#{he's not wearing his belt/sash today. it's his day off.}

[defender-of-jouvente]

{bonus Sharpie Quest alternate ending.}

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Let's Get Down Tonight

The Waves Are Rising and Rising Extra Scene #6

NieYao are obsessed with each other again.......who could have foreseen this happening........do they also accidentally push painful buttons? In MY NieYao? It's exactly as likely as you think.

--//--

Nie Mingjue climbs to his feet with a low groan, stretching out his back and arms, and flexing his hand a few times. He has spent the whole afternoon stuck in meetings - either with the few Nie elders still sensate enough to contribute to sect politics, or with minor sect leaders and merchants. Half way through the afternoon he was informed by Nie Zonghui that Lianfang-zun had arrived and been shown to his usual guest bedroom, and it had been agony knowing that it would be hours before he would be able to leave and seek him out for a proper hello. When the meetings were finished, he’d opted to stay at his desk in Blade Hall for a little while longer and finish off a few bits of paperwork, so that when he was done he would really truly be done, and be able to devote all of his attention to thoroughly greeting his partner.

He stacks up the papers and, as he leaves the hall, passes them to a servant to be taken to his formal study. A flicker of excitement builds inside of him as he strides through the halls of Bujing Shi, trying to keep down the spring in his step as his mind runs A-Yao, A-Yao, A-Yao on repeat. He will be staying for three full days this time, and Nie Mingjue has every intention of making the most of them.

Lan Xichen will be arriving tomorrow, a thought that sends a fresh burst of happiness through his heart. He’d deliberately opted to arrive a day later than Jin Guangyao, encouraging the other two of them to spend time together alone; compared to what each of them have with Lan Xichen, their relationship is still fresh and fledgeling, still trying to figure itself out, and Nie Mingjue is immensely grateful that their mutual partner is very understanding of that.

Nie Mingjue slides open the door to his rooms, and steps inside. He stops short in his shock.

In front of him stands Meng Yao. 

Meng-fushi, specifically, his glossy hair pulled back in Nie braids denoting his rank, and his hands smoothing down his pale purple robes, accented with brown stripes and a subtle geometric pattern that marks them as Nie, as he twists to admire them in Nie Mingjue’s mirror. Meng-fushi had cinched the thick robes tight around his waist with a brown leather belt, but he’d taken that with him when he’d left Qinghe, so today Jin Guangyao has made do with just a light sash.

Jin Guangyao spots Nie Mingjue’s reflection in the mirror and spins around fast enough to make the layers of his robes flare out around him. He blinks owlishly and seems to actually be a little embarrassed - which is ridiculous, because the robes do technically still belong to him. 

The far, far more embarrassing thing is that Nie Mingjue still has them, years later. 

In his own bedroom.

Well, shit.

They stare at each other in silence for several moments. Nie Mingjue feels his ears burn in mortification. He finally finds the presence of mind to slide the door closed behind him, clearing his throat, and that seems to bring Jin Guangyao to his senses too. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t trying to snoop through your things, I was…” he huffs a laugh, then bites his lip on an awkward grin, looking up at Nie Mingjue through his eyelashes, “I thought perhaps I could surprise you by wearing one of your overrobes - you always like it when I wear them - so I was looking through your clothes, and I found… these.”

Despite his personal embarrassment, Nie Mingjue can’t help returning the grin. “I’m not surprised they still fit you. One of these days you’ll stay still for long enough to actually put on a few pounds.”

Jin Guangyao rolls his eyes at the well-trodden ground of that particular teasing, then tilts his head, fiddling a little with the brown trim on his close-cut sleeves. “Mingjue… why do you still have them?”

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue’s grin turns sheepish, “well, after you left Qinghe-”

He can see in the way that Meng Yao’s mouth immediately pinches that he wants to give a snappish retort to that, but he stays silent instead, and what is that if not progress? They’ve had their share of discussions about that day, and all of them have been deeply unpleasant. Nie Mingjue walks over to Jin Guangyao as he speaks, suddenly aching to touch him, show him that’s grateful for the restraint. 

“-I went through your room to check for any paperwork or sect business. Most of your stuff I left alone for Huaisang to pack up - I assumed you would go on and try your luck in Lanling, and we’d be able to pass it all on to you once you’d settled - but then I found those robes, and…”

He reaches Jin Guangyao and stretches out his arm to rest a hand on the back of his neck, on the warm skin under the thick curtain of his hair. Jin Guangyao leans into his touch and leans against his chest, looping an arm around his waist and looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Well, uh. I couldn’t quite bring myself to get rid of them. They were in the Nie style, after all, so I figured you wouldn’t wear them again anyway.”

Jin Guangyao’s open curious expression slides into a sly smile. He walks his fingertips up Nie Mingjue’s chest teasingly. “Ohhh, gege,” he coos, “did big powerful Chifeng-zun drop to his knees and weep over this humble little one’s robes?”

Nie Mingjue thinks that he keeps his reaction quite well restrained, but apparently just the tiniest twitch of his mouth and flicker of his eyes is sufficient to clue Jin Guangyao into his thoughts nowadays.

“Oh! You did?” Jin Guangyao gasps, looking far more delighted than he has any right to be. Unable to meet his eyes and smug little grin, Nie Mingjue ducks his head and delivers a careful bite to the side of his partner’s neck in retaliation.

“Hey, ow, stop that - Mingjue!” Jin Guangyao brings up a hand to shove at his face, “I think it’s sweet. Don’t be crabby.” 

Nie Mingjue presses an apology kiss over the spot he bit, then rubs the skin with his moustache until Jin Guangyao squirms around in his arms, trying to limit his access. This leaves them pressed front-to-back, standing in front of the mirror. Nie Mingjue rests his chin on top of Jin Guangyao’s head as they both take a moment to watch their reflections. 

They look good together. Particularly good, if Nie Mingjue says so himself.

Jin Guangyao hums thoughtfully, resting his arms on top of where Nie Mingjue’s are wrapped around his middle and leaning back against his chest. “Meng Yao,” he murmurs as he stares at his own slightly distorted face in the mirror. 

He goes quiet, and something about that silence feels melancholic, so Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to the top of Jin Guangyao’s head, and aims for levity.

“You know, you were very cute back then, but I much prefer you now.”

Jin Guangyao sucks in a sharp little breath. “Really?” He asks, and although his tone is casual, there’s tightness in his voice that indicates some kind of pain. 

“Definitely,” Nie Mingjue says. He kisses Jin Guangyao’s head again for good measure.

They stand there together for a few more moments, Nie Mingjue content to wait as Jin Guangyao breathes through whatever emotion has abruptly arisen inside of him, rocking him a little, absently, from side to side, feeling the tension slowly ebb out of his body. When he is calm again, he turns in the circle of Nie Mingjue’s arms, and smirks up at him, head tilted mischievously.

“Maybe I can keep these robes on for tonight,” he murmurs, gripping Nie Mingjue’s lapels as he stands up on his toes. “Perhaps we could… play around a little. What do you think?”

Nie Mingjue blinks, pulse racing. Their relationship is still quite new, and they’ve never tried anything like this before. He’s never had any particular inclination to pretend to be someone besides himself, but… there’s a lot he would do for that smirk. And who knows, maybe it would be fun.

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue leans down so he’s speaking against Jin Guangyao’s lips, “what did you have in mind?”

–//–

Meng Yao steps into the room, his slight form moving as lightly as a courtesan, as gracefully as a dancer, making his way towards Nie-zongzhu’s desk. It’s late, and he’s finally finished the last of his paperwork, and he needs to leave it for his master to look over. If he’s quick, he can set it down in Nie-zongzhu’s rooms and slip back out again before the imposing man returns from the training grounds. 

He bends to adjust the paper on the low table, making certain it is set straight - Nie-zongzhu is very particular and so easy to anger, so Meng Yao always does his best to make everything perfect - before standing back up and turning towards the door.

“Oh!” Meng Yao gasps, hands flying to his mouth.

In the doorway stands Nie Mingjue, silhouetted in the moonlight, nothing but a huge mountain of a man. Meng Yao cannot see his expression, so he dips into a low apologetic bow, just in case.

“Zongzhu! This one is terribly sorry for being in your rooms at such an hour, I just wished to drop off the day’s reports so that you could look them over first thing tomorrow morning. I will take my leave, and my deepest apologies for inconveniencing you.”

Nie Mingjue says nothing, shadowed face inscrutable. 

Meng Yao gulps.

He straightens up from his bow and makes his way to the door, expecting Nie Mingjue to step aside, but even as he approaches and gets close, the man does not move. Meng Yao stops a few paces away, terrified to meet his eyes, and yet at the same time, desperate to glean some understanding as to what he’s thinking. He flicks his gaze up; up, up, over the huge rippling muscles of his chest, to his severe face, hard eyes, and mouth set in a fierce frown. Meng Yao’s heart pounds. 

“Zongzhu?” He whispers.

Nie Mingjue reaches behind himself and slides the door closed.

Meng Yao’s pounding heart leaps into his throat.

“It’s late,” Nie Mingjue rumbles. “If you are seen leaving my quarters at such an hour, there will be gossip,” in the gloom, Meng Yao can just about make out Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows lowering, “I do not like gossip.”

“Yes, zongzhu,” Meng Yao says. “Of course. What- what does zongzhu suggest this one does?”

“Meng-fushi will stay in my rooms tonight.”

Meng Yao glances over his shoulder towards the day bed, sat at the end of Nie-zongzhu’s office area. It looks comfortable enough. He can certainly manage it for one night. “Nie-zongzhu is very wise, this one will-”

He turns back and cuts himself off with a squeak; Nie Mingjue has closed the gap between them, and the end of Meng Yao’s nose is nearly touching Chifeng-zun’s mighty chest. Meng Yao stumbles backwards, but each step back he takes is matched by one of Nie Mingjue’s huge strides, chasing him until Meng Yao feels his back hit the wall. Meng Yao gulps again, his heart beating so hard he feels like it might burst out of his ribcage. 

“Nie-zongzhu?” Meng Yao whimpers, blinking up at his master with his huge, doelike eyes.

Nie Mingjue does not respond. He plants one huge hand against the wall on one side of Meng Yao’s head, and the other on the other side, caging him in with his arms. Slowly he leans in, so the rock-solid form of his huge body presses against Meng Yao’s tiny form, and Meng Yao sucks in a gasp as he feels the long line of Nie Mingjue’s hard cock press against his stomach.

“Chifeng-zun…” Meng Yao whispers, flattening himself against the wall, eyes darting around, looking for escape. “Please, I…”

“Okay,” Nie Mingjue says, exasperated, “explain to me - what about you being scared of me is supposed to be sexy?”

Jin Guangyao sighs, dropping his head back against the wall, “Some people like it.”

Nie Mingjue pushes away off the wall, stepping back, “It just feels weird to me, if I’m honest. I don’t think it’s my thing.”

“Fine, fine,” Jin Guangyao concedes, then rubs the centre of his forehead wearily, “it was kind of weird. Let’s try something else.”

–//–

Meng Yao sashays into the room, his lithe form moving as smoothly as a courtesan, as artfully as a dancer, making his way towards Nie-zongzhu’s desk. It is late, and Nie Mingjue is still working, his muscular form curled over his paperwork, his teeth worrying at his plump bottom lip as he concentrates.

Meng Yao closes the door behind him, the sound low but still enough to alert Nie Mingjue’s superior cultivator senses. He looks up, and his dark, sensual gaze sends heat shooting through Meng Yao’s body. 

“Nie-zongzhu,” Meng Yao says, bending over to bow, though keeping his head raised just a little, so he can look at his sect leader through his eyelashes. “This one is finished with his other duties. Is there anything else this one can do to serve you tonight?”

Nie Mingjue clears his throat. “Meng Yao could… uh, pour me a drink.”

“This Meng Yao would be glad to.”

Meng Yao crosses the length of the room slowly, making sure Nie Mingjue has ample time to appreciate the way his body moves; he lets one side of his over robe slip just slightly down, off the top of his shoulder, and bites his lip when he sees Nie Mingjue’s gaze snap to it. Meng Yao pauses at the cabinet against the wall, picking up the ceramic water jug, then crosses over to the desk. He adjusts his weight so he can drop carefully to his knees, but does not account for the cushion in front of the other side of the desk, so his foot catches. He gasps as the trip jolts the jug in his hands, sending a splash of water arcing perfectly over the desk, past the paperwork, and right into the middle of Nie Mingjue’s chest.

“Oh! Chifeng-zun!” Meng Yao cries, setting the jug down on the desk immediately. “This one apologises, what an embarrassing accident! Please, let me help.”

Nie Mingjue’s mouth twitches. He seems to be struggling to speak, so he nods instead. 

Meng Yao crosses around the desk, and bends over; the collars of his inner robes are inexplicably eskew, giving Nie Mingjue a view of one fully exposed collarbone, and part of the way down to his chest. Meng Yao reaches for the lapels of Nie Mingjue’s outer robe and peels it down off his shoulders, before huffing and pouting when it gets stuck.

“Zongzhu, I’m going to have to take off your belt to get this nasty wet robe off,” he says, looking up at Nie Mingjue through his eyelashes again. “Will you let me take your big beast-head belt off, zongzhu?”

Nie Mingjue lifts his hand as if he is coughing into it, but the sound that he makes sounds rather more like a stifled laugh. He nods again.

Meng Yao sinks down to his knees slowly, holding eye contact with Nie Mingjue. He reaches out for the belt, and as his hand moves across Nie Mingjue’s lap, it dips to bump between his legs.

“Oops,” Meng Yao whispers, “this one is so clumsy today.”

Nie Mingjue snorts, then coughs again, then says, “It’s fine.”

Meng Yao carefully unbuckles the belt, unloops it from around Nie Mingjue’s waist by leaning in close and pressing his cheek to his chest, then returns to removing Nie Mingjue’s wet layers. Once the first one is gone, Meng Yao runs both hands carefully over the breadth of Nie-zongzhu’s chest, carefully feeling out the material.

“Oh zongzhu, you’re still so wet-”

Nie Mingjue bursts into laughter, then quickly slaps his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he chokes out from behind his palm, “uh, aha, carry on.”

And Meng Yao does. He reaches around Nie Mingjue’s side to unpick the ties to each layer in succession, peeling them off his body with meticulous care, holding eye contact the whole time. Each robe is carefully folded and set aside, until Nie Mingjue is sat only in his trousers.

Meng Yao reaches out and presses his fingers to the centre of Nie Mingjue’s chest, tracing the glistening moisture clinging to the coarse layer of hair, and the taught, muscular flesh underneath. 

“Oh dear,” Meng Yao purrs, “zongzhu, the water got all the way through your robes. What can I possibly use to dry you off now?”

His hands drop to his sash, “I suppose… there’s always… my robes…”

Nie Mingjue bursts out laughing again, and this time he cannot smother it, falling backwards onto his elbows and hopelessly cackling. 

Jin Guangyao folds his arms. “For gods’ sake Mingjue, can you get it together? Would it kill you to try and improvise a little with me? It’s like talking to a stone wall. A stone wall that’s trying not to laugh.”

“Sorry,” Nie Mingjue wheezes from where he’s lying on the floor, “I just- what you were saying-” he bursts into another round of laughter. 

“Nevermind,” Jin Guangyao grouses, rolling his eyes. “I should have known you’d be terrible at this.”

Nie Mingjue heaves himself back up into a sitting position, wiping at his eyes with the side of his hand, shoulders shaking with intermittent giggles, “No, no, let’s - let’s try something else, okay? Something less… porny.”

–//–

Meng Yao stalks into the room, his whip-thin form moving as dangerously as a courtesan, as sleekly as a dancer, making his way towards Nie-zongzhu’s desk. It’s late, the rest of the fort is asleep, and that is perfect for his intentions tonight.

Nie Mingjue is knelt in front of his desk, dressed in only his trousers, his hands bound behind his back. He looks up at Meng Yao as he walks in, watching as he slides the door shut behind him. 

“What are you going to do to me?” Nie Mingjue asks warily. 

Meng Yao smiles over his shoulder at him. His eyes are hooded and calm. “Only what you deserve, Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Mingjue swallows heavily. 

Meng Yao walks slowly over towards him, his eyes raking over Nie Mingjue’s exposed chest, admiring the way his arms being pulled back stretches out his shoulders and pulls his muscles taut. He stops in front of Nie-zongzhu and just looks down at him for several moments, head cocked to the side, silent, before he pivots smoothly on his heel and begins to pace up and down in front of him leisurely. 

“Nobody knows that I have you here,” Meng Yao says, almost conversationally, “and I’ve activated the privacy talismans, so there’s no point in kicking up a fuss. No one will hear you. Do you understand?”

Nie Mingjue frowns up at him. Meng Yao stops pacing to nudge him lightly in the side with his boot.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue says.

Meng Yao’s eyes go cold, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Meng-fushi,” Nie Mingjue growls.

The coldness immediately fades from Meng Yao’s eyes. He smiles lazily, a dimple popping in his cheek, then, quickly, as if acting purely on impulse, he ducks down to grab Nie Mingjue’s chin and capture his mouth in a sharp, biting kiss.

He straightens back up and returns to his slow pacing, hands tucked behind his back. The room is silent besides the low padding of his footfalls. Meng Yao flicks his hair over his shoulder as he approaches Baxia’s stand, so he can better look back towards Nie Mingjue. His lazy smile turns into a smirk as he sees the way Nie Mingjue’s stomach muscles tense, his eyes narrowing.

He stops, examining the saber, then tilts his head back so he can see Nie Mingjue out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Meng Yao tuts, “I thought you’d have more fight in you than this, Chifeng-zun.”

“What could I possibly have to say?” Nie Mingjue growls.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Meng Yao says airily, and Nie Mingjue sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to run his fingers down Baxia’s grip, and then back up again, fingertips catching lightly against its ridges. Meng Yao’s smirk grows wider. “I thought that maybe you’d want something. A hand, maybe. Or a mouth. I’ll let you have what you want if you ask nicely.”

Nie Mingjue hisses through his teeth.

“That didn’t sound like please to me,” Meng Yao murmurs.

Meng Yao’s fingers run suggestively up and down Baxia’s grip one last time, and then he pivots back and strolls across the room to where Nie Mingjue is kneeling. He looks down at his sect leader, an easy smirk on his lips, hair draped partly over his shoulder and the lines of his body confident, bold, full of almost lazy threat.

Nie Mingjue looks up at him, and abruptly, Meng Yao is no longer in the pale geometric purple Nie style robes, but slate grey and black, tight-fitting to set off his slender waist, eyes lined in kohl, and that same look on his face, blood splashed all across the floor-

“Mingjue?” Jin Guangyao drops to his knees and takes Nie Mingjue by the shoulders, “Are you alright?”

Mingjue. Meng Yao never called him that. Nie Mingjue blinks, and Jin Guangyao is before him again, eyes wide and full of concern.

“I’m alright,” Nie Mingjue says. He breathes deep until his shoulders stop trembling, and sighs in relief as Jin Guangyao’s clever fingers unpick the knots holding his wrists bound. He’d only been loosely tied with one of his own silk sashes, and should have been able to escape easily, and yet - somehow he’d… forgotten. 

Jin Guangyao sits back on his heels and watches him, biting his lip. “What happened?”

“It was fine up until you started touching Baxia, and then-” Nie Mingjue sucks in a long breath through his nose, “it was… it was too close to Nightless City.”

Jin Guangyao nods stiffly. Now Nie Mingjue is a little calmer, he can see how brittle his partner looks, the way his hands are fisted in his robes like they’re the only thing holding him together. Nie Mingjue holds out his arm, and Jin Guangyao slumps in relief, curling into his chest with a long shaky exhale.

–//–

They relocate to the bed. For a while they just sit, curled together, breathing in tandem.

“You know,” Nie Mingjue says, resting his cheek against the top of Jin Guangyao’s head, “I was actually kind of enjoying the mean thing at first.”

Jin Guangyao snorts. “Really? You weren’t acting like it.”

Nie Mingjue shifts back, so they can look each other in the face whilst they talk. “I was trying to improvise with you. Inhabit the role and stuff, I don’t know.” He smiles, reaching up to tuck Jin Guangyao’s hair behind his ear, “I know you know I like it when you’re all bossy.” 

That earns him a small, genuinely pleased smile, before Jin Guangyao tips over to rest against his chest again.

“So maybe we can try again,” Jin Guangyao murmurs, “just…”

“Stay away from anything too close to the past.”

They lapse into another silence, though this one is easier, each breath bringing them closer to peace. Jin Guangyao plays idly with a section of his hair, winding it into a small braid, and when he finishes with it, he shifts in Nie Mingjue’s arms, resting against his thigh and looking up at him. 

“Did you… did you want me, back then? Back when I was Meng-fushi?”

Nie Mingjue hums thoughtfully. “I never let myself dwell on it long enough to consider it properly, but yes. Yes, I wanted you.”

Jin Guangyao jerks up into a sitting position again, open curiosity on his face. “You did?”

“You didn’t know?”

Jin Guangyao shakes his head slowly. “No, you never showed any interest in such things, so I assumed…”

“I didn’t want to pursue it because I didn’t think you’d take it very well. I was your sect leader, and given the way people treated you because of your mother, I didn’t want you to feel like you were pressured into anything.” Nie Mingjue sighs, “And then there was the buildup to the war, and…”

“And then you banished me,” Jin Guangyao murmurs.

Nie Mingjue sighs again. He wonders if there will ever be a time where that day isn’t an open wound on both their hearts.

“Mingjue,” Jin Guangyao murmurs, reaching over to rest his hand on Nie Mingjue’s, “what would you have done, if the war and all the other complications hadn’t happened, and I’d stayed with the Nie?”

–//– 

Meng Yao walks into the room, his steps light and hesitant, sliding the door closed behind him then making his way towards Nie-zongzhu’s tea table. It’s late, and his sect leader has summoned him. It’s not out of the norm for the two of them to take tea later in the evening, when Nie Mingjue has been busy all day with meetings or training and hasn’t had a chance to run him through the required updates. 

It is unusual, however, to see Nie Mingjue nervous. 

At least, that’s what Meng Yao thinks is going on. The tall man is knelt on the far side of the table, hands on the surface of it and fingers drumming restlessly. Nie Mingjue is not a man who fidgets. Meng Yao has no idea what could possibly make Chifeng-zun nervous, and that, in turn, makes him nervous.

“Nie-zongzhu?”

“Ah, Meng Yao. Sit, sit.”

Meng Yao sinks to his knees on the cushion on the other side of the table, and inclines his head with a polite smile when Nie Mingjue pours him tea. He is grateful to have something to do with his hands so that he doesn’t start nervously fidgeting himself; he cradles his warm cup and breathes in the steam, trying to calm himself. If this were a major problem, Nie Mingjue would have summoned the elders too. Meng Yao is probably just reading him wrong. Whilst he has done his best to get close to the sect leader, the man can still sometimes be utterly opaque to him, his motives utterly alien.  

When Nie Mingjue doesn’t speak, Meng Yao cautiously puts down his cup and lifts the stack of reports he’d brought with him. “I finished going through the accounts, like you asked.”

“Good, good,” Nie Mingjue says distractedly, “that, uh, that wasn’t what I called you here for though.”

Meng Yao swallows, totally at a loss, “Zongzhu?”

Nie Mingjue sucks in a deep breath, and, to Meng Yao’s bewilderment, his ears turn a little red.

“Meng Yao,” he says brusquely, tone flat, as if he is reciting from memory, “you are capable and smart and incredible at your job. I have no idea how I managed to keep this sect together without you. You are irreplaceable to me professionally…” Nie Mingjue hesitates, “and personally.”

Meng Yao’s eyes grow wide. 

“Zongzhu?” he breathes, hand half raised to his mouth.

Nie Mingjue’s words tumble faster from his mouth,“If you are uncomfortable with this, then I swear I will never mention it again - or- or I can write you a letter of recommendation so that you may leave and get an equivalent position elsewhere. I know my good opinion would count for a great deal with Lan-zongzhu. You do not need to worry about anything of that nature.”

Meng Yao nods vaguely, more because it seems that Nie Mingjue wants a response than because he’s actually processing what the man is saying. Nie Mingjue reaches out and takes Meng Yao’s hands in his own rough, callused ones.

“Meng Yao, over the years that we have been working together… I have found myself falling for you. I thought that if I simply ignored the feelings, they would leave me be, but I have found the opposite - they have only grown stronger. My regard, respect, and care for you has become utterly impossible for me to ignore.” Nie Mingjue squeezes his hands gently, “Meng Yao, if you reciprocate these feelings, or if you believe that you could perhaps learn to care for me too, then I would like to begin courting you, with the intention of marrying you, and making you my partner in all things.”

Nie Mingjue releases Meng Yao’s hands, giving him the space to think. Meng Yao’s shock gives way to Jin Guangyao’s sweet, tender pleasure, as he sits back on his heels and offers Nie Mingjue a sad smile.

“Unfortunately, if you had asked me back then — even in such a lovely way — I likely would have said no,” he says.

“You wanted to win your father’s favour,” Nie Mingjue mutters, folding his arms.

Jin Guangyao’s smile widens, curling in amusement, and he reaches out a hand to worm between Nie Mingjue’s folded arms to tangle their fingers together. Nie Mingjue can’t maintain any kind of crossness, even pretend, after the way they’ve spent the evening and immediately gives in to the affection. 

“Sadly, I didn’t know that he wasn’t worth the dirt under my boots back then,” Jin Guangyao says. “But… I know now. You said you prefer me now, and I think… I do, as well. Things are so different, and while I can’t lead the Nie with you we can, perhaps- one day- if it suits us all-” Jin Guangyao bites back a frustrated huff at getting so tangled up in his thoughts, especially considering the way the rest of the evening has gone. It’s silly to still be so shy and unsure after all of that, isn’t it?

“A-Yao?”

Jin Guangyao drags Nie Mingjue’s hand across the table to use it to cover his own eyes, leaning forward on his elbows and nuzzling into the comforting dry warmth of his palm to find the courage to mumble, “Marriage, at least in our hearts if not in the eyes of the world, is not an impossibility… if you still wish for it, that is.”

Nie Mingjue is silent for a small eternity that lasts at least an entire age of the earth, or maybe just a few heartbeats too long, there’s no real way of knowing. Jin Guangyao carefully separates two of Nie Mingjue’s fingers to peek between them and finds his partner smirking at him, as smug as he’s ever seen him after a particularly difficult hunt or a truly excellent political manoeuvre, and Jin Guangyao drops his hand like it burned him only for Nie Mingjue to snatch his back up with a laugh, more relief than anything by the sound of it.

“If I still wish for it, hm?” Nie Mingjue teases with a quick dry (somewhat scratchy) peck of a kiss to his knuckles. “My Meng-fushi, our Lianfang–zun, will surely be diligent in planning whatever contracts and ceremonies would suit us all at the appropriate time. I hardly think Xichen will object, and I definitely won’t either.”

“Right.” Jin Guangyao blinks a few times and decides that after everything he actually can’t… entirely… wrap his head around that at the moment. He thinks for a moment of being married, of both being a husband and having one — two! — and feels like he maybe needs to lie down for a while. He’d brought it up, at least as more than a hypothetical bout of wishful reminiscing, and he would also like to pack that thought far away for the time being.

“Right! Well. This was a very successful evening in the end, I suppose, all things considered. Will, ah… will I still hunt down one of your robes for the rest of the night or shall I keep wearing my own? I’ll just- the wardrobe-” he starts to stand, hand still caught in Nie Mingjue’s, but he’s kept from fleeing by said grip.

“A-Yao?”

“Mingjue.”

“It’s late — at this time of night, what makes you think you’re meant to wear anything in my bed?”

The question startles him into laughter, a little manic and quickly stifled behind his free hand, but Nie Mingjue just smirks at him again and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist before he lets him go. He doesn’t escape to the wardrobe, however, instead just turning towards the bed and glancing over his shoulder at Nie Mingjue as he drops the first layer of his robes over the privacy screen between the bed and the rest of the room.

“Well, Nie-zongzhu?” he teases, and this time he doesn’t stifle his laughter as Nie Mingjue stumbles up from his seat to chase after him, straight across the room, behind the screen, and all the way into bed.

[hekates-corner]

Apothecary Diaries | WN Translation | Arc 9 - Chapter 2

Hi. However you found this, welcome!

For a number of reasons I ended up here - I relay all that happens in the chapters, playing wine-aunt, as I translate to the best of my abilities.

So, be warned: There's all the spoilers down below. If you'd like to get spoiled but less? My dm's/asks are open!

Chapter 1 | Masterlist.

Chapter 2

When Rikuson returns to his room, he lets out a sigh. He then mutters something to himself before taking off his mud and sand stained clothes. “That’s malicious” is what I keep getting from it, but I’m not 100%.

He'd been asking to patrol the countryside for quite a while, but it wasn't until 5 days ago that he was given permission by Gyokuou - but today he rushed back due to a bad feeling he had.

The next is him muttering something to himself along the lines of when he left he was told that there would be a delay. He goes on to recall that he left 5 days prior because he was told that the guests from Li/the capital wouldn't arrive in about ten days. So he took off five days prior to a rural village.

We then get a whole giant paragraph on him dusting off his jacket and so forth. He also mentions how he wants to take a bath, but can’t and that he doesn’t even seem to have enough time to at least wipe down his body. So, he has no choice but to put incense paste on his neck.

In Saito(?), there’s two types of incense: perfume or kneaded and he has an option of each, but…. one of them was a gift, while the other is something he was kinda forced to buy while in town.

I can’t for the life of me figure out who sent him the joke gift, but we will just ignore that for now, it’s either Gyokuou or someone else.. or not, because he continues thinking about how the one he ends up going with hardly sells.

All the incense in this city has a strong smell, so something cheaper with a weaker scent was just right - before anything though, he can’t imagine wearing something he got from… idk, I couldn’t tell you.

