Charles has become quite obsessed with Aldis’ new wolf ears ever since his transformation. Very often, when the two of them have some time together, the little miqo’te will often be found scratching or playing around with Aldis’ ears as they spend time together. Aldis never really complains about it because he quite enjoys it and will often get revenge by doing so to his fiance’s own ears later on.
Commission (1 of 3) from - @tomowowowo
=whispers= -Go commission her! Been a returning person many times and I truly love her work-
I commissioned @boomchickfanfiction and @tomowowowo to write and draw some Hojo and Fuhito for @hojolove as a surprise. :) I could not be happier with the result!!
Look at this gorgeous artwork! LOOK AT IT.
As for the fic:
Fuhito was not an impatient man. Impatience, in fact, was something he could not tolerate. It led to rush, and rush led to wasted opportunities. Wasted opportunities like his frustrating expedition to the Shinra building recently. It was a good plan. A solid plan. But he should have known to question it.
His mind was never wholly patient when it came to Hojo.
Which was why he found himself sitting in a quiet, dark cafe above the plate, pretending to be a no one, and waiting. His invitation had been discreetly sent. His escape vehicle would be humming nearby, waiting for his retreat.
But he did not think Hojo would contact the company. Not rather than meet him. After all, he'd seen a glimpse of Fuhito's genius. Even though they had been stopped, it was not before the professor had seen the brilliance of Fuhito's work.
It was an impossibility that he would not be interested. And as for Fuhito himself...
He could still see that silver hair, like a banner. The green dragon falling before him. The brief flash of eyes he'd caught across the distance, promising his death...
He had to know more about Hojo's experiment. He had to understand how he had created something so perfect.
'You're a lot more clever than I'd thought.' Professor Hojo had said, with that assessing look behind his glasses. And he had seemed so eager to follow...
Fuhito had never dreamed of such a positive response. He'd meant it when he said he was honored by Hojo's attention. But to say he was honored had been a vast understatement. It said nothing of the sweat beading on his palms. The excitement of seeing Hojo in person. His hero. The one who had pushed humanity into something new. The one who had inspired Fuhito's own experiments.
The one whose ideas would help Fuhito wipe out mankind.
An image flashed through his mind, photographically burned there by his own brilliance. A green dragon, outmatched by a single human being. Fuhito felt his lips twitching at the corners, widening his smile, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. With the image of that perfect monster in human form in his mind... It made him wonder if his interventions were needed at all to end humanity.
He lifted his head when the door chimed. His smile deepened. He lowered his hand from his glasses so the man who just walked in would not see the fine wire tremble that had started in his fingers.
"Professor." He greeted as the man moved towards him.
There were few other patrons in the cafe. But every one of them glanced once to the door, and then turned their eyes away with a decisive motion. Fuhito watched the door behind Hojo, tearing his eyes off the professor's intense expression. But there were no Turks. No guards. No deadly flash of silver.
"I was surprised you were so bold as to send me a message," Hojo said, walking to the table where Fuhito sat unmoved. "But then, you were brazen enough to walk into Shinra."
"I had hoped we might continue our conversation," Fuhito said, his voice steady and flat. Hojo looked calm enough, but he still had that burning look in his eyes... Just like in the helicopter. The look of a man thinking ten steps ahead of the rest of the world.
“By all means,” Hojo said, waving a hand. “I’m eager to hear what you thought of my work. Now that you’ve seen it in action.”
Fuhito leaned forward, threading his fingers together and propping his elbows on the table. Hojo sat and leaned forward himself, mirroring Fuhito's pose. His expression was predatory. Fuhito felt the strange urge to shiver, but suppressed it.
“Nothing in the files I captured even hinted at that sort of strength.” Fuhito watched Hojo’s smirk widen. “The Soldier program is impressive, of course. But from the short observational period I had he is…”
“Unique,” Hojo finished with a nod and a smirk. “Your Ravens, while interesting enough, do not have such a champion I assume.”
“I had not considered trying until that afternoon,” Fuhito said dryly. “Your Soldiers—your creations—while impressive they seemed achievable. But he is on another level.”
A single slash to cleave a dragon in two. A swing of his sword to bring down a helicopter from a distance. Fuhito could still see in his memory. The helicopter’s blades spinning away into the air, even though the one who had sliced at them was so far away. The sudden rough drop of the chopper's body to the ruined highway.
Hojo, he remembered, had been laughing. Laughing all the way down. Even when Shears had dragged Fuhito away while the silver-haired Soldier approached.
“Yes,” Hojo said with an almost mild tone. “He is at once my greatest creation, and greatest disappointment.”
“You hold high standards if you consider that a disappointment.” Fuhito said, thinking of his creations—of the dead bodies on the floor of his lab that failed to revive.
