#i made ash hang out around the housing district with me for far too long for these lol

[wtf-amiru]

she didn't know it was his nameday, she just wanted to go to the fair with him @picturesofashe

[fr this was in the back of my head yesterday/today bc of the event aND THEN ASH TOLD ME]

#ffxiv #a'miru #catpix #ashern vee #partners in crime #miqo'te #female miqo'te #male miqo'te #miqo #moonfire faire #i made ash hang out around the housing district with me for far too long for these lol #what a trooper #anywho #“marriage fraud”

[mirakumiruku]

Night Life

bout time i posted something. hopefully it’s worth the wait! maybe i’ll make sequels with other babes if the interest is good...

Dabi/Touya x Reader Contains: Quirkless AU, Stripper!Dabi, drinking, multiple orgasms, unsafe sex WC: 4.7k Taglist: @nereida19​

The red light district was intimidating to say the least. The first time you dared to venture into the streets brimming with debauchery, you were overwhelmed by the flashing neon lights, the bass-blasted music, the stench of alcohol lingering on people’s breath and cheap perfume wafting from the clubs. 

You only made your journey to this den of earthly desires for one reason, a dancer you had heard your coworkers whispering about when they thought no one was listening. An intimidating man covered in piercings and haphazardly stitched leather, he always had the entire crowd hanging off his every move.

Needless to say, you were intrigued. 

You picked up on the name of the club, Smokescreen. It didn’t take too much digging to find the address and hours of operation, it was deep in the city and while it was open for drinks starting at 9pm, the shows didn’t start until midnight.

You didn’t know when the dancer was going to go on, so you figured you may as well turn up for the first show and wait until you saw the man your coworkers had chatted about.

The lineup was interesting to say the least, but you could tell that each dancer had their fans, based on the walk they would do around the edge of the stage by the end of each of their sets, picking up the various bills for 100, 500, 1,000 yen. An energetic man with a mop of electric purple hair; a duo of a shy, muscular blond and a bubbly young woman with her hair in twin buns; a man that had come out in a mask that had tossed his top hat into the crowd at the start of his routine. Each would step onto the stage, put on an impressive show for their fans, then head backstage to get redressed before making their way out to the bar where there was a handful of people offering to buy them drinks.

It was getting late and you were starting to feel your drinks before a bass-heavy song with low electric guitar blared out of the speakers, and the lights dimmed. Figuring this seemed interesting, you picked up your drink and made your way to the proper stage area, where a crowd was gathering once more, far larger than those for the other performers.

The man that stepped out was tall, even without the high-heeled leather boots whose tops disappeared under the hem of his long leather trench coat.

The DJ announced the dancer’s name– Dabi –as he approached the pole at the center of the stage. His walk was leisurely, almost lazy, and a blue spotlight followed him down his path.

A hush fell over the crowd when he stopped, his hands coming to rest at the collar of his coat, only to cause an uproar when he ripped the coat off and tossed it behind him. Now you could see his deep crimson tank top, his skin-tight leather pants, his boots that only ended halfway up his thigh. He stood for a moment, basking in the squeals and bills that were already being tossed his way, before he finally got to work.

You almost couldn’t hear the cheering crowd around you, nor the blaring music as you watched the way he interacted with the cold metal, the way his hands gripped the chrome until his knuckles turned white, or how he held onto it with his muscular thighs as he flipped upside down. You swore that when he stuck his tongue out between his spread fingers, showing off his tongue piercing that glinted in the spotlight, his dazzling turquoise eyes met yours.

Though, you were sure that everyone else in the crowd was sure of the same thing. 

Halfway through the routine he ripped off his top, tossing it into the crowd where it somehow landed in your hands. Some of the people around you clamored for it, but you held tightly to the dark red fabric without taking your eyes off Dabi. He was practically sparkling, from a combination of the various piercings that littered his body and the sheen of sweat that was visible on his skin. 

The show was over far sooner than you would like, and Dabi ended his routine balancing himself in an upside down split, his chest notably heaving as the sweat dripped down his forehead. You pushed your way to the front to wave a 2,000 yen bill as Dabi made his way around the edge of the stage. He gladly took it, giving you a wink as he stuffed the bill in the waist of his pants. You thought you saw his eyes glint as they darted over the torn fabric in your hand, but it must have just been a trick of the light. 

You found yourself back at the bar in a haze while Dabi collected his coat, making room for another blond decked in yellow and red. You ordered yourself another drink, gladly accepting it when the bartender slid it across the counter. You really didn’t realize how warm it had gotten in there. 

Just as you pulled out some cash to pay for the drink, you felt a nudge against your shoulder and a deep voice came from behind you. “It’s on me, Kurogiri.” Your jaw fell open as a familiar leather jacket slid in next to you, elbows coming to rest on the counter. “Gotta give our new customers a warm welcome, yeah?” The man behind the counter, Kurogiri, gave a silent nod before going off to fill some other orders.

“I-I’d think that I should be buying you a drink…” You said with a nervous chuckle, swirling the liquid in your glass before taking a sip.

“Nah, you’re way prettier than I am. Besides,” Dabi gave a nod to Kurogiri as the barkeep slid a glass towards him, “I get plenty of free drinks, sweetheart. I don’t need another.”

You gave a nod, taking another swig of your own drink, your eyes not leaving Dabi as he downed half the glass in one go.

“So what brings ya here? I think I’d recognize such a cute face if you’d been here before.” Dabi shot a playful wink in your direction, and you were thankful that the dim lights hid your blush. 

“Some… friends were talking about this place.” You took another sip, “About you, specifically.”

“Oh yeah? What’d they say?”

“Um…” You ran your finger around the rim of your glass, “Th-that you were hot, and the best dancer they’d seen.”

“And? Do you agree with them?”

Your face heated up a little more, and you gave a slight nod. “Mhm.”

“Good.” Dabi finished off his drink, “I’m headin’ to the back rooms for a smoke, care to join me?”

Part of you couldn’t believe that he actually asked you that, you tried to reason with yourself that no, he was just trying to be polite. 

But while you were thinking, your body moved of its own volition to follow Dabi to a door labeled “employees only”, drawing envious looks from the others at the bar.

You blinked a few times to adjust to the bright fluorescent lighting of the back hall, a big contrast from the low lights in the bar. The hall had only a few doorways, one open and leading to the group dressing room, another leading to the stage, a third to the kitchen, and a fourth was a staircase up to the second floor.

Dabi led you up the stairs and down another hall, finally stopping to open a door and waving you into a small bedroom.

“I didn’t know clubs provided housing like this…” You mumbled, standing awkwardly beside the door as Dabi stepped inside, picking up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the bedside table.

“They don’t usually. I’m just renting this one from the owner.” He opened a window before lighting the cigarette, taking a drag and letting the smoke slowly out of his nose. “I don’t think we got introduced properly. What’s your name?”

“(Y/N).” 

“Pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). I’m Touya.”

“I thought you were Dabi?”

“What kind of idiot would use his real name for stripping?” Touya snorted, taking another puff off his cigarette.

“Yeah, guess you have a point…” You chuckled and finished off your drink, then set the glass on the bedside table. 

Touya took a seat on his bed, and you sat across from him in a dining chair. The two of you let the silence hang in the air for a moment, before he broke the silence once more.

“So what were you lookin’ for down here, anyway? No one’s really ‘just curious’.”

“What do you mean?” You tried to avoid his piercing blue eyes and teasing smirk.

“I mean that everybody’s got some kinda motive. So what’s yours? For most people they just wanna put a wrench in their one-note life by throwing some paper at a half-naked dancer, but… I’m gonna assume that you aren’t so simple.”

“What do you mean…?” You gave Touya a curious look, your eyebrows knitting together and your lips drawing into a pout.

“I mean that if you were just trying to mix it up for a night, you probably would’ve said no to coming into my bedroom.” Smoke poured out from between Touya’s teeth as he gave you a grin, “But… I’m nothing if not a gentleman. So if you really don’t want anything else, I’m happy to take you back downstairs.”

Your face flushed bright red, but you shook your head from side to side. 

Touya nodded, tapping his cigarette on an ashtray, “Good, been a while since I had a good lay, especially with a cute thing like you.” He shot you a mischievous wink before nodding to a minifridge near you.

“I’ve got some beers in there, you can make yourself at home while I finish this cig off, yeah?”

You didn’t have to be told twice, so you leaned over and opened the fridge, pulling out the bottle nearest to the front, along with the opener that sat atop the fridge itself. Dabi grabbed one for himself, holding it in his free hand while the ashes crept down the white paper. You were grateful that he had opened the window, knowing that you probably would be coughing up a storm if he hadn’t. You normally didn’t think of cigarettes as being ‘sexy’, believing them to be more odorous and irritating at best, but something about the way Touya pursed his lips around it as he took a breath in, and his soft sigh as he released the smoke through his nose or slightly parted mouth had you reeling over the sight.

“You never answered my question.” He finally drawled as he put out the last remaining smolders of his cigarette on the beat up ashtray. 

“What was that again?” You hummed, taking a swig from the bottle in your hand.

“What’d you really come here for?”

“I was bored,” You mumbled, watching the brown liquid slosh in the bottle as you swirled it. “And lonely. Figured I could just pretend for the night.”

“Pretend what?”

‘That someone as hot as you might even look my way normally. If I wasn’t in part paying your bills.” You laughed, and the corner of Touya’s lip quirked up in response.

“I mean, you don’t have to pretend, sweetheart. There have been plenty that have thrown money my way and they’ve never managed to get under my skin, let alone between my sheets.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly averted your eyes from the intense teal gaze. “So… what, then? Is it out of pity or something?”

“No, idiot.” He took a swig of his drink, “It’s because you’re fuckin’ sexy.” He smirked at you, his lids lowering, “Even if you are a little dense.” He barked out a laugh, setting his bottle aside as he fought to capture your suddenly bashful gaze. “What? You think I’m lying? If I wasn’t, why do you think I brought you up here?” He stood up and took a stride closer to you, then took a handful of your hair to force your line of sight onto him. “I could get any bitch I wanted, and I don’t particularly like wasting my time.” He leaned down, pressing a hungry kiss to your lips, and leaving a string of saliva between the two of you when he pulled away. “So why would I have bothered if you weren’t the hottest piece of ass in that bar?”

Your breath caught in your chest as you stared up at Touya, eyes blown wide and the taste of tobacco lingering on your lips. As much as you wanted to keep questioning why he’d go for someone as plain as you… it would be stupid to pass up an opportunity like this.

Questioning could wait for later.

Before you could even cement the idea in your head, you were already pulling Touya down by the collar into another fervent kiss, managing to take him by surprise.

He took it in stride, though. He straddled your hips, his leather-bound bulge pressing expertly against your own clothed sex, drawing a moan out of you. He started to move his hips in a fluid motion, and he moved to press your head into his chest. If this weren’t your first lap dance, it surely would’ve been the best. 

With your face buried in between his pecs, his scent was strong, even under the cigarette smell. You could still catch whiffs of cologne and the sweat he had built up on the stage, and you let your tongue emerge from between your lips to lave against the fabric.

“Naughty little thing, huh?” Touya hummed, giving your hair a gentle tug. “Haven’t even started yet and you’re already acting like a grade A slut~”

He pulled away far sooner than you would’ve liked, standing up to his full height and dragging you along by the collar of your shirt. He backed up towards the bed, taking a seat on it and pulling you into his lap. 

You were immediately on him once more, burying your face in his neck, leaving behind kisses and licks, desperately taking in his intoxicating scent.

“No marks, sweetheart. Can’t break the illusion, yeah?” Touya delivered a sharp smack to your ass, “I might have to punish you if you do.”

Part of you wanted to know what this punishment would be, wanted to leave his neck covered in bright purple bite marks that would be near impossible to cover with concealer. But… you could be patient for now, you could give into your desires and reap your punishment next time.

Well, assuming there is a next time. You’d have to see how tonight goes.

The two of you began shedding your clothes, they were only a wrapping for the real prize after all. You watched hungrily as Touya revealed his piercings and soft pale skin; shiny metal rings were pierced through each of his nipples, which earned you a gasp when you gave the pink flesh a gentle tug.

Touya retaliated with a tug on your own nipples once all the barriers were removed, and your legs quivered at his rumbling laugh.

You removed your pants and underwear first, gasping softly as the cold air hit your dripping sex, which Touya quickly warmed up by circling two of his fingers over your clit. 

Once he deemed you ready, he started to unbutton and unzip his pants. The leather didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you were still surprised and a little intimidated by his size, but the real star of the show was the row of shining silver piercings that ran up the underside of his cock in a Jacob’s ladder. Part of you wondered how that could possibly be comfortable against the pole, but you were mostly thinking about what they would feel like rubbing against your velvety walls. 

“What do you think, babydoll?” Touya hummed, his hand tangling in your hair as you sank to your knees in front of him, admiring the metal that sat snugly against his skin.

Instead of responding, you leaned forward and licked up the column of piercings, eliciting a low moan from the man above you.

“Ah, fuck…~” He groaned softly, tugging gently on your hair. You purred in response, sucking at the head of his cock and licking away the precum with the tip of your tongue. “You really are fuckin’ cute,” Touya mumbled, his voice low and gravely with arousal. “But you already know that, huh?”

You smirked up at him, wordlessly answering his question, before diving back in to shower his length in kisses and kitten licks. Touya took your ministrations with a surprisingly calm air, the only giveaways being the hitching in his breath, and the single bead of sweat that ran down the side of his face.

You started slowly kissing, licking, and nibbling up his body. Over the thin white happy trail and abs that looked carved marble, taking care to tease at his pierced nipples as you continue your journey up over his chest, to his neck, then finally pressing a heated kiss to his lips. 

He growled softly into the kiss, grabbing you by your thighs and pulling you into his lap. You ground your slit against him, gasping when the piercings caught on your clit, sending shocks of white-hot pleasure through your body. You lined yourself up, your dripping cunt grazing over the flushed pink head, only to find yourself being flipped over onto the sheets.

“Patience, sweetheart.” Touya hummed, positioning himself between your thighs and pinning you to the mattress with his hands on your hips. “I dunno who you’ve been with, and I don’t really care, cus I’m gonna make sure I’m the best lay you’ve ever had.” He smirked, one hand ghosting over your skin to trace his fingers over your opening. “First you’re gonna cum on my fingers, then on my tongue, and only then will you get to cum on my cock.” He licked his lips, grinning when he heard the sound of your walls clenching around nothing. “That’s assuming you’re still conscious, that is. Wanna make sure you’re awake for all of it.”

With that he sunk two fingers into your waiting pussy, humming in content as your doughy insides clung to the digits, and smirking at the sweet mewl that made its way out of your lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the sudden intrusion, your hips canting up from the bed only to be held down by Touya’s other hand. His skin was sweltering against your own, and you could already feel the sweat beading on your forehead.

“So fuckin’ cute…” Touya purred, curling his fingers to pet against the spongy spot just inside of you. He drank up your needy moans in a feverish kiss, taking your panting mouth as an opportunity to run his tongue along yours. Normally you would’ve cringed at the pungent taste of cigarettes still on his mouth, but something in your arousal-addled mind loved it, savoring his signature taste. 

