#this is my silly place plz indulge my silly

[creatorbiaze]

sometimes i forget that other people have higher sympathy than me & a lot of my jokes don't look like jokes

like

wdym you're concerned about me after I seem somewhat concerning

my pain is funny, laugh. please

like genuinely, i process things using humor, plz indulge</3

[chickenkupo]

Just My Luck

Just My Luck

Summary: The lands are ruled by ruthless gods of various levels of power. Humanity is only a means to an end for their endless desires, if they happen to gain their attention. Many lay low, do what they can to appease the gods and try to live their lives out, as best they can, given the circumstances. Wriothesley is one such mortal. Having committed a great crime as a young boy, he’s constantly fleeing from his past. Little did he know; however, his constant misfortunes lead to his destiny, and it is most certainly not what he was expecting.

Recommendations: None, this is a purely AU work, so you’re good to go, reader.

Warnings: 18+ content, ya’ll. We’re going to get a little spicy here. Not my usual sort of Wriolette content. Neuv is going to be a little dark and demanding in this one, so if that sort of content (I’d guess you’d say it’s very close to yandere), then this isn’t for you. Religious hints/themes are also present in this. Consent really doesn’t exist here. I have been thinking of this sort of god x human trope for a while now, and I just needed to get it out of my brain. So, I guess this is a little self-indulgent work that I hope others out there will appreciate as well? Also, it’s putting me in a mental headspace to make a little follow-up chapter to Coming Home, since it’s looking like ya’ll are wanting that, hehe.

Also, one more warning. This is me trying to write a SHORT story and not have this as a full-blown novel. However, if this does receive a lot of love, I will 100% rewrite this to be a multi-chaptered work. This is me practicing self-restraint and tldr make a short story, you freaking gremlin sorta thing. OH, also, this isn’t beta-read, but will 100% be if this makes it to being AO3-post worthy.

AN: I AM TOO LAZY TO UPDATE MY WARNINGS BUT I MESSED UP AND THIS IS SO LONG BUT ENJOY IT AND IF YOU WANT AN EVEN LONGER VERSION WITH MORE LORE AND ACTION LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS PLZ AND I WILL POST ON AO3 I FAILED KEEPING THIS SHORT, I AM SOOOORRRY

Wriothesley grunted as he was pushed forward, his hands bound behind his back by a golden metallic rope that refused to give way, even in the slightest. The guards that stood beside him ensured that he continued walking down the extravagantly decorated hallway, figures lining each side wearing various elegant dresses and suits, some even in intricately designed armor that mortals were rarely blessed to see. They all watched as the bound man was ushered onward to a large set of doors, decorated with a carved design of a long, serpent-like dragon encompassing the entire outer border of both doors, as if it were protecting what was beyond them. Wriothesley tried to slow his pace, flexing his well-defined muscles, doing whatever he could to try to break the bonds that held him in place, but nothing worked. The guards beside him only stared at his pathetic attempts at breaking free, a few patrons from the sidelines murmuring to themselves, commenting on how he should give up and how silly mortals were, thinking that they could defy even the smallest demands of the gods.

He always found himself in the most unfortunate circumstances, but this was the worst fate that could have befallen a human. Most of his kind kept their heads bowed, living silent lives and avoiding the powerful gazes of the deities that ruled their lands. For mere mortals, the prime level of life that they could wish to live was providing high level sacrifices to appease their rulers, hoping that they would be blessed in return or even ignored, in hopes of being allowed to live their lives to the best of their abilities. If they failed to uphold to this standard and a god felt slighted, even in the smallest of ways, then they were bound to become cursed, and experience the worst luck imaginable, having them wishing for a swift death. No, the gods loved toying with their victims, extending their punishment for as long as possible, feeding upon their misfortune, until their victims took their very last breaths. It was a miserable existence, but as long as you dedicated yourself to providing sacrifices that satisfied their desires and obeying whatever they commanded, then you could potentially avoid their gazes and wraths.

However, Wriothesley didn’t feel as though that was an existence worth living. He was a man that was shaped by misfortune, and rarely feared it. Having been orphaned at a young age and shoved from one foster family to another, he knew exactly what misfortune was, without the direct punishment of the gods. Each family he was tossed to was worst than the last. From having one family relying on him to provide them with everything and having worked to the point of exhaustion to keep food on the table, only to endure harsh beatings regardless of the outcome every night, to being sent off to fighting rings to win boxing matches against young men his age and older, he had seen it all. He eventually had enough and turned on his last foster family, killing his adoptive parents in the middle of the night, fleeing the area and taking the other children that happened to have the same misfortune as him to wherever he was going to go. They did find refuge in small, abandoned buildings, and for once his luck did strike true as he was able to find families that would take his adoptive brothers and sisters in, and not expose them to the same fates that they had before. No, these people took true pity on them, bringing them in and giving them a proper home and a good foundation for raising them. The same families always offered Wriothesley the same conditions, but he would always deny them, saying that he was far too damaged and messed up to be worth anything, too far gone for any sort of redemption or happy ending. Before they could even try to convince him otherwise, he had already taken his leave and was moving onto his next venture.

The young boy grew into a young man, roaming from city and city, finding places to work manual labor that would provide him with just enough funds to survive off of. Whenever a place offered him a permanent position or abode, he would thank them, and then immediately leave, onto the next city, town or village. He didn’t know why, but there was a part of his soul that felt like he was always in constant danger, and needed to run from prying eyes, even if he had no enemies. Though he had murdered his foster parents in cold blood as a boy, there were no further investigations into this, almost as if the crime had never happened. He wished so desperately that this was the truth of the matter, but his suspicions never seemed to completely wane. Someone had to have known, whether it be a mortal or a god. He knew that he was going to have to face the consequences of his actions, however justified that they were. So, he vowed that he would continue moving onward, never stopping, always running.

So, that’s exactly what he did. He never stayed long enough for any human or deity to know him well, and he wanted to keep it that way. Discretion was key, and to be honest with himself, this type of living excited him and kept him feeling alive. For once, he thought that he had finally hit it lucky, this was the lifestyle meant for him and he was going to live it to the fullest. Though his suspicions and underlying fear ruled him deep down, there was an odd sense of freedom that he felt being out on his own like this, and he never wanted to lose this. For once in his life, he felt lucky to be in the position that he was in. He was afraid to feel happy, but he couldn’t help himself. His adoptive brothers and sisters were on their way to a better future, and maybe one day, so would he.

Well, as quick as luck had visited him, it was just as fast to leave. The young man was continuing his work assisting a local general store with helping them bring in heavy goods, a horribly weighted sack placed on his shoulder as he was able to transport it inside of the store before multiple guards, lesser deities by the look of them, all approached him at once. Wriothesley immediately dropped the sack and tried to take off, not even taking the time to question their motives, but he was easily detained. One deity grabbed him by the shoulder and twisting it, pushing him against the wall as another guard brought out a metallic, golden rope, that automatically tied his wrists together behind him. Wriothesley growled as he tried to resist, now finding the time to begin spouting questions as he realized the situation that he was currently in.

“The hell did I even do?! I just got here and haven’t broken any laws, let me go!”

“That’s not up for discussion. You’re to come with us, no questions asked. Any hesitation, and we’ll hunt down your adoptive family and have them suffer for the rest of their days.” one of the growls out, tightening the rope around his wrists ever so slightly, for emphasis. Immediately, Wriothesley shut his mouth and said no word and offered no resistance. So, his suspicions were correct, someone had been keeping tabs on his whereabouts and knew about his past, but what god or mortal alike would hold any sort of interest in him? Sure, he was handsome and had both women and men swooning for him, but that never held any sort of value to him. He also didn’t have any sort of money in savings to his name, using whatever little he earned from odd jobs to be able to afford housing and small, pitiful meals and other necessities.

His heart felt like it skipped a beat, as he immediately reminded himself about his biggest fear. Was this finally the retribution that he would be facing for his previous sins? Did the families of his abusive foster parents that he murdered finally send out their agents to find him, and a god had felt it was their time to shine to torture a mortal? There was no escaping it, even if it was the case. Wriothesley then opted to keep his mouth shut, hoping he was overthinking the situation. But, what else could this possibly be over, then? He needed answers, but he wasn’t about to try to fight against them for it.

Reluctantly, Wriothesley complied with their demands, and was ushered into a rather delicately designed carriage, one that clearly belonged to a higher-powered god, but which, he had no idea. The guards also remained silent on the manner, merely ushering him in and taking an odd interest in keeping him safe and comfortable, but still under their ever-watchful gazes. They continued onward with their journey, and eventually reached to where they were now, standing in front of those formidable doors, gods of various levels of power and renown surrounding them all, but their focus all centered on him and him alone. Wriothesley’s heart was racing in anticipation, knowing that he had no choice but to face whatever was beyond those doors, even if it ended up killing him, or worse.

A low, guttural growl was heard, seemingly originating from past the closed entryway in front of them, which had Wriothesley’s eyes widening in shock. Never in his life had he heard such a noise, no other god he had known or met personally held the sort of power that was radiating from such a sound. The others that were previously surrounding him were now shuffling away in fear, some were even shaking, staring straight ahead. A thought suddenly ran through Wriothesley’s head, he noticed that all of the deities were distracted, and he could easily flee from the scene. He tried to will his body to run, but instead it only stayed firmly planted in place, his body no longer under his control. His heart began to race in a sudden panic, and it wasn’t eased as the closed doors in front of him began to part, opening up to reveal a continuation of the current hallway that he was in, but a darkness was at the very end, hiding whatever it was that was awaiting him.

What happened next horrified the young man beyond measure, and by then he knew that he was doomed.

“Wriothesley, step forward, come to me, come to your destiny.” a regal voice called out, though the growl from before was also heard in the same voice, as if they were perfectly mixed together. Whoever was calling to him, this had to be one of the ancient gods of lore, mighty beasts that garnered so much power from its followers and victories of war, that it gained godhood. But, what would such a highly positioned god want with someone low and poor, as himself? Wriothesley wasn’t about to argue, however. Wriothesley tested his muscles, now being able to freely move them. He had regained control of his body, and along with that realization, the golden metallic rope that was previously wrapped around his wrists shattered, releasing their hold on him. Whoever this was wanted him to come willingly and freely, but also prevented him from having any other option. After taking a moment to mentally accept the situation for what it was and what it could possibly be, the man slowly but surely took step after step, inching his way forward, obeying the command that had been called out to him.

Once he was past the dual doors, they both slammed shut behind him, as if signaling there was no way to truly turn back now, the only way was forward. The young man jumped in response to the loud noise behind him, but didn’t bother looking back. Instead, the man glared as he looked forward, a figure now clearly standing where darkness once was, the hallway now oddly illuminated, as if showcasing the person directly in his path.

The god before him stood mighty and tall, long white hair with just as long blue streaks, decorated with golden ornaments, robes that matched the varying colors of the ocean’s brightest waters, swirling around his slim body in an ancient style of robes. His eyes were a sharp lilac color, and gave an odd feeling of being so similar to the eyes of a feline, slit pupils that were slightly dilated as his gaze was transfixed to Wriothesley.

“I see that time has done you well, Wriothesley. You certainly grew into a rather handsome man. I will forever consider myself fortunate to lay claim on you so many years ago, before the others could.” At this, Wriothesley gasped, anxiety beginning to rise within his chest. A god laying claim on him? Ages ago? He would have remembered such a thing, seeing as though the deities usually made a huge spectacle when they took a human as theirs. It wasn’t an uncommon act, but according to what Wriothesley remembered hearing, a god had to be completely enamored with a mortal to do such an act. A claim meant ownership of the mortal by the god, sure, but it also bound them together in a deep, intimate way. The god would always know the whereabouts of the mortal, their control over them being absolute. For the mortal, it meant having a power being provide and protect them, but gods tended to be jealous beings, and this often resulted in a rather lonely existence for the mortal. There were humans that found this to be an absolute obsession for themselves, dolling up their looks and doing what they believed would get the attention of some sort of god that would claim them, but many found that staying away from this sort of deep-rooted obsession was better for them.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy. No one’s laid claim on me and- “

“Then how would you explain your horrible luck then, Wriothesley?”

The young man shuddered, every time the god in front of him said his name, an odd wave of feelings started to phase through him that he couldn’t quite explain. It was like it felt right, and a small part of him wanted to hear the figure continue to say his name, until he couldn’t handle it anymore. The hell was wrong with him? He has never had such thoughts about others like this, why now?

“I-I’m not following…”

“I saw you kill your foster parents. I knew what you did was justified, my dear. They were horrible and their sins innumerable. You did what you needed to do to protect yourself and the little ones. It’s not often that I find myself observing humans as closely as you, and I knew from that moment forward, you were someone I wanted. Someone with such a profound sense of justice, and the spirit to carry out punishment. So, I cursed you.” The man continued to explain, as if it were common knowledge.

“Why the fuck would you curse someone that you’re interested in? Are you fucking insane?!” Wriothesley shouted out, stomping forward to stand right in front of the mighty being. The ancient one’s brows furrowed, glaring at the young man in front of him.

