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Prompts
[Ice-Cold Lemonade] | ["Does anyone check for a pulse anymore? No?"] | [Starless Skies] | [Resting in a Cool Patch of Shade on a Warm and Sunny Day]
Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, Han Suyeong+/Kim Dokja+/Yu Junghyeok, Lemonade of War
[Set vaguely in post-canon / No Apocalypse AU.]
author's choice, any (+/ any), ice-cold lemonade
Kim Dokja watches as Han Suyeong unwraps yet another lemon candy. He's starting to think she has no self-control — if she could hear this thought, no doubt she would do something egregious again to the character in her novel that she based on him — when they both feel a burning stare from the direction of the drink stalls nearby.
"Hey, did you use the kitchen or something? Why is that prick so pissy today?" Han Suyeong doesn't even bother whispering, so 'that prick' — less accurately but more commonly called Yu Junghyeok — uses the special, hateful look reserved just for her. "I thought you promised to not make anything explode again."
Something about her expression disturbs Kim Dokja. "… You bet that I would, didn't you." She coughs into her fist. "I am not a child."
"Yeah, and you were — what, 28?— when you burned the dumplings you were boiling? I'm actually really surprised you're still alive, but I guess you have someone who wouldn't let you die even if you wanted to." She doesn't say it, but Kim Dokja gets the impression that she's not just talking about Yu Junghyeok, who's stopped committing war crimes with his glare and is instead approaching rapidly. Wait, approaching?
It's only after Kim Dokja starts shuffling away and Han Suyeong screeches expletives in a meager attempt to ward the evil away that they notice Yu Junghyeok is wielding cups, rather than swords.
With a mocking smile, Kim Dokja coos, "Aw, our Junghyeok-a just wants to ensure we're hydrated~"
The regressor's eyebrow twitches, but he still holds out the cups. Turns out he bought some lemonade with ice. Even bastards hide hearts of gold, or something. "Don't die in a public space."
"Pssh, you think this slippery fool would do anything where we could stop him? Someone here needs to improve their pattern-recognition," Han Suyeong cackles, but snatches the lemonade before Yu Junghyeok can retract his tolerate attitude and crumple her like a soda can in broad daylight. Just as quick, she downs the whole cup, ice included. Kim Dokja manages to count to three before she lets out a pathetic whine and clutches her head like a scorned toddler. "Fuckin' brain freeze!"
"Seems like two people here need to work on pattern recognition." He finally grabs the lemonade intended for himself, recoiling at the first sip. "Suyeong, have all those lemon candies burned away your taste buds?" It's so sour, Kim Dokja's pretty sure it goes beyond what a normal lemon can do. A level of sourness that not even a mother lemon could love.
The moment Yu Junghyeok smirks, Kim Dokja reflexively kicks him straight in the knee. Not that it does anything to that monster. "Don't even pretend you meant to give this one to Han Suyeong, or that the stall ran out of sugar. This is a targeted attack, a declaration of war," he hisses as he shoves the cup back into Yu Junghyeok's still-open hands. He doesn't get a reply, but he's pretty sure Han Suyeong will agree that no reply is definitely proof that Yu Junghyeok is a heartless bastard through and through.
Though, he is thirsty, and bodily needs are more important than war… "Oh no, I think I might faint," Kim Dokja airily claims suddenly, back of his hand to his forehead. "I could hurt myself like this…" Yu Junghyeok rolls his eyes hard enough to cause a tectonic event, yet still pulls out a normal, probably-safe water bottle from somewhere and tosses it in Kim Dokja's direction.
"Ew, I'm gonna retch all over your shoes. You are far too fucking old to be acting dainty!" Han Suyeong recovers from the brain freeze just to make fun of him.
"You are literally two years younger."
"But I'm not tryna manipulate men with this gorgeous face, am I? Hey, don't you dare grimace at me! Not everyone can compare to your pookiebear Junghyeok, okay?!"
Kim Dokja could feel his ears bleeding. "I think that might be the worst thing you've ever said."
[Ice-Cold Lemonade] | ["Does anyone check for a pulse anymore? No?"] | [Starless Skies] | [Resting in a Cool Patch of Shade on a Warm and Sunny Day]
Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, Han Suyeong+/Kim Dokja+/Yu Junghyeok, Lemonade of War
[Set vaguely in post-canon / No Apocalypse AU.]
author's choice, any (+/ any), ice-cold lemonade
Kim Dokja watches as Han Suyeong unwraps yet another lemon candy. He's starting to think she has no self-control — if she could hear this thought, no doubt she would do something egregious again to the character in her novel that she based on him — when they both feel a burning stare from the direction of the drink stalls nearby.
"Hey, did you use the kitchen or something? Why is that prick so pissy today?" Han Suyeong doesn't even bother whispering, so 'that prick' — less accurately but more commonly called Yu Junghyeok — uses the special, hateful look reserved just for her. "I thought you promised to not make anything explode again."
