingly blots at his face with a napkin. “D’you got it?”

Janus offers a small box wrapped like a present in answer. Inside is a hard drive containing the information their client had requested.

Key takes it, grinning, and stuffs it into his hoodie pocket.

“Be careful with that,” Janus scolds.

“You say that every time,” Key says. “Have I ever lost one of your—”

Janus glares at him.

“—one of the fruits of your labor?” Key says, quickly back-pedaling, realizing they’re in a public setting and a waitress is fast approaching with Janus's order.

“This smells amazing.”

Janus tries his best not to startle, but even with two days to process what the man in his mirror had told him, it’s still bizarre.

The actor beside him looks briefly embarrassed as if he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Janus glances over at him—a member of his cluster, what an unappealing word—and sees a glimpse of a cramped little trailer. On a movie set, probably? He’s wearing leather pants and a leopard-print shirt that Janus has the feeling he’d never wear in real life.

Janus also feels the grumbling in Roman’s stomach. Janus sighs to himself.

“And another basket of chips with extras of that same sauce, please.”

“You got it, lovey,” she says, turning to go.

“Extra hungry, then?” Key says.

“Something like that,” Janus says neutrally. Without asking for Janus's permission—maybe knowing Janus was about to offer anyway—Roman reaches out and gulps deeply from Janus's Ribena.

“How’s,” Janus says, briefly casts about in his mind for the name of the latest love of Key’s life, and lands on, “Francesca?”

Key snorts. “Ancient history, mate.”

Not exactly surprising. Key’s always fancied himself a romantic, but he’s never been able to follow through on his commitment to anything ever.

“M’goin’ on a date with a bird tonight, though,” he says around a mouthful of chips.

“For God’s sake, Key, could you at least pretend you weren’t raised in a barn?” Janus snips at him, even as he’s dunking his own chips into the aioli.

Key grins at him, and Janus wrinkles his nose. He can tell Roman is doing the same beside him. They share the same sentiment at the moment, but it’s Roman’s “that’s disgusting” that falls out of his mouth.

He realizes why Key’s brow furrows a moment too late.

“Uh, bless you?” Key says; the closest he’s ever been to the Mexican vernacular of Spanish is ordering a fajita at a local Tex-Mex restaurant.

“Oops,” Roman says, not particularly apologetically. He grabs another handful of chips.

“I’m studying in my spare time,” he says and fixes Key with a look. “A hobby you could choose to emulate.”

“What’d I need more school for?” He scoffs. “Ten years was well enough.”

“To aspire for more for yourself—”

“Oh, here we go,” Key snaps, tossing down the piece of battered cod he was about to eat, splattering sauce on the wood table. “I am so sick of your “high and mighty” act.”

He mimics Janus's accent at high and mighty; Janus grits his teeth, and very purposefully enunciates his next few sentences.

“This cannot last forever, you understand.”

“No, just so long as you get rich off it, eh?”

“Um,” Roman says. “I’d offer to go and leave you two to duke this one out in private, but I’m not really sure how to stop this weird astral projection thing—”

Janus ignores him.

“Oh, as if being a lawyer doesn’t pay enough. Put your brain to some use and think, why is it that I keep helping you?!” Janus snaps, leaning across the table and softening his voice. “Why on earth do you think I continue with this?!”

“Spare me,” Key scoffs. 

“The only reason I keep doing this is because you keep doing this,” Janus hisses. “The only reason I became a lawyer was because of you getting us into trouble.”

“Don’t—” Key says, his face twisting up.

“It is because of me we are not rotting in jail, Quirinus. I’m sure it’s such a burden I want more for you.”

“It’s Key,” he grumbles before he rolls his eyes at Janus and tilts his baseball cap at him in farewell. “And since you have aspired to more for yourself, and since being a big fancy lawyer does pay so much, and since you saved me,” this is said with heavy sarcasm, “you fucking prat, you can get the bill. Much obliged, big brother.”

As he walks off, he tosses a “wanker” over his shoulder for good measure, jamming his orange cap onto his head.

Janus pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply.

There’s a pause. 

Then: the slurping of someone draining his Ribena.

Janus opens his eyes and turns his head to Roman, who’s chasing the last drops of Ribena about the glass with a straw.

“So, he’s probably not finishing that, right?” Roman says. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs a handful of chips and shoves them into his mouth. “‘Cause I’ve been waiting for Sasha to come back with dinner for like an hour now and I’m starving,” he says loudly while chewing.

Janus's jaw is slightly unhinged.

“You are a pestilence upon my life,” he says at last.

Roman smirks at him, mercifully close-mouthed, and swallows down the food that Janus supposes he’ll be paying for. Janus is certain that Roman is doing this to annoy him.

“Wait ‘till you have to deal with my brother.” He dunks the cod into the sauce. “Also, how much do you know about what’s going on here, anyway? Why do random people keep popping into my life?” 

Janus lowers his voice so they aren’t heard by any random passerby.

“Allegedly, we are known as sensates. I assume you’ve been seeing other people—we’re stuck seeing them psychically for the rest of our lives, as well as sharing specific skills, languages, emotions…”

Roman reaches for Key’s Ribena and drains that too.

“Tastes,” Janus adds pointedly. “That the other is paying for.”

“Yeah, exactly, you’re paying for it,” Roman says, and grabs another piece of cod. “It won’t go to waste now.”

“You won’t even get the nutritional benefits of eating food,” Janus says. “You’ll just get the taste of it.”

“Still, you’re getting your money’s worth. I’m helping.”

“Aren’t you rich?” Janus says. “Being an actor and all.”

“Aren’t you?” Roman counters. “Being a lawyer and all.”

Roman jams the cod into the ramekin of sauce.

“Either way, this place sure won’t take pesos, and it’s not like I can psychically transfer you money. Hey, how much do you know about Mexican law, anyways?” He takes a massive bite.

Janus puts his face into his hands for a few moments, before he reaches into his messenger pad and pulls out a legal pad and pen.

“Enough,” he says grudgingly—truthfully, not quite as much as English law. However, with this whole connection thing, they do share knowledge, so he certainly knows more now than he did before. He gestures at the waitress for another couple of Ribenas. “Why don’t you refresh me on the details of your brother’s case?”

PATTON

Patton frowns, tapping his pen against his chin as his kindergartners are all sprawled out on their mats for their post-lunch nap. He usually takes advantage of this time to catch up on marking (normally, just putting “good job!” stickers on their papers, they’re five) but right now he’s staring at something he’d written down out of the blue and trying to understand it.

He knows that he’s technically a sensate now, but does that mean his kindergartners are going to have to put up with scrawlings about Mexican flora when Patton had meant to be writing down the activities of the day?

“Aw, jeez,” someone grumbles, and Patton turns to look over his shoulder.

He grins sheepishly at the sight of an academic article plastered over with shiny star stickers. “Oops.”

The man is familiar and yet not; Patton doesn’t think he’s seen this one outside of briefly popping in and out. 

The man sighs, turning the paper over and then looking back at Patton.

“At least they’re purple,” he grumbles, and within a heartbeat, he’s gone. Patton returns his attention to his marking.

Oh, yay, he did end up putting stickers on the kiddos’ papers!

LOGAN

Not many people were particularly aware of this, especially considering the average population was generally unaware of the space research in Antarctica, but the cafeterias here are actually excellent.

In the history of Antarctic explorers and researchers, it had gone quite differently—Ernest Shackleton and Tom Crean ate seal, dog meat, and biscuits mixed with melted snow during the Trans-Antarctic Expedition of 1914—but chefs now seem to view it as an intriguing challenge, a way to sharpen their skills. 

Logan is an adequate enough cook, to the point where he can feed himself at home, but the food here is on another level. He’s finishing off his dessert, a lovely chocolate tart when a chef sits across from him at the dinner table, the same one that had served him his tray tonight.

He doesn’t know her well, so he hopes he’s disguised her squint at her nametag under the guise of adjusting his glasses.

“Very well done, Dot,” he says, lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Oh, good, you are one of us,” she says, with a level of relief that seems odd for hearing a compliment about her cooking. “I was wondering, Casimire gave me the oddest look when I told him to head off early so I could make eye contact with you.”

“What are you—?” Logan says, eyes narrowed, before his eyes flash to the kitchen, automatically looking for Casimire, the chef he’s most used to seeing.

True enough, Casimire isn’t there.

But Dot is here.

Dot is here twice.

Dot is sitting at the table with him. But Dot is smiling and chatting with one of the marine biology research team members, ten feet away. But—

“Oh, I can hear that brain working,” Dot says. She reaches out to pat his hand; it feels as warm and real as a hand can feel.

“What is this,” Logan forces through numb lips, appetite gone, chocolate tart entirely forgotten. “What are you—what is happening—?”

“Shh, shh, not too loud,” Dot says in a hushed voice. “To everyone else, it looks like you’re sitting alone. Here—you’ve got your bag with you, did you pack your earpiece?”

Logan nods.

“Put that in.”

He does as she says. What else is there to do?

The Dot in the kitchen turns to wink and smile at him reassuringly. He isn’t sure how to tell the Dot before him that there is absolutely nothing in this situation that could comfort him, and pointing out that there are two of her and that he is seeing things is not a particularly good way to go about it regardless.

He fumbles with the earpiece a few times, but he puts it in and clicks it on.

“There,” she says in satisfaction. “Now it’ll look like you’re talking over Bluetooth. Neat little trick, isn’t it? Keeps us from looking,” and she circles her ear with her finger and gives a two-note whistle, the universal sign for off your rocker. “I’m surprised your parent hasn’t taught you yet, but I suppose you are very new. Has your migraine stopped yet?”

Logan gawks at her. “How did you know I have a—?”

“Because I had one too when it all started,” she says. “All of us do. Let me tell you, I really wasn’t expecting to see a sensate down here, but I guess when you come to a place like this nothing should surprise you, right? That’s what my Larry said. But this’ll be handy, he was hoping I could meet a nice scientist to connect to the Archipelago! You’re an astronomer, right? That’s a very brainy subject.”

“Wait, go back,” Logan says. “How did you know I have a migraine? Why are you talking about my mother? Why should she have taught me about using Bluetooth? What does a group of islands have to do with anything, and what’s a sensate?”

The smile on Dot’s face slips.

“Oh dear,” she says. “Oh dear, you don’t know anything at all, do you?”

Logan gives her an offended look before he can really stop himself.

“Well,” Dot says thoughtfully. “A scientist. I bet you’d be really interested in the opportunity to send a question around the world within seconds, wouldn’t you?”

“Google exists,” Logan points out.

Dot smiles at him. “Where do you think they got the idea? Sapiens invented it in the 1990s; we’ve had it since the Neolithic.”

Against his better judgment to stop listening to what is most likely to be a hallucination, Logan finds himself very intrigued.

VIRGIL

Virgil is elbow-deep in papers about abrus precatorius, sorting them into piles for useful information or irrelevant when there’s the sound of someone hitting their knees beside him.

