#love can really bloom on the battlefield (the office)

[mythtiide]

todays falkler! more office au cause its cute ehe + some bonus stuff under the cut 🖇️

closeup of their faces cause i really like em

bonus flustered falke doodle

cut adler skirt content; i accidentally used the wrong brush but i really liked how this turned out ( + bonus sketch of the same skirt)

earlier falkler doodle that i kinda scrapped because i just didnt like how falke turned out; however i do like this adler ! so we win some we lose some

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

#𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓.

🎀asked ↺ -getting stabbed by flamebringer- hey can i keep this or can you stop stabbing me so you can destroy me with your dick instead /lh

cw. sub!reader, reader is the doctor, mean!flamebringer, mentions of blood, fwb, flamebringer being a possessive fuck, cumming inside (use condoms irl!!), big cock, rough sex, possessive sex, office sex, overstimulation, size kink, strength kink, dacryphilia & hickies. MINORS DNI!!

art credit. (artist has very nsfw art on their profile so minors beware!!)

Blood always tasted sweeter when it was spilled upon the barren lands of a battlefield. The way it flooded from the red viscera of cut open bodies belonging to sinners long since persecuted for their sins — like a beautiful scarlet bloom — was horribly fascinating. This graphic revelation was one of many spoken to you by that fiery sarkaz operator, his sharp eyes piercing into your sockets as he leaned in far too close for comfort.

Flamebringer was always something of an adrenaline junkie, high off of the thrill that the battlefield intoxicated him with. Crescent-like grin contrasting his gore-smeared face as he slashed through body after body, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake. Even after the battle had finished, the adrenaline continued to pump through him like blood through veins and kept him full of a rather... unconventional form of excitement. He made that very clear each time he cornered you in your office, pupils blown wide as he pressed the entirety of his body weight against you.

It's why you've begun letting him touch you and please you in ways that shouldn't even be happening.

Flamebringer's intensity is something you've grown admittedly accustomed to, even if you should probably be more cautious around the man who could kill you ten times over and more. But dear god, would it kill him to at least try to lessen down the downright murderous vibes he always had? You'd be an idiot to not pick up his burning stares as you casually converse with the operators that he seems less than pleased to see. Particularly, the head of Karlan Trade, Enciodes Silverash. The sarkaz had snorted when you had referred to him by his first name rather than his code name when you'd brought up the Feline in passing conversation. Well, he was one of your more VIP operators, and he had signed a contract with Rhodes Island despite it offering him nothing—

"Got someone else on your mind?" The look in Flamebringer's eyes is borderline venomous as he sneers, pushing his hips forward with a particularly deep thrust that leaves you sobbing harder. He knows how impossibly big he is, knows how his dick overwhelms you far more than your workload ever could, and he loves it. He loves knowing that he could easily render you into a stupid mess by just shoving his dick in. "How cruel, Doctor. Thought we could spend some quality time together, and you're thinking about somebody else."

"Th..that's not—" You're cut off by an intense wave of pleasure that burns through your skin and the familiar sensation of being filled with sticky warmth. His calloused hands grip the back of your knees to the point of cutting off the circulation, flexing and squeezing as he draws out his orgasm for as long as he possibly can. It's always like this; Flamebringer mustering up his strength to snap his hips against yours whenever he'd orgasm, and the force alone makes you cum as well, though much more intense than him. You're sure he does it on purpose just to see you stupefied beneath him, but it feels really good, so you aren't complaining too much.

But even through the blistering haze of yours and his simultaneous orgasm, you can feel the tickle of his black locks and the jagged scratch of his horn against the side of your face. He's slumped over on top of you, sucking in deep breaths as his hands let go of your legs and come to rest at your sides, leaving your legs dangling uselessly at the sides of his hips. But he hasn't stopped thrusting, hips still moving and sliding and his voice murmuring unintelligible hums.

"Mine." It starts out as a hoarse whisper fanning across your bruised skin, but soon his voice intensifies into a snarled chant that nearly burns away the flesh of your ear from its intensity. Each thrust punctuates his words with purpose, as if trying to carve himself into your aching walls so that no other but him could ever satisfy you. "Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine."

"You're all mine." His crazed and searing eyes meet yours, though you're too dazed to even look at him properly — the shape of his body muddled by the tears that have glazed over your eyes, though that seems to excite him more. "None of those bastards are ever going to fuck you like I can. You got that? I'll fuck you until you can get that past that thick skull of yours if I have to."

He doesn't even give you a chance to respond before he seals his lips upon yours, stealing away your breath and any possible refute.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[heronyearwood]

Name: Heron Alicia Yearwood Occupation: Adventurer / Bounty Hunter Age: 42 Sexuality: Sapphic Species: Hunter Order: The Fellowship Hometown: Fernie, BC, Canada Relationship Status: Single Personality: - - Ruthless, Calculating, Zealous, Unforgiving, Vindictive ++ Strong-willed, Resourceful, Fervent, Passionate, Observant

Biography: Born into the Brotherhood Order, Heron was raised as a professional killer from a young age; school was spent at an austere, remote academy, a front for the Brotherhood that served equally as an endeavor in both academics and the sort of training one requires for combating monsters.

Her parents, also Brotherhood Hunters, were never really a factor; her participation and place in the order were foregone conclusions, after all, and so while she enjoyed a lukewarm relationship with her parents, she largely considered her fellow students and Hunter superiors as much family as she'd ever need.

Heron earned her mark at sixteen, and killed her first beast roughly a year later while apprenticing to a prolific Brotherhood Hunter. This mentor taught her much, and saw her go on to a successful career as a hunter of shadowy things, running this hidden specialty behind a business fronting as a Private Detective and Bounty Hunting office.

Part of a radical sect within the Brotherhood, Heron was one of many who did not see any such thing as a ‘safe’ supernatural being, and as such was eventually approached by her old Mentor, who proselytized that The Brotherhood they had both served for their entire lives was showing signs of rotting softness, too quick and willing to trust in hollow promises of various ‘civilized’ entities within the supernatural spectrums.

Not long after, she would join the Fellowship as a founding member under the endorsement of her mentor, and, for the second time in her life, earned a Hunter’s mark, crafted from scratch to commemorate and honor this new pact. Like many so branded, she often struggles with her mark’s potency, but has had twelve years now to hone her control over its idiosyncrasies.

She was dispatched alongside a handful of other Fellowship Hunters to establish a foothold in Port Leiry. As a warning shot, she cooperated with another Fellowship Hunter to launch a coordinated attack on the Siltshore Mausoleum, aimed at both sending a message and gathering intel.

From their secretive foothold within the city, she sports the Fellowship moniker of Carnifex, and is responsible for gathering any information from any guests who might come (or be brought) to visit The Fellowship on their own turf.

Wanted Plots: A Plague on All Your Houses; That part about Heron believing that there’s no such thing as a safe or trustworthy witch, wolf, or vampire? That’s so, true, and she’s very serious about it. While she may appear diplomatic or well-meaning at first, she carries a vicious contempt for those that upset the natural (read: Human) order of things. Her goal is, unequivocally, to remove the forces from Port Leiry.

Can Love Bloom on the Battlefield? Could be interesting for her to fall for the enemy, or, perhaps moreso, to play-act falling for the enemy to lure them into confidence, use them to gain an advantage, and then let the penny drop properly. I’m good for either genuine or duplicitous relationships.

[cheelduh]

The Shackles of Duty

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.

Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3

Word count: 2k

You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.

It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.

"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.

"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."

"Why?"

"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"

"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."

Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.

Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.

You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."

The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.

Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.

Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.

—

"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."

"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.

You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.

"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"

I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.

It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.

"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.

Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.

—

You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.

Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.

You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"

"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."

Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.

"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."

"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."

"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."

If only that were the truth.

You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.

"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.

Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.

"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.

The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.

She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.

You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.

In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.

Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.

That's more like it.

"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.

Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.

She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.

Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart.

The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.

You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.

Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.

It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.

You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.

"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.

Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.

When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.

"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.

You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.

Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.

His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.

You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.

"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.

Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.

"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"

You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.

"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.

Anything but this.

You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."

"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"

There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."

A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.

This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."

"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."

Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.

Even with the storm that is fated to come.

[autumnslance]

((Shadowbringers post-5.3. NSFW for naughty language and a scoundrel scandalizing his girlfriend.))

The ceremony was lengthy, the lists and speeches interminable, and Aeryn struggled to not doze off. She shifted in her seat as the sermon continued.

Thancred dropped his arm from the back of her chair to her shoulder. “Sleepy?” He pitched his voice so only she could hear.

“Mm-hm,” she replied, then whispered, “How’re you staying awake?”

She realized it had been a mistake to ask when a wicked grin curled up his lips. “Well,” he murmured. “I’ve been thinking about all the carnal things we’re going to do when we’re alone later.”

Her eyes widened and the heat bloomed on her cheeks. “Thancred,” she hissed, sitting up straighter.

“What?” he asked, amused. “Woke you up, didn’t it?”

“The worst,” Aeryn muttered fondly while he snickered.

She counted up to two minutes before he leaned close. “Now that I’m thinking about it, though…”

“Thought you already were?”

“Your jacket will have to come off.”

“It tends to when retiring for the night—”

“So I can put my hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place when I bend you over the nearest table.” The hand on her shoulder slid over until his fingertips were brushing the nape of her neck under her hair and collar.

Aeryn sucked in a breath, heat flaring once more...and not just in her face, godsdamn him. “This isn’t appropriate,” she whispered, eyes darting to check if anyone else had heard as she adjusted her seat again to cross her legs.

But the Warrior of Light and her companion were in the Fortemps box, high in the rear of the small auditorium, the other Scions having found reasons for their absence, including Alphinaud; not even their resident diplomat wanted to sit through another Ishgardian ceremony as a favor to their highborn friends. The heads of the elezens in the seats in front of them were barely visible, and heavy drapes separated the other noble boxes, forcing one to lean forward to glimpse other High House attendees—she had waved to the disgruntled-looking Stephanivien de Hailenarte earlier, presence no doubt forced as he always preferred to be in the Manufactory.

They were as alone as they could be in such a public venue.

“No, I suppose not,” Thancred agreed, sounding far too amused and looking completely at ease as he leaned back in his seat. His fingertips continued to tease her neck.

She counted another minute while the priest droned on before Thancred’s fingernails ever so gently pressed into her nape while he whispered, “Nor would it be appropriate to mention how much I wish to push up that skirt to sate my curiosity; full tights, or stockings? If the latter, are you wearing garters?”

“I’m not telling you,” she hissed, highly aware of his hold on her neck. She tried to pay attention to the priest once more, but her pulse was growing louder in her own ears and prevented any comprehension.

“I’m hoping for stockings,” Thancred mused. “Then they can stay on as I run my hand up your thighs until I find the hems of your smalls.”

Aeryn bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to squirm. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction yet.

“I shall run my fingers where fabric meets skin,” he said, speaking in the rumbling purr she enjoyed him using in the bedroom which was not helping. His fingertips still massaged her neck. “Until I hear that delightful little whimper you make when about to beg of me.”

She was certain her face was on fire now.

He leaned close. “Only then, darling, will I test to see just how wet you’ve gotten,” Thancred’s whisper was a thunderous growl in her ear.

Aeryn’s boot hit the floor more heavily than she intended. She tried to look casual as she recrossed her legs and swallowed. She was not telling him how heated she was getting now.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he continued, lips brushing her earlobe. “If I’m going to remove your pantalettes entirely, or pull them just far enough aside to ravish you with my hand.”

She could practically feel his smirk as she gripped the armrests and tried to focus on the priest expounding at the podium. The man’s name escaped her at the moment.

Thancred made a long, thoughtful “hmm” noise; that was utterly unfair. “I suppose it won’t matter when I’m stroking you until you come for the first time for me.”

“We are in a church,” she hissed, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing between her thighs. While Aeryn didn’t believe in the gods anymore, she knew he did—if he had the shame to behave.

“And?” he asked. “Only men have such hangups, not the gods themselves. Especially if one’s studied them and what they get up to, and just why certain places are considered sacred.” The casual brushing of his fingertips over her neck still was not helping. “If I could I’d have you right here, as Thaliak did Azeyma in what became one of their holiest temples.”

“You are making that up,” she said, voice hoarse.

“I’ll show you the texts,” Thancred replied. “Perhaps after having you over the table. I think slowly to start with,” he added idly. “Just to feel you, tight and warm around me, savoring you over and over, building the pace and intensity until you come for me again.”

The auditorium burst into polite applause, startling her and drawing attention to the stage. The small squad of knights being honored for their deeds on the Gyr Abanian battlefields stepped up to receive their awards and promotions.

Aeryn took the opportunity to breathe, clapping as well. “Remind me not to ask how you handle boredom again,” she muttered, attempting to sound grumpy and knowing she was failing.

Thancred chuckled as he joined the polite applause, her neck regretfully free of his touch now. “Kept us awake through that sermon, didn’t it?”

“You’re just hoping I jump you as soon as we return to my room,” she accused in a whisper that didn’t sound as disgruntled as she wished.

