#shos alliance

[vacillatingcreator]

*Booyah! starts playing*

Local god shows off his RAD skateboarding skills to local Alliancers!!! ! (Humanized????? More likely than you think!!)

Anyway I don't do "full" drawings like this often, so I'm pretty proud of this one B))

Good way to show off the full SHOS Alliance humanizations!! :D

O is sooo cool,,, , YIPPEEE

[pixilstars]

Hello object show community here is my first fan art and also shos related

[cassidysparacosm]

A couple of incorrect quotes

Also i should really try drawing the human designs more

[trashbins-stuff]

my fav object show hosts but they got weezer'd

am i making them hold hands on purpose? yes :)

i also make one with airy

[knife-filled-plushies]

So. . .what if Annie was sentient?

@vacillatingcreator​

I come bearing fanart.

[dark-elf-writes]

Byakuran hearing Squalo bring up threesomes and immediately brakes into Shoichi’s lab to drag him to Tsuna’s bedroom

Byakuran: Sho-chan~!

Shoichi: I know that voice. That’s your “we’re going to wake up hungover and covered in glitter in a twin sized bed together voice.

Byakuran: I’m here to talk about an alliance~. It’s been so long since we’ve had a third

Shoichi: Technically in this timeline we’ve never had a third

Byakuran: Even better~!

Shoichi: This is about Tsuna isn’t it

Byakuran: If you’re not interested…

Shoichi: Hold on I never said that!

[britishserpent]

The King of Jotunheim (Loki One Shot, Smut)

Author's Note 

18+, Sexual Content

Smut central - you have been warned.

Loki x Female 

4.6K words

King Loki was a formidable character, one of the few to refuse Odin's claim over the nine realms and live to tell the tale. Though he had a cruel upbringing, and it was wise to not speak of the great tales of Laufey in the King's presence for fear of his wrathful reaction, he ruled with intelligence and carefully calculated strategy that ensured the prosperity and security of Jotunheim's future. Loki had fiercely sought to separate himself from his father entirely following his death; only their name and titles as King linked them together. 

His father had regarded him as small and weak, lacking the desired traits of their race, and had nearly given up on him entirely. Unable to produce an alternative heir, he subjected Loki to a level of training the other inhabitants of Jotunheim had not endured. It ensured he was broken down completely to be rebuilt stronger. The torturous ordeal had forced his magic to manifest itself in ways that differed from his expected control of the harsh icy landscape around them. 

It had taken many years, but Laufey's view of him eventually changed from disgust to seeing him only as a tactical advantage that would ensure the success of Jotunheim's operation as an independent realm, able to deny Asgard's attempts with ease. It was not a loving or caring relationship; his father did not possess the ability. With his training complete, he had allowed his son to join his side as a prized weapon the other realms feared. This had proved a successful strategy for the remaining years of his reign. Laufey had finally succumbed to battle wounds within his crumbling palace, alone. Loki refused to sit by his side in his final hours, and his last breath was drawn in an empty room behind locked doors. 

Now inhabiting his rightful place on the throne of Jotunheim, the young King had turned his focus from battle to better the living situation of his people. Towering walls were erected to alleviate some of the relentless icy wind at failed to cease. The dilapidated ruins of the palace and its surrounding temples were torn down and buried, replaced with homes that provided more suitable shelter from the environment. He could never align with his father's thought of suffering being the ultimate demonstration of strength, nor his insistence on dominating the realms he determined as weaker. 

Schools and buildings of higher education were erected, and the finishing touch on the regeneration of the realm was the modestly-sized palace, completed only once the other work had taken place. It had been a controversial choice, but the people were slowly won by his unusual kindness towards them, and they in turn found a more gentle nature. Their natural advantage in brute force and ice magic would always prove advantageous in war, should they be targeted, but children were no longer forced into training at an early age; it was their choice to enlist once their studies were complete.

A new focus on education and expanding the minds of his people had proved rewarding. The culture of the realm changed; people found enjoyment, room for creativity and individual thought for the first time, which only furthered the success of the realm, now safely isolated in its pocket of the universe. It had taken several years of hard work and determination, but with the wounds of the past finally healed, the population increased exponentially.

The elders of Alfheim had observed the developments from afar, weary from the battles the other realms inflicted upon them over the years. Once satisfied with King Loki's intent to move away from the violence of the past, they eventually made contact, proposing an alliance to protect one another should war be waged upon them again. The King tentatively accepted their request for their dignitaries to enter his realm and begin discussions.

You were selected to attend the trip as a protector of the dignitaries should King Loki have ulterior motives; your magical ability remained unrivalled on Alfheim, and you were certainly a force to be reckoned with. You had reluctantly agreed to the clothing selected for you; a deep blue dress that cinched at your waist, with an unnecessary plunging neckline. You didn't speak out against their choice, but could see the motivation that lay behind it; a distraction for the eyes while they attempt to negotiate an agreement more advantageous for your realm. Surely furs and high necklines would have been a more logical choice, but they explained this away by requesting your magic was used to maintain a more suitable temperature for the group, avoiding any appearance of weakness from hiding behind layer upon layer of fabric. 

Jotunheim was far from what you expected upon your arrival; you hadn't cast eyes on it yourself from Alfheim and relied only upon the stories of old to paint an image in your mind. The tales were clearly outdated, and you were relieved to see a more welcoming environment around you, with no harsh wind battering the once barren land. You entered the palace confused by your placement within the group; concealed as the dignitaries led the way. You had tried to push forwards to lead, but the men failed to part around you, keeping you in place behind them. 

King Loki sat on a throne of polished deep blue stone, carefully assessing the movements of the new arrivals. "Welcome, visitors. Please, introduce yourselves." His voice was not what you had expected; he sounded dignified and was well-spoken. The stories had left you worried their language primarily consisted of grunts and guttural screams. The dignitaries proceeded to part slightly, leaving room between one another whilst they introduced themselves to the King. Everyone had now spoken, apart from you. 

He could see your halo of light pink hair reflecting in the light of the room behind the cloaked men. He tilted his body slightly in his seat, trying to get a better view. You continued to stare ahead, and his crimson eyes met your own. "Ah" he slyly smiled, "A gift?" The light pink of your eyes darkened slightly at his assumption, and your brow furrowed in response to the insult. You felt the hand of a dignitary meet the exposed skin of your back, and they pushed you forwards slightly, forcing you to reveal yourself fully. "I'm sorry to disappoint you bu-" You had begun to explain your presence, but you were cut short. "Of course, King Loki, should you be happy to accept." His eyes raked up and down your body, he wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, "Gladly, come maiden, tell me your name." 

Your blood ran cold, you stood frozen, feet firmly rooted in place. He laughed and instructed his guards to take you to his rooms while he continued pleasantries with the new arrivals. Formal discussions were not scheduled to take place until the next day. The guards approached you, and their cold blue hands gripped your arms, forcing you to take a few steps backwards. "I don't think so!" You were becoming enraged at the assumptions, and the guards quickly withdrew from your flesh that now burned under their fingertips. Loki watched intently, intrigued by your boldness and use of magic. He saw a crimson glow in your eyes that had not been present before, and that sly grin spread across his face again. "It is not wise to refuse a King" he stated, waving his hand through the air towards you, stopping your magic in its tracks. You felt the cold sensation from his power linger on your skin, and the guards grasped you once again, lifting you from your place to carry you out of the room. "We apologise, King Loki, she is usually much more obliging," you heard the dignitaries say before the doors to the throne room were slammed shut. 

You were deposited in what you presumed to be his rooms. The guards swiftly left, and you could hear the shuffle of feet outside the doors signalling you were being guarded against escaping. You took a chair in front of the fireplace and stared into the flames, grabbing a white fur to cover your exposed skin while you waited. A maid finally entered the rooms a short while later and tentatively approached you, having been warned of your feistiness. She settled a tray holding a bottle of mead and a small glass beside you. "This is for you, King Loki said you may wish to relax a little before his return." You laughed, reaching out and taking a large gulp directly from the bottle. "Thank you," you replied, glaring at the maid as she left you alone again.

An hour passed, and you shed the fur as you grew warm in front of the fire, carelessly discarding it on the floor. You heard his voice a short distance away and stood in preparation for his entrance, not wanting to be at a tactical disadvantage in your seat. He was not put off by your cold stare as he entered his rooms, and he continued towards you, reaching out for your hand and bringing it to his dark blue lips to place a kiss. "I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot." His tone seemed more gentle now he was no longer under the surveying eyes of the dignitaries. He caught you off guard, and you withdrew the magic you were about to cast against him. "I take it as you were brought here under false pretences then?" he sat as he spoke, grabbing the bottle next to him to take his own swig. You raised a brow at his perceptiveness and introduced yourself to him, finally revealing your name. He smiled in response, "Well, nice to finally meet you." 

You crossed your arms across your exposed chest as he looked at you, waiting to see if you would ready your magic again. He was pleased to sense you become slightly more at ease as you took the chair next to him. A second glass appeared on the tray that now sat between you both. He poured the honey liquid for both of you and lifted a full glass towards you. You accepted it, your fingers brushing his own as you took it from his hand. A slight blush crept across your face at the touch, and something shifted in his eyes as he watched your reaction. You quickly brought the glass up to your lips. He continued to surprise you as you slipped into natural conversation. You allowed your eyes to scan over the slightly raised and darker blue markings on his face, wondering about their meaning and if they continued further down his body. He, in return, scanned over the slight pearlescence of your exposed skin.

The evening began to slip away as you talked, paying no attention to the time, and you felt relaxed in his company. "We should retire to bed. It would be wise for you to sleep here tonight, or they will begin to talk of our failure to charm one another." You paused to take in his words, slightly shocked at his invitation to enter his bed, but it did make sense. Word from the dignitaries would surely reach the elders, and you were in no position to refuse their wishes. You nodded in response and began to rise, following his lead. You hadn't taken much note of his height previously, distracted by your impulse to protect yourself. He was taller than you, and you stared at his chest, taking in that he stood a full head above you. You didn't even reach his shoulders. You swallowed and allowed him to lead you through a set of doors to his bed-chamber. 