“Wriothesley…” the god said, his tone demanding respect and issuing a single and final warning.

Wriothesley bared his teeth at the ancient one, issuing his own, small, pathetic growl, in comparison. However, he understood and heeded the silent warning, not taking any further action, allowing the omnipotent being before him to continue on with his explanation.

“Of course. I didn’t want to take you away, especially with you being so young. However, I wanted no other god to look upon you in favor and want you for themselves. So, I placed a curse on you, and took care of anyone being aware of you committing murder. You would always feel as though someone or something was chasing you. A home would never be one for long, your soul aching to keep searching for something. If a suitor tried to approach you, you would take no notice or interest. They, also, would disappear from your life. Luck would abandon you, forcing you to follow your true destiny with hardships that would test you, mold you for your potential to come alive. You were to keep living your life, until I was prepared to receive you, and you were of a proper age. Now, is the time, Wriothesley…”

The powerful being before him then snapped his fingers, the area around them turning pitch black for just a moment, before the it was illuminated once more, showing a marble decorated room with various different nautical decorations adorning every aspect of it. Blues, golds and silvers lined and adorned every aspect of it, treasures beyond measure lay everywhere, as if the room itself were a museum of the heavenly bodies. In the middle of the room, and directly behind the god, was a giant, circular bed with blankets of the finest silk with the same level of intricate designs on them as well. Wriothesley’s breath stuttered, as he took a small step back, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Now is the time to consummate our binding, wouldn’t you agree? It’s been many years, and my hunger for you is insufferable…” the being in front of him stared intensely into his own eyes, unable to avoid him. A million thoughts were running through Wriothesley’s mind, but only one question was able to come out.

“W-w-who are you…?”

“Ah, yes. Sincerest apologies, my love. You may know me by many names, and by many forms, though this is my true self, that I will never hesitate to show and share with you. The title you humans appear to have given me in my temples is Neuvillette, god of all that is hydro, the waters of all are mine, of the lakes, the sea…” Neuvillette purred as he began to approach Wriothesley.

“Of every human body, but especially yours…”

The young man hastily started taking steps backwards, never keeping his eyes off of the powerful being before him, but it was to no avail for his situation. Suddenly, behind him, he felt a sort of cushion that he was then pushed down onto, sheets wrapping up around him as he became entangled in them. It took a moment for him to realize that the god before him must have teleported the both of them straight to the circular bed he had observed before, and now both of them completely nude and exposed to each other. Wriothesley shrieked as realized the position that the two were in now, him being laid out on the bed like a meal on a decorated platter, while the god above was draped over him in pure possession and domination, but that wasn’t the only reason why he screamed out. The young man also observed the full body of the god in front of him, perfectly chiseled muscles but with a slim, elegant figure. White, creamy skin that was free from any blemish or imperfection, and perfectly smooth with little to no body hair, except for his lower body, where white pubic hair trailed from below his navel down towards his lower pelvic region, where instead of one perfectly thick and long member, he seemed to have…two…

Oh, fuck, he was truly not going to make it out of this alive, whether Neuvillette realized it or not.

“G-Get the fuck off of me, just kill me!” Wriothesley screamed out, trying his best to push the god off of him, but once more, to no avail. Though his muscles were much larger than the deity that was draped above him, it mattered little. Whatever claim the god had on him seemed to hold true, he could never overpower him.

“Never, Wriothesley, never, you’re staying with me for the rest of eternity. I will show you how a god truly appreciates his claimed…” Neuvillette growled out, as he lowered his head and nuzzled Wriothesley’s neck, licking it repeatedly in a sensual manner, as if he were handling an absolute treasure. Wriothesley shut his eyes as he moaned in pleasure, not able to prevent himself from doing so, as his hips started rutting upwards, his member starting to harden from just the simplest of touches from this being. He blushed in embarrassment, but no one had ever touched him in this way before, no one had ever said such words to him. Everything he ever wanted to hear and feel from someone, Neuvillette was serving it on a silver platter for him, and he was a starved mortal, ready to accept it all.

“Ah, ah, what are you doing to me, Neuvillette…” Wriothesley breathed out, in a husky voice, fully immersed in all of the emotions and sensations he was feeling. Neuvillette only smiled against the skin of his neck, as his hands began to roam the young man’s body. Soft, but powerful hands continued to caress him, touching Wriothesley in places he never dared imagine anyone else doing so. From his muscled pectorals, down the sides of his stone hard abdomen, and then finally down to his rear as Neuvillette grabbed his cheeks, giving them a nice, firm squeeze, sharp nails digging into the meat of them, but never breaking the skin.

“I’m showing you how much you mean to me, you’re my desire, my passion, my reason to hold firm to my rule, so that no other may touch you like this. Only me, only ever me…” Neuvillette mumbled, burying his head back into the crook of Wriothesley’s neck as he continued.

Wriothesley let out a dirty moan as Neuvillette’s fangs elongated, rooting themselves deep into his neck, and tasting of his blood. The god made sure that when he released and his fangs retracted, that the wound would heal, but leave behind a deep scar that none other would question. He made sure in the back of his mind, to order one of his underlings to immediately begin commissioning a necklace for Wriothesley, that would accentuate his looks but also have the marks forever on full display for the world to see.

At this point, Wriothesley was hard as a rock, his member leaking precum as it begged for attention, for a release, for pleasure, and Neuvillette was more than happy to oblige. Removing himself from the young man’s neck, Neuvillette moved over to Wriothesley’s lips, licking them lightly, biting at him just a smidge, before he invaded them completely, inserting his long tongue and exploring the depths within. Wriothesley greedily allowed him to do so, wrapping his arms around the neck of the god, pressing him further down so that the kiss could be deepened even further, if that was possible. Neuvillette could only smile as he continued his assault, a hand now trailing down Wriothesley’s body, feeling the differences between the two. Where Neuvillette’s body was smooth and perfect, Wriothesley’s had dark hair that covered his arms, some of his chest, and definitely trailed down to his lower regions, oozing manly features. His body, though littered with scars from the trials and tribulations of his life, only seemed to further decorate how in his own way, he was powerful and worthy to be the claimed of Neuvillette.

As the hand of the god reached Wriothesley’s member, the man groaned, still stuck in the deep and passionate kiss, continued to raise his hips up, a while leaving his lips as his member demanded any sort of friction against it. Neuvillette grabbed him, stroking up and down, thumb teasing the leaking head. The kiss finally broke as Neuvillette desired to see Wriothesley’s pleasure, as he continued to pump the member of his claimed, doing every action so perfectly and true to the wants and needs of the young man. It wasn’t long before Wriothesley was breathing hard, his body shaking as he released all over the god, thick ropes of cum shooting out and even coating Neuvillette’s chest, as if adding to the creamy skin of his claimer.

Neuvillette could only continue to smile as Wriothesley repeatedly began to apologize, ashamed of what he had done but enjoying feeling every effect his god was bestowing upon him.

“Shhh, my soul, hush now with that. I do not want your apologies for indulging in what I give freely to you. Now, roll over…” Neuvillette growled out, the animalistic side of him starting to show. Wriothesley trembled beneath Neuvillette for a moment, but the god only offered him an odd sense of assurance as he gently led Wriothesley to roll over onto his stomach, directing him to keep his chest lowered onto the bedsheets but his rear raised high, on full display to his god. The young man, still embarrassed, tried his best to hide his face within the lavish sheets of the bed, but didn’t fight back. A part of him wanted this, needed this, wanting this session they were sharing to never end.

Wriothesley felt a warmness spread throughout his core, as he assumed Neuvillette had summoned some sort of water to assist with what was about to happen. The liquid was spread along the crease of his bottom and hole, delicate and soft fingers of the god above him caressing him, touching every inch of him, as if he were savoring his very existence. It wasn’t much longer after this that he could feel an odd flesh shape being pressed against his hole, one of his dicks, Wriothesley surmised. His heart started to pick up it’s pace once more, worried that such a formidable size wouldn’t be able to fit and he would feel nothing but pain as he was tortured into the act. However, that was far from the truth.

The water continued to warm and relax the skin that it touched, his muscles feeling lose and somewhat stretched even before he knew he was being entered. Neuvillette lowered himself once more, kissing Wriothesley’s back and nibbling here and there with his fangs, building up Wriothesley’s desire for him, which he did. Once he heard the young boy beginning to pant, spreading his legs even further and raising his rear even higher, he knew he was ready. Slowly, the god started pressing the head of one of his cocks into the greedy hole of his claimed, and it accepted him with ease. Wriothesley continued to plant his head directly into the sheets of the bed, moaning so loudly and continued to pant like a dog, but he desperately wanted this, needed this. It was only a matter of time before the god was deeply planted inside of him, taking a moment to relish the feel of the warmth that his length was now experiencing. The god then started to pump into his claimed, clawed hands holding onto his waist for support.

The thrusts started out small, and careful, but the pace was quick to change. The more that Neuvillette was planted in Wriothesley, the more that he desired, so his thrusts began to continue with their assault, becoming deeper and rougher.

“Yes, yes! More, more-gah, FUCK!” Wriothesley yelled out as his thoughts started to lose all sense but being completely consumed by pleasure. Within seconds he lost the ability to form any coherent words, only feeling and appreciating the ecstasy that his god was providing for him. Time seemed to go on forever as the thrusts continued, and Wriothesley had begun grabbing onto the nearby sheets, twisting them until they were a complete mess from the perfect state that they were in before.

Another deep, animalistic growl was heard above him, which made him moan even harder, as he felt Neuvillette’s balls slap against his ass from how deep he was thrusting in, the second cock now also fully erect was also slapping against his ass, warm and thick. It seemed that the god did have some form of pity for him, as he had only inserted one of his members this time. But that didn’t stop the conquering of his mortal body. A few more grunts were heard as Wriothesley felt something spill inside of him, so very warm and copious amounts kept flooding in. The young man sighed in absolute bliss, eyes fluttering shut as his body fell down back to the bed, Neuvillette easing him back down, but keeping his member deeply planted as more cum continued to be released inside of his claimed one.

Little did Wriothesley know this was the final act to solidify their bond. The god of hydro had marked him with his essence, and it will never fade. Every god and mortal will instantly know who he belonged to, and Neuvillette will always know what he was feeling, where he was, his thoughts and feelings now completely forfeit to him.

Oh, how lucky this god truly was.

[spiralwriting]

I really loved the Yandere reader. We need more of these. Can you make one of Azul Ashengrotto with a Dom Male Yandere S/O plz? Sfw and Nsfw.

Ah, my first request, thank you so much! I really hope you enjoy this one.

_________________________________________{Isolation, Intimidation, Sudo-drowning, Dependency, Non-con, Dub-con, Violence, Toxic Relationship, M!Reader}

_________________________________________><><><><>(Read at your own risk)<><><><><

Sfw:

Azul, by nature, is a nervous creature, he always has been, he's just gotten better at hiding it over the years. He struggled to fit in for so much of his childhood, that he eventually gave up on silly concepts such as love and fate, believing that nobody could love a strange, chubby little octo-twerp like himself.

So, it's fair to say that your behaviour is odd and horribly puzzling to Azul. You seem genuine about your pursuit of his love, you seem genuine in your words of encouragement and comfort, everything you do and say to him seems genuine, and he can't help but hate it.

It's so conflicting for Azul, because for so much of his life, he was preparing himself to spend the rest of it alone, yet here you are, heart is worn so visibly on your sleeve, waiting for him to take it and do as he pleases. He doesn't want to risk it though... What if you're lying?

Though, deep down, there's this twing of longing brewing within him, that so desperately wants to follow your bait and hook himself on your fishing line, ready to reel him in and devour him whole.

He knows that your behaviour is wrong, the things you say, the way you act, it's not natural to be so obsessed, but something in him tells him to ignore every red flag that pops up over your head. Cephalopods can't see colours after all.

He indulges himself unknowingly, every touch, every word, every service you do for him has him smitten, heart pounding out of his chest. Even when he jumps, even when he clears his throat and backs away, don't stop pushing your way into his lonely heart.

As time goes on and you only seem to get more intense, his feelings don't clear, but he's far more comfortable to let you do as you please. It's embarrassing, being pulled onto your lap, being slung over your shoulder or being pulled by his waist to the places he needs to be, but he has your undivided attention at all times, and it feels good.

However, it's almost too much to handle, all the attention you give him. The care behind your touches, the adoration behind your eyes as you stare at him, the sweetness in your voice as you praise him. He starts to get nervous when he notices just how much attention you are giving him, avoiding your gaze and chuckling uncomfortably. It's unnerving but so exhilarating.

He isn't used to being bossed around anymore, but he can deal with it, you're not cruel with it or anything. Yes, you tease him about the redness in his cheeks or how his glasses slid down his nose because of how sweaty he got from the lightest of touches, but you know when to switch it up and start reassuring, it's incredible.

He's been told by many people that the way you act isn't okay, but by this point, you have him hooked. He honestly doesn't think he could recover if you left him, he's so dependent on you for everything that he just couldn't handle it. He found that out the hard way.