“I would definitely count that as a bonus,” he replied. “I have to admit that I wonder what it would take to get you to ‘jump me’ before we reach privacy.”

“Not happening,” Aeryn retorted, attempting to refocus on the stage as the priests and officers went over each knight’s deeds.

“Are you sure?” Thancred asked, that dangerously amused tone returning. “You’re so quiet, it wouldn’t be difficult to find an alcove in a side hallway, perhaps an unused confessional, and press you against the wall, lifting your skirt and legs.” His hand now rested over hers upon the armrest, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her wrist.

She tried to affect a scowl while continuing to watch the stage. Soon enough, Thancred rumbled a thoughtful “Hmm.” She watched him from the corner of her eyes.

“But if the goal is to get you to initiate, then perhaps you’d prefer to pull me into a dark side room or corner and make me lean on a wall while you get on your knees. I would muss that lovely hairstyle you’re wearing, though.”

Aeryn took a deep breath before she could respond. “I can hardly manage that properly in private, you’ll be sorely disappointed if I try in public. Which I won’t,” she hastily added, seeing his grin.

“Practice makes perfect, darling, and you have been improving,” he assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Besides, it would give me cause to reciprocate. That’s what you really enjoy, isn’t it? Me on my knees instead, scribing you poems directly until you’re shaking?”

The imagery was in her mind now, damn him, remembering keenly the last time he had spoken a poem between her legs; his tongue and fingers had left her on the edge of bliss for the better part of an hour before finally tipping her over.

“Of course, then I might actually have to cover your mouth, as you almost make noise when I extol your virtues upon your virtue.”

She eye-rolled at that. In part to cover the little thrill up her spine when he spoke of keeping her quiet. She might have to examine that in more detail later.

“I believe in that case I would bring you close, then wrap your legs ‘round my waist and fuck you against the wall until we’ve both had our pleasure.”

Aeryn bit her lip. His precise deployment of profanity had caused another heated surge low in her belly.

“Then we’ll retire to your room, and then I’ll bend you over the table for more.”

“Think so?” Thank goodness, she managed not to squeak.

“Assuming you’re amenable, of course,” he whispered, giving her hand another squeeze. The ceremony was nearly over.

“I suppose you’ll have to see. When we’re in private.”

He chuckled again, and she did her best to pretend to ignore him in favor of what was happening on stage.

The end of the service and the following hour mingling in the hall removed most of the scandalous conversation from her mind. Aeryn and Thancred wove through the crowd, greeting old friends, smiling and nodding as they were introduced to various people, and otherwise engaged with the upper crust of Ishgardian society until Aeryn’s head spun.

Some baronet was standing far too close and acting far too familiar; she was ready to snap when Thancred stepped in, offering an arm. “Beg pardon, but they expect us at Fortemps Manor,” he said smoothly, smiling at the baronet though his eyes glinted with warning.

Aeryn tucked her arm in Thancred’s. “Of course. You must excuse us, ser.” She barely gave a nod before Thancred pulled her away. “Thank you,” she murmured as they wound through the press of people, hardly thinned despite the hour.

“We should have left a quarter bell ago,” he replied. “You were close to overwhelmed.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “Not so long as you’re around to keep me steady. Or rescue me from obnoxious nobles.”

“More rescuing the nobles from you,” he replied dryly, smiling as she laughed. He guided her down a narrow stairwell, away from the main hall and exit of the cathedral. “We should be able to leave through a side door to avoid the crowds. But first…” He veered, pulling Aeryn through a door into a small storage chamber, rows of robes hanging along the walls, shelves and boxes of other vestments filling most of the room. Only a narrow space next to the door was free of clutter, and that was where Aeryn’s back pressed as Thancred initiated a passionate kiss.

The earlier conversation flared to the forefront of her mind. Her face—and other parts of her, dammit—heated again while he held her close, the kiss long and deep and oh so promising.

Eventually they pulled but ilms apart, Thancred letting out a satisfied sigh as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I needed that.”

“You’re rather intent on this little fantasy of yours, aren’t you?” she murmured affectionately.

“I perhaps did work myself up, teasing you,” he responded, voice low. Beneath the amusement was a desire that made her breath catch.

Aeryn cleared her throat. “Well, that’s your own fault. We’d best be getting home…”

His hands ran up and down her arms. “You are so…Coerthan tonight.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She arched her brows.

“Outwardly acting the prim and proper maid, while truly you want very much to be completely undone,” Thancred murmured in that delightful low bedroom voice as they kissed again, his hand on her hip pulling them together and now her heart was racing.

Aeryn pushed him away, holding a finger up as he affected a pout. “First, I am not, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Always, where you’re involved, but you really are—”

“And second,” she continued, a touch exasperated. “We are still in a church and need to return to the manor.” He gave her an expectant look. She sighed. “Once there, I may be persuaded to let you have your way with me.”

“May?” Thancred grinned.

Aeryn smiled oh-so-sweetly back. “Depends how cold the walk between here and there is.”

“I feel compelled to point out we have a perfectly warm room right here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“For an adventurer, you’re certainly lacking a sense of it.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes and gently shoved him aside, leaving the storeroom. Thancred laughed, catching up and reclaiming her arm. “Very well, my dear. Allow me to escort you, and I shall hope you are very cold and require warming once we are within the privacy of the manor.”

Her blush returned and she sighed again, though it turned into a bout of giggles as they left the cathedral.

[recentanimenews]

J-Novel Club Anime Expo Lite 2021 Announcements

  J-Novel Club took to Anime Expo Lite 2021 to announce yet another sizable slate of titles, many that will launch later today on the service digitally, from pulp novels to its light novel bread and butter and everything in-between, J-Novel Club’s latest slate has something for everyone. Without further ado, the slate of announcements.

      Maddrax by Various Authors with Cover Art by Nestor Taylor 

When a comet struck Earth, Matthew Drax found himself sent 500 years into the future - only to find civilization in ruins. In a world filled with barbarians, hostile mutants, and lost technology, Drax and co. cross the globe in search of adventure. Having recently saved the world by restoring the moon from its falling orbit, an accident in proceedings causes pockets of parallel worlds to dot the globe. What new dangers await Matt and his travelling companion, the telepathic warrior queen Aruula, as they cross these strange gaps in time and space? 

A J-Novel Pulp title launching today with Part 1 of Volume 1!

A Late-Start Tamer’s Laid-Back Life by Yuu Tanaka with Illustrations by Nardack

Old MacDonald had a...gnome?! The Law of Justice Online, also known as LJO, is the hottest new VRMMORPG of the season, and office worker Yuta Sasaki is one of the lucky few granted access to the official launch. After some careful research, Yuta is chomping at the bit to start his virtual life as a Tamer, a class that harnesses the powers of wild monsters. Luckily, upon building his character, Yuta manages to land not only his chosen class, but a heap of bonuses to boot! He soon finds, however, that his abilities are not all they're cracked up to be, and that the talents of the rare first monster he is granted lie not in combat...but gardening! Already well behind the other adventurers, and facing a long and slow progression path ahead of him, Yuta is left with two choices—start over from scratch, or make the best of what he has been given. For Yuta the choice is obvious: When life gives you manure...start up a farm!

Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Chillin' in Another World with Level 2 Super Cheat Powers by Miya Kinojo with Illustrations by Katagiri 

The Magical Kingdom of Klyrode summons hundreds of heroes from other worlds every year to fight in their war against the Dark One and his army of powerful demons. Banaza is one of those heroes, summoned from the Royal Capital Paluma, but something’s not right—Banaza is only an average merchant. He has no magic, no fighting ability, and his stats are abysmal. Worse, a mishap leaves him unable to return home! Rejected as a hero and stranded in another world, abandoned to the far reaches of the kingdom by a cruel king who just wants him gone, Banaza’s fate looks pretty bleak. But what will happen once the failed hero candidate finds himself with super cheat powers once he hits level two? 

Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World by Schuld with Illustrations by Lansane Commissioned in death to save a world in peril, a tabletop RPG fanatic is reborn as a humble farm boy with the rulebook for the universe at his fingertips! Young Erich’s quest for an invincible character build will require more than his decades as a number-crunching munchkin, though. Even with powerleveled skills, feudal life is no cakewalk—especially when you keep drawing more attention than you can handle…Can Erich adapt to his strange new world before his worst impulses take the campaign of a lifetime completely off the rails? Let the dice fall where they may! Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

The Reincarnated Princess Spends Another Day Skipping Story Routes by Bisu with Illustrations by Yukiko 

After an accident, a modern careerist is reborn as Princess Rosemary Von Velfalt. She soon realizes that her new life is identical to that of a rival character in an otome game that she’d once played to “100%” completion. Luxury and magic abound in the Kingdom of Nevel, alongside a collection of attractive men. However, beneath the suitors' dazzling faces lie awful personalities: masochists, necrophiles, and perverts, oh my! But it’s not all bad news—the side characters are perfect, and Rosemary has fallen for the captain of the royal guard. 

Since the game offers no true route to happiness, Rosemary decides to forge her own path; to avoid marriage with the suitors, she'll have to skip their story routes and fix their deviance. She’ll navigate palace and marriage politics, kidnappings, and the threat of war, all while contending with a world that’s drifting further from the game she remembers. “100%” game completion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be— sometimes, “0%” is the route to a dream life! A J-Novel Heart title launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

My Instant Death Ability is So Overpowered, No One in This Other World Stands a 

Chance Against Me! —AΩ— (Manga) by Hanamaru Nanto, Based on the Novels by 

Tsuyoshi Fujitaka with Original Character Designs by Chisato Naruse

Awaking to absolute chaos and carnage while on a school trip, Yogiri Takatou discovers that everyone in his class has been transported to another world! He had somehow managed to sleep through the entire ordeal himself, missing out on the Gift — powers bestowed upon the others by a mysterious Sage who appeared to transport them. Even worse, he and another classmate were ruthlessly abandoned by their friends, left as bait to distract a nearby dragon. Although not terribly bothered by the thought of dying, he reluctantly decides to protect his lone companion. After all, a lowly Level 1000 monster doesn't stand a chance against his secret power to invoke Instant Death with a single thought! If he can stay awake long enough to bother using it, that is...Launching today with Chapter 1 of Volume 1!

Reborn to Master the Blade: From Hero-King to Extraordinary Squire♀ (Manga) by Moto Kuromura, Based on the Novels by Hayaken with Original Character Designs by Nagu 

From his deathbed, Hero-King Inglis, the divine knight and master of all he surveys, gazes down on the empire he built with his mighty hand. Having devoted his life to statecraft and his subjects’ well-being, his one unfulfilled wish is to live again, for himself this time: a warrior’s life he’d devoted himself to before his rise to power. His patron goddess, Alistia, hears his plea and smiles upon him, flinging his soul into the far future. Goddesses work in mysterious ways—not only is Inglis now the daughter of a minor noble family, but at her first coming-of-age ceremony at 6, she's found ineligible to begin her knighthood! However, for a lady of Inglis's ambition, this is less a setback and more the challenge she was (re)born to overcome. “It's not the blood that runs through your veins that makes a knight; it’s the blood you shed on the battlefield!” The curtain rises on the legend of an extraordinary lady squire reborn to master the blade! Coming Soon to J-Novel Club!

My Daughter Left the Nest and Returned an S-Rank Adventurer by MOJIKAKIYA 

with Illustrations by toi8

The life of an adventurer isn’t always a glamorous one. 

Belgrieve finds this out the hard way when a deadly encounter robs him of his leg and the ability to pursue his dreams not long after setting off for fame and fortune. But fate isn’t finished with this retired adventurer! While gathering herbs in the wilderness, he discovers an abandoned baby girl and names her Angeline after deciding to raise her as his own. Angeline grows up to become a top-tier adventurer in her own right, yet after venturing out into the world and making a name for herself, fame, fortune, and power hold no allure for the accomplished S-rank adventurer: her heartfelt wish is for nothing more than to see her father again.

Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Dragon Daddy Diaries: A Girl Grows to Greatness by Ameko Kaeruda with Illustrations by Sencha 

“Daddy!” The dragon blinked as the wee little human called out to him. Him? Her “Daddy”? Powerful enough to have been venerated by humankind, yet warmhearted and even a tad ditzy, the dragon soon finds himself raising and doting on the precocious Olivia as if she really were his daughter in this touching tale. The toddler may be impossibly cute now, but just you wait—she’s a curious child and she’s growing up real fast. You can bet that one day, she’ll be the strongest human there is! But first, how will he handle little Olivia receiving an acceptance letter to a human school? Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Dahlia in Bloom: Crafting a Fresh Start With Magical Tools by Hisaya Amagishi with Illustrations by Kei 

After dying of overwork in Japan, Dahlia is reborn into a world filled with magic. Raised by a master of magical toolmaking, she develops a passion for the craft and becomes engaged to her father’s apprentice. Before her father can see her wed, however, he suddenly passes away. As if this weren’t enough, on the day before their wedding, her fiancé announces that he’s in love—but not with her! Dahlia finally realizes she needs to live for herself. She vows to be her own woman from now on and devote herself to her craft, even if it’s not quite the quiet life she was hoping for! From a chance encounter with a knight to starting her own company, there are challenges aplenty on the horizon. But this young craftswoman is no longer a shrinking violet—she’s Dahlia, and she’s ready to bloom. 