After putting on just enough to cover the smell of sweat, he puts on a smile. After all, smiling is essential in business - and one should never stop smiling when dealing with customers. He can still recall his mothers words.

Rikuson then wonders what face his current boss will make, given how much earlier than planned he returned (around five days earlier).. and that it will be a little uncomfortable if his old boss, Lakan, was there, but he can’t help it.

He tightens his sash/belt and leaves the room.

“It’s been a while.” - We return, with Rikuson entering the hall where Gyokuou and his subordinates are mingling. They and the guests are enjoying a light meal.. while the servers take turns coming in and preparing the dishes.

Despite it still being early for dinner, it was luxurious.. and he couldn’t have forgotten the face of that guest.

A man with stubble beard and a monocle: Lakan. His former boss who understands all without being told. The one next to him was an attendant that had already served before Rikuson. In fact, the poor thing cried when thanking Rikuson for helping him when he first started working for Lakan.

In the end, Rikuson couldn’t remain by Lakan’s side forever, but the remaining attendant often accompanies Lakan.

There’s a remark next about how the attendant is a competent person, but his character is partially bad or that he sometimes falls short.. which is unchangeable, because “once you are under Lakan, you have no other choice but to give up”.

The attendant seems to notice Rikuson, for he nods his way with his eyes while listening to Lakan. The latter appears to be the same as always.

Lakan ends up looking at Rikuson with a blank expression, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed Rikuson if the attendant hadn’t told/gestured to him. There are times when Rikuson wants to ask what he looks like in Lakans eyes.

Someone ends up continuously waving and calling for Rikuson, all the while looking at Gyokuou as if to check if it’s alright to approach him.

Gyokuou, sits in the center at a table and waves with one hand to say hello. Rikuson ends up feeling quite uncomfortable and the attendant just looks at him with an indescribable expression because due to his own position he likely knows who has priority: the boss, or the former boss.

Meanwhile Lakan isn’t bothered at all, he just keeps eating fried food. Behind him was a maid, who ate a bite before handing the food over to Lakan - Rikuson hadn’t seen her before.

Despite hearing talk that the Emperor's “younger brother” should be there, Rikuson can’t find Jinshi anywhere - but then he thinks that this wasn’t an official gathering per se and that Lakan likely just showed up without thinking about it. As he looks at the attendant, he understands that he (Lakan, I think) should’ve declined.

“Ehm.. Rikuson, I want to eat those bread rolls.” - For a moment Lakan thought he’d forgotten the name, but he was right.. and speaking of those manju (bean-jam dumpling/steamed yeast bun with filling).. If you guessed there’s an argument about steamed buns, you’re right.

Far as I could gather Lakan says that he wants to have a certain type of bun, but his attendant doesn’t remember their name - ironically Rikuson thought Lakan had already forgotten his? - but the attendant claims it’s the bun Lakan already has.. for a moment Rikuson can’t tell from the bun alone, but he searches his memory for an answer.

Rikuson is like “It’s sweet, isn’t it.” and Lakan(?) says yes. Rikuson asks if there were any ingredients (special ones, probably) and Lakan(?) says that he doesn’t think there were any.

Rikuson then thinks that the red bean paste filling doesn’t appear to be sweet and inquires if the buns are something that’s eaten with sauce or something… and… like.. Lakan says something along the lines of “the white one/white stuff is delicious”, or alternatively “i love the dipping - the white stuff”... like, okay Lakan, Mr. Monocle, I didn’t wanna know you that deeply, but hey man, whatever floats your boat-

Please excuse your translator not being professional but like.. come on xD

Rikuson then has an idea. He asks if it’s the fried manju from a certain hotel and Lakan(?) is like “I think so.” - the man ate them once and ever since then Rikuson had to go back to buy them, several times.

He then orders the attendant to serve the hanamaki (chinese twisted buns) with condensed milk that has a bit of sugar added to it and the attendant is like “Understood.”. It’s because Lakan had a hanamaki laying in front of him that Rikuson remembered.

Someone interrupts it all by stating how delicious the fried noodle buns with condensed milk look and that’s when Rikuson takes note of the lady attendant who seems to be a poison tester - she has a twinkle in her eye and while she doesn’t look much like a lady-in-waiting he wonders if she’s another stray that Lakan picked up.

He also thinks that, given after how long they finally met again and the conversation they just had, Lakan’s still just.. Lakan, unchanged as ever.

The talk about buns continues, as the attendant says to Lakan that he’ll prepare them for tomorrow's dim-sum. (Dim-sum is a traditional chinese meal made up of small plates of dumplings and other snack dishes that’s usually accompanied by tea - a sorta brunch)… but bratty Lakan is like “But i wanna have them for tonights dinner.” and his attendent’s like “Please don’t be rude, this is a dinner party.”.

While the attendant speaks in a low voice, as if he’s reluctant to even mumble, when Rikuson glances at him from the side, because it looks like he’s having trouble, he glares at Rikuson.

In an attempt to make up Rikuson says to the attendant that nothing’s changed/it’s all the same as always… and the attendant shoots back with a simple but effective “yeah, no change.. it seems that you’ve become a big fan of the western capital.”

Rikuson comes up with the conclusion that the attendant must’ve noticed his tan skin and the incense smell - in the capital he never used to burn any.

As if to make things worse, at long last Gyokuou butts in now, saying that Rikuson has only just returned from a long trip and to forgive him (who doesn’t like loyalty questions in already loyalty shattering circumstances, right?)

Gyokuou seems to have overheard the conversation, eating meat all the while and the attendant can only stutter out “I-I see.”.

The attendant goes pale in the face, and Rikuson takes note of that happening likely because he (the attendant) never expected to get called out to and not by that man. Gyokuou also inquires if the food’s alright and says that if they want anything he’ll have it made for them then and there..

And of course, “I wonder if there's fried noodle dumplings from (x) hotel.” Lakan says that with.. no hesitation whatsoever.

Logically Gyokuou is like “Huh, what fried noodle dumplings?” and since he’s the one to ask, Rikuson is forced to explain - at that point the poor guy's stomach starts to hurt.

Rikuson lets out a breath, despite having an inkling, he still wonders if this is gonna go on for another good while.

| Chapter 3 & Notes

That's where the chapters ends.

On that note, I couldn’t quite grasp the name of the hotel, so I’m just leaving that out for now.

When it comes to the taste tester Lakan has with him, I’m assuming it’s Chue, but there was no name or description given really outside of sparkly eyes related to food - which seems kinda valid given V9's banquet.

And last but not least, the reason for me not using the chapter titles is because I’m pretty sure they don’t translate as well - they don’t have a proper sentence structure after all.. but so far, we had “Saito” and “Boss and former boss”.

If there are any questions, my dms and asks are open. Also, if you'd like to get notified when new uploads drop, I'm up to send a dm or tag - just let me know!

[vivacissimx]

Daenerys & discomfort in gifted clothes

[dany month day 5: dresses & costumes]

As a Princess, Khaleesi, and Queen, Daenerys is expected to look the part. In many instances she is gifted clothing that she does not feel comfortable in, gifts that reflect what the gifter expects of her. Daenerys is able to identify the expectations behind these supposed gifts, and the power balance she plays with by either wearing them or not wearing them.

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. "Is it really mine?"

"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. "The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess."

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. "Why does he give us so much?" she asked. "What does he want from us?"

-AGOT, Daenerys I

Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. "A handsome gift, Khaleesi," Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. "Most lucky." The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.

-AGOT, Daenerys II

Rhaegal hissed and dug sharp black claws into her bare shoulder as Dany stretched out a hand for the wine. Wincing, she shifted him to her other shoulder, where he could claw her gown instead of her skin. She was garbed after the Qartheen fashion. Xaro had warned her that the Enthroned would never listen to a Dothraki, so she had taken care to go before them in flowing green samite with one breast bared, silvered sandals on her feet, with a belt of black-and-white pearls about her waist. For all the help they offered, I could have gone naked. Perhaps I should have. She drank deep.

-ACOK, Daenerys III

If the Milk Men thought her such a savage, she would dress the part for them. When she went to the stables, she wore faded sandsilk pants and woven grass sandals. Her small breasts moved freely beneath a painted Dothraki vest, and a curved dagger hung from her medallion belt. Jhiqui had braided her hair Dothraki fashion, and fastened a silver bell to the end of the braid.

-ACOK, Daenerys IV

Today she wore a robe of purple samite and a silver sash, and on her head the three-headed dragon crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood had given her in Qarth. Her slippers were silver as well, with heels so high that she was always half afraid she was about to topple over. When she was dressed, Missandei brought her a polished silver glass so she could see how she looked. Dany stared at herself in silence. Is this the face of a conqueror? So far as she could tell, she still looked like a little girl.

-ASOS, Daenerys VI

[...]Irri and Jhiqui were waiting to brush the tangles from her hair and garb her as befit the Queen of Meereen, in a Ghiscari tokar.

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes. It was not a garment meant for any man who had to work. The tokar was a master's garment, a sign of wealth and power.

-ADWD, Daenerys I

Lord Ghael had a mouth of brown and rotten teeth and the pointed yellow face of a weasel. He also had a gift. "Cleon the Great sends these slippers as a token of his love for Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons."

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

-ADWD, Daenerys I

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

-ADWD, Daenerys X

[tunafishprincess]

Spirited Away Au Snippet

While the rest of the spirits were only just beginning to wake up, Deku was finishinghis last delivery for the evening. Or rather, he was supposed to. Transparent phantoms appeared in the periphery of his vision, alerting him of how much time had passed.

Just one more, he thought grimly, determined to complete the task.

This would have been so much easier if his body had not betrayed him this morning. It was doing that a lot more often as of late, much to his consternation.

He wasn’t stupid. Deku knew the consequences that came with eating food of the spirit realm. His changing body was a testament to that. The alternative was being forgotten (which Deku considered was the kiddy version adults use to explain disappearing into nothingness) and Deku quite preferred living, thank you very much.

The initial fear he held had long given way to exasperation with the situation. Heightened senses were alright. His increased appetite was manageable. The horns were itchy when they came in, but tolerable. He didn’t even see them most of the time, both hidden beneath curly locks.

He glared down at the culprit. It shifted restlessly, a perfect reflection of his mood.

A tail. A bloody tail. Waking up to the sight had been a shock. His balance, already a subject of jokes among the bathhouse workers, was greatly affected to the point that even walking took mental effort. Toshinori, bless him, helped cut some trousers for him to wear, but it still took him twice as long as normal to do his job, thanks in part to the tourists.

He swears the witch must have put a magical sign on his back. As the day dragged on more and more spirits popped out of the shadows to brush a hand or feather or claw down the serpentine limb as if he were some sort of luck charm. He knew river dragons were popular with spirits, but he never expected they would be coming to him.

The pearlescent scales seemed alive, shimmering under the sunset’s fading light. A trail of dark green fur ran down between them, ending at the tip with a ball of hair not unlike the one on his head. Deku buried his face in his hands. This was the worst.

Slimy cold fingers touched the base of his tail, shaking him out of his train of thought. Deku gave a full-body shudder, goosebumps riding up his arms. His face flushed, his tolerance of the nonconsensual touching reaching an all-time high. It reminded him too much of his last school’s bullies.

What could he do though? He worked for the bathhouse. The witch would have his head if he yelled at one of the guests. Sweat trickled down his brow as anxiety settled in his stomach. He could even be fired. He finally looked around, staring down at the perpetrator.

Oh sweet kami, it was a family of kappa. The biggest kappa, the one Deku presumed was the father, was gesturing for his younglings to come and touch the magical appendage like he were Disney character performer. The children were at least more bashful. In fact, they looked terrified. All of them did now, the father Kappa dropping his hold.

Well, well, well, he inwardly remarked, thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?

Alas, it was not he who scared them off, Deku soon discovered. Almost immediately he noticed a heavy shadow, its size increasing with every step its welder took. The family of Kappas froze, the oldest white as a sheet.

“Run along now,” a deep patronizing voice stated. “I suggest you don’t touch what’s not yours, otherwise, your luck might run out next time.”

The Kappas scampered off. They weren’t the only ones. Any lingering spirits suddenly found themselves busy, abandoning the street until he and the worst dragon he could have come across were the last ones left.

“Lord All Rivers in One,” Deku addressed coldly.

“Please, enough of the formality. Call me papa,” the dragon remarked, red eyes scanning the child up and down, his own tail swishing beneath the folds of his rich fabrics.

The boy pointedly chose to ignore the request. Instead, he stated plainly, “You didn’t have to do that. I can handle myself just fine.”

The man bent down. Even kneeling to one knee he towered over Deku. His claw-tipped fingers came to rest on his jaw. “Really now? Is that what ‘just fine’ is these days for you younglings?”

“None of your business. Anyways, I have work to do,” Deku stated, twirling around with his bag in hand. Sadly, his tail did not follow through with the movement. He tripped, falling face first and losing any remaining dignity he had.

Tears prickled his eyes. Stupid tail. Stupid dragon. He discreetly wiped them away as he got back up. Bag in hand, he tried to stomp off (albeit awkwardly).

“You know…” The dragon began. “I think I have a solution to this problem of yours.”

Deku stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head, suspicion in his guarded gaze. “Explain.”

He motioned for the boy, fangs peeking out from his widening smile. “Come here. You’ve been walking wrong all day today. It’s time you had some lessons.”

“Just tell me what I need to do.”

“It cannot be explained in mere words. If it could be I imagine that mutt would have helped you. But he can’t. I can.” His eyes glittered like rubies. “Let me assist you, from one dragon to another.”

“I’m not a dragon,” he grumbled but complied, too desperate to do otherwise.

A large warm hand pressed against his back, gently positioning him while the other rested on his sternum. “The tail of a dragon holds more weight than that of a mere wolf or other common beast. It is an extension of our being. Lean forward here, it will tire your back muscles for now but you’ll get used to it,” he explained.

“The weights gone,” the boy whispered.

“No, just redistributed,” All Rivers in One answered. “ Now, if you’re catching the tail on things or going down those crowded narrow streets, you’ll need to wrap it.”

He lifted a brow. “Wrap my tail? With what? Cloth?”

“No, no,” he barked a laugh, his tail lifting up from behind him. “Like this.” Within moments he wrapped the tail around his waist, fitting the end up and over like a sash.

That...was a pretty good idea actually. Deku copied the movement. It wasn’t as nice looking as the other’s, the young boy stuffing the end into his belt, but it did the job.

Deku bit on his bottom lip. All Rivers in One always seemed to have a hidden agenda but this time he had been relatively helpful. Maybe Deku was wrong about him? The dragon smirked; Deku frowned. Well, perhaps he wasn’t completely wrong about him.

Giving a deep bow of respect, he said, “Thank you, Lord All—Lord Shigaraki.” and left it at that, leaving for his last delivery before his night job at the bathhouse.

The dragon lord waved his hand at the disappearing figure. Once the dragonling was out of earshot, his smile stretched even larger, a soft purr leaving his mouth. The scant remaining good part of him wondered whether he should have told the boy only hatchlings tied their tails around their waists like that, but the vast majority of All Rivers in One relished seeing his little Stream acting childish instead of that boorish adult facade he tried to imitate.

It won’t last for much longer, he thought with a dark smile, getting up from the ground and turning into one of the alleys, back for his villa so he could finish preparations. The boy’s humanity was nearly gone. Sources told him the boy had already forgotten his last name. All lovely news in the dragon’s book.

The young hatchling’s days were numbered at that bathhouse. He would have both his wife and son in his arms soon enough. His tail flicked back and forth excitedly. He just had to be patient.

[bowandcurtsey]

HERES A THOUGHT THAT I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH. Reader very subtlety wearing something of their S/O like a feather (does he have actual feather?????) from nozel’s thing on a necklace or using Fuegoleon’s belt thingy as a bandanna or something

UwU what a cute one!! Thank you for requesting this, I already had one scenario in my mind the moment i read this!!

Nozel | Fuegoleon | Julius

Nozel Silva

He was having his lunch at the silver eagles HQ

You just strolled in from your morning duties as well, your hair tied up in your usual mermaid braid.

You sat across him and ate your lunch, someone called out to you, and you turned your head, your mermaid braid coming to the front of your shoulders.

He saw it, the house silva pendant at the end of your braids.

He blushes so hard and he stares at it for so long. He was so proud that you were wearing it tbh. Because it meant you took yourself as a Silva too.

You finally realise what was he looking at. “I was rushing this morning and couldn’t find my hair tie,” you took a bite of your lunch. “Hope you don’t mind, love”

He placed his hands to his mouth and coughed a little, face still blushing “it looks good on you”

Kept staring at your hair for the rest of the day. His heart swells with pride when people noticed it and commented on it.

Makes a mental note to get more and place it with your hair ties.

Fuegoleon Vermillion

It was cold one day and you decided to wear a scarf, but you didn’t have a scarf colour that matched your attire.

You fumbled in Fue’s closet to find a scarf, but this fiery man aint feeling cold whenever, so you took his purple sash, the one that he wears around his waist, and put it around your neck instead.

He was watching over the training of his squad when you came over.

“Fue! Fue! Look!” You beamed at him like a child with a new toy.

He immediately notices his sash around your neck. It broke his serious demeanour and he went into a blushing mess. “What are you doing with my belt?”

“I couldn’t find a nice scarf colour to fit my dress, boo” you pouted “So i tried your closet!”

He blushes even harder as he thought about the idea of you trying on his clothes.

“Does it look okay on me?” You asked, “I really like how it matches my outfit today~”

“Y-you look great Hon!” He flustered, voice raising a little, “where are you headed?” He tried changing the topic before he exploded with infatuation over how cute you looked.

“To the store Fue,” you beamed at his compliment, “I wanted to get some nice drinks and some nice snacks for everyone for training so hard!”

This boy was about to melt not because of his raging flames but because of how perfect he thought his SO was.

Julius Novachrono

There was a party at the royal capital and Julius was waiting for you to get ready

You came out in an elegant black dress that was short at the front but long at the back. You looked in the mirror , lips pursed. “Seems a little plain honey”

“I think you look beautiful love” the wizard king came over and pressed a kiss to your lips.

You look at him and you saw his gold chain. You instantly had an idea. You took the chain and wore it around your waist.

“Mmm! Looks better now~” you hummed as you took a final look in the mirror.

He smiled and shook his head, eyes musing at how beautiful you looked and how everyone at the party would know that you were his.

Couldn’t keep his eyes off you wearing his chain around your waist at the party. Thought about how this was such a great idea, for you to wear his stuff so that people would know that this beautiful and magnificent person belonged to him.

Got a few teasing from Yami and William but was really proud to tell them “oh no~ y/n did this all by herself~” with his signature sparkly eyes

-end-

[gucciwins]

The Hunt

Luna has won the Halloween Hunt two years in a row and she is going for a third with Harry as her partner, the problem well they don’t really get along. 

Word count: 10,761

A/N: Luna, I hope you love her like I do. She was a joy to write. I’m very excited to share so please come and share your thoughts with me. It really means the world to me. Thank you to Gianna (@hunflowers​) for hosting this wonderful Halloween challenge. I hope you enjoy. (prompt: you’ve got to be kidding me).

Halloween. 

The one holiday that Luna is excited to take part in with her friends, finding even the tackiest of activities fun and a joy to do. Luna and Caleb went to the pumpkin patch last weekend and spent the day drinking cider and eating cinnamon donuts. The pumpkin carving was a whole other story that ended with one smashed pumpkin and a grumpy Caleb. 

Luna has spent every Halloween with Caleb for as long as she can remember. From first becoming best friends when Luna and her family moved in next door to Caleb at the age of six to now, age twenty-one going on four years of living together. Much to their parents' disappointment, sparks never did fly for them. Not that Luna ever thought there would be; Caleb just didn't do it for her no matter how handsome he was.  

This Halloween, just like previous ones, they were going as a pair. Their first Halloween at age six, they went as Power Rangers, Luna the yellow and Caleb the blue. It was their most memorable one and has the picture hanging in their living room for reminiscing purposes. Last year Caleb decided on Ghostbusters, and they killed it. Being university students means low money in their bank account, so they went thrift shopping a lot that year. 

Halloween 2020, it is her turn to pick. Luna decided they would be going as Princess Buttercup and Westley from The Princess Bride. 

A true classic that will forever live on, yes, it may be a romantical pairing, but Luna has begged for this for years, and now is their time to shine. She pulled extra shifts at the tattoo parlor she works at as receptionist to get authentic costumes—the red dress of dreams. 

It's Saturday night, there is a Blue moon, and it's Halloween. 

It is time for their third annual Halloween Hunt, where her group of friends pair up and set off to find clues to win the grand prize of a crown, some cash, and bragging rights for a whole year. Luna has won it the last two years with Caleb on her side, and she is ready to do it again. 

Luna stares at herself in the mirror. The gown is elegant and rich with details. The long red, billowy sleeves with a fathered cuff. A high neckline and falls into a loose, pleated skirt. The dress is tied off at the waist with a gold pattern belt. And to top it all off, the beaded crown on her brown curls. The color of her hair the only inaccuracy of the costume. The crown shines more she feels with her darker hair than the original Buttercup. 

Her makeup is minimal, only having used mascara for her long eyelashes she likes having curled. It makes her brown eyes that much nicer to gaze at. 

She grabs her wallet and keys that she will be leaving with Caleb as his look was blessed with pockets, and she does not want to stick anything down her bra for the entire night. She takes the stairs two floors down as they meet at Mitch and Oliver's apartment, who happen to live in the same complex.

To start the hunt, the host will let everyone get into partners before dispersing the first clue, and the first couple to make it to the final location at midnight will be crowned the winners. 

They really are in for a fun night. 

___

Walking in, she sees the apartment somewhat decorated, not much, purple string lights hanging over the large tv they have. Small orange pumpkins scattered around the room. The excessive amount of fake spider web in every corner of the house. Mitch has always said, why to decorate if you're going to be the one cleaning it up. Oliver did not think the same way; she imagines his room looks like the inside of Spirit Halloween. 

Mitch greets her with a drink. It's water. He smiles at her costume before wandering off. She sips the cold water, never one to drink on such an important night. Also, she's wary about drinking growing up; her dad made her start driving at the age of fifteen because he liked drinking when they went over to her uncle's house on the weekends. He wasn't an alcoholic, but he did drink too often, and instead of putting her and her brother at risk, he taught her to drive. This is why now, she will instead be the designated driver than the one having the drinks. Tonight, she needs a clear head to win.

Luna moves past the kitchen, eyes searching for Caleb in his black outfit and mask, but she stops dead in her tracks once she meets his gaze.

 It's a shock.

Caleb is dressed in slim black pants, a white dress shirt, a messy done blue tie, an unbuttoned black blazer, and completing his look is the signature beige blazer. He looks incredible, but not at all how he was supposed to. He winces when he sees the expression on her face. 

She’s upset. He didn't even warn her. Not a single text or call.

There has never been a reason to break tradition, but here they are doing just that. 

"They asked me to host," Caleb says as he steps toward her. Luna manages a nod. She changes her direction and goes across the room to sit alone on the windowsill, leading to a small flower patio. Caleb looks like he wants to head over, but she knows her well enough; it's best to leave her alone. 

As Luna gets lost in thought, she doesn't acknowledge that everyone else has slowly arrived, the chatter getting louder. She also is oblivious to the lingering eyes on her. If she had looked up, she would have met Harry's concerned gaze.

"Hello friends, thank you for gathering with us here on this day of spooks and horror." Caleb stands on the study coffee table to get everyone's attention on him. "This year, you may not pick your partner. No, there will be random draws." 

"Let's hope this makes Luna lose this year," Oliver shouts, getting lots of cheers in response. 

Luna rolls her eyes at the banter but lets a smile overtake her face because she knows no matter who her partner may end up being, she will be a winner.

Caleb announces how only five of them will pick a name and how it has been decided it will be Mitch, Daniel, Charlotte, Abby, and Luna, who will draw a name. 

She is third to pick a slip, not opening it up until the last two receive theirs. She doesn't focus on the others as they begin to search for their partners because Caleb is shuffling over to her looking sheepish. 

He pulls her in and wraps his arms around her, giving her a big squeeze. Long and hard enough to leave her out of breath. A sloppy kiss on her cheeks, she is quick to wipe away on his coat, not at all wanting to dirty her dress, at least not yet. 

Those hazel eyes are hard to stay mad at, and he knows it. Luna can count all the fights they've had on one hand.

"Whatever, you owe me." She bumps his shoulder. 

He nods, quick to agree. "Name your price."

Luna opens up the folded slip of paper. 

Harry 

"A new partner." She whispers, not looking up, hoping if she stares long enough, the name will change. 

Caleb leans in and smirks at the name. "That I can't do. You know the rules." 

She furrowed her eyebrows. "There were no rules until today."

Caleb laughs. "Everyone partner up if you haven't already."

Mitch is already chatting with Oliver, and she knows they will give her a run for her money. These two get on so well, but their weakness is that when Mitch gets a lead, he forgets to address it to his partner most of the time, leaving them separated and lost. 

Justine is with Abby, and honestly, she has no worry over them. Abby is a hard person to partner up with, always wanting to lead even when she has no clue what is going on. 

Calvin is with Daniel, and honestly, she knows they are not competition. Calvin told her the clues confused him. 

Mason and Charlotte, she was hoping to partner with Charlotte. That being her closest friend right behind Caleb. She's a music major, meaning their time together is always a joy. Luna singing a random song and Char telling her random facts she knows about the said song. Luna is not sure how good Charlotte and Mason get on, but only time will tell. 

As she sees everyone paired up, she scans the room for Harry. She doesn't spot him, but she does see Pirate Roberts, better known as Westley, her other half. He's wearing a black shirt that has a lace-up front with a matching pair of pants. The mask and headscarf add a touch of mystery, while the sash and gloves put the finishing touch to the look. As much as she hates to admit it, he looks good. 

"You've got to be kidding me." She says, looking him up and down in disgust. 

Harry scoffs, now standing in front of her. "Guess that means I'm stuck with you."

"Yeah, you can lose the mask now."

"No, I don't think so. Makes my eyes pop." He bats his eyelashes at her. 

She ignores him, moving on to an important question. "Who were you supposed to dress with?" 

"Charlotte." His stupidly, charming English accent responds. "She asked me last week, then told me she was doing Ghostbusters with Mason. Her costume is done too nicely to be done last minute."

This is a setup. 

She knows because Charlotte helped her alter the dress's length so that it didn't drag on the floor as she walked, and in return, Luna helped sew Venkman on her suit. 

The only question is, why would they want her matching with Harry if they don't get on well at all, not even a little bit. Every interaction leaves with one of them storming off, not to brag, but it seems to always be Harry. 

"Well, at least you were warned. Caleb didn't even tell me." She shares. "Had me walk in to see him dressed as an angel." 

"Castiel, right?" Harry says, a bit uncertain.

Luna nods, surprised he knows, thinking this might be their one connection to break the ice. "He posted on his story who he was dressed as." She spoke too soon. 

"You're saying you don't know Supernatural." 

"No, sorry." He says, not sounding apologetic. 

Luna shoots him a fake smile before looking away. "He can't be my partner; it's a disrespect to my morals." 

Her only response is laughter. She wasn't joking. 

"You know the rules, baby," Charlotte says, arms around Mason's waist. Luna narrows her eyes at that, mentally reminding herself to check in with Char about that. 

How had she won two years without knowing any rules? 

"Well, I'll still kick all your asses with Dobby on my team." When meeting Harry's eyes again, she smirks, his face shocked, not sure if she was insulting him. 

"Right, do not mess up our chances of winning." Her voice was deep and threatening. At least she hoped that's how it sounded. 

"I would never" Harry looks down at her with a smirk on his pink lips. "But I need motivation, so what's in it for me." 

Instead of responding with half of the money because that much was obvious, what else would he want? She looks him in the eyes. "I'll kiss you if we win," Luna tells him sarcastically, and before Harry has a chance to respond, Caleb is walking over, handing them their first clue of seven. 

Head to the place no one ever cleans

Harry scratches his head. "That's confusing."

"It's the bathroom. Specifically, the toilet." She hands the clue for Harry to put away, making her way there. 

"You sure?" 

Luna doesn't bother replying, pushing first to the bathroom, wanting to get a move on. It's going to be a long night if he keeps questioning her. 

Harry opens the door and jumps back, he's startled at the sight in front of him, but Luna nudges him aside to take a look and is left impressed.

There is fake blood on the mirror, "You're next" written sloppily. What startled Harry was the body bag in the tub, bloody transparent curtains hanged to make it seem like a messy murder. 

"There's not a body, right?" A slight tremble in his voice. 

"Of course not. No one is a fan of jump scares her." She eyes his face. "Especially you." 

Luna picks up the skull sitting on top of the toilet tank, and taped underneath is the second clue. 

"That was too easy," Harry tells her, already heading out of the apartment, not waiting for her to read the clue knowing this one will lead them outside. 

You may sit, you may stand, you may push, but one must never jump.

"Who even made these?" Harry scoffs. "It's awful." 

She chuckles, agreeing because they do stink. "Caleb. The host has to do them all for each group. Talk with owners of shops and all. It's a long process." Luna explains to Harry as she reads the clue once more. "I'm surprised I never noticed how busy he was the entire month." 

"It's what happens when you're self-absorbed." He mutters. 

"Ouch." She feigns hurt, hands over her heart. 

Harry rolls his eyes, not wanting to deal with her any longer than he has to. He has no clue what that clue is pointing to. He looks over at Luna, who has gone quiet.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry exclaims.

"Where is the headscarf? You're messing up the look." She pouts, and Harry would never admit it, at least to her, but she looks adorable. 

"I took it off. It messes up my hair."

Luna stares at his hair. "Looks as messy as always.'

He gasps. "It looks fantastic, trying this new serum to make it shine."

"Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think it is working." She scrunches up her face in disgust. 

"Well, your shoes don't match." He yells. 