Touya was clearly experienced with his hands, the way he ground his thumb over your clit and thrusted his middle and ring finger inside you, making sure he attacked the spot that made you see stars. 

You panted when he pulled away, the tip of your tongue hanging out of our mouth as if trying to chase his own. 

“You’re really needy, aren’t you, babydoll?” Touya cooed, his free hand coming up to cup your chin and thumb at your lower lip. “What’s the matter, haven’t had someone take care of you like this before?”

You shook your head, any memories of past lays fleeting from your mind as all that could occupy your thoughts was the man above you.

“Good. I’d hate to be anything but the best,” He punctuated his words with a quick kiss to your lips, “Especially for such a sweet thing like you.” 

You whined and tried to chase his lips with your own, the knot of pleasure in your stomach growing tighter and tighter with each harsh thrust of Touya’s fingers, forcing desperate moans from your mouth.

All it took was Touya’s predatory smile and a pinch to your swollen clit to get you to squeal, the edges of your vision turning white and your back arching off the bed with your orgasm. 

“Mmh, you really are cute when you cum, huh babydoll?” Touya purred, pulling his fingers out and pressing them into your open, panting mouth. You eagerly sucked at them, eliciting a groan from Touya as your drool dripped onto his palm. 

You whined at the loss when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, wiping your saliva off on the sheet. “Don’t get all loopy on me now, sweetheart. I’m nowhere near done with you.” 

You squeaked in surprise as your hips left the mattress, and again as Touya’s breath ghosted over your sensitive heat.

“Ready for round two, babydoll?~”

Even if you wanted to say no, the way Touya dragged his tongue over your slit made you think that he wouldn’t take that for an answer anyway.

He was slower now that he was devouring your sex, his sinful tongue lapping over your ower lips and dripping entrance, drawing squeals out of you every time his silver piercing flicked over your clit. 

Your hands immediately found purchase in Touya’s hair, drawing a purr out of him as your fingers carded through his locks that had been so clearly damaged from all the dye and gel over the years. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about its scratchy texture though, not when it was only serving as a handle to bring that wicked mouth further into your core. 

Touya purred into your sex, tongue probing against throbbing walls with practiced ease and fingers rubbing over your clit in tight, adept circles. You clamped your thighs down around Touya’s ears at a particularly pleasurable lap, and as much as he hated having your sweet sounds muffled, he was more than pleased with your warm skin pressing tightly to his own, pulling him even closer in. A sign of exactly how much pleasure he was bringing you. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off Touya, not when his beautiful turquoise orbs were staring so intently at your flushed-red face, at your pouting lips and the tongue darting from between them. 

Your jaw hung open as you panted and blubbered out moans and nonsensical fragments of sentences, pleads for ‘more’ and praise for Touya’s masterful ministrations. 

You were so focused on the Adonis between your legs, you hardly even noticed your end nearing until it was too late, until you were already feeling the white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins and you were tossing your head back from the force of it all.

Of course, Touya lapped up all of your slick, purring at the taste and making sure he didn’t stop until you came down fully.

Once your thighs dropped from around his ears, Touya managed to pry himself away and crawl up onto the bed, caging you in with his hands planted on either side of your head. 

“Still with me, baby?”

You slowly nodded, only to feel a calloused hand at your chin, pulling you to face him directly.

“I’m gonna need a ‘yes’ if you want me to keep going.”

“Y-yes, Touya…” You breathed, leaning into his surprisingly tender touch.

“Good,” He purred, swiping his thumb over your lower lip. “Wanna make sure you’re here to get the full experience, y’know?” He smirked when he saw your miniscule nod, “Besides, it’s not fun for me unless you’re all there, screaming my name, begging for more…” His voice lowered to a growl right into your ear, right before he was delivering a playful nip to your earlobe. 

You could feel Touya’s hard cock against your quivering sex, the piercings dragging along your clit and sending near-electric shocks through your lower body. 

“Ready, babydoll?” Touya whispered in your ear, lining up the head of his cock with the entrance to your heat.

As soon as the breathy “yes,” escaped your lips, Touya thrust his hips forward. He only buried a few inches inside you, but it ripped a pleased gasp from you anyway. 

He was gentle as he slowly speared you open, drawing sweet moans from your sweet, pouty lips with each centimeter of his length. The piercings that ran down his cock produced a delicious drag against your walls, heightening the experience even further. 

Once he was fully seated inside you, Touya lowered his forehead to press against yours, his heavy breathing apparent as he gazed into your eyes, waiting for your signal. At your subtle nod, and your murmur of ‘please’, he pulled out at a torturously slow pace. Just before you could whine for more, his hips snapped back into you. 

He set a relatively gentle pace to start with, the slap of skin on skin and both of your heavy breaths being the only noise audible above the music from the club below. 

It was only when you whined out pleas for more, Touya, more that he finally picked up the pace, much to your relief. His hands held your sides in a bruising grip, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a fervent kiss.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, along with the lingering flavor of alcohol and cigarettes. A normally unappealing combination, but since it was Touya, you devoured it that much more. 

His cock felt burning hot inside you as your plush insides clung to him, the piercings dragging along your sensitive areas, distracting you from Touya’s wandering hand landing on your clit. He rubbed small circles into the bundle of nerves, earning a gasp and a moan from you. 

No matter how many times you had been with others or played with yourself, you had never felt this full. Each time Touya’s hips retreated, you couldn’t help the disappointed whine as you were emptied, even if only for a second. 

“T-Touya, I…~” Your voice came out high and breathy, jostled by the steady gyration of Touya’s hips.

“Getting close, sweetheart?~” He cooed, pressing a coy kiss to your nose. “I can tell, the way you’re milking my cock like that…” His voice delves into a growl, his eyes shutting as he presses his forehead to yours. “You really know how to get me riled up, huh, babe?”

Your mouth hung open, puffing out breathy moans each time Touya pistoned his hips into you. His hands were all over your body, circling your clit, pinching your nipples, holding your hips tight enough to leave bruises. He paid attention to your neck, pierced lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, leaving tiny kisses, nips, and licks. He was careful, not leaving any bruises above the collar. He obviously knew what he was doing.

All his ministrations sent the knot in your stomach winding even tighter, and you could feel yourself nearing your edge, when before you knew it you were already falling over it.

White-hot pleasure filled your veins, sending your head back as you let out a cry of orgasmic bliss, your tongue hanging from your grin. You held Touya close, arms wrapping over his shoulders and legs over his hips, keeping his thrusts shallow as he neared his own edge. He let out his own feral growl as he reached his own limit, and you felt his spunk filling you, leaving a pleasant warm sensation in your stomach.

“Shit…” Touya mumbled, though he made no move to get up. “You’re on the pill, right?”

You nod, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Thank god…” He groaned, slowly pulling his softening cock from your heat and laying down beside you.

“What?” You shoot him a tired, but playful smile. “Am I not cute enough to have a kid with?”

“Nah,” He hummed, pulling you so your back rested against his chest, “Just don’t think I’m able to pay child support, y’know?” He laughed, prompting a giggle of your own.

“Makes sense…” You rested your head back, leaning into Touya’s hand as he played with your locks. 

“Maybe if you keep visiting, something can be arranged~” Touya purred, leaving a nip on the shell of your ear.

“Maybe so…”

Normally, the night life wasn’t for you. But if it meant seeing Touya…

Maybe you could make an exception.

#dabi #dabi x reader #touya #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut

[sinakakyralih]

It had been a good idea. For her, if for no one else. And they didn’t look like they were doing poorly without her - not that she had ever doubted that. She left someone responsible in charge; someone she watched mature and rise and fall and rise again; they’d be fine. They were fine.

The Keeper smiled as she leaned on the bridge’s railing with her chin in the palm of one hand, her grey tail curling up fondly as a Lalafell threw open the doors of the Mare Tranquilitatis -- er, Shady Boughs -- with an armload of gardening implements. The young woman gently kicked the door shut behind her and dodged around the table on the front porch, maneuvered down the stairs, and dropped the lot of tools in a semi-organized manner on the edge of one of the garden plots in the front yard, made a show of rolling up their sleeves, tugging the brim of their hat into place, and diving in to dig out the weeds and tend for whatever crop they had coming in. 

The sunlight felt good. The breeze off the lake and the sound of the little waves upon the shore were relaxing, tranquil, and she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of Lavender Beds, of home, though she made no move towards the house across the waters. This feeling was different than before, where home felt like the night, the wind rushing across the roof, the cacophony of the waterfall behind their little cottage; the shouting, the running, the friends bursting in at all hours. Back when they couldn’t afford their own houses. Then, they were constantly in each others’ hair and business and lives. … but those friends were gone now, moved on with their lives and their own adventures, and she’d been trying that too, lately, hadn’t she?

The first to drift had been Kel; it hadn’t been long after moving into the larger house in a different district - this district - that he had taken up semi-permanent residence in Ishgard, setting in motion what would eventually become the Ishgard Restoration Project. She’d seen him once or twice around the city - they had had tea once, but he was a busy man now and while she had thought his talk a little technical before this undertaking, now it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way - in that… well, that nostalgic Kel sort of way. 

Next had been… Cae. Cae had always been the “mom friend”: strong and driven and organized and strict with her expectations, and welcoming, caring, people-oriented. She was a caretaker and a fierce friend and she missed having her influence in her life, but somewhere along the way they had drifted, and while Cae had continued to count herself part of the Pretty Guardians for a long while after, she felt it was more for nostalgia and loyalty than for that feeling of connectedness. She had moved on - she met new friends, started an amazing and flowery business - she was a full-time healer, now, and wandered to collect the best herbs for both her medicines and her tea; her place was very pretty, very soft and pastel, and very much Cae. She seemed happy, and she was glad for her. And for Kal, and L’uana; she didn’t often have a reason to visit Shirogane these days, but she always made a habit of stopping by when she was there, and when the big-hearted owner wasn’t home, she doodled in her guestbook.

During that time was when their influx of new recruits really started to grow; at first, it was just one or two, like in the old days: just picking up strays that needed a home, like Alannah and Kel; but over time their registered numbers really started to climb as individual members started picking up one or two adventurers that needed an affiliation for safety, even if they didn’t really stick around the house all that often. She had been happy to give that: the Pretty Guardians were there to help, even if it were just to lend their name and a hand to their members when necessary. Some, however, stuck around, getting close with everyone, even as the old guard started fading away…

Alannah got married to that rascal Nine from the neighbourhood around their first Free Company cottage - their story not exactly typical in any way beyond ‘they were somewhat neighbours’, but that was their story; she was happy for their happy ending, even though it was sad to watch her move out of Lavender Beds and into a charming little cottage in La Noscea. She wasn’t around as often after that, not that she could blame her. She had a baby, Ash, that she brought back for meetings and playdates with her “aunties”; the little girl was adorable and was fun to teach things to that Alannah may not have exactly wanted her to learn so quickly, but that’s what she got for their free babysitting services. Alannah was still there, welcoming in new members, keeping track of the day-to-day goings-on, connected to the house through moogle mail and linkshell while not there in person. She entrusted her with everything.

But it had always been Adelpha and her that were the fixtures of the house - its caretakers, trainers of new recruits, calling shots, and organizing FC activities, but…

Adelpha’s retirement had been unexpected. She wasn’t that far away - she was back in Gridania, having taken a steady job as a researcher, going into the family business after her father had suffered a fall. She knew her father - they had met through her father; but what she was doing wasn’t just being noble or making a sacrifice for her family, it was what she wanted to do. They had been friends for nearly a decade; she had dragged Adelpha clear across Eorzea and beyond, had pulled her into the Scions, thrown her into dangerous situations and jumped in right after. They’d had fun; they were each other’s backup. Adelpha was her playmate, her grumpy, easily-aggravated-on-the-outside, clearly-enjoying-acting-that-way-on-the-inside best friend. … but adventuring forever hadn’t been her dream. 

It was Sinaka’s. 

And maybe that was what she needed to realize, and to let go of. All of her original friends had moved on, left their adventuring in their twenties or early twenties, and settled down into the occupation they wanted to have for the rest of their lives: occupations that made them happy and fulfilled, callings that they had found and fought for, and while that didn’t align with the dream they had shared nine years ago, it didn’t make that dream any less real. The time they had spent together had been real, and special, and something she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life, and had to believe that they would never forget, either. 

But still, Adelpha leaving had led to a period of loss for her: the end of an era, and the idea of facing it while still running operations for the new recruits -- a reference she really had to stop making, seeing as how it had been years since most of them had joined now -- left her feeling hollow, unable to give the same lively performance they were used to, so she took time off to travel, to reflect, to see if adventuring was still her calling or if she had been hanging on out of duty and nostalgia and stubborn loyalty to the people of her past… 

It had been five months since she had transferred leadership to Alannah and left in the middle of the night. She had left a letter, sure, but she could just imagine the face the hyur would have had upon reading it. She grinned, taking in a deep breath that smelled of water lilies, and let it out slowly. 

She wasn’t ready to go back just yet, but she would be.

It was good to see the place was still standing, though, and that the symbol above the door still matched the pin she wore on her lapel, even if the house’s face had changed drastically from when she had seen it last. She didn’t know how Alannah was dealing with all the flowers, but it looked nice. 

The Pretty Guardians were okay.

And she was okay. 

She’d be back.

Idk if those mentioned would want to be tagged ^^’ But yeah, feeling nostalgic for the “old days”, of 2012-2016, and when this definition came across my dash this little snippet fell into place and I feel like it explains not only character feelings and development and what’s been going on with Sinaka (wow I haven’t written for her since Heavensward? Waow XD (btw I had headcanoned years ago that her Path Companion, Sol, had traveled not 5 years into the future but to a different shard and man did shadowbringers bring me glee in letting that be a storyline I could wrap up hahahah)) but also give me a little moment to say...

Thank you.

Thank you Cae, and Adelpha, and Kal and Kel and Alannah (♥ still here with me, heehee) and those friends who weren’t part of the FC but were there for me back then (Sieg!). Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for logging so many hours with me doing stupid stuff like racing around zones and playing hide-and-seek and having hours-long hot-tub parties where we did literally nothing productive, just chatted about anything and everything in a basement hot tub through the text chat box. Thank you for the memories and the companionship and the silly stories. 

Thank you for being there.

#ffxiv #writing #pgsm of balmung #cae #adelpha #kal #kel #alannah

[lore-of-the-silvereyes-rwby]

Rwby Remnants Silver Legends

Chapter 6

The river Isil/The Mountains of Isilme/Between Endemar, & Iresta

  April 22nd 4029 B.F.B.

Dawn has come, the morning sun rises. The Irestian merchant ship Linia Podzielona sails through the river. Her crew, keep their heading, and continue their course. One of the many passengers aboard gazes from the Bow of the ship. He tries to see if they are close to their destination, but is still met by mist. His gaze is delayed by one of the crew.

“It’s still a long way till we reach Silirin, the crewman said as he walked up to him. Once the sun has risen the mist will clear, and after that it will be smooth sailing from here on out, he stated as he placed a hand on the gazer’s shoulder, and gestured with his other.”

    He nodded his head, and the crewman returned to his duties. The mist around the ship was dense. Slow and steady he thought, but this was taking an eternity. As he continued in thought another passenger came to speak with him. 

“Mein Lord, zee cabdain zays zat ve vill reach Zilirin vithin zee hour next, he informed.”