He had told you one day that he couldn't be around you anymore if you keep acting the way you do, it's detrimental to him, yourself and everyone around you. By the time you'd come to visit him in his office that night, you didn't even have to open your mouth before he silently walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he silently sobbed in your arms. Safe to say he never tried that again.

That's how you punish him when he's out of line, talking to people he shouldn't, going places without you, etc. Simply spit a 'whatever' at him and walk away. Ignore him and watch the panic wash through him. It hurts to ignore him, but you know it hurts him more. There's just something so rewarding about having him grovelling on his knees, gripping tightly onto your trousers as he begs you to talk to him again.

He's too far gone now to realise just how toxic your relationship has become.

_________________________________________

NSFW:

- The two of you have fucked in his natural form. You downed that underwater breathing potion, forced him through that portal and fucked him until he was begging for more. It took some getting used to, but you had all the time in the world to explore his body and discover a whole new him.

He hated it at first, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his pot but he couldn't do anything but watch as your hands so lovingly explored him, too frozen in shame and embarrassment to move.

He inked you. Not that you cared, you were learning so much about him. Though, he died of shame. He cried and cried the entire time you examined him, but it quickly stopped once you found where to shove it.

As for sex on land, Azul's preferred form of intercourse, things are a lot calmer in that region. Normally, it comes after date night, or when one of you really needs the release, but other than that, you're not flat out all the time. Azul finds it nice, but a bother to clean up. When he's exhausted, riding out his high and completely filled by you, the last thing he wants is for you to get up to clean the two of you.

Public is something Azul wouldn't ever consider, but boy, do you really love it. Watching him shift in his seat across the room when you turn the settings of his vibrator up, all while you glare at the person who flirted with him yesterday, knowing damn well who he belongs to.

Touching him during house warden meetings. Reaching your foot under the table and against his crotch as he presents his part of the meeting. Or reaching across to tease his thigh during a quiet part, watching him try not to shift or make any noise.

Sometimes getting rough with him. Whenever you've had a bad day and Azul's business is getting to you, you slap the papers out of his hand and slam him up against the lockers in the hall. You force him to the ground with a hand in his hair, unzipping your trousers with a simple demand. 'Suck it.'.

Cockwarming. He's signing contracts, doing homework, and all else that he is required, all while you harden further in his ass, stretching him well. Leaning back on his chair and watching him 'discreetly' shift for any kind of friction, only for you to stop him, and tell him to finish his paperwork first.

_________________________________________

Some things he likes about your relationship:

- You remember everything about him, it makes things simple for him when he needs to unwind. You know just how he likes his favourite drink, what show to put on, how he likes being held, just what to say. He appreciates your memory.

- You don't let him push you away. While yes, it's quite bothersome at times when he needs to be alone, it's also really good for when his thoughts get the better of him and he starts to push you away as a coping mechanism.

- Your gifts are meaningful. It's not empty money dumping for the sake of the price tag, it's special and unique to him. You give him coins from your homeland, homemade scrapbooks, and love letters every day. Literally, he never knows what to expect because it's seldom something mundane and cliche.

- You stand up for him. While he can do it himself nowadays, he really appreciates it when you step Infront of him and scare the shit out of the offenders. Never did he have someone so hell-bent on defending him at all costs before, it feels good to know you'd sooner die than let anything happen to him.

- You'd do anything for him. He likes the control (or what he believes to be control). It's scary to see you physically act on that promise, but he can't help but blush every time you tell him that, because he knows damn well you mean it.

(He wanted to test that theory once, and told you that someone hit him during his study time at the library. He followed you around until he watch you quite brutally beat the ever-loving shit out of the man, leaving him bleeding on the ground for someone else to find. He was shocked, but holy shit was he relieved that you meant it.)

- You don't let the twins deter you. Oftentimes, he finds himself quite isolated because the twins are so intimidating, it's hard for people to approach him. So, he likes that you genuinely couldn't give a fuck about them, and only care whenever Floyd gets a little too close or Jade's had enough time for business talk.

- When you go on dates. It's so intimate, so fairytale-like, he can't help but get lost in the moment. He forgets everything else and just relaxes and unmasks over dinner with you, or whatever else you're doing. It's nice to see him like that when he truly feels comfortable.

_________________________________________

Some things he hates about your relationship:

- How limited his alone time is. Azul, while starved for social connection, still values his time alone, which is very difficult to come by with you around. You're so... Suffocation. He appreciates the gesture, but let him breathe... *Please*.

- How limited his social circle is. He fought and struggled with you to let him sign deals with people alone, and he's only permitted 30 minutes before you storm in and kick the person out. He can't even go to his board game club and talk to Idia without you looming over him, scaring the ever-loving shit out of the poor introvert. Nobody is safe from your wrath, so it's better to keep you happy, right?

- Nothing seems to scare you off. He has tried on multiple occasions to ward you off by sending Floyd in your direction and he ended up in worse condition than you did. How you did it, Azul doesn't know and he's frankly scared to ask. He's even dragged you out to the middle of the ocean, dragged you down as far as possible and held you there until you couldn't hold your breath anymore, yet all you did was kiss him, make him breathe into your mouth and admire his octo-form. He was baffled.

- He doesn't have as much time for things he enjoys. You just require so much attention that he can't think about anything else. Maybe that was your plan, pollute his mind with nothing but thoughts of you, it's only fair that he returns the favour.

[twstdreams]

hi! i’ve seen a lot of romance headcannons so if it’s ok with you could i plz request some family headcannons? what would it be like having leona, ruggie, ace, cater, and epel as big brothers? (reader is little sister) if you’re not comfortable writing this you don’t have to! thanks for reading my request:)

YES, YOU CAN! I love writing siblings and platonic content. I will happily accept family and friends centred requests. My OC has a platonic relationship with everyone, and in another fandom, I wrote an entire series with Big Brother! Character and Little Sister! Reader. Given that I have sibling(s) too, this is well within my comfort range even if I’m the older one. 

Big Brother! Leona, Ruggie, Ace, Cater, and Epel & Little Sister! Reader

Leona Kingscholar

100% is lazy and abuses his older sibling privileges. This exchange is common for the two of you:

“Go get this for me.”

“Why?!”

“Because I’m older!”

You two exchange playful jabs all the time. Him calling you weaker or silly, you replying about how he’s lazy and you could beat him anyway since he never gets off his butt

You have definitely whacked his face with a pillow

Speaking of which you adore waking him up to see his scrunched up expression as you remove the pillow from under his head and pull away the blankets

When you were younger, you definitely used water once or twice to wake him up when you were really pissed

Leona isn’t actively protective, yeah you’re weaker than him, but that doesn’t mean you’re actually weak

His position and power usually are enough to ward off someone, but if anyone decides to physically hurt you and leave a mark, they better be prepared to get it back tenfold. It’s basically a direct challenge to Leona, and any idiot that thinks they can hurt his little sister and get away with it has to be put in their place 

He brushes it off as whatever, maybe a slight against his pride, but you know if you were ever really in danger, he’d help you

You’re never getting help with your homework though

Ruggie Bucchi

Now that he’s older and your family isn’t in such a tight place, he shares, but OH BOY did you two fight when you were kids

Food, toys, clothing, stationery, you two fought over it all

“HEY! That’s mine!”  was a very common phrase

Looking back, it’s a little embarrassing, especially for Ruggie given he’s the older sibling, but hey kids are kids. Neither of you brings it up often if only because both of you have so much ammo against each other, it would never end

You both care about each other but very much need your own personal space and things

You have probably thrown a slipper at one another telling the other sibling to get out of your room

If you two shared a room, at one point in your childhood, there was a string dividing the room in two

With age, the two of you have mellowed out but you still fight from time to time. No, you’re not doing the dishes for him, you already have to do the laundry!

Ruggie is a pretty helpful older brother, but you gotta ask. He’s not going to hover over you or constantly ask how you’re doing

At the end of the day, the two of you have each other’s back 

Ace Trappola

The two of you have fun and goof around a lot, Ace isn’t very serious and his brightness shines when you play games together

He’s a pretty chill older brother, not overbearing at all

When you two argue, it’s ugly. You have explosive fights because he goads you and can be quite mean, and you aren’t one to just roll over and take it. 

You’ve lived together for a long time and Ace knows how to hit you where it hurts. If he’s not careful, he can be quite cruel and brutal 

Ace doesn’t intend to be so mean, but you’re both growing up together and it took a while to establish boundaries

He always wavers when you cry, he hates seeing tears trail down your face and he despises that he’s the cause of it all

He helps you here and there in little gestures like reminders to do things or wake you up so you’re not late for school

Yes, he loves you, no he is not going to do the chores for you

Cater Diamond

He is the nice older brother that all your friends think is so cool

He knows all the latest trends and rumours, so it’s easy to treat him like your friend. He just gets it and you don’t have to explain things to him

He comes off as pretty loose when it comes to you, and he does respect that you’re independent but he keeps an eye on you

When you were a kid he indulged you as his cute little sister and dressed up for miniature tea parties 

He gives you many head pats and ruffles your hair lightly

Despite all the cheeriness, it’s in your fights that you remember he can be so heartless

He can and will hold a grudge for as long as he needs. Days after fights are so heavy that your heart feels like lead. Apologies are stifled and awkward but necessary. 

If he apologizes too, then it’s fine after you two give each other a bit of space. If you feel like you’re always the one apologizing, it can get messy. You feel hurt by it, but even more so, you’re tired.

He cares but he’s not always empathetic, and he is more than willing to let you sort out your own mess. If things get out of hand, then he’ll step in and help

Epel Felmier

He is so sweet, sweeter than apple pie to his darling sister

Guaranteed, you look like a doll and Epel goes shopping with you to pick out cute pieces and accessories

The genes in this family are blessed with porcelain smooth skin and long wispy lashes

As kids, you’d constantly play pretend and Epel would be your prince or knight as you two went on adventures

You hate if anyone suggests Epel isn’t a good brother because of his fragile aesthetic and dispel all rumours

There are no secrets between you two and the two of you share a lot of furtive knowing looks and inside jokes

He totally gives into your tears. Epel absolutely cannot handle it when your eyes begin to well and tears spill

He’s pretty doting, so if you want boundaries, you have to be firm and fair. Epel won’t take it well if he feels like you’re trying to shut him out of your life.

He has a couple peculiarities or pet peeves that you have to abide by, he can be pretty finicky at times

Epel loves you with all his heart and you love him too

[lucy-sky]

Important Negotiation (Ezra x Reader)

This is my second fic about Ezra. I’m still not very confident about writing him, but I just had to return to this character one more time (at least) because the stories in my head want to be told no matter how silly they are :DD Ezra’s speech is still a huge challenge when English is not your native language, but I tried REALLY hard. Apologize for any possible mistakes, and once again, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Summary: What happens if two touch-starved idiots harvesters accidentally meet in the shower after a hard working day, and one of them is Ezra?.. Apparently you're in a pretty awkward situation, which requires a serious negotiation...

Warnings: Uh... I can identify this fic’s genre as “soft porn without plot” I guess :’D Although it only contains heavy petting not the actual sex, I think it turned out quite sensual?.. 

Words: 3 176; gif by me (plz credit if using)

Tags: @biobiopsy​, @rzrcrst​ (I’m not nearly as good as you, but I’d be happy if you took a look... as an expert, you know :D)

The corridor is dimly lit and quiet as you walk to the bathroom. It’s your usual habit to go there after the rest of the crew is already in their quarters preparing to sleep. Since it’s basically the only place you could get some privacy, you don’t want to be in a rush because there’s someone else waiting to use the shower. You prefer taking your time after a hard working day.

The contract you’re currently engaged on is quite profitable, the crew is nice too; all of them are experienced harvesters you could learn a lot from, so you consider yourself lucky. Yes, the work is exhausting, but you believe it’s worth it. The only thing that gets on your nerves sometimes is that your employer is really strict, obsessed with the rules. Each day is precisely scheduled: what time you get up, eat and work, the curfew hour... Relationships with the crew are also strictly regulated. No inappropriate actions or contacts allowed; it’s called work ethics - your employer points. You all are here to do the job, not to make friends or have affairs. Maybe it’s for the best, but sometimes you feel like you’re suffocating. So this time of the day, when you quietly sneak out of the room you share with another female member of the crew, and head to the shower is like a breath of fresh air. This time only belongs to you.

You sigh deeply as you strip of your tank top and sweatpants and get under the warm streams of water. Today was really exhausting, but thankfully there’s only one week left until the end of this contract. One week and your crew will leave the Green with solid sums of money in your pockets and you will finally be able to have proper rest. And for now you need something to ease your body and mind.

Sliding your hand down your lower belly, you close your eyes and the image of a man appears in your head. Sometimes you think you should be embarrassed because recently you often catch yourself on fantasizing about one particular man… Who is your fellow crew member.

You cannot tell exactly when it started. Was it after the first time you were assigned to work in pair, or a bit later? Perhaps after the first time he called you “little one” - a moniker he gave you as the youngest member of the crew. You’re also not sure why you find this man so attractive. Maybe it’s his deep brown eyes, or his lips that look so soft… Or his ridiculously messy dark hair with a small blond streak in it… Or is it his fancy manner of speech and the sound of his voice? Anyway, you were attracted to him and you couldn’t deny it.