Virgil jumps, startled, and looks into the stunning blue eyes of Logan, the handsome Pole in Antarctica. His eyes are bright, eager, excited, and there’s a wide smile on his face.

“We’re not hallucinating,” he declares and spreads out an armful of his own notes; hastily taken, from the look of it, and he presses his fingers against an earpiece that’s blinking blue light. “Oh, and get one of these, by the way, technology has apparently made things much better for us, Dot said we’d get burned during the witch trials because we’d be talking to people who weren’t there and knowing things we shouldn’t know, but I think that’s an exaggeration. I wish there was a more central written history, but I suppose we’ve evolved in a way that word-of-mouth knowledge is the most efficient, haven’t we?”

There’s a lot of thoughts whirling around Virgil’s head—what do you mean, how do you know, why are we talking about witch burnings and evolution—but what comes out, a bit stupidly, is “You look good.”

Logan’s rambling stops in his tracks as he stares at Virgil, bemused, mouth slightly ajar.

“Um, I mean,” Virgil says. He coughs. “You look… less worried than last time. Which is. Good!” 

Logan keeps staring. With his lips parted like that, it’s all too easy to see that Logan must have licked them, recently; the sheen of it catches Virgil’s eye. He stares at Logan’s mouth. He stares at Logan.

Stop it stop it stop it he’ll think you’re weird, something in his brain shrieks, and that breaks the spell.

“So, uh, you’ve figured out what’s happening to us?” Virgil prompts.

Logan shakes himself, before he spreads out his papers, picking up one in particular. Virgil takes it, examining it; it’s two sketches of a brain. He’s familiar enough with biology by virtue of having doctors for parents to know that the sketch on the right side of the paper is not right. 

There’s something wrong with this brain.

“This,” Logan says, tapping the leftmost brain with his finger, “is the typical human brain.”

“Right, yeah,” Virgil says, frowning, and points to the rightmost brain. Their hands almost touch. “There’s something wrong with this one—something about the hemispheres, I think? It’s like there’s a growth.”

Logan moves to point to the rightmost brain, and this time, their hands do brush. But, before Virgil can think anything about it other than his hands are soft and he feels a little cold—

“This is what our brains are becoming.”

Virgil immediately panics.

“But it’s okay!” Logan says quickly as if he’s able to tell. Maybe he can—Virgil isn’t sure how clear it reads on his face. Or maybe, the way he’s been laughing at nothing or frowning at thin air, Logan can feel it. “It’s okay, it’s totally natural for us. For homo sapiens, no, but for homo sensorium—”

“Homo sensorium?” Virgil repeats, brow furrowed.

“It’s what we are,” Logan says. “Scientific name homo sensorium, colloquial name sensate.”

Sensate. Virgil hears the word, and something slips in place in his mind—it’s as if he’s heard that term before. It feels like breathing in a whiff of air and catching the scent of a sweet that sends your memory careening back to a time when you were seven and elbow-deep in dough with your grandmother. But it’s like he can’t quite fully grasp the memory. Something niggles just at the edge of it. It’s like his brain is trapped on the grandparent metaphor because he cannot stop thinking about his mother’s mother.

He sets the memory aside, for now; he’ll have time to think of it later.

Because, as Logan explains everything he’s learned so far, Virgil has absolutely zero chance of thinking about anything else. 

They spend most of the night talking about it. Even with all the bizarre aspects of what this new information brings, it’s easy to talk to Logan in a way that isn’t typical of Virgil speaking with other people. Virgil isn’t sure if that’s because they share this psychic connection, or if they’re both doctors, or if it’s some other connection.

“The way it was phrased is that we’re different types of human, but I don’t think we’re so different that it sets us apart from other people. From what I understand, the growth of our population is primarily due to epigenetic factors…”

Okay, so, primarily due to how behaviors and environments affect his genes. But what epigenetic factor triggered this in Virgil? Was this a dormant thing that could be triggered by ingesting some sort of chemical, or was it due to the way Virgil behaved? Had he done something in his life to cause all of this?

“A lot of the science is conjecture,” Logan warns, “and there was apparently some big corporation intent on doing medical experimentation on us ten or so years ago, but that’s mostly handled, you just have to be more careful about making eye contact with strangers in public…”

Oh, great, scientists hunted them down for medical experimentation so now he had to closely guard himself in any hospital! What a thrilling thing to hear for the son of two doctors!

“I’ve gathered that we can “share” certain skills or memories and that these things will become easier with practice. That’s why I could speak Xhosa and you Polish when we first met, it was the skill-sharing attribute, which could certainly come in handy for several reasons, but I also understand that we can visit each other at various times. There’s apparently a medicine you can take to block it, but it’s rather rare to come by, so unless you know a pharmacist willing to do some work under the table…”

That would almost definitely come to bite one of them in the ass at some point. What about privacy? Was he just doomed to have people from all over the world pop in on him while he’s in the shower or something?

“Dot said that she met her husband Larry through the connection, which drove off into a whole side-tangent. Apparently, romantic partners in clusters—that’s the widely accepted term, ‘cluster.’” 

Virgil pulls a face.

“I know, they could have picked literally any other more appealing word for it, couldn’t they? Bunch, group, flock, clique, assemblance—Anyways, romantic partnerships within clusters are somewhat common, and most of the sensate community finds it quite normal. I think our parent is in one, or at least that’s what Dot said.”

Logan clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Apparently some of the old-fashioned sensates think it’s like—what was it Dot’s parent said?—”the worst sort of narcissism.” Apparently, her parent was very displeased to be a parent and wanted nothing to do with creating bonds. I personally think that’s a rather backwards—humanity survives and thrives due to its ability to create bonds and care for each other—but I suppose I tend to think that way about a lot of old-fashioned things.”

“I guess I do, too,” Virgil muses aloud.

They sit quietly, for a while, so quietly that Virgil doesn’t notice when Logan slips away; the only thing that does bring him back from his swirling thoughts is when a voice breaks Virgil’s silence. It sends the emotions of knowing what’s happening to him shattering to the ground.

“Who on earth are you talking to?”

[ibijau]

Sometimes, you just get a random idea for a thing that demands to be written, so... here’s a no-Sunshot-Campaign AU where the Wens are still the worst, but in a different way :)

warning for character death, implied sexual abuse, and some descriptions of a corpse

It's not the most interesting Night Hunt they've been on, but Nie Mingjue is always glad when Lan Xichen makes time to spend time with him. It was hard for a while to be around each other, but they're starting to move on at last. All they have to do is avoid one certain topic, and things are fine. 

And so they are walking together in that forest, keeping within reasonable distance of the road that traverses it. Nie Mingjue had heard reports of terrible monsters, but so far they've found nothing but a few fierces corpses. If he had known, Nie Mingjue would have brought juniors instead of bothering Lan Xichen with this. He did hesitate after all, unsure how his friend would feel about getting so close to Qishan Wen's territory. In the end, Lan Xichen seems fine. It's been over four years, after all. 

Still, as they get closer to the border, it's Nie Mingjue himself who gets uncomfortable. He's about to suggest they head back and let the Wens deal with whatever is on their side of the forest when they hear a desperate cry coming from further away. 

The voice, unmistakably, is that of a child. 

Without so much as sharing a glance, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen rush ahead, running among the trees until they find the source of that shout. 

There is, in fact, a child. A toddler really, clinging tightly to a teenager in clothes too light for the weather. The older boy has a sword in hand which he seems ill at ease with, pointed at a large group of fierce corpses. He seems to have managed to dispatch a few already, but he's struggling, too frail for a fight like that, especially while protecting the little boy in his arms. 

The teenager is panting, breathing hard, but when one of the corpses comes closer he attacks without hesitation. 

Without skill as well. Whoever taught that kid to hold a sword did a terrible job of it. His movements are wrong for the weapon in his hand, though his posture isn't awful, meaning he does have some training. That boy is dreadful at fighting, and yet there's real skill to his movements, something almost familiar. He manages, somehow, to decapitate the fierce corpse, but loses his balance and falls, angling his body so the toddler in his arms won't be hurt. 

The child cries again, while in Nie Mingjue's hand Baxia nearly vibrates with rage. 

Even if they have to be careful not to hit the two children, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen effortlessly dispatch the fierce corpses and purify them before turning their attention to that odd duo they rescued. 

And they are odd indeed. The teenager's clothes aren't just too light for the middle of fall, they are spun in delicate silk and beautifully embroidered. His hair is disheveled from the fight but still retains elegant gold decorations shaped like the sun, like Wen concubines usually sport. This would explain the Wen sword in his hand, but only partly. The Wens don't usually let their concubines Night Hunt, or cultivate at all unless they are particularly beloved. 

Still curled up around the toddler, his eyes closed and panting hard, the boy flinches when Lan Xichen kneels next to him to check on him. 

"It's fine, you're safe now," Lan Xichen says gently. "They can't hurt you anymore." 

The boy's eyes snap open, and he stares at Lan Xichen like a poet stares at the moon. It's not an unusual reaction to seeing the First Jade of Gusu Lan, but something about it rubs Nie Mingjue the wrong way, especially when the boy's eyes turn to him and he gets so overwhelmed he starts crying. 

"I made it," he sobs, holding the toddler closer against his chest. "I made it, I made it!" 

Surprised as well by that reaction, but getting suspicious as to the reason behind it, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue exchange a glance. If it is what they think, it's lucky it's only the two of them. The more people know, the harder it is to deal with these situations. 

"Did you come here all the way from Qishan?" Lan Xichen asks, with all the gentleness he's capable of. "From the palace?" 

The boy flinches again and sits up, pulling the toddler in his lap. There's a calculating air to him, but that's to be expected. He wouldn't have made it this far if he weren't careful. 

"My name is…" the boy starts, before stopping to look at both of them, his face turning harder. "My name is Mo Xuanyu," he says slowly, almost like he reciting a lesson. "My father gave me as a concubine to Wen Chao. The little boy is Wen Yuan. His mother was another concubine of Wen Chao. I think she's dead now. I hope she's dead." 

His arms tighten around the toddler who cries out in protest but doesn't try to escape. 

"Why do you think she's dead?" Lan Xichen asks, his voice perfectly steady even after hearing that name, while Nie Mingjue kneels next to him.

“You have to promise you’ll help us,” Mo Xuanyu retorts. “That you’ll help him at least,” he corrects, petting Wen Yuan’s hair. “If they find us, we’re dead. I don’t care. Dying isn’t that scary. But A-Yuan is just a baby, and his mother stayed behind so I’d have a better chance of taking him to safety, so I have to repay her. Take him at least, Nie zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue frowns, wondering briefly how that boy recognises him. He’s dressed as simply as a regular Nie disciple, never seeing the point of bothering with regalia when he’s just Night Hunting with a friend. Before he can ask though, Mo Xuanyu tears little Wen Yuan from where he’s clinging to him and pushes him into Lan Xichen’s arms. The toddler cries of course, and reaches out for the older boy.

“It’s fine, Lan gongzi is a good person,” Mo Xuanyu says, tenderly petting the child’s hair with a gesture that makes Nie Mingjue’s heart clench. “It’s okay. You can trust him. He’ll take care of you. And Nie zongzhu will help us as well.”