Your trunk already sat within the room, and you carefully sifted through the contents, horrified to find only strappy silk nightdresses inside. He sat on the bed facing away from you as he began to undress, and you quickly took the opportunity to change and slide under the heavy layers of covers and furs. Once he felt you settle, he slipped under the covers to join you. You both awkwardly lay on your backs looking up at the ceiling, and you shifted slightly, your hand brushing against his accidentally. He turned to face you in response, scanning his eyes over the jewellery that accentuated the slight point of your ears; you could feel his gaze, and you tensed slightly. "I may be King but I do not rule with the harsh iron fist of my father. You can relax. I won't hurt you. Well, unless you hurt me." A small smile crept up his face, and you allowed yourself to turn to face him, looking into his red eyes. 

From what you could sense, he didn't seem to be lying, and the crimson glow in your eyes faded to their usual soft pink. "Your eyes are very expressive, quite the tell," he remarked, and you blushed yet again at his words. "You're not what I expected. The formidable King of Jotunheim." You worried you had spoken out of turn, and the words hung in the air as your eyes frantically searched over his face for a shift in his expression. "You'd do well to not share that information. I can read a room, do not underestimate my ability or intelligence. There is a time and a place for harsh judgement and decision making." You swallowed at his response, the realisation sinking in that you were lying next to a King. A King that had allowed you into his private rooms, albeit with a bit of manhandling. You began to imagine how he could possibly come across the way he had been described. He seemed... charming. 

"I see you may have been underestimated. How foolish they are to not regard you as a crowning jewel of Alfheim, handing you over so thoughtlessly" he softly says as he reaches up to touch your cheek. You inhale sharply, his touch cool but relieving; you had begun to grow warm under the many layers of bedding. You can't help but lean into his hand slightly. You feel warm and comforting under his touch, and he shuffles slightly closer to you, wanting to feel more of your heat against his cool skin. He was extremely perceptive. You were surprised to find comfort in his words; you had been underestimated, sold short, and handed off to a stranger the second you arrived. "I don't think I've been handed the worst card I could have been dealt," you whispered, smiling at him. He returned the smile and brought his face closer to yours. You looked into his eyes, questioning his next move, and he closes the gap, connecting his lips to yours. You find yourself returning the kiss, exploring the cool sensation of his skin against the warmth of your own. The contrast is new, exciting even, and your kiss intensifies as your eyes close, lost in the closeness. 

You don't recall falling asleep, but awake several hours later, unsure of the time. You find yourself resting your head on his cool muscular chest, with your arm and leg carelessly draped over him. You are embarrassed by your unconscious actions and carefully begin to withdraw from him, feeling improper given your meeting only yesterday. He stirs slightly as you begin to move your leg away, and an 'Mmm" cleaves his mouth as you slide the warm skin of your thigh over his body. You freeze, watching him with wide eyes, and pray to the gods he doesn't wake. His eyes remain closed, and you slowly exhale the breath you didn't know you were holding, continuing to slowly slink away from him. Until his hand firmly grips your thigh, holding it in place. You cringe and feel your face become heated under his touch. He rubs slow circles into your skin with his thumb, and the feelings it stirs in the pit of your stomach surprise you. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, continuing to move your thigh away from him, and retreat to your side of the bed. He groans at the loss of your warm body, and begins to reach his hands out towards you, firmly grasping your waist and dragging you back next to him. He turns, his jaw now resting atop your head, and you are anything but relaxed as your face meets his chest. He is so impossibly close, and you feel a firmness press against your thigh. You hope it's his knee, and you flush as your thoughts drift to other possibilities. ".... Loki?" you mumble against him, and you feel his body tense as he is roused from his sleep. "Hmm?" he asks, his voice deep and raspy, and he is clearly still half lost in a dream. 

"You're... crushing me," you manage to speak, your body automatically becoming much warmer in response to his vice grip that is restricting your breath slightly. He doesn't let go, and your temperature continues to rise at his failure to release you until you begin to burn the pads of his fingertips. He quickly pulls away from you, opening his eyes to meet the red glow of yours. You lift your hand to wipe the layer of sweat that has now formed on your brow. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says, still keeping his gaze on you as he yawns. You'd expected a little more of an apology for his actions, and your eyes remain saturated with magic as you now glare at him. He lets out a soft laugh, and you feel your anger building as he laughs at you. He now looks confused, "I assure you I meant no harm, I was asleep, I apologise if it was a little too close for your comfort." You turn over away from him, annoyed, but feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, deep in thought. 

You don't receive a further apology, and you feel him pull the covers away from his body as he sits up, shifting to place his feet on the floor as he wakes fully. You curl into a tighter ball, pulling the blankets around you further. "May I ask exactly why you were asked to join the trip?" he asks, still facing away from you. You are surprised by the question, and take a moment to contemplate his motives before you answer. "Well, my magic... to protect them should anything go awry." "Ah" he responds, "Pretty foolish to cast you off the second you arrive then." He's right; it was foolish to do so. You feel the mattress rise as he stands, and he wanders out of the room, giving no hint to where he is going. 

King Loki returns to the room a short while later, changed into a fresh set of clothes, though his hair is slightly damp. You smell honey and mint waft through the air toward you. He's bathed, and you allow yourself to inhale the heady aroma as you sit up in bed to watch his movements as he readied for the day. You'd not noted the silver crown that sat on the bedside table last night and watch as he lifts it atop his head, silver horns glinting in the dim room. "You look very commanding," you say, surprised by your boldness as your words slip from your mouth. He grins and parts his mouth slightly, as if to speak, but instead runs his tongue across his upper molars as he takes in your words. You wish you could disappear into the pillows that sat behind you at his reaction. He laughs softly, "Well, I am King darling." Your flush spreads further, creeping further up from your neck, across your face. "I should ready myself, the discussions must be starting soo-" he cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. "That won't be necessary, take your time, you are not required to join the discussions today." Oh. You hadn't expected to be discluded from the talks, but it made sense now you had been handed over to Jotunheim, and you watched as he strolled out the room, hearing the doors close behind him. 

You lay back into the pillows, lost at what to do. He hadn't advised exactly how long these discussions would be, and you imagined your hours of mindless solitude, trapped within the walls of his rooms. You sighed heavily as you hauled yourself from the heavy covers, hoping he had left something edible. You were starving after not eating the night prior, and were pleased to be greeted by the savoury aroma of a stew that sat on the same silver tray as last night near the fireplace. You carefully assessed the strange root vegetables it contained, but they tasted pleasant, and you quickly finished the bowl. Your mind drifted to the fragrance he had left in the bedroom, and you wandered through an unknown set of doors, hoping it was a bathroom. It felt strange to wander through the King's private quarters; you felt like you were intruding, but you longed to soak away the stress of the day prior in the vast bath. 

You carefully scanned your eyes over the bottles that lined the edge of the bath, opening a select few to inhale their fragrance, searching for the one he had used earlier that morning. You finally found it, and poured the thick liquid into your hand, slathering it over your body, basking in his fragrance. You closed your eyes, focusing on the aroma, and your mind dragged you back to the bedroom. You contemplated this morning, and what would have happened if he had kept you held against his hard member. Your soapy hand creeps down your body, from your breast to your stomach, and you slowly reach towards your core. Ouch! The pain jolts you back to reality, and you glare down at your outstretched hand, frustrated at the inability to relieve yourself. You thought the chastity enchantment would have been removed the second you were handed over to the King, that was why you had been given to him, right? It should only have remained while in servitude to the elders, an annoying sacrifice to ensure your focus is kept on protection, not self-satisfaction. You frustratedly rinse your body and quickly leave the comfort of the warm bath. 

You are still laying undressed in the bed when the King returns a few hours later, your mind completely lost in thinking about how to remove the enchantment. Your magic failed to counteract it, the invisible shield over our core would not budge, and your fingertips ached from the continued zaps as you resorted to physical force to try and pry it from you. It was fruitless, it wouldn't budge with your magic, and it certainly wasn't going to be removed by your desperate hands. When the door to the bedroom is flung open, you jump in surprise, entirely embarrassed you lost track of time, fixated only on relief. He stiffens, his face has a slightly confused expression as he looks over you, trying to figure out what you had been doing for such a heavy fragrance of arousal to be lingering in the air. You furiously blush, unable to meet his eye line; this is now beyond embarrassing. 

"I... the... I'm afraid the-" his voice waivers, he's struggling to think straight and you allow yourself to finally look at him. It's delightful to watch him fail to string a coherent sentence together, and this isn't aiding your day-long frustration at all. His gaze intensifies as he identifies the need in your eyes, and he desperately moves closer to you with just a few intent strides. He grasps the heavy covers and pulls them away from your body with ease, completely exposing your body to him. He drinks you in; the rapid movements of your flushed chest, your full breasts, and your glittering slick core. "Glorious" he mutters under his breath, and he pounces on top of you, his weight restricting your breath slightly as he hungrily devours the soft skin of your collarbone, before moving up to your neck. You moan against his contact and pull him closer, and he drags his mouth away from your neck to kiss you with fervour, his cold tongue dancing with yours as you both become lost in heady arousal. 

The King drags your hips towards him, your thighs opening further to accommodate his broad torso. The cool skin of his now bare chest is teasing your nipples in just the right way, and he can feel them harden beneath him, pressed tightly against him. "I need to have you, I can't, I can't think straight. You've been a distraction to my mind all day." You moan at his words, he's won you over entirely, and you want nothing more than to find out exactly how impressive his cock must be if his large hands are anything to go by. His hand wanders between your thighs, but instead of providing relief to your desperately tightly wound arousal, he hisses in pain, quickly pulling his hand away. 