“Diolch Detlef, he said  in acknowledgment.”

    Detlef then began his way down to the lower decks. He was alone again. Left to gaze beyond bow Left with nothing but his thoughts of dark times. Times that he wished to forget. But still, he was here. Unlike those that weren’t fortunate or blessed to be here. The pace of time had quicken while his mind wandered from reality. 

Only for a single beam of sunlight to graze his face. Soon after more followed. Then the sun had rose. As the mist cleared and the fading colors of night suppressed by the rising sun, he saw it all. The Vast fields of Endemar, the Lush trees of Taure-mi-Amuntë, but above all The Silver City of Silirin. The Crown Jewel of Numen. It was a site to behold, he thought.

His awestruck feelings soon vanished as he heard the screams of the crew. They were under attack. Not by marauders or the forces of nature but by Grindylows. Few had leapt aboard the top deck. Some had taken the high ground via the ship’s mast. Most hung on the sides, and with their elastic long fingers began to rope dart members of the crew. They then pulled them into the river. Their fates were sealed the moment they hit the water. 

As he watched the ensuing chaos one of them climb silently behind him. It then pounced hoping to grab him. Only for the Low to be chokeslammed onto the deck. It then met its end when his foe drawn out a blade then stabbed it through his forehead. The aquatic grimm then dissipated to ash. Another one tried to do the same tactic of its fallen kin hoping he would have better odds. Only for his face to be met with a bullet of fire.

“Vu really need to keep ein eye out for your zurrountings, the unknown shooter declared.”

    He turned his head to meet his unknown savior. Only to be met with a familiar face.

“Frida is that you, he asked in surprise, As she shot another one that pounced at him?”

“Yeah it’s me, she said as she continued firing until she ran out of ammo. She discarded it and drew her sword.

    She then cutdown three Grindlylows. One lost a limb the other was bisected and the last one decapitated. As the first one had scampered away, Detlef emerged from the lower decks with a shethed sword.

“Mein Lord, he called out carrying the weapon.Your svord take it, he exclaimed as he held the hilt outward towards him,”

His right hand grasped the hilt, and unsheathed it. Once out he grasped the hilt with his other hand. As he readies himself the Grindylows hanging from the sides began to rope dart him in. Only for their fingers to be blocked and sliced off by him. They Screamed in agony as they fell back into the water.

    As the side hangers fell back in. The ones on the mast became the only rope darters left. While more of them kept jumping aboard the ship attacking the crew.

“Vat do ve do Lord Vyn, Detlef asked as he readied his sword?”

“Yeah vat do ve do Wyn, Frida inquired, as she drew her second blade?”

“Just make sure their dead by the time we get to Silirin, he answered as he readied his blade for the fight to come.” 

Ened nome/Silirin/Endemar

    The sun had risen. Its light over the city, as its citizens awaken. Some of them have already awoken before it rose. Soon everyone in the city will know what had happened. Its people never knew murder within the walls of their city. This revelation will show them that during times of conflict nowhere is safe. The peaceful days of Silirin will soon come to an end.

    The middle city/Ened nome has become the sight of a gruesome death. The Legate Horace of the House of the Alanira lays dead in the alley. The Arbiter, several Ostirio, and the Lord of Silirin were there. A crisis that needs to be resolved before anyone else finds out. As well as to prevent this from happening to anyone else.

“Hurry up you two get those tarps up.”

“Yes Warden.”

“Make sure the body is out of sight, the warden commanded.”

    As they made sure to seal off the area where the body was, The City Lord ,and the Arbiter of Silirin were in a long talk about the situation.

“How did this happen Arbiter, Herod asked in aggravation?”

“My watchers are still looking over the body, she answered. But from what we can tell this happened sometime after-midnight, and before dawn. Most likely during the changing of the guard.”

“Do we have anyone else that saw what happened or who could have done this?”

“No one has come about to us about this, and it's too early to tell who done this.”

     As they continued talking one of the watchers approached them.

“Arbiter, My lord, were finished looking over the body, he said.”

“Thank you abel. Shall we, she asked Herod?”

    He nodded his head and they both proceeded to the scene. The watcher crouched down and removed the sheet that was over the body. Both of them were shaken by what they saw. Its worse then I imagined Prisca thought to herself. She had her fair share of gore but not to this extent. Then the watcher began to give the details of this gruesome scene.

“ Ok as said before a Large gash over the stomach. Claw marks over the chest and mouth. Right eye missing, and left arm destroyed beyond use. Whoever did this was someone with a knack for quick disposal, and concealment. As well as the hands being deformed, the Watcher stated.”

“What do you mean by deformed hands, Herod inquired?”

‘Well as you can see the claw marks are distinct by how many fingers are missing. For example the right hand of our unknown murderer is missing their forefinger, and pinky. While their left is missing only the ring finger.  However as you can also see the fingers differ in how deep they went in. Meaning that some of them may just be rounded stubs. It also tells us that despite their hindrance, they had enough strength  to still claw, and gauge out flesh, and muscle with ease.”

“Great, I got a dead friend, and a killer with super strength on the loose, fucking great, Herod said disdainfully.” 

“Anything else to report, the Arbiter asked?”

“Actually yes, the watcher said as he moved to another part of the scene. These shattered remains of a omasar were crushed under the heel of our assailant, he stated as he pointed it out to them. And some of the remains were stuck under their heel, causing a trail to take form as he walked away to the east.”

“Our killer went east, Prisca asked? They would just be burrowing themselves deeper into the city, trapping them. Why would they do that?”

“That does seem to be the common question, Why, Herod stated.” 

Yaramar/Silirin/Endemar

    Yaramar one of the many old districts that helped establish Silirin as a city. Nothing much to say of this old land. Open spaces, small towns, the mines to the east below the mountains, and ruined castles are what make up Yaramar. Within one of the ruined castles a familiar shadow sat their hiding. Reading the many scriptures and letters that he took from Horace.

 Among them the most detailed map of the city, the routine schedule for the Ostirio,and other civil servants. But most of all letters meant to be sent to lords and kings of far away lands. As well as to the higher ups of the Arasule Orde, and their battle plans. All of this information has so far been proven useful as he prepares his next target; The Omalime. Without proper communication the city will fall sooner than expected, he thought.

    He noticed two guards on their patrol. He hurried and placed everything back into the bag he stole. Then he placed another symbol similar to the one he left behind at Horace’s place of death. Then he left avoiding the guards as he took the roads leading north, Hoping that he can gain entry to the place where the Omalime was kept by taking the long path. Soon the city will fall he thought. The city will fall is all he can think about.

NOTES

Irestia; Desired land

 Linia Podzielona; Polish/ Divided line

 Taure-mi-Amuntë; The Forest of Sunset

Alanira; Good will

Yaramar; The Ancient  homeland

Arasule; Noble soul

Arasule Order, Silirins main military force

Diolch; Welsh/ thank you

PREV/NEXT

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #the silver eyed warriors #world of remnant #rwby7 #rwby ruby #rwby summer #rwby maria #rwby ruby rose #rwby summer rose #rwby ozma #rwby grimm #rwby salem

[rilenerocks]

Hi Michael. It’s that time of year again. That time you always hated when I was so, so very hot and sweaty and thus, always had the air conditioning turned down, the overhead fan turned to high and the small floor fan churning away all night long. Like living in a wind tunnel, you’d say. I’m sure you wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that nothing’s changed. I climb into our bed, each night, still on my side, yours untouched, with the dull roar of all my cooling machines as my companions. The thin sheet quivers in the breeze. You’d hate it. I’m physically comfortable and I lie there, thinking. Look at this headline from an article I read this evening.

Scientists Have ‘Woken Up’ Microbes Trapped Under The Seafloor For 100 Million Years

I mean, really? While I was trying to wrap my mind around the impossibility of those numbers and the subsequent life options they revealed, I suddenly hoped that meant we had a chance of reuniting somewhere in this mystifying universe. Certainly our collective and relatively young microbes have just as good a chance at survival as those ancient ones. I’m positive that your microbes are all over our house, our garden and in the few personal items of yours which I’ve stashed away. There might be a few hairs in your brush. I wouldn’t care which version of us we’d be, young or old. Ish.

So then I was thinking about all the tiny details of life I’d normally tell you every day when you were still here in the flesh. I mean, I like your constant cosmic presence, but I usually turn to that with just the most important stuff. I’ve been dying to share with you all these strange little nothing thoughts that cross my mind. Mostly, no one has ever been able to put up with the endless stream of seemingly random, disconnected thoughts that pour out of me. My sister, Cheryl is probably the next best listener after you. As my younger sibling, she was well trained in the absorption of my peculiar brain workings. I’m lucky she’s still here. But there’s just nothing like you for that bottomless reservoir of acceptance which  you provided for me. Isn’t it ironic that we both know you’d be appalled by me releasing all this private information into the faceless universe? I mean, I know some people who read my blog but mostly, they’re strangers. Honestly, except for a few private spaces in myself that defy language, most of the rest is just irrelevant in the long run. What impact do our little quirky selves have? I know you’d disagree but I need to survive now, in my own way. So here are a few random thoughts that beset me as I lie in our bedroom, my favorite space, while my mind wanders in the wee hours after I’m done reading, wishing I could talk to you above the whir of the fan blades spinning around me.

You’re the only person who knew that while I was listening to WLS radio during my pubescent and teen years in Chicago, I wasn’t just a rock and roll/rhythm and blues kid. I also liked gospel, jazz and classical music. I still remember that when you were working at the Record Service, you kept track of my favorites and made sure I always those albums in my stash. And then, you updated them to CD’s so I didn’t have to wear out my vinyl. I’m still listening to lots of different genres every day. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through this bizarre pandemic time without it.

Here’s another weird thing I’ve noticed lately. I don’t watch much television during the day. I turn it on for a few minutes when I get up in the morning, mostly a defensive move to make sure nothing impossibly earth-shattering happened overnight. That’s how things are right now – every day seems to bring a story that’s incomprehensible. Today the story was that after the worst economic quarter ever reported since they started measuring these things, Trump suggested that perhaps we shouldn’t hold an election this fall. This guy will sling any idea that he thinks will get him a second term. As an historian, you just wouldn’t believe how this country has devolved since you’ve been gone. Anyway. When evening rolls around, I’m tired from being outside most of the day. After dinner, I watch the news and then scroll through the tv guide, looking for anything that might distract me, amuse me or otherwise edify me in some way. Lately, I’ve realized that virtually every day, The Godfather, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or Gladiator is playing. Often they’re on at the same time, while other times, they’re staggered. It’s so peculiar. Usually I watch bits of all of them. By the end of the week I’ve seen them in their entirety, albeit out of order. I’ll also pause for Sense and Sensibility, The Princess Bride, Pride and Prejudice or any Errol Flynn movie. Makes me laugh. If you were here, you’d be doing the same thing with The American President, To Have and to Have Not, You’ve Got Mail or The Maltese Falcon. Also Goodfellas, A Bronx Tale, or Stand by Me. I’m working my way through a decent number of tv series that I missed when we were too busy to watch them. But recently, I’m needing revolution. I’ve got “Z” and Battle of Algiers on my DVR. I probably don’t need to get more cranked up than I am these days, but I guess that’s too bad. Watching them anyway. I wonder how any new shows will be made for the fall? Better not go down that rabbit hole. They’re probably not going to happen.  

I want you to know that in your honor, I have loyally kept up with a smaller version of your food garden. Not just the perennial herbs that still marvelously appear and make me feel that it’s you who’s emerging through our rich dirt. That’s kind of absurd because your ashes are sitting in a beautiful box in the house waiting to some day being mingled with mine. Then we can be in the garden together. That aside, I’ve also been diligently planting and nurturing the annual herbs and vegetables, although at the moment, I’m losing the vegetable battle with the squirrels and rabbits. I’ve managed to get about two dozen cherry tomatoes off the vines while I try to ignore the smushed ones on the ground with one bite mark taken before abandonment. All the low-hanging large tomatoes have been filched along with the green peppers. I’m holding out hope for ones that are a little higher on the vines.

I’m really missing your cooking, though. Yesterday, I started ferreting around your recipe folders and dug out the one for pesto which, by the way,  wasn’t labeled. I’m going to make it. I don’t have as much basil as you would plant so I don’t expect to be spooning the mixture into ice cube trays that we could pop out of the freezer for pastas and pizzas. But I’m going to get it done. You really spoiled me. The good news is that I knew it and let you know. So there’s that.

Meanwhile, I’m being really mindful about enjoying every bloom in my flower world. I wait impatiently to make sure that my perennials return and get so happy when they show up. Then I try not to get sad because soon they’ll be gone. That’s something I have to work on – if I’ve learned anything, I know I need to stay in the present. So I’m out there a lot, with the butterflies and the birds, chasing them around with my phone to get good photos that I hope will be comforting in what I expect will be a socially distanced winter.  

Regarding the birds. So far, since spring, there’ve been 50 species in the yard. I don’t know if you’d recall that I started drawing them and filing them in a binder called The Yardbirds. I know you’d get the music reference. Anyway, my renderings are improving. If I practice, I’ll get better. Here are a couple of my recent ones.

I’m really happy that I’ve created a great bird habitat in the yard. I’m learning a lot about their behavior. I love watching the hummingbirds and the house wrens. Tiny, but mighty. I’ve grown fond of catbirds which are showing up regularly at the feeders. They’re perky and curious and pretty brave.

I’ve done something pretty dumb, as getting attached to wild animals doesn’t bode well for a happy emotional outcome. But I’m very fond of the cardinal pair that lives here year-round. After a rousing rescue of one of their fledglings last week, I felt so familial with them that I decided to name the strikingly beautiful female who comes for here daily for a dip in the birdbath. I’m calling her Pumpkin. Now, how absurd is that? I like her boyfriend too.

Another thing I did after a good deal of thought was sell your beloved bike. That was hard for me. I know it was just a thing but you loved it so much. I heard your voice in my head saying, “don’t be ridiculous – it’s just sitting there being wasted. Get yourself some extra cash.” So I did. But I took photos first. All these things I have to do. When I lie in bed in the night, I think about how much easier it is to share the loads of life. I miss that a lot although I’m glad I have what it takes to manage on my own. I think back to my mom after my dad died. By the time she was my age, she’d been dependent on me for almost 5 years. Makes me shudder.

How could I not tell you this most important thing? Our daughter, who went from working remotely to having to appear in person in a closed courtroom, found out the other day that a court clerk had tested positive for Covid19. She was asked to leave her office, get tested and do another 14 day quarantine. Then the judge in charge pf hearing her cases tested positive as well. Ugh. That meant that all the rest of our little family bubble had to be tested too. So far, she and our son got negative results. Our son-in-law, both grandsons and I await our results. I hope we’re all negative and can resume our little intimate enclave. The months ahead look daunting to me. The virus is traversing the country at will with no definitive treatments or vaccines. I dread flu season adding to the complexity of everything. Feels positively medieval.

  In other news, I got an email from the park district informing us that the indoor pool was reopening immediately. The list of precautions and requirements is very long and detailed. I read it carefully while keenly aware of my longing to get back to swimming. In the end, I’ve decided against it. I just don’t think being in an indoor facility shared with high school students can be safe enough for someone like me, a member of what I call the “death group.” So I’ll just have to know that a block and a half from our house, people will be paddling away while I won’t. This adult decision-making of risk vs. reward is overrated.