Sometimes you have a feeling that the attraction is mutual. There’s something in the way he talks to you, something in his smile and occasional touches… But even if it’s so, you’re not here for romance. Rules are rules. So all you could do is touching yourself in the shower, imagining how his touch and his kiss would feel on your bare skin - the only luxury you could afford.

Throwing your head back a little, you sigh with delight, and let his name silently fall from your lips:

- Ezra.

You’re so lost in your fantasy that at first you don’t even register someone else’s presence in the room. Suddenly the sound of a man clearing his throat practically makes you jump. Quickly you step out of the water stream and grab a towel from the hanger nearby to cover your nakedness. The next second you realize who’s standing in front of you.

It’s him. Ezra. In flesh-and-blood.

You blink stupidly, struggling to identify if it’s really happening or you’re experiencing some weird sort of hallucination caused by exhaustion or whatever it is in the atmosphere of this goddamn planet.

- Calm down, little one, - the man says in a quiet, soothing tone. - I apologize... Kevva knows I had absolutely no intention to startle you like that.

- Wh… What are you doing here?.. - You manage to mumble.

- Same as you, I believe, - he shrugs. - I intended to take a shower, and since the door wasn’t locked, meeting you here was the last thing I expected to happen.

Only now you notice that he’s standing in front of you wearing nothing except a big towel wrapped around his hips and a pair of rubber slippers.

- Did I… Did I forget to lock the door?.. - You blurt out, asking rather yourself than him.

- Apparently so. Or… Allow me make an assumption… It could be something that you wanted to happen subconsciously, without realizing it to the full extent.

- What do you mean? - You frown at his words. - And why are you still standing here? An adequate person would already have apologized and left.

- I might not be adequate enough but I’m not ignorant either, - Ezra says, mischievous sparkles playing in his eyes. - Pardon my boldness, but I suppose I know exactly what kind of an action was interrupted by my unannounced appearance.

Instantly you feel the blush creeping up on your cheeks. Of course he saw you pleasuring yourself. You don’t even know how long has he been around. You want to sink under the ground. Why wouldn’t he just leave? Does he find joy in torturing you like that? You want to hit him in the face, and normally you would do exactly this, but for some reason now you’re just frozen in place.

-   But I assure you, - Ezra continues in the same soothing tone. - It’s a completely natural thing. We’re human; we need each other. Physically too, among other things. You think I don’t know why you’re doing it in the shower? I’m familiar to this, girl. For sure we can satisfy ourselves without any difficulties, but warm water just makes it easier to pretend you’re in someone’s arms. I myself experience this firsthand. Let’s face it, little one. It’s been a while and we both are starving for a simple skin-to-skin contact. So… If you will indulge me, I’d be more than happy to propose my assistance. And being a gentleman, I’m not inquiring any sorts of favors from your part, believe me. It’s just a suggestion from one solitary person seeking for some warmth to another.

- Okay, I’m confused right now... What kind of assistance are you talking about? - You ask, narrowing your eyes. Actually you can’t believe your ears - did he just suggested to help you getting off? Seriously?

- I think I made myself clear enough, didn’t I? - Ezra cocks his head examining your baffled expression.

- Yeah, okay... But what makes you think that I can say yes to this?

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smug smirk.

- Forgive me, little bird... Of course I cannot asseverate that, perhaps my eyes and ears are just playing tricks on me, but... I might have noticed you uttering something very similar to my name.

- What...

Now your face is not just blushing. It’s burning. You didn’t think it’s possible to make you even more embarrassed than you already are, but he just did it. You’re lost for words. It clearly makes no sense to deny the obvious now that you were caught in the act...

- There's nothing to be ashamed of, little one, - Ezra says quietly with a sudden tenderness in his voice. - For what it's worth, it's only chemistry... After all, let's just endorse the reality that I would already have left, or you would have slapped me in the face if only we weren't attracted to each other since day one. You're not the first day in the business and I'm convinced you're pretty much capable to push back against me or any other intruder. And yet, I'm still here.

You think about his words for a couple of seconds. He's right, you have to admit. You sensed some sort of vibes between the two of you since the beginning. So if you both have sympathy for each other - what are you losing? In fact, only a few minutes ago, weren’t you busy imagining how his lips would feel against your skin?..

-  And dare I say, - he adds as if he read your mind. - If it wasn’t for the sake of annoying work ethics we’re bound to follow, I’d probably be more precise in my intentions since the very start.

He makes an expectant pause here, cunning brown eyes scanning your face, waiting for a response.

- So, birdie... what do you think?

- I think you talk too much.

You didn’t intend to sound this bold, but Ezra chuckles contently.

- The answer is positive, I assume?

- Correct, - you reply, unintentionally copying his strange manner of speech, something you noticed not the first time you did while talking to him.

This conversation is so weird... As if it’s some kind of... Negotiation? You’re still feeling awkward, but Ezra’s smile is warm and reassuring as he makes a step closer.

- Than let’s reject the useless pudency, shall we?

His hand reaches yours; fingertips brushing against your knuckles, making you release the grip on the towel you’re covering yourself with. Your heart is beating way too fast. You have no idea why you’re so flustered, as if it’s your first time… You imagined this so many times it’s hard to believe now it’s happening for real. Inhaling sharply you close your eyes and let the towel slip down to your feet. When you open your eyes again, you find him silently admiring you with lustful eyes.

- Aren’t you the finest creature, little one, - he proclaims.

- Your turn, - you try to sound confident, but your voice betrays you, trembling a little. Ezra smirks at this.

- Your word is my command.

His towel falls on the floor as well and you can hardly take your eyes off him - he’s so beautiful to you, all of him. Tanned olive skin, scars on his upper body, a trail of dark hair beneath his belly button... You’re not sure what to do next, but he’s suddenly gentle as he takes your hand and leads you closer to warm water still pouring from the showerhead. He positions himself behind you and you shiver when his lips are finally against your skin. He places soft kisses along your shoulderblade, then gently brushes your hair aside to kiss the nape of your neck. You bite back a moan when he reaches the spot right behind your earlobe. He’s so impossibly close you can feel his hot breath as he whispers:

- So what do you want me to do, little one?

- Touch me.

- With the utmost pleasure.

His hand immediately skims up the curve of your thigh, and your skin breaks out with goosebumps at the contact when he cups your breast. You gasp and he hums in approval, caressing your soft flesh before giving your hardened nipple a light pinch. You’re about to scream when his free hand palms your mound. You’re craving for more, but Ezra is unhurried, dragging his fingers along your slit to spread the wetness between your folds slowly, as if you have all the time in the world… And then your body jerks when he strokes the very tip of your throbbing clit with his finger. He teases you like that a bit more before finally adding so much needed pressure. Your knees go weak at the intensity of the sensation. You can’t even explain why it feels this good. He doesn’t really do anything you couldn’t do yourself, but his fingers just feel differently, both rough and deliciously tender if such a combination is even possible, and the way he’s holding you tightly against his frame and nuzzles into your shoulder just makes the whole act even more intimate.

- F-faster, - you plead in a shaky voice, feeling the tight knot in the pit of your belly is about to burst.

A whimper, a bit louder than you wish it to be escapes your parted lips when you feel his warm tongue on the side of your neck. Immediately, Ezra's hand covers your mouth and you’re internally crying in frustration as he slows down his movements.

- Shhh, be quiet, little one, - he hushes and his hoarse whisper against your ear gives you chills. - As much as I appreciate your grateful response, that'll be a shame to get fired only a week before the contract ends, right?

You nod in agreement, humming into his palm as he keeps going, increasing pace and pressure again until your body finally surrenders. Digging your nails into his hip in search for some support to keep balance you shudder, coming hard on his fingers. You’re trembling in his embrace, overwhelmed by this blissful sensation: warm, pulsating and so incredibly sweet, sweeter than all honey in the world. The pleasure runs through you in swift waves, and when the last tremors of your climax subside, you feel like melting into a puddle against his firm chest.

- You alright, little one? - Ezra asks. His arms are still around you, fingers drawing circles on your belly absentmindedly. It tickles a bit, but you don’t mind.

- Mhm… - You make lazily. - Uh...thank you…

- The pleasure is mine, - he smirks, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

His warm body feels like home. All you wish for right now is to stay like this forever, never losing the physical contact.

There’s something else you wish for though.

He’s undoubtedly hard against your backside, and you can’t fight the sudden urge to touch him. The man lets out a ragged breath as you reach behind you and let your fingers trail down his lower belly. Now it’s his turn to shiver in response to your gentle caress.

- Little one, - he sounds a bit raspier than usual. - I meant it when I said I’m not requiring favors...

- What if it’s not really a favor, - your palm wraps around his length, giving him a light squeeze and earning a quiet grunt from him. His cock is warm and thick, and feels amazing in your hand. - What if I just want to touch you too?..

- Therefore, I dare not protest, - you sense a hint of relief in his voice and smirk under your breath. He definitely needs it even more than you, and frankly speaking, you think he deserves it.

Ezra’s hips jerk a bit as your thumb makes contact with the tip of his cock, brushing against it softly. Encouraged by his reaction, you give him a couple of firmer strokes causing him thrust into your hand.

- Kevva, that feels good, - he mumbles, and suddenly you desperately want to see his face. You need it. So you turn around.

He opens his dark brown eyes to meet your gaze. The look is so intense it gives you shivers, and without any second thoughts and useless doubts, you press your lips to his.

He responds immediately, kissing you back feverishly, like a starving man, humming against your mouth, and you have to suppress a moan again at the delightful sensation when your tongues touch. Ezra’s hand grabs the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. His plump lips are almost as soft and nice as you imagined, only better, because they are real. You keep working on him, stroking him up and down in a steady pace, and you break the kiss only to taste the skin on the crook of his neck, hot and salty under your tongue. Your fingers run along his pecs and collarbones and you wish you didn’t have to keep quiet because you really enjoy his grunts and ragged gasps. There's something very satisfying in realization that you make him feel this way.

You increase the pace as the thrusts of his hips become more erratic and he tightens the grip on your hair. You kiss him again and he hisses into your mouth and bites on your lower lip almost painfully, but it’s a good kind of pain. You feel him throbbing and swelling, and a couple more movements of your hand finally bring him over the edge, his warm load spilling on the floor and your lower belly.

- Damn, birdie, - Ezra breathes out, relaxing against the tiles and pulling you closer to his chest. - I fully realize that current circumstances are far from being perfectly romantic, but still I must confess here and now - I’m pretty much into you, y/n.

You’re surprised to hear your name from him. You’re not sure, but it’s probably the first time you hear him saying it. For some reason it feels important. Despite the circumstances, it gives his confession even more value.

- I’m pretty much into you as well, Ezra, - you smile. - Even though you’re by far the biggest weirdo I’ve ever met.

- Why is that, if I may be so bold as to ask?

- Well, you know... That massive speech you delivered to convince me... Wasn’t it easier to just come over and like... kiss me maybe? - You shrug.

- That might be. But I wasn’t certain I’d not end up with a black eye or a bloody nose in this case... Simply due to your dexterous self-preservation instincts, - he chuckles and you scoff into his chest.

- Yeah, this is actually very likely of me. Who can blame me though?

- Wasn’t even trying. It’s the world we live in, little one. You have to be tough and cautious; otherwise your chance to survive is quite slim... And you see, I, on my part, am being cautious too...

- You’re really good at negotiating, I must say...

You both laugh quietly, as Ezra wraps his arms around your frame and lets his fingers run through your damp hair. You stay like that for a little while, simply enjoying the intimacy of the moment and the warmth of each other’s bodies.

- I have to make a point, - Ezra goes after the pause. - That normally I possess much higher levels of stamina. It’s just the months of touch starvation took their toll... We’re only human as it was stated in previous conversations...

- Right... - You smirk, tilting your head to look him in the eye. - I might give you a chance to prove it than... Once we’re done with this goddamn contract, of course.

- Sounds like a tempting offer, birdie, - Ezra grins before leaning in to steal another kiss. - I’m ready to negotiate.

- This is gonna be a long week… - You murmur softly, kissing him back.

***

Thank you for reading!

[lamentsof-bee]

taking scissors to pure canon - take two

i wrote this fic for @perseachase bc we couldn't believe that royai didn't end up together and we are 100% FMAB trash. always. 

i’m not saying i wrote it better (but wendy might >.< (KIDDING hiroshi onogi plz don’t kill me!))

this story wrote itself and really wasn't for anyone but us but i figured if we were feeling this way, maybe someone else was too. endless pining and never-quite-fluff is always a must. 

idk, shameless self indulgence as always. but y'all can read it if you want (only if you don't judge my constant change of tense tho!!! it's a MOOD ok???)

(also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498194) 

Summary: There are plenty of ways their story could have ended. But there was only one ending that was right. 

Riza Hawkeye swore to her Colonel that she would follow him into hell. He never realized that one day, he would truly need her to do so.

