Sapientes Gladio's Fanfic Archive

100ships prompt table. I haven't posted this on here and that's my fault.

#01 – Adamant	#02 – Snow	#03 – Lion	#04 – Spark	#05 – Amber
#06 – Lust	#07 – Bronze	#08 – Mint	#09 – Arctic	#10 – Black
#11 – Moonlight	#12 – Sunlight	#13 – Blue	#14 – Navy	#15 – Tea
#16 – Neon	#17 – Twilight	#18 – Blush	#19 – Wine	#20 – Nude
#21 – Rhythm	#22 – Brown	#23 – Linen	#24 – Ember	#25 – Thistle
#26 – Cherry	#27 – Orange	#28 – Vanilla	#29 – Bone	#30 – Harlequin
#31 – Cadet	#32 – Chocolate	#33 – Peach	#34 – Lead	#35 – Cream
#36 – Sand	#37 – White	#38 – Crimson	#39 – Pink	#40 – Ocean
#41 – Dove	#42 – Platinum	#43 – Yellow	#44 – Earth	#45 – Midnight
#46 – Pearl	#47 – Frostbite	#48 – Pumpkin	#49 – Electric	#50 – Purple
#51 – Coral	#52 – Salt	#53 – Crow	#54 – Rainbow	#55 – Cloud
#56 – Flame	#57 – Red	#58 – Ash	#59 – Rose	#60 – Slate
#61 – Green	#62 – Ruby	#63 – Olive	#64 – Lipstick	#65 – Spice
#66 – Grey	#67 – Denim	#68 – Rust	#69 – Flirt	#70 – Sunset
#71 – Sable	#72 – Desert	#73 – Jade	#74 – Sage	#75 – Buff
#76 – Jet	#77 – Plum	#78 – Leather	#79 – Liberty	#80 – Metal
#81 – Sepia	#82 – Lavender	#83 – Scarlet	#84 – Crystal	#85 – Chestnut
#86 – Shadow	#87 – Lemon	#88 – Mystic	#89 – Silver	#90 – Coffee
#91 – Seafoam	#92 – Lime	#93 – Punch	#94 – Pickle	#95 – Champagne
#96 – Copper	#97 – Bittersweet	#98 – Honey	#99 – Candy	#100 – Gold

Originally posted on Tumblr in Summer of 2017, also posted on Dreamwidth & AO3.
The AO3 version is the superior version honestly.

Prompt 101: "I did it..."

Summary: They knew that doing business with the prestigious Nigerian family would lead doors for the future of their clan and preferably further bonds down the line. This union between the two families were to ensure a path to be paved for both their oldest sons.


Speaking of those two, the dojo seems to be a fitting arena for sparring. . .

The Shimada clan made their point to involve themselves with business of one of the strongest competitors in prosthetic-technology in the world, the Ogundimu family. They knew that doing business with the prestigious Nigerian family would lead doors for the future of their clan and preferably further bonds down the line. This union between the two families were to ensure a path to be paved for both their oldest sons. The fathers felt their sons were getting along quite well that they felt they should meet twice a year, during the spring or summer and during the winter months. Not only to better acquaint themselves and do business amicably in each other’s respective countries, but to also allow the two heirs to better familiarize themselves with one another. Speaking of those two, the dojo seems to be a particular arena for sparring. . .

What’s it gonna be
‘Cause I can’t pretend

“Come Hanzo, I was under the impression you were proficient in martial arts,” A reverberating accented voice taunted the man that was on the ground before him. “Unless your training shirks the importance of hand-to-hand combat?” Good natured taunting, provokes the oldest heir of the Shimada clan, to rise and ready his fighting stance once more.

His hair coming out of his ponytail, his knuckles slowly starting to bruise and bleed out from underneath his wrapped hands. A bloodied nose and a small bruise underneath his left eye blaring fiercely towards their opponent. Narrowing his eyes, he advanced with steadfast determination to bring down his sparring partner. Hanzo appreciates a challenge, especially if the opponent was a man who dedicated himself to hand-to-hand martial arts and was a national victor in his respective continent. However, to get better at his own art and training, he must train with the best, despite the man being out of his league in skill.