She looks down at her Molly metallic leather platform boots that give her five-four self extra height. "My boots are badass. Buttercup still kicks ass in these." She twirls and begins walking away from him. 

"Luna, for fuck sake, where are you going." Harry rushes after her. 

"We've got a hunt to win." 

For someone of her stature, she sure has a fast pace. It seems as if she never slows down, effortlessly moving around pedestrians. All while Harry mumbles apologies as he trips over a person's shoe. 

"The clue." He clears his voice. "How'd you crack it." 

"Easy after a few reads. It's the swings at the local park." 

Harry nods. "That doesn't explain how you knew." 

"Caleb uses things in his life, and if you know him well enough, you can crack it. He's an open book, one talk with him and you'll know his grandparents' name and phone number. He loves sharing everything." Harry motions for her to continue, all while keeping her fast pace, leaving him a little wounded. "As kids, our parents' one rule at the park was that we could never jump off the swings all because one time Caleb and I were going so high I jumped and almost flew past the sand pile and landed on the concrete. No one broke a bone, but we could have." 

"You and Caleb must have given your parents a hard time." 

"Not really, we were angels." 

"Hard to believe." 

She kisses her two fingers before placing it over her heart. "Scout's honor." 

"You were in the girl's scout." 

"Well, aren't you nosy Miss Rosy." She rolls her eyes. "The town didn't have the girl's scout, so when Caleb joined, I made a presentation for Ulysses. He was the man in charge, and I impressed him. He accepted, and no one questioned me."

"Impressive," Harrys tells her, genuinely meaning it. 

"Now shut up, Styles. You have too much information, might have to go kill you or something if these things get out." 

"And here I thought we were becoming friends." 

"Nope, let's keep it that way." 

Harry shuts up, letting the chatter of late-night stragglers fill in the silence. Luna is stopped by a girl their age looking for directions to a party. She is happy to help, giving the girl extra detail to make sure she doesn't get lost. She goes as far as giving the girl her phone number to know she made it there safely. 

Luna is an enigma. 

"I thought you hated all humans, but I see I was wrong." 

Harry is such a jerk that she doesn't bother responding. No, she does something much better. She stops walking, sticking her foot out, knowing how oblivious Harry is. He trips, almost falling to his face, but to some miracle, he manages to right himself without a scratch. 

He adjusts his mask, brushing off the dirt he acquired at the bottom of his pants. "Well, that was mean.

"I thought it was rather kind, knock you off your pedestal." She grins at him, walking away again. 

Harry mutters something under his breath, making sure she isn't able to hear him. 

Luna decides to bring back the conversation of what started their night, his costume. "Why are you even Westley? You don't have the blonde hair for it."

Harry scoffs. "Says the girl with the brown locks of hair."

"The wig was itchy, besides my natural hair is pretty." Her hair is excellent, and she knows it. It's mid-waist, and she does hair therapy to keep it healthy. After Caleb's sister-in-law introduced her to natural hair products, a significant improvement. It added a shine she never had before. She is always paid lots of compliments on her hair. It's enchanting. 

Harry looks at her before staying quiet. He kicks a rock as he walks. "Blondes are overrated."

Luna ducks her head, letting her hair frame a curtain around her face wanting to hide the blush he managed to get out of her. 

Finally, reaching the park entrance, the swings a distance away. They stop, neither of them making a move follow the path.   

"You could just stay here, and I'll text you when I'm done," Luna tells him. 

Harry is quick to rebut, "I'm smart, I can help." 

"I didn't say you aren't smart. It's just I know you don't like me, so why spend the time with me?" 

That's far from the truth, Harry thinks to himself but doesn't deny it. "Together, we're winning this together." He gives her no room for argument walking to the swings. 

Luna nods to herself; she's going to be okay. Maybe the night will start to get better. 

Harry is opening up the clue as she approaches, and he holds it out further, allowing her to read it.

You walk by me, never give me a second glance. Now tonight, I dare you to give me a chance.

"That doesn't sound great," Harry confesses. 

"You alright, with a bit of darkness?" 

Harry nods his head, yes, but he has no idea what's coming next. 

___

Standing in front of the house, Luna feels a chill run up her spine. It's not like she's never seen this house because she had. She grew up in the town and walked past the lonely house that wasted away day by day as she made her way to school.

"This place is creepy," Harry mumbles, standing next to her.

The grass is brown and unkempt; dried leaves scatter the path to the home's stairs, a crunch under their feet as they approach. She walks slow, counting her steps, and at unlucky thirteen, they reach the first broken step. The wood looked as if someone took a hammer to it, having random holes done. The windows are filled with spider webs and dust, no way to look in. The door was red and had scratches. As if someone small had clawed to be let in.

"Sure you want to go in, Luna." Harry looks at the door in fright. "You can admit you got the wrong location. You can't always be right."

"Look, Styles, I know I'm right."

Harry begins to sweep around to make sure no one is watching them break into an old abandoned house. She leans against the rotting wood, there's a chance she might fall through, but she's always up for the risk. In doing so, she shuts her eyes for a second, and a memory pops in her head; it causes her to let out a chuckle, startling Harry. He whips around to shout at her, but the smile on Luna's face makes him stop. He's never been privileged to a smile so intimate.

Before Harry can even ask her what's got her smiling, she is already talking.

"Caleb and I had our first kiss on these steps." Luna's eyes shift down as if the memory begins to play in front of her."

"With each other?" Harry asks, wanting confirmation.

"Yes, Caleb swore he was in love with me in the sixth grade, and I told him he was insane. The feelings were not mutual." She assures, wanting to get her point across. "We were walking home from school one day, and I, as the brains of the duo, told him we had to check out the house. I swore we had our own Boo Radley after reading To Kill A Mockingbird. He was going on and on about how he swore his love for me." She turned to look at Harry. "I looked at him, put my hands on his shoulders, and put my lips to his. He stood there shocked, and once I pulled back, he grinned." Luna deepens her voice. "So, I don't love you like that."

Harry chuckles, enjoying the story. She's not even sure why she began to tell him. "I was like yeah, you idiot, I see you as a brother. My mom could not stop laughing when I told her. My dad not so much." She stood up straight, took three steps to the door, grabbed the rusted doorknob, and it twisted open. There was a loud creak as she pushed.

"In we go, Farm Boy."

Harry shakes his head, mutters "As you wish." He hopes she missed that.

He steps in; first, his eyes quickly sweeping around the house, a doorway to a living room, another leading to what he assumes would be the dining room, and right in front of them a spiral staircase leading to the second floor where they might venture to if they don't find the clue in the main rooms.

"Right, together," Harry tells her.

"Awe, don't be scared, Styles. I'll protect you." She reaches out to pink his cheek.

He swats her hand away. "You'll be the one needing it."

"Don't count on you being my savior then?"

"Not ever, Buttercup."

They walk the first floor and find nothing. It's quite dull, nothing that stands out of place. Nothing haunting, really. A bit of a disappointment. They approach the stair and see footprints. This must be the correct way. She lets Harry lead. Once at the top, they see footprints are leading left and right. Harry nods left, so she assumes he means she has to go right.

It was not what he meant.

As Luna makes her way to the door at the end of the hall, she turns to see Harry entering the first room. She should turn back and go with him. She thinks about it for a second and decides it's best not and continues on.

Luna enters the boy's room. There is a race car bed, with white drawers full of stickers on either side. Everything is dusty, can feel the twitch in her nose. She approaches the bed when a paper catches her eyes on the corner of the dresser filled with different kinds of dinosaurs. It is their clue. It reads

If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending.

Luna smiles gratefully to have found it. She'll figure it out with Harry, she decides. The quicker she is out of the house, the better. As she folds the clue, she hears the door slam shut. It makes Luna jump. 

She approaches the door and twists the knob, but nothing happens. Luna keeps pulling and nothing; she's slowly but surely beginning to freaking out. 

Maybe Harry was playing a joke on her. That had to be it. 

"If you think this is a good prank, you're wrong." She yells, eager to hear his deep laugh before opening the door. But instead, she is met with silence. 

"Styles, open the door." Her voice firm, anger slowly taking over." Still nothing. "Haha, you've had your laugh; let me out." 

The panic is beginning to set. Harry didn't lock her in; he's on the other side of the house. 

"Harry?" She whimpers.

Meanwhile, Harry, no clue in hand, stands at the top of the stairs staring at a mirror frowning at himself. He looked for Luna, but it's as if she disappeared. He has come to the conclusion that she has finally left him. 

Luna, not sure what else to do, begins to scream his name. The tears streaming down her face in panic. She just wants out. That's all she wants. 

She pounds on the door, her throat hurting from the loud screams she's let out. The tears making it hard to keep on going; with one final knock, she lets herself slide to the floor.

Harry was about to descend the stairs when he hears a pounding on a door. It gives him chills; as much as it frightens him to go check it out, he has a gut feeling he has to. He goes right, the original way Luna went, and makes his way to the closed door. He takes a deep breath before turning the knob. 

Nothing happens. 

He takes a step back before pushing all his weight into the door, causing it to fly open. Harry scans the room quickly but sees nothing until he looks down and sees Luna hugging her knees.

Harry is quick to react. He's on his knees in front of her. "Luna, love, it's me, Harry. You're okay." 

She slowly lifts her head. "Harry." She croaks.

"Yes, it's me."

The tears begin once more. "The door was jammed. I was calling for you." She throws her arms around him wanting to be close, needing comfort even if he may not want to give it. 

"Thought you left me once you got the clue." He confesses as he runs his hand through her hair, he might have always wanted to do it, but not like this, never like this. 

"I'm not that mean, am I?" She looks up at him through her long thick eyelashes. A tear runs down her cheek.

He brings his hand up and gently wipes it away. "No, you're sweet and sassy and perfectly you. Not mean. Ya, hear me."

Luna nods. 

"Let's get out of here, okay. We need to figure out the clue now. Can't do it without your brains." He smiles at her dimples on display.

Luna smiles, he helps her out, and they walk out, Harry guiding her with a firm hand on her waist.

Once outside, the cold autumn wind hits them, and it's like Luna can finally breathe again. Harry guides them all the way to the sidewalk, where she hands him the clue. 

If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending.

"Sweets? There's a candy store, right?" Harry isn't sure, remembering seeing one. 

"It's named Annie's Sweets. Two streets from the library." 

"Well, lead the way, Buttercup." Harry links their hands together and begins walking forward is surprisingly the right direction. Luna stares down at their intertwined fingers, and it feels nice. 

Maybe, she's just a little touch starved. 

Luna is quiet, trying to think of anything but that moment she had in that house. She's going to give Caleb a lot of shit for that one. 

As they walk, Luna notices their hands are still together before pulling away. "Sorry." 

Harry shrugs. "Don't mind."

Luna frowns and looks straight ahead as they walk; he's confusing. Why is Harry acting sweet? A little too sweet. She intertwines her hands together in the front wanting the feeling of his hand in hers to disappear. 

"Are you going to tell the others about my crying? I get it if you do. Good story to get a laugh at me." She mumbles the last words. 

Harry grabs her arm, stopping her. She slowly raises her head to meet his eyes through the eye mask. His green eyes soft but filled with an emotion, she can't place. "I would never, what happened was not a laughing matter, this, all this tonight will stay between us, you good with that." 

Luna nods.

Harry clicks his tongue. "Verbal response." 

Her brown eyes go wide. "Yes, I'm good with that." 

Luna can't hide her surprise, and she knows Harry can see that. He's never acted so kind to her. It's a bit weird, but it beats the back and forth remarks. She's also sick of this façade of disliking him. It's exhausting now that she thinks about it. The banter is fun, but it always ends when it gets taken too far.  

"Harry, I know you hate me for some reason," She clears her throat before continuing. "But it's exhausting all the arguing. I'm great at it, but we've been at it for the two years we've known each other. You can keep hating me and not talking to me. I'm used to people not liking me. You won't be any different. We can co-exist in the same group."  

Harry scoffs, "You still don't get it."

She frowns. Get what? "You never gave us the chance to be friends. I'm giving you the chance to cut all ties while staying in the friend group." It's the most straightforward plan. It's honestly perfect.

"Luna, stop." 

She continues on. "Harry, seriously, you make me miserable, and I make-" He turns around, causing her to almost crash into him. 

"I like you." Luna knows the surprise is written all over her face. Harry's face is serious, no dimples insight and all his emerald eyes tell her is that he is full of frustration. "I like how beautiful and kind you are. How you don't let anyone walk over you and how you always manage to be the smartest person in any room."  

"Oh."

Harry likes her. Her. He likes her, and this was his way of interacting with her. He said she's smart, but honestly, nothing is making sense. She's confused; how does she feel? How long has he felt like this? Has it been since they were first introduced? 

Harry stands there staring at her, trying to see her give him any reaction, but all he gets is a blank stare. He clicks his tongue. "Alright." He turns on his heel and begins walking again.

Luna stares at him, walking away before shaking herself out of her thoughts and hurrying after him.

___

It's silent.

The quietest it's been all night, and she doesn't like it, but she's also not ready to address the bomb he dropped on her. 

At the start of the night, Luna believed he hated her. That he had hated her for the longest time only to find out he actually liked her. There is no way she'll bring it up, at least not yet. 

She cuts the tension in the way she knows best. 

"You could have at least grown the stache." He looks over at her, confused, not sure about what she just said or how she is brushing aside what he said. "The mustache adds to the character, and well, you don't have it."

Harry gasps. "I like my smooth face." She lets out the breath she was holding, thankful he went along. 

"Is that your way of saying you can't grow facial hair?"

"I can." 

She shrugs and nods. "Sure, Jan."

Harry is about to go off on her, but Luna runs ahead to the candy store entrance, walking in and letting the door shut behind her. 

He walks in after seeing that the store closes in twenty minutes; he finds Luna chatting with the cashier. He recognizes her as a girl he had in his intro to Psychology. She dropped out eight weeks in. He remembers because he lent her notes once and she had left coffee stains on them. As he reads on her name tag, the girl- Amy- was kind enough to pay him five dollars. Both girls don't acknowledge him, more into the conversation of Luna's costume and how pretty she looks in a crown. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd think Amy was flirting with her. Harry smirks but doesn't say anything waving at the girl before filling himself a bag of candy; he deserves it after all. 

"Amy was telling me Caleb came in a few days ago. Asked her on a date and they'll be going out next week. She thinks he's a proper cutie. Did you know her?" Luna tells him as she grabs the small tweezers to get a few sour gummy worms.

"Had her for a class first year, but she dropped out." Harry is focused on getting a few cherry sours in his bag. 

"Psychology. She was going through a rough time when she did it. Not that she ever needed the course. She's a theatre major now." 

"How do you know her?" He really is curious now, as she talks about her with familiarity. 

She drops a few Swedish Fish in the bag, sneaking one in her mouth, chewing it before moving along to add Tim Tams; he's never known for a candy store to have those. Then again, he's never been in this one. "She's my cousin. A year younger than us." 

"Why hadn't Caleb met her then if you've been friends for so long?" 

"God, you're a curious one, aren't you." She closes her bag and follows Harry as he fills his. He's going for Red Vines, nice and easy to snack on; Luna likes those only for movie nights for some bizarre reason she doesn't know. "I'm a protector of hearts. Amy is the sweetest person you'll ever meet, a real-life princess. Amy has been the sunshine in my life since she was born. I know Caleb, and he's going to fall in love with her, mark my words. I think they are a perfect match, but I also know not to meddle, which is why I wanted them to meet on their own." 

Harry smiles down at her. "Didn't know you could be so sweet, Buttercup." 

"Only to very few people." 

Luna places her bag on the scale, but her eyes go wide as she meets Amy's across the counter, realizing she doesn't have any money on her. Before she can even think about asking Harry, Amy saves the day. "Both your bags are covered. He knew whoever got this clue would most likely be buying, so he took care of it, more than enough actually." 

Luna rolls her head to look at Harry. "He's too kind." 

"What did the clue say?" Amy asks curiously. 

Harry and Luna's eyes go wide simultaneously. "Shit." He whispers before whipping out the slip of paper that led them there. "It says If you wish to find me, you must go to the place where the choice of sweets is never-ending." 

"The Pucker Powder!" Luna shouts, rushing over to the middle of the store where the machine of different flavors of powdered candy stands. There the clue is, under watermelon, Caleb's favorite. "I got it, Westley." 

Harry makes his way over to her waiting for her to read it, but Luna gestures for Amy to come listen as well, and she happily skips over. That's when Harry notices her costume; she's dressed in relaxed fitted jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a faded brown leather jacket with leather boots. A charm hanging from her neck. "What are you dressed as?" He's confused. 

"Dean Winchester." She answers cheerfully. 

Luna feels Harry turn to look at her waiting for an explanation. "She's paired up with Caleb, He's Castiel, and she's Dean and together they are ‘Destiel’. A long-loved ship in the fandom of Supernatural.

He smiles. "You look great." 

"Don't worry, Ames, the reason we aren't friends, is that he doesn't watch." 

"It's not for everyone, Luna," Amy tells her before nudging her to read the clue. 

You swim to the bottom to find the other side but never come back up.

"Sound like the lake," Harry suggests. “Only source of water here.”

Luna nods, agreeing with him, as they head to the door. She stops, suddenly remembering something. "Do you need us to walk you home? You know how I feel about anyone walking out alone, especially tonight."

Amy blushes, looking down. "Caleb offered to walk me home, you know it's close by, and it's still a while until midnight." 

"Say no more, sweets." Luna leaves and follows behind Harry, as he now leads the way. 

___

It's a half-mile away, not too far but enough to have them silent for a while as they set a steady pace. 

Harry quite likes conversing with Luna and decides to ask her a question that's been on his mind since he saw her back at the apartment. 

"Why this costume, why Buttercup?"

Luna runs her hands down the front of the material, feeling the softness against her hands. "It was my favorite growing up. Still is, honestly. It's a nice story that gives you a bit of everything, romance, friendship, and adventure. Each character was on an adventure, and it brought them all together. Also, because I'd read it to Caleb during lunch breaks, we didn't feel like playing with others. I'd read because he had dyslexia and he grew a distaste for reading." Luna smiles fondly, thinking back to those simpler times. 

"I watched the movie for the first time last year." 

"Did you like it?" Her voice was full of curiosity. 

"Loved it." He tells her. 

She smiles, his answer filling her with joy. "Favorite part?" 

He hums, thinking it over for a second. "When she pushes him down the hill and finds out he's actually Westley." 

"Because he yells as you wish, rolling down." She grabs his arm in excitement, finishing the scene for him. 

Luna realizes what she's doing, and quickly let's go, muttering a small apology. "You're a romantic, Farm Boy."

"Not the first person who's told me." 

The walk to Orchid Lake continues in silence. A comfortable one, each one lost in their own head. Luna keeps playing one moment in her head, the moment Harry confessed his fondness of her, but it doesn't make sense. She replays every one of their interactions, and there is not one moment that stands out to her that proves he likes her. Harry introduced himself the first time but never once pursued a friendship or anything more. Luna is so lost in thought she doesn't realize they've arrived as she bumps into Harry's back as he stopped at the entrance. 

She walks ahead, and instead of walking to the trail in front of them, she goes right and takes a seat on the bench, it's a bit wet due to the mist filling the air, but she doesn't mind. 

"Uh, it's this way." Harry points, wanting to get a move on. 

Luna makes no moves to stand. She runs a hand down her face before letting it drop to her lap. "How is it that you hate, and you like me?" The question slips out before she can stop herself. 

Harry sighs, knowing the conversation is happening now. "Don't hate you." Harry is now standing in front of her, mask in his hand, wanting her to really look at him. "But, you hate me." 

Luna shakes her head, no. She's never hated anyone, she might have disliked Harry at one point, but honestly, they might have just misjudged each other. Harry gives her a look, one that tells her to be honest. 

"Okay, I didn't like you, but can you blame me?" 

"No, I understand completely." Luna stares at him, her eyes now locked with his.  

Harry lets out a deep breath. "I think you're an amazing person. You're kind and smart. Always volunteering to help others. You help set up study sessions for everyone." Luna keeps her eyes on him, not giving him a single expression. "Was mad you didn't treat me that way when we first met." He confesses. 

She nods, letting it sink it. "I've always included you, never not invited you." 

"I mean, you didn't try to get to know me." 

"Harry, I did when we first met." Luna is sure of this. 

"No, I would remember." He exclaims. 

"I'm not that memorable to you, it seems." She rolls her eyes. "Let me paint the picture for you. We are all hanging out in Mitch's apartment when you arrive a little later than the rest of us. A girl is hanging off your arm, not an inch of space between you. Kiersten, does that name ring a bell, Styles?" Luna knows it does. It's his ex, the only one she knows of. "She was rude to me the first time we met, when we were introduced to each other. You stood there and let her do that. Insulted me, and I was fuming. Mitch said you were a kind person and to give you a chance but letting someone treat someone else badly right in front of you, I wasn't so sure." 

Harry stays silent, letting her go on. "The second time we met, she made fun of Charlotte's outfit, and you just sat there. Char cried in the bathroom and then headed home for the night. From then on, I was neutral with you, not giving you anything to move forward on. The last straw was when it was Friday movie night in my apartment, and she tells you it's lame seeing movies together and that the apartment was trashy. You stood there, nodding along, and as soon as I saw you alone for a second, I let you know we wouldn't be friends because you were different than I expected.” Luna tries to calm her breathing, no point in losing control over the past. She's let it go, well, some of it. 

"She was bad. I broke up with her that night." 

"That's not the point. Even in doing that, you didn't apologize, but you did already decide on how you were going to keep treating me." 

Harry has no right answer because he was wrong. He messed up. "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, and I'm sorry my apology is so late, but you do deserve it. No one should ever put up with someone else's crap, Luna." 

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"Honestly, I feel terrible. I think I did it because you didn't treat me like the others and-" Harry stops. 

"Yet you never questioned why. You just acted, and well, I reacted." 

Harry sighs, upset that they could have been friends by now, heck even something more maybe. 

"Wait, Harry." 

"Yes, Luna." 

"What was your' and'?" She stands up, not sure what it could be. 

"Uh, I was going to have a conversation with you to see why you never talked to me and had worked up the courage to also ask you on a date, but I heard you were dating Calvin, so I sort of got jealous and well, yeah." 

"We went on one date." She emphasizes. "No sparks. Who even told you?" 

"Abby." 

"Makes sense; she was jealous that Calvin asked me out. Seeing as he never once flirted with her. We're civil, but deep down, she doesn't like me." Luna isn't sure what went wrong with that friendship. 

They both let out deep breaths, thankful to have everything out in the open now, nothing hidden. A step forward. 

"I'm not that person," Harry tells her, needing her to know.

She smiles at him. "I know. You proved that today." 

"I hope I haven't offended you with my remarks." His smile was sheepish. 

"You haven't." 

"Luna," Harry chastises. 

"Okay, you have, but we can move past because it turns out you're actually really nice." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "And cause you like me." 

Harry blushes, his cheeks now a rosy red and not from the cold weather. "I plead the fifth." 

"Harry," She teases. 

"Lips sealed."

"Doesn't work if you confessed earlier." She reminds him.

Harry chooses to ignore her. Letting her words fall silent on him. "I know we have to get going, but can I do one thing before we do."

Luna nods, not sure what he wants to do. Harry takes a step forward until he is standing right in front of her. He pulls her in for a hug, his arms around her waist. She slowly raises her hands, being as gentle as she can about it. Their height difference makes her smile; her head reaches just under his chin. She hated it before, but now, in his arms, it's actually quite lovely. He's warm and not as firm as she thought he would be; it's like she's hugging a big teddy bear. 

Harry leans back, looking down at her, a shy smile on her face. His eyes flicker to her lips and back to her eyes, leaning in for a moment before stepping back. He clears his throat. "To the lake, Buttercup."

___

There's no fear as she walks to the bridge where the clue should be. It's dark, not much light guiding them besides the moon. Harry wanted to turn on his flashlight, but Luna knows it's best not to disturb their eyes with such a harsh light. 

Luna knows this path like the back of her hand. She comes here every morning, sometimes before sunrise, either for a run or walk but in the summertime, she'll even go in for a swim. The lake is well cared for by the community. There is just one house in the back of the property, and the old couple living there love the visitors. They teamed up with the university to set up students to be tour guides, and it's an excellent part-time job. There's a lot of good here. 

She's sure the clue is on the bridge because one time, Caleb got Luna so mad that she shoved him in. She can't even remember why she was angry, but Caleb surely does. She would bet her life on it. 

It's a wooden bridge, a bit old as it creaks under each step taken. It's low, as it sits on the side of the lake, four feet deep at most. She takes a lookout at the lake, the water showing a beautiful reflection of the bright full moon above their heads. 

Luna picks the paper taking a step closer to Harry so that they can read it together. 

"I was the embodiment of every writer's worst fear: A cliche."

"That's a book quote." Luna recognizes it, but not a single book comes to mind. "Let's head to the bookstore. It's fifteen minutes from here, but we can make it in ten." 

Harry lets her lead. They know time is counting down, not once having stopped to look at the time. Harry feels they might be falling behind with all the stops in between the clues, but he knows better than voice out his worries. 

"Do you recognize the quote?" Luna asks Harry to hand it over to him." 

Harry reads it over twice. "No." 

"I know it, but I can't figure out where. I've read one too many books." She crosses her arms across her chest in frustration. 

"Maybe it's one that you've read to him," Harry suggests. 

Luna looks up at him as if he just hung up all the stars in her name. "You're right. He set this all up." 

It's one she begged him not to make her read, but he gave her an offer she couldn't resist.

Luna picks up her pace; she's close to running but stops herself from doing so. 

"Wait up, it isn't going to run away." Harry huffs out. He thought he was in shape, but tonight has proved him wrong. It could also very well be the boots. 

"Farm Boy, put those legs to work!" She shouts, not at all looking back at him. She didn't have time for that. 

"I'm tired," Harry groans. "We've walked a lot.” 

"Please, we'll get something to eat after we win." She throws him a smile over her shoulder, and Harry happily returns it. 

"Deal." Luna is surprised at how quick he was to recover now next to her. She would have thought he was okay if it weren't for the deep breaths he was taking. "It can be our first date." 

Luna falters in her step. She recovers just as quickly, hoping Harry did not notice. It seems like he didn't. "Great joke, get serious." It's weird; she's feeling butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of what could be with Harry, a date. It doesn't sound so bad, but it's not her focus. 

Luna misses Harry frowning. He was serious, but he also understands they just came to a truce of sorts less than an hour ago. 

Walking into Read to Dream, the first thing Luna does is scan the clock. There are forty-five minutes until midnight. That is plenty of time to reach the last destination after retrieving the final clue. 

The bookstore is a family-owned place. Mrs. Bennet, the owner, will be sure to pass it down to one of her grandchildren. Seeing as her children didn't take an interest, but dear Clara has. Clara is Mason's younger sister. She recently turned seventeen, meaning she's now allowed to close shop independently, seeing as her grandmother lives right above. 

The bookstore is what everyone likes to call an organized mess. There are many books on shelves in their respected genre and ordered alphabetically. Still, there are also books on chairs that no one ever seems to touch, the books on top of the bookcases that don't fit, and the books in the back that are stacked in rows in a rainbow color because they don't have a specific genre. Luna spent many summer days here, this was her first job at fifteen, wanting to have more liberty and Mrs. Bennet was kind enough to hire her on. From time to time, she comes in to have tea with her or even volunteer her time around. It's one of her happiest places. 

"Hello, tootsie!" Luna bounces over to Clara going around the counter to give her a hug. 

"Lunes, it's great to see you. You look gorgeous. Red is definitely your color." Clara gushes. 

"Thank you, I'd love to chat more, but I'm on the hunt for a book." Luna turns to scan the store as if it would stand out to her.

Clara nods. "That I can help with.”

"Gone Girl"

"Three aisles down, second row." 

Luna quickly thanks her, and Harry follows after her. Harry's stuck on the fact that she seems to know everyone they encounter. He's never seen a person as social and kind as her. 

"You read Gone Girl aloud to him." Harry finally processes the information that was given a few minutes prior. 

"He paid me to." Luna defends.

"How much?" 

"In lunch for an entire semester." Luna finds the book and begins to flip through it knowing it must be stuck in there. 

"Fair." 

"Got it!" Luna cheers. She pulls it out and hands it to Harry. He opens it, and that's when her eyes catch sight of the second piece of paper. This one is pale yellow, meaning it's not a clue and specifically for her. Luna slips it under her sleeve, careful not to have it fall out. 

Evil lurks at midnight. I invite you to join me when they begin to rise.

The cemetery. A chilling place to end the night, but a perfect place to be crowned winners. 

"It's a twenty-minute walk from here," Luna informs Harry, putting the book away and heading to the front. 

"I've never been to the cemetery." Harry decides to tell her. 

"It's not as creepy looking as you would think." 

"Don't believe you," He mutters. 

They say goodbye to Clara and begin the walk to the final spot of the night. 

"Ready to win?" She smiles up at Harry, buzzing with adrenaline, knowing how close they are. 

"Yeah, I am." 

As much as Luna wants to run to the cemetery, she wants to enjoy the last alone time she will have with Harry. She knows they are going to be friends after this. She lets herself fall behind a few steps and pulls out the slip of paper. She unfolds it, and it reads, "You can thank me by making me the man of honor." She blushes, but Caleb might be right, and she honestly hopes he might be. Luna can deny how she feels all she wants, but tonight proved something there, something he saw long before she did. 

Something that had been hiding there for quite some time.  

This could very well be the night that changed it all, the story they tell their grandchildren. That stops her letting out a gasp loud enough to grab Harry's attention. A few hours ago, she couldn't stand him and now is thinking about a future with him, and all Luna wants to know is how she let these feelings grow without really noticing. 

"You alright, Luna?" Harry looks concerned. 

No future talk, not now, at least. First, they will win, and then they both can go from there. 

"Luna, love. Times ticking." Harry teases. 