They had heartbreak a-plenty under their belt. And scars to prove their worth. After Ishval... after the Homonculus... after everything, didn't they deserve a softer ending?

[A story that fills in the gaps and voices the thoughts of the truest OTP to ever walk the streets of Amestris]

The first time Riza Hawkeye met Roy Mustang she had come into the kitchen through the backdoor. The estate still seemed grand back then, it was clean and her father had been esteemed and passionate enough to make a good living for his family.

Roy stood at the stove watching a pot boil.

Riza entered through the door letting the house cat she had chased in the garden escape her arms.

‘I think it’s hot.’ She said nodding at the pot in front of him.

‘Hm?’ A beat had passed. ‘Oh, yeah. Professor Hawkeye is having me look at all sources of heat so –’

‘So you’re staring at a pot of boiling water and hoping it will impart some wisdom on you?’

She had deadpanned it.

‘The secrets of alchemy are many.’ He was too distracted by his task to notice her jab, or at least that’s what she thought.

She shrugged and passed him. She didn’t know then that this person would plague her mind for the following nine years.

-

Their meetings from then on had been sporadic and they rarely exchanged more than a couple words. Still, Roy had become shadow she was used to in her house. She stopped being surprised to find him huddled in her father’s office reading quietly.

When her mother had passed, though, things had changed.

Professor Hawkeye became more withdrawn. The doors to his study would almost always be closed. He took all his meals at his desk and rarely made conversation with Roy, let alone Riza.

Roy had provided comfort during that time.

She liked to bug him about his slow academic progress but sometimes, when her father got too caught up in his own mind, she would sit with Roy in the kitchen and he would tell her about what he was learning.

The complicated matrices of alchemy were a welcomed distraction to the mansion that stood in shambles and the gravestone it guarded.

She had found his eyes welcoming back then. His entire being open and excitable. He’d make a snide remark, even flirt a little, and she would be reminded of what it was like to look at a real human being. Not the shell of one her father had become.

More than once she caught herself wanting to tell Roy about the secret her father had made out of her. How he spent long hours poring over her back immortalizing his work onto her skin. She wondered what Roy’s eyes would look like if he ever found out.

She shook her the idea out of her head.

-

Riza remembers the day he gave her his name card. A soldier working his way through the ranks. The day he said he would find a place for her if she ever felt lost. The funeral had marred the day with sadness and yet Riza remembered her heart lifting as she took what he offered her. It was nice that he had offered to organize the funeral too. God knows there was nothing left in the Hawkeye bank account but debt and disarray. It had been even nicer of him to quietly watch over her, never knowing that this had been her father’s final wish.

He hadn’t become a state alchemist at the time. And yet, when she looked at him all she saw wide eyed hunger for knowledge and change.

Roy Mustang wanted to change the world.

It had been an accident, that he let his plans slip. He shouldn’t have told her, he knew it. Wide eyes optimism seemed silly. But he got caught up in the moment and the feeling of his mentor’s bones calling out to him from the grave begging for relief had forced him to open his mouth.

She had let her secret slip then too.

The secret that her father had entrusted her with a coded Transmutation Array branded on her back. She wanted the world to be better, she realized. She wanted the world to be safer. So that no child had to grow up without a mother, and so that every kid would have someone to reach out to if their ever distant father grew more tiresome.

He had made up his mind, he was going to be a good solider. He used the knowledge she had imparted to him and began to learn.

Countless days he spent hovering over her naked back copying the symbols into his notebook, muttering to himself. His touch had always been soft and his eyes always full of wonder as he looked at the markings. Never once did he let his confusing get the better of him. And he always made sure to thank Riza for her sacrifice, for baring herself to him and trusting him.

He must have known somehow that he was all she had left. A last comfort in a comfortless world.

She made him swear to take her secrets to his grave. She didn’t understand why her father had burned his entire research before he passed but she would not be one to disobey him, even in death. If he wanted the research private, then it would remain that way. For eternity.

Now Roy tried to carry the burden with her and went to make a difference.

It took him three years to pass the State Alchemist certification exam and with it he earned the title Major. Change was long overdue.

So she went to war with him.

-

It turns out years of good humoured can shooting in the backyard and kicking it with the local street urchins were enough foundation for a good soldier to be built upon.

And a good solider she was. No one could ever tell Riza Hawkeye that she wasn’t committed.

She took the parts of herself that her father had shunned, the wide-eyed lost look that longed for love, and buried them deep within her. In its stead she took her rifle firmly and never missed a shot. Riza was strong now. They didn’t call her The Hawk’s Eye for nothing.

‘Life’s a whole lot easier if you’ve got someone watching your six.’ Maes Hughes had said to Roy.

He had been right. Major Hughes was often right, though Roy would never admit it. And Riza always had his back.

-

The things they did in Ishval…

The crimes they committed there…

It was unspeakable.

Riza will never forget the smell of burning skin and the Major’s eyes as he forced himself to watch.

No one was surprised when the troops (the ones that survived that is) came back with PTSD and fever dreams.

Riza found herself washing her hands, trying to scrape off the blood she had spilled, so often that her hands had permanent calluses and the skin was always red and dry.

The person Ishval had turned her into… that wasn’t what she joined the military for. This wasn’t what she wanted…

Looking in the mirror all she saw was a woman with sunken in cheeks, bags under her eyes and a short haircut that should have been efficient but now only reminded her if her time at war. She had only been a cadet, god damn it. Graduating from the academy with what?! A diploma and body count in the hundreds?

So young to have seen such chaos.

The alchemic secrets branded into her back felt heavier than ever.

But Riza Hawkeye was strong now.

So she grew her hair out. Never again would she look in the mirror and look like the person she had been. She ate better, forced herself to rest more. Eventually her cheeks filled out and her skin gained colour. The tiredness though, that never really passed. Not truly. The days she was plagued by nightmares, most nights really, she recounted Roy’s goals. His plan for protecting the people and the country.

Had it been foolish of her to believe him?

Could she still trust in him after watching him burn an entire country off the map? He had been following orders… and so had she…

Her thoughts were still clouded when she called on him. He picked up on the second ring, his voice rough.

‘Hello?’

‘Major Mustang…’ She hesitated, not sure how to continue or what to say. Why had she called him again?

‘Hawkeye. It’s midnight.’ He knew. He always knew.

A pause. Neither of them continue.

Perhaps they are both thinking about the last time they spoke.

They had been standing in front of the graves of children. Children that they had slaughtered. She had asked him what had happened, what had changed? How could he have convinced her to follow him into the military with a speech of grandeur and change when all she had gotten was death and decay?

He takes a breath and takes one for the team.

‘I could use some company, Hawkeye. What do you say?’

Her yes is shaky at best. It’s the first of many times he masks his desire to help her as his own weakness. It’s the first of many times that she chooses to ignore it and agree.

When he shows up to her apartment he’s dressed casually. Any other woman would have fanned herself at the white shirt, black slacked gentleman leaning against the doorframe. Major Mustang was handsome and found the company of women a-plenty. But today he looked tired.

He always looks tired. Riza thought to herself. We all do.

He makes no comment regarding her apartment. She had been left a dowry by her mother, it wasn’t much, not enough to cover the rent of even a shoebox apartment. This one had been left to her by a distant aunt that had wanted to spite her own kids. Riza hadn’t known her well, nor had she really cared. But she took the apartment nonetheless.

He stands stiffly in the middle of her living room, his eyes cast towards the dark window.

‘Can’t sleep, Major?’ Riza has her back facing him, keeping her hands busy by making tea.

‘I’m sure you know the feeling.’

Her hands pause but her silence is evidence enough.

‘Would you like some tea?’

She brings over the kettle on a tray with two teacups. Pouring, she focuses on the task at hand.

He searches her face.

‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’

Her movements halt as she re-examines her intentions. She pushes the teacup towards him and strengthens her resolve.

‘You made me a promise.’

He is silent, unmoving.

‘When we stood in the ruins of Ishval, you made me a promise.’ She goes on. ‘No more flame alchemists can exist. No one should be given access to such power again.’

Her words are firm. His tea is untouched.

The implication of her statement is clear. I will never see this power abused the way it has been ever again.

‘Think about what you’re asking.’ His words are quiet but they stand as firm as hers.

‘I know what I’m asking.’

‘I don’t think you do.’

Her voice rises. ‘To destroy evidence of alchemic research is - ’

‘No! Think of what it would do to you!’

Roy clenches his fists in his lap, he looks at her incredulously. ‘You’re asking me to disfigure you. To hurt you simply to make information inaccessible. It’s…’ He hesitates. ‘It’s not good enough.’

The betrayal is clear on Riza’s face.

‘You swore to me that you would do this. You promised that all evidence of flame alchemic research would be destroyed.’ Her look turns accusing. ‘Is this the second promise you will break to me?’

Something inside Roy wavers. He felt his heart stop and the full consequence and destruction he had caused in Riza’s life becomes clear to him. She followed him into the military. She followed him into war. No amount of good intention could revive the parts of their humanity they had lost fighting for Amestris.

His voice is small. ‘Don’t make me do this.’

But she can’t give in.

‘Please don’t make me hurt you too.’

‘You promised.’

Their eyes bore into each other. Neither seem to be breathing.

Not until –

Not until she breaks.

‘Please.’ Her voice barely a whisper. Tears welling but her eyes hold his. ‘Set me free.’

He comes undone. He owes her this. He owes her – everything, everything he could ever give.

And so she stands in front of him, shirt on the floor, arms wrapped around her torso as if she could hide her vulnerability.

The markings on her back look the same as they had when he had first studied them. The back they laid on was stronger though, the muscles more tight, the skin seemed thinner as if time had eroded its previous youthful glow.

Her face is angled over her shoulder but she doesn’t look at him.

‘Hawkeye…’

‘Do it.’ She insists.

He drew a haphazard transmutation circle on the back of his hand with a marker she dug up in her kitchen. The entire time she had been quiet, quietly getting the marker, quietly arranging herself in front of the heater unbuttoning her blouse. Before he could stop himself his fingertips brushed against the tattoos. The markings he had studied for hours, he hadn’t realized how much they weighed on her. They had given him freedom, power even, but for Riza it seems they had always been a burden.

Set me free. She had begged him.

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s barely a whisper. His fingers are fanned over her shoulder blade. He wills the heat to spread through his joints all the way to the tips of his fingers and out. He feels the heat of his alchemy connect with her skin and attempts, as gently and with as much control as he can muster, to penetrate only the surface of her back. To scar her markings but leave her as uninjured as possible.

She tenses with pain, her fingers claw into her sides as she suppressed a whimper. The heat moves downwards singeing anything it passed He manages to burn through the top left part of the Array before he needs to turn his back on her. The smell of burnt flesh, the sizzling of her skin under his hand - it reminds him too much of the battlefield. What is he doing?! His stomach turns and it takes all of his willpower to not vomit on her carpet. If he could cut his hand off then and there, he would.

Her breath is frantic, her face tear stained.

‘Go on.’ She chokes out.

He turns and hesitates, he can see her strength draining as the pain takes over. There are few things worse than second degree burns.

‘Riza…’

‘Do it!’

Free me!

He needs to close his eyes this time but manages to put his hand on the right side of the small of her back. He starts the process over. He’s praying to any and all gods that he’s not inflicting irreparable damage. They both don’t last too much longer before the pain is unbearable and his flashbacks get too strong. By the time he’s finished there are tears running down his face and gall riding up his throat.

With shaking hands he moves towards her, meaning to provide some kind of comforting touch but hesitates. She must only see him as destruction now. Even more than before.

Still, his instincts kick in as her knees buckle, he grabs her by the arms. She’s out like a light, her breathing is labored and heavy. He attempts to move his arms around her stomach, trying to find the most comfortable position for her and a way for the burns to remain untouched.

He thinks that she would hate to be seen in such an exposed state so he grabs the shirt she had dropped and gently places it over her chest.

They should have prepared better for this, he thinks to himself. They hadn’t prepared water, ointment or any means to alleviate pain. Although the last, he guessed, had been on purpose. Riza Hawkeye would always endure. She probably felt like she deserved to feel this pain. That this was the least she had to suffer to atone for what she had done in Ishval.

His attempts to move her to the bedroom where she could lay out her pain were complicated. He feels drained by what he just experienced and Riza’s body is hard to hold on to without agitating the burns further. He ends up gently holding her at the top of the shoulders and under the knees. An adjusted bridal position so to say. Not that he would ever tell her that, she might pull out her Glock just for mentioning marriage.

He manages to open the bedroom door with his elbow and almost trips as a black Shiba jumps to its feet having curled up in front of it.

‘Woah boy.’ Mustang adjusts his arms, attempting to move as little as possible. This friend was one Roy had never met before.

Black Hayate, Riza’s most recent companion of comfort, whines as he sees his owner unresponsive and follows Roy as he steps towards the bed.

He lays her on her side as softly as possible and moves her so that she is laying in the recovery position. This would alleviate any risk of further aggravating her injuries. Black Hayate jumped on the bed and padded over to his master. His expression one of confusion and hurt.

‘She can’t hear you right now.’ Mustang said quietly. ‘She needs to rest.’