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Originally posted on Tumblr in Summer of 2017, also posted on Dreamwidth & AO3.
The AO3 version is the superior version honestly.

Prompt 44: "I'm going to keep you safe."

Summary: “You wanted to protect everyone you surrounded yourself with, to ensure they lived another day.” He answers his own question The medic is a humanitarian through and through and would sooner give his last even when he was in need. The man truly was an angel, moments like these had found ex-yakuza wondering to himself how in the hell did he wind up with someone like this?

“Doesn’t help that months after that hurricane, the Omnic Crisis came,” rubbing his eyes as means to bate sleep or the incoming tears away.

A storm is passing by the Spanish Coast at Gibraltar, a tumultuous one indeed. Lightning cracks, thunder blares loudly outside of the base; waves crashing harshly. If they were on one of those old-fashioned pirate ships, there’s a good chance that everyone would be shipwrecked. The likelihood of any survivors were slim.

Storms however did not bother Hanzo; quite the contrary, it soothes and delivers peace to his mind. The rain belting down on the windows relaxing and allows for him to fall asleep easily. Well, if the shaking lump beside him could sleep.

“I will never understand your fear of storms, unless you choose to share them with me,” Peering down from his tablet, he was reading a novel in his native language to try to lull himself to sleep. Sighing, he pulls back the covers to reveal a mass of dreads and a shirtless freedom fighter that just so happened to be a world-renowned DJ.

“Lúcio, it is going on one in the morning.” The archer felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips, out of the sincerity that the display before him was in a word, endearing.

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Originally posted on AO3 in 11 Jul 2017, also posted on Tumblr.

Summary: Privacy is a privilege they both value, considering how the other agents always surround them in one way or another-- some have venture guesses as to what’s going on between the two men. But as far as they are concerned, they’re all adults, what happens behind the privacy of their bedrooms is their business.

Well, that’s what Jesse thought until he felt Hanzo’s hand down his pants while they were enjoying movie night with the other agents.

Jesse remains unsure how he managed to wind himself in this situation.



Then again, in his defense and the type of life he has led thus far, he never knows how he winds up in these situations. Always blind-sided and never quite knowing how to properly adjust to the task, er, tasks at hand. At the very least, he remains in control in sharing who he devotes his time with. The ever pensive and quiet, Hanzo Shimada, that’s how the man appears at a glance anyway. They’ve been working alongside each other, usually in some of the same recon missions and having one another’s back out on the battlefield. In truth, Hanzo was rather withdrawn towards Jesse McCree at first, finding him obnoxious and hardly taking matters seriously. Wherein, he realizes he underestimates the Southwestern American from New Mexico. The man has led a life with his fair share of bloodshed on his hands to constantly remain solemn and detached, he is simply trying to live what’s left of his life to the fullest. Preferably behind a good cause with good intentions. With that, Hanzo’s initial distaste for the man continues to grow into camaraderie, one the gunslinger will comment on being “right as rain”. Unbeknownst to the others, there were some underlying tones of intimacy. Well, from the point of view of both men, that’s how it seems.


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(This is an excerpt of a project I sincerely hope I can pick back up. I started this personal FF7 project in 2016; also Idk when I'll ever have a real name for it. This name stuck and it is what it is LMFAO)

“You lot think bein’ in ShinRa would be easy? That lil graduation certificate don’t mean shit in the field of battle.” A burly man, with a scar across his eye and his neck walked down the line of candidates as he spoke with his country accent. His black hair neatly trimmed and combed back, with his beard also neatly taken cared of.


“This lot of twenty has a lot to prove, you may have attended ShinRa Military Academy, but do you truly have what it takes? Has everything you learned in that fucking classroom actually serve you in battle, or will you be one of the casualties scraped up and buried in the Planet?” He stopped in front of a young man with crimson eyes, short-cropped dark brown hair. Looking at him with his grey eye, he looked down the line to his right.