Nie Mingjue will help indeed.

He would have helped anyway, but he sees the way Mo Xuanyu is petting that little boy’s hair and it makes him nearly sick with a sorrow he thought he’d learned to control.

It also just makes him sick in general. Mo Xuanyu can’t be much older than seventeen. If he has met Nie Huaisang, then he must have been no more than twelve or thirteen when he was taken in Qishan. It’s frightfully young, even by Wen Chao’s standards. Or did that gesture get passed down among unlucky concubines, just as Nie Mingjue did for his brother what his mother did for him when he was young?

It should bring him comfort, that something of Nie Huaisang managed to survive, that he left a trace even after what happened.

“There, you’re going to be good now,” Mo Xuanyu tells Wen Yuan when the toddler calms down, unable to resist the combination of that caress and Lan Xichen’s aura. “Everything is going to be fine, you’re safe now, A-Yuan. I’m done fulfilling my part of the deal now.”

“The deal?” Nie Mingjue repeats.

“With… with his mother, and someone else,” Mo Xuanyu explains, distractedly touching his forearm. “One half of it was to take A-Yuan to safety. That was his mother’s price with helping.”

“And the other half?” 

The boy, Mo Xuanyu, smiles. 

Nie Mingjue shudders. 

"I killed Wen Chao," Mo Xuanyu announces, his eyes shining feverishly. “Slit his throat. He choked on his own blood, exactly as he deserved. It took him for ever and I watched the entire time,” he adds, his expression nearly blissful.

Nie Mingjue freezes. He feels, distantly, that Lan Xichen has grabbed his arm and is holding too tight. 

He remembers. 

They both do, no matter how badly they want to forget.

Nie Huaisang’s body, already starting to rot, scavenged by foxes, his throat slit so deep his head rolled when they tried to move him. He’d been gone for months, not a trace to be found until anonymous messages came to Qinghe, telling Nie Mingjue that Wen Chao had a new concubine, one who had arrived to Nightless City right as Nie Huaisang disappeared, one who nobody was allowed to see. The message had urged Nie Mingjue to act fast.

He hadn’t been fast enough.

Just as Lan Xichen and him were preparing to storm Nightless City to get Nie Huaisang back, they’d been told about that body near Caiyi Town.

Near the last place anyone had seen Nie Huaisang.

An accident, everyone said. A robbery gone wrong maybe, the fishermen who found the corpse said. There were bandits in the area and Nie Huaisang was never the strongest of cultivators.

A sure way to get rid of an inconvenient witness, some whispered. Wen Chao had picked the wrong person to steal away this time, and his father had dealt with the problem to protect his son.

Or perhaps it had been Wen Chao himself. One of his discarded concubines, who had managed to escape, said that one of them had tried to kill him, once, and got so near to it that he’d managed to leave a scar on Wen Chao. Nie Mingjue liked to imagine it had been his brother. Nie Huaisang wasn’t much of a cultivator, but he was a Nie, and he wouldn’t have gone without a fight… or so Nie Mingjue told himself.

He had to find comfort somewhere.

Right now, he finds that comfort in a tender gesture that Mo Xuanyu must have learned somewhere, and in the knowledge that his brother was avenged by a boy hardly older or stronger than Nie Huaisang was.

A boy who can’t be allowed to fall in Wen hands.

Death isn’t the worst thing that Wen Ruohan will do to him if he really murdered his favourite son.

“Can you fly on that sword?” Nie Mingjue asks.

Mo Xuanyu gives his blade an appraising look, and grimaces.

“Badly. Slowly. I don’t have a golden core. But I can do it, yes.”

“That won’t be enough. You’ll fly with me.”

It’s something Nie Mingjue normally avoids, because Baxia doesn’t like to deal with strangers. She’s usually angry when she’s made to carry anyone, except Nie Huaisang who she tolerated with the same sort of feigned reluctance that Nie Mingjue used to show toward his brother’s antics. 

Today she tolerates Mo Xuanyu with surprising ease as well. She must feel Nie Mingjue’s gratitude toward this nothing of a boy who did what they couldn’t do.

Wen Chao is dead, and Nie Mingjue will protect his murderer, the way he failed to protect his brother.

[marvelousmaize]

stay safe for me

Note: for @weakforjaskier, one of the dearest people to me in this fandom, who requested that a worried Geralt take care of a sick or injured (i went with injured) Jaskier, and Jaskier is adorably confused about why the Witcher is so worried. A confession of feelings (and softness!) ensue. It’s all very sweet and fluffy with a dash of idiots in love. 

Melina, i hope you enjoy, and that this fic brings you as much happiness as seeing you on my dash brings me, my dear :) 

 It happens before Geralt can stop it. 

He and Jaskier are on the road, as they usually are, not a quarter of a day’s walk from the nearest Temerian village. Jaskier is strumming his lute, idly composing a song, and Geralt is walking just a few paces behind the bard, hand wrapped around Roach’s reigns, when they’re accosted by a group of bandits.

This isn’t an uncommon occurrence. But usually the bandits take one look at Geralt’s two swords and his golden eyes and his medallion, realize who they’re up against, and promptly take their leave. 

Evidently not these bandits. 

They’re in larger numbers, for one - Geralt counts ten - and seem quite determined to snatch up all their coin, which is a problem. It makes them foolhardy and reckless, and Geralt has to balance fending them off with keeping Roach and Jaskier safe. He sends the mare running ahead - he’s got every confidence he’ll find her again - but Jaskier, the idiot, stubbornly stays put, refusing to leave Geralt’s side. 

Geralt incapacitates seven of the bandits with relative ease. All non-fatal injuries (he still won’t kill humans if he can help it) and he’s nearly finished with the eighth when - 

“Geralt! Behind you!”

He’s been so caught up, the Witcher’s managed to miss one of the other two bandits ready to shove a sword straight through his lower back when Jaskier wedges himself between Geralt and the bandit, using the dagger he keeps at his hip to slice at the bandit’s shoulder.

But the bandit’s sword still manages to run through Jaskier’s side.

The bard crumples, and Geralt is briefly seized with raw, icy horror, before his vision bleeds red and white hot fury surges through him. He kills the remaining bandits without another thought, and takes special pleasure in ending the life of the one who dared injure Jaskier. 

Sheathing his steel sword, Geralt goes to the bard right away, kneeling beside him. “Jaskier,” he murmurs. 

Jaskier looks up. He’s pale, and obviously in pain, but he’s responsive. The blade must not have passed through any vital organs. Thank fuck.

“Geralt -” Jaskier gasps out, but Geralt quiets him with a look.

“Not now,” the Witcher murmurs. “We need to stop the bleeding.” 

Geralt makes a makeshift tourniquet with some of the bands of cotton he keeps in his pack, securing them with a tight knot, before gingerly scooping up Jaskier. 

He finds Roach just like he knew he would only a few meters ahead, and hoists himself and Jaskier up, riding out to the closest village. 

The next few hours are a blur - Roach is fast, and Geralt is able to find an inn with relative ease - and are spent tending to Jaskier’s wound. Jaskier is as talkative as he always is, propped up on the bed, and chest bare save for the bandages around his waist. Color has returned to his cheeks, and Geralt can concede that the wound will heal nicely - perhaps won’t even scar. 

It’s finally then that he allows himself to fully cede to the anger that has been steadily bubbling up in his chest. Anger tinged with worry and guilt, because Jaskier might have died because of Geralt and Geralt - 

Geralt doesn’t quite know how to deal with that. 

“You cannot put yourself between me and a blade, Jaskier,” Geralt hisses. “Do you understand?”

“Like hell I can’t. Geralt, you would have died!”

“Then I die.”

“That’s an unacceptable outcome to me and you know that.”

Geralt fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Why do you insist on being so stubborn and reckless -”

“Me? Reckless?” Jaskier cuts in with a disbelieving scoff. “You’re one to talk, diving headfirst into every battle without a single regard for your life or your safety. Do you know what it’s like watching you hunt your monsters knowing you could die?” and Jaskier’s voice goes so quiet, almost choked off as he speaks. It sends a sharp spike of icy guilt straight into Geralt’s heart. Then the bard juts his chin out; his gaze is steady, and he looks utterly defiant, the imbecile. “If putting myself between you and harm’s way is what keeps you from dying, I will make that choice every single time.”

“You’re a fool,” Geralt spits out around a throat packed tightly with wool. In his mind’s eye, all he sees is Jaskier, felled by fang or claw or sword. Face as white as snow, blue eyes vacant, vermillion blood tainting his clothes, coming out of his mouth, on his fingers - 

“Better I than you,” Jaskier says, and Geralt blinks away the images of the bard dead, dead, dead because of him, because he was too late. The Witcher’s mouth curls into a snarl. 

“I won’t let you.”

“I’d like to see you try. Honestly Geralt, I must confess that you are being extremely confusing right now. If the outcome is me only slightly injured or you dead, I don’t understand why -”

“Because I won’t have your blood on my hands, Jaskier!”

And Geralt’s carefully constructed exterior of calmness and detachment dissolves with his outburst. Undone by this idiotic, heedless, brave, loyal, unflinching bard without a sense of self-preservation, who sees the Witcher - with all his enhanced strength and swords and potions and magic - and sees someone worth protecting. 

Geralt grits his teeth, pushing through Jaskier’s momentary speechlessness, trying to ignore the bard’s quickening heartbeat and his wide blue eyes. “You are - you are -” but the words are stuck in his wool-packed throat, trapped, heavy and thick, on his tongue. His fingers are carving deep moons in his palm, his mouth twisting - helpless and infuriated. 

And Jaskier - 

Jaskier might be a fool, but Jaskier is also intrinsically brilliant - an academic, a poet with a thirst for knowledge, who is eloquent and can use words like another might wield a weapon. Jaskier, who understands the nuances of emotion and can articulate them - and his eyes go even wider with realization. “Oh.” His expression softens all at once, and it soothes and inflames Geralt all at once. 

“Geralt,” he murmurs, and he smells like honey and spun sugar, like fondness and happiness. “Say it first and I promise I’ll say it back.” Geralt’s gaze snaps up. He meets eyes as blue as the ocean, open and steady and so, so earnest. It sends hope and sunlight curling at the base of his spine. “But you have to say it first, so that I might let myself believe it’s true.”

It’s an admission filled with so much yearning and heartache that Geralt can taste them. There’s a thing with wings in his chest and he thinks it’s his heart, ready to fly out of his throat and give itself to Jaskier and Geralt wants that - wants it more than anything - wants it enough to -

“I love you,” Geralt says. “I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt because of me.”

The smile on Jaskier’s face is blinding. “I love you too,” he says back. “And I won’t get hurt if you stop diving into things with a death wish.”

“Jaskier -”

“It’s a compromise, Witcher. You can compromise with me, can’t you? Please?”

And it is said so sweetly it pulls a grin out of Geralt that is equal-parts exasperated and fond - a mix of emotions he is no stranger to when it comes to Jaskier. “You’re impossible.”