Black Hayate runs his nose along Riza’s back, carefully taking in the changes. His whining continues as the smell of blood and singed skin fills the room.

Roy goes to open a window. The wind blows into the room in soft streams. It’s a cold wind though, one that would bite if it were only slightly stronger. Unconsciously, he slides down the wall and sits under the window, his eyes never leaving Riza.

Her breathing was shallow but the tears on her face had dried. The tracks they left behind were a stark contrast against the white of her skin. Riza never cries.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He rubs the tears out of his eyes, unwilling to lose his composure in front of Hawkeye whether she was conscious or not.

Desiring to undo the hurt he inflicted on her, he goes searching for ointment in the bathroom. He finds something similar enough to burn cream and forces himself to look at every single pattern he burned into her skin. The skin is charred and red, raw and open. Just like Riza, this was his atonement. His atonement for the sins he committed against her.

He follows the new marks on her skin and carefully applies the cream, pausing every time her body so much as twitched.

‘Are you free now?’ There was no use asking her, she couldn’t answer, but he had to anyway. Had this changed anything?

He thinks back to their times at the Hawkeye estate. He had spent countless years sharing the space with her. And then when he went to Ishval, she had been there too. His formative years had the red string of Riza Hawkeye running through them.

He knew that Riza had always felt tied down by the duty of her father. Had always succumbed to the Professor’s greatest needs, ignoring her own. The world of flame alchemy was carried on her shoulders alone. Not even Roy, who was a Flame Alchemist, could alleviate that.

He didn’t know if she found peace in her wounds. He hoped she did. It was the least that she deserved.

God, he wanted so badly to set her free. He hated that it had to come at the cost of her wellbeing.

A tiny voice inside him moaned I need you to be well. I need you to be safe. But as he always did, he kept his thoughts to himself, pushed them down until they were only a faint whisper.

Sitting at her back allowed him time to mull over exactly how he had been talked into mutilating the one person he insisted he would protect.

He had sworn such an oath to himself long before Professor Hawkeye had even brought it up. He could always use the professor as an excuse but he knew deep inside that he decided he was going to look out for Miz Hawkeye the second she made fun of him for standing in front of that boiling pot of water.

The memories came flooding back as if they had only just happened. Terse smiles exchanged in the hallway, a blanked laid over his shoulders as he fell asleep on his text book again, coffee strong enough for both of them to withstand the withering looks of the professor. Silent laughs at the kitchen counter, plenty of meals shared and stories told.

A fist clenched around his heart.

The memories became tarnished with darkness. The look on her face after she killed her first civilians, her head on his shoulder when exhaustion got the better of her, the way she’d snatch up the leftover sausages from his rations – the only semblance of joy she found in her time abroad. (She never knew he always saved them for her.)

They kept coming, the memories. And the pillow he was leaning against felt softer and softer. His mind clouded and the last thing he thought of before giving into the tendrils of darkness was blonde hair, quit wit and the smell of sausages.

-

They never spoke of that night again.

She served him coffee in the morning. French press, no milk. Just the way he liked it.

Their conversation was as minimal as her movements. She wore a t-shirt that went down to her knees and barely moved an inch.

Mustang spared a thought to the owner of the shirt, thinking it must be a man’s.

Then they say their good-byes and she closes the door as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

-

Major Mustang was promoted for his heroic deeds in Ishval, he went by Lieutenant Colonel Mustang from then on and he had a new dream.

He had wanted to strengthen the government only to protect the people he loved. Clearly, that was no longer an option. As Professor Hawkeye had said, military lapdogs account for little change in the world – that cycle needed to be stopped. So Mustang reevaluated his desire and adapted it.

If he couldn’t protect his people by joining the military, he would protect them by leading it.

Who was going to oppose the Fuhrer?

No one.

Well, no one but him.

Ordered to Central City, Mustang accumulated a motley crew of wacky but loyal subordinates. He even called upon Hawkeye. Although she had once confessed she wished to retire, her thoughts were too filled with carnage and tragedy to find anything resembling rest.

He appointed her his personal aide and bodyguard.

He looked at her from behind his new desk as he proposed his plan.

‘Do you accept my offer?’

To stand behind you and fight, finally actually fight, for the right thing? To strike you down should you ever so much as waver?

She barely spared it a thought.

‘Of course I do, sir.’

She vowed. ‘I’ll follow you into hell if you ask me to.’

You already have. He thought.

-

Time brought about another promotion and plenty of trouble. People might say they had countless adventures since joining forces but the truth was both Lieutenant Major Mustang and 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye walked a painful path.

Together they saw the aftermath of a Human Transmutation attempt and two orphans too lost to find their way. The little Rockbell girl, a name familiar to Mustang, had asked why anyone would join such an institution. Why the only people she had left to love should.

Hawkeye’s answer had been simple.

Because there are many ways you protect those you love and that was one of them.

Though she would never admit what love she was protecting, even when that love walked into the room and told her their time was up.

Within a year, the duo had been promoted and Maes Hughes had been murdered.

It was quite a picture, the Colonel with his hair pushed back, dressed in mourning.

1st Lieutenant Hawkeye stood at the grave and watched as her Colonel grieved.

It was the first time she had seen such emotion burst forth from him. He rarely talked about his past but when he did it was always with quick wit or in a cold matter-of-fact way. Maes Huges though… Colonel Mustang spoke plenty of Maes Hughes.

And how annoying his constant chatter was.

And how frustrating his cowardice was.

And how much he believed in the good of the world.

And how pure his heart was.

How much he loved his family.

‘Alchemists as a whole - we really are horrible creatures, aren’t we?’

His voice cracks. She has no answer.

‘I think I understand what drove those boys when they tried to bring back their mother.’

She couldn’t stop herself, not when he was hurting like this.

‘Are you alright, Colonel?’ A dumb question really.

He positions his hat, pulls it down over his eyes.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ His voice is low, it’s barely a croak. ‘Except, it’s a terrible day for rain.’

Confused she answers: ‘What do you mean? It’s not raining.’

Only then does she notice the tear tracks on his face and his lips pressed tightly together. There’s a hurt in her heart that she can’t quite place and a quiet sadness in her inability to alleviate his suffering.

‘Yes, it is.’

All she can say is: ‘So it is.’

-

Her Barry the Chopper encounter leaves Hawkeye more shaken up than she would like to admit.

It had been funny for a second, her heart may even have skipped a beat, as the Colonel’s face turned icy when the armour had called her ‘toots’ and he muttered ‘Stand aside, Lieutenant. There’s going to be a fire tonight.’

She never needed his protection anyway, he reckoned. But he’d offer it just for showmanship’s sake.

Just in case.

His comfort though… he always knew when she needed that.

She had excused herself early from their re-con session, he saw her eyes were downcast.

He called that night and she pretended to be surprised. He wafted on about Madam Christmas’ hostess bar, whiskey and wine.

She was content to listen to him. It distracted her from the feeling of impending doom, a feeling that was eerily familiar (Ishval, perhaps?). More souls connected to suits of armour meant more transmutation, more experiments, more evil.

‘These ladies won’t leave me alone, Hawkeye.’

He smiles ruefully, his complaint giving her a chance to jab at him.

‘I’m sure once they hear you speak, they will feel plenty deterred, Colonel.’ Her bland answer is an indication that she feels slightly better.

‘…Hawekeye…’ He whines.

He pushes away the thought of cracking another joke, instead his tone turns serious.

‘I will always be right in front of you.’

He hears her breath hitch, just for a moment.

‘If you ever feel lost, just follow my voice. I won’t lead you astray. I will always be right here.’

-

Time passes too quickly. The Colonel fakes Ross’ death, his team have their first encounter with Gluttony and Barry the Chopper decides to have a mind of his own. It is at that point that they met Lust and for the first time both of our soldiers needed to admit to themselves, quietly, that they could not live without the other.

‘Now, where was I?’ Lust croons. ‘I was about to send the Lieutenant to join her superior.’

The words hit Hawkeye like a ton of bricks. Her heart stops. Her head feels heavy.

‘It can’t be… You didn’t!’

One monstrous smile later and through a curse Hawkeye releases three full rounds into the demon’s chest. It doesn’t make a difference though. The woman regenerates in a flurry of red static and a hopelessness takes the place of the anger Hawkeye was feeling.

Tears run down her cheeks as the full meaning of Lust’s words finally sink in.

Strength leaves her body, Hawkeye sinks to the floor, inconsolable.

The day Mustang had thought would never come arrived. His Lieutenant was on her knees sobbing. No prompts from Alphonse could halt her. She felt the same dread that Mustang had felt mere minutes ago cauterizing Havoc’s wound, carving a Transmutation Circle into his hand.

Only now, for him, it was infinitely worse.

He, under no circumstances, could watch the people he loved die before him.

Especially not his Lieutenant.

‘You told me I couldn’t kill you but I’d like to try and prove you wrong.’ He spat at the Homunculus.

He lit the flint of the lighter to scorch the creature alive, payback for every second of pain she inflicted on his Lieutenant. It wasn’t enough. There was not enough pain in the world for this beast to endure as punishment for making Hawkeye cry.

The fire in his stomach still roared but the battle was over quickly.

‘I love how cold and focused your eyes are.’ The eery sound of her voice carried as Lust disintegrated before him. ‘I look forward…to the day when those eyes will be wide with agony.

It’s coming….

It’s coming…’

The welcoming eyes Hawkeye had once seen in her family’s kitchen were gone and replaced with cold, hard fury and torment.

Had time finally broken him?

It seems as time passed their burden only became heavier.

-

When Mustang woke up in the hospital, his was the only bed occupied. The one next to it was empty. The only other figure in the room was Lieutenant Hawkeye who had her arms curled around her head, leaning on his mattress from an uncomfortable looking chair.

He took a moment to steady himself.

This is fine. He told himself. This is okay. She is okay.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his side. Lifting the blanket, he saw his lower torso was wrapped in bandages, as was his right hand.

More scars to add to the collection.

‘Sir.’ He must have woken her by shifting the covers. ‘You’re awake.’

‘So are you.’

She straightened. ‘They took you in for emergency treatment. Your wound… they said they’ve never seen anything like it. It was like you had been pierced by sharpened rods…’

‘What about Havoc?’

‘He is still in surgery.’

She doesn’t seem confident. ‘There’s no word yet.’

Mustang grinds his teeth in frustration but keeps his qualms to himself. He spares her a glance which only makes him feel worse. Her eyes are sunken in, she’s wearing the same clothes as she had during the mission, the faint smell of burnt skin hangs around her.

He can only think of one way to help her. She hates vulnerability, she hates seeming weak and he knows she needs to regroup after the ordeal they just lived through. Wash off any embarrassment she may be feeling.

‘Go home, Lieutenant.’

She doesn’t move.

‘Lieutenant – ’

‘I told you I would follow you into hell.’

He expects the look she gives him to be hard and accusing but all he sees is helplessness .

‘I meant it.’ She vows.

‘I just didn’t think there would ever be a place where I couldn’t follow.’ Her hands are clenched in her lap. She avoids his gaze. ‘When Lust said she had killed you…I thought I lost my mind.’

Tears blur her vision.

‘I can’t do this without you.’ It’s just about a whisper.

He encloses her hand with his gently and looks at her face even though she is still avoiding his.

‘You’ll never have to.’ He promises. ‘Whatever we do, whatever we achieve or don’t achieve, we will do it together.’

He bows his head slightly to get a better look at her.

‘I told you, I will always be right in front of you.’

She can’t stop the tears from falling.

‘Lieutenant Hawkeye of Central City, I order you to always stand directly behind me. I order you to always stay by my side and never leave my line of sight.’

She gives a terse nod and tightens her hand around his ever so slightly.

‘Yes, sir.’

-

Not many Homunculi remained. Gluttony, Wrath and Pride were the ones left standing. Though the latter two were still unknown.

They managed to foil an attempt by Gluttony. Everything seemed under control. Until.. until Colonel Mustang let’s a rumour slip that Fuhrer Bradley may be a homunculus and suddenly everything became much clearer.

Ushered into a room full of high ranking military officials, none batted an eye when Bradley turned looking like the most sinister man ever to walk the earth.

Turns out it doesn’t take more than a quick joke to find your allies and force your enemies to go looking for you.

Fuhrer Bradley showed up at the Colonel’s office the very next day. He explained that the Homunculi had been scheming since Amestris had been put on the map and they weren’t about to let one nosy Colonel destroy their lifelong goal now.

‘How would your son react if he knew his father was secretly a Homunculus fueled by the death of others?’

‘It may serve you better to guard your own weaknesses, Colonel Mustang. Else you might find yourself an army of one. It is difficult to fight a war when you have no subordinates to support you. Even if you are an alchemist.’

Bradley’s look hadn’t been dark or dangerous, his expression had always been one of pleasant imposition, nevertheless the threat had been very clear.

‘Your Lieutenant, she seems bright and talented. She was a good choice to send to the front lines.’

Mustang said nothing, he eyes only narrowed on the Fuhrer.