Luna starts forward once more, not having noticed how close they actually are from the entrance. She passes Harry and is now running. "Pick up the pace, Farm Boy." She's gaining lots of distance from him. 

"You can't beat me, Buttercup," Harry says, beginning to catch up, now right behind her. 

Luna lets out a loud laugh causing her to slow down. "We're on the same team, Westley." 

Harry laughs, pulling ahead, but grabbing her arm, making her run even faster. They turn the corner, and that's when she sees Caleb's car and knows the entrance is right ahead where he has to be waiting. 

Caleb is leaning against the rusted golden fence. Evergreen Cemetery, the name on the arch staring down at them. Caleb raises his head, looking away from his phone as he hears footsteps hitting the pavement. 

"Inconceivable!" Caleb shouts as Harry and Luna stand in front of him, out of breath but smiling. "You have arrived with ten minutes to spare, but I hate to inform you-" Luna's smile drops, and Harry can only frown, a profound bit of sadness forming in his stomach.

Caleb bends over, laughing. He wishes he could have recorded that. "I'm only playing. Of course, you won." 

Luna punches his shoulder. "Jerk." 

"Hey, be nice," Caleb backs away, his hands up in defense. "Winners aren't mean." 

"They are if it's to their best friend." Harry laughs, knowing Caleb deserves the well-given punch he received. 

"Honestly, I wasn't too sure you'd win, considering you two aren't- or weren't the best of buddies." Caleb nods his head to their connected pinkies. Harry blushes but makes no move to pull away. Luna tries, but Harry tightens his hold, and well who is she to fight him. 

"Look who's here," Caleb says, looking over their shoulder. 

It's Mitch and Ollie rushing over, a frown on both their faces as Luna and Harry step to the side so Caleb can adequately thank them for being the first losers. 

Mitch scoffs, a smirk forming on his face. "No surprise, they won. Harry would do anything to see Luna smile."

Harry's cheek goes red, but Luna carries on her conversation with Caleb feigning as if she didn't hear a word Mitch said. 

As time clicks closer to midnight, the teams begin to trickle in. Daniel and Calvin come in with five minutes to spare. Mason and Charlotte right on their heels, and at 11:59, barely making it on time are Justine and Abby. There were many mixed emotions as they found out Luna and Harry were the winners. A few eye rolls (Abby) and lots of cheers. 

Caleb has quieted everyone down, as it is now time to crown the winners, and Luna is buzzing with excitement. She might not have won with Caleb by her side, but Harry was just as great as Caleb, if not better. 

"I am proud to crown Luna and Harry, the winners of the Halloween Scavenger Hunt 2020," Caleb yells, having everyone break out into collective cheers. Luna blows kisses to her group of friends, a large smile on her face. 

Charlotte steps forwards and places a jeweled crown on her head. Luna thanks her softly and watches as she does the same to Harry. He bends down so that Charlotte doesn't need to reach up to place it on him. He has a broad smile on his face, he glances at Luna, causing her to go a deep red, but all he does is give her a cheeky wink. Caleb hands over two yellow envelopes, Winner, written on the front, and in each is the $250 prize money. 

It's $500 total, but it's split because of groups. She's not sure who decided everyone put in $50 to get a nice prize out of it instead of just bragging rights, but Luna was thankful for whoever did.

"Speech, please," Caleb says, backing away to stand with the others.  

Harry nods at her asking if she'd like to go first, but she shakes her head no. He clears his throat and puts on a charming smile, always quick to dazzle a crowd. "This year, I was not expecting to partner up with the best at the game, but I am glad she drew out my name. Luck was honestly on my side." He turns his head to find Luna already staring at him. "I can happily say that I'd do it all over again with Luna by my side." Shoots her a smile before locking eyes with their friends. "As now reigning three-time champion, I'm proud to have been at her side. Her brains and my looks won us this hunt." He fakes a hair flip causing Luna and Caleb to let out a giggle simultaneously. She nudges him gently, shaking her head at his antics. 

Harry smiles at her waiting for her to now start hers. She blushes under his intense gaze wishing he'd direct it elsewhere. 

Luna knows they are waiting for her to share, but she's stuck in a trance staring into Harry's emerald eyes. She thinks back to the evening's start in Mitch's living room and the promise she made to Harry if they won. 

Without thinking twice, she steps close to Harry, closing the small distance between them. Luna brings up her right hand to gently cradle his cheek and as for permission. He gives her the slightest nod, and in the next second, her lips are on his. Harry reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist, needing her close, not all believing it's actually happening. 

Harry's lips are soft, his mouth tasting like cherry from the gummies they bought earlier in the night. The butterflies in her stomach are going crazy, trying to find an escape. Harry lets out a small moan. That's when she knows it's time to pull away. Luna rests her hands on his chest, feeling how fast his heart is reacting to the kiss. 

Luna turns to face her friends,  not caring how they were all witnesses to their first kiss. "I told Harry if we won that I'd kiss him, and well, I'm not one to go back on my word." 

Caleb cheers and starts to clap, not at all trying to hide his excitement. Everyone else joins in the hollers, only getting louder, causing Luna to drop her head to rest on Harry's chest as she takes in her friend's excitement, knowing the teasing will soon be next. Harry has not removed his hands from her waist, liking how close she is. Luna doesn't mind it either. It feels quite nice.  

"Alright, let's head to the diner where we'll buy the winner's food." Caleb begins ushering everyone to the cars. He got Amy's help bringing over Mitch and Charlotte's car which is how they will be leaving, finally the end to all the walking.

Luna and Harry are still wrapped in each other's arms, not at all ready to move. Caleb is waiting for them at the small cobblestone entrance.

"We'll meet you there." Luna knows they have no transportation, the diner being close to their apartment that is a good two miles away. 

Caleb nods, stepping closer to toss his keys to her. She catches them with ease. "I'll be riding with Mitch." 

They watch the two cars drive away before turning her attention back to Harry. 

"What a night." 

She nods in agreement, happy that the hunting is over and can now relax. 

"Favorite part?" Harry asks.

She thinks it over for a second before responding, "The haunted house."

"Really." Her answer really surprises Harry, and he doesn't try to hide it. 

Luna shrugs. "Think that's what broke the tension between us; otherwise, we'd still be bickering." Getting locked in a room was not fun, but Harry coming to look for her and help her showed her a side she hadn't seen before. It was worth it, but would most definitely not do it again. "And yours?" 

He leans down to whisper in her ear. "When you kissed me." 

Luna nods, "That was a nice moment, huh." 

"Care to do it again?" 

"Only," Luna pauses before leaning close to Harry. She feels his breath against hers, mixing together. "If you would agree to dress up with me next year." 

"Done deal." Harry answers. His lips are on hers once more. Harry has a hand on her cheek, deepening the kiss, not ever wanting to pull away. "We could be Noah and Allie from The Notebook."

Luna breaks the kiss. "Gross, please take that back." 

"What's wrong? It's my favorite movie." 

"Why?" Luna asks in disgust. "Allie cheats on her fiancé. Sure, they have true love, but cheating should never be condoned, especially in a love story. Sure the book showed their growth and maturity, but you're not talking about the book. I shall not do it, not ever." 

"Guess you just won our first fight, Buttercup." Harry smiles. 

"First? We've had over five hundred!" Luna tells him. "Now, kiss me again because I won." 

"If we're kissing after each fight, then I owe you over five hundred." Luna shuts Harry up by connecting their lips. She knows kissing Harry will never get old, neither will these pointless arguments that will be forgotten seconds later. 

"Enough of giving these dead people a show. Let's go eat." 

"As you wish." 

Luna gasps, pressing her right hand against her heart dramatically. "Are you saying you love me?" She clears her throat, scrunching up her face in apology. "This might be a little awkward then." She points between them both. 

Harry stops walking, throwing his head back, letting out a loud groan of frustration. "You're a pain in my ass." 

Luna giggles. "Would you want it any other way?"

Harry grins, looking down at her soft brown eyes. "No." He responds honestly.  

Pinkies linked together, bumping into each other randomly to see who stumbles the most, Luna and Harry walk out of the cemetery forever thankful for this Halloween night. 

I love you! 

Thank you for reading, come chat the hunt with me

[f0xfordcomma]

re:union (kataang week 2021) DAY SEVEN

prompt: the sea and the sky

re:union

chapter seven: reunions

rating: T

words: 2529

summary: "He had fought hard for this unity. Had spent countless hours in courtrooms and offices arguing with dignitaries and representatives about the benefits of a United Republic. He had spent long nights drafting up documents and looking over contracts. He had dreamed of finally seeing this day, finally seeing this unity. All he could see tonight though, was a yellow flower drifting around the crowded room on an intricately braided head of ochre hair."

read it on ao3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

chapter seven: reunions

By the time Aang had handled Councilman Zhu’s dumpling crisis, he had lost track of Katara.

“She went to get changed for the feast,” a familiar, though deeper than he remembered, voice sounded from behind him.

“Sokka!”

“Hey buddy! It’s good to see you.”

They squeezed each other in a bone-crushing hug. The first one, Aang realized, he had gotten since his return. Aang held on a little harder at the thought.

“Where’s Suki?”

“Getting ready with the rest of the warriors. They are playing a special part in the performance tonight.”

“Wow! I can’t wait to see that!”

“Heh—yeah, me too.” Sokka’s voice went somewhere dreamy. “But, uh, I think it’ll be hard to watch with your head buried in my shoulder like this…”

“Oh right! Sorry… just happy to see you.”

“I missed you too buddy.” Sokka squeezed Aang’s shoulder reassuringly. “Now, you should go get ready! Can’t have the guest of honor stinking up the place tonight.”

“Guest of honor…” Aang grumbled, rolling his eyes in exasperation at Zhu’s exuberance. Still, he broke away from Sokka, giving him a nod as he made his way towards the room’s egress.

“Oh, and Aang?” called Sokka from near the food tables where he was stealing an hor’s d'oeuvre from under a cloche. “She’s not seeing anybody, in case you were wondering.”

Aang stopped still, his ears burned, his head swam. He hadn’t realized how much the question was plaguing him until he had heard it vocalized. She’s still single. There’s still time. He had let her go once, had regretted it every day since. She’s still single. He had no idea if she still wanted him the way he wanted her. But she’s still single. He resolved to try and change that fact by the end of the night.

He opened his mouth to speak but only a low whine came out. He cleared his throat but ended up coughing around the words as he forced them out. “I—is that… is that so?”

“It is.” Sokka snorted.

“That’s uh… thanks Sokka!” Aang shouted in salutation as he rushed out the door, needing to hide his burning blush and, as everyone had insisted, finally get cleaned up.

⬭

He wore a new set of robes. The pants dyed a dark amber with northern saffron. The belt and sash a sunny terra-cotta color that complimented the blue of his tattoos.

He surveyed his face in the mirror, taking in the scruff along his jawline, the tan around his temples, the laugh lines near his lips. He hadn’t spent much time looking at himself over the past few years, hadn’t had a mirror at any of the temples. The only time he would look at his reflection was when shaving his head, and even then, the refraction of the water made it difficult to examine his countenance with any detail.

Aang had never much minded the way that he looked--hadn’t had much use for vanity when living with the monks, hadn’t had much time for insecurity when running from the fire nation, hadn’t had much need for self-consciousness when being loved by Katara--he’d always thought his face was friendly enough, his body was strong enough. Something about looking at himself now though, fully a man, strong and steady and serene in a way that he’d never seen himself before, made his chest swell with confidence.

“I look good, huh buddy?” He directed the question to Momo, who had joined him in his room after an afternoon spent swooping around Cranefish City in search, no doubt, of sweets from strangers.

In reply, the lemur flew over to perch on his shoulder, scratching through the stubble on Aang’s chin with a squawk.

“You really think she’ll like it?” He scratched Momo between the ears and produced a plum from the pocket of his pants.

Momo took the fruit eagerly between his paws and greedily gobbled it down.

“Aw buddy, you flatter me.”

“Well babe,” a feminine voice dripping with thinly veiled amusement sounded from behind him, “it looks like we’ve officially lost him.”

“You’d think so, but he’s been talking to the lemur like that for as long as I’ve known him.”

“So what you’re telling me is, he has always been insane?”

“Pretty much.”

Aang’s face was beet red (he had lost count, at this point, as to how many times this had happened today) as he spun on his heel to face the Firelord and Firelady, who were standing in his doorway in their formal robes and appraising him with mirth-filled expressions.

“Uh, hey guys… how, uh… how long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, long enough, hot stuff.” Mai shot him a wry smile with a raised eyebrow before turning and pecking her husband on the cheek quickly as she took her leave. “I’m going to go make sure the kids are ready. We leave in ten, boys.”

Once Mai was out of earshot, Zuko burst into laughter and walked over to throw an arm around Aang. “Anything you want to talk about there, Aang?”

“Yeah! Why is it that I don’t see any of you for three whole years, and the first thing anyone does is tease me.”

“That’s not true! The first thing I did was put you on babysitting duty.”

“You’re not funny, Zuko.”

“Hey! Now who’s teasing whom?”

Aang scowled. Zuko, trying to school his face into a slightly more serious expression, straightened up and stalked a few paces across the small room.

“I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice because Uncle isn’t here to do it for me.” Zuko pantomimed stroking his beard and affected a strong accent that, ultimately, sounded nothing like Iroh. “Follow your heart.”

“Follow my heart? That’s it? No tea metaphors? No floral imagery? You make a pretty rotten Iroh, Zuko.”

“Hey, I tried.” Zuko shrugged. “I don’t know, man. You’re still in love with Katara, right?”

Aang flushed but nodded his head, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Are you going to do something about it?”

Aang met Zuko’s eyes determinedly and nodded again.

“Good. You’d better.”

“Thanks Zuko.”

“Any time. By the way? I agree with Momo, the beard really suits you.” At that, Zuko strode out of the room, chuckling softly to himself.

⬭

“So, Sugar Queen,” Toph plopped herself on Katara’s bed with a huff, swinging her bare feet up to rest on the adjacent wall so she could still feel what was happening. “You seemed pretty cozy with our Prodigal Son back there. Locked that down yet?”

“Toph!” Katara spluttered, pulling her paintbrush away from her lips.

“That’s a no, then?”

“Wha--no, not a… he just got back! And I don’t even know if… it’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Right, right. So you guys haven’t talked about your feelings, like, at all, yet? What the heck was all that flirting on the beach then?”

“What flirting? We were just hanging out. As friends! Being friendly! We were friends before we were ever anything else, Toph. You know that!”

“Uh huh, uh huh. Good point, Katara. Your definition of ‘friendly’ has always been a little bit off when it comes to Aang…”

“Toph! I will kick you out.”

“No, you won’t. Want to know why?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“You know me so well, Sweetness. And you aren’t going to kick me out because I know you very well and if I’m not here in, oh, seven minutes when you inevitably start second guessing yourself, to give you one of my patented Toph Beifong pep talks, you are going to freak out.”

Katara grumbled something crass under her breath and scowled at Toph’s reflection in the mirror, but ultimately, she knew her friend was right, so she obliged the company while she finished putting on her makeup.

Katara rarely wore makeup. It hadn’t really been a custom among the women in the Southern Water Tribe growing up, and during the war there hadn’t been time to worry over such trivialities. Afterwards, though, she had been the victim of many a makeover by Ty Lee. Had been the guest at many formal galas that required a bit of dressing up. Had been gifted a set of Kyoshi warrior paints by Suki. Had spent an afternoon wandering around the market in Caldera hunting down the exact right shade of lipstick with Mai and learning everything that she could possibly hope to know about knife maintenance.

Aang had always gotten incredibly flustered around her when she wore makeup. That was, perhaps, her favorite part of the process.

It had been years since she had put any makeup on her face. Her face was different now. Her eyes crinkled a bit at the corners when she smiled, her cheeks were less plump, more defined, her lips were fuller—perhaps the lipstick made her lips look too full? Perhaps it wasn’t the same color that she had used that one night in Omashu when Aang had ended up wearing more of it than she had? Perhaps she should wear something pinker? Redder? What had Mai said about skin undertones?

“You look fine.”

“You really think so, Toph?”

“No idea.” Toph deadpanned. “But I’m sure that even if you look like an armadillo-hog, Aang will still forget his own name when he sees you. That is your goal with the facepaint, right?”

“Uh…”

“Of course it is, don’t try to lie to me, Sweetness. Listen, I know two things: that boy’s heartbeat has always only ever been impacted by you, and a lot of other men have also had hammering heartbeats when they talk to you. Wanna know what that tells me? You ain’t ugly. In fact, I assume you’re pretty hot. So, chin up, shoulders back, let’s go get you your man back.”

Katara spluttered and blushed. “Oh… uh, okay.”

“You don’t sound confident yet. You are still in love with him, right?”

“Yes.” She whispered.

“Obviously. Then get your pretty little butt out of here and go do something about it. Chop chop, girly!” Toph, still laying on Katara’s bed, started snapping at her while she squared her shoulders in the mirror and gave herself one more once over, nodding at her reflection and resolving to talk to Aang as soon as she had the chance.

“Right. Okay. I can do this. Thank you, Toph.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Eh, yeah… I told Yugi to meet me here so we can head over together. Or wait… was it Satoru? Toklo? I don’t know, some guy is picking me up. Can’t show up to a stuffy formal function without someone to talk to all the boring people for me, now can I?”

“You do know all of your friends are going to be there tonight, right?”

“I said what I said.”

Katara rolled her eyes as she hurried past Toph and prepared to leave. “Whatever, just lock up when you leave, okay? Mrs. Shao is out tonight so I’m the last one in the house.”

⬭

The ballroom was lavishly decorated. The colors of all four nations draped around the room in every detail. Tapestries hung on the walls with the new seal of Republic City, flanked on either side by the insignias of the four nations. The tables were lined with dishes from across the world. The floral arrangements featured regional blooms from all over. In a ballroom in a government building in a sleepy corner of the Earth Kingdom continent, the entire world was united in one beautiful display.

He had fought hard for this unity. Had spent countless hours in courtrooms and offices arguing with dignitaries and representatives about the benefits of a United Republic. He had spent long nights drafting up documents and looking over contracts. He had dreamed of finally seeing this day, finally seeing this unity. All he could see tonight though, was a yellow flower drifting around the crowded room on an intricately braided head of ochre hair.

From his seat onstage next to Zuko, he watched her make her way around the room hugging and smiling and laughing and chatting. Her sleeveless blue dress was modern but carried traditional nods to her water tribe roots. Her lips were a dark cherry red. Her hair was braided. He had braided it. A yellow flower sat at her crown and winked sunshine at him whenever she turned her head. She was beautiful. Of course, he already knew that. But she was beautiful.

“Aang? Hello… Aang??”

“Huh, what?” Aang was drawn from his stupor when Zuko nudged him with his elbow.

“You’re up.”

“Oh.”

Zhu introduced him. He somehow made a speech. There was roaring applause.  Her eyes were blue, her lips were red, the flower was yellow. She was blushing.

He took his seat next to Zuko. Her eyes were blue . There were performances. Her lips were red . Suki shot finger guns at him in greeting as she and her warriors took the stage. The flower was yellow. Music started up and the gathered crowd dispersed to make way for dancing. She was blushing.

“Excuse me.” He rushed off-stage and into the crowd, chasing a glimpse of yellow in ochre, a swish of blue chiffon. She was pushing her way through the crowd, too. Her eyes were blue. “Katara, I--”

“Dance with me?”

She was offering him a hand. The tsungi horn rang out a familiar song. He took it. “Of course.”

They knew this dance by muscle memory. It was as familiar as their own names, as each other’s name. He flew around her in swirls. She swam around him on waves. They were the sea and the sky and there could not be one without the other. He lifted her, she spun around him. He dipped her, she glowed. She was the sun and he was the moon. She illuminated his sky. He compelled her tides.

The music ended. They were breathing heavy, faces inches apart, hearts still hammering the now silent drum beat.

“Can we go somewhere?”

⬭

The sound of the party flooded the streets of Republic City. Everyone seemed in good spirits, bustling about in a dance as they went about their evening errands. The cicada-crickets sang along to the Tsungi horn. The air was hot, heavy with humidity. They watched the waves from a rooftop. Their hands were intertwined.

Out across the bay, the sea and the sky collided in a canvas of colors. The green and yellow and red and orange of twilight reflected on the water’s dusky blue blue blue. The colors blurred together, obscuring the horizon line, obscuring the separation between their two elements. Out here, there was no sea, no sky. No air, no water. No Aang, no Katara. Just them. Just together. Just finally.

They made promises to each other. They held on. They did not let go.

“Sweetie?”

“Hmm?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

He had to lean every so slightly down to kiss her.

Her hands in his hands.

Blue. Grey.

Sea. Sky.

Their city had a new name.

They were here.

They were home.

⬭

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's done! It's done!

So sorry for the delay in posting this! I could've squeezed it out yesterday but didn't feel like doing so would wrap up all the things the way that I wanted to so I needed to take a bit more time on it and, obviously, this chapter grew to be quite a bit larger than the others.

I have had SO MUCH FUN participating in Kataang week this year and hope to do it again next year maybe? Also I /might/ have a little storm brewing for Maiko week so... be on the lookout for that at some point?

The love and support that I've gotten for this fic this week? OH MY GOD like wow it's been so lovely! Thank you all for reading.

And a million thanks to @foxy-knowledgeseeker for being an absolute angel and beta-ing this sucker for me. I'm gonna apologize for my choas just once more. (Sorry! Thank you!)

Bwah! Okay, time for a nap <3

@kataang-week

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

[eli-kittim]

Christ The Terminator: Half Man Half Machine

“I’ll Be Back”

By Author Eli Kittim

End-Time Visions of the Messiah’s Robotic Enhancements

What if Jesus paid a steeper price for our salvation? What if Christ is “revealed at the final point of time” (1 Pet. 1.20 NJB)? What if his sacrifice “in the end of the world” (Heb. 9.26b KJV) is more costly than previously assumed?

In his vision, the prophet Ezekiel saw certain heavenly creatures who “were of human form” (1.5 NRSV). Notice what he says about their legs (1.7):

Their legs were straight, and the soles of

their feet were like the sole of a calf's foot;

and they sparkled like burnished bronze.

As you read further, you will come to realize that this imagery runs throughout the entire Bible. Remarkably, Ezekiel’s description sounds very much like modern bionic prosthetics, which redefine and enhance human amputees. Let’s not forget that the heavenly figures whom Ezekiel had seen were supposedly human. Two other interesting clues were that “their legs were straight” (unlike human legs that bend) and that “their feet were like . . . burnished [Hb. קָלָֽל׃ qalal] bronze [Hb. נְחֹ֥שֶׁת nechosheth].” This is a running theme throughout the Bible whose imagery is associated with the end-time Messiah! Similarly, in Revelation 1.13-15, John describes his vision of Christ as follows:

I saw one like the Son of Man, clothed with

a long robe and with a golden sash across

his chest. His head and his hair were white

as white wool, white as snow; his eyes were

like a flame of fire, his feet were like

burnished bronze, refined as in a furnace,

and his voice was like the sound of many

waters.

Notice the imagery pertaining to Christ’s “feet [which] were like burnished bronze [Gk. χαλκολιβάνῳ].” By comparison, in Daniel 10.1 we are told that “In the third year of King Cyrus of Persia a word was revealed to Daniel.” Remember that, in the Bible, Cyrus represents the Messiah (see Isa. 45.1). Daniel sees a vision of the end times, described by a glorious man who looks awfully similar to John’s “Son of Man” (Dan. 10.5-6):

I looked up and saw a man clothed in linen,

with a belt of gold from Uphaz around his

waist. His body was like beryl, his face like

lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his

arms and legs like the gleam of burnished

bronze, and the sound of his words like the

roar of a multitude.

Daniel gives us additional information by saying that “his arms and legs [were] like the gleam of burnished [Hb. קָלָ֑ל qalal] bronze [Hb. נְחֹ֣שֶׁת nechosheth].” In other words, it wasn’t just his legs, but his arms as well were seemingly made of burnished bronze! It sounds like a combat soldier who had lost all his limbs and was wearing a metallic or robotic prosthesis. And Daniel employs the exact same Hebrew words for “burnished bronze” that are used in Ezekiel’s vision. Furthermore, in Revelation 2.18, Christ himself identifies with this biblical image, demonstrating categorically and unequivocally that it refers to him and him alone. Christ says:

And to the angel of the church in Thyatira

write: These are the words of the Son of

God, who has eyes like a flame of fire, and

whose feet are like burnished bronze.

Chalkolibanon: The Messiah’s Feet Were Like Burnished Bronze

καὶ οἱ πόδες αὐτοῦ ὅμοιοι χαλκολιβάνῳ

https://biblehub.com/greek/5474.htm

The Greek word chalkolibanon is translated as “burnished bronze” and refers to “a fine metal,” such as “fine copper, bronze or brass,” similar to what the Hebrew term for bronze (i.e. nechosheth) represents.

https://biblehub.com/hebrew/5178.htm

These images that are therefore uniquely related to Jesus strongly suggest that they’re part of his human makeup and physical appearance. Why else would the Bible contain these metallic images? All these prophets from both the Old and New Testament seem to suggest that the Messiah’s “sacrifice” entails the loss of his limbs, which are replaced by modern metallic substitutes, turning him into a kind of Cyborg. An article from the Australian Academy of Science expounds on this type of modern technology:

What’s different about the new generation

of prosthetic limbs is their union with bionic

technology, and the way they combine

fields of study as diverse as electronics,

biotechnology, hydraulics, computing,

medicine, nanotechnology and prosthetics.

Technically, the field is known as

biomechatronics, an applied

interdisciplinary science that works to

integrate mechanical elements and devices

with biological organisms such as human

muscles, bones, and the nervous systems. 

https://www.science.org.au/curious/people-medicine/bionic-limbs

Incidentally, a wide variety of materials are used to create artificial limbs, including aluminium bronze and titanium bronze alloys, which are shiny metals. Copper, iron, silver, and gold have also been used in the past. Surprisingly, these are the exact metallic descriptions that we find in the aforesaid passages of the Bible (cf. Dan. 2.32-33: “head of . . . gold . . . arms of silver . . . thighs of bronze. . . legs of iron . . . feet partly of iron and partly of clay [human]”).

Robotics for Human Augmentation in the Visions of Daniel

Dual fulfillment is an important principle of Biblical interpretation. It’s associated with the concept of messianic typology in the Hebrew Bible. It refers to the notion that there are certain prophecies in the Bible that may have both an immediate and a long-term fulfilment. The gigantic statue of a man made of four metals, in the Book of Daniel, is such a prophecy, that might be a clue to the endtimes Christ. It has a short-term fulfillment in terms of the succeeding world-empires that will arise and rule on earth. However, Daniel 2.44 suggests that the prophecy also refers to the end of days (a long-term fulfillment) when God will set up his kingdom once for all! Daniel 2.31-33 (NRSV) explains Nebuchadnezzar’s dream as follows:

You were looking, O king, and lo! there was

a great statue. This statue was huge, its

brilliance extraordinary; it was standing

before you, and its appearance was

frightening. The head of that statue was of

fine gold, its chest and arms of silver, its

middle and thighs of bronze, its legs of iron,

its feet partly of iron and partly of clay.

Let’s not forget that Daniel addresses the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar as if he’s the the king of kings, the Messiah (2.37-38):

You, O king, the king of kings—to whom the

God of heaven has given the kingdom, the

power, the might, and the glory, into whose

hand he has given human beings, wherever

they live, the wild animals of the field, and

the birds of the air, and whom he has

established as ruler over them all—you are

the head of gold.

There are messianic overtones, here, that go far beyond the historical context of the passage and suggest a future fulfillment. The dream features a towering statue of a man (Daniel 2.32-33):

The head of that statue was of fine gold, its

chest and arms of silver, its middle and

thighs of bronze, its legs of iron, its feet

partly of iron and partly of clay.

Once again, we get the feeling this is more of a machine than a man. Notice that the legs were made of iron and bronze. What if Daniel 4.13-15 represents God’s judgment on the Messiah? (cf. 2 Cor. 5.21; Gal. 3.13):

I continued looking, in the visions of my

head as I lay in bed, and there was a holy

watcher, coming down from heaven. He

cried aloud and said: ‘Cut down the tree

and chop off its branches, strip off its

foliage and scatter its fruit. Let the animals

flee from beneath it and the birds from its

branches. But leave its stump and roots in

the ground, with a band of iron and bronze,

in the tender grass of the field. Let him be

bathed with the dew of heaven, and let his

lot be with the animals of the field in the

grass of the earth.’

Conclusion

There’s a running narrative throughout the Old and New Testaments that includes thematic parallels and verbal agreements between the visions of various prophets. The terminology has not only been surprisingly consistent from prophet to prophet, but its meaning has also been uniform from one language to another. For example, both Ezekiel and Daniel use identical Hebrew terms to describe what appears to be a Messianic figure, whose feet were “like burnished [Hb. קָלָֽל׃ qalal] bronze [Hb. נְחֹ֥שֶׁת nechosheth]” (Ezek. 1.7; cf. Dan. 10.6)! Astoundingly, the exact same meaning (i.e. χαλκολίβανον; burnished bronze) as applied to the Hebrew Old Testament is employed in the Greek New Testament (Rev. 1.15; 2.18) to convey a similar idea. This suggests that the Biblical books are inspired and in dialogue with one another.

Accordingly, the arms and legs of the purported Messiah do not appear to be human. Rather, they appear to be robotic metals for human augmentation, what we today would call modern bionic prosthetics in redefining and enhancing human amputees. The consistent thematic material (i.e. the canonical context) in the visions of the prophets, especially those of Daniel, is exegetically significant and cannot be simply explained away. What if Daniel 4.14 represents God’s judgment on the Messiah to cut off “his arms and legs”? (cf. Dan. 10.6):

Cut down the tree

and chop off its branches.