“A mission of this magnitude,” a voice that was deep in baritone, yet held sophistication with a light accent not heard from the area. “Was initially only reserved for us to handle however, achieving success for this can guarantee you a spot in the Turks, SOLDIER or in the army.” He was dressed in navy blue suit, his badge pinned to the left side of his collared white dress shirt. Ebony hair pulled back and placed in a low ponytail, and rectangular glasses only a skeptic would don. Through the lens, black eyes were seen scanning every possible candidate.

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This story was derived from the Final Fantasy VIII-verse of Twitter RP. I roleplayed Irvine Kinneas and a friend played Squall. Squall was intoxicated and on-break from whoever they were dating.

Blushing. A feature very few saw of the Ex-Commander Leonhart. Even before he took the role, it was a luxury to even attempt to embarrass the man. The auburn cowboy was searching Squall’s unflinching features for an opportunity. But what opportunity? To admit that what he said earlier about having a night with him, without regrets, without any alcohol hindering their advances, was true?

“Hey Squall?” The legendary sharpshooter began, running his fingers through the back of his head and resting them in a divot in the couch. Squall only glanced at him; his eyes briefly catching onto the action Irvine’s hand finished demonstrating. This was his cue to talk, at least while the florist still wanted his attention.

“I meant what I said earlier. About being intimate with you and not regretting it.” The cool air in the room, gave Irvine’s exposed skin goosebumps, which didn’t help him much. Swallowing hard, he made sure his currently indigo colored eyes were eye-to-eye with Squall’s greyish ones. “Also, sorry for kissing you twice.” Another blush gracing his olive complexion at his apology, considering the Ice Queen was not himself an hour or so prior to this moment.

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(I wrote this for my Creative Writing class in 2012. The only nonfiction work on this page thus far.)

“Do you see anything suspicious?” A boyish voice was heard over the walkie-talkie. In a synchronized notion, we glanced down at the communication device on the wooden porch we gathered around. Dustin, the brunette haired boy with freckles picked it up and spoke with conviction, “No, not yet. Everything is peaceful on this end.” He sent the message back. My blonde friend Brittany and I were sitting there, listening intently to not only the neighboring conversations around us, but our surroundings.

You would think that kids who were between the ages of nine and eleven would be interested in playing wholesome games, like Monopoly, Old Maid or even playing video games. However, we were on a mission to bring prosperity and tranquility to everyone in our sector. If it was a suicide mission, we would have sacrificed ourselves for the greater good of the town.

We were on the lookout for Big Becky.

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(Take note, this was written in 2012; I intend to revamp this and eventually post this to AO3)
“SHORYUKEN!”



A voice echoes throughout the forest, causing birds to fly off in frenzy. The man’s muscular pectorals with long blonde hair in red-tie tied in a loose ponytail, keeping the bangs from his face. The young man’s body glistening in glands of sweat from concentration during the attack. Closing his brown eyes, standing still for a moment, allowing the gentle breeze to rustle his tattering red kata as the cool wind rustles his hair. Ken Masters, a twenty year old Japanese American, has come a long way with his training under Gouken. The young Masters has no idea how long he will be under his sensei’s tutelage, nor does it trouble to him. His thirst for knowledge and desire to learn everything possible, thus making him a promising student. The young adult finds that there is always more to learn with each passing lesson.



Closing his eyes, the Japanese American readies himself for some stretches, popping his muscles back into place. Unguarded, he felt someone jump onto his back, with about the same weight he packages.



“So, how was training?” A young man with a similar appearance to Ken, made an attempt to tackle him. His sun-kissed complexion, short dark brown hair and white gi contrasts with the other Shotokan.



Ken took one of Ryu’s arms, attempting to throw him over his body. However, when executing the action, he didn’t expect his friend to grasp ahold of his other arm, pulling him down as well. Ken landed soundly on his back, creating a dent in the soil as Ryu fell on his rump.



“It was going fine until you showed up.” Ken teases as he remains lying on the ground. “I think I’m getting the hang of the Shoryuken, the form, control and all that,” he rolled onto his side, to see Ryu rubbing his bum to ease the discomfort.