‘I have decided to make her my own personal assistant. I could use someone like her in my office.’

No!

‘Hawkeye has nothing to do with this.’

‘She doesn’t need to. She is your closest confidant and most loyal follower.’

There was no denying that.

Their eyes meet.

‘Consider this a warning. A hostage situation is always precarious. It would be a shame if Lieutenant Hawkeye were caught in a cross-fire.’

That was the day Mustang decided he was going to kill Fuhrer Bradley, Wrath – whatever his name was/

For threatening his Lieutenant, Bradley was going to pay.

-

Hawkeye was surprised when she opened her door to find Edward Elric standing there. He had come to return the pistol from his encounter with Scar. Given his experience with alchemic canon launchers, it seemed a little amusing that he held a small gun with such trepidation but Hawkeye made no comment.

She served him tea and waited.

He didn’t say anything at first, only watched her take apart her weapon and clean in skillfully.

Then he asked about Ishval.

What could she say?

Crimes were committed, ledgers painted red and no one walked away unharmed. Even those that did manage to survive.

There is something to be said about being the person that holds power the way a sniper does. That no shot ever misses its target. Ordinary battalion soldiers, they got to inflict their pain and walk away without watching the suffering they leave behind. But no sniper could turn away from their magnifying glass fast enough to avoid watching their victim fall.

It doesn’t matter. Is what she told him. Whether Colonel Mustang or she survived this ordeal didn’t matter. Whether they get imprisoned for the massacre they took part in didn’t matter. What mattered was the future of Amestris and the democracy it needed to thrive.

Colonel Mustang wanted to be the Fuhrer to change this world for the better. But he was very aware that as soon he did make those changes, they may affect him as well. Signing an order to bring peace to the Ishvalan conflict was what needed to be done. And after all, they had taken part in the war. They deserved to pay for the damage they had caused.

She thinks for a moment how young the boy is sitting in front of her and how he has had to fight a war as well. There was nothing she could do to alleviate the weight he carried, finding his place in the world and saving his brother was not something she could assist him with. So instead she listened. He told her about his fears and how he felt useless.

A great sorrow overcame her as she watched this boy, really nothing but a boy, face death over and over again and never shy away.

There’s something of the Colonel in him. She thinks quietly, screwing her gun back together.

‘You’re just dwelling on this stuff because you made it back alive. You need to focus on living.’

He looked solemn.

‘That’s how you protect her.’

That’s how you protect them all.

-

Roy Mustang had an itch. Not a physical itch, an emotional one… a metaphysical one. Like something bad was about to happen but he couldn’t quite tell what it was.

The cart of flowers he bought were pretty. Expensive but pretty. It didn’t scratch his itch. There, at the back of his neck his hair stood upright because he felt something.

He followed his instinct to a phonebooth and tried his best not to think about Hughes while he picked up the receiver.

He did what he always did when he called his Lieutenant, he cracked a joke and hoped it would cover up his sense of dread.

‘Hello there, Madam. It’s your friendly neighbourhood florist.’

He hears her let out a breath she was holding and even though he couldn’t see her, he knew her face was pinched. She had expected something worse.

The itch went away. A serious note enters his voice.

‘…do me a favour and take some off my hands?’

The tiniest of sighs escapes her lips. It’s enough for him to know. The moment of humour passes immediately. It is replaced with worry.

‘What’s wrong?’

No answer.

‘Did something happen?’

Her reply is a small ‘No, sir.’ And she knows he doesn’t believe her. ‘It’s nothing.’

A beat.

‘Are you sure?’ Tell me.

Her voice is monotonous. ‘Yes, sir. Everything’s fine.’

There is no use prodding her. He knows his Lieutenant well enough to avoid aggravating her further.

He pretends to buy her weak excuse of not owning a flower vase to turn down the flowers and hangs up when she bids him good-night.

Walking off his buzz, he keeps two bunches of flowers and gives the rest away. One he brings to Major General Armstrong, the second he leaves in front of Hawkeye’s door. Not even his buzz would stop him from remembering to check on her the next day.

-

The office seemed bigger and emptier without Hawkeye. Her presence had unknowingly filled up the space and now it felt wrong. The colleagues he had left, the ones that Wrath hadn’t banished to faraway places, all seemed downcast. As if they knew the end was near. As if they were losing their fight.

His office demeanor hadn’t changed. Perhaps it should have but he refused to replace his Lieutenant because he would not accept that it was a permanent change. Instead, he grovelled with his superiors and charmed them into giving him more time. And boy, did he use every second of it.

Working through meals had become staple.

But again, he told himself, it was not permanent.

His breathing felt a little easier when he spotted her in the cafeteria. Even sitting across from her, to see that she was alive, for now it would be enough.

He makes note of a healing cut on her cheek and sees the red marks on her wrists. If she sees him notice, she does not react.

She had always known how to wax on about things. Her undercover operations were infamous in their, his, office. She could talk her way out of anything. It was nice to hear her talk.

He listened, appearing distracted with his fountain pen, but paid close attention. He stops mid-bite when she tapped her mug against the table twice.

Listen. Up. It said.

All those days holed up on stake outs with nothing to do to pass the time helped them adapt their own form of Morse Code. It had been several years now since they had actively used it but every now and again it came in handy. His eyes met hers, he tapped his fountain pen twice.

I’m. Ready.

She recounted a bizarre story of former cadets that she grew up with, ones that were stationed out North and who knows where else. A girl name Sugar was included and other details that made for a funny tale.

In a locked bathroom stall, later, he decodes her message, he wishes he his hunch had been wrong. But he had felt it coming.

SELIM BRADLEY IS HOMONCULUS

Mustang held the burning note over the toilet and watched as his only lead turned to ash. The marks on Hawkeye’s skin made more sense now. She had run into the original Homunculus.

-

There were no words that could accurately describe the dread that Mustang felt when he saw his Lieutenant in a headlock. The man holding her wielded a duelling sword, his shoulder pressed against the wound in her shoulder.

‘I will not be your puppet. Do it yourself!’ He spat his words that the crazed lackey professor.

He had said the wrong thing.

The words the professor said barely reached him, Mustang had his eyes on Hawkeye the entire time. The split second they darted away, all he saw was blood and all he heard was the sound of a clean cut. Metal on skin. They had slit her throat.

He went wild.

‘Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Lieutenant!’ Pure agony filled his voice. He struggled against his hold.

‘What do say you, Mustang?’

He spat his words at the psycho, fighting the guards with every molecule in his body. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

‘Perform the transmutation and become the fifth sacrifice.’ That was what they ordered him to do.

The professor kept talking but none of it registered. His eyes were only on Hawkeye who was lying on the ground, hair spilled around her, her hand on her neck trying to stop the steady pool of blood growing around her.

‘I’m not gonna die.’

She’s still alive! His heart sings.

‘What you don’t know is…’ her breath is staggered ‘is that I’m under strict orders… not to die.’

The blood continued to leak from her wound, he saw her consciousness fade and the light in her eyes dim.

Your woman. That is what the professor had said when he taunted Mustang. His woman.

He ran the scenario in his head. How much sacrifice was too much to make the world a better place? Was one philosopher’s stone, that has already been created by people no longer in this world, so repulsive in its nature that it had to be shunned – even if it could save the one person that mattered? The one person he loved?

Only once before had he considered using human transmutation and back then it had been a pipe dream, a fantasy to bring back someone he missed dearly and knew he could live without but did not want to. This time … he was serious. He would not …. No, he could not live without his Lieutenant.

The only thing stopping him is her quiet beg. ‘Colonel, please.’ She shivers. ‘You don’t have to do this. Don’t sacrifice everything for my sake.’

The world be damned, none of the change he wanted mattered if he couldn’t experience it with her.

Her eyes are focused now, staring at him, right into his soul. Begging him to follow her order just this once. Until her look turns upwards. A signal.

‘Alright.’

A beat. Hawkeye fell weaker and the professor smiles wickedly.

‘Alright, Lieutenant.’ He holds her gaze and says with full confidence ‘I won’t perform the transmutation.’

Mei and others who Mustang can’t bring himself to care about hijack the professors plan and help him take down the pawns.

He runs towards the Lieutenant with all his might barely pausing to snap his fingers igniting the man that steps in his way.

He begs her to open her eyes turning her face towards him. He feels the weakness in her body, how her limbs have almost gone limp. He doesn’t even notice the solider coming at him with a sword. His eyes stay on Hawkeye the entire time. If they die, they die together.

‘Don’t you dare die! Stay with me Lieutenant!’ Please. He begs silently.

The little girl runs over intent on helping. She has Mustang lay down the Lieutenant as she draws an alkahestry circle in blood and slams kunai into the junctures. Mei lays her hands on the ground and a moment later the entire circle glows with blue electricity. Mustang can see the wound on Hawkeye’s neck clotting as the muscles get bound back together. The glow fades and for a moment nothing happens.

Then Hawkeye stirs.

He grabs her by the arms and pulls her into his chest. His breathing is as shallow as hers and he can’t stop himself from closing his eyes and laying his head on hers, just for a moment. He thanks the gods, the almighty and whoever else may be worthy for sending Mei to Central City. For saving his Lieutenant, he would be indebted to her for the rest of his life.

Mei watches the pair with fascination. They didn’t seem to realize that the battle was still waging around them. All they could see was each other, all they could feel was the other.

‘Colonel…I’m… so sorry..’

‘No, don’t speak. Just rest now.’

‘You understood my signal…I’m not sure how…but I’m glad.’

In spite of their situation, he smiles. ‘We’ve been together long enough.’

The thought warms his heart. He feels such a sense of relief, he can’t help but made a joke.

‘And besides, I know that glare. It means ‘use human transmutation and I’ll shoot you.’

-

He brings her to her feet and gives out thanks just as Fuhrer Bradley shows up.

A single glance in Hawkeye’s direction has Mustang tightening his grip on her shoulder.

Nothing the Fuhrer says has any impact because Mustang has found his purpose again. He has people behind him that stop him from being reckless now, people that keep him heading down the right path.

Wrath’s compliments are wrapped with venom. Mustang thinks this has got to end soon, he feels Hawkeye’s knees giving out. He’s bearing most of her weight now.

Gently, he passes her to a companion with the intention of facing Pride himself. The horrible creature that radiated darkness stood silently in front of the group by the person that was allegedly its father.

Before he could make a move though Wrath jumps at him. His alchemy misses its target and he is pushed to the ground with Wrath’s knee on his chest and his swords impaling his hands.

The sight of the swords running through his palms is almost as horrifying as Hawkeye’s scream.

What happened next compared to nothing they had ever seen before. Not Ishval, not fighting homunculi, nothing. The group watched as Pride murdered their own subordinate and used him and its shadows to create an alchemic human transmutation circle. With his hands pinned down, Roy Mustang was forced to become the fifth sacrifice

Wrath walked from the circle as if he was walking in a park and only briefly stopped to wonder ‘What will be taken from you, Roy Mustang?’

-

Roy woke up in an endless white room in front of a being that was made of static while simultaneously also made of nothing at all. It emitted powerful energy and though it had no eyes, Roy had the distinct feeling of being watched.

‘So you have discovered the Portal.’

The voice that spoke was eery. As if thousands of voices were combined to speak through one vessel that didn’t move at all. It cocked its head as if it were looking at a new toy.

‘And you have discovered the Truth.’

The Truth?

‘You intend to leave here alive.’

It was uncanny, the being that was sitting cross legged in front of him. Creepy even. Roy felt like his heart was being read right out of his chest.

‘You think you have a world to build. You think you are worthy of inflicting change.’

The creature unsettled something deep within him. It seemed unhinged and otherworldly.

‘What is your payment?’

Payment?

‘To open the Gate, payment must be received. Thus is the law of Equivalent Exchange.’

Roy said nothing. This was jarring. It all made sense now. The laws of equivalent exchange came from the alchemic transference in the almighty realm. The thing that was sitting in front of him… was God. For having trespassed into its territory, an alchemist must pay to repent for the greatest sin ever committed that would bring him to such heights. Human transmutation. A great deal of knowledge flooded through Roy as he felt the being look at him, waiting.

‘So being pulled through the Gate grants alchemists the ability to perform alchemy without the usual means of transmutation in exchange for a toll.’

The being smiles, revealing a set of largely comic teeth.

‘Edward paid with his limbs.’

The smile grows.

‘Alphonse paid with his body.’

‘What will you pay?’ The voices echoed through the whiteness.

Silence.

‘Will you sacrifice your vision?’

‘My vision?’

Roy thought about his goal, the world he wanted to create, foster and protect. His vision of a better future.

Impatience rang through the room, though how Roy wasn’t sure.

‘Time is up.’ The voice said. ‘Will you keep your vision even if you lose your sight?’

-

The rest of the battle is black. The person the Homunculi called Father is unknown to him, he only remembers the voice of the monster that inflicted so much damage. Calm, cool and collected. Disgusting.

Sig Curtis helps him step from the moving stone. He can’t see the sunlight but he feels the heat on his face.

‘Colonel!’

Relief floods his chest.