Something about her expression disturbs Kim Dokja. "… You bet that I would, didn't you." She coughs into her fist. "I am not a child."
"Yeah, and you were — what, 28?— when you burned the dumplings you were boiling? I'm actually really surprised you're still alive, but I guess you have someone who wouldn't let you die even if you wanted to." She doesn't say it, but Kim Dokja gets the impression that she's not just talking about Yu Junghyeok, who's stopped committing war crimes with his glare and is instead approaching rapidly. Wait, approaching?
It's only after Kim Dokja starts shuffling away and Han Suyeong screeches expletives in a meager attempt to ward the evil away that they notice Yu Junghyeok is wielding cups, rather than swords.
With a mocking smile, Kim Dokja coos, "Aw, our Junghyeok-a just wants to ensure we're hydrated~"
The regressor's eyebrow twitches, but he still holds out the cups. Turns out he bought some lemonade with ice. Even bastards hide hearts of gold, or something. "Don't die in a public space."
"Pssh, you think this slippery fool would do anything where we could stop him? Someone here needs to improve their pattern-recognition," Han Suyeong cackles, but snatches the lemonade before Yu Junghyeok can retract his tolerate attitude and crumple her like a soda can in broad daylight. Just as quick, she downs the whole cup, ice included. Kim Dokja manages to count to three before she lets out a pathetic whine and clutches her head like a scorned toddler. "Fuckin' brain freeze!"
"Seems like two people here need to work on pattern recognition." He finally grabs the lemonade intended for himself, recoiling at the first sip. "Suyeong, have all those lemon candies burned away your taste buds?" It's so sour, Kim Dokja's pretty sure it goes beyond what a normal lemon can do. A level of sourness that not even a mother lemon could love.
The moment Yu Junghyeok smirks, Kim Dokja reflexively kicks him straight in the knee. Not that it does anything to that monster. "Don't even pretend you meant to give this one to Han Suyeong, or that the stall ran out of sugar. This is a targeted attack, a declaration of war," he hisses as he shoves the cup back into Yu Junghyeok's still-open hands. He doesn't get a reply, but he's pretty sure Han Suyeong will agree that no reply is definitely proof that Yu Junghyeok is a heartless bastard through and through.
Though, he is thirsty, and bodily needs are more important than war… "Oh no, I think I might faint," Kim Dokja airily claims suddenly, back of his hand to his forehead. "I could hurt myself like this…" Yu Junghyeok rolls his eyes hard enough to cause a tectonic event, yet still pulls out a normal, probably-safe water bottle from somewhere and tosses it in Kim Dokja's direction.
"Ew, I'm gonna retch all over your shoes. You are far too fucking old to be acting dainty!" Han Suyeong recovers from the brain freeze just to make fun of him.
"You are literally two years younger."
"But I'm not tryna manipulate men with this gorgeous face, am I? Hey, don't you dare grimace at me! Not everyone can compare to your pookiebear Junghyeok, okay?!"
Kim Dokja could feel his ears bleeding. "I think that might be the worst thing you've ever said."
Persona 5 Royal, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira | Joker, Sometimes You Have to See for Yourself
author's choice, any +/ any, "Does anyone check for a pulse anymore? No?"
"Akechi?" Akira mutters to himself as he catches a glimpse of someone through the train window. Of course, it would be ridiculous for Akechi of all people to be here, right? He shouldn't even be alive… But, haven't a lot weirder things happened? They fought gods and witnessed the impossible made true, they themselves altered reality by fighting literal mental demons with little more than fake guns and brain magic! And… and if anyone would defy death even after all of that's over, it would be Akechi.
(The others would say it'd be Akira himself, but he knows that's not true. Akira has never defied death, so much as sidestepped it. He doesn't have the unwavering determination needed, just infinite chances.)
Though, for as much as Akira wishes to chase after that shadow, the train he's on has already starting moving. Outside of the Metaverse, jumping through windows just doesn't have the same appeal. Well, it might also jeopardise his attempt to not be caught by any remaining reporters or lackeys of their various real-world enemies. Trying to not hope for anything, he frantically texts Akechi through the number he probably stopped using by now.
When he gets no immediate response, Akira slumps miserably in his seat. No, of course Akechi wouldn't have anything to say even if he was available through this line.
Still, he almost fumbles his phone 10 minutes later when it buzzes.
Nothing Akira sends after that gets delivered. And yet, he can't tamp down the giddy smile that threatens to spill into delirious laughter.
author's choice, any +/ any, "Does anyone check for a pulse anymore? No?"