“But you still love me,” Jaskier counters with a little quiet disbelief, but his smile is still so wide and his eyes glitter with mirth. “So just agree to this compromise Geralt, and come over here and kiss me already.”

Geralt chuckles, a low, rumbling thing that reverberates throughout his chest. “Well, when you put it that way,” he says wryly, and moves from the chair to sit himself on the bed. His huge, ungloved hand twines itself around the nape of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier is watching him through hooded, hazy eyes, and Geralt picks up on the subtle quickening of the bard’s breath. “I agree, Jaskier.”

Jaskier licks his lips - an intoxicating movement Geralt traces with hungry eyes - and curls his fingers in locks of silver-white hair. “Oh good. Now -”

But Geralt doesn’t let him finish - though he strongly suspects he knows exactly what Jaskier is going to say - surging down instead and catching Jaskier’s lips into a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and promise. Jaskier lets out a delightful whimper - confirms Geralt’s suspicions when even as their lips interlock, he mumbles a “finally,” and smiles into the kiss - responding with unabashed enthusiasm. 

The spun sugar smell gets stronger, and it’s mixed with something else, something warm and spicy and utterly intoxicating.

(I love you too)

Geralt smiles and deepens the kiss. 

[lexsssu]

Shall We Date: Worship Me AU - Uriel (Avatar of Chastity)

What if the MC gets transported to the Celestial Realm instead? What if the angels were the love interests?

GENERAL HCs

Uriel — “The Flame of God/God is my Light”

Has a penchant for perfection

Give him a task and you bet your ass he’ll come back finished with results so phenomenal you’re sure that if you did it, there’s no way it would turn out this great

Reserved, but not exactly anti-social

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about himself whenever people ask about him, but it’s just that he thinks there are a million other things that are worth more to converse about than his exploits or the things he enjoyed

Chastity doesn’t just mean staying pure by abstaining from sexual relations and the lack of temptations one experiences, but being placed in the face of temptation and yet staying true to one’s morals. This is why Uriel doesn’t condemn anyone who decides to engage in such acts, whether within the sanctity of marriage or not, whether it is done because all parties hold sincere feelings for one another or not.

Gone is the ancient time and the rules that once applied then cannot be the same for current times. This is why Uriel has made it his mission to continuously study about humans, to stay up to date with the way they thought and felt so as he can better serve as a guiding beacon to them

When he’s not busy with his regular duties, you would normally find Uriel at the Celestial realm’s library with stacks of reference books on his table. Time is nothing to them, which is why for him it felt as if humans changed too quickly in so little time

An ideology that may have taken decades or centuries to form is but a blink of an eye to them which is why Mr. Perfectionist can’t help but immediately want to be informed in the hopes that it will help him improve himself

If he doesn’t keep adding and updating to his knowledge then how can he even hope to be one of the guiding virtues of humanity with outdated ideals?

Ideals can and will change over time, but his morals are the one thing that Uriel will never change.

His mind and body may be corrupted over time, because eternity is such a long time indeed, but the morals that made him who he is, what HE is will always stay the same

Tbh you can’t tempt this guy with anything

If you do manage to “tempt” him, know that you didn’t actually succeed but he just liked/pitied you enough to go with whatever fuckery you wanted him to commit

That's why he normally agrees with whatever bullshit his twin brother, Gabriel, tries to wrangle him into

Uriel ain't doing it because Gabriel tempted him, but because he loved his twin so much that he's willing to indulge him whenever he wanted to fuck shit up

Gabriel is the one who starts messes and Uriel is the one who just lets him be, because he's a supportive big brother

...Much to most of the other virtues' ever increasing stress

Is an advocate of "actions speak louder than words"

He's a serial head-patter

Will boop your nose when he notices you're a bit too lost in your thoughts

Azrael is normally the victim of his headpats and nose-boops

Since he makes it his job to know all that IS known, he finds some modicum of interest in that of the UNknown

Things like extraterrestrial beings for example. Basically, anything that didn't belong to any of the 3 worlds was within his scope of interest

If you check his YouTube history you'll see it's filled with UFO sightings, conspiracy theories, UMAs, etc.

Probably joined that raid in Area 51 while undercover—

Asks Gabriel to bring him souvenirs and pictures whenever his job takes him to a location near hotspots for UMAs, UFOs, and other strange otherworldly phenomena

Reminds Azrael every now and then to inform him if he ever ferries a soul that had come across any UMA and ask them about their encounter

As the virtue of chastity, it's up to him to teach the little cherubims about the birds and the bees as part of their training to become full-fledged angels

More often than not, his terminology and clinical way of explaining has traumatized most of the little ones…

...much to Raphael's increasing stress

"And then the man will place his pe*** inside the woman's va**** where he would start thrusting continu—"

What's worse is that he even has diagrams for it

So many little cherubims lost their innocence to Uriel-sensei…

He doesn't purposely try to annoy Raphael unlike Gabriel, it's just that his actions and way of going about things aren't the way most people would fo it and what's worse is that he unintentionally traumatizes people

And it's usually up to Raphael to do damage control on all the virtues' behalf

Raphael almost killed him that day he had to give that talk to Luke and his batch

"...What's wrong about telling them what happens between a man and a woman? It's biology and something that's done frequently by humans"

He doesn't see the point of beating around the bush when their purpose was to teach the new recruits about humanity and everything about them, including how they reproduce

Favorite food is pancakes…

...because they look like flying saucers

Uriel enjoys stargazing at night, not just to look at the heavenly bodies but to spot any UFOs if he's lucky enough

He isn't particularly bad at cooking, but he's not great either

Pancakes are what he's most confident in cooking and he makes the best darn ones in all of the celestial realm

If he's the only one left at home and you're sick, don't expect chicken soup and be ready instead for a stack of warm and fluffy pancakes topped with some butter and generous helping of syrup, whipped cream, berries, and etc.

When the day finally comes that he falls in love with someone...the 3 worlds will know true fear—

But legit though, all those millennia of being a single pringle and practicing so much restraint flies out the window when this man finds himself utterly and deeply in love with you

JP VA: Daisuke Ono

ENG VA: Matthew Mercer

ROMANTIC HCs

He's read so much about the different forms of love and has felt them all except for romantic love so he's a bit rattled at first

Probably coops himself up in his room for a day or two to get his bearings

When he does finally step foot out of his room, there isn't any obvious changes at first but you can't help but feel that there's something different about Uriel

Uriel is now a man on a mission

As perfectly as he executed his tasks for millennia, as fierce as he wielded his flaming sword during the Great War against the rebels, and as ruthless as he was when he faced the truly wicked…

…Uriel will have you

Of course, regardless of how much he wanted you to become his that didn't mean he suddenly turned into some sort of barbaric brute that kidnapped women for sport

He will study you so thoroughly that at times it almost feels like he knows you more than you know yourself

The little mannerisms you make during your everyday life that escape your notice? It's a given that Uriel has seen and already safely filed them away in his mind for future reference

"...She likes pointing with her lips?...Cute…" What he wouldn't give to catch you doing that while he was with you so he could partake of your lips as well—

Once he’s interested in you, only God knows at this point what has to be done for him to even lose a small bit of it

You have essentially become a key figure in Uriel’s world

Uriel always has you at the back of his mind to the point that it could even be called obsessive

However, he’s still the virtue of chastity so you don’t have to worry about him ever forcing himself upon you or anything of that sort

He’s super clingy and sorta weird, but he loves you and the last thing he wanted is for you to become sad because of him or anything else

Though he honestly can’t deny that seeing the myriad of expressions on your face, from happiness to sadness, to surprise, excitement, anger, and etc. was one of his favorite hobbies ever since falling for you

Despite his earnest wish to make you his, Uriel surprisingly takes a long time to even confess

He’s a perfectionist so it’s a given that he’ll take everything into account, including how he’ll make you fall for him first before he even thinks about confessing

Bothers Raphael for some “research material” on how to woo you a.k.a. borrow some romance manga despite Raph’s initial protests

For the sake of his own sanity, Raph begrudgingly lends Uri his stash of romance manga

It’s both hilarious and somewhat disturbing to see how taken he is with something other than work and UMAs

Amused: Michael, Cainabel, Gabriel, Simeon

Scared/Disturbed: Raphael, Luke

Neutral/Confused: Seraphiel, Azrael

Secretly plays the alto saxophone, but doesn’t deem his skill worthy enough for you to hear so he practices when he’s absolutely sure that no one is there to hear him when his skills aren’t yet up to his standards

Lowkey jealous when you hangout with the demon brothers and tries to find ways to distract you from hanging out with them

“ I seem to have seen a creature most extraordinary earlier. I believe it was one of the UMAs detailed in the tome for mysterious dwellers of the nether. Mayhaps you’d like to accompany me on a hunt? ”

His face is as straight-laced as it always is, but if you knew him long enough and looked closer, you’d notice that his ears seemed to have the slightest twinge of redness to them.

Honestly speaking, he tries to be a smooth and cool boi when it comes to you, but this dork seems to lose all his tact when faced with the radiance of your eyes and the intensity of your smile

With how long it takes him to make everything perfect before he woo’s you, time and space itself will cease to exist before he finally deems himself ready

So you have to do the wooing yourself and show him that you love all of him, imperfections and quirkiness included

[rowdeyclown]

i want to hear about your pokemon ideas!

oh man this is a dangerous question bc i am about to go OFF so i'll just leave this in a read more. also keep in mind i have only played platinum, moon/ultra moon, sword, and a little bit of red and lets go eevee, so if i accidentally steal something from another game whoops. also i do have a lot of inspiration from the games i played here anyway since i am less knowledgeable abt pokemon than most people but anyway here we go

setting: several years prior to the start of the game, as low as 18 or high as 100 years (i have specific reasons for that) this region was very prosperous with many young people moving in all the time to get a headstart on a successful life. the region is known for being nearly a perfect circle and there are 18 areas of the region, each corresponding to a different type. dead center is normal type, maybe i'll make a map later if i get more interested. by the time the story takes place however, the region has become uninhabitable and anyone who didn't evacuate died. for now im calling it Ebril

legendary: part of what once made ebril so prosperous was the presence of their legendary. idk the exact type of creature it is but it was worshipped as a god and protected the land. however an unknown sickness fell over it and it let out an explosion of energy across the whole region that turned each area into a hellscape. for example, the water region completely flooded over; the grass region sprouted dangerous plants everywhere that so much as touching them could kill a person; the fire region literally just lit up on fire and hasn't burned out, and so on. not only this but the air of the whole place is toxic, though the poison air is like 5 times worse. after this explosion the legendary disappeared, and ebril was completely abandoned. it's later revealed that the legendary has died.

characters: at the start of the game there are few people in the region. in fact there are exactly 4, and they all flew in from different regions.

the leader is one Professor Pine, a young professor from wherever the fuck probably new york with ancestors from ebril. she's always been fascinated with the region and decided to start figuring out a way to fix the place and make it habitable again. with her studies she figures out there's a chance to save it and so she contacts the professors of all regions with the request to help, though only 3 other people were sent in to help due to the dangers of this journey.