In other news, I actually wish I was more like my mom in her widowhood. She used to talk a lot about how all she wished she could do was hold my dad’s hand one more time. Lucky her. I remain deeply interested in resuming our intimate life for another 30 years or so. I hope if this reaches you, you’ll be glad to know that some of our best things are strong enough to survive death.

So that’s all for tonight. By the way, I thought you should know that I just restlessly flipped on the television. There is Gladiator in the midst of the re-creation of the battle of Carthage. Round and round it goes, my dearest boy. Until next time.

A Message from the Wind Tunnel Hi Michael. It’s that time of year again. That time you always hated when I was so, so very hot and sweaty and thus, always had the air conditioning turned down, the overhead fan turned to high and the small floor fan churning away all night long.

[dunmerofskyrim]

21

At night they kept watches in pairs. Simra and Galgas, Noor and Bandrys. Never Tammunei, and never the brothers together — never one of the settled mer, awake without an ashlander to watch him as he watched them. No trust in all this, they’d agreed in silence. But wariness and mutual gain could walk hand in hand for a time.

Bandrys, louder of the brothers, tried to talk his watches through. Dazzling, the amount of nothing in the world he found to comment on. Hours after their evening meal he’d rub his belly through the blue and yellow stripes of his sash, thoughtful or pained, and narrate his digestion. Under a night sky filled with still pale stars, he’d look up, look over to Simra, look up again, and talk.

“I saw one moving once.”

“A comet?”

“A wandering star, I’ll say.”

“Suppose you wished on it, hm? Wished for wits. That’d explain a lot…”

In the dark, Simra heard his frown. “Wish on it? Hghm. Why’d I do a thing like that?”

“Hm. Must be a Western thing.”

“Outlander superstition, I’ll say. No, everyone knows you can tell a lot by the stars, don’t they? As it goes above, so it runs below.”

Simra thought back on the topics for talk that Bandrys had found in the past. Reckoned he could go his whole life happy without ever again hearing Bandrys talk about what was running below. The shifting of stars at least was better than the tides of his bowels. Simra listened, lending him at least one ear. A half-ear, lobe torn through.

“That’s what the deep-elves knew,” Bandrys continued. “Why they made their…”

“Orreries?”

“That’s right.”

“So you saw this wandering star one time. Right. Star-canny mer that clearly you are, what’d you reckon from it, in your wisdom?”

“Well, I’ll say, I don’t know about wisdom, but…” Bandrys feet shuffled against the ground, heels digging, shy. “This was when my brother and me had just started out. On our way coming north out of Temnar.”

“That where you’re from?”

“More where we ended up. Further south is where we were born, grown. Scaleskins got at our village though, and…I’ll say, maybe you know how that goes. Been at this work long? You must know… Ma got got in the fighting. Fever took da in Temnar, after. Galgas and me, I’ll say we upped roots. Tried to make the best of wandering. So when I saw that star I thought maybe it’s a sign. Maybe I’m doing something right…”

Simra regretted asking, near as soon as he’d asked. It was the kind of question that’d tell him nothing useful about the brothers. All it did was make them real, beyond how they could hinder him, or elsewise what they could offer. Best to stem that flow, before it got too strong.

“I knew an old stargazer once,” Simra said. “Clever old fetcher. Knew all sorts. Astrology, astronomy, and philosophy besides… Don’t reckon even he could fault you, thinking that. Hoping. That’s fair.”

“Fair..? Hghm. I’ll say, I don’t know about that. I don’t know that much is, in the end.” Bandrys’ stomach growled and gurgled, like the call of some animal way off in the night. “It’s all odds, like you said, and usually they’re against you. Best you can do is try slim down the difference.”

That sat better with Simra than any amount of starry symbolism, or trickle-down prophecy from out the night sky. There was enough in the world that hedged and hemmed in your fate already. The family you were born into; the place and the race of your birth. Worse than words would tell, then, to think that the time of your birth, and whatever accidents the stars had overhead from night to night could hedge and hem it all further. Things weren’t fair, but some choices would always be your own. It seemed fairer by far to think that, and put what faith in it you could.

Still, he’d have preferred silence. Alone on watch, cloaked up in Noor’s magic so the stars went out and the world closed off and no light they cast would show out on the plains, he could have written. Red glow tinting the parchment; black runes by magelight, cold as rubies.

The story was a mess by now. Try to make it fit itself – write like people write when they’re pretending they remember – he found he couldn’t write. It turned drab, false, filled with remove and conceit. Masked drama and mummery. But write like he remembered, and like he’d lived it then, five years before, three years, one year ago and counting, and it went all to pieces, and what was left was chaos. But so is life and the living of it. And maybe that was better. Or at least more honest.

Old Ebonheart’s island district is mazed with roads that lead nowhere. Pits where the ground opened out and chasms down into darkness. Climbs and sheers of fallen wreckage, some hard to pass, others impassable. The citadel refuses us. I knew getting in would be hard; that getting through would not be easy. Now I wonder if getting out is even possible — whether it was ever a possibility.

Ruin and hollow abandon. In the way things lie now, I can see it: a shadow of what passed over the city in the Red Year’s first red day.

Towers toppled for aspiring too high. They crushed what lay in their shadow. Others stood strong, shored up by what could only be magic. The sea rose up in waves taller than any tower. Crystals of salt stain the walls, like high-tide marks on the Windhelm waterfront. We walk down streets that the sea coursed through, like rivers flowing inland, fatted on floodwater. The world turned upsidedown and has turned back slowly since.

The ruins are half-reclaimed by growth. Green creepers throng the front of a temple. Impossible to tell if they’re trying to pull it down, or else they’re all that’s holding it up. Where the street yawned open and a hive-house fell inside, storey on storey, gone into the pit, fungi flourish in the wreckage. Green shoots grow between the flagstones we tread on. Something tells me to careful my steps. They’ve struggled up through all of this to sip what they can of the sun. So tread light, that something says. They deserve that much.

We walk. We stop. Another dead end.

The street’s two sides have collapsed together. The buildings lean, closer and narrower, yearning for each other, then finally they meet in wreckage. Splintered timbers halfway to rot; brickwork poured shattersome into brickwork. Like a roadfork but reversed; one path splitting into itself to become no path at all.

Our procession collapses into itself too. A clot of names, faces, voices, and differing opinions. I know how this works now. The others will squabble then look to me as if I know any better. Or else they’ll look to Tammunei through me. Or else they used to, when Tammunei still needed a go-between.

“Over? Listen, he wants to go over! Hah!”

“You saying I can’t climb it?”

“I’m saying we can’t all climb it is what I’m saying. We’re not all cursed with cat-claws and monkey-toes like you.”

“It’ll fall, more’s the point.”

“You so sure?”

“Look at it.”

“That’s your theory, is it? It’ll fall?”

“Look at it and tell me you’re still eager to test it.”

I feel the grimace on my face. Lost my patience with them days ago and it’s been lost ever since. Placing my boots careful over the flagstones, I move to a patch of cold sunlight. Let it soak into my skin. The ruins around us are overgrown. Cinders heap in doorways and hoard up in corners. A shrub clambers along the side of an apartment building, roots battling the plaster and brickwork with time for an ally.

“Ashfall, d’you reckon?” I ask Tammunei, knowing they’ll be beside me.

“What?” they ask, absent, standing on the edge of the shade I stepped out from.

“Plants, mushrooms. Growing things. D’you think it’s ash that did it? Or just that no-one was here to stop it?”

“Ash, I think.” Tammunei’s voice is dry with disuse but elsewise full-returned. Even so, they use it seldom, and are short-spoken when they do.

“That’s the way I’d heard it. A double-edged sword always hanging over Vvardenfell. Ready to smother the sun, suffocate crops, bury families in their houses. Choke the lungs and carry disease. But after it’s done, for all it takes from the present, it gives back to the future. Turns tough ground fertile. Alters things that’d struggle to grow til they’re forced to change and thrive…”

“Ash is fire. Not burning maybe. Not anymore. But still fire. Fire gone still.”

“And that means—?”

“Look!”

A shout goes up. It ripples through the squabble like the sudden shock of a hawk amongst a flock of sparrows. A great fumbling of questions. What? What is it? Where?

A hand points from the squabble’s center. I follow its fingers, up the heights of the ruins to our left. Past tiled half-roofs and tiered gutters, diamond windows, up the cracked face of an apartment building. The top is jagged where its final roof is missing.

“There! Look!”

But the pointing hand points at nothing now.

It was Balambal’s brother who shouted and pointed. Or else a mer he called brother, one of the last leftover from his kin-band. A younger Vereansu, with lynx eyes and a blotch of birthmark pink on his cheek and jaw. Scars are yet to mark his face but their lack marks him all the same: not yet Harrowed.

Balambal is beside him already, bow uncovered and bent round one leg. Quick as instinct, he bends the last bend into it and puts a string to its nocks.

“What was it?” I say. “What did he see?”

The younger mer is already babbling in Velothis, faster than I can follow. I turn to Balambal and ask again with my eyes.

“A face. A ghost? A face.” He frowns. “It was on top of the house-cliff. Up where it’s topless. See?” He points now too, with a nocked arrow. Already he’s crammed a drawing-ring of bone onto his right thumb.

“What? Another corpsewalker?” My left hand’s gone to the hilt of my sword, worrying an inch or so of blade loose from the scabbard. “Could there be more?”

“He says it moved like something living. Stood like someone watching.”

And I think to myself: I knew it. Through the fretting I’m almost smug.

Strange-filtered sunlight from a cloud mired sky. The clack and chunk of hooves, soft against the dirt-road, hard against the stones. The wider softer pad of guar; fewer feet and fewer steps, so they sounded almost like bootfalls and the walking of people.

The sound of travelling clothes shifting constant on skin. Silk had an airy voice, a breathy whisper. Then the creak and fold of leather in the silent strain of harness, saddle and saddlebag, swordbelts and boots.

And then there was the old stiff and softness of Simra’s jacket. All those sounds lived in it and more, so familiar they’d turned almost into a feeling. Silk lining and stitchwork of red and purple flowers; stiff short leather body; soft belled sleeves of softer leather.

He worried what the straps of his satchel were doing to wear at its left shoulder. Like he always worried over it, but couldn’t just stop wearing it. Nowhere to keep it if he saved it for best. And down the years, hadn’t he kept it safe? Not safer than if it had hung all this while, in a hole in the ground of the Grey Quarter. But still uncanny-safe, all considered.

A small rain had fallen again that morning. The road through the plains was half mud, and a quarter again was puddles. Each stand of water showed strange dark reflections as Simra and the rest trudged past. Colourless sky; flying things he’d failed to see when last he’d looked up, but saw plain as day when looking down. And then a corner of his sharp-lined face; a fall of ill-tempered hair or the slanted apricot-stone of an eye. His image, broken into pieces and scattered down the road.

Dark gathers itself up over islandside Ebonheart. What was diffuse in the evening sky condenses into new solid blackness, pricked out with only the smallest holes of starlight. Like fisherfolk gathering in their nets at the end of the day, and the openness of the mesh closes up in a thick black heap.

A cold sets in, deepening as the sky loses light after light after inch of pink-red light. Despite it, Tammunei and I lay side by side, and not together, tangled in each other, like we have before.

Smock, tassel-fringed blanket, two coats that came as gifts from the others. All that lies layered on Tammunei as they lay on their back, hands clutched together at belly-height.

I’m curled beside. I give scarce any warmth out to them and ask scarce any back. I curl like a cat, like a shell, like a secret turning to stone in the stomach of its keeper. Never could sleep except by being small. And I curl round a cold sullen fact.

We are hungry again. Supplies have grown stark and spare again. Through my clothes I feel the warning of my ribs, the threat of my hipbones, worse than usual and soon to get worse. I know from Winters in Windhelm that the true warnings come when you stop feeling hungry. It’s by silence your body says: We are starving.

So, tomorrow will take me away. Out with Shurfa, Balambal, Medis. To pick whatever meat we can from off the bones of this city. To crack whatever marrow we can, sucked from out its bones. And it’s needful, and it’s necessary, and I know that. The welling terror that’s welled up in me comes from how well I know that, and still am scared to go.

Going would take me away again, and take them away from me. And I hate the fear that puts in me, with a hate so hot it’s shameful.

“Knew it,” I say. “Life. The living. People living here. Making lives, I reckon. I said so, didn’t I? I knew it.” This is the kind of backwards tail-chasing thing I say when I’m too scared of silence to crave it.

“I know,” Tammunei says. They make a difficult noise behind their lips, then carry on, reshaping what they said. “No, I knew.”

“Right. I mean — seemed inevitable, right? Knew it when I saw green things growing. It’s like that. Like crops and flowers come from ashfall, rainfall, whatever…”

“No,” they correct me. “It wasn’t a guess. I knew.”

I’ve learnt down the days and months that sometimes Tammunei will tell me more when given quiet to speak in. Works better at getting answers than prodding with outright questions ever does. So I’m quiet. I wait, guilty feeling from already having said too much.

“I know because I can hear them. Loud. More, now that we’re close. There’s a lot now. Sea, city, the broken back of the sea, risen in breaking, up from the sea.” I hear them wince, troubling over their words. “And now them too. Loud before we came here, and now we’re here they’re louder. Hard to hear myself, sometimes. Most times. Sorry…”

I try to imagine it. Like trying to think in a crowded room maybe. Like trying to write in a place loud with words and speaking maybe. “I’m sorry,” I say, stupid.

“No. That’s just it. It was easy at first, after Bodram. When I was gone for a while. Out of myself. I was hollow, so that meant I was a place to sound in?”  The words come slow and thoughtful. Tammunei is explaining to themself as much as me. “Have you ever seen one: a jar full of singing? The settled-folk have them. Metal things, shaped so any sound that goes in will turn and come out as song. Clever. I was like that. I felt…cleverly made.”

I tried to imagine, but never imagined this. Alien to me, this desperate fondness; wanting so bad to be empty.

“I wasn’t myself,” Tammunei says. “So it was easy to be full of other things. Like I’m meant to be.”

Full of hearing, I think. Filled with the song of others. Nothing to feel that feels like it’s your own. It puts a pale disgust at clench in my belly. Maybe it’s the thought of living like that – selfless in the core sense of the word – or maybe it’s something else I’m only now starting to think. An ingrown disgust that this is the person I’d come to want. Who I’d lain next to, held, helped, and got all so heated and heart-pulled over. Just a singing-jar, cleverly made so it would always show back whatever hopes you dropped into it. A thing that couldn’t say yes except by mirroring each yes you gave it.

I think: If this has been a kind of love, I’ve let myself love passivity, and not a person at all. Tammunei doesn’t disgust me, except perhaps a little by this new strangeness. I disgust me. It’s hard to have room left for more, I disgust myself so sickly.

“I didn’t know you were like that. Gone.” I say at last. “You make it sound peaceful…”

“It—… Yes.” Tammunei swallows. “It was peaceful. Appropriate…” Once again, that wistful note gets into their voice and bites me.

My own voice is wooden now, as I talk so I don’t have to think: “If you hear the living, d’you know anything I should know?”

“For while you’re gone?”