He lifts his body away from yours slightly, moving back from your parted thighs to drink in the sight of your core. He can see every detail; the engorged bud of your clitoris, your wet entrance, and the shimmering veil of magic that inflicted pain upon him. His brow furrows, unable to comprehend why you would do such a thing. "A trick, what are you doing, remove it!" he angrily says to you, and you hold your breath, slightly afraid of his reaction and assumption this was your doing. His eyes are dangerous, and he glares into yours as he awaits an answer. "I. I can't, I'm sorry, it's not me. The elders - it's, it's a requirement for servitude. To focus on protection. So we aren't distracted." His mind quickly directs his malice towards the dignitaries and the elders. How clever they are to have dangled such a tantalising woman in front of him, keeping his mind distracted from the day's discussions as the treaty is formed. His anger grows, but not towards you, and he consciously softens his expression as he looks down on you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." You inhale, desperately taking in air.

"May I try to remove it?" he asks, his tone now far more gentle. He hovers his large hand just a few centimetres from your spread core, and every fibre of your being begs he is successful. You nod, and he begins. The reflection of the light radiating from his hand glitters in his eyes as he intently focuses, droplets of sweat now forming on his brow from his mental battle to counteract the magic. The light intensifies, now flickering, and the most intense jolt yet tears through your core. You yelp at the agonising sensation and he quickly retreats his hand, the concern now visible on his face as he watches a tear escape the corner of your eye, your lower lip wobbling. "I'm sorry, this is so stupid, this is my fault. I didn't know!" you cry, and he shifts to lay at the side of you. With your bodies now disconnected, he reaches his hand up to gently cup your face, ensuring your eyes are looking into his own as he speaks to you. "My dear, this is not your fault. I swear to you, I will find a way to resolve this... obstacle... without causing you any harm". You turn to face him, a small laugh escaping your mouth, attempting to hide your feelings of disappointing him, and he connects his lips to yours, gently kissing you, and your eyes flutter shut to return the kiss. 

To Be Continued... 

Don't hate me, I thought the sense of frustration would really be accentuated by waiting for a Part 2...

*Update* 16/06/2022 - Part 2 is up and can be found here!*

[kharia-adarkim]

decided to write some brief graha/venka fluff

The viera woman sighed, crumpling up another sheet of paper and tossing it at an overfull wastebin. The Alliance's soldiers needed a rousing speech to bolster morale, and the Elder Seedseer herself had vouched for Venka's speechcraft and motivational capabilities, but despite her efforts, the words wouldn't come to her. Her thoughts kept drifting to her fellow scions trapped in their unnatural slumber in the Rising Stones. Thancred's collapse had already sent ripples of unease through the troops, and while Y'shtola and Urianger's condition was still known only to a privileged few, it would only be a matter of time before the truth got out.

"A walk," Venka murmured, "to clear my head." She set her quill back in its inkpot and donned a comfortable jacket. For all it's blazing daytime heat, Ala Migho's frigid nights made her miss her mothers' cozy cabin in the Twelveswood. She'd scarcely walked a block before a faint whisper caught her attention. "Who goes there?" she called out, silently cursing at herself for leaving her bow at the inn. The whispering grew louder, and horror dawned upon Venka.

"Let expanse contract, eon become instant..."

"No, no..." Venka muttered. Who would be next? One of the twins? Tataru? Krile? Suddenly, her knees became week, and Venka's vision began to blur.

"Throw wide the gates..." the voice called out, and Venka's vision went black as she collapsed onto the cobblestones.

The smell of brewing tea roused Venka from her slumber, and she quickly jolted awake. She was shocked, however, to find whe was not in Ala Migho, nor the Rising Stones, but a wholly unfamiliar room. Furthermore, she was clothed not in her pajamas and jacket, but a simple linen smock. On the other side of the room, an elezen man stood over a set of teacups. When he noticed Venka was awale, he smiled warmly.

"It seems the Exarch was right after all," he said as he brought a cup over to the confused viera. "'Brew some bergamot tea, the smell will surely wake her up' he told me. How are you feeling?" Venka glanced between the man and the teacup before cautiously accepting it and taking a sip.

"Where are we?" she asked at last, "And who are you?"

"Name's Seigmar, miss," the man replied, "and you're in the Crystarium." Venka nodded politely, taking another sip of tea to hide her confusion. She'd never heard of a Crystarium, and Siegmar didn't resemble any elezen name she'd ever heard.

"And this Exarch," she continued, "who is that?"

"Why, he's our leader, and the founder of our fair city. I'll have Captain Lyna introduce you to him once you've got a clean bill of health. Let me get you some bread." Venka continued to sip her tea as she tried to make sense of the information. It had to have been several hours at the least, owing to the bright light that filtered through the window. But where was this Crystarium located? The air wasn't half dry enough to be Ala Mhigo, nor cold enough for Coerthas, and the architecture was unlike any she'd seen before.

A few hours and a short medical examination later, a knock on the door drew Venka's attention. "This is Captain Lyna," a voice from the other side announced, "are you ready to see the Exarch?" Venka opened the door and was shocked to see another viera standing before her, donned in polished plate. "What's the matter? Still not feeling well?"

"No. I mean, yes, er-" Venka stammered, "It's just, you're..."

"Oh come on, surely you didn't think you were the only viis to have left the greatwood?" the woman answered. "Come, the Exarch wants to see you. And when you're done, I can give you a tour." She turned and began to walk down the hall, and Venka followed the viera - viis? - out of the building. They'd taken but a few steps out the front door before Venka stopped in stunned silence as the Crystal Tower loomed high in front of her. "Impressive, isn't it?" Lyna called back. "Now come on! The Exarch might be too patient for his own good, but you still shouldn't keep him waiting." Venka shook out her confusion and followed her guide up the grandiose steps, into the tower itself. After strolling down a few unsettlingly familiar corridors, they arrived at a sturdy oak door. Lyna banged on it a few times with her fist and call out, "Exarch! Your guest has arrived!"

"She may enter," a voice replied from within, "Thank you Captain." Venka's brow furrowed. Though muffled, the voice, too, was familiar to her. Her musing was interrupted by the loud clunk and creak of the door opening. Lyna gestured for her to enter, and as she did, closed the door behind her. Venka looked around at the myriad of books and strange arcane devices literring the room, until her gaze came to rest on a robed figure with a crystalline hand gripping a staff. "Though I am likely not the first to say it, let me bid you welcome to the Crystarium. I am-"

"G'raha?" Venka whispered. Were her ears decieving her? He sounded more tired than when they'd last spoken, but his voice was unmistakable even after all this time. The Exarch coughed and cleared his throat.

"I- no, no, I- I am the Crystal Exarch," he stuttered, "I'm not sure who-" he began, and was again interrupted as Venka lept across the room, tackling him to the ground in an embrace. The Exarch tried to regain his composure, then noticed the tears rolling down Venka's cheek, and her small, stifled sniffles. After a moment's hesistation, he sighed, and laid a gentle hand upon her back. "Yes," he said softly, "it's me."

[fulcrumstardust]

Please tell us more about "So glad we almost made it" (& is this from the line from "everybody wants to rule the world" or just a coincidence?)

YES absolutely! I loooove this verse:

There's a room where the light won't find you Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down When they do I'll be right behind you So glad we've almost made it So sad we had to fade it

(peak angst)

anyway! I had this wip for YEARS (uh), it's all over the place scenes half finished here and there. Basically Cassian is presumed KIA until he's not. Jyn learns that he's been (allegedly) captured while undercover and sent to a mining asteroid. Nobody knows who he is there.

Now for context it's the thick of the war and politics are just ~shit~ for the Alliance, stealing content from Mr Freed where they have to buy the freedom of slaves from terrible people etc. Anyway. A rescue mission is underway, keep in mind they aren't sure Cassian is actually alive. And Jyn obviously joins in (after threatening Melshi).

The diplomatic way isn't fast enough for her so she infiltrates the prison herself, finds Cassian who's dying from septicemia and tries her hardest to get him out. spoiler alert, it does not end well.

angsty preview 🔥 (in case you need more whump, cw: injury etc)

“I'm looking for the Starbreaker's crew,” she asked around, briefly kneeling beside strangers. “Heard anything?”

Empty faces shook their heads silently as Jyn went through the groups of prisoners sitting on the dusty ground. “Starbreaker's crew? No?”

She attracted curious stares, but no one found the courage to inquire on the matter. Those people had been here for weeks, months maybe, they had no energy to spare for an obsessive woman asking questions about a lost ship.

Moving towards the back of the underground prison, Jyn caught the profile of a man that seemed painfully familiar in the oppressive darkness. “Cassian?” she called with sickening hope, only to let her hand fall back when she realized it wasn't him.

Jyn stood up and scanned the dark room, asphyxiated by her internal fears. What if he wasn't here? What then? What will she do now that she was locked up with a bunch of prisoners in this shithole of a planet? Talk about a flawed plan…

Barely keeping her brain from freezing in panic, Jyn didn't notice the person following her—until a young voice startled her from her existential dread. “You're looking for Cassian?”

Jyn flung around. “Yes,” she said, facing a dark-haired boy that couldn't be much older than twelve. “You've seen him?”

The boy nodded and Jyn forgot all of her following questions, her face suddenly burning from anxiety. Cassian's here. He’s alive.

She quickly walked into the footsteps of this stranger as he gestured for her to follow.

Behind a curved wall, laying on the ground under a dirty rag, Jyn discovered the silhouette of an unconscious man. She kneeled in a hurry, her mind trying to reconcile her memories of him with the brutal reality. For a shameful amount of seconds, she wanted to say: no, that's not him. But it was. Ish’ka… it was.