Given that the “tree image” in Dan. 4.10-12 is of paramount importance and immersed in messianic metaphors (cf. Jn 15.5; Rev. 22.2), it could certainly represent the Anointed one. All these prophets from both the Old and New Testament seem to suggest that the Messiah’s “sacrifice” entails the loss of his limbs, which are replaced by modern metallic substitutes, turning him into a kind of Cyborg or Bionic Man! The same shiny metals that are referenced in the Bible are the exact same alloys used in prosthetic limbs and modern robotics for human augmentation (i.e. human-enhancement technologies). A close reading of these end-time visions suggests that the Son of Man is part man part machine. This is called “transhumanism,” the merger of humanity with artificial intelligence. This would imply that Christ’s suffering on Judgment day is far more intense than previously thought, which also reflects the profound depth of his love for us!

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Eight

In which the children learn some things

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

---

Wei Wuxian lights three lamps and spreads his discarded curtains on the wooden walkway outside the servants quarters. The cultivators at Cloud Recesses retire at nine, leaving a good three hours for servants to work in the main areas, cleaning and mending and tidying with no bothersome children or late meetings to interrupt them. It’s actually a little fun—the laundry yard is far enough from the sleeping quarters so they can be a bit loud, singing and laughing while they work. The servants try to sleep by midnight if they can in order to grab three or four hours to rest before fires need to be lit and breakfast started.

The Lan Clan rules have quite a lot to say about setting aside the proper number of hours to sleep. These rules don’t seem to apply to the servants. Wei Wuxian wonders sometimes who knows what actually goes into running a place like Cloud Recesses. Does Lan Xichen? Lan Qiren? Has Lan Wangji ever stayed up late and seen the flurry of work in his beloved library? But they are all such diligent students, they’d never stay up so late. Cultivators. So studious in topics of importance, so clueless about everything else.

Sometimes—though he tries to avoid it—he thinks about the servants back at Lotus Pier. Yunmeng has no such rules about sleeping and waking hours, and Wei Wuxian remembers many late nights entertaining guests, holding silly sword tournaments in the training yards after a few jugs of wine, even Jiang Fengmian holding discussions with other sect leaders that ran long into the morning. When had their servants cleaned, swept, repaired the things broken by careless bursts of spiritual energy? He’d always thought Madam Yu’s servants to be so cruel, extensions of her fury and rigidity. But maybe they were just tired.

In any event, he hasn’t slept a full night since he lost his golden core, so he doesn’t mind much. 

After a lot of thought, he’s decided that the children’s play clothes won’t be robes but rather a version of a laborer’s shirt and trousers. He’s only got one full set of clothes himself, but he’s picked apart the seams and laid out the pieces as a pattern. If he can figure out how to make children’s versions, then he’ll be able to stitch his own back together. If not, well, Madam Xiao likes him now. He can come up with some story to justify running up to her in just his sleeping robe. He’s kneeling in it now, bony knees sticking out at odd angles and night breeze raising gooseflesh on all his exposed skin.

He doesn’t think of warm hands on his neck as he bends to his work. He traces around each piece with charcoal before cutting them out. By the time the sky turns purply-grey with sunrise, he has a neat little stack of various sized patterns, each set rolled into a dusty blue cylinder. 

It takes another week and a half of spare hours during lessons and after dark to make a full set of clothes and another week to improvise adjustments to hems and inseams. He finds himself saved by the addition of drawstring belts, and while they hardly look tidy, he ends up with an army of midnight colored miscreants that he’s quite proud of. 

The little ones are the most delighted—only a few months or years out of shirts and trousers themselves. The older children are uncomfortable initially, so used to the many layers of robes and sashes that they’ve been wearing. Wei Wuxian asked Wen Ning whether he wanted a set of play clothes, as he’s practically an adult himself. Wen Ning’s deep bow and “It would be an honor to wear clothes made by Wei-qianbei” made Wei Wuxian blush and threaten to dump him over the waterfall.

He’s a bit disappointed that Lan Wangji leaves for an important council before he’s finished—he’d rather have liked to show off his new skills. But politics are politics, and the rumor among the servants is that he’s visiting with the family of his betrothed.

“But who is it?” Wei Wuxian whines at Madam Xiao as he helps her fold a set of bedsheets. “Surely if anyone knows it’s you.”

Madam clicks her tongue and takes a swipe at his head. “I don’t bother myself with the noble family trees. At my age you’ve seen so many cultivators come and go, so many weddings and funerals, it hardly pays to keep track of it all. Sure, won’t she need to eat and sleep and relieve herself just like the rest of them? We’ll all get to know her better than Young Master Lan himself does before too long.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, though there’s something inside him that flinches, like picking off a scab when you haven’t finished healing beneath.

With Lan Wangji gone, the juniors have fewer classes. Lan Xichen teaches a few here and there, which is surprisingly enjoyable to watch. Wei Wuxian can tell he doesn’t spend much time with children so young, and he finds his delighted smile and swallowed laughter somehow gratifying. It’s not right, and it’s dangerous to start thinking yes, these are my children. Aren’t they clever, aren’t they funny? My children. But his command over his own mind has always been tenuous at best.

The result of all this means that Wei Wuxian has many extra hours with the kids in their new play clothes. He’s taken a few day trips down to Caiyi town, not bothered by the impropriety of junior disciples running about in trousers. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing shameful about being dressed like a farmer or a laborer. One day he found himself exhausted from hustling them all down the mountain, so he asked a few of his new friends in the Caiyi market if they’d mind taking on a few apprentices. The day turned into a highlight for the children—some learned to make delicately spiced pork dumplings, some wrapped sticky pastries for customers, some sanded down slats of wood for chair building, and some tried their hand at painting cleverly stitched kites. Su Meiling has declared she is going to be a carpenter when she grows up, and Wei Wuxian finds himself hoping that she will. 

He wonders if his new life would have been less jarring if he’d been allowed to learn more as a kid—to truly befriend the townsfolk of Yunmeng instead of drifting in and out as the benevolent gentry. On darker days he almost wishes Jiang Fengmian had never found him and that he’d grown up as he deserved on the streets of Yunping City. It hurts to imagine never knowing Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng, but if he’d never had that artificial sense of nobility, his fall from grace would have truly meant nothing. 

The walk from Cloud Recesses to town and back is unsupervised by anyone but him, so he takes the risk and teaches his charges little songs as they march. He makes up funny tunes about rabbits and sets his favorite Lan Sect rules to music. When the clothes are done he stays up at night figuring out rhymes for “silence” and “forbidden” and “floppy-ears.”

“Little, little rabbit, oh! Up the mountain you must go Grass is sweeter up the hill Salty seaweed makes you ill! Rabbits, rabbits, time to run Up the mountain one by one Quick, before the sunlight ends Run and run to meet your friends!”

After Lan Wangji has been away for a full week, Wei Wuxian gets a bit bolder. He’s had a number of days now running the children around the back hill, teaching songs and some basic hand-to-hand combat.

“But Wei-qianbei,” Ouyang Zizhen had said. “Once we are fully grown cultivators we will have swords. Why would we need to know how to fight without them?”

“Ah, Zizhen, but what if some clever demon takes your sword from you? What if you are cursed and your spiritual power is locked away? Don’t you want to be prepared, so you are not caught off guard? And after all, your Wei-qianbei has neither a sword nor spiritual power. Don’t you want to know how I can protect you if something dangerous comes?”

Zizhen had hung his head and nodded, embarrassed, but after a hug and a one-on-one lesson in punching his good nature had returned.

Today, Wei Wuxian decides to push more boundaries. He’s created a stack of talisman paper woven through with spells. First, a spell that imbues the whole paper with the same qualities so it can be cut into smaller pieces without disrupting its power. Second, he’s added what he calls a safety lock, which prevents the paper from being used for anything overly powerful or damaging. The last character he’s added makes all of the power of this stack of talisman paper subservient to one specific piece—a piece he keeps in preparation for any coming problems.

The activity of the day is to make papermen. He passes out the paper and lets each of them cut a little stack of figures in whatever shape they like. Some are standard—one round head, two stubby arms and two legs—while some have long hair or funny pointed feet. Lan Jingyi’s have rabbit ears.

“All right, juniors. Now take your brush and ink. You are going to take one paperman and give him an action. This might be to walk or to run or to do a somersault or anything else. Do not command him to hurt anyone—I don’t need to tell you that! Make your command simple and write it in the middle of your paper.”

He goes around to help the younger ones with their characters. Lan Sizhui has chosen “Dance,” while Lan Jingyi has chosen “Climb.” 

“All right! Now you have your commands ready. Focus your energy and take some full, deep breaths. What you are going to do is think very hard and clearly about your paperman. Imagine that he is you. Imagine what it feels like to be as small as he is, as thin. Imagine that you are your paperman, and imagine standing up.”

At first, nothing happens. Then Wen Ning’s paperman stands up from the ground. Everyone around him gasps and cheers, and as he blushes and hides his face, his paperman falls back to the dirt.

“Very good, Wen Ning! But you all must focus on your own papermen. Come now, quietly, focus.”

One by one, a few little cutouts rise to stand. When about seven of the eleven look at least partially alert, Wei Wuxian instructs them to focus on their commands.

“This is your first time making papermen, so it may help to perform the action along with them. Try to imagine yourself as a little piece of paper, running or climbing or stretching as you’ve instructed.”

At first, only two are moving. Wen Ning’s paperman bends into one perfect kowtow after another. Surprisingly, little Sizhui is the next most successful, his little man rising to spin and dance around the clearing. Over the next fifteen minutes more stand and begin to move. Those who are unsuccessful are frustrated, but Wei Wuxian gives them each a squeeze on the shoulder and lets them play with the others who are running and jumping and dancing along with their paper avatars.

“Yes, well done! Look at them go!” he cheers, swinging Jingyi around as his little man climbs the nearest tree. It falls back to the ground after about a minute, but nothing can discourage Jingyi’s grin.

“It feels so odd, Wei-qianbei!” Yao Hualing cries as her paperman does a series of stretches. “I feel like I’m in two different places at the same time!”

“Yes, that means you are successful, A-Ling!” he cries and drops a kiss on the top of her hair.

He has an armful of two ten-year-olds when the rest of the children suddenly fall silent and stand at attention, papermen falling to the ground. He spins back around, dropping Zizhen and Lan Ting to the grass. He looks at the ground, following Jingyi’s paperman as it finds and begins to climb a set of luxurious red robes. He sees familiar set of boots leading to white and sky blue robes, though he hesitates to look Lan Wangji in the face. 

When he finally does, he’s almost gratified to see red in his cheeks and down his neck, his fists clenched at his side. And next to him, elegant face turned to the children, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise—

“Jiejie!” Wen Ning cries. 

Wei Wuxian feels all the breath leave him as he sways on the spot. He reaches out for Lan Ting’s shoulder to steady himself, his other hand flying to his abdomen, down low where the scar tissues sits, twisted and ugly and still sore.

Wen Qing looks over the crowd of messy children dressed as servants and then, finally, meets his eyes.

Part Nine

[madamemedic]

The Handmade Gift

Gio is a very fashionable person, in fact you would dare say he was most fashionable person you have met. All the suits he wore were designer and custom made for him. Undoubtedly very expensive too. You see his sense of fashion doesn’t really just stop at him, it extends to you too. Everything you now owned clothing wise was high end brand and expensive, not that he told you the price of it. You could just tell.

You had just received another dress from Gio, it was a knee length, deep purple pouf dress with a red sash as a belt. It was simple but it looked gorgeous. You thanked him and kissed him. Just as you were about to offer if he would like to see what it would look like on when his phone went off. This was normal, as Gio is normally is very busy man. However, the good mood was soured immediately as by he answer and his face twisting into a dark expression. You could tell this was serious and waited for the call to end. As to be expected he hung up looking as if he wanted to kill somebody, where his hair was normally green was now a throbbing red colour. He sighed with his eyes closed then a mumble of Italian was heard as he rubbed his eyes. Looks like he had to leave but before going he kissed you goodbye and maybe he would get to see in the dress soon. Then promptly leaving you in his home office.

Leaving you up to your own devices. You felt bad, whatever it was got Gio really steamed and you hoped to help him. Well help in broad sense of the term since you probably couldn’t help with what was most likely Don related problems. Still, you wanted to try. Maybe a gift would help cheer Gio up. Here is the problem… what do you give to a man who has everything? A car? No, he has lots in his drive way. Buy him a suit? No, he had lots and the kind HE liked was expensive. Wait. A suit, no just any. No, this suit would be different. You were going to make it by hand and the give it to him. How hard could it be.

The next day rolled around and you set work drawing and sketching out the suit that you were going to make for your darling Gio. Was it going to be striped? Plain? Or maybe embroidery? The longer the time went the longer you thought about it. The more it seemed like the task was harder than you thought.

Ding! As if a light bulb went off in your head. Why didn’t you think of it. Gio’s wardrobe! Why didn’t you just go in and see what he already had?

Leaving your room, you made your way to Gio’s room. You could tell who’s room from who’s, due to the doors that each Don had. Gio’s had carved in beautiful art, Zhuk’s was plain because in his words “it’s only a door, what matter is what is inside”, Cia has what look like symbols, Bee had words on his but you couldn’t read nor understand them and Bajo also has carvings but it was just a simple rose.

Knocking on Gio’s room, slowly opened the door to see him not there. Thank goodness or how where you going to explain that you where looking at his suits?

“Hey babes, mind if I look at your suits? Reason? Uhhh, they look good?” Yeah… no, hard pass on that.

Walking to his walk-in closet you had to turn on the light to see into the large but dark room. As far as the eye could see, most of his suits seemed to be pin striped. Well at least you knew the pattern but now was the materiel and measurements next. Slowly approaching one suit, your hand reaches out and pulls (well more like yanks, since you are very much smaller than he) it down. It is soft to the touch. Silk. Well know you knew the materiel. The was only one thing left measurements.

Good thing for you Gio tended not to keep suits for too long because “I change my mind, it’s ugly” then throw them away. Well he would throw them in a basket at the end of the closet next to the draws that held his gloves in.

“Let’s hope he’s planning on throwing away a full suit set soon” You prayed as you pulled to lid off to find indeed he had planned on throwing a suit away. It was pin striped but it had a stain that you were sure wasn’t wine or jam on it. Taking it out of the basket, you look decided this was the only way to get his measurements without asking.

Quickly you take the jacket, trousers and scamper away to your room. That was step two. Now to actually make the suit.

Luckily for you, you still had some materiel left from a previous cosplay and of course it was silk. Black and white striped to be precise. Of course you made a few cosplays but a whole ass suit. That would take your skills to the test.

The first thing you did was google patterns to make a suit from scratch. It didn’t look too bad but not all things that look easy are easy to do. Once you obtained the pattern, you had turned to the old suit and slowly started to take it apart at the seems to get its measurements. It was slow but worth it as you snipped at the cotton thread that held it together. It didn’t tear, so you could use the scraps as a base for the new suit.

“I hope this turns out OK”

Over the next month (almost two), you poured yourself into making the suit for Gio. It was WAY harder than you had expected it to be. One minute the sewing machine stoped working, so you had to hand stitch it. Then you’d constantly poke yourself with the needle which led to bleeding on the material; well the white bit. So you had to start again. Then order more of the silk as you only had enough to make the suit as long as there wasn’t many mistakes but unfortunately that was not the case. However, you still persevered. Day by day came and then went. It was getting there.

Of course the rest of the Dons grew suspicious of why their little angel was away in her room and not walking around or hanging around with them but of course with a bit of hushing and “it’s a secret” they gave up. Thank goodness to that too. You didn’t want any of the Dons slipping up and telling Gio by accident. Well you knew that the chance was small but it was still a chance that you couldn’t take.

Today was the day that the extra bits were to come in, such as cuff links and buttons. You knew that if the suit materiel was going to be high quality then the extras would be too. Well, they weren’t the traditional type either. The cuff links were in a shape of golden love hearts and the buttons had beetles carved in the small golden circles. Sure it made you more late but it would be worth it.

“Today is the last day and then I wait” You sigh as you glance over at the nearly finished suit. The trousers and top were finished. You added a few more details such as emerald green inlining as well and a red handkerchief In the breast pocket as well another in the pocket. It looked good, for your first time that is.

“Angel, package for you” Zhuk’s voice comes from the door of the mansion.

“Coming” You reply as you race down to get what was most likely the last pieces of the suit. Skidding down the hall you could see Zhuk holding your parcel but to your horror, he was also talking to Gio.

“Uhhh Gio, you didn’t tell me you were back” Gio then stopped talking to Zhuk and grinned as you made your way over to him.

“ Ah Principessa, there you are” Gio holds you close to him. “It’s been lonely with you with you la mia Principessa” Gio kisses the top of your head, you could hear Zhuk give a chuckle.

“I missed you too Gio” You pull away from him and turn to Zhuk, getting your package Zhuk hands it over but then starts to speak.

“Little one has been in her room the most of the time you’ve been gone, would even tell us why just kept on saying ‘hush’ and ‘it’s an secret’” You knew what was happening. Zhuk was trying to get you to tell him why you were in your room so much the last past weeks by using Gio as a pressure point.

“Away in your room? What? Why Principessa?” A confused Gio was now reaching out to place a hand on your arm. You could see concern on his face but on Zhuk’s was concern but a glimmer of mischief.

“Well… it’s a secret. Don’t worry, it’s a good one” You pull away but this doesn’t get rid of the concerned look on the dons faces.

“Does it got to do with your box?” Gio asks, his gaze on your parcel in your hands. Damn. Her recognised the box. Of course he would, that’s where he got his cuff links from.

“Maybe, maybe not. I said it’s a secret” Your reply was a bit snippy but you want to just leave and finish the damn suit so you could just give it to him.

“Well, I’d like to believe that you think I’m not stupid but I’d like to also believe that you are not stupid either to notice that is where I get my cuff links from” Drat. He knew. Think, think of and excuse, a reason.

“I… I… uh… this is embarrassing but I’d thought I’d buy the, for me and maybe get a few suits of my own” The lie came out and you hoped they believed it. Which it looked like they did.

“Oh, nice choice. Maybe you could show me them when you get the chance. I’m sure they look great” Gio winks at you. “Maybe I‘ll get you a nice suit to match the” Great, now is the time to leave before another Don joins in and makes it harder to leave.

“Well, as much as I like talking, I have to go back and finish my secret thing” You then sprint off back into the mansion, leaving behind two very confused Dons.

As you closed your door behind you, taking a deep breath you go and sit on the chair by your desk. Grabbing a knife near by you cut the sticker that held the box closed. Inside was a black velvet rectangle. The box looked amazing but you were more interested in the contents. Opening the box you were blown away by the quality of the product. The good glimmered in the light. They where beautiful.

“Now to finish this” You now had the buttons of the jacket and it was time to sew them in place. Over time you had got better at sewing. One by one, each button is sown on by hand with extra care. Then you add the cuff links to wear they would go.

It was finished. You were finished. You jump for happiness and dance for a while but stop when there is a knocking on your door.

“Principessa, can I come in?” Shit. It’s Gio.

“In a sec… I’m naked” Wait. Why did you say that? Never mind. You take the suit off the display model to place it in a gift box for clothes.

“Naked, well I definitely want to come in now” You could hear the humour in Gio’s voice as you place a ribbon on of the box. Now all you had to do was give it to him. Of course you didn’t want him to see it right away, so you placed it inside a draw and closed it.

“Ready” You call out, straightening your clothes you look at a slightly disappointed Gio.

“You are clothed, I thought you were naked. No matter, plenty of time for that now that I am back” Gio takes you hand as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Yeah, I guess I just said what was on the top of my head” You reply shyly. Now it’s not like Gio has net seen you naked plenty of times but you still felt shy about it.

“Don’t worry about it Principessa, I got you something” Gio pulls a box from back. It was thins and a square. Giving it a look over, your eyebrows raise.

“It’s not a pizza right?” At this Gio looked at you, his face splitting into a smile and then turned into laughter.

“No, no. It’s not pizza. Open it” He holds it out to you.

“Wait, I have something for you too” You go over to open the draw and open it to retrieve the box.

“Oh a gift for me? Oh you shouldn’t have Principessa” Turning around you both have boxes. Both are roughly the same shape but his has a red bow and yours green.

“Soooo… Who is going to open first… I mean, I don’t mind if you open mine first” Gio goes on, looking at his gift then yours.

“I guess since you came all this way to give it to me, I’ll open yours” You places you’re box on the table and take Gio’s. You pull the ribbon to open the box where inside is a white dress… wait. On top is also a veil dripping with pearls of all sizes. You start to pull out the tiara with crown first, putting it on your box and then the dress. It was 100% a wedding dress. Looking up from from the dress to see Gio on one knee, his face slightly pink due. You have now spotted something else at the bottom. A ring.

“Gio…” You are stunned. You’d never thought that Gio would marry you, well you’d like it but never wanted to force him to do so.

“Principessa, (Y/N). Being away from you for almost two months made me realise that… I can’t stand not being not with you, you are kind, smart, beautiful and I can’t see my life without you” Gio picks up the ring from the box. “You make me a better man, well as better as you can get” You let a small chuckle. Tears streaming down your face as he continues. “What I’m asking is… Will you make me the happiest man demon whatever?” Gio holds his breath as he waits for answer.

“Yes, Yes I will absolutely marry you” You launch yourself into Gio, almost making him fall back. The two of you laugh and cry a bit. Gio mainly from the release of anxiety. Kissing all over your face, Gio then places the ring on your finger then kisses then back of your hand.

“So is this what the recent was meant to be for” You couldn’t help but laugh, Gio does too.

“Yes. The trip was for your dress, they messed it up and I had to go back” He laughs again but then notices your quietness. He is nervous again.

“Well damn… my present is going to be shit compared to yours” Oh… that’s why. Gio cups your face in his large hairy hands.

“Principessa, you could give me a random leg you sawed off random person and I’d still love it, you know why right?” He looks into your eyes, you could feel yourself starting to calm down. Getting and sitting back on the chairs, you pick up the last gift so you could hand it to Gio.

“My gift probably isn’t as good as yours is” You ramble off as Gio opens the box. He is silent as he takes out the suit jacket. Sure it wasn’t any wear near his usual standards but you made it. That made it worth more than any suit he’s ever owned. “G? Gio? Scarafaggio?” You gasped as he had once again began to cry, just as you were about to speak he interrupted you.

“It’s perfect” He then quickly takes the trousers out and starts to inspect the new suit in his hands. It was soft, most likely Silk he notes to himself. His eyes go over the beetle buttons and the love heart cuff links. Gio smiles and he then looks at you again. “ You made this? How?” Gio then notifies himself of the green of inside of the jacket. It really was beautiful and was made of love.

“I did, it took me a while, I know it’s not your normal suit but I wanted to try and well” You gesture to it.

“No, it’s perfect, in fact. The fact that you took your time to make this for me and it’s shows. It’s fine besides if you want to get better I can help you, maybe I’ll make you a suit instead” Gio looks at his own suit, the back at his new one.

“Wear it” You could tell he was going to ask anyway.You didn’t need to tell him twice. Quickly Gio takes off his suit trousers and jacket. You blush, not expecting him to do it right away. Then it became another reason to do so. It was a tighter fit than normal but it still felt comfortable. Gio throws the suit in a near by washing hamper and does a twirl. It look good but definitely not what he was usually seen with.

“Looking good babes” You wolf whistle at Gio and he winks in return. The he grins and rushes out the room leaving you stunned. Where did he go off to? Doesn’t matter, you have a wedding to one of the men in your life to day dream about.

“Boys, look who just been treated nicely” Gio calls out in the lobby, soon each Don slowly makes their way to the lobby as well.

“Well that’s different” Bajo gets closer to look at Gio’s new suit.

“Doesn’t look like your normal suit… what make this one so different?” Cia eyeballs Gio carefully as Gio shows off his suit.

“Yes, why why this suit be so different, almost as if somebody very, very close has spent all her time on it despite not knowing how to and did it anyway just to make me happy” Gio knew that they would all know who made this suit.

“No way” Zhuk starts to examine it closer, yet it wasn’t the best but it was made with time and care. The hand stitching was prescient as ever.

“Yep, nostro caro made this. Just. For. Me”Gio could feel the tingle of jealousy from the rest of the Dons.

“Well I’m going to ask for something to be made then” Bee declares as he rushes past the group to your room.

“Oh no you don’t, I will” Zhuk followed then is also followed by Cia and Bajo. Gio watches and chuckles, looks like you were going to do a lot more clothes.

[Author’s Note: Not Beta read and this is most likely the last time I write for the Dons. Hope you enjoyed and stay safe.

Dons belong to @beetlebitchywitch and friends

P.S, Sorry for ten formation of this fanfic, when it’s is converted to to Tumble, it fucked it up.]

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (4/6)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 15,080

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

NOTES: 

I got about 10k words into this chapter before I realised I needed to split it up, otherwise it would be stupidly long. Plus I was going mad trying to scroll through my monstrously large gdoc last chapter and I didn't want to do that again. So, here you go. An early present.

Next chapter will be some big battles and then they finally smooch or something idk don't ask me 

--

This time, Sylvanas did not ask. 

“I am taking your cavalry,” she told Lucille.

For the last few days since the battle of Barrowknoll, Lucille had turned into Sylvanas’ primary point of contact among their new allies. She acted as an envoy between Sylvanas and Jaina, when the two of them would refuse to speak with one another. She had been puzzled by the abrupt change, but had not complained. 

Now, Lucille blinked at her, opened her mouth to dispute this, then thought better of it when she saw the look on Sylvanas’ face. Raising her hands as though in surrender, Lucille said, “They are yours.”

She found Hayles and the others enjoying a spot of Drustvar tea, which she had come to learn was normal tea with a healthy dose of whiskey tipped in for good measure. It was the third day since the battle of Barrowknoll, and their little army was still fortifying the town after wrenching it from the hands of the Ashvanes. Anya was there, playing dice with the cavalrymen, who had grown leery of her around cards and now insisted she use their dice. Somehow she still won nearly every round, and a few of them groaned about the luck of the dead as they handed over coins. 

When Sylvanas approached, Hayles glanced up from where he sat on a pile of bricks being used to repair the church. After their victory, he had warmed up somewhat to the Horde forces, but he was still wary of their leader. Still, he lifted his mug to her. “A good morrow, Warchief. Can I help you?”

“Gather up a scouting party, Captain. No more than thirty,” Sylvanas ordered coldly. “We are riding north.”

Hayles drained his mug then slammed it onto the ground. He wiped excess tea from his beard with the back of his hand as he stood. “Been waiting for clear orders from the Lady Waycrest. What’s the plan, then?”

“The plan is we are going scouting,” said Sylvanas.

“Aye, but we was hoping for a bigger picture. Are we wintering here?”

A number of his men were openly eavesdropping on the conversation now. Even Anya had stopped rattling around a set of dice in favour of listening. Sylvanas swept her gaze over them, then said brusquely, “Get on your horses.” 

With a shrug, Hayles pulled his gloves from where they were tucked into his belt and began tugging them over his hands. He looked over his shoulder at his men, who had not yet moved. “You heard the Lady!” he barked. “Get off your arses, you fussocks!”

Immediately, they began shuffling about, shrugging on their cuirasses over their buff coats, buckling their helms over their heads, and clasping their pistol belts around their shoulders. Hayles’ cuirass had a touch more tooling than the others and a broad white sash worn over it to denote his rank, but otherwise he appeared very plain. Anya herself had continued to favour the dark-washed cavalry buff coat she had won earlier that week, wearing it over her usual Ranger leathers, so she could still pull her hood up. Even from a short distance, she would have blended in with the rest of them without trouble. She rode at Sylvanas’ side, when the others preferred to stay a length or two behind the Queen of the Forsaken. 

“Are we looking for something in particular?” Anya asked. Somewhere along the way, she had acquired herself a living horse, one of the deep-chested smoky chargers bred in the area. 

“The enemy,” said Sylvanas, her tone curt. She did not offer any more explanation. 

Sylvanas' skeletal horse was out of place among the flesh and blood beasts of burden ridden by the cavalry. That and her armour meant she stuck out like a sore thumb, but she was long past caring. The Ashvanes by now knew who they were up against. Or if they didn't, they were fools. 

Scarcely an hour later, and they were riding north along the road to Fallhaven. They would not hope to reach it today -- not when it was another three days trek from Barrowknoll -- but there was plenty of evidence of the Ashvanes' retreat. Not even the downpour over the last few days could hide it. She would have joined the scouting expeditions sooner, if not for the rain. Until finally she could not stand staying still another second, and taken Lucille's cavalry for her own. 

They stopped every now and then to read the landscape. Hayles at one point disputed Sylvanas' tracking, claiming that the Ashvanes had clearly gone west. In response, Sylvanas had glowered at him until he sighed and fell back in line. She was not about to discount a few centuries of experience tracking game and leading armies in favour of a man who, in her culture, would barely be considered old enough to wipe his own backside. They headed east at a fork in the road towards Carver's Harbour, until midday when Sylvanas pulled back on her reins. 

She frowned down at the tracks in the ground. "They doubled back south," she murmured, pointing. 

Hayles grunted in agreement. "Not all of them, though. Just a lightly armoured company, if that." 

"On horseback, no less." Sylvanas tugged at the reins so that her skeletal horse veered off in that direction. 

Hayles followed, kicking his horse forward to trot after hers. "If we're unlucky, we'll get caught on both sides." 

Sylvanas ignored him. She urged her horse to a canter, loping ahead of the rest so that she reached the treeline first. Behind her, she could hear Hayles cursing and the sound of him drawing his weapon. The cock of a pistol clicked, echoed by dozens of others as his cavalrymen followed suit. She did not bother drawing her own bow slung at her saddle beside the matching quiver. 

Her eyes scanned the woods. They were a far cry from the dense and foggy Crimson Forest, though they were nothing at all like the woods of her homeland either. The trees here wended across the gentle slope, their trunks moss-covered and sporting growths of white fungi. She guided her horse briskly through the trees. Her ears twitched at the faintest sound -- the rustle of tack, the snort of horses behind her, the creak of branches in a stiff breeze, the chattering of birdsong, the purl of a stream narrow enough to step over. And finally the faint strains of human voices. 