“His failure is that he is unique.” Hojo tisked. “One might even call him unreplicatable. But, of course, it would not be science if it could not be replicated. The Soldiers are an attempt to prove the theory that Sephiroth represents. If I can re-create him, then it is not simple luck, or any foolish mystical force, but a mark of my sheer genius. However thus far the results have been uninspiring. At best. Predominantly, I believe, because of the same problem you appear to have encountered.”
“Are you referring to Shears?” Fuhito asked, arching an eyebrow. Oh it had been embarrassing, listening to the ex-Turk object to the methods of a genius scientist like Hojo.
“The pilot,” Hojo said blankly, waving away the name like an insect. “You would do well to remove him from the equation before continuing your work.”
“He is an ally to the cause.” Fuhito tilted his head so he could watch Hojo over the rims of his glasses.
“An ally?” Hojo sneered—a motion that curled his lip upwards enough to show a sharp curve of teeth. Fuhito’s eyes flicked to the expression before he forced them back up to Hojo’s eyes. From the way Hojo’s gaze narrowed behind his glasses, Fuhito felt sure his desire had been noted.
“I once had a Turk,” Hojo continued with a shrug. “He should have been loyal only to me. But in the end, I was forced to put him down like a dog. They are too sentimental towards their own kind. Whatever they consider that to be.”
Fuhito frowned to himself, thinking of the looks Shears gave Elfe. He wondered if he could eliminate the fighter without losing their financial backing…
“I will take it under advisement.” He said, archly, and watched the satisfied look play over Hojo’s face.
“Of course,” The man replied, in a voice that said he highly doubted it.
“Professor. If you would still like to see my work, the offer stands.” Fuhito extended a hand, gesturing broadly towards the back door. “You do not appear to have been followed. It would be simple for us to visit my labs.”
“I think,” Hojo said, “that you are clever enough to understand why that will not happen. I have my own project to think of.”
“Not just Soldier, I assume.” Fuhito murmured, eyes narrowing. “Our cause is great, professor. And our facilities and experiments are unmatched.”
“And yet your results, as compared to mine, are so blatantly sub par.” Hojo chuckled through the words, lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. His sleeve only partially obscured his cruel smile.
“My Ravens never fail to regenerate so long as any piece of them remains.” Fuhito argued, but even as he defended his project, he felt like a student, backing up a thesis to a man who had just proved something twice as grand.
“And yet,” Hojo leaned forward, slowly, and rose to his feet. “For every time they fall and revive, Sephiroth never wavers.”
“I won’t force you, professor.” Fuhito spread his hands, giving a laugh that escaped in a breath between his parted lips. “But it is a pity. Someone as genius as you, beholden to a mere electric company to keep hold of your greatest accomplishment.”
Hojo’s wicked smile spread as he stood across the small table. Then he rounded it in measured, easy steps, and reached out. Fuhito stayed relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his chin lifted proudly.
“A wager,” Hojo murmured, his eyes bright and too-clever behind his glasses. “One great mind to another.”
“What would you bet?” Fuhito asked, arching a defiant eyebrow.
Hojo hooked a finger through the belt fastening Fuhito’s collar closed. Fuhito could feel his heart hammering. So close. He was so close to him.
“That like our projects,” Hojo whispered. “You will fail, and falter. And you may revive, but in the end, obliteration will come.”
Fuhito repressed a shiver. Clenched his fists in his own lap. Held Hojo’s eye contact, and saw no remorse or pity or discomfort there, despite the topic.
“And that I will persist,” Hojo’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “Through any means necessary.”
“If that is not the case?” Fuhito asked, forcing his voice steady despite what that whisper did to the less intelligent pieces of him.
“Then find me in the final days of humanity, as you seek to wipe out the world.” Hojo said with a wicked laugh, tugging against Fuhito’s collar. “And I will see your work.”
“Until humanity’s final days then, professor,” Fuhito said with complete confidence. Shinra could not stop his Ravens, no matter how many Turks they flung in his way.
“I doubt,” Hojo whispered, leaning in too close, too close, Fuhito could feel the heat of him. “That we will ever meet again.”
For just a moment, Fuhito thought Hojo was going to kiss him. His body heat was startling. Somehow, he'd expected the man to be physically cold. He wondered whether his lips would be so hot. Then the brilliant, cruel man dropped his hold on Fuhito’s shirt. He leaned back, a look of satisfaction in his eyes, and turned to walk away without so much as a wave of farewell.
Fuhito watched him walk out of the coffee shop, hunched, but controlled. Unbidden, his mind matched the precision he saw in Hojo’s neat footsteps to the swing of a sword that cleaved a dragon in two. And seeing that connection, he could not help but wonder if he had taken on a wager he could not win. He could not bring himself to regret it.