“For when I’m gone.”

“Like what?”

“If they’re friends? What they want with us if they’re not?”

“It’s not like that. I don’t…it’s not that I hear the living. I can – sort of – sometimes. But I don’t think I ever did, here. Too much of everything else.”

“What then?”

“I think… What I think I hear…” Another wince. “What I think I hear of the living is how they disturb the dead.”

“They’re scavengers, then?”

“Grave-robbers. Urn-breakers.” Tammunei’s voice is edged with anger now. I can’t tell if it belongs to them or the dead themselves. I wonder if even Tammunei knows.

A city of rags, I think to myself. Figures that it’d make for a city of ragpickers. Makes sense like nothing else has — not for a long time now.

#TES #Morrowind #Dunmer #Simra Hishkari #SH Forth and Back #SH New Canon #Tammunei Ereshkigal

[ridiasfangirlings]

Title: Polite Company

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Ratings/Warnings: T

Summary: Akiyama might have been in Homra longer than him but even so, Hidaka couldn’t help but think that being assigned as his backup was akin to being his bodyguard. After all, that guy didn’t really give off the aura of a fighter at all.

Notes: AkiHida Homra AU for rare pair week ^^ This was inspired originally by a really neat piece of Homra!Akiyama fanart I found on Pixiv here (note: the Akiyama picture is the second one but there’s some NSFW stuff further down).

“Good afternoon, Awashima-san. You called me?”

Hidaka looked up slightly from over the rim of his drink as the bell above the door rang and a figure stepped inside the bar. Awashima was standing behind the bar counter as usual, polishing a wine glass. Her perfect posture didn't even waver as she turned to face the man who had spoken, hands still carefully cleaning the glass.

“Akiyama-kun. Thank you for responding quickly. Enomoto-kun sent us the information just a few minutes ago.” She set the glass on the counter, admiring it for a moment before removing a small folded piece of paper from her shirt pocket and sliding it towards Akiyama. “The location is here.”

“Hidaka?” Gotou leaned curiously against Hidaka's shoulder, nursing his own half-filled wine glass. They were sitting side by side in a booth in the corner of the bar, idly sharing a drink with one of Homra's other members. Mikoto was asleep on the couch opposite them, as the Red King often tended to be. “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, no, I'm fine, Goty.” Hidaka waved a hand sheepishly. “I just...Awashima-san's sending Akiyama on a mission? Alone?”

“Is that weird?” Doumyouji asked. He was sitting across from them with his feet on the table, something which was probably going to get him in trouble as soon as Awashima noticed. Unlike the others he was nursing a glass of apple juice, being one of the handful of underage members of the clan. “Akiyama-san goes on missions alone all the time. Well, Benzai-san's usually there but he's fine on his own too. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure about that, Doumyouji?” Hidaka couldn't help but feel incredulous. Sure, he and Gotou hadn't been members of Homra that long – they'd only joined up about a month ago, on a whim almost more than anything – but in that time he hadn't seen Akiyama do much more than make coffee and tend the bar when Awashima was out on errands.

He's really kind of a weird guy, isn't he? Hidaka craned his neck a little to look back at where Akiyama was talking in low tones with Awashima. Homra might have been pretty clean cut as far as street gangs went, but they were still a gang and Hidaka had never seen Akiyama so much as swear. In fact Akiyama was weirdly even-tempered and polite for someone who was supposed to be one of the long-time members of the clan – his partner, Benzai, was scary as hell when you crossed him (as Hidaka could report from experience, having caught Benzai on accident at a cat cafe mid-afternoon one day and witnessed a cooing and fussing that he should not have) and Doumyouji could be pretty enthusiastic when it came to a street brawl. Even Enomoto, who was fairly shy when it came to fighting, knew how to hack a system and pull information with a skill that was second only to Fushimi. But Akiyama was an oddity, a guy who was always calm and smiling and polite, who looked like he couldn't even use the slim length of pipe he was usually carrying around as a weapon.

“Trust me. You've only seen Akiyama-san when he's being polite.” Doumyouji nodded sagely and Hidaka shook his head.

“There's no way. He's so...nice.” Too nice, Hidaka couldn't help but think. A guy like that was going to get hurt in a place like this, that was certain. It was amazing he hadn't already. Though he did make a great cup of coffee and seemed to enjoy lecturing people when Awashima was absent, maybe that was why Homra's top three seemed to rely on him so much.

“Nice?” Doumyouji snickered into his apple juice. “No way. He's like...” Doumyouji made a gesture with his hands. “Bump bump bump and then...boom! Just swish, and then sparkle, and then blam! Like that.”

“Eh...?” Hidaka stared blankly at him and Doumyoji just smiled in reply.

“Be careful. Is Benzai-kun available to accompany you?” Awashima's voice floated back over to them as Akiyama took a step back from the bar counter.

“No, I'm afraid he's visiting relatives today.” Akiyama gave a small smile. “It's his sister's birthday. His parents won't be happy to see him but they won't say no to her. I couldn't bother him today, when he's got the chance to spend time with the people he cares about.”

“I see...” Awashima looked momentarily troubled. “Enomoto-kun had some difficulty locating the center of the drug ring's activities. If we wait a day, and they've moved on...”

“I can handle it, Awashima-san.” Akiyama gave something almost like a salute, and Hidaka couldn't help but shake his head a little.

“Have him take Hidaka with 'im.” Mikoto's voice made them all start slightly, the three at the booth included. The Red King hadn't even opened his eyes, hands back behind his head and body posture as still as if he was speaking in his sleep.

“Mikoto-san..” Awashima stared at him for a moment and then smiled. “Of course. Hidaka-kun, if you could come here I'll debrief you.”

“Me?” Hidaka stumbled a little as he scrambled out of his seat, moving to stand near Akiyama. Akiyama didn't even look at him, posture soldier-perfect as he stared at Awashima. His gaze was straight and steady too, Hidaka noticed, not wavering from the bartender's eyes when even though a whole month had passed Hidaka still had trouble keeping his gaze on her face and not her chest (that was one of the first things he'd learned in Homra, the quickest way to be burnt into nothing by supernatural flames was to try and surreptitiously look down the bartender's partially unbuttoned shirt). “M-Mikoto-san, are you sure?”

Mikoto didn't answer, looking as though he'd gone back to sleep almost instantly after the pronouncement. It was a little enviable, in a way.

“I trust you can handle this mission,” Awashima said. “Act as Akiyama-kun's support and follow his orders. I don't want either of you coming back hurt.”

“R-right.” Hidaka's eyes darted towards Akiyama, who was still looking at Awashima rather than at him.

I guess it'll be my job to protect Akiyama, huh? Hidaka sighed quietly, hands in his pockets as he leaned forward to look at the paper Awashima had left open on the bar counter, with the mission parameters written on it. I'll just have to keep an eye on him, that's all. Well, how hard can that be?

–

Bar Homra sat in the middle of the city, cloaked in rumors.

They said the 'Red Monster' lived there and that he ate the souls of any trespassers foolish enough to try and sneak in. They said he was over six feet tall – to which Hidaka always liked to answer 'we can look each other in the eye, then' – and that he once set fire to the entire lower district of Shizume because a business owner kicked him out of a bar. They said he granted power to those who he considered worthy of it, and burned the unworthy into nothing, not even ashes left behind.

They also said that only fools or the foolishly brave approached the Red Monster on their own, and Hidaka was pretty sure that he and Gotou were the former.

“Is this a good idea, Goty?” Hidaka said in a furious whisper as Gotou serenely reached for Bar Homra's door handle. “We could get killed!”

“Hmm? Didn't you want to check it out, Hidaka?” Gotou seemed remarkably calm for a guy walking into the lion's den, but then he usually was. He'd been smoking something funny-smelling at the other bar they'd been in earlier and it seemed to have made him even more unflappable, if that was possible.

Gotou had learned about the Red Monster from some guy that he'd bought an ancient Sumerian mask from two weeks ago. He'd mentioned it idly to Hidaka afterward at their apartment as he looked for a place to hang the mask (the mask which was supposed to have the power to raise the dead, and Hidaka had barely slept for a week afterward thanks to the groaning and creaking sounds of the house that sounded enough like zombies to keep him awake for hours with his hand on a baseball bat) and Hidaka had laughed and said it sounded like a weird rumor. But they'd both been unable to forget it, joking about finding the bar, about taking the test.

Gotou was a NEET, living off an allowance sent by his parents and moving idly from side job to side job, each weirder than the last – he'd just gotten fired from something involving bath salts and muscle relaxants and Hidaka didn't want to know what exactly those had to do with each other – while Hidaka was still stinging from being rejected from the salaryman job he'd applied for. The world had just seemed really boring, it felt like. It was like he and Gotou were floating on their own island in the center of the world while the rest of society moved on around them, and it made Hidaka feel restless and unsatisfied.

That was why he'd been the one to say it, in the end. 'Let's go find the Red Monster for ourselves.' He was just a little bit drunk at the time – that was wearing off, the growing sense of terror warring with the alcohol and the alcohol was finally losing – and tired of doing nothing all day but going from bar to bar looking for companionship and the next cheap thrill. He wanted something...more. Gotou had been more than happy to comply and that's how they'd ended up standing before the doorway of an unfamiliar bar at 3am on a cold rainy Monday.

“Hidaka? It's open.” Gotou looked back at him from the doorway. “Are you coming?”

“I-I'm coming, I'm coming, wait up.” Hidaka shook his head and hurried up the steps to the door. Gotou only smiled calmly back at him, the bell above the doorway jingling slightly as they stepped inside.

“Hello?” Hidaka ventured. The inside of the bar was silent and dark, as if it wasn't even open. “Anyone?”

“It's empty.”Gotou crossed his arms, looking disappointed. “I wonder if it was unlocked by mistake.”

“T-then I guess we should go...” Hidaka started to turn back towards the door, relief warring with disappointment in his mind.

“Who are you?” Hidaka nearly jumped at the sharp voice, stumbling backwards at the sight of two shadowed figures standing in the doorway behind them. “State your name and business.”

“W-we are...”

“We're here to meet the Red Monster and take his test,” Gotou supplied, still sounding utterly calm even though Hidaka's heart was pounding like a drum.

“...I see. Akiyama, the lights.”

“Right, Benzai.” The shorter of the two moved towards the dark silhouette of the bar counter and flipped a switch. Immediately the shadowed bar was lit by lamps and Hidaka was able to make out the features of the two who had caught them.

They both had slim, almost refined features, not at all the sort of people Hidaka would have expected to belong in the ranks of the Red Monster. The one on the left – Benzai, the other had said – had neatly trimmed long hair that fell over either side of his face and his eyes were stern and cold. There was a length of chain wrapped around one hand that he played with idly and Hidaka couldn't help but eye it nervously. It was clear that despite appearances, this guy wasn't the sort of person someone wanted to mess with.

The man who had turned on the lights – Akiyama, then – was by contrast looking at Hidaka and Gotou with a much calmer face, almost as though he was considering his options. He was reasonably shorter than his partner and he held a length of pipe in one hand, presumably as a weapon though from the looks of him Hidaka wondered if the guy was even able to swing it. His hair was messy and his right eye was entirely hidden by his bangs.

A cool wind blew in from the open door and as Benzai turned to close it Hidaka found himself glancing back over at Akiyama, whose bangs were momentarily ruffled by the breeze. It was hard to tell, with the shadows still dancing on the walls from the artificial lighting and the distance between them, but Hidaka thought he saw something red peeking out from beneath the dark hair.

“We didn't mean to break in after the bar was closed,” Gotou added. “The door was open.”

“Doumyouji must have forgotten to lock it again,” Benzai said, sounding irritated enough that Hidaka almost felt sorry for this 'Doumyouji' guy.

“Well, as long as they're here, should we take them to see the King?” Akiyama suggested, making a calming gesture with his hands.

“I suppose...” Benzai looked thoughtful. “If you think it's best.”

“They did come all this way.” Akiyama looked back at them and even though his expression was perfectly friendly for a moment Hidaka felt a strange shake of fear run through him. “If you two are willing to risk your lives, follow us upstairs.”

“W-wait a second!” Hidaka said quickly. “Risk our lives? Do we have to fight, or--”

“Of course not,” Benzai scoffed. “You have to take our King's test if you want to join. The price for failure is high.” He smirked, looking almost amused. “If you're afraid, Akiyama will see you out.”

Hidaka exchanged a worried glance with Gotou, who only shrugged.

“We did come all the way here,” Gotou said. “We might as well try, don't you think?”

“You're way too calm about risking our lives here, Goty,” Hidaka said in low tones, and Gotou laughed.

“If you want to go, Hidaka, we can still turn back.”

“Yeah, we should probably just...” Hidaka found himself looking back up at Akiyama and Benzai. Benzai was still looking at them scornfully, as if he expected them to turn tail and run any minute. Akiyama, by contrast, still had on the same pleasant, polite smile. His one visible eye met Hidaka's and Hidaka felt a shiver run through him again, eyes quickly darting downward.

It felt heavy, Akiyama's gaze on him, as if he was being measured somehow, and Hidaka swallowed hard.

“I'll do it.” Hidaka clenched his fists. It was now or never, right? He had to at least try, or nothing would change. “I'll take the test.”

“Lead the way then.” Gotou took a step towards Akiyama and Benzai. Benzai gave a small scoff of disbelief but began to ascend the stairs anyway, dragging the chain behind him. Akiyama gave Hidaka and Gotou an apologetic nod and gestured for them to follow as he headed up the stairs after Benzai.

“It's not that bad.” Akiyama glanced back to give them an encouraging smile as the four of them climbed the stairs. “Just have confidence. Mikoto-san isn't as frightening as he looks.”

“Akiyama-kun? Benzai-kun?” There was the sound of a woman's voice as they reached the top of the steps and Hidaka stumbled backwards into Gotou for a moment, nearly sending them both falling back down. There was blonde woman with blue eyes standing there before them, clad in a robe and nightgown that on anyone else Hidaka suspected would not have been particularly sexy but on her looked like it belonged to a lingerie model. Hidaka's eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage moments before Akiyama moved to stand neatly in front of his line of sight.

“Sorry we're late, Awashima-san, we had a little trouble with the mission.” Akiyama bowed slightly, totally unruffled. Beside him Benzai sighed, looking annoyed.

“It's fine. I'm glad you two are all right.” Awashima's gaze shifted over to Hidaka and Gotou. Her eyes were piercing and Hidaka found himself trying to stand up a little straighter. “And these two?”

“They want to take Mikoto-san's test.” Benzai''s tone was clipped and severe. Awashima's eyes widened for a moment before her expression turned grave.

“I see.” She nodded and turned around, walking back down the hall. “Please let him know, if he's still awake. I'll need a debrief of the mission in the morning.”

“Ma'am.” Both Akiyama and Benzai bowed this time, and Hidaka couldn't help but wonder what kind of weird street gang this was anyway. Benzai turned back to Hidaka and Gotou and made a sharp gesture. “Mikoto-san's room is this way.”

The room they were led to was at the end of the hall, and Hidaka could smell something like smoke and ash in the air. He found himself tensing slightly as Benzai knocked sharply on the door.

“Mikoto-san? We have visitors.”

What did we get ourselves into? Hidaka glanced at Gotou again, who still seemed to be completely oblivious of the obvious danger they'd just put themselves in.