Lifting her fist into the air, Sylvanas pulled back sharply on the reins. Without turning, she made a gesture and then dismounted. Anya was by her side in an instant, arrow already nocked in her bow, eyes bright and alert. 

“Four hundred paces dead south,” Anya whispered in Common for Hayles’ benefit, as he crept up beside them on foot. 

Sylvanas turned to Hayles, keeping her own voice low. “Do you know the area?”

He nodded. “Aye. There’s a small ridge by a stream just up ahead. Barely a feature, but it’s something.”

All it took was a meaningful glance from Sylvanas, and Anya vanished through the trees like a wisp of smoke. Hayles blinked at her sudden absence, trying to get a good look after where she had gone.

“Wait here,” Sylvanas told him. “Keep the horses quiet. When I give the signal, you will approach with me on foot.”

“Begging your pardon, Warchief, but that kind of defeats the purpose of bringing cavalry in the first place,” he said. “We’re not dragoons.” 

“Which is why they chose to hide in the woods rather than risk skirmishing out in the open. Now, hold your tongue.” 

He huffed, but said nothing further. His troops dismounted and tied up their horses. They drew their sabres and stuffed extra pistols into the broad sashes tied around their breastplates. Rain drizzled from the pointed brims of their lobster-tailed helmets. On horseback, they were confident and easy-going, but on foot they appeared uncertain and ungainly. They would occasionally exchange puzzled looks and shift their grips upon their swords while they waited. 

The smell of smoke drifted through the air, though Sylvanas could not make out a fire through the thicket. The Ashvane scouts had obviously set up a small temporary camp further from their main body to feed back information. The lack of movement on the part of the Waycrest and Drust forces over the last few days would have puzzled them. 

Anya returned on utterly silent feet. She ghosted through the underbrush like a shadow, stopping when she reached their position. Her hands started relaying the information she had gathered using Ranger signs, until she realised Hayles and the others wouldn’t understand anything. Picking up a stick, she drew formations on the ground and held up five fingers, then four and five more. 

Sylvanas nodded in understanding. She pointed at Anya then at a few of the cavalrymen behind them. Anya inclined her head, then motioned for a group of five cavalrymen to follow her. When one of them stepped on a fallen log, his foot snapped through the wet and rotten wood with a noise loud enough to make the birds go quiet. 

Sylvanas closed her eyes as though praying, and grit her teeth. When she opened her eyes again, the cavalryman in question was being glared at by everyone in the platoon. One of his squad mates smacked him upside the head, so that his helm tilted down over his eyes. 

“You fucking moron,” someone hissed. 

Hayles shushed them, and they fell quiet again. The man carefully pulled his foot from the log, and the little group went off, following after Anya. Sylvanas gave them a head start, counting in her head until she was satisfied. Then, she gestured to Hayles and without looking back, she crept forward on silent feet. 

Her trained ears could hear the rustle of their own approach. The cavalrymen creeping along in her wake were accustomed to scouting by roaming broad countryside and hills atop their horses in easy formations. They were not used to this. Just ahead of them, Sylvanas prowled forward until she could see the peaked rise of tents over the underbrush, until she could hear individual conversation, the crackle of campfires, and the stamp of horses’ hooves. The horses were tethered on one side of the camp, their noses stuck in their feed bags. A few of them merely flicked their fuzzy ears upon seeing the approach of the Waycrest cavalry, but raised no alarm. 

Sylvanas raised her hand in a fist again and stopped. The men behind her hid behind the trunks of trees and in the thick underbrush, lying low on their bellies and squinting beneath the rims of their helms at what awaited them ahead. Peering carefully around the trunk of a tree, Sylvanas quickly counted men. Forty-five in the camp, according to Anya, who had counted rightly. Five more on the ridge. That was nearly fifteen more than they had brought themselves. Another glance around the tree trunk, and she spied Anya and the small group of cavalrymen in position at the ridge, waiting. 

Sylvanas caught Anya’s eye. They exchanged a brief nod, and then Anya struck. Quick as a bolt, she had a knife pressed against the throat of one of the sentries. The group of men with Anya burst forward as well, pistols raised, sabres at the ready. 

Straightening, Sylvanas stepped out from her hiding spot. “Gentlemen,” she said, lifting her voice, “how good it is to see you again.” 

A cry of alarm went up, and the men in the camp leapt to their feet. They tugged their weapons free, but their helms and cuirasses were still packed away. Their Captain drew his pistol and sabre, levelling the gun at Sylvanas. It was the same young Captain Ashvane that she had seen during her reconnoitre before the battle of Barrowknoll. His eyes were dark and sombre as he took in the situation -- the men with Sylvanas, the soldiers on the ridge with his sentries at knifepoint. Anya tightened her grip in the hair of the man she held steady when he tried to struggle, drawing a line of red at his exposed throat. 

Sylvanas spread her hands open to show she held no weapon, though Hayles stepped up to stand beside her, his expression grim beneath his heavy beard. “There needn’t be violence,” she said. “Cry ‘quarter’, and I will ensure you are well looked after.” 

Captain Ashvane grinned at her over the top of his flintlock. “Shame,” he said, cocking the weapon with his thumb. “I rather like a bit of violence with my afternoon tea. And you’ve come just in time, too.” 

“We have you surrounded, boy,” said Hayles, aiming down the sights of his pistol. “Best give up and come quiet now, yeah?”

Captain Ashvane swung his arm around so that his own pistol was now pointing at Hayles. “Not a chance, old man.” 

Hayles opened his mouth to speak, but the blast of a pistol snapped through the air. Captain Ashvane’s arm recoiled, the tip of his gun emitting a gout of smoke, and Hayles staggered back, grasping his shoulder. 

All hell broke loose. The Waycrest troops opened fire, and the air was filled with the crack of gunshot and shouts. Red-coated Ashvane scouts returned volleys, only for the two sides to toss aside their one-shot pistols and fall upon one another in a clash of swords. Hayles swore and fired his pistol at Captain Ashvane, but missed. The shot went wide, hitting a tree and scattering bark on the ground. On the ridge above, Anya had drawn her blade across the throat of the soldier she had been holding at knife point. His body was slumping to the ground as he gurgled and grasped at the tide of red spurting from his neck. She was already pulling back the string of her bow and firing arrows down into the camp. 

Captain Ashvane shoved his first pistol into the wide sash at his belt, and pulled out another. He aimed it at Hayles, whose eyes went wide. Moving quickly, Sylvanas shoved Hayles to the ground, and the shot narrowly missed. The Captain drew his sword and advanced upon her, arm raised, slashing down. She danced easily out of reach, moving away from Hayles so that the Captain would follow her instead. Foolishly, he did. He swung his sword in broad strokes, and Sylvanas avoided every blow with a calm assurance that only seemed to anger him. His face grew red. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a silent snarl. 

When one of the other Ashvane soldiers tried to attack her as well, an arrow sprouted from his back. Sylvanas did not need to even look to know that Anya had shot it. Hayles switched his sword to his good hand, and was fighting a group of Ashvanes with his own men, rallying them together for something more elevated than a mere brawl.  

The Captain did not do the same. He was content to let his superior numbers do the talking for him, leaving him free to pursue Sylvanas, who continued to elude his slashes. He was no slouch with the blade. She could tell by the familiarity with which he handled his sword. A young nobleman trained in gentlemanly pursuits used to getting his way. When he drew too close, she grabbed his wrist and tightened her grip until she could hear the crunch of bone and tendons beneath her hand. 

The Captain cried out. He tried to kick her away, but she stepped aside so that his foot hit nothing. She did not let him go. Instead she twisted his arm expertly so that he was forced to drop the weapon or risk breaking his arm as she jammed his hand into the small of his own back. He was a tall man, and strongly built. But standing behind him, she planted her foot behind his knees so that he was forced onto the ground. 

“Call them off,” Sylvanas murmured into his ear, while he jerked futilely in her grasp. “Or I will make sure you never swing a sword in your life again.” 

He continued to struggle, grunting in pain when she pushed his arm a little further up. He grappled for purchase at her leg, but could do nothing to dislodge her. She leaned in closer to speak again, when she saw a flash of silver. With his free hand, he had pulled the knife from her boot and struck blindly at her over his shoulder. 

Reeling back, Sylvanas clutched at her face. She hissed, feeling the cut at her cheek, which bled black and sluggish. Captain Ashvane was scrambling to his feet. He rounded upon her, brandishing the hunting knife given to her by her mother when she had come of age. The same knife that had been used in the ritual to summon undead ghouls from the sacred Ardfert bogs not four days past. She could feel the anger boil in her lungs, frothing white-hot and wild, welling up in her throat until she was nigh drowning in it.

Captain Ashvane’s expression changed as he watched her. Smug certainty gave way to confusion and then to fear. He took a step back, holding the knife before him like an animal backed into a corner. Some of his men did not notice. All they saw was their commander continuing to fight and break free of the enemy. Several of them moved into position around her, swords raised, while Anya continued to fire into the fray. 

Shadows coiled at Sylvanas' feet, slowly gathering around her. Rage was a living thing in the crucible of her lungs, burning like liquid fire, clawing at the backs of her teeth. With a wordless snarl, her form flickered. In a blaze of black necrotic smoke, Sylvanas swept over the Ashvane men advancing upon her, over half a dozen including the Captain. The coils of shadow billowed outward, curling around them and swallowing them whole, until the air was filled with the sound of a shriek that tore itself from her mouth, drowning out all else. The note shivered high over the treetops, sending a startled flock of birds to flight. Everyone in the camp -- friend and foe alike -- clutching at their ears. Some fell to their knees. Others cried out in agony, blood dribbling from their noses, dripping from their open mouths, choking them until they could not make a noise. 

When the boiling black fog faded, Sylvanas stood in the centre of a group of dead Ashvanes crumpled along the ground. Their bodies were contorted into foetal positions, their skin grey and clinging to their bones as though the very essence of life had been drained from them. Sylvanas' shoulders and the tips of her fingers twitched. Her face was an uncanny mask, her eyes burning like red coals through the gloom. 

Those left untouched staggered weakly to their feet. The camp had gone eerily quiet, the absence of noise in the wake of the banshee scream almost as loud as the wail itself. They were all staring. Hayles' eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the scene before him. His beard was wet and dark with blood. Even Anya watched warily from the ridge, waiting to see what would happen. 

Breathing out a long ragged sigh, Sylvanas straightened. It took effort to animate herself again as she usually did, as though her body had forgotten what it was like to pantomime life. When she turned her gaze upon a few of the Ashvane soldiers further away from her, they took a step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly to their chests. 

"Put those down," she said, and though her voice was soft, it still echoed with the vestiges of dark power that lingered in her chest like an unspoken threat.

Immediately they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their shaking hands. She turned her attention away from them, looking instead down at the dead body of Captain Ashvane. His fingers were still curled tightly around the hilt of her hunting knife. Reaching down, Sylvanas tugged it free. She took a moment to inspect the blade and clean it on his sash, before slipping it back into its hilt nestled away in her knee high boots. 

Hayles approached her slowly, his steps tentative, as though he were approaching a wild animal that might snap his arm clean off with one bite. "Your orders, ma'am?"

"Take them prisoner, and we'll drag them back to Barrowknoll for questioning."

"Pity about the Captain," he said, glancing down at the man's corpse. "He would've had the most information." 

Something in her expression must have changed, for Hayles went very pale and said hurriedly, "Not that it's a problem, mind. I'm sure the others'll have plenty to talk about when we bring them back to camp, ma'am."

Sylvanas tried to school her features into something resembling calm, but it was difficult when her muscles did not want to react normally. Her soul twitched in her body like a man wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes. It would take her a few hours to get used to having skin again. So, she merely nodded sharply at Hayles, then turned and began walking back in the direction of their horses. The Waycrest cavalrymen parted before her, staring as she passed. She lengthened her stride and paid them no heed.

Anya was at her side in a moment, trailing after her like a faithful shadow. She looked concerned, but said nothing. Not until they reached the horses, at least. While Sylvanas hauled herself into the saddle, Anya remained standing by the skeletal horse's side. She gazed up at her Queen, as if waiting to receive instruction.

"What is it?" Sylvanas asked. 

"Do you need me to fetch you an Apothecary, my Queen?" 

Sylvanas considered the offer for a moment before shaking her head curtly. "No."

Anya did not quibble. She just clasped her hand over her heart and bowed low. Then, she strode towards her own horse and climbed into the saddle. When she tried to urge the living horse towards Sylvanas however, it shied from the prospect, turning in a wide circle rather than get too close. Sylvanas pretended to not notice. 

By the time they returned to Barrowknoll, it was nearing the evening. On their ride back with prisoners in tow, it had begun to rain. Suddenly Anya’s fixation on an oiled buff coat did not seem so foolish. Sylvanas’ cloak was not nearly as effective as combating the elements in Kul Tiras. It was slower returning to camp than leaving it. The prisoners were not allowed to ride their horses. Rather, their hands were bound and they walked behind the Waycrest cavalry. Their horses were tethered individually to the Waycrest horses; it wouldn’t do to leave them behind. Horses were expensive. One could always find work for them in an army. 

Their return earned a few appreciative murmurs. Waycrest and Drust soldiers gathered round and asked questions of their friends in the cavalry as they rode into Barrowknoll. Jeers and hard looks were aimed at the Ashvane prisoners, but they were otherwise left alone before they were carted off for questioning. Hayles was approached by a Waycrest infantry Captain when he dismounted. Sylvanas eyed him sidelong as he clapped the man on the shoulder and began to speak with him boisterously. 

As if sensing her gaze upon him, Hayles turned. He caught her eye, and to his credit he did not look away. In fact, swept his helm over his heart and inclined his head towards her respectfully. Fearfully, even. 

Rather than reply, Sylvanas slid smoothly from her own saddle. She strode off, giving Anya a sharp gesture to imply that she wanted to be left alone. Anya did as commanded without question, returning, presumably, to the cavalry unit she preferred to haunt for company these days. 

Sylvanas headed towards her own quarters in Barrowknoll -- a repaired house near the Church, which itself was being used as the new headquarters. She quickened her step when she drew near the Church, knowing full well that certain unwanted parties often lingered within. Before she could make it past however, a voice called after her. 

“I see you’ve returned victorious from your little hunting expedition.” 

Going still, Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder. Katherine was walking towards her from the Church. Planks had been erected in a webwork of pathways across the muddy ground. The end of Katherine’s cane knocked against wood with every other step. 

With one last longing look towards her own private quarters only a few paces away, Sylvanas turned to face the Lord Admiral. She tucked her hands behind her back in an officious pose, trying to seem natural even when she knew she appeared stiff. “I did,” she said. 

Katherine stopped before her, and folded her hands over the top of her cane, leaning her weight upon it. She was undeterred by the rain. “Did we learn anything new?”

“Not yet.” 

Katherine cast a critical eye over her. “You look more dead than usual. Did something happen?”

“Your concern is touching,” Sylvanas drawled. “But unnecessary. I am fine”

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips. 

“Unless there is something else you wished to discuss, I shall -” 

Before Sylvanas could finish speaking and try to slip away however, Katherine interrupted. “There was, actually. How good of you to ask. I was wondering when we might all have a strategy meeting. Since you and the High Thornspeaker seem to be conveniently busy whenever I try to get you both in the same room these days.” 

It was true. Any time Katherine or Lucille would try to convene a meeting to discuss their next steps, Sylvanas would find an excuse to be elsewhere. It was at least gratifying to know that Jaina was doing the same. Though she doubted it was to avoid her. Most likely it was to avoid her mother. 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “These are busy times, Lord Admiral.” 

“Oh, spare me the bullshit, my dear. We all know what times these are.”

Sylvanas blinked. Not at the swearing -- Katherine was prone to cursing as fluently as any sailor worth their salt -- but at the endearment. Sylvanas had heard Katherine call people ‘my dear’ only when they crossed a certain unspoken threshold. For Tatanka it was with the first cup of tea. For Anya, after their first card game. For Arthur after exactly three seconds of conversation. For Sylvanas, apparently, it took nearly seven months and a victory on the battlefield. Some had more hoops to jump through than others, it seemed. 

"I want to know what the plan is," Katherine continued with a face like cold iron. 

"Since when was this my army?" Sylvanas sneered. "Last I looked, my people and I were just a resource for you to use."

Katherine scoffed. "Like you didn't want it that way. Still -" she shifted her weight so that she could tap her cane thoughtfully against the wooden planks beneath them. "I do wonder what the High Thornspeaker promised you to get you to deploy so many troops into Drustvar."

Sylvanas thought of the treaty in her personal quarters, stashed safely away, signed and sealed. Copies of it had been distributed to Jaina as well as to Durotar, so that no party could cry foul of the agreement. "That is between myself and the High Thornspeaker."

Katherine arched an eyebrow. "Not even a hint for an old woman?"

In reply, Sylvanas merely glowered. 

"You really think you can keep your arrangement a secret?" Katherine asked. "The truth will out eventually."

"Yes," Sylvanas said. "But not today." 

"I don't see why the secrecy in the first place."

It was so tempting. She could tell her so easily. Jaina's secret hung by a thread in Sylvanas' hands, ready to be severed with a single swipe of a sentence. There was little to gain by telling Katherine, but the pure spite of the deed was almost enough to sway her.

Almost. But not quite.

Finally, Sylvanas said, "I have died for secrets in the past, Lord Admiral. You’ll not suss them out of me with conversation alone.” 

There was a bullish squaring of Katherine’s jaw that followed. Sylvanas had seen it many times before on Jaina; the two shared more mannerisms than they likely knew. 

Sighing, Katherine said, “At least tell me what the plan is for the next week? What have you and the High Thornspeaker discussed?"

Sylvanas’ face darkened. In truth, she and Jaina had not exchanged a single word over the last few days. Every time Sylvanas so much as saw her, she began walking in the other direction. Thankfully Jaina never gave chase. "Ask her yourself,” Sylvanas said. 

"I tried. She refuses to talk to me.” This time when Katherine rapped her cane against the planks, it was annoyed. “I figured you would know, seeing as you're close allies, supposedly. Though I'm having second thoughts, now."

"Then ask Lady Waycrest," Sylvanas said. She turned away and continued striding towards her lodgings. 

"I wasn't aware I was marching alongside children,” Katherine called after her before she could take more than a few steps away. 

Stopping, Sylvanas glared over her shoulder. "I'm older than you."

"Physically, perhaps. But in other ways? Evidence suggests otherwise."

Taking a few steps after her, Katherine stopped and fixed Sylvanas in place with a look sharp enough to skin a hare. "If you ask me -"

"I'm not."

"If you ask me," Katherine repeated, undeterred. "This sounds like some petty row."

When Sylvanas did not answer, Katherine clucked her tongue in an admonishing sort of way and shook her head. "Dear me. Do I really need to encourage you and the High Thornspeaker to use your words? Sit down? Have an adult conversation?"

"The same way you used your words with your husband?" Sylvanas sneered. "Yes, I can see why you ended up widowed and childless."

Katherine went still. Her eyes were like chips of ice. "You mean to shock me, throw me off my tracks and derail the conversation. But I made my peace with myself years ago."

"Clearly."

"What's more interesting is that you would compare your relationship with the High Thornspeaker to mine with my late husband." Katherine sniffed delicately at the notion. "Well, if I'd known this was a lover's quarrel, then I wouldn't have intruded. What a messy business."

Sylvanas growled, "It's not. And we are not having this conversation."

"Might I suggest leaving what goes on in the bedroom out of our military affairs?"

Again, Sylvanas turned to leave. She had scarcely stomped a few steps away, when Katherine called after her, "Kindly pull your head out of your ass. Before we all die, preferably." 

When Sylvanas did not stop this time, Katherine raised her voice, "Do you really intend to let the Ashvanes take the initiative? For such a storied military leader, I honestly expected more from you."

Sylvanas froze with her hand gripping the handle of the front door. Her grasp tightened. She could feel the wrought iron handle crumple beneath her fingers like paper. Behind her, she could hear the intermittent thump of the cane against the sodden wood walkways until Katherine stopped just behind her.

"We cannot winter here," Katherine said firmly, yet softly enough that they would not be overheard. "You know it. I know it. Lucille knows it, but only because I told the poor girl. Does your High Thornspeaker know it?"

Without turning around, Sylvanas said, "She is not 'my' High Thornspeaker."

"I don't care what or who she is," said Katherine. "What I care about is winning. If I had to play go-between for the two of you, I would. But neither of you seem very inclined to speak with me, despite my best efforts. Now, if I can condescend to try and settle this debate or quarrel or what have you, then you can eat crow and talk to that Tides-forsaken druid for five minutes. I'll settle for three minutes, even. Enough for us to agree on a plan and execute it. Have I made myself clear?"

Unclenching her fingers made the iron door handle screech slightly. Pulling her hand away, Sylvanas straightened her shoulders. She rose to her full height and turned, her movements too smooth, too mechanical. Even with a slight stoop due to her leg, Katherine still stood a few fingers taller than her, but the implacable expression on Sylvanas' face made her brow furrow. Katherine leaned back slightly, her eyes suddenly wary. 

When Sylvanas spoke, her voice was quiet; it slithered like a dark echo. “I have no intention of losing. You will have your victory, Lord Admiral. Make no mistake. But do not presume to tell me how to handle my affairs, personal or otherwise.”

Katherine scowled, but this time she did not try to stop Sylvanas as she turned to tug the door open. Walking inside, Sylvanas shut the door behind her, hearing Katherine mutter to herself, "Damn high-handed elves."

Even in the cold damp reconstructed house, there was little peace and quiet. Nathanos was bowed over a table, arranging reports and maps and ledgers in preparation for her arrival. He straightened when she faced him. 

"Anya told me what happened," he said. "She also told me that you refused an Apothecary." 

"I don't need an Apothecary. Or a mother, for that matter. So, you can drop the act," she added snidely. Crossing the sparsely furnished room, Sylvanas rounded the table and sat behind it. "What I need is the latest news from the ships sailing to our position, and the movements of the Great Fleet. If the Zandalari ships don't manage to slip Lord Stormsong's noose, those reinforcements will never arrive, and we might as well abandon this for a lost cause."

"I wish you would," Nathanos replied. “I wish I could sway you to leave.” 

She had considered it. A few times over the course of the last few days, if she were being honest with herself. Leaving Kul Tiras would have been the more sensible approach. There was no use throwing good coin after bad, as her father had been so fond of saying. And knowing when to cut one's losses was a key trait in any military leader worth their salt. Still, the idea rankled.

It was about more than thwarting the Alliance, now. This was personal. And if there was one thing Sylvanas hated, it was losing. 

Sylvanas pulled the first report Nathanos had arranged for her on the desk. Her eyes skimmed over the lines, but every now and then she would glance at him over the top of the parchment. Despite her earlier rebuke, Nathanos hovered nearby. He seemed to have no intention of leaving her alone right now. Annoyance prickled at the back of her spine, but it was tempered by a grateful flicker of feeling as well. 

She did not often use her powers. It was never pleasant -- mostly for others, but for herself also. There were no days, no minutes where she could pretend she was anything than what she had become at the hands of the Lich King, but there were certainly times that were worse than others. An Apothecary could only do so much with their potions and poultices. Her body was a mere vessel for the spirit chained within. They could but settle her corpse, urge it to be soothed for a brief respite. She generally only submitted herself to their care for the sake of others rather than herself. The Forsaken -- her Rangers included -- felt better if they believed she was properly looked after. As though the thought of her distress or loss caused them pain of their own. 

It was the threat of her absence more than anything else. What it would do to them as a people and as a society were she to no longer be there to guide them at the helm. 

The thought rose unbidden in her mind, then. Jaina's offer. Being 'cured.' The possibility of it ached. How would they see her if she lived once more? What would they do? Would she abandon them? Would she stay? Would they even want her to? 

"Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas lowered the report back to the desk. Others found Nathanos difficult to read, but she had never found that to be the case. His careful veil of uncaring haughtiness was the most inhuman thing about him, but his actions were his ultimate tell. He would say one thing, and then do another. Spiteful words of ridicule in one hand, and selfless acts in the other. For the longest time, even back when they had been alive, he had thought she never noticed, but she was not one to reward skill alone. One had to have the proper disposition. 

Now, he hovered, and it was anxious despite his cool tone and his perpetual lofty sneer. 

Lifting her hand to her face, Sylvanas explored the cut on her cheek with her fingertips. She could withstand blows that would kill any living person, but her body did not heal normally, not like it once did. It would take time for the necromantic powers laden upon her spirit to knit this corporeal form back together. The process was slow. The flesh was weak, but the bond between body and spirit was weaker. She could get her Val’kyr to mend her, but she did not like wasting their powers for such trivial matters. 

Finally, she said, "Bring me an Apothecary, then. If it will soothe you, Nathanos."

"It is not I who needs treatment," he said, lying to himself. Sylvanas let him. He bowed and strode out of the house. 

With a sigh, Sylvanas leaned back in her seat and waited for him to return with an Apothecary in tow. Perhaps after letting herself be fussed over for an hour or two, she could get some actual work done. 

Nathanos returned not long later with an Apothecary at his heels and -- to her surprise -- a familiar raven on his shoulder. Now that Nathanos knew about Arthur, he was tolerated rather than actively despised. Arthur had taken to ruthlessly abusing this change in status, much to Nathanos' annoyance and Sylvanas' amusement. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"He saw me getting the Apothecary, and wanted to see how this worked," Nathanos explained, shutting the door behind them. "I told him that it was not my decision to make."

With a shrug, Sylvanas rose to her feet. "He can stay, if he wants." 

"Yes," Arthur whispered triumphantly under his breath.

Since discovering what he was, she had watched his interactions with the Forsaken in a new light. Suddenly his queries about their undeath made sense. She had initially thought them to be curiosity, or him digging up information for Jaina. And perhaps there was a bit of that, to be fair. But it certainly was not the whole picture. 

The Apothecary was a mass of heavy robes. Strapped to his chest and back were darkly lacquered boxes, filled with all manner of potions and reagents. His rotting face was hidden behind a deep cowl, but his eyes gleamed golden through the dim light like candles. He limped as he walked, and even with his hunched stature he was still taller than Nathanos. When Sylvanas turned her gaze upon him, he bowed low. 

"If it would please the Dark Lady," he said in a gravelly voice. 

"It would," she murmured. 

He shuffled closer and began to disassemble the boxes upon the desk. They folded out with clever hinges, revealing a labyrinth of compartments within. While he worked, Sylvanas walked around the desk to stand before him, waiting quietly with her hands clasped behind her back. 

Candles were lit as well as incense. Soon, the room was filled with the smell of chrism and rose oil. The Apothecary took his time. He swung a thurible by its chain, walking around her and murmuring in Gutterspeak. She stood still, allowing the ritual of the process with a bored kind of familiarity. The air grew thick with smoke. When various bowls and vials and candles had been arrayed just so, the Apothecary bowed before her once again. Without needing to be told what to do, Sylvanas lifted her arms somewhat to allow him to begin disrobing her. Every piece of armour and scrap of cloth above the waist was removed and placed aside, handled with care and reverence. He even waved the thurible over her pieces of armour, muttering more incantations. 

On the other side of the room, Nathanos had turned his back for this process. Arthur on the other hand, shuffled around on Nathanos' shoulder to keep watching. That was, until Nathanos plucked one his tail feathers in admonishment.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Nathanos growled.

"You always were an awful prude, Nathanos," said Sylvanas, watching them with some amusement. "I do not care if he watches."

There was a bit of dark grumbling at that, but Nathanos said nothing more. He maintained his own discretion, keeping his back turned, while Arthur looked on curiously. 

When her torso was fully revealed, Arthur made a whistling noise. Nathanos appeared on the brink of strangling him, but Arthur only said, "Does that still hurt?"

Sylvanas did not need to look down; she knew what he was referring to. The Val'kyr could mend many things when they reconstructed her body, but the wound made by Frostmourne was not one of them. The gash slanted across her abdomen just beneath her ribs. Along her back, the exit wound was a mirror. It had been expertly sutured back together and packed with a variety of reagents that she did not care to know more about beyond the fact that they smelled of warm myrrh and smoky incense. 

Rather than answer, Sylvanas countered, "Do your old wounds still hurt?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Well, then. There you have it." 

It was not strictly true. Sometimes, she could still feel the cold presence of that cursed blade as though it were sliding between her organs anew, splitting against her lower ribs. Those times were mercifully rare, and usually only occured when she used too much of her powers or spent too much time out of her body in nothing but spirit form. As though returning to her body reminded it of the very concept of pain. Today was not such a day. 

She lowered her arms, and the Apothecary began to unstitch the wound. He went carefully yet expertly, snipping the sutures loose and tugging them free with a pair of pliers and scissors plated in silver. Arthur craned his feathery neck to watch, trying to gain a bit more height to peek over the Apothecary kneeling at Sylvanas' feet and treating her. 

"Are there more Undead among the Drust?" Sylvanas asked. 

"There are lots of them!" Arthur said. "But not like me, no. They're mostly ghouls or restless spirits. They don't remember who they are or anything." 

The Apothecary was repacking the old injury now. His hands pressed the cavernous wound full of reagents. She did not flinch or even glance down at what he was doing. Instead she continued speaking to Arthur, "Do you have a difficult time remembering things?"

Arthur shuffled his wings. "Sometimes, yeah."

Immediately Nathanos' head twitched. Though he did not look around or speak, Sylvanas could tell he was listening very intently to the conversation now. 

"Does Jaina tell you to do things, and you seem to wake up later, not able to remember the past few days?" Sylvanas asked.

Even the Apothecary paused in his ministrations. Sylvanas glanced down at him sharply, and he returned to his task, though he too was now eavesdropping. 