Jyn cupped his face between shaky hands, feeling the burn of a feverish skin under her touch. His eyes were rimmed by dark circles, the hollow of his cheeks eaten away by a full-grown beard. She could barely tell if he was breathing and, when she checked, found that his pulse was weak and shallow.

Cassian looked beyond miserable. He looked like a dying man.

“Cassian,” she called in vain, “can you hear me?”

“Careful,” the boy told her with a protective stance. Jyn decided to pay him some more attention for his tone alone. When she looked at him with a questioning gaze, he pointed toward Cassian’s legs. “He’s got a bad injury.”

Jyn had seen plenty of bad.

It didn't even begin to describe the horror of what she discovered under that smelling sheet. Blood drained from her face with a gush of nausea. She tried her best not to gag at the sight of the wound, fear in her guts. She could only imagine; Cassian had taken a blaster shot to the lower leg, or maybe caught the explosion of a mine—not a direct impact, a bursting of heat that caused the skin to implode.

It would have taken long enough to heal, had he been able to access medicare immediately. The non-treatment only led to an infection of the damaged tissues, coloring the surrounding skin with a contrasting dark color, and inviting more bacteria to feast on the scene. Jyn could almost smell it over the putrid odor of that place. She feared the infection had passed into his bloodstream already.

“I tried to clean it,” the boy said with a shy voice, “but here…”

Jyn tried to focus her mind on him long enough to reply. Although she knew nothing about him, he seemed genuinely distraught by Cassian’s condition, which pierced through the walls of blind terror surrounding Jyn's heart.

“I'm sure you did your best,” she said and touched his arm. “What's your name?”

“Horizon, ma'am. People call me Hoz.”

“Thank you, Hoz.”

The boy lowered his voice hesitantly, glancing around with a frown as if he was about to deliver sensitive intel. “Are you… Jyn?”

Her eyebrows draw higher with careful hesitation. She considered the surprising possibility that Cassian had made friends with the boy—which was somewhat out of character... or telling her everything she needed to know about Hoz.

“Did he tell you about me?”

The boy shrugged. “He didn't tell your name at first… only that he needed to go home. But sometimes, he calls for a Jyn, so I figured…”

She felt like someone had punched her in the guts. “How long since you last talked with him?”

“It's been… a couple of days, ma'am. Are you here to get us free? The… Alliance?”

“I’m going to get you out.” Jyn promised. She lowered her face so she could whisper to Cassian in turn: “I'm going to get you home. It's almost over. Stay with me.”

[hexonthepeach]

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 26: fallen

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [25: tribunal]

wc: 7.2k

warnings: mild violence, discussions of omegaverse breeding inc. pregnancy, and in-world bigotry

recommended listening: shadow - ten

“I challenge you, next.”

It’s only the first match and the event is already a circus, and you–you are its biggest fool. 

Your face throbs in sympathetic pain and phantom bruises, tears falling from your swollen eyes, as you are gently pulled back to your seat by your two Nyctos guards, your feet feeling like they’re shoed in lead.

You take the pain you've caused upon yourself, biting the inside of your mouth until it bleeds and weeping your makeup into a black mess that runs under your veil.

It is simply a way forward to a destination you now are uncertain you're strong enough to reach. One step at a time. One small step at a time, remembering what’s at stake.

“Let’s sit down and get you a drink, xiao meimei–” Yangyang says, colliding with you when you freeze at the entry to the royal box, catching sight of the red-jacketed back of a familiar Imperial physician as he attends to Tenth Prince’s blond guard. 

Sicheng’s eyes track you with an amused expression, claw marks already scabbing on his cheek. You'd given him a few good hits when he’d tried to hold you back, none of them deep enough to maim.

“Might have to tie that one down,” he remarks, coldly. 

Dr. Qian turns away from his work, the glow of a cell regenerator poised over the Beta’s exposed arm.

“Let me show you a magic trick,” Yangyang says, snatching the bloodied fan from your grasp. You entertain him for as long as you can tolerate his waving it in front of your face and his open palm before he tosses it over his shoulder. Someone shouts in surprise in the neighboring booth. 

You’re unable to laugh but the absurdity of it is a welcome distraction. You take your seat, as far away as possible from your enemies, trying to fix your face with a silk napkin Renjun has retrieved for you.

“You gonna be okay, xiao meimei?” Yangyang asks, crouching again beside you to clean your hands with another napkin dipped in liquor-tainted water. You submit to his care in cleaning Sicheng’s blood out from under your fingernails.

“I'm not your sister,” you say, sighing.

“Jie jie?” he asks, head cocked and smiling wide before he’s cuffed across the head by Renjun’s half-gloved fist. 

“Your Excellency.” Renjun mutters. 

“Oh yeah, of course,” Yangyang says, eyes suddenly going wide. He darts up and back when he realizes who Renjun is bowing to.

“Pray tell me, what possessed you to make such a fool of yourself over the Kim whelp?” 

Tenth Prince is just a silhouette between you and the domed sea of lights, but the glow of his fan arcs across your vision before colliding with your head. His disappointment stings more than the blow. 

You kneel immediately on the marble tile, supplicating yourself.

“Daegam,” you say, formally, “I apologize for allowing instinct to drive my actions.”

He regards you in silence, fan waving gently between you now displaying an ancient caricature of a tiger mountain god being treated to a long tobacco pipe by a pair of white rabbits. His meaning is made more real in the three coins he presents to you, in the palm of his hand slipped past black veils.

“If you continue to make a habit of these outbursts we will be forced to make an example of those you seem to so highly regard despite their status. Do you understand?”

You nod, jaw tightening. 

“Give me your hand.” 

You expect a punishment but Tenth gestures to the physician. You keep your eyes focused on the floor as your wrist is taken in capable hands, the syringe gun pressed to it. The hypodermic needle is just a blink of pain before the calm sets in.

They always made it seem so easy, so consensual.

“Thank you, daegam,” you say, holding still as the injection spot is soothed with a black-gloved thumb, your pulse checked for irregularities. 

“She’s stable,” Dr. Qian says, watching your readout on his agent projected in front of him. The blurred image dips down in front of you, over silver shoes tapping impatiently beside your uncle’s dark robes.

“Said whelp is in a coma, but we expect him to recover,” Key helps lift you up, winking at you quickly, another little bit of levity you can hang on to. “We must of course address this little matter of a challenge before the next match proceeds.”

It’s apparent he’s speaking to more than present company when he pushes his volume up with a flick of his fingers, the image dancing with light from the sedative currently flowing through your pounding pulse. 

“Well, wasn’t that an upset? A lesson in humility for our combatants and the challenged party. Though our dark horse Lee Donghyuck stands on the side of the challenger he’s made his loyalties clear. Let’s check in with our winner.”

Key gestures to a corner of the arena now illuminated, one of the many cameras fixed on the Blue box, where Taeil is working on Haechan’s injuries. 

You hadn’t seen him since NeoTech, comforted by the appearance of the physician looking up past the younger's hunched back towards you. He finds the camera, cutting across his neck in a clear indication to stop, a bloody swab between his fingers.

“At least let your Princess congratulate you for your victory,” Key cajoles, handing you a flute of champagne. You don’t drink, raising it up in the direction of your side.  

"To first times and small pleasures,” you say, pouring out the glass on the floor before you in a symbolic gesture. “I accept the challenge.”

The MC chuckles beside you even as he dances out of the way of the spilled glass.

“A bold move. And who amongst your pack do you choose to represent you as primary?” 

A hush falls over the room as you wait for Haechan to turn to face you, to see his expression clearly as you make your move. He looks up at your projected images split on the screen rather than you, his face unreadable under the bandages taped to his nose and cheeks, unkempt hair in his eyes. 

In a gesture of sincerity you pull back the veil covering your head, your mouth still hidden beneath the panel tied over your nose. Murmurs pass through the crowd like a breeze through leaves. 

Good. This is how they should remember you.

“None,” you answer, looking down to meet his gaze across the distance. 

Key looks at you quizzically, not understanding. 

“I'll fight him myself,” you say. 

Finally, you have a response. Shock, righteous anger all visible in a flash as Haechan stands up, pushing away from Taeil. 

“This has been a night of surprises,” Key remarks. “As the challenger you will now be required to set terms–”

“I’m afraid I will have to intervene upon this subject,” Dr. Qian states, soft voice loud for how close it is to your ear. 

“While there isn't a precedent for omegas fighting their Alphas the challenged has every right to accept a fight directly–” Key begins.

“Her Royal Highness is strictly forbidden from participating in any activity which may cause physical injury.” 

You look up at Qian, puzzled, mouth open to speak. He faces the MC and the audience–not you–ignoring your confusion and fear, as always.

“Dr. Moon will be able to corroborate this fact, having signed witness to the Royal Highness’s recent examination results. I suspect he is already aware of her condition.”

Condition? What condition? You don't realize the words have slipped out until you hear the echo through the chamber, your eyes locked on Taeil in the arena, wincing at the attention. His mouth opens and closes, glasses glinting in the bright light. 

“Please, for the sake of our tribunal, explain,” Key says, looking between the physicians with an air of impatience.

“The Princess is . . . “ Taeil is flustered, fighting for the correct words with the pressure of so many witnesses. “In a way . . .“

His mumbles are lost to an uproar of speculation, your own vision tunneling as the realization crashes down on you, as you are swept under a tidal wave of reactions. You deflate internally but hold yourself up, helped by Qian's arm encircling your quivering shoulders.

“No,” you say, looking at the camera in front of your booth. “It’s not possible. You told me you gave me a chip . . .”

Taeil shakes his head, turning away. Instead you're forced to look into the bruised face of your would-be mate as he slowly catches up, as your numb body is spoken over by too many voices to parse. 

From resentment to worry so quickly–that's all you can think of as Haechan's face goes slack, as he moves towards you unconsciously. Something tugs inside you, a resonant emotion worming its way through the despair. 