“Bring 'em in.” The voice from the other side of the door was muffled and distinctly sleepy, and Benzai nodded as he began to push the door open and beckoned them inside. Gotou followed immediately but Hidaka found himself hesitating, suddenly aware of the stifling feel of power in the air.

“You can go, if you're frightened.” Akiyama's pleasant voice almost made him jump and Hidaka glanced at him again. Akiyama's smile was calm and pleasant, friendly, and for a moment Hidaka could see it again, that small hint of red hiding beneath his bangs. “It's all right.”

“I'm not...” Hidaka swallowed. “Is it hard? The test?”

“That depends.” Akiyama's voice grew serious, though the gentle smile remained on his face. “I suppose...it's all about whether or not you're too afraid to try.”

With that Akiyama hurried into the room after Benzai, dragging the metal pipe behind him like a child with a stuffed toy. Hidaka stared after him for a long moment before stealing himself and following.

The room was sparse and dimly lit, and it took Hidaka a moment before his eyes focused on the red-haired man sitting on the couch in the corner, idly smoking a cigarette.

“So? What d'you want?” The man took a long drag on his cigarette as Benzai bowed quickly in front of him, giving Hidaka and Gotou a look as though they had interrupted something important by making him lead them all the way here.

“They want to take the test, Mikoto-san.” Benzai's voice was clipped and professional, and 'Mikoto' didn't even bat an eyelid.

“That so.” He leaned back, putting out the cigarette with his shoe. His eyes drifted over first to Gotou, who cocked his head as if interested, before resting on Hidaka. Hidaka felt his breath catch, something about that gaze burning into him in a way that made his skin feel hot and his breath feel choked.

“We...” Hidaka tried to speak but his throat was dry and he found himself unable to meet Mikoto's gaze, eyes moving to focus on Akiyama instead. Akiyama's head was down slightly, face hidden by shadows and his hair, and Hidaka couldn't read his face.

“All right.” Mikoto held out a hand to him. “If you guys want to join us...then take my hand.”

That's it? Hidaka and Gotou exchanged glances and Hidaka relaxed slightly as he stepped forward. That's easy!

Suddenly there was a rush of heat as Mikoto's hand burst into bright red flames. Hidaka could feel the destructive power radiating off Mikoto's palm, enough that he found himself looking at his own hands as if they'd been scalded just by being so close.

“H-hey...” Hidaka took an uneasy step back. “What kind of joke is this?”

“Don't call it a joke so lightly.” Benzai crossed his arms. “If you're worthy, our King's fire won't burn you.”

“And if I'm not...?” Hidaka managed to choke out.

“You'll burn.” It was Akiyama who spoke this time, and his voice was unreadable.

“B-burn?” Hidaka repeated. Mikoto was still sitting there calmly, hand on fire, and Hidaka wondered if he would look stupid if he just walked away right now.

He could still feel Mikoto's gaze on him though, heavy – and oddly enough, Akiyama's too, intrigued, and suddenly Hidaka found himself reaching forward and grasping Mikoto's hand.

Fire.

It consumed him, covered his body, so hot that for a moment he couldn't breathe –

– And then it seemed to lessen, to sink through his skin where it should have charred it, and Hidaka could feel that power rooting itself somewhere deep inside his body, steady this time, not overwhelming.

Power. His power.

“So you didn't burn.” Benzai sounded almost disappointed but Akiyama smiled.

“Congratulations. You're one of us now.”

“I...passed?” Hidaka felt something hot on the underside of his left wrist and he found himself looking down at the skin.

There on his wrist, clear as day, was a tattoo that looked like a flame.

–

“Are you sure we shouldn't have called for more backup, Akiyama?” Hidaka idly ran his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist as he followed Akiyama through the backstreets of Shizume. Hidaka had brought his bat along and Akiyama was dragging his usual length of pipe, other hand holding the map Awashima had given him. “There's a lot of those guys, right?”

“It should be fine.” Akiyama gave Hidaka a vaguely disapproving look, as he always did when Hidaka used his name without the honorifics. Hidaka didn't get why that guy was so hung up on that sort of thing – they were a gang, right? And family, even more than that, so Hidaka had figured that honorifics weren't really important in Homra (outside of Mikoto, of course, and Awashima, and Fushimi when he was in earshot). “I can handle this on my own. You don't need to come with me, Hidaka.”

“You don't usually work alone though,” Hidaka said, unable to quite keep the note of worry out of his voice. Seeing Akiyama go on a mission without Benzai was rare – from what Hidaka had heard, the two of them had joined Homra together after being turned out of the Defense Force for something Benzai would only refer to as 'the irresponsibility incident.' Hidaka supposed that if Akiyama had been in the Defense Force that meant he knew how to handle himself in a fight but Hidaka just couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. Akiyama was so...polite, after all.

“I can adjust for the lack of Benzai's presence,” Akiyama said, sounding slightly distracted as he studied the map again and led Hidaka down an alley to their right. “I couldn't bother him today, when he's visiting home. This way.”

“Are we lost?” Hidaka asked. “I'm pretty sure we passed that garbage can already.”

“We did...?” Akiyama looked a bit bewildered as he glanced at the aforementioned trash can. “No, I think I followed the map...”

Hidaka leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a better look at the map, and he found himself shaking his head a little as he reached over and took it neatly from Akiyama's hand.

“I think you have it upside down, Akiyama...san.” Hidaka couldn't help the amused grin on his face, even as Akiyama gave him a slightly flustered look and averted his single visible eye.

“Benzai is the navigator, I'm the driver,” he admitted, slightly sheepish.

“I guess I'm the navigator today then!” Hidaka said brightly, ignoring the way Akiyama glared at him. “Come on, Akiyama-san, it's not so bad. I'm here to back you up, right?”

“I...suppose,” Akiyama conceded. “It does make sense that the leader of the mission shouldn't be the one navigating anyway, so that I can devise a strategy for our next move...”

“And I can make sure we actually make it to where we're supposed to be going!” Hidaka added. Akiyama sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“Right. That too.”

Hidaka swallowed back a laugh as he scanned the map. They weren't too far off course if he was reading Enomoto's handwriting correctly – it looked like Akiyama had managed to make a wrong turn a few streets back but Hidaka was pretty familiar with this area (or its bars, at least) and he knew a short cut to getting back to where they needed to be.

“So these guys we're after...” Hidaka murmured as he led Akiyama through a side alley that should get them back on course. “Drug dealers?”

“The ones Awashima-san has been sending us after for a while now,” Akiyama said. He was, Hidaka noticed, having to walk a little faster to keep up with Hidaka's longer strides. “Doumyouji and Kamo flushed out one of their hideouts a few days ago. A laptop was left behind but it was encrypted, Enomoto and Fushimi-san have been working with it for the past two days trying to get the information we need out of it. If what they found is right, we should have found their central distribution hub. If we can take that place down, the rest of the drug dealers will scatter and we can pick them off as needed.”

“Right,” Hidaka nodded, unable to turn his eyes away from Akiyama's feet. I didn't really notice it before, but he's pretty short, isn't he? “W-wait, if we're going after their central hub shouldn't we bring the whole clan? Mikoto-san...”

“According to Awashima-san, there should only be ten to fifteen men currently stationed there. One person should be enough.”

“Two,” Hidaka said automatically and Akiyama sighed.

“Right. Two. Are we almost there?”

“After the next two rights. We're headed towards the shipping district, aren't we?”

“It seems like it. That would explain how they've managed such a widespread network, there are enough warehouses there to make hiding contraband easy and locating a single specific storehouse like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“We'll teach them to mess with Homra's territory though, right?” Hidaka glanced back to give Akiyama a confident smile, slowing his footsteps in order to allow Akiyama to catch up.

“What are you stopping for? Did you get us lost again?” Akiyama tried to lean over to look at the map in Hidaka's hands and Hidaka couldn't stop the small laugh.

“Akiyama-san is surprisingly short, huh?” His hand reached out almost on its own to ruffle Akiyama's hair. Akiyama made a sound like a surprised cat as he pulled away and Hidaka suddenly realized what he'd been doing. “Ah, s-sorry, sorry! I got carried away.”

“It's...fine, it's fine.” Akiyama smoothed his hair a bit nervously, looking slightly thrown off guard. Hidaka thought he caught a glimpse of something red behind Akiyama's bangs again and he suddenly wished he'd pushed those bangs out of the way entirely, finally gotten a good look at Akiyama's entire face. “Try and keep on task, Hidaka. We have a mission to carry out.”

“Right, right.” Hidaka turned his attention back to the map. “Well, Akiyama-san can count on me! That's what backup's for, right?”

Even with Hidaka's shortcut it was still about another ten minutes before they finally found themselves standing in front of a deceptively empty-looking warehouse, crouched behind some shipping containers as Akiyama surveyed the building.

“It doesn't seem like they have much in the way of surveillance,” Akiyama said. “Still, we'd best be cautious. Pay attention to your surroundings, Hidaka. We can't afford to be caught off guard.”

“Got it.” Hidaka swallowed a yawn, arms crossed behind his head and bat dangling loosely from one hand. “It doesn't look very well-guarded, Akiyama-san. Are you sure this is the right place?”

“You had the map,” Akiyama reminded him. “I'll go in first. Stay behind me.”

“W-wait a second!” Hidaka immediately protested. “That's making yourself a target, isn't it? I should--”

“I told you, I can handle myself,” Akiyama said. “Awashima-san put me in charge of this mission. I can't send a subordinate in first while I hang back.”

“Subordinate?” Hidaka repeated blankly. “Aren't we comrades, Akiyama-san?'

“Ah...” Akiyama looked a bit surprised for a moment, lowering his gaze. “Apologies, Hidaka. Of course we are. But even so. I trust you to cover my back, all right?”

“Right...” Hidaka couldn't help but feel uneasy being the one staring at Akiyama's back but it didn't seem like Akiyama was going to budge on this one. I'll just have to keep a close eye on him, I guess...

Akiyama led him around the far perimeter of the warehouse, towards the back service door. There was a broken window along the left side of the building, low enough that Akiyama could reach it on his own. He gave Hidaka a small smirk as he pulled himself up through the broken frame, hands gripping the lower edge of the window and just barely avoiding the bits of broken glass still sticking out of it.

“Akiyama-san...hey! Isn't that a bit of a tight fit?” Hidaka said in a low whisper as Akiyama carefully heaved himself inside.

“I guess it pays to be 'short,' doesn't it?” Akiyama said easily and Hidaka stared blankly at him for a moment before laughing. Maybe this guy's not as uptight as I thought.

The window was still an issue but there was no way Hidaka was leaving Akiyama to explore the inside of the warehouse alone and with a sigh Hidaka carefully folded himself as best he could in order to slide inside. He lost his grip on the windowsill halfway through and flailed about wildly for a moment before landing with a thump on the floor inside the warehouse, bat falling loosely from his fingers.

“Hidaka! Quiet.” Akiyama sighed, covering his face with one hand for a moment. “You do recall this is a stealth mission?”

“I'm fine!” Hidaka dragged himself to his feet with a wince. “I told you it was a tight fit.”

“Clearly.” Akiyama sighed again and beckoned Hidaka to follow as he stepped forward into the darkness, the pipe in his hand glowing with a soft red light as if to act as makeshift torch. The room they were in was small and relatively cramped, with empty boxes piled all along the walls. Akiyama ducked through the next open doorway, stepping out into a larger room with a conveyor belt in the center, wooden boxes stacked one on top of the other nearby. There was a service entrance large enough for a small truck to enter along one wall, locked with a rusty lock, and the air felt cold and stale.

“It feels like no one's here,” Hidaka murmured as Akiyama approached one of the crates, breaking it open carefully with his pipe. “Maybe we really are in the wrong place?”

“No.” Akiyama's low voice made him turn. Akiyama had pried open the lid of the crate and held up a bag of something powdered. “This is where they're keeping the drugs.” His one visible eye narrowed as he looked down at the crate. “I don't understand why they would leave all of this unguarded though. Perhaps something happened...”

“Maybe someone tipped them off that we were coming?” Hidaka wondered, strolling around the room to look at some of the other boxes. The light from Akiyama's powers cast a soft glow throughout the room, Hidaka's shadow looming large along the wall. “Or there was some kind of emergency? Wait, what if they heard we were coming and went after everyone in the bar? We should--”

“Don't panic, Hidaka,” Akiyama said sharply. “Mikoto-san is at the bar. They won't be foolish enough to attack Homra on our home turf, especially with our King present.”

“Then...” Hidaka trailed off, looking thoughtful as his eyes scanned the shadows on the walls, his own and Akiyama's behind him.

And something else, he realized, something shifting in the darkness, and Hidaka whirled.

“Akiyama-san!”

Hidaka ran forward without even a moment's hesitation, one hand grabbing Akiyama by the shoulder and shoving him roughly backwards as Hidaka swung his bat with the other, just managing to intercept the rusted metal pipe that had been inches away from cleaving in Akiyama's head. The man holding the pipe cried out in pain as Hidaka swung his bat again, hitting the man hard on the chin, not even pausing to look at the body as it crumpled to the ground. The seemingly empty crates were already shifting, men with weapons climbing out from inside.

Shit... Hidaka bit his lip, weapon beginning to glow red. These bastards were waiting for us all along!

“Akiyama-san, get out of here!” Hidaka didn't even turn to see what Akiyama was doing, rushing forward to meet the approaching enemies. “I'll take care of these guys, so you get somewhere safe!”

He thought he could hear Akiyama yell something in reply but it was impossible to make out the words with the blood pounding in his ears, all his concentration focused on keeping the steady flow of power into his bat as he was surrounded by armed men. Hidaka gave a wordless yell as he charged forward into the cluster of enemies, swinging wildly and hoping that his distraction would be enough to give Akiyama time to escape.

Something hard hit him in the side and Hidaka stumbled, nearly losing his grip on his weapon. The press of men surrounding him had grown smaller but he was still ringed on all sides, outnumbered. Another blow struck him in the side of the head and he fell back, reeling, trying in vain to raise his arms in defense.

Shit...Hidaka could taste the blood in his mouth and suddenly the floor seemed to be rushing up to meet him. Someone grabbed his arms roughly, forcing the bat from his grip as they pinned him to the ground. I can't believe this is how I'm gonna die...I hope at least Akiyama-san managed to...

“Let him go, please.” The polite but firm voice cut through the pounding in his head and Hidaka forced his head up. Akiyama was standing there facing Hidaka's captors, the pipe in his hands still held loose and easy, more like a toy than a weapon.

“Akiyama-san--!” Hidaka tried to yell and someone kicked him in the side. Akiyama's single visible eye narrowed as one of the men stepped forward.

“And what are you gonna do about it, punk?” The man snorted. “We've had enough of you Homra assholes acting like you run this city. You guys think you're so special, just because you got powers. We're not afraid of you.”

“Is that so?” Akiyama said, perfectly calm like the eye of a storm. “I'm still afraid I'll need to ask you to let my comrade go.”

“And what'll you do if we say no?” One of the men kicked Hidaka again. “We outnumber you, brat.”

“This is the last time I'll ask politely.” Akiyama swung his weapon over his shoulders, taking another step forward. “Please let him go now.”