A J-Novel Heart title launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

  Hell Mode ~The Hardcore Gamer Dominates in Another World with Garbage Balancing~ by Hamuo with Illustrations by Mo 

“‘Level up even while offline’?! That’s not a game on ‘easy mode’—that’s just an AFK game!” The online game Yamada Kenichi had been playing religiously is shutting down its servers, leaving him with a void in his heart. He looks for a new game to fill it, but everything he finds is way too easy. The kind of game he likes—the kind punishing enough to make players want to spend thousands of hours on it—just isn’t around anymore. “What’s this? ‘You are invited to a game that will never end.’” Kenichi stumbles upon an untitled game, one promising incomparable challenge with unprecedented potential. Without hesitation, he selects the “Hell Mode” difficulty. Lo and behold, he finds himself reincarnated in another world as a serf! Now called Allen, he sets out to unlock the secrets of his mystery-laden Summoner class; without the convenience of walkthroughs, game guides, or online forums, he must grope his way to the top of his new world! Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

  By: Humberto Saabedra

[wintersweetbou]

Running on Empty

Fandom: FFXV/Kingsglaive. Rating: G? Its fluff. 

Summary: Luche Lazarus works himself too far trying to prevent further losses on the battlefield. Tredd Furia sees the crash coming. Now, a nice person would calmly voice their concerns. A Furia would drag them kicking and screaming back home. Is Tredd a nice person? In his eyes he is, until Luche fights it. They are both going to give their captain a headache at this rate.

Luche keeps tapping away at his keyboard despite the fact it was quitting time. Shadows hung under his eyes, blooming under sickly pale skin. Tredd leaned against the doorframe of the tiny office, watching in concern. Luche took to being a workaholic to deal with the stress of losing a battle, everyone was getting worried while he threw himself at his work. The redhead lightly knocked on the polished wood, looking expectantly. 

“Yes?” Luche groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

“Wanna hit Yama’s for some food? Heard they were toying with new recipes.” Tredd watched the slow roll and shudder of Luche’s shoulders as he stretched, and shook his head. 

“You ok?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Don't sound fine to me. Don't look too good either. Lets get some food, and watch a movie at my place, hm?” 

“Sounds great- but go on without me” Luche sighed, rubbing at his temples, slouching in his seat. Frowning, Tredd stepped forward, putting his hands on his hips. 

"Dude, you are not ok. You're working yourself way too hard. I get it, you are working for us. But you need a full meal and nights sleep." 

Luche slumped a squidge in his seat, as if acknowledging his condition was shameful. 

"Your work will still be here in the morning. Burning yourself out won't solve anything."

"I'll get some rest tomorrow. Tonight I can get by with coffee…" 

"If I have to drag you out of this six-damned office I will. Luche- don't think I won't." 

The readhead barged over, grabbing Luche by the wrist and hefting him to his feet. The vice captain was tired enough that his mind and reflexes didn't catch up until Tredd almost had him out the door. Luche snarled, bracing against the door frame. 

"Enough! I don't have time for this!"

"You don't have time for me?"

"No! The war-" Luche wheezed as Tredd tackled him to the floor of the cramped office, struggling to pin his growling brother in arms. 

"Fuck the war. I'm taking you home, getting some food in you, and making sure you get some sleep!"

Luche struggled- Tredd was broader and stronger and the miniscule floorspace gave him no wiggle room. Tredd grinned, bearing his full weight down on the growling glaive, squishing him into the corner between the desk and wall. Luche viciously bucked, throwing Tredd enough for him to twist and regain his position, kneeling, bracing against the desk and forcing Tredd back in a wild grapple. 

Tredd locked with Luche, grinning maniacally. This was Tredd's forte- brute strength. Luche's muscles trembled under him, barely holding his idiot back. Tredd mustered and shoved forward, the other glaive shuddered but held, shaking violently with effort. Tredd shoved again, forcing Luche down against the desk, then on his back on the ground. 

"Get off, asshole!"

"Too tired to make me, Lazarus?"

Luche squirmed, but no longer had the energy to buck him off. Tredd sat on his legs, pinning his hands above his on either side of his head.

"Get your insubordinate dickish self off of me-" came a muffled growl.

"Take a night off." Tredd snickered, leaning further on the kicking legs under himself.

"I said get off!" Luche roared, struggling in vain to muster strength that just wasn't there.

The blonde managed to turn and bite the readhead on the wrist. Tredd glanced down, still holding tight, to see teeth marks- rapidly turning red- clearly visible. 

"The fucker bit me." Tredd sounded awed. Luche bit Tredd. He must be in far worse shape than they thought- calm, in control, cool Luche lay smirking and bedraggled after fighting and biting his best friend. Six.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You are going home one way or another. Gonna keep fighting?" This got a quiet curse in response.

"Hard it is." Came the muttered reply. 

Tredd adjusted his sleeves, pinning the others two hands in one of his, over his head, looking down at his prey. Luche lay exhausted but still defiant. His hair flopped down in his eyes, uniform a mess, shirt untucked under his coat. Tredd chuckled at the sight.

"Remember, all you need to do is take the night off …" 

 Luche growled in response, writhing in his grasp. 

Tredd leaned in, tugged his shirt up further, and dug his fingers into the skin above Luche's hip. “Tredd! Get off or I swear to Ramuh!” Luche squawked, bucking weakly.

Tredd tickled along the cut of his hips and lower belly, earning increasingly desperate threats. Tredd grinned, clawing into the muscle above the joint, deeply amused at the shaky curses. Based on the flush along Luche's face and how bad his stomach quivered in his grasp, the beleaguered glaive just needed a little push. 

“I’ll go home as soon as I’m done!” Luche squirmed, desperately struggling to reign himself in. 

“You are done for the day.” Tredd smirked, kneading. 

“Just a little more! I swear!” Came a pleading squeak. 

"You asked for it." Tredd snickered, leaning in. 

"No! Get the fuck off! Nonononoo!" Luche squealed, then broke into wild cackling at Tredd nibbling at the exposed skin of his hip. The blond managed to break his arms free, but his strength to do anything else withered under the crippling mirth. Tredd laughed into the quivering skin, holding tight onto the poor glaive frantically squirming in his arms.  

The vice captain bucked weakly, shaking his head amid aching guffaws. His lungs and muscles burned, adrenaline spent. Tredd chuckled, kneading into his quaking waist. Luche looked to be near admitting defeat, face bright red and hair askew. 

"Gonna get some rest?" Tredd glanced up, smiling at the giggling glaive.

Luche panted and told Tredd to go fuck himself in Gahladian. 

"Alrighty then..." 

Luche screeched as Tredd blew raspberry after raspberry onto his belly, clawing into the meat above his hips. The blonde was held tight as he thrashed and laughed helplessly. He couldn't stand it, couldn’t escape, his mind stuck in a spiraling loop of six, it tickles and I'm stuck. Tredd smirked, continuing mercilessly, not noticing the form of the captain in the doorway, taking a stealth pic of his poor second being tickled to death. 

"May I ask why you are tormenting Lazarus?" Drautos inquired over his second’s breathless shrieks of laughter, leaning casually on the door frame. Tredd froze, wide eyed. Then shook himself and smiled up at his captain.

 "Lazarus is burning himself out, sir. I am merely encouraging him to rest up." 

Drautos raised an eyebrow, observing the poor condition of his second. The blonde had been taking on more paperwork and training, desperate to prevent losses on the battlefield. This war had taken a terrible toll on his glaives, and some bore the stress better than others. While training and hard work was well and good, rest was also key. Drautos nodded, and turned back to the hallway.

"Can't fight or think on an empty tank. Go home, the lot of you. That's an order." 

Two yes sirs sounded behind him, one smug, and the other uncertain. 

Tredd ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. After forcing takeout down the blond’s gullet and settling in for a night of games, he had turned around to find him passed out cold on his couch. He really had no idea how Luche held it together for so long. Tredd himself dealt with stress by beating a weighted bag until his knuckles bled. Sometimes with fire dancing viciously between the bones protruding under taut skin. He went until his strength was spent and someone- usually Luche- would catch him. The others did the same, roughly. The “hero” and his squad drank their troubles away, leaning on each other through the hard nights. Axis sank into his family, letting their love wash his wounds clean. Sonitus sang and danced with the remnants of his clan, their songs steady, leading its participants into a cleansing, healing trance. It was easy to let eachother hold the stress for a bit. It was what kept them all going- sticking together. 

Tredd glanced down at a soft snort from Luche, watching the man snuggle deeper into his couch. Draping a blanket over him, the redhead turned to get ready for bed. Maybe Drautos would take it easy on them in training tomorrow.

[thinkyoureholy]

Vox Populi [1]

[so I decided to combine the first and second chapter together😬]

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Pairing : Park Seonghwa / [fem] Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Fluff, Smut, Post Apocalypse/ Dystopia! AU

Words : 4.4k

Previous Chapter. - Next Chapter.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

-3rd Person P.O.V ; 2135-

Soldiers, hundreds of thousands of them all fought for their lives, for their country. So many were blinded by the vile words spewed out by the crooked presidents or prime ministers that ran their oh so beloved country, while there were some that didn’t believe in this war but had no say in whether they wanted to participate or not. Their country’s laws are set in stone, normal law abiding citizens had no power to argue and were many times forced to follow the laws they don’t agree with. Many signed up willingly for this war, others were drafted, every country involved sending thousands of men and women to die for a war that would lead to nothing in the end. 

A woman cried out as she lunged at the man that had shot at her hand, forcing her to let go of the gun she was using. All she had was a knife while he was still fully armed but that didn’t stop her, she was fighting for her life. The man looked at her with wide eyes, her words not registering in his mind, the language she was speaking foreign to him but one thing he could understand was the murder in her eyes. She was out to kill. As shaken as he was at being thrust into this war at such a young age he knew there was only one thing he had to do to survive. It was either kill or be killed, and he wanted to make it back home alive. So with a cry of his own he began to fire just as the woman got within arm’s reach and in the next second she dropped dead at his feet. The man, no, the child, a boy no older than seventeen stood above her, terrified of what he had just done. He looked around, bewildered, not knowing what to do next.

“Get moving, soldier!” A woman that was about the same age as his mother yelled out to him, her uniform the same as his, “Move if you want to live!”

She grabbed a tight hold of his vest, pulling him along with her to get him to move. He stumbled over his own feet but her tight hold refused to let him fall. She grit her teeth as she dragged him along, ignoring the pain that spread across her side, her blood seeping through her clothes. She could have easily left him behind and gone to camp on her own but seeing him standing in the middle of a battlefield, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car she sprung into action before she could stop herself.

“Do you know how to get back to camp?!” She asked, shouting over the sounds of guns firing and people crying out in pain.

He didn’t respond, still shellshocked. She cursed under her breath, knowing he’d be helpless on his own. She thought back to her own family back home, the laughter of her youngest son ringing in her ears. Her eyes welled up with tears, the blood loss already making her light headed. She knew she wasn’t making it back home but if she could save this one boy then that’d be enough for her. So she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and dragged the boy behind her to camp, her wish to go home to her children thrown out the window.

……

“Sir, we’ve lost too many soldiers. We need to bring them home so we can regroup, think of a better strategy.” The general urged the secretary of defense, the president sitting there in silence.

“We’ll just do another draft-”

“I don’t want any more children! The youngest one I just saw was sixteen! We’re sending them out there to die when they haven’t even properly experienced living!” The general shouted, losing his composure.

“Then what is it you suggest we do, general?” The president asked, speaking up for the first time since the meeting started, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to suggest we surrender and back out of this war entirely?”

“Sir, there’s no way we’ll win this war anymore. When it first started yes, we had a big chance of winning but now? We’ll be buried alive.” The general argued, his voice softer but still firm.

“We’re not backing down, General Scott. We’re the most powerful country in the world and if we back down-”

“Sir with all due respect the power we once held means nothing now.” The general cut him off, trying not to lose his composure once again but if they continued to insist he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to hold back for.

“What if we could turn the tide, general?” 

The general furrowed his brows, confused, “How?”

“Secretary, how many missiles can you get ready by this afternoon?” The president asked like he was asking about the daily value menu at his favorite restaurant.

“I can have them all ready within the next hour.”

The president nodded, opening his mouth to speak but the general beat him to it, his voice panicked as he spoke, “You’re not seriously saying you’re going to nuke them. The radiation will kill us all! Is your pride really more important than the millions of lives you’re prepared to kill?!?!”

“If it means we win this war then I’ll do whatever I deem is necessary.” The president spoke without a hint of remorse in his voice.

The general stared at him with wide eyes, mortified. He opened his mouth to continue arguing but he shut it just as quickly. Grinding his teeth he tore off the patch on his arm that displayed his rank. Along with that he took off his hat and threw them down onto the table in front of him.

“I won’t be a part of this any longer. Find yourself a new general, I’m going home.” 