He bends down towards Hawkeye’s voice, a hand moves unconsciously in front of his eyes as if he would be able to see the movement. He feels her hand hover near his.

He can’t place her face so he keeps his eyes averted.

‘Colonel, are you injured? What’s wrong?’

Her voice is closer, she must be kneeling in front of him.

For one single second he allows grief to overcome him for what he has lost.

‘My sight is gone.’

She gasps, her mouth agog.

He pushes down any and all emotions. ‘Lieutenant, how are your injuries?’

He needs to make sure she is okay.

He hears her hold back a sob, he knows exactly what her face would look like.

‘Don’t think about me! Just worry about yourself for once!’ Her hand moves towards his eyes. ‘Your eyes…’ She sounds distraught, his eyes have grayed and they no longer shake with emotion.

‘Lieutenant.’ His voice is gruff, for a moment his hand hovers by hers. ‘Can you still fight?!’

This time her breath is not hesitant. Her resolve is clear.

‘Yes sir.’

-

The battle is a blur to everyone. Thinking back, he remembers Hawkeye at his back, her hands on his arm pointing him in the right direction.

He recalls thinking he’d like to have her stand this close by his side forever.

Everyone lost something that day. But many also received.

Edward lost his alchemy but as is always the case with equivalent exchange, he got something back that could only be considered comparable.

In the end, he found out he was not defined by his alchemic skill or even by the battle he won Amestris but by the love he had for his brother. Some love was so strong, it could endure even an almighty’s touch.

Alphonse Elrich returned to the living plane and reunited with his body. It would be a long time before he resembled anything close to ‘okay’ but he would get there in the end. He had his big brother and the family he found along the way. The first thing on his list was eating Winry’s apple pie and taking a good long nap.

That left our heroes, our star crossed lovers of the military. Elizabeth and her Mustang.

They both recovered, she more quickly than he, but performing human transmutation will do that to ya. Still, she never left his bedside.

When night had fallen after the battle, while Amestris still stood in shambles, Hawkeye had begged the doctors to let her stay by her Colonel’s side.

Her hospital bed was placed next to his. When he awoke after countless checks his gaze stayed towards the wall. They didn’t speak for a long time and only Hawkeye could see the moon shine through the window. It was quiet until…

‘I wish I could see your face, Lieutenant.’

He knows her better than anyone, so he knows she has tears in her eyes. Not from his comment, mostly from the ordeal they survived. Maybe a little from his comment.

‘I’ll help you get your sight back, Colonel. If it’s the last thing I do.’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘Sir!’

He hears her climb out of bed and feels her move towards him.

‘Stop.’ His word is quiet but it is final.

He reaches out in the direction he thinks she is standing and tries to find her hand.

‘I don’t need sight if I have vision. And I know what my vision is, was. I want to protect my people. You are the person I wanted to protect. If losing my eye sight means you get to live, then I will give it up a hundred times.’

A knot forms in her throat. He tugs gently until she’s sat on the edge of his bed.

‘Colonel…’

‘I may not be able to see anymore but we still have a lot of work to do, you understand? I’m going to need you right by my side throughout all of it.’

She shakes her head, her voice wavering. ‘I’ll never leave you.’

He smiles in her general direction. His hand runs up her arm until it finds her cheek.

‘Good. Because I can’t live with out you and I don’t plan to either.’

She leans into his touch.

This is fine. She thinks. Forever like this, is fine.

[starswornoaths]

Furymint

I'm at work atm and on mobile plz ignore formatting but this is the source of all the jokes about furymint and I want to thank @aethernoise for indulging in this silliness lmao

*** *** *** *** *** ***

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you bake before, now that I’m thinking on it,” Serella mused, leaning across the counter to peer into the crust lined pan, now carefully being filled with a bright, citrus scented tart filling.

Sniffing at the not-yet-made treat, her mouth watered.

“Truly, I wish I had more time to dedicate to it,” Aymeric admitted, smoothing the filling out with a spatula. “I like it greatly.”

“More like you enjoy the end result,” Serella teased, even as she swiped a finger on the inside of the mixing bowl he had been using. To her delight, the lime custard was just as delightful and refreshing on the palette as it was to smell. “Same as me!”

“I can enjoy both,” Aymeric conceded, even as he swiped the sticky end of the spatula with a finger to taste it himself, “I daresay ‘tis better to.”

“Mhm,” she hummed in agreement, her finger still in her mouth.

“Since you are over there, dear one—might you cut off a spring of furymint for me, please?” He asked, even as he turned to place the tart in the oven.

When he straightened and looked at her expectantly, he was puzzled to find Serella staring at him in confusion.

“Fury…?” She trailed off—she was looking at the plants she had spent the last few years cultivating; he wasasking for a spring of one of them, but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t recall what furymint looked like. Had she even heard of that plant before now?

“Furymint,” Aymeric supplied again, wondering if perhaps she had simply not heard him clearly the first time.

“I…” She had never felt more stupid, staring at the myriad of fresh herbs she kept near the kitchen and struggling to divine what the fuck he was talking about.

“Ah, worry not, dear one,” he reassured her with a gentle smile. Reaching for the herb shears he dexterously snipped a particularly verdant looking sprig in anticipation to garnish it with once it was finished baking. “There we are.”

“What?” Serella blinked when she realized which plant he had taken a few leaves from. “But that’s not called—“ her frown melted away, and as it dawned on her that she may have to ruin another part of Ishgard’s history for her beloved, she stared into the bushel as though it had opened up her mind’s eye to some dark secret of the universe.

“Are you well, Ella?” She heard him ask but still she needed a moment more to be in awe of her newfound knowledge.

“Aymeric.”

“Yes…?” He asked, and now that she was careening back to earth she realized he sounded worried.

“Dear one. Light of my life.” She tried to stop herself from smiling like a madwoman, though all at once she felt a deep empathy with those raving about the things the world showed them on whatever street corner they could.

They suddenly seemed less crazy and more that what they had been shown had been too much for them to handle.

She felt much the same in that moment.

“Serella?” Aymeric asked quietly. “You are worrying me, love.”

“What…did you just call that plant?” She asked, and given the way he tilted his head and looked at her she must have sounded as ridiculous as she felt.

“’Tis Furymint, dear one,” he repeated as though he were trying to mentally prepare himself to discover she had some disease that ate away at memory and sanity.

“To you,” she replied, already beginning to lose ground to the giggles that threatened to bubble over in her throat, “and to all of Coerthas, perhaps.”

“What—“

“The rest of the world just calls it, ‘spearmint,’ my love,” Serella explained, already feeling her face split in twain for how wide her grin stretched. “So, err…thank your ancestors for that.”

“Wha—!” Aymeric sputtered, eyes wide in shock.

Her delight would not wait for him to process the revelation, however, and through giggles she mused aloud, “do you suppose it was discovered by some Orthodox botanist who was feeling particularly blessed that day?”

“I…am not entertaining that thought,” he said flatly.

“I mean, what else would be the reason? Who discovers a plant and says, ‘sure it’s got leaves like spears and all, but that’s an appropriation of Halonic iconography so I claim this plant in the name of the Fury, thanks lads,’ and the rest of the world, for all of history thereafter, deliberately ignored it and left Ishgard out of the joke?” Through her giggling she further pondered, “is that the real reason Ishgard wasn’t keen on rejoining the Alliance?”

“I…am not the person to have this discussion with.” Aymeric said helplessly, already deeply regretting that he’d uttered the word in the first place.

“I don’t mean to joke about Ishgard’s history—truly, I don’t!— But,” she gestured at the plant, “it’s sort of its own joke, isn’t it?”

When Aymeric let out a sigh from some repressed corner of his soul she leaned across the counter and rested her chin in her hands, beaming up at him in delight.

“I’m sorry,” she said in the least apologetic tone she had, “I’ve gone and side tracked us. What were you going to use it for?”

“It was,” Aymeric groused, “intended to garnish the tart once it baked.” He turned and pulled a glass from the cupboard. “It is now, however, going to garnish my drink that I am in sudden and urgent need of.”

When a bottle of gin and a shot glass joined the cup on the counter the Paladin snorted a laugh again.

“A shame you didn’t start drinking before you began baking,” Serella mused through her chortles, “that would have made a fun little experimint, would it not?”

As he twisted the cap off of the gin he maintained a flat, unamused expression that only served to make her laugh harder.

“Dear one~” Serella cooed to him, “are you furyous with me?”

As she managed to gasp around what had rapidly devolved into wheezing, silent laughter, Aymeric took a deep breath, resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be one of those days, and maintained unimpressed eye contact with her as he forewent the shot glass and just started pouring gin straight into his cup.

[doodoodloo]

*this is an honest question plz answer* how do u make money to travel to like Japan and live in a place as an artist? How do you make money? I'm an aspiring artist but I really do fear that one day I'll be homeless..

hi! thanks for your question!

just to clear things up from the start, i sadly don’t make all my travel / other money from my art. though if i add up all my revenue since i started selling four years ago, i have made almost enough to cover all of my airfares for all of my trips since leaving school! it makes me feel thankful and somewhat proud that i was able to provide adventure for myself by using a pen and paper to get myself to Iceland, for example ~ so, it can be done.

for all of my trips i’ve had a period of working really hard, followed by a period of travel or leisure time, and i’ve personally decided that it’s worth putting in a hard slog for what is almost always a worthwhile reward! i’ve done it in several different ways. for my first trip around Australia, i made a relatively wussy effort to pull together funds by gardening, babysitting and house painting. i was straight out of school and i started with about $150 in my bank account, and left with a couple thousand for a trip of 6 months. i slept on the beach and lived off home brand two minute noodles and most of my money went to petrol for our van! my mum sent me about two hundred so that i could get home from Darwin and i came home to my family, broke.

when i got home i was really fired up to go to SE Asia, so I got a job at a local cafe in my hometown washing dishes four to five days a week, and the other days i house painted and babysat. for a few months i worked seven days a week! i’m not sure where you’re from, but the wage here is decent so i saved pretty fast. i went on a six month trip around SE Asia as planned, plus India and Nepal! when i got home i mooched around a bit and procrastinated and was generally a lazy potato under my parents roof, since i had applied for uni in Melb but still had six months until it started. i know i did odd jobs but that time is sort of a blur. 

then when i was about to start my first year of university the Aus government gave me a ‘relocation scholarship’ which is granted to any young student that has to move from a rural or regional area to the city to study. at the time the total amount was 5,000 paid into my bank account (ridiculous, i know). i payed bond on my house in the city but still had a yummy chunk of cash sitting around. 

at the same time i opened my Etsy shop and made a decent amount in that year, the only year in the last seven years that i haven’t travelled! again, i’m not sure where you’re from, but in Australia students that are considered independent from their parents (living separately or age 22 and over) are granted a fortnightly allowance to support them while studying. if you begin to earn over a certain amount fortnightly from personal employment, then the allowance goes down. i was granted the full allowance of 500 per fortnight, and decided to sit on that full allowance without earning a separate wage from an ‘official job’. i lived a very modest student life, and didn’t buy alcohol, eat out or go to gigs very often! also, my housemate and friend worked at a fruit and veg deli / store near our place and he brought back so much free food after work! i owe him a lot for getting through that first real year of living out of home!

for the next two years things followed the same style. i worked a bit harder on my art and got some more regular babysitting gigs in my suburb. in two years i somehow managed to get to both Iceland and the USA for two months each trip. i can’t really tell you how i made that happen. honestly, my money making habits are still something of a mystery to myself! i do recall one night making a quiet wish in my head for more money to come my way before one of my trips. the next day i got an email from the tumblr team in cahoots with converse, and they were running a social media promotion in collaboration with tumblr artists. they said they would pay me five hundred US bucks for one drawing and i thought it was a joke! but i followed through with the job and the money came into my account the next month !!

when i moved to the US last year i had ok savings and i shared the cost of my silly expensive work visa with my bf, bless him. i worked two jobs really hard for 9 months of my time there, and thankfully i didn’t have to pay bond, and my rent was exceptional. but ugh it was so hard to save with the US wage, though i definitely could have been more frugal with my dollars.

most of that money that i saved for a whole of last year just went to my very short trip in japan. i had such a blast that i don’t really care about having spent it all! living in the US was kind of like traveling anyway, so i feel like i got a lot from both experiences.

my ability to travel has come down to a lot of luck + some decent effort, my style of travel, the ability to return to my family home and the student help i got from the government. i’m kind of known amongst some of my friends as this mystery money maker that for many years had only had one ‘real’ job that lasted four months. i somehow have maintained that for several years.

if you want to make money from your art in the early stages, i guess you have to find a balance between giving yourself time to work on your art, and employment that offsets the time. i don’t plan to ever try to support myself just from art, but that would be cool if i found myself in that position.

as usual, i’ve given a much longer reply than necessary! but also, i want to give you an honest idea of the processes i’ve gone through to make my dreams happen, since i don’t want you to assume i just galavant all around the world with tons of dollars to spend. i live simply, and my only indulgence is buying clothes :p Hope I gave you some insight! Also, I don’t think you’ll be homeless! things will unfold for you and you’ll make it work! 

luck & love,

x Freya