“Fuck you!” laughed another one of the men, spitting in Akiyama's direction. Akiyama sighed, covering the right side of his face with one palm.

“Very well.” Akiyama raised his head, pushing aside the bangs that always covered the right side of his face.

Revealing his right eye, and the swirling flame mark of Homra that covered it.

The pipe in Akiyama's hand glowed red, and he smiled.

“The impolite way it is, then.”

–

“Akiyama-san...” Hidaka couldn't stop staring at the pile of unconscious men lying on the floor, the warehouse filled with soft groans and whimpers of pain. Akiyama was carefully brushing his hair back into place over his eye, rubbing his wrist a little where he'd been holding his pipe.

“Are you all right, Hidaka?” Akiyama nudged one of the unconscious men with a foot, looking grim. “They must have intended to ambush us from the start. We should get back to the bar and inform Mikoto-san and Awashima-san.”

“R-right...” Hidaka tried to smile and couldn't quite manage. He still couldn't believe that Akiyama of all people had taken out all the enemies almost on his own, all while Hidaka had lain there useless on the ground.

I was supposed to be his back up, wasn't I? Hidaka clenched a fist, trying to shake the worries from his mind. They had both made it out alive, that was the important part.

“Hidaka...” Akiyama coughed, causing Hidaka to turn and look at him. “Well done. If you hadn't distracted them I wouldn't have been able to defeat them so easily. Were you hurt at all?”

“Huh?” Hidaka felt off guard for a moment and then a small disbelieving laugh came out of his mouth. “I'm fine! I mean...I'm a little bruised, but I'm okay. What about you? You fought all those guys on your own, you didn't get hurt at all did you?”

“Of course not,” Akiyama said. “I told you I know how to handle myself in a fight--” He cut off with a sharp hiss of pain, metal pipe dropping to the floor as he clutched briefly at his wrist.

“Akiyama-san?” Hidaka moved without even really thinking about it, immediately reaching over to grab at Akiyama's arm. Pulling down Akiyama's sleeve Hidaka could see that Akiyama's wrist was covered with rapidly darkening bruises. “You...”

“It's probably just a sprain.” Akiyama pulled his arm away, looking a bit sheepish. “You don't need to fuss over it, Hidaka.”

“I'm not fussing, I'm just making sure you don't hurt yourself more!” Hidaka grabbed for Akiyama's wrist again, running his fingers along the skin feeling for any bumps or irregularities that might not have been immediately visible. “Just because you're strong doesn't mean you need to do it all yourself, you know? What's Benzai-san going to say when he sees I let you get hurt? And if you ignore it then it might be hard for you to keep using your weapon...”

“Hidaka. I'm fine.” Abruptly Hidaka found himself pushed roughly against a wall, Akiyama looking up at him with a firm and steady gaze that made that sudden almost familiar shiver run down Hidaka's spine. He found himself glancing at the hair covering Akiyama's other eye again, remembering that flash of red and the crooked smile that had crossed Akiyama's face and it seemed as though his heart was beating very fast all of a sudden.

“A-Akiyama-san...c-could you let me go now?” Hidaka choked out. Akiyama looked at him blankly for a moment and then seemed to suddenly realize that he'd pinned Hidaka to the wall, immediately letting go and stepping back with a nervous cough. For a moment Hidaka thought maybe Akiyama's face looked a little red but then Akiyama turned away and he couldn't tell anymore.

“Anyway...we-we should start heading back.” Akiyama reached over with his uninjured hand to pick up his fallen weapon. “Are you coming?”

“Right, I'm coming, I'm coming!” Hidaka grabbed for his own bat and then hurried after Akiyama, catching up easily with only a few long strides. Akiyama kept his back turned, leading the way without a moment's hesitation.

“Also, Hidaka...” Akiyama finally turned to glance back at him. “...Thank you. For saving me. Even if it was a reckless action that could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Well, reckless actions are my specialty!” Hidaka said with an easy laugh.

“Just try not to do it again. Awashima-san would not be happy if I got my backup killed.”

“Right, right.” Hidaka felt a lightness in his chest that he couldn't quite explain and the smile wouldn't leave his face. “I can't believe they almost caught you by surprise anyway, Akiyama-san is surprisingly slow sometimes, huh?”

“I-I was just focused on the mission,” Akiyama said, sounding a little embarrassed. “In any case, I'm glad you were being observant for once.”

“What's that supposed to mean, 'for once,' I'm always watching Akiyama-san!” Hidaka said before he could stop himself. “A-ah, I mean, I'm—I'm always watching, because you've been in Homra  longer than me and—and I could learn some things from you!”

“I suppose,” Akiyama muttered quietly, looking away. “And...I've watched you sometimes too, so there's no need to feel nervous about it. We're comrades, after all.”

“Right. Comrades.” Hidaka risked clapping a hand on Akiyama's shoulder and Akiyama didn't shrug him off. Hidaka knew there was probably a stupid grin on his face but he couldn't seem to stop smiling either.

Comrades, and the word sounded even better coming from Akiyama's mouth, though Hidaka really wasn't entirely sure why.

#Akiyama Himori #Hidaka Akira #krarepairweek2017 #k project #akihida #fic #hello favorite rare pair #I couldn't resist impolite Aki with the tattoo over his eye XD

[basicvulcanqueen]

The Scientist

warnings: none/cursing

summary: Keanu develops a friendship with a girl and eventually it progresses, but not without some serious shit on the way lol

Chapter One, The Spot

   In a corner of the world often overlooked, there was a park. Commonly named, remotely located in the small town of Dayton, Tennessee, only a small city of locals and some others even knew of its existence. Behind the park was a short, grassy path, overgrown in the summer, making poison ivy a definite if you traveled to the spot in shorts. Walk back far enough, and there is a bridge, train tracks above you, and a creek deep enough to swim in ran as far as the eye could see.

   There was also an overpass, all four lanes of the highway running across on the right side, graffiti plastered all over the bridge and the under passage. Most of it was vulgar, middle school shenanigans, but along the posts of the train tracks, there were several, colorful, interesting paintings. It was sort of like a town treasure, everyone loved to hang out under the tracks, the adrenaline rush as a train rushed overhead, all other noise cancelled out over the roar of the engine, and the shaking beneath you.

   I'd done the paintings my first year in high school, finding the spot after theatre rehearsal one day. My nana rarely let me take the car, but when she did, I made every excuse to stay out. She didn't mind; she trusted me, I stayed out of trouble. I kept my grades and my actions in order, my flaws? Graffiti and cigarettes. I had friends all over the county, willing to buy me smokes as long as I paid for them, so despite Nana's concerns, I had them on hand at all times, never once asking her to buy them for me. That made her feel a little less convicted.

   It had been several years since I'd returned to the spot, now well into my twenties, 22 to be exact; I was driving the same exact car I used to keep out late in my teens, a birthday gift from my Nana and Papa, the nostalgia hitting hard every time I was in the drivers seat. As a grown woman, life had been a struggle. I'd dealt with depression, and bi polar disorder, driving away all of my friends. I spent my time with my mother, staying in the cottage behind her house. I'd stayed there all of my life, the solitude and peace of being at home. Comfortable. The woods surrounded me at night and it was always dark and mysterious, and I loved it. I was buried in the trees, the gushing waters of the creek behind the house comforting my slumber. I loved my small town.

   I came from a family of strange traditions and simple living. We lived modern, sure, with our technology and our video games, but as for our way of life, we were old fashioned. My mother had turned me onto cast iron skillets, and I'd become a little bit of a chef, loving to cook and bake as much as my mama did. As for heat, my mother and stepdad had bought a wood stove for their home, and I'd done the same. We cut our wood, tending to the horses and several outside dogs, as well as indoor pets and a few chickens.

   My brother bred and sold rabbits, making petty cash for silly high school things, basketball and girls being his only worries for the moment. We really were plain, but we were all so different. We all had goals, and aspirations, but we were simple to please, loving the smallest of things. I worked part time in a 24/7 dinner called Pete's Pies and Other Things, reading and exploring in my spare time. I often spent my days in the woods, journal in hand, listening to the sounds of the forest. That was my favorite place to be. I'd just recently gotten a puppy, a Belgian Sheppard named Nero. He was named partly after my Trekkie fandom, partly after the Roman Emperor Nero because I was a history fanatic, driving everyone in my family crazy with my fun facts and my knowledge and opinions, and if I was anything, it was definitely opinionated.

   Relationship after relationship, I was finding myself unsatisfied, lacking connection, and solitude being my safe haven. I couldn't find anyone I could truly connect with, and when I had, they were all significantly older than me. It drove my family nuts, my fascination with older men. I'd been thrown out of school my senior year for dating a teacher in another district. It was bullshit, the teacher kept his job, and I got my GED. I was fine, by myself. I didn't mind it. I never had, I could always occupy my time with something else, reading, writing. I had a world full of adventuring to do.

   I'd found myself chilled by the fall, the autumn air creeping in through the slight crack in my drivers side window. I faithfully ashed my cigarette, my curly black hair thrown in a loose ponytail, Kansas blaring through my speakers. I was in my usual autumn attire, my leggings, black, baggy black cardigan. I'd recently purchased my first belly shirt, white with a tiny alien on the breast pocket, hardly showing any skin, more visible than anything was the hourglass tattoo on my stomach, the left side covered halfway to my hip, the right side occupied by a turtle, beneath it, the entire world on his turtle back, the branches filled with birds and the initials of several loved ones. My body was covered in tattoos, my parents more than encouraging about my body art. I got several compliments on my work, oogled by most pig headed men because how often do you see a mulatto female covered in tattoos? Apparently not very often.

   I drove to clear my mind, no particular place I was heading. I loved to drive, especially with Nero at my side, when the sun was setting. I'd roll up a blunt or two and just drive, making my way to my favorite secluded places, letting Nero out to explore the terrain. He'd go on my hikes with me, and I'd pack the two of us treats and water, that way we could spend all day doing what we loved. He was laying in my backseat; I kept a blanket spread out for him, since his black fur would be everywhere if I didn't. I don't know why I found myself turning into spring city, the road narrowing as I came out by the middle school, just minutes away from the park. As I pulled into the parking lot, the only car I noticed was, undoubtedly, a fucking Porsche, with New York tags, sleek and beautiful, but too fancy for anyone around these parts of town. I gave it no second thought as I grabbed my bag, tossing my lighter and cigarettes, along with my water inside.

   It was a short walk to the trail that led back to The Spot, Nero never leaving my side as we made our way back, the cars passing by on the highway coming to a slow as the traffic from the day died down. The lamps that lit up the park gave great passage as we made our way back, the weeds and ivy mowed down now that it was fall. Nero led the way, sniffing out anything peculiar, perking up when he realized the beauty ahead of us. He quickened his pace, leaving me before I turned the corner of the wall/post that my balloon painting was on, not even noticing Nero standing near the rocks by the post, lapping at the crystal clear water. He went on to explore the surroundings, keeping close, as I took a seat, digging in my bag for my metal Star Trek tin, removing a blunt and lighting it, feeling finally at ease after a long day of work and nonsense. I'd made decent enough tips, more than any of the other servers, and I had the next two days off work, which I was thrilled about. I was going into relax mode, knowing after I returned home, I could start a fire, make some coffee, and read until the wee hours of the night, accompanied by Nero and the peaceful repetition of nightly crickets. Nero had gone out of view, but I could hear him, playfully prancing around the area. I don't know how I didn't hear the human footsteps approach, but Nero did. He bolted around the corner, sniffing out whoever it was, and I stopped in my tracks, quickly dubbing out my smoke and putting the unfinished blunt into the tin, replacing it with a lit cigarette. Nero wasn't alarmed for long, I quickly heard whoever it was tell Nero, "Aren't you a good boy? Where's your owner, pal?" And I quickly stood up, Nero returning to my side just before the man rounded the corner, and much to my surprise, I was greeted by the face of a celebrity. I almost thought I was seeing things, but sure enough I recognized the jet black hair, and the deep, penetrating brown eyes on the gorgeous face of none other than, Keanu Reeves.

   I took a step back, Nero nudging at my hand to pet him, forcing myself not to stare as he smiled at me, his face perfectly visible in the lamplight. He spoke up first, taking a step towards me and reaching out his hand. "Beautiful dog you have there, I'm Keanu, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He laughed it off smoothly, and I shook his hand, surprised at his friendly, welcoming demeanor. "Thank you, he goes everywhere with me. I'm Raven. And this is Nero." Nero sat at his feet, letting Keanu pet him, happily accepting the affection. I was a mess in my head, unaware of how to react, really. I had never encountered anyone famous in my life. Lowly stage actors, and film extras, once or twice, but never anyone as famous as him. What the hell was he doing here? In the middle of nowhere? As if he was reading my mind, he asked me if I was from the area, and I nodded, saying I'd lived here all my life, however my house was 20 minutes away on the other side of the county. "What brings you here?" I asked politely, resuming my seat, and he joined me, Nero laying between the two of us.

"I dunno, really. I wanted to get out of the city. My mom knew a photographer here, and I saw a picture online of the area, and I just... wanted to see it for myself. I've never been here. I wanted to work up some inspiration for a project I'm working on, and I figured this would be the place to start. I'm staying at a place called The Holiday Inn, it's in Dayton." I nodded, chuckling at the coincidence. Pete's was directly in front of The Holiday Inn, I was there almost everyday. "I work in Dayton. At the diner right in front of your hotel." He smiled, saying he was planning on making a stop there tomorrow for breakfast. I mentioned I was off work, and he sighed dramatically, causing us both to erupt into laughter. We talked for the better half of two hours, well into the sun going down, before we made our way back to the parking lot, Nero leading ahead of us, the night air cook around us. He looked relatively normal to be so gorgeous, in his long black coat, and his dark jeans, his grey boots and white shirt reminding me all too much of the many part he had portrayed in his career. It was like, for so long of seeking adventure, I'd met someone who had a life full of journeys and discoveries. It was odd, how well we hit it off, being from two totally different worlds. I lit up a cigarette, offering him one, and he accepted, using my lighter. He offered me his cell phone, saying he would like to keep in touch, and so we exchanged numbers, parting ways with a casual hug. He asked me to text him when I got home, so he knew I made it there okay. I said I would. I waved before getting in my car, my music starting up as I fished for my tin in my bag, Nero taking a seat up front as I lit my blunt, driving into the night, the 20 minute drive home exciting as I drove with Keanu in my taillights. He followed behind me until he had to turn off for his hotel, honking his horn, and I did the same. I couldn't wait to get home and tell my mom about the day I'd had.

   I had managed to sneak some proof, a quick picture of Nero standing next to Keanu, his hand placed lovingly on his head, a grin on his face. My mom was going to be so shocked. I was excited to return home, but disappointed to see all of the lights off at my mother's place, so I drove past, onto the gravel driveway that would be paved eventually, leading to my cottage. The space opened up, the creek running behind my house, through an orchard. My cottage was three bedrooms, flowers and plants of all sorts growing wildly around the house, my stepdad always joking that my house looked like something sort of like a fairy tale. I'd always kept up my garden well maintained through the year, but it was getting colder now, and all I had left were a few buds here and there, along with my weeping willow that took refuge in my front yard, always casting the most ominous shadow on my house. Nero and I made our way inside, my first objective to start a fire in the woodstove. I grabbed my lighter from my bag, shooting Keanu a text that I'd made it home ok, and sat my phone down, determined to get my fire started before I replied. The house was quiet, so I turned on my stereo, a treasure I'd found at 20 in a yard sale, the hits of the 80's,90's and today playing softly throughout the house and I piled wood atop my ever growing fire, and I took a minute to have a seat in front of it, having a cigarette as I watching the crackling flames. My phone vibrated on the table in the living room, and I retrieved it, a message from Keanu.