the player character(s) are both present in the game, a pair of twins named Jade and Grey. their names are puns on the word jaded and the phrase old and gray. the twins hail from kanto, the region the first games took place in iirc, and the player character u choose went on a pokemon journey at age 10. at present time they are anywhere around 18-20 bc theres no way any reasonable person is gonna let a minor into this apocalyptic region. the twin you don't choose at age 10 rather than taking a pokemon journey started working as an assistant to Professor Oak, and as an adult starts studying to become the next professor. the twin you choose had their journey and got all the way through until the elite 4 which they never beat, and for several years in frustration swore off battling. eventually they couldn't resist the call to the world of pokemon they used to love and they start working as an assistant alongside their twin. when Oak is contacted by Pine he initially refuses to help, but the twins find out and volunteer to go. Oak doesn't want them to but in the end he doesn't stop them.

the fourth member of the expedition is the former champion of some region who just got knocked off their throne by some 10 year old. they serve as the rival of this game. like the twins they found out about this expedition and with nothing better to do they decided to join in just to Feel Something. unlike the twins they never told anyone they were going.

starters: at the beginning the starter is actually either charizard, venusaur, or wartortle. after all this is kanto and the player did go on the journey. the twin has the pokemon that is weak to the player and the rival has the type that is strong against it. however Pine advises against bringing the actual starters bc the environment might be dangerous. however, as someone with ancestors from ebril, she does happen to have some baby pokemon native to the region, of course of the classic typings. seeing as how none of the pokemon in the region were much affected by the changes in atmosphere so she knows it's safe to bring them.

story: the expedition starts when Pine through remote studies discovers an energy wave coming from the center of ebril, one she hypothesizes is similar to the energy that destroyed the region in the first place. at this point in time no one knows the original legendary has died, but this leads Pine to wonder if the legendary is gathering the energy after their sickness and thinks maybe it has the power to reverse the damage. she develops hazmat suits that should be able to endure most of the terrain of the land but isn't 100% sure on their durability. with all the preparations she can do, Pine and co set out to land in the dead center of ebril

once there they discover a giant crater right at the center, and at the bottom is an egg. the egg is the source of the energy wave, and they think maybe it houses a baby legendary. the player character is the first to approach the egg and the moment they get near it, the egg hatches, revealing a baby pokemon. it bears a resemblance to the legendary so they assume it is indeed the child of the former legendary, and also it's fucking adorable. whenever i picture it i think of kubfu or toxel bc theyre both Baby so it definitely is shaped similarly. after study its found that surprisingly, this baby is normal type. they're confused because while there are conflicting accounts on what the legendary's typing was, there's an agreement that it's something like psychic or fairy or dragon. however, once the baby is right next to the starter of the player, it suddenly changes to the same type. they experiment with the other starters and find that the baby pokemon does change type depending on its environment, but cannot be more than one type at a time. it defaults to normal if its kept in a neutral environment away from other pokemon. basically it's kinda like silvally

and so they're all in the direct center of ebril which represents normal type and thus the only thing wrong with it is the toxic atmosphere, however Pine theorizes that the baby has the ability to fix areas due to the type changing. she comes up with two hypotheses: either bringing the baby into say the water area will turn it into a water type and it will be able to fix the place with the typing, or if you enter the water area while the baby is a type that is strong against water like grass or electric that can help overpower it and thus reverse the damage of the area. they don't have a fighting type with them so they can't test this theory about weaknesses right in the area they're in so they can only test the first theory, and of course it doesn't work out. and so the first part of the journey starts

each member of the expedition is given a role. Pine remains at base camp and does research there, the twin ventures out to observe the pokemon and how they've changed since the apocalypse, the rival does something or other idk i havent thought abt that, and the player takes the baby to try to heal each area. the first area visited is of course the area that is weak to their starter, so grass if it was fire, fire if it was water, and water if it was grass. these three areas surround the center of course so it works out. and just like Pine hypothesized, when the baby is the strong type in this area the surrounding radius of it and thus the player is completely safe.

in the journey the player discovers healing spots that work as a pokemon center, these spots are named an oasis. the player also encounters some of the wild pokemon which have grown feral and dangerous over time, so they're unable to catch them at the moment. some point in their journey they discover some other spot similar to an oasis, however it emits a strong energy similar to what the baby emits but on a higher scale, and when the baby is placed in the spot the whole area returns to the way it used to be. and so that becomes the goal: to travel to each area with the baby and fix them with this power spot. also every time the baby sits in a power spot it gains the ability to change to the typing of the area at will. also i should mention the baby is carried around in one of those baby backpacks bc i think that would be adorable.

the world is more or less completely open, the player can travel to any area as long as long as they're wearing a hazmat suit, but the area can only be fixed if the baby has been in an area that is strong to another area and so on.

and yeah thats abt what ive got, i havent thought too hard abt stuff like an evil team or whatever but maybe i will one day who knows. thanks for asking and if u read all the way to the end thank u!

[lemondropsssss]

The first week back in Oxenfurt is mainly paperwork. Contract agreements with the University, submitting course-plans for review, submitting and re-submitting lesson plans, and rather unfortunately, a letter home. Claiming the title of Viscount at the gates has repercussions and likely word has already been sent to Lettenhove of his arrival. So he sends the least offensive missive he can to his father and hopes he doesn’t wake up one day to the wrong end of a sword and his father’s intense glare.

The letter he receives back isn’t what he’s expecting. 

Julian, 

I am glad to hear you’re well. I admit to worrying on occasion that you’d died along the road somewhere and I would never know. Mother and Father died of the sweating sickness five years ago now. She asked for you at the end, but we couldn’t find you to bring you home. I snuck in a bard to sing your songs, so she could hear of your adventures. She liked the one about the selkie the best.

Adina and Jessa are grown, and have both married. Their husbands are good men, I made sure of it. Adina is expecting her second child. They were both so young when you left, and Father didn’t allow us to speak of you. But when the twins cried out at night I would sneak into their nursery and tell them your stories so they’d know some part of you. 

The Viscountcy is yours to claim, though I predict some challenges in governing from Oxenfurt. I have been overseeing Lettenhove since Father’s passing, and admit that I enjoy the work. It’s nice to feel needed. And to give our people a proper liege lord, one who won’t just ignore their claims as Father did while increasing taxes to supplement his and Mother’s lifestyle. Our people are healing, and they need their lord at home with them. 

I have an arrangement that I suspect will suit both our needs. Claim the title of Viscount, and give your written word that I am your proxy here in Lettenhove. You may continue to teach, while I run the estate. You will have use of the Oxenfurt townhouse, and will receive a monthly stipend. Please consider this offer. I care deeply for our home and the people of Lettenhove, as I know you do. Please see that this is best for everyone.

I love you, Julek. 

Your sister, 

Marta

Jaskier reads the letter five times in total. His father is dead. And that’s- well he can’t say he exactly mourns for him. But his mother asked for him, and that knowledge breaks his heart. Where was he five years ago? Could he have seen her again? Held her hand as the light left her eyes? And the twins. Closing his eyes he can see them as toddlers. They were barely walking when he left, and now they’re married with children of their own. He remembers holding them both in his arms, fourteen-years-old, and feeling such love. The way they’d looked asleep in their cribs when he said goodbye. The way their baby soft hair had felt under his fingers. He can almost hear their laughter, and tears slip past his closed eyes. 

Marta. His dear Marta. Who he’d sneak sweets to under the dinner table. Who never hurt any creature, no matter how small or scaly or slimy. Marta with her big brown eyes and soft smile. Who would climb into his bed at night when she was afraid and he’d tell her stories until the monsters went away and she fell asleep in his arms. And oh, knowing that she’d done the same for the twins breaks his heart all over again. 

Jaskier sinks to the floor slowly, barely aware of his movements, letter clutched to his chest. And he cries. 

He cries for his mother, and the last breath of air she took. He cries for his little sisters, who had only stories to know him by. He cries for the birthdays he missed, and the skinned knees he couldn’t kiss better, and the way they must have looked on their wedding days. He cries for the nieces or nephews he doesn’t know, and for the one on the way. He cries for his father, and the things he never got to say to him. He cries for Marta, and the loneliness she must feel in that big old castle by herself. He cries for leaving her alone to watch their parents die. He cries for every moment he missed of his sisters' lives. Every moment he couldn’t protect them. Every moment he wasn’t there. 

And this isn’t like losing Geralt, but the pain hits him in the same spot. It drives like glass into his skin, into his center, until all he is is shattered. He is pieces of lives missed and letters unsent and things undone. 

He cries for the family he abandoned, and the man who abandoned him. 

.

The townhouse hasn’t seen much use since he was younger and his parents would take them to the city for summers. Jaskier doesn’t mind. The first thing he does is send most of the paintings and sculptures to Marta; they’re too ostentatious for him, and she can do what she likes with the remnants of their parent’s luxe style choices. He has a crew from the Giving Door come to the house and collect any furniture they want to go to their second-hand shop. Good riddance to it all.

He furnishes the house in more earthy and jewel tones. Plush sofas, soft beds, and the biggest tub he can reasonably fit in the bathroom. Jaskier makes the house everything it wasn’t before; soft, warm, inviting, happy. 

Jaskier hires a housekeeper named Beatrice who calls him hun and won’t answer to anything other than Auntie or Bea. Bea moves into the servant’s level with a very old, very small white dog Arthur who takes up residence on a pillow in the front window and hardly moves. He is absolutely smitten with them both.

When he comes back late from the University, Bea has a warm dinner waiting for him. If she’s gone to bed, she leaves out tea and a covered plate of meat cheese and bread for him. It’s being taken care of in a way Jaskier isn’t entirely used to, but not opposed to. 

In fact, he finds he quite likes the calm of routine. His students are eager to learn, and after the first two months hardly ask him about the White Wolf anymore. Jaskier’s grateful. It isn’t easy to explain to a room full of young people who admire you that the man you immortalized in song wished you gone for two decades before you noticed. Not that it’s easy to explain to anyone, really. 

And that’s how it goes for eighteen months. Jaskier teaches, he comes home, he sleeps, and he does it again. It’s nice to reconnect with his University peers, and Oxenfurt is a revolving door of old faces. Some though, are more well received than others. 

Jaskier is teaching when it happens. It’s his high poetry class, only five students. A knock at the door, and the pinched face of a University messenger pokes around the door.

“Professor Julian?” All the class is looking between them. “There was someone at the gate for you.” His stomach drops. “He wouldn’t wait, insisted I bring them to you.” Jaskier’s mouth is suddenly very dry. It takes two attempts to get his mouth moving. 

“Right, yes, thank you. Uh,” He looks back at his expectant class, “Right, you all... do something with a poem, class dismissed.” 

Jaskier knows exactly what’s waiting for him. Only one person would be so insistent to see him they’d terrify a messenger so.