Hope. 

It certainly isn’t yours. 

Jaehyun steps forward to pull Haechan back, that cold, dark gaze just as tormented as you feel.

“There is always a chance, even with intervention. Congratulations on a successful mating.” Dr. Qian says. You know he’s addressing the Alphas below–not you. No, never you. To make the moment worse, the crowd erupts into applause and cheers–a terrifying excitement surfacing in every sound that only serves to sink the dagger into your heart deeper.

The tunneling in your vision lenses into pure black, the unrelenting horror of knowing what deep down you'd already suspected . . . the secret implanted inside you blooming in the dark. You collapse, knees buckling, not fighting the red-sleeved arm that wraps around you to hold you up. 

“Dr. Reinholdt and I have personally confirmed the scans taken during the Princess’s official examination. Her Royal Highness is expressing a positive post-ovulatory hormonal profile, as well as markers indicating a successful uterine attachment.”

As proud as if he were the father himself, your abuser continues, looking down at you softly.

“She is bred.” 

A recess is called in the wake of the announcement–not for anyone’s recovery but for additional wagers to be made on the basis of the shift in information. Doyoung knows even the stupidest among the Syndicate and their clients are aware of how this changes things, fundamentally.

This is no longer a fight over ownership, it is now over succession.

Your written statement to the tribunal had listed those who had claimed you, not those who'd mated you, but it may as well be the same to the spectators. Even poor Taeil was being assessed as a potential clan outcross. 

Doyoung's name hasn't appeared as a potential sire on the betting list but the possibility is there, he thinks–slim as it is. Vulpines are able to bear multiple kits, insemination could occur from multiple sources.

He has to ignore that, now, entranced by how vulnerable you look, seated in the booth across the curve of the room. After a time you look up from your hands to unconsciously meet his gaze, forehead creased with confusion and a small shake of your head, as if to say I didn't know. 

He can't respond with the comfort he wants to give you but he dips his chin, slightly, turning back to face the heated discussion occurring behind him. It’s a continuation of the one that had begun in Park’s AV on the flight to the Lottery.

“Hopefully you’ve had plenty of time to review the amendment when you weren’t painting yourself in that bitch’s slick?” Choi had said, shoving a glass of alcohol at Doyoung with a knowing wink. “Congratulations you lucky bastards. Smells like a proxy house in here.”

“Let’s show some modicum of respect for our partners,” Dr. Reinholdt sniffs–unable to register what the Elder Alphas can with his Beta nose. Doyoung hasn’t met him in the flesh before but he knows enough about the Jeong representative, his ARs filling in the rest. 

EEC-originated, well-modded and decked out in cyberware, the doctor is acting CEO of the  scientific division of the Jeong clancorps. The last clan patriarch had handed over Prince Scientific to their international board of trustees back in the late 2070s. 

Reinholdt had retired from chairing the genetic engineering initiative well before the war, building his reputation through reliable breeding and hormone management clinics, along with substantial pharmaceutical imports. He was the Syndicate’s go-to fertility doctor, and he was in his element now.

“His Royal Highness is familiar with the standard proprietary clause of omega contracts related to patented cell lines?” Reinholdt asks, offering a tablet across the space between their luxury seats to Taeyong. “Your physician can relay the full legal–” 

“A requirement of state law, per the 2099 Omega Breeding Initiative.” Doyoung answers, intercepting to let Taeyong play the part of bored royal as critically necessary. “We were well aware of it in submitting the contract proposal, hence its inclusion.”

“The Syndicate’s agreement to this bonding is contingent on your cooperation with it,” Elder Park says, throwing back a glass of champagne. “That breeder represents a significant investment for our entire community.”

“The Princess Consort,” Reinholdt corrects, smiling in a pained way that suggests mild embarrassment, “Is currently our only hope of being able to successfully reinvigorate the breeding lines. It was by the same generous donations of the last Imperatrix that we were able to cultivate a new cohort.”

A new cohort now decimated by war, greed, and a blatant disregard for omega sanctity down to three dozen children, Doyoung thinks.

“Blame that bastard First for culling our lines and poisoning the well,” Choi says bitterly. He looks up at Taeyong, eyes falling on the medals pinned to his chest. “Your father understood better than anyone what a blow that was to morale.”

Doyoung keeps his expression neutral, feeling Taeyong’s hidden anger flare into life with the accompanying burn of cinnamon on his tongue. The Vulpine’s expression is dark, eyes fierce beneath lowered brows as he regards the others.

“I have no intention of hoarding a Syndicate resource,” Taeyong says, disguising his response as shared enmity. “I only want what is rightfully mine. My clan property–and the guarantee of continued immunity and protection for the remaining Imperial lineage.”

Doyoung knows the weight of that statement, understands who all is covered under this Devil’s bargain. Where once you’d just been one of many, he thinks, you’d managed to become the single-most important of them all, hidden in plain sight.  

“We need to do the extraction immediately. Determine a proper bid before resuming the trials.” 

“This is not a suitable environment for removal or examination of potential embryos,” Dr. Reinholdt says, electronic cigar flaring in the dark. More quietly, he leans in to assure Elder Park. “We can still harvest the sample, after.” 

“No one touches her until this is over,” Taeyong interrupts, running his palms down his jacket in a way that Doyoung knows means he's anxious, sweat beading on his brow. “We'll sweep the next rounds and then we can negotiate any donations Nyctos is willing to make to the board.”

That bastard Choi is giving away the game in how broadly he grins at Taeyong's attempt to assert his authority. 

“Would love to strike a bargain now if that kit’s sire is killed in action,” one of Park’s partner clan cronies–Bang he thinks–begins to negotiate with him, devoid of tact.

The idea that they’d abandon one of their own kin was just one of many miserable lies he’d been maintaining but now that it’s real Doyoung feels a spark of unbridled fury in his chest, jaw clenching beneath his maintained composure.

“Couldn’t keep it you know, the Lee policy was always to cull the undesirables before they came of age. I’d double it for a breeder, wouldn’t even have to be an–”

He’s saved from decking that smarmy, bespectacled face by Choi leaning past them both to point at the stage. 

“Better collar your enforcer before he makes off with your bride and our investment, for good.” 

Doyoung turns to find Johnny clearing the arena’s edge and beelining towards you, Lottery security too slow to respond to an uncontrolled Alpha hybrid weaving through the aisles at full speed. 

“Nine hells,” he breathes, abandoning Taeyong to the Syndicate and racing after him. 

This was a delicate operation, already unraveling and sure to fall apart completely if Johnny were to let his instincts override his senses. By the time he’s within range the big Alpha has been met by the Imperial guard, held back from entering the booth by that tall blonde Beta.

“You dare to approach her when she has marked you for execution?” Tenth Prince shakes his head beneath his costume, veils parted slightly to reveal a deathly pale profile and a hint of dark brows. 

“I just want to speak–”

“She has nothing to say to you, do you my dear?” 

You bow to your uncle, hands crossed in front of you as your red-rimmed eyes meet your mates. 

Though the vaguest impressions of your distress seep through the pack bond they’re drowned out by the Alpha between you, vibrating with that intense desire to see you safe. More than that, Doyoung thinks. Much, much more than that.

It’s no wonder Doyoung can’t read you at all. 

After a moment you lean into the ear of the eunuch, whispering something only he can hear. Tenth laughs dryly into his fan, robes swishing as he signals.

The two men holding the bigger man down release Johnny and are shrugged off with an ease that makes an observer in the booths beside them gasp, the Felid moving so quickly into the box Doyoung is ready to lunge after him, thankful when Johnny freezes.

Johnny seems to be at least aware of the lethal weapons pointed at his back, including the long, silver sword the blonde Imperial guard has at his neck. He raises his hands slightly, not moving any closer towards you because of the much smaller cat that’s crouched between you, both sets of fangs and claws bared. 

“Leave her be,” Liu Yangyang says quietly, ears pinned back. Renjun stands beside you in a similar though much more submissive posture. He holds his nightstick out bravely, looking to Doyoung for an order.

“You're still under my authority,” Johnny snarls. “Yield.”

The Beta holds his ground until you lay a hand on his thin shoulder, assuring him as you step around him to face your mate. 

“And what could you possibly want from me?” you ask, looking up at him cooly. “To know if it's yours?” 

Johnny is at a loss for words, claws receding as he lowers his hands. 

“Will you treat me well only now that you think I bear your young?” Your voice is steady, laced with the same condescending disdain your uncle has addressed you with. “It wasn’t enough to claim me unasked for, you must claim this, too?”

Doyoung feels a rush of adrenaline, smells that sharp green scent that heralds Johnny’s loss of control. He knows there's only so much the anti-shift blockers can do. This was programming so deep even he feels it, unbonded as he is: the desire to take his mated omega far, far away and insure her peace and safety in bearing his kits. 

His kits? The thought makes him feel warm and a little heady. 

Of course they could be his. He'd earned his place enveloped in your touch, heat igniting inside his chest at the memory of your body wrapped around his own, your submission to his Alpha sweeter than he’d ever prepared himself for. He should be the one fighting for you right now. He should be insuring your place at his side, or rather vice versa, until he can properly insure you're blissfully nested–

He dismisses the siren’s call of the pack bond as quickly as it arises, finally able to intervene.  

“It's a breach of the rules of the tribunal to address the challenged outside of your trial.” He announces, breaking Johnny's trance. You look at him, now, glimpsing a hint of gratitude in your eyes–that hidden smile. It makes his heart flip-flop a bit.

“Gongjunim,” he states, voice raising as he bows. “We thank you for your grace and hope that you may forgive us for our neglect. Whomever's young you bear, we will fight to protect your safety, first and foremost.” 

“Thank you Master Kim.” You nod in approval. “Please remove this beast from my sight.” 