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“P-P-Please . . . have mercy.”

The young man pleaded beneath the shadow which was looming towards him with a silhouette of a woman. Her left eye started to gleam a violet light, upon the victim quivering in the corner of the damp, street alley. Noticing his once peach colored skin tone was now bloodied into a purple-ish blue tint, tender enough to be skinned alive. His hair was in complete dishevel, his face was racked with abrasions and scars from the thrashing. His once bright, amber eyes were sullen, almost sunk into his face. A black eye was present on his right eye, while the left popped a blood vessel. The rest of his appearance consisted of ripped and ruffled clothing, pants discarded somewhere in his pursuit to hide from this woman and dirty, bare feet.

“I’ll . . . I’ll do anything, please! D-d-don’t cause any harm to me or my family!”

A dark smirk presents itself on her features, the idea of not harming the man or his family quirked her interests in a sadistic manner. Licking her pink appendage against her pale lips, she took a step closer to the male as he scooted back, curling into the fetal position.

“Have mercy? Don’t harm my family? My my, you assume that mercy and harm are within my vocabulary.” The Korean fighter advanced, kicking the man onto his back so she can see his face one more.

“Too bad I don’t care.” Laughing maniacally, Juri brought her leg up in an upsweeping motion, before it brutally was brought down, crushing all the bones left in his face. The Tae Kwon Do artist began to pivot her heel on the head, crunching the bones in the skull of the now slowly dying male. Taking another step forward, the violet eyed beauty was making sure he was dead and that no nerves from the brain were active. Kicking the body into the cemented wall, causing what was left of his brain to burst.

“He could’ve put up more of a fight.” She shrugged, feeling the sky turn grey, the clouds populate in number and the rain starting to trickle from above. It began light with small prattling, until it began to downpour, soaking her spider-inspired purple breastplate and her baggy trousers. Turning from the scene, she walked out of the alleyway and down the street.

(I began writing this the summer before my senior year in high school. I never got around to finishing it and I'm unsure if I ever will. It would have been great and I hope so.)

Aside from the images, he decided to skim everything else, because already he felt his time wasted and he was annoyed by the fact that the WWWC just did not know when to quit their advances and ideas of arresting him. Amongst the skimming, he realized that there was something true written down at the bottom and the evidence to back it up was (as much as he refused to admit it) undeniably truthful. It was a photograph of their new experiment in progress by Doctor Boskonovitch. The data shown was last week’s progress of how what effects were tested and to what would happen if the science involved with the animal’s stimuli would malfunction if a certain chemical was placed inside. For the most part, the animal itself was unharmed in the traumatic sense, but images of the mammal’s head consisted of careful dissection and the brain was being carefully picked about as well. Though the image displayed a lot, the information written beside it did not bring him justice nonetheless.

Displayed here is one of the future experiments done by Doctor Boskonovitch under the orders of Kazuya Mishima. This kangaroo is undergoing an experiment to see if there is a possible chance that animals can react in a human manner and if there is a way for them to defend themselves not only on animal instincts, but in a more sophisticated and human one as well. This project has estimated to be due around the time the King of Iron Fist Tournament 2 starts. Whether it will be participating with the other combatants that will remain ambiguous.

Kazuya was not even listening to Jun even though she has been talking all the while he was reviewing the document that posed a threat to him. He knew that if he asked Ms. Kazama where she got her sources from, she would resist, answering around the question, as all the WWWC agents do. Why make this even more difficult than necessary? When he looked up, he realized that infuriating mocha eyes were glaring back at him. Just when he thought she was about to slap him right when she brought her hand up, she slammed it down on the documents he had in his hands and said, “Did you even heard a word I said?” He looked at her blankly and not the least intimidated of her, even though as a man, he couldn’t help but find her a sight to behold. Usually with his luck to find a woman attractive was when they’re furious. What a better way to stir the fire by fueling it a bit more? He was a professional in being an asshole outside of all of his illegal misdeeds.

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