Said messenger is very relieved when Jaskier appears on the other side of the door. He offers him a quick bow and bolts back down the corridor, leaving Jaskier alone with his guests.

.

@caspertheassholeghost @innocentcinnamonpun @queenofmymanyfandoms 

y’all asked to be tagged in part 2 so here ya go 

part 1 can be found here and here

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

i have a request for you! reader is a royal who doesn’t care for their title and therefore doesn’t enlighten the Company of their status. however, when they run into royal guards of reader’s kingdom who refer to them with their title, the Company is flabbergasted; especially Fíli, who has fallen head over heels for our main character. (I love your writing btw! never stop!)

Being royalty can be a real nuisance sometimes. 

Between fake friends, special treatment, ransom, and the looming knowledge that, someday, you will be forced to marry someone whom you do not love for people who don't care about you, there's no way you can be truly happy. 

Over the years you learned a great deal of different things, like how to bluff, how to break out of bindings, how to fight, and, ultimately, how to lie about who you are. 

It's really easy after all. 

The thing is, though, you've only learned these skills for the off chance that something happens to you. You're not allowed outside the castle without an escort, and all the battle training you've done has been under the watchful eye of your tutor and nanny. 

Of course, you learned how to become an excellent fighter away from their prying eyes, but it's still suffocating. 

And this is why you decided to run away! 

I know what you may be thinking; what kind of spoiled brat gives away such a cushy life for one of danger and uncertainty? 

Well, you of course!! 

You're tired of being kept in a cage; of being called, "Highness" and treated like nothing more than an accessory to the king; of having no purpose other than being a pawn to your father who will ship you off the moment a suitor comes along. You want to be who you are. A chance to grow and experience the world. A chance to fall in love on your own instead of forcing yourself to love someone you could not care less for. 

Also, your father, ultimately, did find you someone to marry, and when you asked who it was you learned that not only do you not know them, but they're also 30 years older than you.

All of these things are reasons you left. 

As soon as you escaped the palace there was panic, guards sent out everywhere to find you and bring you back, hand drawn posters put out on every street lamp and post, it was a whole fiasco. 

For a time there you were almost tempted to go back just so they would stop tormenting people over you, but when a greying old man came to you and stated that he knew who you are and that he wanted to give you the chance to go on an adventure, all thoughts of returning home flew out the window. 

You met a group of 13 dwarves and one small man that they call a hobbit. 

The wizard never told them who you are, so you didn't see much of a reason to enlighten them on your status either. 

It feels nice being treated so normally, something you aren't use to in the slightest, but it feels even nicer to make actual friends. 

Of course, there are some times where you act a bit off or bratty since you did grow up in a castle with people on your beck and call 24/7, but if they notice it nobody says anything about it. 

Thorin, Fili, and Kili, who also just so happen to be royalty themselves, were surprised by how normally you treated them. You spoke to them as if their titles meant nothing to you, joked and complimented them on various things where most would be horrified to do so, and it successfully won their favor. 

They don't know it's because you know what it's like to be in their shoes, to be treated specially and oddly just because you were born into a royal family, and you know to some extent that they have a desire to be treated as normal just like you. 

Of the three, Fili seemed to take to you the most. 

He likes the way you act so normally around him, how you actually care what happens to him and your loyalty to the company. 

At some point he actually begins to care for you a great deal more than he probably should, and once he comes to this realization, it's over for him. 

He began to do things for you that he hadn't before; like sleeping next to you, offering to accompany you when it's your turn to scout or get firewood, bringing you food in the mornings and at night, and even lending you one of his beloved knifes when the handle of yours broke after a conflict. 

When he started treating you differently, you feared at first that he found out who you are, but you soon realized that he just cares about you a lot- like a good friend should. 

Ever oblivious you are. 

You weren't exactly hiding it from them, the fact that you're basically next in line for the throne, but you didn't necessarily want them to find out either. 

It's actually right around the time when you began to think your kingdom gave up their search for you that things took a turn for the 'worse'. 

You were all staying in a town for the night, renting out some rooms at a lodging. You and Bilbo get to have your own room since you're not dwarves for one, but the next morning as you all set out to leave and are all well-rested, something happens. 

You're walking with Fili down the stairs of the place you all stayed, joking and laughing with each other while you follow the rest outside of the building when the dwarves in front of you both suddenly stop walking altogether. 

A soft 'oof' leaves you when you bump into Bifir since he abruptly ceased all movement, and when you look ahead to see what the fuss is about, your heart stops. 

"Halt!" Yells one of the 10 guards standing in a semi-circle around all of you. 

They wear both the colors and the emblem of your kingdom, so clearly they are here for you, but how the hell did they find you. 

Unconsciously you shrink back and half hide behind the door, glad to see that they haven't seen you yet. 

"What's the meaning of this?" Thorin asks angrily, reaching for his sword as he glares up at the armed men standing over them. 

"We have received word that the missing Y/N L/N has been spotted in this area traveling with a group of strange peoples." The guard states with a blank face, looking down at Thorin suspiciously. 

Uh oh, you're screwed. 

Fili looks up at you sharply, and duck behind the pillar quickly and crouch down, making yourself as small as possible. 

He's gonna sell you out and you're gonna be brought back to that horrible palace, chained up in your room for the rest of your life. 

"I have no recollection of coming across anyone of that name. Are they some sort of criminal?" 

Your eyes go wide when Thorin pretends not to know you, and you feel your heart fill with joy and appreciation. 

"Criminal? No. Try missing heir to the L/N dominion." The guard replies, seemingly less suspicious despite Thorin not really giving him any reason to believe him. "The Royal Highness has been missing for months, and the king and their intended are growing weary." 

"Was this Y/N kidnapped?" You hear Thorin inquire further, feeling sick to your stomach that all of your secrets are being aired out like this while you can't so much as get in a peep.

"Nobody knows for certain, though there has been a lot of speculation for both sides."

"It sounds like you've got a lot on your plate, kind sir. I hope your search goes well." Thorin states politely. 

The guard nods his head and states nicely, "Thank you."

"May I ask what you plan to do when you find them?" The dwarf presses a bit further, though he keeps his face neutral. 

There's a moment of silence, though your can't see exactly what's going on, when the guard replies with what you already know, "Take them to the palace where they can be wed to the Lord of our neighboring kingdom. 

"Fitting. If we hear anything we will send for you right away." 

"Then we will take our leave." The guard states, nodding at Thorin gratefully before marching off with the others who follow behind him. 

You stay in that same place crouched to the ground and huddled against the side of the pillar for a little while, and it's not until you feel a hand on your shoulder that you look up and see multiple confused faces peering down at you. 

You offer an awkward smile and say, "Well, that was crazy wasn't it?" 

"You're royalty?" Thorin asks, looking down at you with confused and curious eyes. 

"You're betrothed?" Fili breathes, his eyebrows furrowed. 

You nod your head slowly, pushing yourself to your feet before slowly mumbling, "Yes, and technically yes." 

A moment of silence passes by where everyone just stares in awe before Thorin says hesitantly, "If those guards find you, they will take you back by force?" 

This time you only nod, glancing off to the side nervously. 

"We're already behind schedule... we will discuss this later tonight." Thorin tells you decisively, reaching up to pat your arm lightly before turning and leaving the building. 

You stare after him in surprise, and it isn't until Fili mumbles your name that you snap out of it and go to follow. 

---

For the majority of the day you ride by yourself, for everyone seems to be acting more oddly around you.

It's not like anything has changed, they just know a little more about you, but still they act like everything is different now. 

The better part of your ride is spent in silence, and it's not until Fili's pony falls into step with your horse that your isolation ends. 

"You never told us." He begins, looking up at you curiously. 

"No, I didn't." You confirm, sighing quietly. 

"Why?" 

That's a bit harder to answer, but you try anyways, "Because...I didn't know if your uncle would let me come if he knew and I didn't want to be treated differently either. All my life I've had to abide by a certain set of rules and mannerisms, I've had to be taught how to spot fakes and to survive incase someone were to kidnap me for real... for once, just once, I wanted to live my life without somebody treating me specially because of who runs through my veins." 

He of all people should understand this, but your heart aches at the thought that he may just find you to be a selfish brat. 

"Why... did you leave?" He asks instead of acknowledging your answer. 

"I know there are many who have it worse than I, truly I can't even call it bad, but when I learned that I would be married off to somebody I've never met that is 30 my senior... I couldn't take it anymore. The fate tied to me is one that I would seldom wish on anyone, and so I left. I don't give a damn for that place, for they don't give one for me." 

A silence passes by that makes you uncomfortable, but you don't look down to see if he's watching you. You don't want to see the face he's making, no doubt one of disbelief or anger over how petulant and selfish you are. 

"I suppose I would've left to." 

You look down at him sharply at that, your eyes a bit wide since that is not what you were expecting in the slightest. 

"I understand. And when I say that I mean I actually understand. Truly." He looks up at you and offers a small smile, "People have expectations of you, and when you express that you never asked for all this responsibility you're seen as nothing more than a bratty child who doesn't understand what they have. When they find out who you are they will go to any lengths to be in your good favor. You never know who likes you for you or for your title. 

Slowly you nod your head. 

Really, what did you expect? Of course he would get it, he's living through it just as you are! Only he isn't running away from anything at the moment. 

"Yes, it's exactly like that." You hum, offering the dwarf a smile, "I don't know why I thought you wouldn't understand. You're probably one of the only ones who does." 

'Well, my uncle and Kili too, but yes..." He trails off, then adds, "So, you're an heir." 

This makes you scoff, but your face remains pleasant. "Unfortunately." 

"Do you... plan on going back?" He sounds more. nervous now, and you make note of that. 

"Not really, unless my intended is breathtakingly beautiful." You reply with a smirk, glancing down at the blond dwarf again. 

He clears his throat and asks just as anxiously, "Really...?" 

"Of course not! I want to be free to love whoever I want." You tell him, shaking your head while you speak, "I want to be with someone who I am both attracted to and happy with." 

Fili doesn't respond to that right away, but when he does speak his voice still remains hesitant, "What do you consider... attractive? Who would make you happy?" 

"Like qualities?" Before you do what your mind is telling you to, you need a bit of confirmation on his meaning. 

He only nods. 

"Hm... well, if I'm to start with what qualities make me happy, I would say kindness is very important. They would also have to be strong and fierce, loyal beyond belief, a warrior is always nice, a family man, and, certainly, they must be in love with me too." You begin, nodding along with yourself while a smile falls upon your lips. 

"And... my other question?" 

"Oh, right! I've always been rather fond of blonds, you should know. Thick hair, blue eyes, a brilliant smile- oh! They must have dimples. That's nonnegotiable..." You trail off and glance down at him, seeing that he's looking at you with wide, surprised eyes, "I've also a thing for shorter men, I don't know why for the life of me. Strength isn't a physical trait but I find that attractive, too." 

He's looking up at you with an awed expression on his face, and it successfully makes you smile. 

"And... there's one more thing." 

He gulps and asks shakily, "W-What's that?" 