The two watched him leave in silence, not bothering to stop him. Without a word the president nodded at the secretary, giving him the go ahead to get the missiles ready. What the general didn’t know is that these missiles weren’t toxic...but the damage they would inflict on not just the overall population but the planet would be catastrophic. It would take centuries for humanity to get back onto their feet and even then  it would never be the same as it was before.

-Y/N’s P.O.V : 2650-

I groaned, writhing around on the ground at the pain that bloomed from my back. I looked up at him through narrowed eyes, slapping his hand away as he held it out to help me up. I heard him chuckle softly under his breath. He crouched down in front of me and ruffled my hair and I slapped his hand away again.

“C’mon Y/N, don’t be a sore loser. You’re the one that asked me to train you.” He said, reaching out to grab my arm, helping me sit up.

I shrugged out of his hold, rolling my shoulders back as I tried to alleviate the pain, “You could’ve at least gone easy on me.”

He smirked, placing his hand on my shoulder but this time I didn’t move to shrug his hand off of me, “If I went easy on you then you wouldn’t learn anything.”

“But I’m your daughter!” I whined like a child, a fond smile replacing the smirk on his lips.

“And because you’re my daughter I don’t hold back. Anyone trying to kill you won’t hold back and you need to learn how to defend yourself properly.” He explained, helping me to my feet. 

He looked like he wanted to say something else but a voice coming from our right stopped him, “You’re as ruthless as always, Marcus.”

We turned to look for the source of the voice, already knowing who it was. Park Junhyuk accompanied by his son Seonghwa came up to us. Junhyuk had a gentle smile on his face while Seonghwa merely looked around, watching the others in the room spar. I could see the fascination in his eyes, knowing just how much he loved to fight. I find it a bit unfair that he not only was a genius but he could also hold his own in a fight. I chuckled under my breath at seeing the look on his face, drawing his eyes to me. The moment he met my gaze a soft smile tugged at his lips. He sent a quick greeting to my father before making his way over to me.

“Training?”

“More like getting my ass handed to me.” I grumbled as I dusted myself off.

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest, “It's rare to see you lose in a fight, serious or not.”

I scoffed as I shoved at his shoulder lightly, “Shuddup. I’d like to see you win against my dad in a fight. He isn’t the commander of our guard for nothing.”

Even though I was grumbling there was a bit of pride in my voice. My father was the best fighter, the best hunter, the best shooter, the list goes on and on. It was a mystery to me why he wasn’t the one leading us but when I did ask him that one time curiosity got the better of me he simply told me he wasn’t built for politics. He was more than content training his fellow officers, hunting outside of the walls, and keeping the peace.

“Oi Y/N!” 

My head immediately looked for the source of the voice, already knowing who it belonged to. Just the sight of him had me sighing heavily. The moment he reached me he slung his arm over my shoulders, hugging me close to him. I grit my teeth at the gesture, unaware of the annoyed look that crossed Seonghwa’s features for a second before it vanished when I elbowed Nikolai in the gut.

“What do you want, Nikki?” I asked, slightly irritated but not enough to be genuinely angry with him.

Nikolai was a few years older than I was, one of the few ‘Russians’ in Liszto. He grew up a few doors down from us so we had known each other for quite a long time. I didn’t particularly hate him but he always found a way to leave me wanting to wring his neck with my bare hands every time he talked to me. But, as much as he annoyed me I was still fond of him, he was like that older brother I never had.

“Wanna spar? I have some free time and I’m just itching to kick your ass.” He taunted, rubbing his hands together with a shit eating grin on his face.

At his taunt my lips curled upwards as I rolled my shoulders, “Oh ho, you’re on. Get ready to eat your words, Volkov.”

He chuckled as he slipped out of his jacket, throwing it over a nearby chair as he rolled his own shoulders. He began to jump in place, loosening up, the grin never falling off of his face. I rolled my eyes at the giddy look on his face but I was also excited to spar with him. The only one that could get me on my ass within seconds was my father and the only one that stood as an equal with me in terms of skills was Nikki, all our officers were nothing but child’s play to me. Nikki and I had spared a fair amount of times and not once had they ended with either of us being the victor. Just as I was about to get into it I stopped, suddenly remembering that Seonghwa was standing right there and we were in the middle of talking when Nikki interrupted us.

“Ah...Seonghwa I-”

Seonghwa stopped me before I could continue with a shake of his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “Go ahead, I’ll still be here when you’re done.”

I beamed back at him, my excitement returning. I turned on my heel and got into the makeshift ‘ring’ with Nikki. The moment the other officers saw us standing in the ‘ring’ a chorus of murmurs were heard before they gathered around. 

“C’mon, Nikki. I’ll let you throw the first punch since you’re the one who challenged me.” I taunted, fixing the fingerless gloves on my hands.

He let out something that was a mix of a scoff and a laugh, the sound airy but he offered no reply, instead he took a step forward. He brought his hands up and I did the same. Just before it all started I slowly exhaled through my mouth, relaxing. Nikki circled, trying to get around me to get me from behind but I met him step by step, not allowing him to. Nikki threw the first punch, one I easily dodged. He threw another and another and I dodged and blocked every one. If I were anybody else I would think he’s not much of a fighter but I’ve gone up against him enough times to know he was just warming up.

We went on like that for a few minutes, that is until I swung for the first time but not with my arm. I bent down low and swiped at his legs. Nikki quickly jumped back, my leg narrowly missing him. Staying low to the ground I charged at him. As soon as I got close he brought a fist down. I dug my heels into the ground and pulled back, grabbing onto his wrist as I did so. With a smirk I pulled on his arm, swinging a leg at his stomach but I never made contact. He swiftly blocked my kick, his hand grabbing onto my ankle.

“Your kicks are as annoying as ever.” He huffed out, his grip on my ankle tightening slightly but not enough to hurt.

I smirked, my eyes shining brightly, “They’re reserved solely for you.”

And with that I jumped up, kicking at his chest with my other foot. He instantly let go of me, stumbling back as he gasped for breath. I didn’t give him much time to recover as I charged at him. I swung at his legs, successful in kicking them out from under him this time. He groaned as he landed on the ground but he didn’t stay down. With his arm he swiped at my legs. And just like him I landed on the ground. Before I could even recollect myself he was hovering over me. He brought his fist down, intent on landing a punch to my face but I moved out of the way just in time. I grabbed onto his wrist and brought my legs up, squeezing his bicep with my thighs and forced him to the ground. Pushing his shoulders and torso down with my legs I hyperextended his arm, laying flat against the ground. I felt him claw at my legs but I refused to let go. The next thing I knew I was being lifted up from the ground, no longer feeling the hard surface. 

“No way…” I murmured under my breath. 

Knowing what he was about to do I loosened my grip, trying to get away but I wasn’t quick enough. Within the next second he had slammed me back down onto the ground, the air leaving my lungs. My grip all but disappeared as I clawed at my chest, gasping for air. I withered on the floor, mistakenly rolling into my stomach. I realized my mistake when I felt him on me, his arm wrapping around my throat from behind, putting me in a chokehold. I had already been struggling to breath with being slammed into the ground but now it was impossible to get any air with the chokehold he had me in. I clawed at his arms but that only had him tighten his hold, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips. 

“I think this’ll be my win, doll.” He teased in a strained voice. 

I clicked my tongue, continuing to claw at his arm but it was no use. I wasn’t going to get out of this easily. Just as I was about to lose consciousness I saw some shuffling from my right. I looked over to see Seonghwa had taken a few steps towards us but stopped the moment my eyes met his. I gave him a glare, silently warning him to stay back. He hesitated but didn’t move to take another step. I could tell he was worried but Nikki and I had never given each other injuries that couldn’t be taken care of with a bag of ice and some rest. Gritting my teeth I dug my nails into Nikki’s arm, bringing my head forward and snapped it back. Nikki cursed loudly, his hold on me disappearing. I brought my arms up and propped myself up, pushing him off of me. I turned around to land the finishing blow and he went to do the same. We froze at that exact moment, my fist inches from his face and his inches from my ribs. Seconds passed before we each broke into a smile.

“Ah...I think you broke my nose with that headbutt.” Nikki groaned out with a chuckle, wiping the blood that had flowed out of his nose.

I rolled my eyes and scooted over to him, grabbing his face in my hands. I moved his head from side to side, inspecting his nose to see it was in fact crooked. I frowned, feeling guilty that I actually broke it. I moved my thumbs to the sides of his nose, mumbling an apology under my breath before snapping the cartilage back into place. 

“I thought we’re not supposed to break anything…” He whined, pulling my hands away from his face.

“I’m sorry.” I said under my breath but flicked his forehead lightly, “You’re the one who put me in a choke hold! What was I supposed to do?”

“Tap out!” He cried out dramatically with a pout, gingerly touching his nose, “You’re ruining my good looks.”

“Oh please, you're pretty enough that a crooked nose won’t do anything damage to your dating life.” I scoffed without giving it much thought, missing the way a small blush bloomed on his cheeks as I got up.

I held out a hand to help him up. The instant he was on his feet he ruffled my hair like he used to when we were younger and like then I shoved his hand away, punching at his arm lightly. While this was going on I was unaware of the look Seonghwa had on his face as he watched this all go down. In fact I was so busy screwing around with Nikki I didn’t even notice Seonghwa had left in the middle of it.

“That was some nice fighting skills.” Junhyuk said, walking over to Nikki and I with my father in tow.

My father had a proud smile on his face, placing a hand on Nikki’s and I’s shoulders, “They’re the best fighters I have at my disposal, though this one needs a little more work,” My father said, shaking me lightly.

“Oh c’mon, not even Nikki can beat you.” 

“No but he doesn’t give up like you do when I knock you down.” He shot back, Nikki giving me a smug grin.

I scoffed with a roll of my eyes, “There’s no point in me wasting my energy when I know what the outcome will be.” 

“I see you’re not getting the message your old man is trying to drill into your brain.” Nikki said, digging a knuckle into the side of my head.

I glared at him as I shoved his hand away from me, Junhyuk’s laugh drawing my eyes to him. Looking at him like this reminded me how much he and Seonghwa looked alike. Speaking of Seonghwa I looked around only to find that he was nowhere in sight. I furrowed my brows, frowning. 

“Alright, get going to the mess hall you two. I have a few more things to discuss with Junhyuk. Get Adonis a plate.” My father said, directing that last part to me.

Nikki saluted my father in a bit of a mocking way before slinging his arm over my shoulders and walking the both of us out. I didn’t shove him off of me this time, thinking back to where Seonghwa could’ve gone. I tried to rack my brain to figure out when exactly he left but I kept coming up empty. I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear Nikki calling out to me until he pulled on my ear, snapping me out of my stupor. I cursed and swatted his hand away, elbowing him in the gut.

“What the hell?!”

“What are you spacing out for?” He asked, rubbing at his side, “You’re gonna burn out your brain if you keep thinking so hard.”

I didn’t even have the energy to bicker with him as my mind made its way back to Seonghwa. Maybe he left after trying to step in. Was he angry that I started to fight while in the middle of a conversation with him? He seemed fine at first, he even said he’d be there when I was done. Maybe he had something urgent came up. Whatever it was I’ll just have to wait to ask him all this when I saw him again.

-Nikolai’s P.O.V-

I glanced at her from time to time as we walked, noticing that she still had that far away look in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking, she was always thinking about him. Ever since we were teenagers he’s all that occupied her mind in her free time, I hated it. I sighed heavily, knowing there was nothing I could do to get her mind off of him, it’s like she tuned out the whole world any time he was involved.

I glanced at her once more, frowning at the dirt that had smudged across her cheek. Without thinking I reached over and gingerly wiped the dirt away, the simple action finally drawing her out of her thoughts. She pulled away from my fingers, her hand grabbing onto my wrist to stop me.

“What are you doing?” She asked, clearly confused over the action.

Her words seemed to snap me out of it, realizing what I had just done. My eyes went wide for a moment, a blush coating my cheeks as I pulled my hand out of her grasp. I took a step away from her, the arm I had slung over her shoulders now falling back to my side. I opened my mouth to offer her an explanation but no words came out. She waited patiently for an answer but since I didn’t give her one she let a soft smile tug at her lips, her fingers touching the side of her face that had been smudged with dirt. She pulled back to inspect her dirty fingers, chuckling softly.

“You dote on me too much.” She said under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear.

I scoffed as a reflex, combing my fingers through my hair as I tried to answer as nonchalantly as I could, “Well, duh. Who else is supposed to do it if not me?”

She rolled her eyes, hugging her arms to her body as a gust of wind blew past, “Careful, the ones basically throwing themselves at your feet on a daily basis will eat me alive if they hear you talking like that.”

I relaxed at her words, a little hurt by them. Sure I caught the attention of some people in this city but the one I wanted to notice me wouldn’t even so much as look my way...well at least not the way I want her to. I inhaled sharply before exhaling slowly, slipping out of my jacket and draping it across her shoulders to warm her up.

“If they have a problem with you then I’ll deal with them,” I mumbled as I began to walk towards the mess hall again.