Meanwhile, Arthur cocked his head in bemusement. "No?" he said, sounding confused. "I've never had anything like that happen before. The first year or so after she raised me though, I struggled with basic things. Walking and talking and stuff. I got better at it. She was very helpful."

"How?" Sylvanas tried to keep her tone light, so that Arthur would not get suspicious of this line of questioning.

"You know. She would make potions for me, and braces for my legs, and stuff. But she never could help with the wounds or anything." Arthur blinked, his eyes pale blue and filmy. A corpse's eyes. "I don't think she's very good at necromancy, to be honest. I mean, she's good at a lot of magic, but every magic user prefers some things over others. Like, I can turn into animals all day, but I'm terrible at healing people." 

Sylvanas frowned. "But if she gives you a direct order, can you disobey her?"

An incredulous caw was Arthur's answer. It sounded like a laugh. "Oh, yeah! I disobey her all the time! Why?"

The tension drained from the room. Sylvanas, Nathanos, and the Apothecary all relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Sylvanas even let out a little sigh.

Bemused, Arthur looked between the three of them. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

But Sylvanas merely shook her head. "It's nothing. Nevermind." 

Arthur leaned down over Nathanos' shoulder, his tail feathers jutting up into the air for balance. "Have you ever raised anyone from the dead?" 

"I have," Sylvanas said truthfully. "Never without their permission. If you had been given the choice, would you have come back?"

For a long moment Arthur puzzled over that query. He shifted his weight back, and shuffled his tail. "I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe. It's not great, but I like it enough. And I didn't like dying. At all."

A surprised huff of laughter escaped Sylvanas then. Even Nathanos chuckled quietly. 

"No," Sylvanas mused with a faint smile, her killing blow on display. "No, I can’t say I did either." 

The rest of the procedure went forth without trouble. The Apothecary stitched her back up with a hooked needle and thread. He anointed her in oils like a god king, until she fairly gleamed. Death magic was woven heavy in the air, heavy on his fingers, as heavy as incense. By the time he worked his way to the more recent wound on her face, she already felt calmer, as though the Apothecary had sewn her soul more firmly into place. 

There was little more he could do about the cut on her cheek than stitch it together and seal it with fragrant chrism and a necrotic spell chanted from his lipless mouth, but it would help quicken the process along. 

The Apothecary helped her back into her clothes and armour, his bony fingers as deft with clasps and buttons as they were with a needle and thread. Soon she was shrugging her cloak around her shoulders, and allowing him to buckle her pauldrons into place as though he were dressing a high priest of the Light in sacred vestments of office. 

A knock came at the door. Sylvanas waved at Nathanos to answer it. When he did so, she could see a number of Forsaken soldiers clustered around outside. News of her minor scrape must have spread through the ranks like wildfire. She had to hold back a grimace. 

"Arthur," she called, gesturing for him to fly closer.

In an ungainly flap of wings, Arthur flew from Nathanos' shoulder and landed on the back of the chair behind the desk. "Yeah?"

"Change into your usual form."

After a moment's hesitation, he did so. There was a whirl of druidic magic, and he stood behind her chair looking curious but faintly uneasy by the way Sylvanas and the Apothecary were eyeing him up. When Sylvanas waved for him to approach her, Arthur rounded the table to stand before them, his pale gaze flicking between the two of them.

Tilting her head to one side, Sylvanas reached out and touched the rent flesh of his wrist. His clothes were scuffed and worn, but not in rags. They were a mark of a man who did not care for clothes, rather than a mark of neglect. His shirtsleeves had been rolled back above his elbow, revealing his hands and forearms, large portions of which had been peeled of flesh and muscle. 

"See what you can do for him," Sylvanas told the Apothecary. 

Without question, the Apothecary bowed to her, then gestured for Arthur to stand where Sylvanas had stood not moments ago. 

Arthur balked. “Oh - I don’t - I don’t know if -”

“Jaina’s speciality is not death magic. It is this man’s, however,” said Sylvanas firmly, indicating the Apothecary. “You will feel better after. I promise you.” 

Sheepish, Arthur allowed himself to be herded where the Apothecary wanted him to stand. He awkwardly held his arms out to the side, all while shooting Sylvanas a look that she could only describe as abashed.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and walked towards the door. He was not so bold when it was himself being undressed in front of others. 

Humans, she thought to herself with a wry shake of her head. 

Nathanos was shutting the door once more when she reached him. “Did you tell them they could stop their worrying?” she asked.

“I did, though doubtlessly they will remain outside until they see you.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

“I also received word from Captain Hayles,” Nathanos continued. Lowering his voice, he said, “Apparently, one of the prisoners you brought back from your little scouting expedition has decided to talk.” 

Sylvanas’ ears canted up in surprise. “That was fast,” she murmured. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder back towards Arthur and the Apothecary, she said, “Do we know the High Thornspeaker’s current whereabouts?”

Arthur was not paying any attention to them. He was too busy pestering the Apothecary with rapid fire questions, which the Apothecary answered in a dusty wheezing voice. 

“The people I have assigned to watch her informed me that she vanished from camp sometime this morning,” said Nathanos. “Nobody has been able to ascertain her position since then. She has a habit of disappearing without a trace and reappearing again. I suspect portals and other translocation magics are at work, but none of the Forsaken mages I’ve designated can crack where she goes to so often.” 

Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “I have an inkling.” Tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, she said, “Stay here. Keep an eye on the camp while I’m away.”

Nathanos’ brows furrowed. “And where are you going?”

“Belore. You’re as bad as the others.”

“Incorrect,” he said with an affronted sniff. “I’m worse.” 

With a snort, Sylvanas reached past him to open the door. “I am going to speak with Hayles and the prisoner. And then I’m going to do something I will probably regret.”

He stepped aside to let her pass. “Which is?”

“I’m going to find the High Thornspeaker, and have a conversation.” 

  The fang was heavy in Sylvanas' hand. She weighed it in her palm, considering her next actions very carefully. Then she lifted the token by its string and said, "Take me to Jaina, please." She growled out the last word like it was a penance. 

That feeling hooked behind her gut as though latching onto her spine and pulled. In an instant blur of colour and darkness, she appeared at the entrance to Jaina's cabin. The fog had returned. A chill nipped the air. A shallow shower of snow dusted the grounds. On one side the cliffs were shrouded in white, and on the other the dark vastness of the trees seemed to vanish into the mist like the long march of time itself. As though this place were caught in a stasis, torn between the woods and the sea. 

Sylvanas tucked the fang back into her belt pouch. She stood before the front door, which had been hung with a wreath woven from blackthorn branches. The berries were dark and clustered along the wreath. Whether it was purely decorative or served some greater magical purpose, she did not know. She used studying it as an excuse to not knock on the door. Eventually, steeling herself, Sylvanas reached out a hand and rapped her knuckles against the door. 

There was no sound from within. Brows knitting together, Sylvanas leaned to one side in order to peer through one of the windows, but the glass was misted from the chill outside. It was impossible to see anything but the indistinct shape of furniture within. 

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Rocking back on her heels, Sylvanas tongued at the back of her teeth contemplatively. She had been so sure that Jaina would be here. Or perhaps she was, and she knew it was Sylvanas outside. Perhaps they were both avoiding each other. 

She was reaching for the door handle, when she heard a voice behind her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Jaina said. 

Sylvanas whirled around. It wasn't everyday someone could sneak up on her. The only people who could consistently pull it off were her Rangers. And, apparently, Jaina. It was so reminiscent of their first meeting, that Sylvanas narrowed her eyes warily. 

Jaina stood behind her, wrapped in a robe. A towel was slung over her shoulder. Her feet were bare. Her hair had been undone from its usual braid so that it hung, wet, over her shoulders. It was a rare occasion to see Jaina with her scars on full display, the neckline of her robes a low-draped décolletage revealing the rope burns at her neck and the hint of a sword wound over her heart. She faintly steamed in the cool air, as though she had just stepped from a pool of hot water.

Which was, Sylvanas realised, exactly what she had done.

"I have the house warded," Jaina explained. "If you try to force your way inside...well, it's not very nice. Let's just leave it at that."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. "Noted." 

They looked at one another for a long moment, until Jaina cleared her throat and stepped past her. "I suppose you'll want to come inside. Unless you really were hoping to rifle through my things without my being here."

"I wanted to talk," Sylvanas said. 

"Now, I'm really worried," said Jaina dryly. 

There was a rusted old lock on the door, but Jaina used no key. She did not need to unlock the door. It opened at her touch without any trouble. Sylvanas wondered if she even locked it conventionally at all.

Jaina did not wait for her guest to follow after her; she simply stepped inside and left the door open behind her. Sylvanas removed her shoes, but hesitated to leave her weapons behind. Eventually however, she balanced the bow and quiver and knife against the outer wall of the cabin, and walked inside. 

The door shut itself softly behind her as though a draught had caught the edge. Jaina was standing before the fireplace. When Sylvanas had peered inside, there had been no light emanating from within. Now, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Jaina stood with her back to the flames and toweled her hair dry. 

The skull mask glowered at Sylvanas from its customary spot hanging on the wall. This time, the scythe-like staff was leaning against it. The runes carved into them glowed stronger when she drew near. Sylvanas moved past them both, entering further into the cabin. She made no motion to make herself comfortable. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back as though awaiting an infantry inspection on parade. 

Jaina pulled the towel down, her hair a mess until she began raking her fingers through it. "You're very quiet for someone who came all this way to talk to me," she said. 

From this angle, the fire lit Jaina from behind so that she seemed gilded. The soft fabric of her robe was brighter at the edges, more saturated, so that her body beneath was but a silhouette. 

Tearing her gaze away, Sylvanas wandered over to the table strewn with books and scrolls and various maps. She dragged her fingertips along the ragged edge of a vellum map. “I’m sure you will have already heard that I took Captain Hayles and a few of his men for a reconnoitre this morning.”

“I did,” said Jaina. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed the room and joined Sylvanas, careful to keep the table between them.

“We caught a few prisoners. Fortunately for us, one of them decided to cooperate.”

That got Jaina’s attention. She draped the towel back over her shoulder, and asked, “And what did they say?”

“There is a feature just to the northeast of Fallhaven,” Sylvanas said. “They call it Watermill Hill.”

“I am familiar with it, yes.”

“The Ashvanes have orders to take it from the defenders, and use it as a fort to bombard the city.”  

Jaina fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the table, and she began digging up a more detailed map of Fallhaven and its surrounding countryside. She pulled out her ledgers, placing them atop the map and scowling down at the both of them. 

Finally she said softly yet vehemently, “Shit.” 

Sylvanas hummed in agreement. 

Sighing, Jaina sank down into a chair. She rubbed at her eyes, scratching at the scar on one side of her face. “I had hoped to gain control over the peninsula by taking Carver’s Harbour from the Ashvanes.” 

“It is far too late for that, now.” Reaching over, Sylvanas tapped at a section of the map between Fallhaven and Carver’s Harbour. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make life difficult for them in the meantime. We just need to take the initiative.” 

Jaina nodded. She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. “So, we march for Fallhaven, and hope we can arrive in time to reinforce Watermill Hill. Otherwise we’ll have to take it back before they can blast through the eastern walls with artillery and create a practicable breach.” 

“And then we winter at Watermill, and harass their position at Carver’s Harbour until they wished they had never set foot in Drustvar.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Jaina admitted. “Though somewhat predictable, given the present company. I understand guerilla tactics are a favourite of yours.��� 

Sylvanas gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. “We all cling to our little foibles. Mine happen to involve a penchant for shock and hit-and-run doctrine.” 

Jaina smiled, but it was a fleeting thing. Her face looked raw and recently scrubbed. She held Sylvanas’ gaze and said, “You smell like death.”

“Don’t I always?” Sylvanas drawled.

“No,” said Jaina. “Not like this. What happened?” 

Sylvanas tried to make her shrug nonchalant. “I got a little carried away during the scouting expedition.” 

Jaina looked at the cut on Sylvanas’ cheek and murmured, “I see.”

"To add insult to injury, your mother cornered me upon my return."

"Oh?" Jaina's tone was light, but she would suddenly not meet Sylvanas' eye. She fiddled with the ends of the towel slung over her shoulder, picking at stray threads, her actions uneasy, faintly apprehensive.

"She wants to call a meeting to discuss our strategy moving forward."

"Good thing we have one now, then," Jaina said, gesturing to the map of Fallhaven. 

Sylvanas caught Jaina's eye and said, "I don't think that was all she meant."

In reply, Jaina swallowed thickly. The apprehension was more than faint now. She gripped the end of the towel tightly in one fist until her knuckles were white. A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across her features. She did not say anything.

"The truth will out," Sylvanas said. "That was what she told me. And she's right. This war will end, and our agreement will come to light. You cannot hide forever."

Inhaling deeply, Jaina lowered her hands to her sides and said, "I know." She chewed at her lower lip for a moment before asking, "What happened with you?" 

Sylvanas frowned in quiet puzzlement.

"When you -- you know -" Jaina made a strange motion with one hand. "When you saw your family again after you had died? How did they react when they saw you like this?"

The map was suddenly incredibly interesting. Sylvanas traced circles around Watermill Hill and its surroundings, wishing beyond all else that they could return to topics of war and strategy and killing, things she was infinitely more comfortable discussing. Not this. 

"My younger sister, Vereesa, was the first to see me,” she finally said, her tone blank and matter-of-fact. “It was awful."

"What happened?"

"She hugged me," said Sylvanas.

Jaina laughed, until she realised very quickly that Sylvanas was not laughing at all.

If she thought too long and too hard, she could still feel Vereesa’s arms around her, crushing her with a warmth that scorched. It hurt to touch her. To be reminded of the heat of life she could never again share. To want to be the person her little sister remembered and idolised -- a yearning so strong it tore her up inside until she thought she could feel a blade piercing her ribs.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Sylvanas said before she could sink too deeply into that melancholic memory.

“Please,” Jaina said, sounding relieved, almost eager for any scrap of advice in this surreal situation.

Sylvanas glanced up at her sharply, and her eyes burned crimson. “Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

A little huff escaped Jaina at that. “I think we’re well beyond that, now. She’s thought I’ve been dead for years. Since before she even became Lord Admiral. I’m sure she’s made her peace by now.”

“She hasn’t. She told me she had, but she is lying.” Sylvanas ran her hands along the back of a chair tucked beneath the desk, her thumbs counting the rings of polished wood grain. “Grief is reaching out in love and finding nothing, and then filling it with something, anything to make that void a little less yawning, a little more manageable. The longer you wait, the more disruptive your return will be.”

Firelight played faintly about the strands of Jaina’s hair. She engoldened in the dim glow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment of silence. “For assuming what you wanted. It's just that back in Ardfert bog, I thought -”

Sylvanas shook her head curtly. “No. Stop.” 

“Sylvanas -” 

When Jaina tried to round the table, to draw closer, Sylvanas slipped further away. She used the table as an obstacle to keep them apart. “I am not here to accept your offer. And I never will.”

Jaina did not try to pursue her further. She stopped, her hands coming to rest on the desk between them, just lightly touching a space between a stack of worn, well-read books. “I still don’t understand,” Jaina said slowly. “But only because given the choice, I would leap at the chance.”

The cabin was warming up, the fire lapping at the hearth and filling the space with a pervasive roiling heat. Sylvanas wished nothing of warmth. Not now. It was too close to body temperature, and she could feel her own skin begin to react to the heat, to drink it in and hold it fast as though hungry for it. “It is not just about what I want. I have an obligation,” she said, and the words felt as though they were being scraped from her throat. “To more than just myself. I cannot be selfish. I will not be.” 

That was how it always had been. Self-sacrifice above all else. Living for others and not herself. Wishing she could be selfish, but knowing she could never do so; she would hate herself if she did. And she did not need any more reason to hate herself. Especially now.

“If there is one thing you are allowed to be selfish about, it is your own life,” Jaina said, her words chosen with care and precision.

But Sylvanas was already shaking her head, even as Jaina was speaking. “Not mine. And not yours. Not anymore. We are more than people. We are symbols and titles.”

A scowl crossed Jaina’s face, though not one of anger. “Do you allow yourself nothing?”

“You are new to your position. Relatively speaking,” Sylvanas added when Jaina opened her mouth to protest. “There is a balance you must find between personal wants and public needs. I found it long ago when Quel’Thalas demanded a military leader of my family. It is easy for you now. You want to save Drustvar. You want what is best for you people. But there will come a time, when you will do things that go against your better conscience not because you want to, but because you must.” 

“And you believe you must remain dead?” Jaina asked incredulously.

Sylvanas’ answer came without err or hesitation. “Yes.” 

With a sigh, Jaina shook her head. Again, she raked a hand through her hair, which by now had begun to dry somewhat. 

“Your relationship with your mother is a prime example,” Sylvanas began, watching her reaction. “You don’t want to reveal yourself to her, but you know you have to eventually.” 

Jaina chewed at her lower lip again. Her brows knit. Finally she relented with a nod. “Yes. I know.” 

“It is easier if you think of yourself as two different people.” Sylvanas lifted her hands, palms facing up as though weighing objects between them. “The future Lord Admiral, and Jaina Proudmoore.”

A bitter smile twisted Jaina’s lips. “It seems you need more hands, if we’re going to talk about your personae,” she said with a nod towards her. 

Sylvanas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When you live as long as elves do, you might need more than two, as well.”

“I will.”

At that, Sylvanas blinked. She looked at Jaina for clarification. 

“Druids live as long as elves do. Even human ones,” Jaina said. Then she grinned, amused by Sylvanas’ confusion. “It’s a perk.” 

“And here I thought the Kul Tiran nobility would be clamouring for you to conceive an Heir the moment you became Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas drawled. 

“Oh, they probably will anyway. But they’re going to be very annoyed when they find out that I’ll outlive them by a good few centuries at least.” 

“I can hear the cries of outrage from Boralus already.” 

Jaina’s grin widened, then softened. Her fingers played with the cloth belt holding her bathrobe together. “I have to say, this certainly has been a surprise.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to one side.

In answer, Jaina gestured between the two of them. “I thought this conversation was going to be far more unpleasant.”

"I can make it unpleasant, if you would prefer."

Jaina made a face. "Please, no. I thought we were doing so well."

When Sylvanas smiled, it did not reach her eyes. Her fangs glinted in the firelight. "Make no mistake. I am still very angry." Her gaze seared crimson.

Jaina made a noise at the back of her throat, something between a hum and a grunt. "I can see that. I don't suppose there's anything I can do?"

"More concessions when you become Lord Admiral wouldn't go unappreciated."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina said, "Anything that doesn't involve me whoring out my nation?"

Sylvanas tapped at her chin, pretending to think deeply on the subject. Finally she said, "No. Nothing."

With a snort of wry amusement, Jaina said, "Well, do let me know if that changes." 

"I will keep it in mind." A keen expression crossed Sylvanas' face. "I never forget when I am owed a favour." 

"Now, that is just ominous." 

"Good. It was supposed to be." 

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sky had fallen dark as night swept across the land. Glancing through a window, Jaina sighed. "I suppose I ought to make myself presentable and face the firing squad."

"I very much doubt your mother will draw a pistol on you, though I will admit that she is a difficult woman to read." 

"That's an understatement," Jaina muttered under her breath. She had begun to pick her way up the stairs, manoeuvring through the stacks of books haphazardly arranged along the steps. 

When she reached the mezzanine, she dropped the towel onto the bed and untied the belt of her robe. Sylvanas pulled the maps closer to herself to study them while she waited, but her eyes would stray up to where Jaina was getting dressed. There wasn't much to see through the pillars of the balustrade and the piles of books. Glimpses of skin and cloth here and there as Jaina pulled on a fresh set of formal robes. There was an exit scar on her back, where Gorak Tul had struck her through with a sword, right between her shoulder blade and her spine. 

A few minutes later, Jaina descended the steps, still tying the laces of fabric at her throat to hide the scars of her neck. Her cloak was draped across the back of the couch, and she shrugged it over her shoulders. The fabric rustled like the wind through dense branches. Sylvanas had long since given up the pretense of pouring over the maps, and stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Are you ready?" 

Jaina fiddled with her loose hair for a moment, as though contemplating taking the time to braid it. Eventually though she nodded. "Yes. Let's go." 

When they reached the door however, Jaina stopped. Her hand had immediately grabbed up the sickle staff, but she hesitated at the mask. Sylvanas waited patiently a step behind for Jaina to make up her mind. 

"No," Jaina said softly to herself, turning away from the mask. Before she could take another step towards the door though, she turned back to the mask. "Or...? Well...? Hmm." She grabbed the mask. "Yes." Then almost immediately she put the mask back on its hook. "What am I thinking? No."

Sylvanas sighed. "You are worse than a cat at the door."

"All right, yes." Jaina snatched up the mask, spurred into action, and pulled the door open. Once outside she placed the antlered skull over her head, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat, as though the idea of extra layer of protection was soothing. 

Sylvanas followed, closing the door behind them. She took a moment to pull on her boots and greaves. Once she had slung her bow over her shoulders, she pulled the fang from her belt pouch, but Jaina just held out her hand instead. 

"I'll take us back," she said, hand outstretched, waiting. 

Slowly, Sylvanas tucked the token away, and reached out for Jaina's hand. Jaina clasped their fingers together. Her skin was warm and calloused. Sylvanas could feel it even through the supple leather of her gloves. 

The dark sockets of the skull's eyes glowed with pinpricks of light, and Sylvanas tensed. Jaina tightened her hold, as if she were afraid Sylvanas would wrench her hand away while the spell was still taking form. And then that familiar hook-like sensation gripped at Sylvanas' stomach and gave a mighty tug. When the world righted itself again, they were standing on the second floor rafters of the church at Barrowknoll. 

The roof had been reconstructed with rough-hewn lumber. Stacks of bricks and munitions were piled up all around. The space was dimly lit from candles scattered around the main floor below them, and the sound of voices floated up the nearby set of stairs. 

"Tides help me, if you don't tell me this instant, Lucille Waycrest -!"

"I don't know anything! You must believe me, Katherine. If the Warchief or the High Thornspeaker had said something to me, they would have said it to you as well. I swear it."

"You’re hiding something. You all are. Oh, don't give me that doe-eyed look! You always were a terrible liar."

"I told you, I don’t know anything!" 

"You know I was there at your birth? Your mother held my hand. Nearly squeezed it right off, if you ask me. That woman had a death grip like no other."

"Yes," Lucille sighed wearily. "I know." 

"And when Meredith fell to the Coven? Who was the first to offer you aid?"

Lucille mumbled something under her breath.

"Speak up, my dear." 

"I said: You were."

"That's right. I was. And when those fools at Corlain attempted to burn you at the stake for some far-fetched witchcraft conspiracy, who got wind of it and rallied the Marshal for a rescue attempt?" 

"You did."

"And yet you have the nerve -- the absolute gall -- to look me in the face right now, and lie to me." There was the sound of boot steps, and the faint clack of a cane against wooden floorboards. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was low but not at all soft. "I had thought I could rely upon you, the last of my family, distant though you are. But I see I am cursed to live a life of disappointment, through and through." 

“That’s not fair,” Lucille sounded like she was choking on the words, or trying to hold back a wave of tears. “You know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. 

"You have a very poor way of showing it." 

"What am I supposed to do? Perform every action of my life as though I'm grovelling at your feet just to show how thankful I am?"

"Of course, not. You're being ridiculous."

"Don't say that! Don't you say that to me! You know I can't stand that, Kath!"

"Don't you 'Kath' me, young lady!"

As they eavesdropped, Jaina was gripping Sylvanas' hand hard enough that her fingers trembled. Sylvanas stole a quick glance at her. It was impossible to see what her expression was beneath the mask, but her back was too straight, her shoulders too rigid. 

Sylvanas squeezed her hand back, and Jaina's head jerked towards her in surprise, as though she had only just remembered that Sylvanas was present at all. But it was only to get her attention, for Sylvanas jerked her head meaningfully at the stairs, and gave Jaina a pointed look. She could hear a faint indrawn breath beneath that mask, and then Jaina let go of her hand. 

At the first creak of the floorboards beneath Jaina's feet, the two voices went silent downstairs. Sylvanas followed as Jaina descended the stairs, her own footsteps silent as a whisper. 

Lucille and Katherine were standing very close together before the large rectangular altar that had been converted into a planning table. Scrolls and scraps of notes, missives and ledgers and stacks of maps were strewn across the altar. The papers were weighed down with bits of brick and bronze lamps. Both of them appeared startled at the interruption and the idea that their conversation was being listened to. Katherine recovered more quickly, grasping the falcon head of her cane in both hands and schooling her features to their usual hard neutrality. On the other hand, Lucille’s lower lip trembled. Despite that, her gaze was sloe-eyed and unyielding. 

"Forgive the interruption," Jaina said, her voice cold beneath the horned skull. "But I thought I should step in." 

Lucille jerked her chin up and said steadily. "It's fine. We just got a bit sidetracked from a strategy discussion." 

Jaina hummed. She approached the altar, her hand reaching out to rest upon the stone surface. "Sylvanas has informed me of new developments that we all need to discuss." 

Hearing this, Katherine shot Sylvanas a look that could only be described as startled, though she tried to hide it. In return Sylvanas gave away nothing. She did not draw nearer the altar, keeping her distance, watching Jaina, waiting for what she would do. 

"I'm glad to hear you two are talking again," Katherine said carefully. Then she turned her attention upon the altar, waving Lucille and Sylvanas over to join them. "Shall we -?"

"No, not yet," Jaina said, cutting her off. Her voice was determined, but there was the barest hint of shakiness lingering beneath the surface. "You were right. There was something Lucille was keeping from you. And I think -- for all our sakes -- we ought to clear the air."

Lucille's eyes widened. She gave Jaina a panicked look. 

Jaina gave no indication that she noticed. Slowly, her hands reached up and clasped the base of the skull mask, lifting it away to reveal her face. Katherine was watching her with a bemused frown, which only deepened when Jaina set the mask atop the altar. Opening her mouth to speak, Katherine paused. She blinked. Then she went white a sheet, and her jaw slackened as the realisation visibly dawned on her. 

Katherine shook her head. “No, that’s - that’s not possible,” she breathed. “You died. They’d told me you died.”

“Yes,” Jaina said. Her hands were gripped into tight fists at her side. She held herself as though expecting to be struck.

From this angle Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s expression, but she could see Katherine's with all too much clarity. Something raw and painful shifted across Katherine’s pale face. Anger and anguish, disbelief and dread. Her hand tightened around the cane. She rapped the end of it against the ground, her jaw tight but her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I planted a sword in the grave for you,” she rasped. “And yet here you are.” 

“Here I am,” Jaina echoed.

“If this is some trick, I swear to all that’s good, I’ll -” Katherine cut herself off with a rough swallow, breathing in heavily through her nose. 

“I’m real.” 

Katherine opened her mouth to say something, but words seemed to escape her. Hesitant, she reached out with one hand, but Jaina’s shoulders stiffened, and Katherine lowered her arm before she could touch her daughter. She had to muster up the ability to speak again. “You’ve grown very tall,” she said, a weak smile trying but failing to take shape. Her eyes flicked to Lucille and Sylvanas, and then her face hardened, her voice gaining strength. “How long have they known?”

Lucille looked like she would rather die on the spot than answer that question. Sylvanas herself kept her mouth firmly shut, letting Jaina answer. “Long enough.” 

Pain twisted Katherine’s features. “And you didn’t tell me? Why?” 

“Are you really asking me that? After what you did?” 

Katherine drew herself up to her full height, but the top of her head barely passed Jaina’s chin. “I did not want to, but I had to,” she said. “Everything I did, I did to safeguard Kul Tiras. I will not apologise for that.”

“Letting Tandred hang was all part of your plan to ‘safeguard Kul Tiras’?” Jaina asked incredulously.

“You were too young to understand,” Katherine snapped. “The political situation at the time was volatile. I did everything I could to change Daelin’s mind, to find some work around, to exile Tandred instead, but he would have none of it. And the gentry were baying for blood after the orcs had killed so many during the First and Second Wars.” 

Jaina scoffed. “Oh, great. So, dad wasn’t just a power-mad bastard. It was all because of politics. I see now why I should have come back to Boralus the moment he died. How foolish of me!”

Katherine’s face was quickly regaining its colour again. The two of them were locked in a glaring contest, tempers rising, mingling with grief and years of bitterness. They continued speaking as though they had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Katherine said hotly.

“Then what did you mean? Enlighten me.”

“You should have told me! Have you never heard of a letter? ‘Dearest mum, I am alive. Love - Your daughter, Jaina.’”

“You’re unbelievable! You -!” 

As silently as she could, Sylvanas crossed the room and murmured to Lucille, “Come. Let us leave them be.”

Lucille nodded without hesitation, and the two of them slipped away. Neither Jaina nor Katherine seemed to notice. 

“I could have protected you!’

“Oh, yes, because you’ve done such a good job of that in the past!” 

“How dare you! I am the reason why you survived at all!”

“You don’t know anything about what’s happened for me to survive! Or have you already forgotten? You threw me away!”

“I did no such thing!”

Sylvanas shut the side door to the church behind her, so that the sounds of their voices were muted. Outside, the night was dark and drizzly. Most of the soldiers were camped in the fields just to the north, but some still wandered the town performing their duties. Sylvanas kept her hand firmly on the latch of the door as though afraid it might burst open at any second, while Lucille leaned against the outer wall with a ragged exhalation, staying beneath the shelter of the eaves. 

Sylvanas studied her profile, then said, “You did well. I thought you would crack immediately under questioning.” 

A soft shaky laugh escaped Lucille at that. “Thanks,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. She glanced towards the door. “Should we wait here? How long do you think they’ll be?”

Sylvanas’ only answer was a shrug. “They will take as long as they take.” 

“Then they’ll be a while. ‘Stubborn as a Proudmoore’ they say in Tiragarde Sound.” Lucille ran a hand across her brow. She pushed herself away from the wall and said, “Would you like to join me for a drink? I desperately need one.”