"Mustache braids. They've got to be the most attractive thing a man can have! I'm most certain its a sign of an excellent kisser." Obviously it's cheesy, but you don't much care since you get to see his adorably red face. 

"I-It sounds like you already have someone in mind." He stutters, reaching up to rub the back of his braided head. 

"Yes, tell Bilbo I'll be looking for him once he grows out his hair will you-" You joke, watching as his eyes widen for a second before he smiles brightly and starts to laugh. 

"Oh! I'll be sure to tell him!" He exclaims, chuckling some more with the biggest and happiest smile on his face. 

"Also tell him that I'd care for him whether he holds the crown in his future or not. Those things don't really matter to me." 

"I can do that." 

You look ahead, the biggest smile ever on your face as well, "One more thing." 

"Yes?" 

"Tell him that I hope he doesn't look at me differently now that he knows who I really am." 

Fili doesn't reply right away to that, but when he does his voice is soft, "I know that he won't, because he loves you dearly and wouldn't care for your status whether you're a monarch to be or a struggling person scrambling to get by." 

"Wow, he sure has a way with words." You muse, reaching down to pat the top of his head while your other hand clutches the reins of your horse a bit tighter. 

"There's more where that came from." 

[a-libra-writes]

Unexpected - Tywin x Reader

Hey yall! Im really sick with a cold, so I haven’t been able to get to the Imagines +Alphabets Instead I’ll post this requested fic, and I’ve got two more fics in the queue for the next few days while I recover.

This wasn’t exactly as requested, but I really enjoyed writing it! 

Incoming: Fighter!Reader and Tywin having their meet cute and bond over being sick of other people’s shit. 

Every inch of her body protested as she untied the dirty shirt and slipped it down to her arms. A squire had helped her out of her armor and padded gambeson, and she put on a strong face for that, but upon reaching the maester’s tent she nearly collapsed.

There were voices and scattered chaos outside, but she held her dizzying head and tried to focus on the maester’s instructions. Her strong facade finally fell when he gently pressed his fingers to the ugly black and purple bruises forming on her chest. 

“Not broken,” The haggard man said. He looked as worn as the men she saw leaving his tent. 

She hissed and cursed, but had no energy left to flinch away. Thank the gods, she assumed the worst when that blow knocked out all the wind she had in her lungs and toppled her backwards. Damned Northmen. She threw herself to her feet soon enough, but the pain wrenched a scream from her everytime she cut through a foe.

The maester began cleaning a more pressing wound on her arm. It wasn’t her dominant hand, another stroke of luck. 

The gods give and take, she thought bitterly. The cut on her arm did not trouble her near as much, nor did the slice on her leg. She carelessly tore her breeches for the maester so he could wrap it. Her modesty wasn’t even crossing her mind.

Instead, she asked the maester, “Have you tended to my lord father, or seen him? He is of House Lydden, our standard has the badger.”

The maester’s weary eyes only looked up from his work for a moment. “I have not, my lady. House Lydden is not amongst my patients.”

The bitterness and anxiety began to creep up her stomach, touching at her throat, becoming an uncomfortable bile. Of course not. She was the one who broke formation, who left her father and their knights. 

I thought the old man could handle himself. I would only be gone a few minutes, then I’d return to him -- stupid, reckless girl --

She could still see the way her father’s arm snapped backwards, as if he were in front of her again. She still heard his scream echoing through his helmet, and the way his strong body crumpled back. She was able to lunge forward, fight off his attacker, but the real fight was leaving his side. She couldn’t stay and help him, cry over him, hold him. She had to keep moving, it’s what he always told her. 

He would teach her the sword, her lord father said, but she had to learn to be hard. Soft hands and soft hearts made for softer blows.

The maester must have noticed her stormy thoughts. The fatigue on his face lessened as he gave her a soft smile. “Your lord father is a known knight, and fine warrior, my lady. Doubtless you will find him when the camp gathers.”

She nodded, but the dark thoughts continued. Even if I do, what condition will he be in? That was his sword arm. He may never hold one again.

She should have been there to watch his back, and their men. She should have, but … 

Kevin Lannister led their host, nearly 10,000 men strong and composed of other houses, not just her own. When the chaos of battle reached its height, the neat formations began to break, and she noticed her commander was surrounded. Even if she had lost her own horse, she threw herself into the defense, allowing him to ride to safety. 

She did the right thing, she knew, but the anxiety still twisted at her. She asked the maester, “May I leave now?”

“You would do well to rest here, my lady. You should not be walking with that wound.”

“I can make it to my own tent and rest there,” She said stubbornly, even though she wasn’t sure where her house had set up their war tents. The maester was ready to protest, but a commotion outside pulled away both of their attentions.

There was the noise of horses and clinking armor outside the tent, not the sound of wounded men groaning as they were carried in. A squire opened the tent flap, and a tall, armored man entered. 

The maester instantly bowed his head. She followed his gesture after a brief moment of shock. “My lord.”

When she looked up, the squire was taking his helmet. She found his eyes in an instant, a striking green that only looked bolder against his fine gold armor and the splash of blood that dried on his cheek.

“I understand it was you, Lady Y/N of House Lydden, who came to my brother’s defense.”

“Yes, my lord,” She said. She’d heard him speak before, but that was to crowds of people, swaths of armored men. In such a small tent, in close proximity, she could hear just how deep and commanding his voice was. She was determined to keep her own steady.

“300 armored men, yet a stray soldier was the one jumping to the task. He wanted to know your name.”

Her mind scrambled for a response. “You spoke it true, my lord, and you have honored me with a visit. Might I ask why?”

While the unwounded and surviving soldiers outside the tent were already beginning to celebrate victory, their liege lord’s manner was steady. Take the fanciful armor away, and you would never guess he was returning from battle, save for an unmistakable glow in his eyes. She was sure that wasn’t just the candle light.

“Your father has relinquished his command to you. He was one of my strategists, so in his place, you will join the war council tonight.” 

A wave of emotion washed over her, slowly ebbing away the pain but bringing in a new motley of feelings. Regardless, she nodded. “I understand. I will serve well, my lord, as he did.”

Lord Tywin’s eyes glanced up her body. He turned to his squire. “Find her proper clothes before the evening sets in.” 

The young squire hastily opened the tent flap for him and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

When they departed and the tent clothes, she felt her body sag on instinct. All the warmth seemed to have left the room, replacing it with a comforting chill. She released a breath and instantly regretted it, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

Then she winced again as she flinched. Gods be good, nearly her whole upper body was exposed in front of her lord paramount. She hastily tied her shirt back. The damage was done, but at least she could keep herself covered in front of the camp.

“It seems you cannot stay here even if I wish it,” The maester said. She had almost forgotten he was in the room. 

“I’ll return if my wounds take a turn for the worst, I promise. Thank you for your help.” Her promise felt silly as she uneasily stood on her bad leg. The pain began to dissipate as she walked, not because it felt any better, but because her mind was spinning, replaying the conversation. 

It had been a short talk, but she kept going over what he said, the way he stood, the way he looked at her -- well, she was just imagining that last part. She hastily pushed aside her exposure and focused on finding her house’s tents.

As was commanded, a set of fine clothes were brought to her tent, in addition to her set of newly cleaned armor. She raised her eyebrow at the dress - presumably, what she was expected to wear. She sighed and put it on. On one hand, it was irksome that she couldn’t wear a doublet and breeches, on the other, she was grateful to not have to don the armor. Her body was still aching from the morning battle, and a skirt was easier on her wounded leg.

The wartent was just as impressive as it was the last time she saw it. The canvas was a bold crimson that was lit up from the inside, making it glow in the night, with embroidered gold lions on the side. Tywin’s squire recognized her and allowed her inside with a courteous “good evening, Lady Lydden”.

As expected, several of the lords gathered at the table stared pointedly at her. Some recognized her, most didn’t, and it was Kevan Lannister crossing the room that quieted any protest. He offered his hand. “I owe you a great deal of thanks, Lady Lydden.”

“I was merely doing my duty, Ser Kevan.” The gratitude was unexpected, but welcome. Kevan led her to an empty seat, only two seats down from Lord Tywin, she realized. Was this truly her father’s seat? She ignored the other lord’s gazes, but she could feel how confused and indignant they were.

Lord Tywin began the discussion. Even after a heated battle, a victory, he would not rest. The young wolf had surprised him. She listened to the talks and strategies the men threw out, interjecting when she felt the need to provide her own knowledge. Some lords ignored her, others gave her pointed retorts. It seems only Ser Kevan was responding to her favorably, and she had yet to have a chance to respond to Lord Tywin, until now.

“We will need a smaller host to stay in the center, and go where is needed,” Ser Kevan said, pointing to a map and moving several figures. Banners of various houses were attached to small stone-carved knights, representing their forces.

“They will need to be swift riders, with a keen awareness. Whichever side begins to crack under pressure, they’ll be there to relieve it.” Lord Tywin said. He looked around the table, expectantly.

She met those green eyes as she leaned forward. Close as she was, it was as though she were speaking directly to him, not addressing an entire war council. “My lord, I have some of the finest riders at my command. I can lead two or three hundred of them -- the rest will replenish whichever hosts have lost the most men.”

There was a loud scoff behind her. She turned sharply, recognizing the source at once. Of course, Ser Amory Lorch. “It is so … refreshing to see enthusiasm in a … lady such as yourself, but such an important task should be left to one with experience.”

Lord Leo Lefford leaned back in his seat and adopted a tone that was better suited to addressing a child. “I agree. I was at the center of today’s battle, my lady. Surely you understand our soldiers will not be eager to obey your commands, no matter what they may be.”

“They will listen,” She retorted hotly, the pain in her wounds and worry for her father creating a bite in her voice. “My orders would be coming from our liege, Lord Tywin. To disobey me is to disobey him... Surely they understand that?”

The men around the table did not immediately respond, falling into an uncomfortable silence that made some of them shift in their seats. Ser Amory obviously wanted to argue, but now it was a matter of what their commander would say.

Her father taught her to meet men’s gazes, to not demure and look away. Her mother taught her to straighten her posture and keep herself tall, never shrink and simper, even if they tried to make her feel small. Their lessons helped her become who she was, and she looked upon Tywin Lannister’s green eyes again. 

Just like at the maester’s tent, the room felt smaller and warmer than it had moments ago. It was foolish to say time crawled, because it didn’t. She just breathed a little slower.

“Lady Y/N’s host will lead in the center. They’ll be supplied with the best mounts, after the vanguard has had their pick.” Lord Tywin said, and gestured to his brother. Ser Kevan placed a figurine with House Lydden’s banner, and just like that, any room for argument was over.

It would be unseemly to smirk and gloat, so she’d do it in the privacy of her tent, or perhaps when the next battle was over. For the next hour, her contributions were received with noticeably less ice, save for Ser Amory. She became engrossed in the meeting, not noticing how the man sitting just two seats away was taking note of the certainty in her voice and the strength of her conviction.

Some ladies flourished in court, some in marriage, some in solitude. It was obvious where this one’s talents lied.