"Akechi?" Akira mutters to himself as he catches a glimpse of someone through the train window. Of course, it would be ridiculous for Akechi of all people to be here, right? He shouldn't even be alive… But, haven't a lot weirder things happened? They fought gods and witnessed the impossible made true, they themselves altered reality by fighting literal mental demons with little more than fake guns and brain magic! And… and if anyone would defy death even after all of that's over, it would be Akechi.
(The others would say it'd be Akira himself, but he knows that's not true. Akira has never defied death, so much as sidestepped it. He doesn't have the unwavering determination needed, just infinite chances.)
Though, for as much as Akira wishes to chase after that shadow, the train he's on has already starting moving. Outside of the Metaverse, jumping through windows just doesn't have the same appeal. Well, it might also jeopardise his attempt to not be caught by any remaining reporters or lackeys of their various real-world enemies. Trying to not hope for anything, he frantically texts Akechi through the number he probably stopped using by now.
Monday, 10:03
Akira: was that you at the train station just then
please
When he gets no immediate response, Akira slumps miserably in his seat. No, of course Akechi wouldn't have anything to say even if he was available through this line.
Still, he almost fumbles his phone 10 minutes later when it buzzes.
Monday, 10:13
Goro: Can you refrain from being so pathetic this early on a Monday?
Akira: i
oh my god
akechi????
you wake up at 5 evryday, 10 is NOT early for you
wait u didn't answer my q was that you or not
Goro: I don't have a reason to wake up so early anymore.
Yes, Kurusu, I use trains like every other person living in Tokyo, even when I should be dead.
It's… odd, seeing you so alone.
Nevermind.
I'm getting rid of this phone now. It's a liability.
Akira: you can't just dip and not tell me how to keep contact
Goro: I can, and I will. Something tells me you would manage to hound me in spite of that if you so desired to, Joker.
Oh, and does anyone check for a pulse anymore? No? Your little crew did a terrible job at ensuring I would never beat the odds.
Nothing Akira sends after that gets delivered. And yet, he can't tamp down the giddy smile that threatens to spill into delirious laughter.
The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, Link, Without Knowing Why
Any, any, starless skies
Gazing over the quiet expanse of the night from where he sits up in a Sheikah Tower with his legs hanging over the edge, Link's steady breaths fog up the air before him. In such darkness, when the moon is waning and barely peaking around dense clouds, there is little to see beyond the everpresent Sheikah glow, and far-off town torches. Yet, it is still enough that the stars are fainter than he remembers in those sparce memories of a hundred years ago. Or, maybe the shine has dulled under the pressure that those selfsame years bear down on him with.
One hundred years of leaving Zelda to shoulder Ganon's malice, one hundred years of as many peoples living without a guiding hope, one hundred years in which Link hardly existed at all and yet still maintained the responsibility of his namesake.
The wonder of distant stars and galaxies fades into the recesses of his mind in the face of all-encompassing danger. In some way, a sky bereft of stars, empty of light and life, is morbidly comforting. Even if Link fails, they'll be no worse off than that cold and endless void, lacking in anything and everything.
When day breaks, the lone star called the Sun will resume the journey to restore the balance of time, and all the same, the lone hero of Courage will cleave through the darkness.
Link flops onto his back, pulling out his Sheikah slate to flip through his pictures. Delicious recipes and rare plants, friendly people and broken weapons, beautiful sunsets and damp caves, quiet locales and roaring waterfalls, there's not a moment preserved of that childhood he wishes he could return to. Innocent youth may cling to his body, as if a ghost of himself, but the struggles he'd thought only adults had rip and tear at his skin.
On a night like this, when the cold burns and loneliness is embroidered onto the fabric of reality, the only stars in the sky appear as twisting forms in the distance, shimmering draconic figures with a scale for every constellation that shies away from Link's eyes.
Any, any, starless skies
Gazing over the quiet expanse of the night from where he sits up in a Sheikah Tower with his legs hanging over the edge, Link's steady breaths fog up the air before him. In such darkness, when the moon is waning and barely peaking around dense clouds, there is little to see beyond the everpresent Sheikah glow, and far-off town torches. Yet, it is still enough that the stars are fainter than he remembers in those sparce memories of a hundred years ago. Or, maybe the shine has dulled under the pressure that those selfsame years bear down on him with.
One hundred years of leaving Zelda to shoulder Ganon's malice, one hundred years of as many peoples living without a guiding hope, one hundred years in which Link hardly existed at all and yet still maintained the responsibility of his namesake.
The wonder of distant stars and galaxies fades into the recesses of his mind in the face of all-encompassing danger. In some way, a sky bereft of stars, empty of light and life, is morbidly comforting. Even if Link fails, they'll be no worse off than that cold and endless void, lacking in anything and everything.
When day breaks, the lone star called the Sun will resume the journey to restore the balance of time, and all the same, the lone hero of Courage will cleave through the darkness.