   K: Glad you made it home safe. What are your plans for the night?

   R: Just started a fire, I'm going to make some coffee, curl up with Nero and read. Anything exciting on your end?

   K: Not a thing, sounds like a fun night. Started a fire?

   I sent him a picture of my woodstove, and he sent me a text back shortly, amazed at the fact that I lived alone and used wood heat. He said he'd never met anyone who relies on it for a source of heat, which is always weird to me. It's always been my favorite form of heat. It's cozy, reliable, and if my power ever goes out, at least I'll be warm. Plus, cooking on a woodstove is ideal. The quality of the food is incredible.

   K: You'll have to show me sometime. If you're up a little later, care if I give you a call?

   R: I'll be up for a while, that's perfectly fine with me.

   K: Alright, I've got a conference call with a realtor in 15 mins but after that, I'll call you. :)

   R: Looking forward to it!

   I took the time to change clothes, the room next to mine serving as a storage room for nothing but my clothes, considering I had so many. I was devoted to thrift shops, finding 50 cent and dollar treasures everywhere I went, a collection of clothes, shoes, books, and all sorts of handy items, mine for a low price. I'd fallen in love with the beauty and the history of the things in thrift shops, some of my favorite Star Trek memorabilia purchased at several different thrift shops. I had Star Trek sheets, posters, paintings, figurines, and even a landline phone. I'd purchased lots of strange knick knacks over the years, including a Japanese tea set, several Buddha figurines, some handmade windchimes made of spoons, some very cool, wooden end tables, 5 of them to be exact, all under ten dollars from thrift stores.

   My mom and I had a crazy huge library of movies, dvds and vhs tapes, and we added onto it every other Tuesday when I got paid. We were all about home entertainment, being content with our lives. And we were. Simple, loving folk. We enjoyed our things, and spending time with each other. We did that more than anything. My mom and I had a rocky start growing up, but now, we have become best friends, the two of us enjoying the silly little hobbies we had. My stepdad went through a phase where we stockpiled can goods and nonperishable items, because of the economy, and now, we've done it ever since. We have an entire storage room in my basement dedicated to all things survival. A year's supply of canned goods, 10 adult survival blankets. Cases of water stacked to the ceiling, from years of preparation. We'd always taken advantage of our resources, so when we saw 4 folding cots at a yard sale, we bought them, and slowly over time, had bought up enough for all of us, taking measures to preserve the lives of our animals as well, stocking dog food and jugs of water for them. It seemed crazy, but the way we saw it, you could never be too prepared. We stocked up on toiletries and medicines, cabinets full of first aid equipment, antibiotics, mild pain relievers and Tylenol, of course, along with several other over the counter medications, both human and pet friendly, we were set there too.

  My stepdad, John, had kept in mind when building both their house, and my cottage, the need for shelters, especially underground. The land our house was built on had belonged to my family for generations, several houses being on the same exact land before it. Although none of the original houses remained, one cool feature was able to be used in the construction of our homes. A bomb shelter, ten foot underground, connecting the space between our houses. An enclosed area roughly the size of a tennis court, it had 5 separate living quarters, big enough for two cots and a wardrobe on wheels. There were solar panels connected to the kitchen in the shelter, so we would be able to cook and still have power for hours out of the day, along with a plethora of generators from junk yard trips and trades. He was the smartest man I knew, and he had taught us everything he knew.

I was killing time, waiting for coffee to finish brewing when I received a facetime request from Keanu, throwing the lights on in the kitchen nook and accepting, greeted by his face, smiling at me from his hotel room.

"So that's what your house looks like," he said, giggling at my table for two and all of my memorabilia. "I have so much crap. I'll give you a tour if you want. There's so much house I feel like I'm useless. I don't even take up half of it." He laughed, sitting up as I showed him my closet room, turning the light on to the basement staircase and descending it. "Woah, where are you now?" He asked, and I switched the view so he could see the space in front of me. There was the stockpile room, off to my left, and to the right, the hall that led to the bomb shelter, and that definitely struck his attention. "That's probably the coolest thing ever," he said, wowed at the time we had put into everything. I promised to show him one day, but I definitely didn't feel like walking all over the basement in the dark. I made my way back upstairs, listening to Keanu talk about the penthouse he just purchased in New York. He was planning on taking a vacation there next, he said. He was tired of California. He wanted to see what the bustling world of NYC had to offer. I told him that would be amazing, I'd always dreamed of going there in high school, being on the stage, taking the subway to work. But I told him, I never planned on leaving my little town. That seemed to disappoint him, but he quickly recovered when he asked me if I had plans for the next few days. I told him that I was off work 2 days straight, and he asked if I'd like to take him hiking the following day. He wanted Nero to come, and I quickly accepted. I told him I knew a great place, that I'd take my camera because the leaves would be changing and it would be a real sight. He agreed, and kept talking about how excited he was. I was excited too.

   We made plans to meet for breakfast, when he asked where, I offered jokingly to cook, and he encouraged it, so I said I would text him my address, and he was going to come to my house for breakfast the next morning. I cooked on Saturdays, my mom and stepdad would be joining, along with both of my brothers. He said that was perfect, that it had been a long time since he had a nice, normal breakfast. I assured him we were not normal, but told him I was thrilled to spend the day with him. He yawned loudly two hours into our facetime, and I immediately did the same, saying we would both need our rest for the next day. I quickly sent him a text with my address as I stoked the fire, putting more wood on it for the night, crawling into my own bed for the night before hanging up the phone. Nero climbed into bed, settling himself in next to me as I set my alarm for the next morning, peacefully drifting into sleep after the best day I'd had in a very long time.

#keanu reeves #keanu #keanuAU #keanufic #keanufanfic #the scientist #coldplay #chapter one #science fiction #science fic #sci-fi & fantasy

[rilenerocks]

Hi Michael. It’s that time of year again. That time you always hated when I was so, so very hot and sweaty and thus, always had the air conditioning turned down, the overhead fan turned to high and the small floor fan churning away all night long. Like living in a wind tunnel, you’d say. I’m sure you wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that nothing’s changed. I climb into our bed, each night, still on my side, yours untouched, with the dull roar of all my cooling machines as my companions. The thin sheet quivers in the breeze. You’d hate it. I’m physically comfortable and I lie there, thinking. Look at this headline from an article I read this evening.

Scientists Have ‘Woken Up’ Microbes Trapped Under The Seafloor For 100 Million Years

I mean, really? While I was trying to wrap my mind around the impossibility of those numbers and the subsequent life options they revealed, I suddenly hoped that meant we had a chance of reuniting somewhere in this mystifying universe. Certainly our collective and relatively young microbes have just as good a chance at survival as those ancient ones. I’m positive that your microbes are all over our house, our garden and in the few personal items of yours which I’ve stashed away. There might be a few hairs in your brush. I wouldn’t care which version of us we’d be, young or old. Ish.

So then I was thinking about all the tiny details of life I’d normally tell you every day when you were still here in the flesh. I mean, I like your constant cosmic presence, but I usually turn to that with just the most important stuff. I’ve been dying to share with you all these strange little nothing thoughts that cross my mind. Mostly, no one has ever been able to put up with the endless stream of seemingly random, disconnected thoughts that pour out of me. My sister, Cheryl is probably the next best listener after you. As my younger sibling, she was well trained in the absorption of my peculiar brain workings. I’m lucky she’s still here. But there’s just nothing like you for that bottomless reservoir of acceptance which  you provided for me. Isn’t it ironic that we both know you’d be appalled by me releasing all this private information into the faceless universe? I mean, I know some people who read my blog but mostly, they’re strangers. Honestly, except for a few private spaces in myself that defy language, most of the rest is just irrelevant in the long run. What impact do our little quirky selves have? I know you’d disagree but I need to survive now, in my own way. So here are a few random thoughts that beset me as I lie in our bedroom, my favorite space, while my mind wanders in the wee hours after I’m done reading, wishing I could talk to you above the whir of the fan blades spinning around me.

You’re the only person who knew that while I was listening to WLS radio during my pubescent and teen years in Chicago, I wasn’t just a rock and roll/rhythm and blues kid. I also liked gospel, jazz and classical music. I still remember that when you were working at the Record Service, you kept track of my favorites and made sure I always those albums in my stash. And then, you updated them to CD’s so I didn’t have to wear out my vinyl. I’m still listening to lots of different genres every day. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through this bizarre pandemic time without it.

Here’s another weird thing I’ve noticed lately. I don’t watch much television during the day. I turn it on for a few minutes when I get up in the morning, mostly a defensive move to make sure nothing impossibly earth-shattering happened overnight. That’s how things are right now – every day seems to bring a story that’s incomprehensible. Today the story was that after the worst economic quarter ever reported since they started measuring these things, Trump suggested that perhaps we shouldn’t hold an election this fall. This guy will sling any idea that he thinks will get him a second term. As an historian, you just wouldn’t believe how this country has devolved since you’ve been gone. Anyway. When evening rolls around, I’m tired from being outside most of the day. After dinner, I watch the news and then scroll through the tv guide, looking for anything that might distract me, amuse me or otherwise edify me in some way. Lately, I’ve realized that virtually every day, The Godfather, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or Gladiator is playing. Often they’re on at the same time, while other times, they’re staggered. It’s so peculiar. Usually I watch bits of all of them. By the end of the week I’ve seen them in their entirety, albeit out of order. I’ll also pause for Sense and Sensibility, The Princess Bride, Pride and Prejudice or any Errol Flynn movie. Makes me laugh. If you were here, you’d be doing the same thing with The American President, To Have and to Have Not, You’ve Got Mail or The Maltese Falcon. Also Goodfellas, A Bronx Tale, or Stand by Me. I’m working my way through a decent number of tv series that I missed when we were too busy to watch them. But recently, I’m needing revolution. I’ve got “Z” and Battle of Algiers on my DVR. I probably don’t need to get more cranked up than I am these days, but I guess that’s too bad. Watching them anyway. I wonder how any new shows will be made for the fall? Better not go down that rabbit hole. They’re probably not going to happen.  

I want you to know that in your honor, I have loyally kept up with a smaller version of your food garden. Not just the perennial herbs that still marvelously appear and make me feel that it’s you who’s emerging through our rich dirt. That’s kind of absurd because your ashes are sitting in a beautiful box in the house waiting to some day being mingled with mine. Then we can be in the garden together. That aside, I’ve also been diligently planting and nurturing the annual herbs and vegetables, although at the moment, I’m losing the vegetable battle with the squirrels and rabbits. I’ve managed to get about two dozen cherry tomatoes off the vines while I try to ignore the smushed ones on the ground with one bite mark taken before abandonment. All the low-hanging large tomatoes have been filched along with the green peppers. I’m holding out hope for ones that are a little higher on the vines.

I’m really missing your cooking, though. Yesterday, I started ferreting around your recipe folders and dug out the one for pesto which, by the way,  wasn’t labeled. I’m going to make it. I don’t have as much basil as you would plant so I don’t expect to be spooning the mixture into ice cube trays that we could pop out of the freezer for pastas and pizzas. But I’m going to get it done. You really spoiled me. The good news is that I knew it and let you know. So there’s that.

Meanwhile, I’m being really mindful about enjoying every bloom in my flower world. I wait impatiently to make sure that my perennials return and get so happy when they show up. Then I try not to get sad because soon they’ll be gone. That’s something I have to work on – if I’ve learned anything, I know I need to stay in the present. So I’m out there a lot, with the butterflies and the birds, chasing them around with my phone to get good photos that I hope will be comforting in what I expect will be a socially distanced winter.  

Regarding the birds. So far, since spring, there’ve been 50 species in the yard. I don’t know if you’d recall that I started drawing them and filing them in a binder called The Yardbirds. I know you’d get the music reference. Anyway, my renderings are improving. If I practice, I’ll get better. Here are a couple of my recent ones.

I’m really happy that I’ve created a great bird habitat in the yard. I’m learning a lot about their behavior. I love watching the hummingbirds and the house wrens. Tiny, but mighty. I’ve grown fond of catbirds which are showing up regularly at the feeders. They’re perky and curious and pretty brave.

I’ve done something pretty dumb, as getting attached to wild animals doesn’t bode well for a happy emotional outcome. But I’m very fond of the cardinal pair that lives here year-round. After a rousing rescue of one of their fledglings last week, I felt so familial with them that I decided to name the strikingly beautiful female who comes for here daily for a dip in the birdbath. I’m calling her Pumpkin. Now, how absurd is that? I like her boyfriend too.

Another thing I did after a good deal of thought was sell your beloved bike. That was hard for me. I know it was just a thing but you loved it so much. I heard your voice in my head saying, “don’t be ridiculous – it’s just sitting there being wasted. Get yourself some extra cash.” So I did. But I took photos first. All these things I have to do. When I lie in bed in the night, I think about how much easier it is to share the loads of life. I miss that a lot although I’m glad I have what it takes to manage on my own. I think back to my mom after my dad died. By the time she was my age, she’d been dependent on me for almost 5 years. Makes me shudder.

How could I not tell you this most important thing? Our daughter, who went from working remotely to having to appear in person in a closed courtroom, found out the other day that a court clerk had tested positive for Covid19. She was asked to leave her office, get tested and do another 14 day quarantine. Then the judge in charge pf hearing her cases tested positive as well. Ugh. That meant that all the rest of our little family bubble had to be tested too. So far, she and our son got negative results. Our son-in-law, both grandsons and I await our results. I hope we’re all negative and can resume our little intimate enclave. The months ahead look daunting to me. The virus is traversing the country at will with no definitive treatments or vaccines. I dread flu season adding to the complexity of everything. Feels positively medieval.   In other news, I got an email from the park district informing us that the indoor pool was reopening immediately. The list of precautions and requirements is very long and detailed. I read it carefully while keenly aware of my longing to get back to swimming. In the end, I’ve decided against it. I just don’t think being in an indoor facility shared with high school students can be safe enough for someone like me, a member of what I call the “death group.” So I’ll just have to know that a block and a half from our house, people will be paddling away while I won’t. This adult decision-making of risk vs. reward is overrated.In other news, I actually wish I was more like my mom in her widowhood. She used to talk a lot about how all she wished she could do was hold my dad’s hand one more time. Lucky her. I remain deeply interested in resuming our intimate life for another 30 years or so. I hope if this reaches you, you’ll be glad to know that some of our best things are strong enough to survive death. So that’s all for tonight. By the way, I thought you should know that I just restlessly flipped on the television. There is Gladiator in the midst of the re-creation of the battle of Carthage. Round and round it goes, my dearest boy. Until next time.

A Message from the Wind Tunnel Hi Michael. It’s that time of year again. That time you always hated when I was so, so very hot and sweaty and thus, always had the air conditioning turned down, the overhead fan turned to high and the small floor fan churning away all night long.