Johnny is still speechless, anger extinguished as if flooded under a deluge. 

“I just wanted to make sure she's alright,” he murmurs, once he's broken free from the manhandling shoves of the Imperial guards. 

“You're putting her in danger. Do your part, play your role. Whatever happens out there I need to know you can protect Taeyong in the event I'm incapacitated.” 

Johnny nods solemnly, face still stony with disbelief as he follows him back to the arena and their empty box. Doyoung takes advantage of his idiot cousin’s announcements overhead to stretch his body, riding the high of your approval for this next stage rather than the real, deterring fear fluttering deep inside him. 

“Focus on Na's tells. He's not going to use standard parries. He fights dirty,” Johnny says, gripping his shoulder tightly.

“There is nothing in the rules that says he can't resort to martial arts,” Doyoung sighs, picking up a light-weight, dull blade from the rack. Upon activation the edge glows red, appropriately themed. “Let's hope we can end this quickly. And safely.”

He immediately regrets his words once he’s met with Yuta in the middle, as the lights lower and the drumbeats begin. The Felid hefts his blade in one hand, unactivated, the blue glow of his costume making him look as ghostly as the mist pumped into the circle to obscure the floor.

“Our seconds have taken the stage. At the West, the Gimhae Kim clan champion and heir, Nyctos’ strategist and Crown Prince Lee Taeyong’s left hand oft hidden in his sleeve, Kim Dongyoung.”

There’s mild applause–name recognition only, Doyoung thinks, marking the left hand comment for a future, written response to said idiot cousin. If he survives, that is. 

“At the East, Nyctos’ Japanese expatriate and Assistant Inspector Second Rank of the Neo Seoul Police, formerly Warrant Officer junwi of the Second Army and hero of the Battle of Busan, Nakamoto Yuta.”

Anyone who applauds for the Felid does far from the central boxes, he notes, but there does seem to be a few more excited for his downfall than that of the foreigner. 

Good, Doyoung thinks. 

“Well met,” he says, raising his sword above his head in a casual salute. “Let’s make this a clean, honorable fight.”

The puma stares back at him, at ease, before throwing him an equally casual but much ruder gesture.

The floor trembles, forcing them to move closer as the arena unfolds–hollowing out in great chunks to form a pit and dozens of peaks and columns of varying width around a central circle, a few feet of gap between them. 

Johnny had been right–what a stupid farce, he thinks, hearing the spectator's amusement as he stands his ground at the ten-foot circle in the middle rather than extend his energy moving away or risk tumbling down. 

He holds, patiently, as Yuta clears a few steps to join him–the jeers already beginning at the lack of immediate action.

“I thought rabbits could jump,” someone says. 

“At least it will be quick.”

Yuta can’t help but smile at the show of support, activating his blade and inspecting the blue edge.

“Too afraid to use a real nanoblade, Kim?” The Felid's pupils shine green in the low light.

“Would you prefer to be dismembered?” Doyoung asks.

“Can’t harm a hair on the prized Kim heir, can I?” Yuta mocks. He circles at the edge, watching as fog drifts up only as far as their feet to obscure the depths and add to the confusion of where the floor ends and begins. 

“You can certainly try,”

“What's the point then? Tally up who gets a fatal hit?” 

Doyoung shrugs his non-occupied shoulder. “That would be acceptable. Or you can fall on your sword and accept your punishment.”

He sees that signature Nakamoto smile appear, fanged and devilish. The cat sidles forward, testing the reach of his blade rather than attack directly with the skills Doyoung knows he has from the kendo training they’d shared.

“What crimes am I accused of, exactly? Never made it to that part of the testimony. Was it because I got to taste your precious Princess’s sli—?”

Doyoung lashes out, allowing it to appear he's been baited. Yuta parries weakly only to follow through with a sweeping kick into Doyoung’s legs. 

He's forced back, steps already calculated as he brings the return swing to strike against his opponent's upper arm. 

The super-heated blade scores Yuta's blue-marked jacket, burning fabric and flesh into a deep carbon gash beneath. Yuta slinks back, forced to glance at the landscape behind him as he retreats, free hand clamping over the ugly wound.

“Consider that a lesson. Your commoner’s vulgarity won't be tolerated here,” Doyoung says, approaching carefully.

“Noted.” Yuta hisses between gritted teeth, testing the blade with his uninjured arm before tossing it away. The crowd goes silent, waiting to hear the clatter below–denied it when Yuta crouches and springs. 

His gambit pays off, as Doyoung avoids hitting him with a more dangerous strike, instead blocking his hit with the flat of the blade. He side-steps the Felid’s next attack, claiming the middle. 

Yuta is a dervish of clawed arms and booted kicks but Doyoung is prepared. Instead of relying on wide swings in these too-close quarters he uses the vertical line of the blade to block, melting the sole of Yuta’s boot the instant before it can collide with his face. 

Yuta doesn’t waste the opportunity to twist his foot with the blade still embedded in his heel, wrenching it from Doyoung’s grasp and dislodging it with a neat kick as he returns to a practiced stance. 

“I’m sorry, Kim. Do you need your little toy?” Yuta’s laugh is a raspy cackle as he nudges the flickering sword towards Doyoung, boot still smoking. It’s a fitting echo to Jungwoo’s gambit earlier, the two of them always in sync.

“Gloves off it is, then.” Doyoung says, mirroring him in his body’s crouch into a familiar position–fists up, feet splayed. 

He won’t need a sword for this part of the game, and he most certainly won’t need his claws. 

You haven’t been able to sit down since the fight began–wringing flakes of dried blood from your palms as you try to track the hits. You can barely make out Yuta’s moves, speed on his side where Doyoung’s strength appears to be in evading hits, blocking only when necessary. 

The Lepid is deceptively graceful, preserving his strength and avoiding the snag of bone-white claws to land quick blows of his fists on the other man’s chest and face–even his injured arm. 

The Academy did have a love for boxing as much as fencing, both considered gentleman’s sports, but you fear for him and his civility against a more feral opponent. Yuta’s hits are way more visible–red staining Doyoung’s exposed, slender arms. He’s managed a large swipe across Doyoung’s chest, even while his eye swells shut from a nasty right hook.

You know the effect of a blood-letting of a prey on a predator, can see Yuta’s movements become more and more that of his original form–guttural sounds replacing his taunting as he switches from kicks and leg sweeps to brute strength, tossing Doyoung back across the nearest gap. 

“The Crown Prince’s second can’t possibly be worth your concern,” Tenth tsks.

You take advantage of the crowd’s distraction to answer with uncharacteristic truth. “The prey has proven himself useful. It would be a waste, as you said.”

“Ah. That explains the reek of lesser animal on you.”

Renjun’s head jerks in your direction, nose wrinkled with disgust. You feel a twinge of self-consciousness; the younger Nyctos members were unfamiliar with you, and this was the impression you’d be leaving them with. 

“The Kims live to serve us, do they not?” you add a tone of playfulness, feeling even more ill internally.

“A taste of freedom has certainly made you bold.” Your uncle drawls, unfazed. He’s long given up on reprimanding you in this venue but you’re sure the penalties will be swift and severe once you are ensconced back in the Imperial Palace under his guiding hand.

It’s not your concern at this moment, attention divided between the field of combat and the barely visible figures on the sidelines. You finally mark Taeyong by his familiar silhouette in one of the lower boxes, crowded on either side by the much taller Choi and Park elders. 

You can well imagine the fear racing through him at the sight of his mate in danger, the concern for the man he loved–all blanketed under years of training in keeping those emotions buried, where they couldn’t be exploited.

It was his choice, you think, but you fight to find the same steel within yourself. You’d allowed too much to slip through that first match and your reaction to Qian’s news, you have to hold on to the act no matter what happens.

The crowd rouses with shouts and applause as the battle spills over into the more hazardous columns, Doyoung forced down by Yuta’s efforts, scrabbling for a hold when his next leap barely makes it. Yuta slinks to a more stable footing behind his exposed back, waiting for the opportunity to strike with the calculation of a careful hunter. 

You find yourself at the edge of the box, nails sunk into the ancient, carved wood. 

“Get up,” you urge under your breath. “Get up and face him.”

Yuta drops down–ready to spring–just as Doyoung twists over onto his side, legs curling under him. They meet with all the momentum on Yuta’s part, rolling uncontrolled towards the abyss in a mutual grapple.

“Finish him!”

“Drop him!”

You’re not sure who the shouts around you are rooting for but it makes no difference as they both disappear over the far edge, a gaping hole in the mist the only sign they were there at all. 

Your courage disappears with them, breath held as you wait for some sign–anything. Neither combatant’s vitals are dead, still coded orange and red from sensors marking bodily injury but that means nothing for a fall. You’re sure the pit is deep enough to sustain injury–the floors beneath the self-altering stage are a repository of dangerous machinery and unused hazards.

Spectators surge to the edges of their own boxes and even the bottom tiers of the arena, trying to make out the result. 

“It will be in our favor if they both remove themselves,” Tenth Prince says beside you, uncharacteristically excited.

A hand appears, bloodstained and grasping for the slick surface of the column, sparks dancing away from the broken screen as claws sink into its surface. You hear a collective gasp, an uncertain response at the sight of the tawny blonde head of the victor as he fights his way to the top, with difficulty. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“We have a win–” Key begins his oration, scattered applause cut short by Yuta slinging a familiar red-garbed form onto solid ground. Boos begin as he shoves the other man forward, one-handed.

“It would appear we’ve been denied a sudden death for either of our opponents,” Key says, mirroring the audience’s disappointment. 

Doyoung crawls wretchedly towards the middle, blood-stained and dragging his arm while Yuta gracefully climbs up after him to stand over the other Alpha menacingly.

“Princess.” Yuta addresses you, finding you easily by your place besides Key in the spotlight.  