I hadn’t even taken more than two steps when I saw him standing outside of the hall, his hands shoved into his pocket as he looked over at us. Y/N hadn’t noticed him yet, going to start walking when I reached out and stopped her, turning her around so she had her back to him. She gave me another puzzled look, about to ask why I stopped her when I suddenly pulled her into me, hugging her tightly to my chest.

“Nikki!? What are you doing now?” She asked, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

As I hugged her tightly to me I glared over at Seonghwa, his eyes glaring back. Even from where I was standing I could see his jaw clench, his hands now out of his pockets and balled into fists at his sides. I smirked at seeing the reaction I wanted. 

Y/N had pulled away slightly, looking up at me with worry filled eyes, “What’s gotten into you? Are you alright?”

I let a fond look cross my features as I pulled her into the hug again, “Nothing, I’m fine. I’m just feeling sentimental all of a sudden and I wanted a hug.”

I felt her sigh heavily, relaxing in my hold as she wrapped her own arms around my waist, “It’s been awhile since you’ve needed a hug. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see me, savoring the hug as I gave Seonghwa a sly grin. I only kept her in my arms for another few seconds before finally pulled away, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“Okay, hug over, I’m good now.” I said, returning to my old self.

She laughed, shaking her head at my behavior. She still had yet to notice Seonghwa so I went on ahead, the look on my face a stern one. Seonghwa just stared at me without saying a word, his arms crossed over his chest. Just as I reached him he spoke.

“Watch yourself, Volkov.” He spat through clenched teeth.

“I should be saying that to you, Park. You and I both know who’d win if we ever fought.” I said in a low tone, giving him a once over from head to toe, a teasing smirk on my face, “ байстрюк.”

I spat that last word out with as much hatred as I could, bumping my shoulder harshly against his as I passed by.

[байстрюк = bastard]

.

[a/n : I’ll be trying to insert as many languages as I can into this but I’m only fluent in two and can barely pass with this new third one I just recently learned. I will be using google translate for the rest so if its wrong please don’t hesitate to correct me]

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

The Doctor was getting his daily exercise in at the gym, punching the shit out of a bag because he didn’t have enough carpal tunnel already, when FEater flying jump kick’d the punching bag next to him, managing to land on her feet. “Hey, Doctor! Can I borrow you for something today?”

“Depends on what you need to borrow me for,” he shrugged, still punching.

“Lava and Nian found an Infected-only movie studio while they were working on their New Year’s film, ” she explained, “and when they found out I’m with RI, they wanted to know if I’d star in one of their films. I’ve got a script, and I need to practice, but I need someone to read lines with. Can you read with me?”

He thought about it before agreeing. “I’ll finish up here and find you later, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, sure! Message me when you’re free?”

“Will do.” Wait a minute. “You’re not here for a punching bag or anything?”

She shook her head. “I just figured you’d be here. Gotta get back to the editing room, but I’ll see you later!”

“Yeah, see ya.” The Doctor went back to his boxing, but he had to wonder: why him? Surely there were better actors on-base, right?

After finishing his workout and a shift in his office, it wouldn’t have surprised FEater if he’d forgotten her request; fortunately for her, he hadn’t, and so one shower later, he made his way to the Ursan’s dorm. “FEater? I’m here.”

“One sec!...Stupid dress.” She wasn’t quite done grumbling when she answered the door, but seeing his face seemed to improve her mood substantially. “Come on in, Doctor.”

“Gladly. That’s a really nice dress on you.” 

She smiled. “Thanks! So, since the scene happens at a restaurant, I went ahead and set a table. You know, for props.”

“There are queues, too? Alright, fair enough.” The Doctor sat at the table, noting the copy of a script where there might normally be a menu. “Who am I in this scene? I see a name, but there’s no description of them...”

“You and I used to be operatives for agencies which rarely worked together in the past, but while assigned to a mission together, there was a spark of something - love blooming on the battlefield, you know how it is. We finished the job, things changed regarding our employment, and now we’re making good on a promise we made to go get dinner ‘sometime.’” She adjusted her sunglasses, atop her head even indoors.

He smirked. “This sounds more like a romance than an action movie.”

“Oh, it is. I’m more than just a fighter, you know.” FEater gestured to the bottle. “You’ve got the first line and a few glasses of wine to pour, Doctor.”

“Right. Let’s see here…*pouring two glasses of wine* - Wait, this is a real bottle.”

She shrugged. “I usually have a little something when doing readings.”

“Fair enough. Alright, acting time. ‘I’m regretting letting you pick the place - after the Larkin fiasco, I can barely afford the appetizers. Hope you don’t mind sharing an entree.’” Following the script’s advice, he took a sip, thankful she’d gone for red instead of white.

“‘Consider it my treat; it’s my fault you were taken off the force, and I have some money stowed away.’” She sighed. “‘I’d hoped our first date would be a bit more triumphant than this.’”

The Doctor’s smirk from earlier returned with a vengeance. “‘Tch. The writing was on the wall from the moment they put us on that case...You ever wonder why they picked us to sacrifice?’”

“‘Luck of the draw, I guess.’”

“‘Chance had nothing to do with it.’” He stared into his wine, the show of confidence wavering. “‘You said as much when we met.’”

FEater leaned forward, and the Doctor’s eyes drilled into the bottom of his glass. “‘A few weeks ago, I was the golden child in my unit. Now, I’m paying for dinner with a guy I met on a mission in and out of the jaws of hell and using a grant for a master’s degree I never finished to do it. As wrong as I was about my future, I’m willing to admit I might’ve been wrong about a few other things.’”

“‘Well, as the one you constantly proved wrong during that trial by fire, I’m glad to have gotten at least one thing right in all of this.’”

“‘Oh, really?’” She reclined back in her chair, draining her glass with one gulp and sliding it back onto the table. “‘And what was that? Nothing about the case, clearly.’”

He looked at her with a mix of admiration and hurt. “‘That was uncalled for.’”

“‘Sorry, I just...Everything’s downhill from here, you know? I don’t have anything to show for the five years of my life, all because I let one aptitude test decide where I spent it.’”

“‘...As selfish as this sounds, I’m glad you did.’” The Doctor refilled her glass before topping off his. “‘The only good thing that’s happened to me since getting that assignment was meeting you.’”

She stared at him. “‘You’re serious?’”

“‘You’re the only reason I’m here. I live an hour away from this restaurant, which is out of my price range and offers maybe three dishes I know anything about; I swore off of dating after I got mugged by a date’s ex after she’d shot me down; and I’d promised myself that I’d never consider dating someone from my career field, so by all accounts, this is exactly the last place I want to be, doing the exact last thing I’d expect to do...And not only did I still come here to see you, but I would’ve walked here if I had to.’”

“Hoo, boy.” FEater took a deep breath, fanning herself. “Sorry to break the scene, Doctor, but...I didn’t expect you to come across so authentically. It feels like you’re actually confessing to me.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “I just did what came naturally. Was it really that good?”

“I’ve worked with professionals less attrac- I mean, less convincing than you.”

“Hang on a second...” The Doctor swirled his glass with a Machiavellian air. “I think I understand why you chose me now.”

She chuckled. “I guess I gave it away with that, didn’t I? Up until I said that, did you have any idea?”

“Honestly, no, I didn’t even think that was possible. Attractive? Really?”

“Your mirror must lie to you if you haven’t realized it yourself.” She stood up. “Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, I don’t have to use my secret weapon, so-”

He held up a hand. “FEater, you can’t just tell me you had a secret weapon and get away with it.”

“Alright, then. How’s your back right now?”

“Um, fine, I guess.” What kind of question was that? “What are you-”

FEater turned her script completely over and moved the wine off the table. “Very last page.”

“*Sudden detonation from behind Vivia-* No, there’s no way you-”

“Remember how I’m a video editor?” She grinned, tapping her glasses. “I do a bit of effects work, too. Who do you think takes care of my gauntlets?”

The Doctor looked under the table. “Where the hell’s the-”

There was an audible boom as the table was blasted aside by an air cannon; as the launch occurred, FEater leapt forward, tackling him out of his chair and to the ground pressed firmly on top of him. 

“My secret weapon! Or secret weapons, I guess. Heh.”

“...Smooth,” he managed once his breath returned. “Now that we’re on the same page, I’m getting kind of hungry. How about we go out tonight?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got some pizza on the way; don’t feel like going out tonight.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re here already.” FEater brushed aside the Doctor’s errant bangs, licking her lips. “And I’ve got you right where I want you~”

[docholligay]

Fluff day prompt: One of the Overwatch characters (your choice) realizing how much Tracer and Winston's friendship has positively impacted/changed the team. ^__^

Number three! I kept trying to write this into what I wanted it to be and it never got there and I’M ANNOYED but there we are sometimes we do our best, anyway 1800 words. 

Tracer was curled up under Winston’s arm, half-asleep though she swore she wasn’t tired not but an hour ago, Winston’s thumb rubbing back and forth across her shoulder as her eyelids grew heavy. A few weeks ago, she had been teetering between life and death, death’s victory taken only by Pharah’s refusal to allow it to be so. 

Mercy was not the sort of person who ever tried to guess at life. The unpredictability of her own had long since beat that out of her, and now she simply tried to steer the ship, instead of guessing at the storm. But even she would never have believed the man WInston would turn out to be, in the light of Tracer’s great friendship and love, and how Mercy would come to fear more than than simply the loss of Tracer’s life, but all the things that had bloomed within it. 

He was a nervous creature, Mercy had noted, and then scolded herself for thinking creature. They sat across from each other in that cold meeting room, in the original Overwatch, hearing about how Airman Oxton, callsign Tracer, was missing, but perhaps not quite deceased. She’d complained to him, later, in her office, about how she hated the experimental division, how she thought they were inhuman. She had handed him pictures she had of Tracer, sent by the family with their pleas for answers. 

She still remembered the way he had looked at them, how his eyes had softened as he looked over the one of her with her father at a birthday party, and it was then that Mercy saw that he might not be just as bad as the rest of them, whose faces had stayed stoic when faced with the tears of her father, with the pictures of a woman who was clearly deeply loved, and terribly missed. Mercy had no gift for stoicism, and she had no interest in trying. 

Winston did his best to stand upright, to keep his jaw straight, and to look like the rest of them, neat in his uniform, as he went through the halls of Overwatch. No one was ever fooled. Winston spoke little, and softly, and nervously touched at his glasses trying to make himself small, whenever anyone ever got too close. LeCroix ran ramshackle over the top of him, and he quietly took it, and Mercy managed to feel a strange mix of pity and annoyance and his weakness. 

Even as they cared for Tracer, he stammered when Moira interrogated him over Tracer’s condition and her progress and what sort of things her body might now be able to do. It seemed, Moira would say, that it was kinder simply to let her die and benefit by the autopsy, given the way she cried out in pain and fear. Mercy had never seen herself as the sort of person who got in the middle of arguments, but she could only bear to watch Moira browbeat the poor thing for so long, and anyhow, eventually he might turn Tracer’s care over to Moira, and Mercy would rather perform her own bowel resection than let that happen. 

Mercy had not respected him, though she made every effort to be kind, until Tracer began to speak. Quietly, weakly, but steadily, every day, sometimes more than once, trying with all her might to make herself understood. 

She was asking for her father. 

In that same cold meeting room, people with more strategy than souls debated whether or not they should tell her her father had died only days before she was recovered, whether they should tell her family that she was alive, before deciding that it would be deleterious to her recovery to let her know her father had died. They had been close, said the dossier they had on her. They would tell her after she had strengthened, and might be able to tell them something about the whereabouts of the Slipstream. Monstrous, she had thought. 

There had been the heavy sound of a pushing chair, and Mercy had seen Winston stand. 

“No,” he said, staring at the table, “this isn’t right. No. I---No.” 

He hadn’t stopped, hadn’t looked up at any of them, simply pushed in his chair and walked down the hallway, quick as he could, to the bug jar where Tracer was kept, lying quietly on her bed, and he told her. He told her before he could lose his nerve, before anyone could stop him, before he thought about what he might be doing and how he could be brought up on charges of insubordination. 

Tracer had wailed, and then stopped speaking for another two weeks. Mercy had come into the lab to see Winston silently sitting at her side, his hand on her back as softly as he could make it. He hadn’t left her, all the night, though he could not have known her, not really. Mercy had seen, for the first time, a strength in him. A strength that was only more emboldened as Tracer began to heal, as she and Winston grew closer, spending a first American Thanksgiving together in her little bug jar, her declaring them proper friends, her clumsily wrapped Christmas gift, and the way Winston’s eyes grew wide when she called him Win. 

It was strange to think that Tracer had brought him strength, when she supposed those who had never known Winston would see the scene set before them, Tracer’s eyes closed as her body melted over him, and assumed that what she brought was softness. An animal, right? The beast that must be tamed by beauty? They did not see that what he had been, before, how nervous and shirking. 

She had heard it said that being loved gives you strength, but it is loving that brings courage, and she had never seen this truer than in Winston’s change, and what it had done for all of Overwatch. She had tried to explain this to Pharah, that Winston had been cowardly and dodged responsibility, that to see him on the field of battle was its own sort of miracle, but Pharah had mildly scolded her. 

“He is a shy man,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed, “but it is unkind to call him cowardly.” 