She hadn’t even noticed how the hours passed, especially once wine was poured. The council was dismissed and Y/N tried to subtly finish off her cup. She didn’t get fine vintages like this often, and her aching ribs thanked her for the alcohol.

She set it down once she realized she was being watched. “Pardon, my lord. I don’t often have the luxury.”

“I imagine you’ll need it to sleep.” Tywin said. His goblet was still half-full, and she wondered if it was still his first cup. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Most men would’ve yielded from that wound.”

She touched her chest, feeling pain from just the brush of her fingers. “My ribs are not broken, my lord, and besides, I’ve never yielded to any man.”

“Is that so? I believe it.”

Why was there amusement in his voice - was she imagining it, and the way his eyes looked lighter? Why couldn’t she stop looking at them? Desperate to look at anything else, she realized the other lords had shuffled out of the tent, even Ser Kevan. The only one left was a servant clearing the table.

She stood from the war table and slid her chair in. It would hurt less to curtsy, but she wouldn’t do such a thing. Perhaps if she were leaving her lord paramount at a feast or gala, but this was her commander. She bowed her head and kept her posture rigid, ignoring the pain that shot up her spine. “I’ll speak with you at the next council, my lord.”

“That you will, and louder than tonight. The likes of Ser Amory and Lord Kenning are hard of hearing, and not half as clever as they think. They need a reminder of what I expect in this army.”

His flippant tone brought a slight smile to her face. “I’ll gladly speak loudly and slowly for them. Rest well, my lord.”

[magnolia-penn]

Future Vision Chapter 2

DIO? God?

Oop- sorry this took so long. It took me forever to write and I had no motivation to type it all from my notebook.

Also, brownie points to whoever finds the Avatar: The Last Airbender reference.

Warnings: Swearing (so much swearing), Spoilers (sorta), mention of death (no one important) lemme know if I missed anything

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"31 years!" Polnareff shouted in disbelief.

"Apparently." You shrugged, already over it.

The men were flabbergasted about your current predicament. Stands were a fairly new concept and to think that there was a Stand strong enough to pull you from the future, breaking all sorts of time and space laws? You'd have to be crazy!

Yet… There you were, completely adapted to the strange situation. You were thrown almost double the amount of years you existed and all it took was a quick scream session behind a sand dune for you to calm down? 

"You seem so startled. Stands have crazy abilities. My friend, Magnolia, works alongside a mafia boss with the ability to create infinite life and make it so you can never truly reach death!" You pumped your fist in the air in excitement. "Time travel doesn't seem that far out. My Stand isn't too terribly special, especially compared to some of the other Stands I've seen, but it's pretty cool."

The group's confusion settled deeper as you went on a tangent about future Stands that your friend has described from her time working at the Speedwagon Foundation. You used words that didn't make sense, phrases they didn't understand, but your growing excitement caused them to nod along with you.

"OH! And Stands can be upgraded! Although we do-" You cut yourself off suddenly, eyes zoned out.

You didn't say anything, just stared into the endless expanse of sand and heat. It was Kakyoin who spoke up first.

"Y/n? Are you alright?"

You snapped out of your trance with a start. "I FORGOT TO FEED MY FISH SHIT SEND ME BACK!"

Your sudden outburst sent Polnareff jumping back into Mr. Joestar, your attention dragged to him as his face dropped from confusion to somber defeat.

You picked up on the nervous weight shifts and glances away. You tried to look back at the man who brought you here, only for Mr. Joestar to clear his throat, bringing the attention back to him. He fumbled with his words a bit, trying to justify the shift in attention, but he ultimately failed.

"Oh ho no, I see what's going on," You said after Mr. Joestar gave up on trying to explain. "This fuck-" a pointed finger towards the corpse behind you, "was my only ticket back to the future?"

"Well no. Technic-" You cut the older man off.

"'Uh well no'," you mocked. "Lemme guess, he would've been the easiest way?"

"Now, Miss Y/n, there is no need to be so aggressive. I'm sure we can figure everything out. Our enemy, DIO, has a lackey-" 

You cut Avdol off as well.

"DIO? God? In Italian? What kind of narcissist names their kid 'God' in Italian?"

You gave a snort before falling into a fit of mocking laughter. Your humor was short lived, though, as Jotaro finally spoke up. Or shouted I guess.

"Can you shut up? Good grief, all you do is yap! God, all you women are the same."

You stopped your laughter to stare at the teen clad in black, sizing him up. It was a tense couple of minutes, an unstoppable force and an unmovable object locked in a stubborn standoff.

After a bit, you let out a chuckle and let your head fall back to face the sky.  You watched the clouds for a second before sighing.

"You know, Joots," You catch him visibly tense from the nickname. "I see why you become a marine biologist in the future. The ocean is powerful and terrifying. It's been like that from the beginning. My friend often describes me like the ocean, although, unlike the tides, who have decided to kill you millions of years ago," You bring your hand up near your face before clenching it into a fist, shimmering from the effects of your Stand. "I still haven't made up my mind."

Jotaro's face turns sour in fear for a split second before returning to the default steely glare. You watched in amusement as his Stand began to manifest, but the hesitation you saw in the purple being's eyes told you all you needed to know.

Jotaro was, at the very least, cautious of you.

But also curious.

You managed to make full contact with Hierophant Green, something no one can do unless a Stand is initiating the contact. Kakyoin also couldn't see you, so how could it've climbed up you? Stand don't act on their own violations.

You also mentioned the future Jotaro. He becomes a marine biologist? And one famous enough to be known by teenagers? Jotaro can't even name a famous marine biologist.

He figured killing you know would be disastrous, there was still much to learn from you. Maybe you held knowledge that once came with hindsight.

"Nice to see we're in agreement." Jotaro gruffed out, allowing Star Platinum to fully dissipate.

A small smile graced your features as you extended the same hand you threatened him with.

"Well then, a truce. Until we decide to kill each other." 

Jotaro nodded and took your hand, allowing a handshake to secure your mortalities.

For now.

"MON DIEU! I THOUGHT SHE WAS DEAD!" Polnareff wailed suddenly, startling the group.

Tension rolled off all of you as Avdol let out a sigh of relief. "I am quite surprised you are alive as well. Not many people can insult Jotaro and walk away intact, Y/n."

You chuckled and waved off the man's concern. "I may only have six brain cells, but I'm not stupid. He wouldn't do shit. Not without knowing what I can do."

"Is that so?" Jotaro let a small smirk slip out. It's hard not to grin when you were acting stupid.

You nodded and hummed in agreement. "I like to think I'm good at reading people."

Jotaro only scoffed and rolled his eyes, although there was an inset glimmer of amusement deep with those cerulean orbs.

"So what exactly does your Stand do?" Mr. Joestar asked the elephant in the room.

"Hmm? Oh, my Stand. Okay, so, here's the thing. My Stand is actually really weak." You confessed.

"My Stand, Chemical Romance, is only really good for getting info from people. I'm often called in to the Speedwagon Foundation to help with interrogations. My Stand allows me to talk to and understand other Stands. All those unintelligible noises your Stand makes are actually your soul trying to communicate, and Chem translates them for me. Even silent Stands or Stands with no humanoid form." You glanced at Mr. Joestar. "I can also touch and interact with them, like I did for Hierophant Green. Also, and we think this might just be a radius effect, but Stands become more sentient around me. They think for themselves."

And….. just like that you lost them. It's hard to understand  such complex Stands when all they know is Many Punch, Tasteful Nudes, French Sword, Fire Bird, and Shiny Rock.

"So… You can't actually follow through with your previous threats?" Kakyoin asked cautiously.

"Excuse you! Just who in the hell do you think you are? I am a whole ass person shaped can of whoop ass and no weak ass Stand or Death Parade wannabe looking ass is going to beat me!" You pumped your fist in the air again.

"Whew- That's the sort of can-do attitude our team needs." Mr. Joestar chuckled. "Wait, that wouldn't be a bad idea!"

"Oh ho? Does the great Joseph Joestar have an idea? Careful, Old Man, thinking can hurt ya." You joked.

"No no no no no hear me out. You need to get back to the future, we need to stop DIO from murdering everybody and taking over the world." Mr. Joestar explained. "We both have to get to Cairo for DIO! Join us! You and your Stand are really useful!"

Surprise crossed your face before slipping back to its usual cool façade.

"Nah, I was kind of digging the idea of shriveling up dead in the desert. Although~" you drawled. "I guess, if you're so desperate for my help. It would be immoral for me not to help you, you're so old, even thinking about fighting DIO is going to trigger a heart attack."

You snorted out a laugh and Mr. Joestar did chuckle a bit before you realized something.

"Sooo. Who exactly DIO? Other than some bitch who wants to take over the world." 

As quickly as a light flicking out of existence, the once humorous and airy atmosphere of the group became tense and tragic. The utter rage, disgust, and hatred for this mysterious man was palpable. Even the fun and boisterous Jean-Pierre Polnareff extruded murderous intent.

"DIO is a very bad man." Avdol broke the silence, but found himself unable to say more.

"Thanks for the life lesson, Dad," you spit sarcastically. "No. Who is he and what might he have done to sound so familiar."

"DIO is a monster that was created by greed and a lust for power. He is a vampire who ruthlessly slaughtered those who took him in when he was orphaned at the age of twelve." Mr. Joestar explained grimly. "He rejected his humanity to become something monstrous and immortal, but even now, that wasn't enough for him."

"He's notorious throughout the Speedwagon Foundation, whose founder fought him a hundred years ago. I wouldn't doubt it if his story still circulated in your years, Y/n." Avdol completed.

"All of us are here now because of DIO. Polnareff and I were under his control because of a flesh bud, Advol was almost conned into the same situation, and Jotaro's mother, Joseph's daughter, is under attack by her own Stand because it was forcibly awoken by him." Kakyoin said, then shot you a soft smile. "And I guess you as well."

"Oh yeah! Eli did mention they were looking for a girl who could strengthen DIO's Stand, so I guess he is why you're here!" Polnareff's smile returned to his face at the prospect of making a new friend who was in the same boat as them.

"Y'know, think back on it, I do vaguely remember my friend mentioning your mom, Joots." That damned nickname again. "Stand Sickness is what we call it now. That might be where I know DIO from." You shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "Anywho, now that that's settled, can we get out of the desert? I'm roasting to death."

"Oh! Of course! We have to get to the next town before nightfall anyways. To the car!" Mr. Joestar cheered.

You all piled into the three rowed vehicle. Jotaro and Polnareff sat in the way back, you and Kakyoin sat in the middle, with Mr. Joestar and Avdol occupying the front.

The road to the next town was filled with fill ins. They explained how they came together and how they defeated their foes that found them at every turn. You spoke of how the world has changed and advanced. You showed them your music and all the apps on your phone. You found that you were still connected to your home wifi at full strength, but you couldn't comment or post anything. All true contact to those in the future was cut off, but you could still consume media.

As the dust and corpse was left behind, you could feel the newly forged bonds between you and the men around you strengthen and grow, becoming more entangled and intertwined. And you felt happy about it.