“Mercy,” you blurt out. The Felid’s battered face breaks into a grin as he shakes his head, kicking Doyoung’s torso. It barely glances him but Doyoung protests loudly, shoulder obviously dislocated. 

“You yield, rabbit?” Yuta asks, earning a tired laugh from the man collapsed at his feet. 

“On the charges, no,” Doyoung gasps out, rolling over. 

Yuta leans down, claws poised– 

“Stop,” you shout. 

“Do you condemn him, Princess?” He raises his arms, bowing slightly. The way Yuta says it, you think he’s not referring to Doyoung at all, but to himself. 

A twisted kind of apology, you think. Better late than never. 

There’s a heavy quiet as you think of how best to respond, hearing the tapping of your uncle’s fan in his hand as a warning. You catch Renjun’s pleading look in the corner of your vision, sandy gray ears flattened in his silver hair. 

“He has earned his forgiveness as you have honored me in your victory.” You feel rather than see the tension in the Nyctos members dissolve in an instant, Key exhaling beside you. “What do you wish?”

“I won’t challenge a bred royal, if that’s what you’re asking. Good luck with that.” He waits for the laughter to die down, smirking a bit.

“But . . . ?” You read him well. 

“When you’re free–” he begins. Not if. “You owe me a date.”  

That earns jeers and not a small amount of applause. Still, you’re able to read the last words on his lips that are drowned out, before Key begins the match breakdown, the stage closing up again as Yuta leaves Doyoung on the ground to be collected by the medics. 

Only you understand the words that the Felid had spoken without sound, for you to read on his lips. 

“Consider it your payment.”

“Your team is winning, my dear,” Duchess Kim states, gloating. “Why then do you look so distraught?”

You hold your tongue, aided in your silence by the technician applying your lip stain with a delicate air-brush. 

While you’d been allowed to leave the royal box between fights to collect yourself, the dressing room of the executive level is hardly exclusive. You could curse Yangyang for letting the noblewomen slip past, but of course he and Renjun had no idea who to watch for in the surge of people leaving the arena. And so you’d been cornered by your aunt and her usual cronies–the Baek dynasty’s matriarch and a handful of other wives dressed in their finest fashions–just as quickly as you could leave a private toilette to be attended to.

“Tell us, please,” Lady Ahn says, gripping the back of your chair. “Do they fuck as poorly as they fight?”

You sigh internally. 

“Oh nonsense,” Countess Baek interrupts. “Those were just pups. The real match will be between the enforcers.” 

“Did you see the Jeong boy? Unexpected specimen that one grew up to be,” someone else titters. 

“Is it true they both claimed you?” your aunt asks with an air of boredom. “I always knew you’d show little propriety when let off your leash.”

You feel your face grow hot, working to hide your scowl. This had been so much easier when you were covered, not so exposed to their scrutiny. 

“We have a little wager between just the ladies of the court, my dear, and we’d like you to weigh in. Be honest now, whatever your heart may say.” Mistress Ahn says, synth hair piece bobbing as she pats your shoulder. “Which of those specimens is worth their weight?”

“Are we speaking of the fight, still?” You make eye contact with your aunt in the illuminated mirror as the other women laugh into their fans, delighted that you’ve returned their engagement.

“Of course we would find an understanding. Which do you consider to be your true Alpha?”

“I would like to know that myself,” you say, smiling with only your bared teeth. “It’s a shame we met under such inauspicious circumstances.”

Duchess Kim turns away, lips pursed, as the Countess Baek takes her place. You knew her to be much more formidable–ancient but dyed and modded to appear younger, dressed in the latest fashion of extravagant gems and shifting hues. Her sapphire dress clings tight to a frame sculpted to match the soft gamine ideal sought after by celebrities, set by the younger omegas entering society.  

“You know dear, we could cut you in on the reward in exchange for it. Media is going to be all over the news once it breaks outside the Dome.” Her offer is intriguing, a credit chip notched between her bejeweled fingers atop a wolf-headed cane. “Just a hint, perhaps, to quiet wagging tongues?” 

You meet her heavily-lined, shift-tacted eyes in the glass. They’re currently programmed ice blue–a less than subtle tell to her loyalty and betting.

“Whomever you bet on is your business,” you declare. “They are equal to me.”

“Equally ill-suited,” Duchess Kim remarks to the group.

You stand up to leave, unfinished by any standard but at least no longer a nightmare of tear-bled black kohl. “You will pardon me, ahjummas. I have a fight for my honor to bear witness to.”

Your aunt, of course, gets in one last cut. “Granted, a foreigner nobody and a genetic mistake make a perfect match for a half-breed slut.”

You pause on the way to the door, tail raised and bristling as they laugh and joke behind you.

“I noticed my dear cousin is not in attendance tonight?” you ask, not looking back. 

“My dear, whatever makes you think we’d let anyone chosen for the harem run amok in the company of lesser animals.” Lady Ahn laughs. “Unmarried and unmated, no less? The successor packs would riot.”

“A shame,” you say. “I believe Garam would know quite a bit about lesser animals. You should consult her for your wagers, instead.”

You leave before you can hear their response, nearly bowling over Yangyang when he turns to face you outside the heavy doors, tail darting in an incredibly realistic imitation of your own.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

The younger cat stutters hopelessly, pink flaring on his sharp cheekbones as he gestures with his finger. 

“Your face,” Renjun whispers, checking the hallway for anyone else. There’s only a few people–now, mostly clancorp attendants and security with their visible cyberware, mirrored AR glasses hiding their gaze.

Your claws settle on your skin for a few moments before you remember that you’d left your veils behind. These weeks of relative freedom had made not wearing them feel much more natural.

“I don’t need to cover myself anymore,” you sigh.

“Are you sure? You’re not married yet,” Renjun says. 

“And neither are you,” you counter, watching him wrestle with the implication.

“Custom surely can’t matter if I’ve been successfully bred,” you spit the word more than speak it, feeling the blackened edge of despair settle over you again. There were ways to deal with it, you knew, but you hadn’t had a moment to yourself to reflect on it. 

Whatever happened, you had to operate as if everything was the same. 

“Let’s take a detour,” Yangyang suggests, seeing a gathering crowd by the entrance you’d left, the next fight still delayed as preparations were made. 

“Would it be possible to take me past the green rooms?” you ask, giving him the best impression of coquettishness you can manage, eyelashes fluttering. Its intended effect works only to make him laugh, though you pride yourself that he’s still flushed with embarrassment.

“Your uncle isn’t going to like that, either,” Renjun bemoans. 

“You don’t have to worry about him,” you say. “He’s more hiss than bite.”

“Is it true he’s got a tail and ears under all that get-up?” Yangyang asks, leading you past a row of waiting automated drink carts to a service corridor. You’re not sure if he knows where he’s going but he’s lowered his own AR goggles from his hair, checking his agent between turning his head this way and that while you avoid uniformed casino staff bustling between side rooms and kitchens. 

“I’m not even sure of his true designation,” you admit. “Though he seems to be fine with being thought of as a eunuch. I’m sure you’ve heard the more scandalous rumors.”

“I alway thought it would be nice if he’s an omega,” Renjun says, wistfully. “He’s the first one I’ve met in a position of power.”

He realizes who he’s speaking to and walks back his statement. “Present company excluded.”

“Present company included, you mean. Even a royal position means little to our kind,” you say. “I suspect Tenth Prince’s position is largely ceremonial as well.”

You knew better than your words–whatever power your uncle wielded was purely from the shadows, the breadth of it impossible to divine for someone outside the Imperial Palace. 

“Male omegas don’t have much luck in that department, do they?” Yangyang baits the elder. 

“Very funny,” Renjun says, sarcasm evident. “You try being on the dead bottom of the pecking order in every capacity.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Yangyang answers conspiratorially, leading you down another, quieter hallway. “He’s everyone’s baby. Mark doesn’t even make him lift a dainty little claw and when he gets an assignment he foists it off on Jisung.”

You laugh a little, spirits lifted at the sight of Renjun punching the cat in the shoulder. 

“This doesn’t look like the staging area,” you say when you’ve stumbled into a corridor lined with closed doors and dim blue lighting.

“It’s a shortc–” 

You turn in time to see Yangyang seize, a flash of electricity searing your vision as he drops to the floor. Renjun is already in defensive mode, nightstick extended, as the masked attacker emerges from the gloom of a nearby doorway, as liquid as smoke in their movements. 

In an instant the small Vulpine is pinned to the wall, fighting against the black gloved hand encasing his thin neck. 

“Run!” Renjun manages, activating the stun baton and digging it into his captors side. If it affects them it’s impossible to know, you’re already sprinting away, hoping that the attacker will give chase rather than harm your guards. 

It’s easier thought of than done with your heavy dress and satin slippers, headpiece slipping off to clatter to the floor as you duck around a corner and find yourself in a stairwell. Ugly memories of being hunted return, threatening to paralyze you, but you fly down the steps, making a level before checking to see if you’re followed. 

The escape is eerily quiet except for the buzz of the occupants beyond, red-lined exit signs beckoning on each floor, cameras following you from each corner. 

No, no, no, you think. You have to be smarter than this. Best to make a scene if you wanted help to come running. You listen for your pursuer, eyes adjusting to the gloom. 

“What do you want?” you ask, inching against the wall towards the nearest heavy exit door. You don’t have hope of outrunning the hunter but you can buy time to try the building control console.

“Granting your wish.” 

The heavily modulated voice is an electronic-fried nightmare, and already too close. You look up just as a red light blinks, obscured for an instant by the insanely fast and graceful creep of a predator onto your level. 

Your claws scrape across the glass control screen with each swipe of your fingers, mysteriously slowed as your vision streaks with tracers. It’s not the sedatives Qian gave you, you realize, lifting your hand to your neck. 