Mercy had simply shaken her head and smiled. Pharah was one of the most intelligent people she know, but sometimes slow to come around to the idea that we are not born as we are now--she had been so principled and so driven from her childhood that she could scarcely imagine a great shift in any other adult. She wasn’t much for second chances, Pharah. 

But she hadn’t seen him build his armor with a shaking hand, knowing that he feared conflict and fighting, that he had fled from violence all of his life, but knowing that he wanted to stay at Tracer’s side, whatever that meant. Tracer believed that she was born to fight for this world, and retirement did not suit her. She was a fighter from the first. So Winston would learn to fight. He built and he steeled himself, and Tracer’s ebullient affection gave him the spark he needed to allow himself to become the beast who could destroy as well as repair. She loved him, and did not fear him, even when she saw what he was capable of. Tracer was the sort of person who could shoot a man in the face and then cheerfully help a child out of some rubble, so there was no question in her mind that Winston could snap a spine on the battlefield, and carefully wrap her in a hug. She brought him into her family Christmas celebrations, and gave him her last name, (Plenty of Oxtons love, plenty to go around with it) and she had watched him blossom and grow from weak and wilting to a tree strong enough to give support and shade to this world. To stand alongside the rest of them. 

He needed no prompting, when she had gone into time again. He had nearly killed Doomfist and refused to be more than mildly embarrassed about the fact, more angry at Mercy for immediately treating his wounds than anything else. He had fought for Tracer, and she had seen that rage and that strength in his face, even as he held her little body in his arms so tenderly, and tried to reassure her that all would be well again. 

He had told Overwatch that they could go straight to hell. 

Tracer had fought, too. She had fought through the pain of being torn through time again, against the damage it had done to her, even through Mercy’s caution that if it happened again, the damage could be very permanent. She had fought to claw her way back to Winston, back to London. Tracer always worried after him, privately, to Mercy, that if anything happened to her, he’d be dragged down by his own melancholy, no matter than her family had fully adopted him. So she fought, no matter the strain. 

Others wouldn’t understand her saying this, Mercy thought, for there was nothing romantic between them, but she had considered theirs to be one of the great loves she had the privilege to witness. 

“This is easier,” Winston had said, when Pharah had asked offhandedly about caring for her after being shot when he had done it before, “my voice and my touch can comfort her. They don’t hurt her.” 

She thought about that, watching Winston stroke her back as she finally drifted off to the sleep she didn’t need, the smile that lit on his lips as he looked down at her, her cheeks pink again, her hair messily tossed in her cheerful sort of way, cuddled up next to him, perfectly relaxed. It was easier, she knew, because even shot, close to death as Tracer had been, Winston could reach her. Winston could love her. 

Mercy was often mocked, to her face and behind her back, about her belief in love. That love was why she did what she did, as her constant answer, and love was the only thing that would save this world. They laughed because they had such a simplistic view of love, that it was flowers and poetry and candy. But Mercy knew better. This team was strong because it was filled with love. Love was what drew them to risk their own lives, love was what brought Hana from her home to a group of people she did not know, love was what informed every single one of Pharah’s command decisions, and Mercy knew that love guided her hand as she moved to stitch and bandage every single person she had ever touched. 

She realized, seeing the soft scene between them, that Winston and Tracer’s love had not only made the two of them stronger, but had made this team the kind that could save Overwatch. The kind that could build Overwatch. 

An Overwatch with love deep enough to heal the world.

[softschofield]

(1/2) do you have any headcannons for baumer? I don't know a lot about ww1 but I really want to imagine scenario where this german baby gets to live! Do you think he'll thrive (assuming he survived getting strangled by scho) if by chance he had the unfortunately luck of meeting the brits and getting caught? I love your account btw, reading all your 1917 posts is fuel for my soul

hello my love!!!! i haven’t been active in waaaay too long but thank you so much for your gorgeous ask, you’re such a sweetheart ♡♡

so! i’ve posted a few short tidbits about canon era bäumer (and kilgour) headcanons before and after the war - here, here, here, and here - but i’ve never really gone in depth about what i think his life was like, and what it could have been if he’d lived. hold on, lemme get back into 1917 mode, it’s schofield playlist time

so, first, let’s focus on the part of your ask that deals with being caught by the british. there’s an excellent web article about german POWs (prisoners of war) that you can flick through here, but what it all boils down to is a few key points: it’s thought that survival rates of german prisoners in british camps could have been as high as 97%; there are numerous accounts of works of art, literature, and music being produced in those camps; after the signing of the armistice, the british helped to repatriate its prisoners, while those being held by russia were forced to find they own way back home; and beginning in 1917, german POWs were no longer sent to britain and used for labour because of opposition from trade unions (or they started to be used in britain in 1917? i have two sources contradicting each other), but they were still used in france and north africa on the battlefields. 

but though those POWs from 1917 onwards may not have had to face vitriol and mistreatment from the british at home, they had to contend with the horror of life at the front. it was considered the worst place to be a prisoner. france, for instance, had german POWs work under shellfire for months on the verdun battlefield, aka “the mincing machine”, in 1916. understandably, combat-related deaths were common - minus any actual combat. because they were enemy soldiers, because there were little to no tangible consequences, and because they needed the manpower, it didn’t matter if these POWs suffered, lived, or died. i don’t have any sources to cite for this theory, but i expect germans were sent to do tasks the BEF would hesitate to ask their own soldiers to do - simply because if there was any cognitive dissonance still sticking in the generals’ craw about sending their own boys into a slaughter, they would have no such qualms about using german boys. 

at that time, the rules for treatment of prisoners of war were stipulated in the “convention respecting the laws and customs of war on land”, part of the hague convention, which was signed on october 18, 1907. chapter ii, article 4 stated that “prisoners must be humanely treated”, and this meant ensuring that there was no abuse or forced labor in any of the camps. of course, because we know how desperate each party became in the war, and because we know human nature, this didn’t happen. 

Prisoner labour was key to the war effort of many states. Overall by 1916, across Europe most non-officer prisoners of war, whom it was legal for the captor to put to work under international law, were working, some returning to the prisoner of war camp at night, others lodged under guard near to their place of work. For those housed outside the camp conditions could vary considerably. While prisoner of war camps were inspected during the war by the Red Cross, working units outside the camp were rarely inspected. The worst camps, however, were those run by armies near the front line. By 1916, the British, French, German, Austro-Hungarian and Russian armies were all keeping permanent units of prisoners as forced labourers for the army at or near the front. These men had to work under shellfire and live in desolate, unhygienic conditions. (x)

so, basically, let’s hope bäumer wouldn’t have gotten captured had he survived! 

now, let’s move onto two other possibilities: one, that he fled écoust with müller, found his way to the hindenburg and reunited with his battalion, and endured the rest of the war; two, that he deserted. i’ve already said that i think he and müller had deserted and were in hiding in écoust, so i like that theory the best - and i think it makes for the best story. 

so basically, i like to think bäumer took scho and the death of his friend in the lockhouse as signs from god that it was enough, that this place was death, that he had to get out. the english had discovered the hindenburg line and they would be descending upon this part of france any day - they’d already hid in the rubble of the buildings and watched the convoy shuffle past earlier that day. 

so, with bruises blooming round his throat, he embarks on a journey across france, trying to find his way back to germany through raging battles, across no man’s lands, through abandoned trenches and half-collapsed bunkers, skirting around villages he can hear german drifting from and skirting further yet around villages he hears english singing in, discarding his uniform for a dead farmer’s trousers and shirt he finds in a shelled farmhouse. it becomes a parallel journey to scho’s, though much, much longer. it takes him three weeks, though time stops having any meaning long before that. 

somewhere along the way, müller is killed. now alone, too afraid to sleep unless there’s something behind his back, numb and flinching at every little sound, slipping into unconsciousness against his will because his body is so broken and exhausted and yelping out in terror every time he realises he’s closed his eyes, bäumer continues on. he knows a few scraps of childhood french and mumbles his way through that on the few occasions he runs into german or english soldiers, head bowed and eyes down, the elbows of his sleeves in tatters, flinching in silence when the germans spit on this bare-footed french farm boy and laugh. the rest of the time, he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t dare accept kindnesses or pity from anyone. he becomes a bitter wraith trudging along a war-torn country in the vague direction of home. 

and then, finally, he makes it home. in my mind, bäumer comes from osnabrück, purely because that’s where erich maria remarque was from and, in my mind, bäumer in all quiet on the western front is our boy’s cousin ♡ so he comes back to his mother, to his ivy-covered childhood home with his neat little bedroom on the second floor and the creaking stairs and the kitchen that smells like potato cakes. dirty and bruised, the villagers don’t recognise him - the villagers who babysat him as a child, who let him help bake cakes and pick apples from the orchard behind the church, who cooed at him adoringly when he played the organ at a christmas service when he was ten and cried when he fumbled a key. they watch him distrustingly and sneer about him behind their hands. 

his mother, dull-eyed and skinner than he’s ever seen her, comes home from collecting her weekly rations, the rations she’s always sent more than she can afford to give away to him, to find him with a steaming cup of tea in the kitchen. she cries and shouts and pulls him to her, and he lets her hold him and doesn’t notice there’s tears on his cheeks through all his numbness; and for the rest of the war, they keep his presence a secret. a deserter, a coward, a traitor - someone, a childhood teacher or a neighbour or the grieving mother of a dead boy who deserved to come home more than he did, would have turned him in and they both know what would have happened to him then.  

and so, for a year and a half, he stays in the house during the day, and wanders the fields and woods at night, and reads and reads and doesn’t take in a single word. sometimes he’ll wake up and it’ll be the engländer’s hands round his throat and flares in the sky. sometimes he’ll wake up and it’ll be the gurgle in müller’s chest. sometimes he’ll drift asleep in a meadow and wake up thinking he still has miles to go before he reaches home. sometimes there really is shellfire in the distance - shellfire falling upon boys braver than him, falling upon the boys who stayed, the boys still screaming in the trenches and in the mud. slowly, the bitterness turns to self-loathing. he snaps at his mother and meets the eyes of villagers like he’s daring them to recognise him, to call him all the names he calls himself. he loses himself. 

he stays awake at night, alone in his room, imagining his discarded uniform being driven by the rain into the mud, imagining all the things that would happen if he went back to his battalion. his mother has to stop him at the front door, kicking and thrashing and screaming and finally sobbing, when he convinces himself he needs to go back. she lets him hit her as she holds him, and eventually he hugs her back and weeps. 

in late 1918, with the armistice looming, the news comes that his cousin has been killed. 

and eventually he somehow meets kilgour and ends up with him in england and they settle down in a little countryside cottage, and heal, and live happily ever after, and every year he goes back and visits his mother and she’s happy too and they have a wonderful relationship and i love them. kilgour slowly learns how to process his trauma in a way that isn’t just putting on a smile and making himself believe it’s real, and bäumer lets go of his bitterness and regains his softness and eventually his heart feels quiet and gentle again and he can read like he used to, and they’re happy ♡

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

a matter of circumstance, a General Danvers fanfiction | part one

Back at it with the Supergirl fanfiction I really shouldn’t be writing with exams coming up. :)

Find it here on Ao3.

Summary:

Astra In-Ze follows the red string around her wrist across galaxies.

OR

The General Danvers Soulmate!AU nobody asked for.

A/N: Follows a list of 50 one word prompts. Will be posted in five chapters filling in ten words each.

01. hidden

Even though she knows that no one else can see it, Astra wears long sleeves to keep the crimson string around her wrist hidden.

No one else on Krypton has one, not even Alura. She knows this because she has asked, and the memory of her twin’s wide-eyed confusion and worry at her words still makes her feel sick even now, days later.

They are identical in every other way except this, and it unsettles Astra like nothing else does. So she wears long sleeves and tries not to notice any little flashes of red in the periphery of her vision when she moves.

02. flowers

She is eleven when tries to follow it, just to see where it might take her.

After leading her out of the house and into the gardens, the cord simply begins to stretch up into the sky and hopelessly out of reach.

Please Rao, she thinks, staring up at the distant red sun with pleading eyes. What is the point of tying this silly string around my wrist if I can’t even see where it ends?

If the Sun God has answers, He doesn’t see fit to share them with her.

After a moment, Astra lowers her gaze to glare down towards the ivory flowers bursting into bloom near her feet. She kicks at the soil with the tip of her shoe before turning back towards the house and stomping off to look for her data orb.

If Rao won’t give her an answer, she’ll find one herself.

It’s not until she’s halfway to the rooms she shares with Alura that she remembers to pull down her sleeve.

03. joy

When Alura tells her that she is going to be an aunt, Astra feels practically incandescent with joy.

“Jor-El and I have approval from the Council to implant our DNA into the Birthing Matrix as soon as we like,” Alura continues, beaming. “We want you to be there with us when our child is ready to be born.”

“Rao himself would not be able to keep me away on that blessed day,” Astra vows, reaching out to drag her sister into a fierce embrace.

Astra herself has never considered petitioning for a child- her commitment to the military guild supersedes any glimmer of maternal desire she might feel- but Alura? Alura has been dreaming of this enough for the both of them.