Link flops onto his back, pulling out his Sheikah slate to flip through his pictures. Delicious recipes and rare plants, friendly people and broken weapons, beautiful sunsets and damp caves, quiet locales and roaring waterfalls, there's not a moment preserved of that childhood he wishes he could return to. Innocent youth may cling to his body, as if a ghost of himself, but the struggles he'd thought only adults had rip and tear at his skin.
On a night like this, when the cold burns and loneliness is embroidered onto the fabric of reality, the only stars in the sky appear as twisting forms in the distance, shimmering draconic figures with a scale for every constellation that shies away from Link's eyes.
Final Fantasy XIV, G'raha Tia + Meteor Survivor | Warrior of Light, In Moments of Quiet
author's choice, any (+/ any), resting in a cool patch of shade on a warm and sunny day
Standing in the gentle shade of a lightly swaying tree, Meteor closes his eyes, content to bask in that wind which brings the scent of summer. Just barely out of reach, on a patch of short grasses, G'raha is splayed out, enjoying the full heat of the sun. As if in invitation, his tail flicks at Meteor's shoes.
"I don't like being cooked when I ought be relaxing." Meteor drops into a cross-legged sit, still hiding in the shadows.
"For shame. We've been gifted a beautiful day and you'd squander the spoils for the dreary pockets of stygian cover." Devoid of malice, G'raha chuckles airily. His fidgeting is audible, grass crinkling as he runs his hands through the dirt.
Meteor flicks open his eyes just as G'raha sits upright to stretch while he yawns. "Too beautiful a day to ignore, not beautiful enough to stay awake?"
G'raha just groans and falls back into the grass. "It's a wonder nobody knows how much of a jokester you are. A wordsmith worthy of being sung of by wandering minstrels purely by merit of intellect."
Smiling with naught more than warm air on his skin, Meteor lightly nudges at G'raha's shoes with his own. "They know plenty well, but 'Saviour of the Universe' has a better ring to it than 'Amusing Guy'".
"I suppose." G'raha pauses to breathe in the smell of grass. "You're far more approachable than I would have previously speculated. Even after everything, you're still…"
"Weird?" Shuffling closer and into the sunlight, Meteor leans over G'raha. "Just some guy?"
He's silent for a moment, but G'raha finally murmurs, "I was intending to say 'grounded', or 'yourself', but you do qualify for the lofty title of Weirdest Person In Eorzea."
"Is there a reward for my achievement?"
The laugh that shakes G'raha's body is quieter than the breeze. "What do you desire for it?"
"Dunno, maybe a bowl of high-quality soup." Meteor shakes his head as a stronger wind blows through.
"Indeed, sometimes simplicity is good." The far-away look on G'raha's face is obscured by the bright light shining his way, but Meteor still feels compelled to look away.
author's choice, any (+/ any), resting in a cool patch of shade on a warm and sunny day
Standing in the gentle shade of a lightly swaying tree, Meteor closes his eyes, content to bask in that wind which brings the scent of summer. Just barely out of reach, on a patch of short grasses, G'raha is splayed out, enjoying the full heat of the sun. As if in invitation, his tail flicks at Meteor's shoes.
"I don't like being cooked when I ought be relaxing." Meteor drops into a cross-legged sit, still hiding in the shadows.
"For shame. We've been gifted a beautiful day and you'd squander the spoils for the dreary pockets of stygian cover." Devoid of malice, G'raha chuckles airily. His fidgeting is audible, grass crinkling as he runs his hands through the dirt.
Meteor flicks open his eyes just as G'raha sits upright to stretch while he yawns. "Too beautiful a day to ignore, not beautiful enough to stay awake?"
G'raha just groans and falls back into the grass. "It's a wonder nobody knows how much of a jokester you are. A wordsmith worthy of being sung of by wandering minstrels purely by merit of intellect."
Smiling with naught more than warm air on his skin, Meteor lightly nudges at G'raha's shoes with his own. "They know plenty well, but 'Saviour of the Universe' has a better ring to it than 'Amusing Guy'".
"I suppose." G'raha pauses to breathe in the smell of grass. "You're far more approachable than I would have previously speculated. Even after everything, you're still…"
"Weird?" Shuffling closer and into the sunlight, Meteor leans over G'raha. "Just some guy?"
He's silent for a moment, but G'raha finally murmurs, "I was intending to say 'grounded', or 'yourself', but you do qualify for the lofty title of Weirdest Person In Eorzea."
"Is there a reward for my achievement?"
The laugh that shakes G'raha's body is quieter than the breeze. "What do you desire for it?"
"Dunno, maybe a bowl of high-quality soup." Meteor shakes his head as a stronger wind blows through.
"Indeed, sometimes simplicity is good." The far-away look on G'raha's face is obscured by the bright light shining his way, but Meteor still feels compelled to look away.
- Emote: /scheme
- Orchestrion Roll: Daze — Jin, MARiA
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