“If you remember your history, back when the Imperial program was first initiated, omegas used to be buried alive with their Alphas . . .”

You fumble at the dart’s shape embedded below your jaw, no accompanying sensation besides bone-chilling cold. 

“. . . After all, there was no use for them once they’d lost their bonded mates.”

Strong but gentle arms catch you before you can tumble to the floor, a hand pushing your hair and ears back in a familiar gesture. Too familiar–though you can’t place it, not with the drugs splintering your consciousness.

“It is a privilege to join yours in death, little Princess.”

[previous] [next] [check the masterlist before you proceed]

[vacillatingcreator]

Imagine A.A.A and The Allience is a team

chaos

Definitely chaos, too much chaos

The SHOS multiverse would implode, thank goodness that doesn't happen PHEW

[pixilstars]

I just wanted to draw a funny idea i had

[cassidysparacosm]

Drew two of my favourite hosts humanised :D

humanoid designs by me! just felt like drawing them humanised today lol

[afi-mukami]

A Smile Written in the Stars

Rating: General

Summary: Sasuke has returned to the modern days without Mai who stayed in the Sengoku era together with Masamune Date. The fate tore them apart but that was exactly how things were supposed to be.

Written as a commission for @emmipon.

You can ask about commissions via DM.

The ruins of Aoba Castle stood white against the sky. Sasuke shaded his eyes with his hand as the stinging heat of the sun hit his lenses and tried to blind him. This year, he hadn't returned to the Honnoji memorial for the anniversary, though the wormhole research might have provided an excuse for that. No, it was time to move on. Fate had brought him to this moment, so it was worth seizing what it offered him.

Yet the past held on to the hem of his jacket. Not painfully, but tightly, nonetheless. So once a year from now, Sasuke was determined to make a journey to all the places whose splendor he had witnessed 500 years ago. This time also to a place he had never had the chance to visit but whose importance could not be denied. As he followed his guide through the castle's corridors, he breathed in a history that had once been the reality. His reality for four years, Mai's reality even now... if you could think of it that way.

"Date Masamune was known for, among other things..." The guide's words poured out of Sasuke's ears without revealing anything new. He had lived in the same era as Date Masamune, and before that had heard numerous stories from his parents. He had known that this trip would bring no surprises, but still, its importance could not be denied. It was a tribute to a man whose determination Sasuke had to admire. Not just as a warlord, but as a holder of Mai’s heart.

"It is said that this room belonged to Date Masamune's wife, who was known as a skilled and passionate seamstress. Numerous ladies traveled to Sendai Prefecture to order a kimono made by Maihime."

This time the guide's words made Sasuke stop. They jolted something close to his heart, made it shudder so hard he couldn't even breathe for a moment.

Mai.

Sasuke took a closer look at the room. Its tatami rugs, which were probably not from 500 years ago, though. Mai hadn't stood on those rugs, but the kimono that hung out looked like the one Sasuke had once seen Mai in. Similar, at least.

"The story of Maihime has remained a mystery, and not a single historian has been able to discover who she truly was. She is believed to have come from a good family with alliances with the Date clan. Other stories suggest that Maihime may have had connections with the Oda clan, but no certainty has been found."

Sasuke made sure his face did not falter, but he couldn't help his inner chuckle. He had the answers to all the questions that historians had been spinning as they investigated Maihime's secrets. Yet Sasuke would not tell. He would keep Mai's secret and every other grain of information about the warlords of the Sengoku era hidden from historians. Not all things were meant for the public and a ninja - if anyone - had to know how to keep his secrets. Even if shinobi skills were of little use in modern times, there were still certain things you could hold on to. 500 years did not wipe everything away.

"Masamune and Maihime had several sons..."

So Mai had lived a good life. Again, Sasuke let the guide's speech drift away and followed the group into another room. He wandered through the entire tour, concentrating on seeing the details that were still visible in the castle.

This was good. Mai had been able to walk these halls, sew, and live alongside the man she loved. The idea felt right. Fate had drawn both, Sasuke and Mai, into the past and wrapped its knots around them. Mai's part had been to remain as a piece of history as a princess who captured the heart of the famous warlord completely.  Sasuke's part had been to return. So, it had been written in the stars that shone in the sky 500 years ago and still do today.

Everything had gone exactly as it should.

The sun had traveled to the other side of the castle ruins when Sasuke stepped into the blaze again. He turned to look again at the glowing white buildings, whose beauty was undeniable. At the same time, however, a steady, gentle thumping sound bounced into his ears. The rhythm he had come to know so well over the past months.

"I’m sorry for being so late…" The nasal, chirping voice caressed Sasuke even before he met the dark, yet glimmering gaze.

A hand grabbed Sasuke’s sleeve and tugged, making him chuckle. “Emi?”

When Sasuke turned around, his arms were full of the slender body and the dark hair that curled over her shoulders. The frames of her glasses poked his chin as Emi buried her face against his neck.

"Did you like the castle tour?" The young woman pulled back from the hug. A smile beamed on her lips.

It was beautiful. Unforgettable. A smile written in stars.

Sasuke was destined to return to this time, otherwise that smile would never have found him.

[wishingforatypewriter]

Here's how I think some of my ships would spend New Year's Eve

Linzolt

When Opal drops by to invite her aunt to Tenzin's get together on Air Temple Island, Lin is not at home. Lin is not even in the country. She and Zolt left for the Fire Nation before Solstice, and made no plans to return until the new year. They spend New Year's Eve on their beachfront property in Harbor City. Lin is sitting on the counter top, sipping a glass of sparkling wine and watching Zolt cook her a midnight snack. When the clock strikes twelve, they share a kiss. Lin—still seated on the counter—wraps her legs around Zolt's waist and her carries her upstairs.

Jarper

Since the alliance between the Triple Threats and the Creeping Crystals led to such a profitable year, Jargala and Viper decide to rent out a club downtown and throw a party. Members of both triads are there, and top shelf liquor and cactus dust are flowing freely. Jargala is effervescent, drinking and dancing and charming everyone with her stories. And though they had agreed to keep their distance for the sake of appearances, Viper can't take his eyes off her. Minutes to midnight, they lock eyes across the room and Jargala disappears through the back door. Viper follows, and they don't return to the party for an hour.

Baavira

Though they were invited—expected, even—Kuvira and Baatar did not travel back to Zaofu for the holidays. They stay at their estate in Ba Sing Se and invite a few select friends—mostly Kuvira's fellow former guards and Baatar's university classmates—over for drinks and board games. Kuvira and Baatar get drawn into a long, competitive pai sho match, but agree to call it a draw and kiss once the clock strikes twelve.

[impossiblycolorfulpanda]

Azulaang - Azula joins the gaang early

Azulaang week @ly0nstea

Sokka: Aang, I think we should be making some plans about our future.

Aang: Okay, we can do that while I show you the giant Pai Sho table! Oh, you're gonna love the all-day echo chamber!

Toph: I think that'll have to wait.

Toph points behind herself, and the camera zooms out to show Team Avatar looking at her quizzically. Appa moves out of the way to reveal four sets of shadows, and as the camera pans up, it is revealed to belong to Zuko, Azula, Ty Lee, and Mai. Cut to a close-up of the team as they look at them with shocked expressions, which subsequently turn into anger.

Ty Lee: (In a German accent) Hello, the fearsome foursome here. (Bows)

The gang get ready to attack. Appa growls at him and licks him twice. Cut to a surprised Momo and Aang as he lowers his staff slightly.

Zuko: Hey, I heard you guys flying around down there, so, I just thought I'd wait for you here. I know you must be surprised to see us here.

Sokka: You, Not really, since you've followed us all over the world. but you three? Sort of since we don't see you that often.

Ty Lee: (Normal voice) Good to see you again too...

Sokka: Don't even think about trying to seduce me again lady, Suki is still my girl.

Ty Lee: So I've heard, but not to worry, no seduction needed, we offer our alliance to you.

Azula: And it's about time you learned some firebending.

Toph: Excuse me?!

Katara: You can't possibly think that any of us would trust you, can you? I mean, how stupid do you think we are?!

Sokka: Yeah! (Points to Zuko) all you've ever done is hunt us down and try to capture Aang! (Points to Azula) And you! You straight-up MURDERED Aang! Plus, you used Suki against me!

Zuko: We've done some good things too. I've done some good things! I mean, I could have stolen your bison in Ba Sing Se, but I set him free. That's something! Isn't it?

Toph: (To Azula) Why would you want a join us after literally just foiling our day of black sun plans. Why would you go against the person you've worked hard to protect?

Azula: One last job he had me do before defecting. Nothing personal. The reason for that is, that we four have found out some...disturbing...truths about our father.

Mai: Let's just say that he never had the fire nation's best interests at heart.

Sokka: Your genocidal race war not turning out like you hoped? What a surprise.

Ty Lee: You wouldn't believe us if we told you. We do realize that everything we've ever taught was a lie...

Katara: And what? We should feel sorry for you?

Ty Lee: I knew there was something wrong with our nation, with all the dark and corrupt auras everywhere, and at the center of it all was the fire lord, but I was too scared to speak of it. Not anymore. Everything will revert into chaos and we need to set it all straight.

Zuko: Why aren't you saying anything? You once said you thought we could be friends. You know we have good in us.

Azula: You seem uneasy. Not just because of our presence but at the thought of you learning firebending, is that right? You've tried it before and it back fired. You burned someone you cared for.

Aang's fist were clutching.

Sokka: Don't listen to her Aang, she just trying to get a rise out you!

Azula: No. I'm not. I'm just informing you that we get it. Fire can be very destructive and chaotic. You do need a teacher so that your accident doesn't occur again. Whether you want to admit this or not, you do need all the help you can get. The fire lord taught us everything we know, if you thought we were formidable opponents, you haven't seen anything yet. We are not going anywhere, so if you wanna kill us all, go ahead.