The right to use the Matrix Orb is a privilege on Krypton, one that is granted sparingly to the population. Astra and Alura’s birth was a happy accident for their House, but their shared existence had been an accident nonetheless.

The first and only set of twins born in generations since the complete implementation of the Matrix.

They were widely considered to be a gift granted by Rao to an already-prestigious family. Yet another blessing upon the honored House of Ze.

But sometimes, Astra can’t help but wonder if the red string around her wrist is proof that she is cursed.

That between the both of them, Alura is the child who was meant to born.

And that Astra was never supposed to exist.

04. lock

When she rises to the position of General, Astra decides to make a change.

It’s time, she thinks, for something to be different.

For there to be a distinction between her and her sister that goes beyond the robes they wear for the guilds they belong to and the lives they have chosen to lead. For something to truly set them apart from one another. For something that goes beyond the red string that only Astra can see.

She goes out into the city within hours of the celebration the Military Guild hosts in honor of her newly elevated rank and stumbles into the nearest modification shop, a heady mixture of Thanagarian alcohol and determination swirling through her veins.

When she catches sight of the pure white streak in the mirror the next morning and actually remembers asking to have a single lock of her hair permanently stripped of all color, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

In the end she does both, but even as tears roll down her cheeks, Astra finds herself smiling.

05. wound

Astra almost bleeds out once, on the barren ground of a desert planet.

Medical officers get to her in time to keep the hole in her side from killing her, but the damage is severe enough to leave her superiors ground her on Krypton for an entire month. The boredom, at times, makes Astra almost wish they’d just let her die right there on the scorched earth.

She says as much to her sister from her sickbed, bemoaning the fact that even with access to the best medics on the planet, she is stuck on bed rest for the considerable future.

“Two weeks trapped in this bed!” Astra would turn to bury her face in the pillows piled around her if the motion didn’t risk disturbing the healing wound in her side. She settles for groaning dramatically at the ceiling of the room. “Death would have been a greater relief.”

“Astra!” Her sister’s hologram glares down at her, a mixture of shock and exasperation written across her features. “Rao help us all, you shouldn’t say such things. It’s a miracle you survived!”

“Aluraaaaa,” Astra sing-songs back, rolling her eyes. “I’m well-aware of that fact.”

“If you had died,” Alura continues in a huff, ignoring her sister’s words entirely, “You would have left your future niece without an aunt and me without a sister! Is that what you want?”

“No, ‘Lura, of course not. It was said in jest. I’m just tired of being stuck in this bed.” She tries to look suitably repentant. “Forgive me?”

Alura’s irritation melts away in an instant. Of the pair of them, Alura has always had a softer, more understanding heart. The combination of her easy empathy and brilliant mind has made her one of the district’s most favored adjudicators. She wouldn’t be surprised to see Alura rise to the position of Councilor in the Lawmaker’s Guild within a few years. Meanwhile Astra’s ability to hold a grudge has managed to earn her quite a bit of infamy in certain circles.

“Well it just so happens that I am making a batch of your favorite stew today,” Alura replies, smiling. “And if you promise to stop being so dour, I might be persuaded to bring you some.”

Astra smiles back.

As much as she struggles with being the shadow to her sister’s light, loving Alura has always been as easy as breathing.

06. promise

Astra has never been one to scare easily, but catching sight of a red string around her baby niece’s wrist makes her heart nearly stutter to a stop in her chest.

“Sister?” Zor-El places a steadying hand on Astra’s elbow and she resists the urge to shrug it off and flee the room. “Are you well?”

There is nothing to be solved by running away, so she forces herself to relax. It takes considerably more time and effort than it should to convince her lungs to let her breathe normally again.

“Of course.” She gestures to the sleeping baby cradled in Alura’s arms and feigns a look of apprehension. “I just didn’t expect her to be quite so small!”

Her brother-in-law bursts out laughing, and just as quickly quiets down when his wife shoots him a stern look.

“Only you, Astra, would be more fearful in the face of a tiny babe than a battlefield,” he says in a stage-whisper.

She grabs hold of the unwittingly offered excuse with both hands.

“In my defense, I was trained for that. Holding babies? Not so much.”

Alura steps closer, and Astra works hard to keep her gaze from drifting back down to the newborn’s wrist.

“Here,” she says, holding the swaddled infant out towards Astra. “It’s easy, you’ll see.”

And, surprisingly, it is.

“Have you decided on a name?” Astra trails a finger down the cheek of the still-sleeping baby now being held securely against her chest with her free hand. “I can’t very well keep calling her ‘little one’ as she grows.”

“Kara,” Alura replies, stepping back to kiss her husband’s cheek. Zor-El wraps an arm around Alura’s waist in response and pulls her close, eyes lighting up the same way they did when the pair first met. Even then, Astra knew he would make a good match for her sister. “Her name is Kara.”

Astra looks back at her niece, unable to resist the smile tugging at corners of her lips.

“Hello, little one,” she whispers, heart beating triple-time in her chest. “Hello, Kara.”

Right then and there, she makes a promise, a silent vow to herself and her niece.

By Rao’s light, I will find out the purpose of these crimson strings.

07. mind

Krypton is dying.

The planet’s core is unstable and decaying and had Astra not been in the archives that night, looking into the history of Krypton in the hopes of uncovering the origins of the red string around her wrist, she never would have found out until it was too late to change anything. The mystery of the strings can wait until her world is no longer about to implode.

She takes her research to her guild, then to the Council, but her words fall upon deaf ears.

No matter where she goes or who she tells, nobody listens.

“You are a great soldier, General In-Ze, but you are not a scientist,” Councilor Syra-Vex tells her. “Leave matters of the mind to the Science Guild.”

Astra only narrowly manages to resist the urge to slap the condescending smile off of the other woman’s face. She leaves the meeting as quickly as decorum allows, a plan beginning to take shape in the back of her brain.

Wrong as they were to dismiss her claims, Syra-Vex and the Council were right about one thing- Astra In-Ze is a great soldier. No one in the ranks of the Sagitari has managed to rise so far so fast in generations.

And if Astra cannot save her world with words, then she will have to do it by force.

08. ash

Astra fails.

Krypton burns.

Astra watches an entire world collapse from her cell in Fort Rozz and feels her heart turns to ash along with it.

09. delirious

She spends twenty-four years delirious with grief in the frozen void of the Phantom Zone, until the impossible happens and-

The ship moves.

Time starts.

And Astra lays on the floor of her cell and wishes someone would steer the whole prison into the red sun of her dead planet.

She doesn’t get her wish, but she does get the chance to save a new world the way she should have saved Krypton.

Under the light of a yellow sun, Astra finds that she is practically invincible. If Rao has seen fit to chain her to life instead of letting her die, she can at least make sure she lives for a purpose.

10. binds

The strings are everywhere on Earth.

Some are red, like hers, long and trailing. Some are grey and cut, hanging from a person’s wrist like something lifeless.

And some are short, stretching a slight distance between two people, crimson turning to gold whenever they touch.

Astra doesn’t quite know exactly what the strings mean yet, but every time she watches two people sharing a string interact in a way that makes it glow gold, she thinks she learns a little more.

The one thing she does know for sure is that all of strings are still invisible to everyone but her.

So Astra keeps watching the humans, fidgeting with the cord wrapped around her own wrist that no longer pulls up and away from her but leads off somewhere to the side. Even if it still did drift off into the sky, Astra can fly now. She could follow the string to the other end. To person who shares it with her.

She could meet them and touch them and watch the tie that binds them burn the most brilliant shade of gold.

Astra could do all of these things, but she doesn’t, because she doesn’t deserve it has a world to save.

A/N: Leave a review, hug a Kryptonian. :D

Word prompts from this chapter: hidden, flowers, joy, lock, wound, promise, mind, ash, delirious, binds

Once again, you can find this story here on Ao3. :)

[tiaraofsapphires]

Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week: Day 2

Writing Prompt: Leap

He was avoiding her, that much was clear.

They had gotten too close to each other, drawn to each other like opposite poles of a magnet. Almost dying together on Scarif, surviving the suicide mission, drew them apart.

Or, drew him away from her, she thought glumly as she watched his retreating back, his refusal to sit with her and their comrades in the mess ringing dully in her ears.

Chirrut smiled, milky eyes fixed on hers. “Our Captain is full of conflict.”

“Full of himself, maybe,” Baze grumbled, “These officers all walk around with sticks up their—"

Bodhi cleared his throat and interjected, “Yes, well, I’m sure Cassian is a busy man.”

Jyn hummed, nodding at the worried glance Bodhi shot her.

Bodhi knew enough. Jyn had revealed to him the pain and desire, after a couple cups of cheap booze. He had patted her shoulder as she wallowed a little in her sorrow.

She told him about how she had felt, what had happened at the records tower. The climb, Krennic, and the elevator ride.

They were things that haunted her nightmares and blessed her dreams and she wanted to know that Cassian felt the same way.

Nearly dying on Scarif and the flight back and the recovering in med bay had brought the rest of them together. Their days had been filled with bandages and bacta and pain and they had a sense of humor about it.

Cassian had been quiet, isolated, in his little corner. He winced when Baze’s laugh boomed through the room.

The others left him alone, though Jyn’s eyes glanced often towards him, expectant that he would come to them, to her.

“I think—”

“That’s new.”

Bodhi snorted a laugh into his cup of water while Chirrut gave Baze a glare.

“I believe that our Captain is haunted by many things. Our battles have been long and arduous, but his goes on even when the blasters have stopped firing.”

Jyn chewed on the inside of her cheek. He was spy, killer, hero.

“What should I do?” she wondered aloud.

“Jump his bones,” Baze suggested, ignoring the elbow Chirrut threw into his side.

Jyn felt her cheeks heat up and she ducked into her food.

“You should talk to him.”

That seemed like the most obvious answer. But, how could she talk to someone who never stayed still when she was anywhere close to him.

She glanced out the window and stood up, taking her tray into her hands. “Fine. I can do that.”

“Wait, right now?” Bodhi asked, shocked that his advice would immediately be followed.

She turned in her used dishes and made her way into the barracks.

Cassian was an officer, so he got his own room. It felt scandalously private, that she was looking for him in his room. The Rebels loved gossip, one of the few luxuries allowed in a war, and this would be prime for the rumor mill if anyone saw and connected the dots between her and him. It wouldn’t be too far a reach.

There was also the chance she would be wallowing in front of his room because he had taken a detour to the comms tower or the shooting range.

Cassian unintentionally spared her that fate, walking from the opposite side of the hallway. His steps slowed as he got closer.

“Lieutenant Erso,” came the curt greeting.

That wasn’t a good sign. There wasn’t even a smile on his face.

“Cassian,” she replied.

The use of his name seemed to short-circuit his brain for a moment. She almost thought to call him K2.

“Is there something to require?”

‘Require’ was one way to put it. Word vomit rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

“I wanted to talk to you. It seems, to me, the dynamic between the two of us might affect us on the battlefield.”

He blinked at her, guilt flashing for a moment across his face before schooling to a blank.

“I don't see what you’re talking about.”

Frustration at his delicate avoidance of the topic grated on her nerves. “Come on, Cassian, really?”

“I treat you the same as I would anyone else.”

Jyn shook her head, stepping forward. “You don't talk to me outside of the war room. You avoid me like I have the plague. You won’t even—"

Her words stuttered for a beat, watching as his eyes had glazed, gazing just up and over her shoulder.

“Look at me.” The words were harsher and more snappish than she intended, but immediately Cassian’s eyes snapped to hers.

“I’m not avoiding you, Jyn.”

His eyes shift again. Liar.

“You talk to Bodhi and Baze and Chirrut. Hell, you talk to Draven more than you talk to me.”

They both fell silent.

“After Scarif, I thought—"

“Thought what?” he asked.

Jyn opened her mouth and shut it again. What could she say?

She wanted to be friends, but she wanted more than that. She wanted, but she didn't know if Cassian wanted the same, even close to the same.

How could she know if she didn't ask? How could she even ask?

The answer to that seemed as simple as the one that brought her to this moment.

A leap of faith. Whether this worked or didn't, she would find out.

She stepped forward, encroaching on his space. Her hand came up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down towards her.

Their mouths met, close-lipped and dry and warm. Impersonal, but Jyn waded in it, grasped for that little moment before the rejection would inevitably come. It had to do. In this life, she couldn’t wait for the perfect time or to wade out the mood Cassian seemed to permanently wallow in.

Her heartbeat sounded so loud in her ears she was sure Cassian could hear it too.

He had stiffened almost instantly at her touch, but she couldn't consider that as a completely bad sign. He was a master assassin. He could've knocked her flat on her ass in a moment, but he stayed shock-still, save for the flare in his nostrils as he took a sharp breath.

They separated with a barely-there noise and Jyn could only hope that she didn't burn the rickety bridge that stood between them.

“Why did you do that?” Cassian asked. His voice was flat, but there was something there that was slightly wild and breathy, struggling to come to the surface.

Jyn couldn’t quite hide the wince from the question. It wasn’t exactly something she wanted to hear after kissing someone, but he at least wasn’t running from her like usual.

“It felt like the right thing to do.”

A blank gaze followed her words and she mentally reeled back, regretting that she had left the mess hall to find him.

Stupid fool, she thought. She had ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For avoiding you. Believe me, it was the last thing I wanted to do.”

The icy rock of fear melted a little in her chest.

“We should start again,” she murmured.

Cassian nodded and then asked, “Start from where?”

Jyn shrugged, “Well, starting with a kiss was a pretty good start.”

The tiny smile that bloomed on his face made her feel like maybe he hadn’t left all his possible affection he had for her on that elevator.

“I think you’re right.”

He didn't need to move too far to kiss her, this time pressing a little harder, breathing her in.

Later, with a kiss-drunk grin on her face, Jyn would think back to the icy feeling of fear and know it was worth it.

[yume-x-hanabi]

The Shrade Island Incident

Excerpt from Agria’s side story, as requested by @lydiemalen

Contents warning: somewhat gory violence, mention of rape

This happens to be the end of the short story, so it’s a bit out of context, but what you need to know: Agria’s life is suffering and her family are a bunch of assholes. At the beginning of this chapter she’s working with Presa as a spy (she’s not a member of the Chimeriad yet, just Presa’s accomplice).

Aurignac = Agria’s eldest half-brother, Gravett = second half-brother, Magdalena = half-sister, Celedonio = youngest half-brother (3 years older than her), Roberta = her dad’s wife

The Shrade Island Incident

The good news came from the old hag.

“The Rashugal army has seized control of Shrade Island,” she said.

“Shrade Island!? So they’re attacking Auj Oule, at last.”

That’s right. Shrade Island was a small island that Rashugal was claiming territorial rights over, but most its population was Auj Oulian. The Rashugal government had always been looking for a pretext to put it under its rule.

“They say it might concern the new weapon, but I don’t know the details. Whatever it may be, they are rounding up innocent citizens, so this is urgent matters. His Highness will lead the counterattack himself.” She paused for a second, then added, “The commander of the enemy forces is Aurignac L. Travis. …Are you in?”

Aurignac! My heart was about to burst from joy!

“I can’t believe you’re even asking me. Are you daft, or what? My job is to bring those assholes’ head to His Highness!”

I was allowed to join His Highness’ elite group, so I crossed the sea to Shrade Island. There was no need for strategies. His Highness didn’t even need to draw his sword, as the four of us cut through the enemy’s so-called special forces like we were reaping wheat. Among the corpses whose heads were smashed, I recognized Gravett’s lanky face.

Dear brother Gravett, you prick who always had your nose in a book and dismissed us as less than human. Aa-ah, let me be honest here. If you’d kept getting promotions, you could have become a superb general. Your cold-heartedness and rationalism were much more fit for the military than all those pampered noble token officers. That strict, uncompromising attitude. The way he walked confidently through enemy lines, slicing obstacles without mercy. When I saw His Highness for the first time, I was reminded of your “I don’t rely on anyone” look. Only a little bit.

But there was no time to get sentimental when there was a bigger prey waiting for me. We tore through the enemy forces like a storm, and in no time we cornered my nemesis, the embodiment of House Travis, my eldest brother Aurignac.

My heart beat fast at the thought that revenge was near. But I wouldn’t do something so uncouth as to show him how excited the prospect of a hunt made me. Calmly, to toy with him, I made a light jab. The kind of banter I learned in the back alleys.

“Aurignac. You’ve grown fatter since the last time I saw you. If you don’t start building strength in your gut, your favorite shiny buttons are gonna fly off.”

“…I see. I understand now. So that’s why you came back to us with your tail between your legs.”

“There is no greater pleasure for me than to pay you back for your good care thusly,” I said in an affected tone.

I hunched back a little, drawing my heavy wand. Seeing that, Aurignac turned his body sideways and pointed the tip of his sword towards me.

“A shameless wench who turned her back to our country no longer has the right to bear our noble name. You shall atone for tainting our bloodline with your death.”

“Right, right. Keep barking about your noble name like a fool. Though it seems you won’t even be able to cast the spirit artes our ‘blood’ is so proud of to protect yourself. I’ll write your epitaph for you: ‘Born from a noble line with the strongest spiritual affinity in Rashugal, died as a most mediocre spellcaster. Beloved imbecile.’ How’s that sound?”

“My, my. Like mother, like daughter, I see. You cannot hide your low birth.”

“…Don’t you dare talk about my mom.”

“As Father seemed to be so enamored with her in spite of his age, I wanted to see her skills for myself, but she did nothing but cry and resist; nothing impressive, really.”

“AURIGNAC!!”

I exploded in hatred. My twisted wand clashed with his bejeweled sword, and for a moment, we pushed at each other’s guard. But our power balance only lasted an instant. The desire to kill him in the cruelest way overflowed my mind like the Kijara Seafalls, eclipsing all other emotions. Holding on at point blank range, I summoned a quintuple magic circle. Aurignac’s face changed colors when he realized he was trapped in my arte, but it was too late for him. Just as he flung himself to the side to escape it, black blades surged from the circle like snakes and cut his arms, his shoulders, his throat, his whole body.

The next moment, his body was ripped apart like minced meat and the pieces fell to the ground, looking more like manure than human remains.

 His Highness was extremely satisfied with the results of the Battle of Shrade Island, as we had not only managed to protect the citizens, we had wiped out an entire enemy company with only a few of us. At the mere age of 13, I was granted the greatest privilege to serve directly by his side. I was given the name “Agria,” which represented the “stinger” of the chimera. I didn’t need my old first name anymore, and my surname was even more meaningless.

The Travis were nothing to me anymore. But, y’know, I had a long-standing grudge. I wouldn’t rest well if I didn’t pay them back tenfold for all the torment they put me through as a kid. That’s childish? Well, I was just applying the lessons my dear family had taught me. Wasn’t it a rule of society that you could mercilessly beat up those weaker than you?

I went back to the manor in broad daylight. After Aurignac and Gravett had both died honorably in the line of duty, Roberta and Magdalena seemed to have gone half-mad and were covering their eyes. They didn’t even notice I was there. They should be grateful I gave them an occasion to practice their theatrical wailing.

“Nadia! …You, you traitor!”

Celedonio was standing in my way. He was now the sole male heir, a pitiful, sniveling brat who suddenly had to shoulder the headship of the family.

“The Travis are ruined because of you! We should have never let that whore and her spawn into our house! You’re both witches who brought dirty blood and curses within our gates!”

“Come out on the battlefield, then. You’re a noble, you don’t even have to do anything and they’ll make you an officer in no time. Fight me like your beloved brothers did, and avenge them!”

…If you can.

When I pretended to thrust my wand at him, Celedonio let out a small scream and ran back into the manor. Aa-ah. I was just trying to scare him a little. To say I was relentlessly bullied by such a coward.

I clapped my hands lightly and unleashed a fire spell on the manor. Powered by my arte, the flames engulfed the massive building at incredible speed. Screams could sometimes be heard along with the sound of broken glass, but no one came out. They all perished one after the other, unable to reach the door because of the heat and smoke.

…Dad. My poor old dad, who’d been withering under his tailcoat, lost in thoughts no one could fathom; who’d played a fake life, burdened by a name too big for him. He probably burned to death holding tight to the happiness brought by the memories of his time with Mom. Dad, who had loved Mom and cherished me. But that was just a kind of selfishness that caused us so much trouble. In the end, he didn’t think about anyone but himself. Just like all those nobles, he was just a selfish old man looking for his own escape from reality.

I stopped by the grave I’d secretly built in a corner of the garden for Pupu and the other bird to pay my respects, and patted the headstone once.

All my hopes had been ripped to shreds. From then on, I would stake everything on His Highness. I would build my life on the dead bodies of his enemies.

I turned my back on the smoldering manor, the hems of my red dress flapping in the wind. Red, like the flowers blooming by Mom’s last resting place.

[sueboohscorner]

#TheFlash Season 6 Episode 11 "Love Is A Battlefield" Recap and Review

The episode starts with Iris outside of the mirror with a headache. She hears something and leaves McCulloch Technologies.

The new intro was not a fluke. I like it.

Iris cooked Barry breakfast and it’s good. She tells Barry that Team Citizen is regrouping before they go after Black Hole. Barry then gets a reminder about their Valentine’s Day reservation.

Frost is using a curse from The Three Amigos and decorating the Citizen office. Nice to see her in there actually. Allegra walks in and, as it turns out, hates Valentine’s Day. Frost posits that there are two kinds of people that hate Valentine’s Day: the people that think it’s a stupid holiday run by big candy, and the brokenhearted. It’s obviously the greeting card companies, but that is beside the point. Frost puts Allegra in the latter category. She has an ex that’s a musician, who is also playing at CC Jitters on Valentine’s Day. Frost decides to play matchmaker. There’s absolutely no way this can go wrong, right?

Westallen are at dinner and Iris suddenly speaks Italian. It gets weirder when Amunet crashes the party and steals a piece of tech from a man. Barry and Iris try to stop her, but she threatens to reveal their identities to the world if they do not let her go. They let her go, though they do talk to another cop afterward.

Frost and Allegra meet at CC Jitters, where it is obvious that Allegra’s ex is with another girl.

Westallen are at one of Amunet’s big recruiting spots. Iris is going in. Barry is not. If anything goes wrong, she’ll say “banana” and he’ll rush in. She does just fine by breaking a bottle over a thug’s head in the bar. In exchange, she gets an address for Amunet’s next score.

Westallen find Amunet stealing something. She gets interrupted by Goldface, who also wants what she is stealing. They used to date and use their real names: Keith and Leslie. They start arguing about music until a cop comes, who they mostly ignore. They start to fight, and the cop gets run over by a giant metal ball Indiana Jones style. Barry helps him while Iris steals the thing.

Barry and Iris talk more at the loft, after he’s tired from patrolling at superspeed. What’s going on between Amunet and Goldface is a full-on gang war. Right now they are only hitting criminal targets, but it could boil over to civilian targets easily enough. It also seems deeply personal. Iris called Ryan Choi and found out what the things are that have been stolen. One is a specialized UV projector and the other is a biome simulated storage unit. If you combine them, they can transport plants. Iris wants to infiltrate Amunet’s operation and foil her from inside. Barry thinks that’s insane. Iris goes off on him, storms out, and leaves.

Nash finds Frost drinking by herself in the Citizen office. They trade quips, he drinks with her, and then he gives her some advice about Allegra.

Iris finds Amunet’s house and brings her the storage unit. She figured out what Amunet wants it for. There is a certain flower that only blooms every 25 year that releases a pollen that can be synthesized to be telepathic. Amunet is obviously skeptical of Iris. Iris says she wants the pollen in order to read Barry’s mind, which Amunet buys completely.

Barry talks to Joe about Amunet and Goldface and Iris.

Allegra and Frost talk. The reason that Allegra’s relationship ended is that she was afraid to tell her ex-boyfriend that she was a meta. She needs to come clean now.

Amunet and Iris talk about men. Goldface shows up as they are about to steal the flower. Iris backs out of sight and then Barry flashes her to safety. Barry tries to play counselor to Amunet and Goldface, which doesn’t go well. He is able to take the goons out of the equation, but then Iris has an idea. She wants Barry to burn the flower. This releases the pollen and causes weirdness to ensue. Specifically, “Love is a Battlefield” starts to play as Amunet and Goldface read each other’s minds and make up. Westallen’s faces while this is happening perfectly mirror Fitzsimmon’s faces while watching their dark sides get to know each other.

Allegra and her ex-boyfriend are going to be friends. Allegra then goes to find him and leaves Frost. Nash comes in afterwards and Frost tells him that it worked. She also definitely knows that Allegra is a daughter like figure to him. Frost leaves, and then something strange happens. Nash sees another Wells. Reverse Flash or maybe Harry?

Barry apologizes to Iris and they hug, but that’s not Iris. As it turns out, Iris is still inside the mirror.

So Frost likes Valentine’s Day, huh? There were some interesting things about this episode, but I’m really not invested in the whole Nash and Allegra thing. 7.5/10

[unsoundedcomic]

Jet's displeasure at Duane's wearing a chain is understandable, but wrong. Aside from the fact that the officer corps is never exclusively men who worked their way up from private, it's not like Duane got the job st the expense of some poor Jet wright who was better qualified. Duane earned his chain by being really good at something the military needs. That someone else paid for the education that helped him develop that skill set is irrelevant.

I generally agree, but I have sympathy for Claggart who can’t help but look at Duane’s situation in contrast to the opportunities and scholarships that were offered up to him in his own life: and that’d be zilch. No one gave Claggart money for school. No one gave him boys to lead (poo-pooing the Plats was sour grapes). No one gave Claggart tacit casting or stellar pymaric ability or even the ability to cast a bloody spell without having to paw at whatever he’s looking to change. Duane’s just intolerably fortunate and gifted!

And he’s not humble about it either!

Anyway, it amuses me ‘cause Claggart isn’t from a rich family. He and Duane have plenty in common. It’s just Duane is a Soud, and exceptionally talented, and Claggart can only see their differences.

But maybe love can bloom even on a battlefield.