“I don’t drink. And alcohol is wasted on me. It does nothing.” 

“Right. Of course. My apologies.”

One of Sylvanas’ ears tilted towards the door, hearing the rising volume of the voices within. She grimaced. “On second thought, I will join you.”  

“Thank the Tides,” Lucille sighed, already gathering up her long hems so that they would not trail in the mud. 

Sylvanas followed Lucille out into the rain, the two of them making a dash towards a nearby reconstructed house. She may not be able to enjoy a drink, but it was a better proposition than staying put; she had had enough eavesdropping for one night.

  Lucille had nearly finished what remained of the flask of whiskey she kept hidden in the drawer of her work desk, and Jaina and Katherine still had not emerged from the church to the Tides. Sylvanas sat in a chair beside the fire, while Lucille nursed a glass. Conversation was halting at first, but eventually Lucille's tongue was loosened by drink. Sylvanas took the opportunity to suss out any additional helpful information about Jaina and Katherine. Most of it she already knew. Some of it however, she did not.

"I wanted to go to Jaina's burial in Boralus, but my mother forbade it," Lucille said. She had draped a blanket over her legs to ward off the cold, and her chair had been pushed nearer the fire. 

"Why would she do that?" Sylvanas asked.

Lucille sipped at the amber spirits in her glass. "In hindsight, I think it was because she had already well fallen under the influence of Gorak Tul. But it wasn't just that. There really was bad blood between the Houses back then."

"Unlike now, where you all get along swimmingly," Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille snorted a laugh into her cup. "I didn't think you would actually have a sense of humour, you know. It's kind of nice."

"I'm a woman of hidden depths." Sylvanas waved for Lucille to continue. "Now, you were saying about the Houses?"

"Yes. Well. Katherine was right back in the church, really. Terrible business, the First and Second Wars. There aren't many people in Kul Tiras to begin with. Then nearly a quarter of the entire population died fighting the orcs. We are still recovering as a society. I don't know if we ever will. Not really." Lucille cradled the glass of whiskey between her hands as though praying that it would warm her. "Derek Proudmoore, Jaina's eldest brother, was one of the people to fall. Daelin and Katherine were crushed. But he wasn't the only one. Lady Ashvane's Heir died. Her husband, too. And some of Lord Stormsong's family. Everyone was affected. Then Tandred goes off and helps those shipwrecked orcs? I know he was being kind -- he was a kind soul, if a bit of an ass at times -- but it was a scandal. Everyone wanted him to hang. My mother included. The Proudmoores nearly lost the Admiralty over it. There was talk of overthrowing them back then. My mother said theirs was a whole line of traitors. That they weren't to be trusted. And there were plenty of people who shared that sentiment. An example needed to be made."

Sylvanas hummed. "A sacrificial lamb led to the altar to appease the masses."

Tipping her glass towards Sylvanas as though in a toast, Lucille said, "Exactly that."

"Which doesn't exactly bode well for me."

"Oh, definitely not," Lucille said. Alcohol made her earnest and far too honest. "I think it would be a disaster, personally."

Sylvanas gave her a dangerous look. "How reassuring," she said in a silky warning tone.

Usually Lucille got the hint, but not when she was four glasses deep and reaching for the flask to pour herself a fifth. "The only thing that might salvage the relationship is the fact that you're not an orc. Kul Tirans tend to be a bit -- uhm -- how do I put it nicely -?"

"’Negatively predisposed towards those of orcish descent?’" Sylvanas supplied dryly.

“That works, yes.” 

“And what does this have to do with Jaina’s burial, exactly?”

“Well -” Lucille expertly balanced the glass on her knee while she screwed the top back onto the flask. For a moment Sylvanas thought the glass was going to crash to the floor, but Lucille was apparently as Kul Tiran as any, for she snatched up the glass without fail or fumble. “There wasn’t a body, obviously, but Katherine wanted a funeral anyway.”

“People often do.”

“Anyway, it was a big public event. The Lord Admiral couldn’t keep it secret that she no longer had an Heir. Before that, she’d told everyone that Jaina was living with us in seclusion at Waycrest Manor.”

“Ah,” said Sylvanas. She leaned back in her seat and crossed an ankle over her opposite knee. “Yes. I see where this is going.” 

Making an affirmative noise into her glass, Lucille finished her sip of whiskey and continued. “When my mother refused to let any member of House Waycrest attend, it was a public indictment in all but name. A show that the Lord Admiral’s power was slipping in Drustvar. And to top it all off, my dear mother was already neck-deep in her dabblings with Gorak Tul and the Coven, so of course she wanted the Lord Admiral out of her business, so she could take over Drustvar without any hassle. It was a damn mess.”

Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. “And what do you want for Drustvar?”

“Me?” Lucille blinked, as though surprised at being asked that question at all. 

“Yes, you. You are Lady Waycrest, are you not?” 

Turning her gaze to the fireplace, Lucille stared into the flickering hearth. “I want a Drustvar free from corruption and at peace with itself. I want to clear the smirch on my family’s name. And I want to follow a Lord Admiral who has a clear vision for Kul Tiras.”

“And you think Jaina will give you those things?”

“I do,” Lucille said with real conviction. 

“Even if it means aligning yourself with people like me?” Sylvanas gestured to herself. 

Lucille’s mouth opened, but before she could answer the front door swung open hard enough that it hit the wall and bounced back. Jaina stormed into the house, skull mask beneath one arm. Rain was caught in her cloak and her loose hair, droplets gleaming like stars. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had scrubbed recent tears from her cheeks. 

Katherine was conspicuously absent. 

“Right,” Jaina said, slamming the door shut behind her and stomping towards the fireplace to stand between their two chairs. “Well, that was awful.” 

Wordlessly, Lucille held out the glass of whiskey. To Sylvanas’ surprise, Jaina took it and slugged back its contents as easily as though it were water. 

“Welcome back,” Sylvanas said.

“Why did I listen to you?” Jaina asked, handing the glass back over to Lucille for refilling. 

“Think of it this way: you only have one surviving family member, so you’ll never have to do it again,” Sylvanas pointed out. 

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina grumbled.

Lucille handed the glass over to Jaina, filled with a good three fingers of whiskey. “Do we have a plan?”

“We have a plan.” Jaina took the glass. This time she did not immediately drain it in one gulp. Rather, she tipped it back and forth as though admiring the way the liquid slid against the interior of the glass. Then, she took a sip and said, “We march to Windmill Hill tomorrow morning to chase off the Ashvanes and wait out the winter. Or -” She craned her neck to peer out the nearest window, where the faintest sliver of dawn was creeping over the horizon. “Later today, actually. Ugh, but I need some sleep.”  

“And the Admiralty?” Sylvanas asked.

“You’re looking at the official Heir to the Admiralty and Scion of the Great Fleet. Cheers.” Jaina lifted the glass in the air, and tipped it back. What few drops remain, she cast into the fire, which spit and hissed furiously. 

Lucille and Sylvanas exchanged silent glances. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvanas said. 

“Yes,” Lucille agreed, though she sounded far less certain. “Congratulations, I suppose?”

In response, Jaina heaved a weary sigh. “Fuck me.”

[mishinashen]

La Marseillaise by Jean Béraud, 1880

This spirited, light-filled painting shows Bastille Day in Paris in 1880. Exuberantly singing the Marseillaise, a group of workmen, artists, students and shopkeepers parade westward along the flag-draped rue St. Antoine from the Place de la Bastille towards the center of town.  In the background rises the Colonne de Juillet, erected on the former site of the Bastille prison as a memorial to the July Revolution of 1830. Like most of Jean Béraud’s paintings, in La Marseillaise the artist has created a terrific spectacle as well as an absorbing historical document.

Bastille Day had a contentious history in nineteenth century France. First celebrated in 1790, Bastille Day commemorates the July 14, 1789 storming of the Bastille fortress by the people of Paris, a key inaugural event of the French Revolution. However, celebrating Bastille Day was suppressed by successive French regimes including by Napoleon, for it symbolized the death of Absolutism and the birth of the Republic. In fact, the parade in 1880 that Béraud has painted here was one of the first celebrations of the anniversary since 1790.

The 1870s were the era of the “Monarchist Republic,” and had been one of hardship and political instability, following France’s defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. This regime crumbled in 1878 and in June of that year, the first national holiday since the war (called the Fête de la Paix) was held, to coincide with the Exposition Universelle in Paris. Several artists, including Claude Monet, Edouard Manet and Alfred Sisley, painted pictures of the city’s streets filled with billowing flags setting off a trend that would endure for decades on both sides of the Atlantic. To mark the Republic's centenary and to promote the patriotic and republican sentiment in France, in 1879-80 the new liberal leaders of the Third Republic re-established July 14th as a national holiday and proclaimed the Marseillaise as the national anthem.  

The festivities around Bastille Day in 1880 were designed by the government to boost morale and included an immense military review at Longchamps, followed by a parade into central Paris. Afterwards there were smaller parades in neighborhoods, with spectacles fireworks and dancing. In all of this, France’s strength, resilience and future were stressed.  Republican symbols like the tricolor flag, the rooster, the cockade and the bonnet rouge, all shown in Béraud’s painting, were revived. La Marseillaise contains many fascinating period details – the women’s parasols in the colors of the tricolor, the flags with roosters (an ancient symbol of Gaul) in the center, as well as individual figures who convey much about the era. The front rank of marchers represents the people rebuilding France after the war. On the left the older man in the long tan coat is perhaps a syndicaliste or labor leader, flanked by men and boys in the short blue smocks still worn by tradesmen in France today. In the center are two men in black who, by their unconventional dress, appear to be artists or writers. One wears a red cummerbund instead of a belt, while the other sports a flamboyant pink cravat and a tall hat typical of the dandies and bohemians in 1880. Between them walks a pregnant woman, representing the future of France. To the right is a bearded man, probably unemployed, poorly dressed and emaciated. On his shoulders sits a bright, innocent child dressed in a tricolor sash and bonnet rouge; the two figures form a contrast between the economically depressed past and the prosperous future. Next to this pair are three teenagers of differing persuasions-- a lycéen with a leftist republican viewpoint, a military cadet with a more moderate-conservative view, and a church student with the Ultra-Catholic party -- stride united towards tomorrow and led by a determined, top-hatted teacher.

All of these people parade from the area around the Place de la Bastille, while a few people from different milieus are grouped on the sidewalk. At the far right, a well-to-do family has come upon the parade, with mixed reactions. The young father steps forward enthusiastically to salute the marchers and join in the Marseillaise, while his wife looks on holding her daughter back from the throng. Over her shoulder, her father regards the boisterous crowd with wariness and even dismay, suggesting the still strong presence of the haute-bourgeoisie. In front of this family are a couple from the country more interested in their own flirtation than the parade.

For many, Bastille Day seemed to be the dawn of a new era. La Marseillaise suggests that Béraud, like many artists, was excited by the rebirth of republicanism and in this painting he captures the widespread feeling of hope and excitement. In combining a lively, luminous scene with revealing detail, Béraud shows once again why he has come to be regarded as the quintessential chronicler of late nineteenth century Paris.

[pyrewriter]

Ascension

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Ogethres had declared both my brother and I Vandals, allowing us to skip the rank of Wretch which was something most Eliksni could only dream of. Our allotted ether would be more than doubled, allowing us to grow marginally larger but our strength and status within the guild would increase greatly. Vandals were the lowest rank Eliksni that were granted enough ether for their bodies to grow it's sub arms which allowed for a wide range of increased capabilities. I would not be growing a pair of sub arms however. After the declaration Ogethres and Pyrrhaks had asked that Brykis and I join them in the Arkon's chambers.

There was something in Ogethres's eyes "Ellrymksyt, Pyrrhaks and I think it time you are told something" he let out a somehow self ashamed clicking as he spoke. "Do know why you different from others?" he asked hesitantly.

"I am not of Eliksni blood" I started with a blunt chattering, earning myself a surprised look from both my uncle Ogethres and father Pyrrhaks. My brother Brykis put a hand on my shoulder as I continued, "Yet, I stand as Vandal, son of Barron, I earn rank with brother, like all Eliksni".

Pyrrhaks looked us over "How-" he began to ask.

"Sekos-4" I answered knowing what father would ask next, "Ogethres my Arkon, you allowed me, keep data that intrigued, but serve no purpose to guild. Some, visual, moving pictures, learned from and put together, always knew was different, surprised at first". My gaze fell to my hands, they had five protrusions instead of the three of other Eliksni though I bound them together to make them three. I did not have stumps where my sub arms would grow on other Eliksni though my equipment still bore apertures where they would grow. I looked to my brother and met his eyes ,all of them, and he gave a supportive nod. I turned to my uncle and father "Body human,but mind, heart, people, Eliksni" I stated with a proud trill.

Brykis pulled us shoulder to shoulder "Since Sprog, has been Brother, told first and helped come to terms, Brothers, nothing change that". My brother spoke only the truth, I had told him that I doubted I was Eliksni after looking more and more into otherwise useless data I had kept from expeditions. I had my suspicions at the time that our father and uncle knew but was too scared to ask such a thing. After a while the problem I had made for myself simply dissolved itself as none within the guild had shown any form of discontent toward me and it did not appear to be forced. With no logical reason for my mind to dwell on the matter it faded and I fully intended to live as any other Eliksni regardless of whether or not the matter came up.

Ogethres and Pyrrhaks were silent but they had a relieved and proud glow in their eyes, then ,for the first time in memory, they wrapped around us in an embrace. We stayed enthralled in the moment of that embrace for a long time, it felt like it was something that they had wanted to do for years and this was their way of making up for lost time. When they finally released us they regained their composure and our father spoke first, "There something else, want to tell, congratulatory honors". Pyrrhaks looked to our uncle and Arkon as though turning over his right to speak.

"As Arkon I grant special privilege, Brykis, Ellrimksyt, may forge own armor, use skills, craft master pieces, modify as you see fit" Ogethres told us. To be granted forge rights is an honor coveted by all but granted to only those who have proven themselves among the greatest the granting Arkon or Kell has seen. Brykis and myself bent the knee and bowed our heads, thanking him for being so gracious, though he was our uncle and Pyrrhaks our father they were still our superiors. Ogethres chittered in a chuckling manner, "Rise honored sons of Barron Pyrrhaks, go, craft that which you earn, return when complete, your ascension will be grand".My brother and I rose and bowed our heads once more before leaving the Arkon's chambers together. Before one was truly a Vandal they first had to molt and grow their sub arms then they would be fitted into their new gear.

Brykis was first and I stayed with him as he molted and grew which gave me time to think about my lack of sub arms. Molting was a lengthy, draining, and sometimes painful process if unassisted. As for my lack of extra arms it would be of no matter, trivial and not a factor from day to day and minor hindrance at the worst of times. I was next and though I did not molt like my brother I did go through immense pain as the increase in ether intake forced my body to grow at an accelerated rate. My bones grew first, I could feel them becoming denser while they expanded in length and width as they forced their way through obstructing muscle, stretching connective sinew. Said muscle grew quickly to compensate for my body's increasing skeletal structure but it could not quite match the rate which often resulted in tears. Were it not for the constant flow of ether to fuel these changes any Eliksni would die or at the very least lose consciousness but with the flow we remain conscious. All together it took both of us five days to achieve forms worthy of being called Vandals and another two days of rest before either of us could move.

When we could move and were able to use our new bodies we walked straight to the forges to begin our work. A Forge Captains greeted us "Brykis and Ellrimksyt, we were expecting, enter, you granted forge rights, we assist if needed" she explained as she guided us to what would be our work areas. She did not wear standard Captains attire, there was little plating, she had tools hanging from various sashes and belts, bandages covered her arms and legs. We bowed our heads in thanks, "No need for thanks, you two, done much for forge, you earn forge rights" she told us before bowing her head to us and returning to work.

The forges were sweltering, and rank with the thick choking fumes of smelting, the sound of hammers clanging followed by the gurgling of quenching surrounded us. Ogethres had warned us ahead of time and we had entered with only our leggings on but the heat as we worked was nonetheless immense. Most was as simple as making minor size or shape adjustments like the grieves, gauntlets, and pauldron but they still remained of Eliksni design. I was forced to forgo much of the standard Eliksni design as run of the mill Vandal equipment ,though reliable, would not fit a human properly. But I planned to use our forge rights to their fullest when creating my armor and helping Brykis with his.

Neither the standard House Dusk breastplate that rested on the shoulders nor the large cuisse that was bound to and protected the upper part of the legs were worth trying to modify. Instead I salvaged an old House Winter Vandal plate as it would offer greater protection and would be simpler to modify than starting from scratch. As for upper leg protection I created a short set of tassets rather than using a single large solid plate to grant me greater mobility without sacrificing protection. Brykis had run into the same similar problem of finding House Dusk armor lacking or uncomfortable early on as well. Because of this the two of us decided to create matching sets with the main difference ,for the sake of knowing who's set was who's, we used an old House King Vandal plate.

To forge, fit, and finalize our armor with the ether life support was time consuming but retrofitting the consolidated system into old housing was easy, though it left empty space. Rather than further modifying what we had we simply left them hollow, making our Vandal's plate lighter. It was not until we were satisfied with our work and the Forge Captains appraised and approved our work that we left the forges days later. "Work exquisite, master pieces two of a kind, will serve well, go now, will notify Arkon and your Captain" the same Forge Captain that greeted us said, shooing us out almost excited.

Naturally our new ,not to mention unique, equipment garnered stares from those around us as we made our way to the Arkon Chambers. Both our father and uncle met us half way and picked us up in an embrace as their greeting. "Brykis, Ellrimksyt, have not seen in days, heard finished, came to see, armor looks good" Ogethres chortled, giving us pats on the chest as he put us down. "Ready?" he asked with an anticipating tone, my brother and I looked to each other then to Pyrrhaks and finally Ogethres and nodded. With a wave of one of his sub arms he motioned for us all to follow. Together the four of us walked back to the Ceremony hall where our ascension to Vandals and Barron would be completed.

The sight of the guild Arkon moving outside of his chambers to anywhere other than his workshop was enough to signal anyone who saw to head for the ceremony hall. Usually word spread throughout the guild and within only a few minutes the guild would be gathered in the hall for whatever was happening. But it was a short distance from the forges to the hall so not many saw. "All, gather in Ceremony Hall, this day we honor newest Vandals and Barron" the voice of our uncle and Arkon resonated within the hall itself and undoubtedly through the guild. Minutes later the hall was once again packed wall to wall with everyone not out on mission.

The lights pinned into the walls faded until the hall was draped in darkness until ceremonial torches were lit, providing a dim glow. Servitors floated in from the entrance, their purple aura serving to further illuminate the hall and add the reflections off the armor of those below to create a dazzling display above. Then as the servitors hovered high Ogethres began the ceremony, "Today two become VANDAL, one becomes BARRON" he bellowed with pride. "Pyrrhaks my Barron, you bring greatness, your sons, Brykis, Ellrimksyt, bare armor made with forge rights, earned by your feats, become Vandals". At his words the servitors doting the ceiling moved aside to allow only one to float to us with a Captain's helm flanked by a Vandal's on each side caught in it's kinetic grasp.

Immediately I recognized the servitor, it was Sekos-4, there was no mistaking it and why would it be any other. As Sekos reached us we took the helms now ours, Pyrrhaks taking his first, then Brykis, then myself and together the three of us donned the helms that etch our ascension in history. Dregs, Wretches, Vandals, Captain, and Barrons threw their fists in the air with a thunderous roar of celebration. The Dregs, Wretches and a fair number of Vandals chanting "Ellrimksyt, Brykis" with revelry in their words. The rest chanted "Pyrrhaks, Barron of ace sons" to praise him for his accomplishments and those he had raised with him.

The celebration was tragically short lived however as every servitor snapped it's attention to the entrance to the ceremony hall. Their ominously aggressive noises indicated a proximity alarm had been tripped inside the compound.

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[confused-writing]

Imagination Dawning scene 3

There is a large gate at one end of the stage and a door at the other. The middle of the stage is open and half a dozen children run around it or play games with skipping ropes or chalk. Another group of children stand huddled around a figure that is hidden from the audience on the other side of the stage. The Dawn triplets walk onstage and stand on the side with the gate. The children have customized their school uniforms so that they each show signs of their costumes from before. Max has a red bandana tied around his head and a matching red sash around his waist. Jess is wearing leggings with scale designs under her skirt and she has a shell clip in her hair. Emily has a brown belt with an empty scabbard and she wears black leather gloves. They start to play an inaudible game of pretend until a smaller child runs up to them.

James: Guys, guys, guys! You’ll never believe it!

Max: What is it?

Jess: Are all the teachers off sick so we don’t have to do work today?

Max: I wish.

James: No, no! There’s a new kid in your class! He looks really cool! He looks just like you guys!

Emily: What do you mean cool?

James: He’s an astronaut!

Dawn children: What?

James: Come on! He’s over here!

James pushes through the other kids until he reaches the group gathered near the back.

James: Hey! Hey, Ethan! These are the kids I was telling you about!

The group parts, revealing a boy who has customised his school uniform to look like an astronaut’s suit. He has on baggy orange trackpants with black lines running across them and he carries a space helmet under one arm. He also has on a matching orange jacket over his school jumper with a rocket-ship printed on the chest.

Ethan: Hey! He wasn’t lying. Glad I’m not the only one breaking the uniform policy. Why did you guys dress up? I wear a costume on the first day at every new school.

Some of the other children talk quickly, saying that he didn’t mean it. They are surprised when Emily calmly steps forward to talk to him.

Emily: We’re not dressed up. Why are you an astronaut?

Ethan: (taken aback) Oh, well, I dunno. My mum just bought it for me when we moved again so it was really her idea. I really love science through, so it’s cool I guess. Why are you a knight?

Emily: Because knights fight to protect their kingdoms. They have a code of honour and they do noble deeds. They have set rules they need to follow. Even when they are fighting their enemies they stick to the rules. Plus they get to have their own crests and stuff. I’ve been working on mine for ages.

Ethan: For someone who says they like rules, you are breaking the uniform policy.

Emily: I follow the knights’ code, not the uniform policy.

Ethan: Oh. Ok then. Well, what about you two?

He gestures to Max and Jess.

Max: Well, for one, pirates are awesome. But also, even though they look like they just do whatever they want, they have to work together as a team and they have a code too. They break the rules made up by other people but they keep their own rules. I like that. I think Emily would make a great pirate but she keeps saying no.

Emily playfully elbows Max in the ribs. He laughs.

Ethan: And you?

Jess: Oh, I just think mermaids are cool. I like the stories where they drown sailors.

Ethan stares at Jess for a second.

Ethan: Well, you lost me there in the second part but I guess they are pretty cool. Do you guys dress like this every day?

The three children turn to face each other for a brief moment before turning back to Ethan and answering in unison.

Dawn Children: Yeah.

Ethan: Wow. My parents would never let me dress up every day for school. They only let me do it on the first day because it makes it easier to make friends, I guess.

Jess: Well if you tell them that there are other kids at school who do it will they let you?

Ethan: Maybe. Maybe I’ll just bring the jacket with me to school.

Max: Do you actually want to be an astronaut when you grow up though?

Ethan: …I don’t know. Do you want to be the things you’re dressed up as?

The three children again turn to face each other before turning back and answering in unison.

Dawn Children: Yeah.

Ethan: Cool. Maybe I should try to figure out what I want to be then. That way we could all dress up together. I’ll wear a different one of my old costumes every day. There’s gotta be something in there that I like.

Max: (smiling) Sounds like a plan.

The school bell rings.

The lights go off.

[shanghai-ohmy]

MaoMaoctober Day 7: Adventure

Today’s fic is really long! More than 2x my daily average for the previous 6 days, actually. It’s about Mao Mao taking Adorabat with him on a business trip to Red River City, her first time ever leaving Pure Heart Valley. It was fun to play around with some worldbuilding, because it’s not something I usually do. As per usual, you can read below the cut or on AO3. Thanks!

Adorabat stared wide-eyed at the scenery below her. The aerocycle rushed over red rock bluffs, mesas, and ravines. She had never seen anything like this before in her entire life.

She was going with Mao Mao on a business trip to a far-away city. It was the first time she'd ever left Pure Heart Valley. It was her first real adventure! She wished Badgerclops was here too, though. He had to stay home to keep the city safe while the two of them traveled.

Adorabat gawked at a passing spire of rock, shooting up out of the ground and rising even higher than they were. "Mao Mao, did you see?! That rock was HUGE!!"

Mao Mao laughed. "Welcome to Red River City, Adorabat. Pretty different from home, huh?"

Adorabat turned her head as far as her neck would let her, trying to take in every detail. "This is SOOOOOO COOL!!!" But something had her confused. "But Mao Mao… where's the river? And the city?"

Mao Mao tightened his grip on the aerocycle's controls. "I thought you might ask. Hold on tight, Adorabat." He swerved the aerocycle into a crevice in the ground, and suddenly they were enveloped in craggy cliffs of striated rock. Mao Mao laughed and Adorabat screamed as they tore through the chasm, narrowly avoiding the walls. They took a series of sharp turns, swerved under a land bridge, and then…

Adorabat's jaw dropped. They had emerged into an enormous valley nestled among the bluffs. On the far end was a massive waterfall, spewing from the rock face above and tumbling into the basin. It glittered golden-red in the hot sun. Around its banks laid a lush ribbon of greenery, and around them a bustling city. It was absolutely incredible.

"You see Adorabat, the river picks up silt and iron from the rocky caverns it runs through before emerging here and depositing them," Mao Mao explained. "It turns the water red and leaves behind fertile soil for growing."

It was unbelievable. The strip of green, red, and gold was brilliant among the desert rocks and sand. And the city around it was amazing too! The buildings were made from a strange material she'd never seen before, with flat roofs that people could stand on. There were brightly colored glass tiles everywhere, in the streets and on the buildings and even on the cliffs themselves. The people even wore totally different clothes! Adorabat gawked at it all as they touched down in an open parking lot.

Mao Mao was saying something to the attendant, but Adorabat didn't pay any attention to what; she was too busy looking at their outfit. It looked like a single sheet of flowy cloth, but it had sleeves somehow too. It even came up to cover their head, held in place by a thin belt decorated with glass tiles. It was so pretty!! 

The attendant noticed her looking and smiled. They looked different from all of the sweetypies Adorabat knew. They were a lot taller, but not as tall as Badgerclops. They were less brightly colored than most sweetypies, though a rim of bright yellow scales highlighted their eyes. Adorabat figured they were a snake person, but she wasn't certain; the only snake she knew was Orangusnake, and he didn't really have legs or arms. 

"Is this your first time visiting Red River City?" They asked, crouching to be closer to her level. 

"Mhm!" Adorabat nodded. "Your clothes are really pretty!"

They laughed. "Thank you! I bet they don't have anything like this where you're from."

Adorabat shook her head.

"You see Adorabat," Mao Mao chimed in, "it's much hotter here than back home. Most clothes would get too warm. So the fashion here is to wear light fabrics."

"And most people cover their heads too," the attendant added, "to keep the sun off. You get hot faster with your head exposed!"

"Oh!" She pulled out a baseball cap from the backpack Badgerclops had packed her and put it on.

Mao Mao smiled and patted her. The attendant straightened up. "All set?"

"Yep! Eight hours, all paid. Enjoy your visit!"

They began their walk towards the downtown area. Mao Mao paused and turned to her on a street corner. "We'll walk there through the city and then come back along the river, okay?"

"That sounds fun!" She wanted to see as much as she could.

Mao Mao took her wing and led her across the street. She noticed a lot of people carrying briefcases. Way more than back home. 

"There's a lot of trade in this city," Mao Mao said, following her gaze. "People come from all over the world to do business here."

It wasn't long before they reached their destination, a large government building adorned with glass sculptures and dozens of gently-flapping cloths. It was beautiful. 

"We're here to register the valley as a sovereign nation," Mao Mao explained. "Because it's been off the map for so long, it's technically unincorporated. This is an important step for Pure Heart Valley."

Adorabat stared at him. That was a LOT of big words.

Mao Mao noticed her confusion and shook his head at himself. He explained: "Basically, we have to show the people here proof that Pure Heart Valley exists. Once we do, we’ll be an official sheriff’s department, and then we’ll be allowed to deal with any outsiders who cause problems.”

“Oh… So we’ve been beating people up illegally?”

Mao Mao covered her mouth with a finger. “SHHHHH! Don’t… say it like that! Just stick with me and stay quiet, okay?”

She saluted and grabbed his hand again as they walked into the building. It was instantly cooler inside. She wiped her forehead with the back of her free hand, realizing how hot it had been out there. It was weird being inside a building like this in another city. Adorabat recognized a lot of the same services - a front desk with a receptionist, a big line of people waiting by a bunch of booths, and lots of offices - but the design was totally different. Tubes of glass poked from the ceiling, somehow piping in sunlight from the outside and illuminating the rooms. In place of the polished wood floors back home, there were rugs laid over large, smooth tiles. Actually, there was barely any wood at all.

Mao Mao lead her up a staircase and into an office crammed with filing cabinets. She looked around at all of the papers strewn around. It seemed way messier than the other offices they’d passed. There were maps and charts everywhere, and lots of weird looking scrolls.

“Just a moment,” said a voice. Whoever they were here to meet was rummaging around behind the desk. “Got it!” He straightened up and extended a white-feathered wing across the desk. “Mr. Mao?”

Adorabat was amazed. This guy was definitely as tall as Badgerclops, for sure! Adorabat thought he might be an egret, but she wasn’t certain. His whole body was covered in white feathers, a puff of longer ones jutting from the back of his head. His legs accounted for most of his height. A comically frazzled expression sat on his face.

Mao Mao shook his wing. “Please, call me Mao Mao.”

The egret laughed. “Now now, no need for full names! That’s much too formal.”

Mao Mao squinted for a moment. “Mao Mao isn’t…” He sighed. “Forget it, Mao is fine. Thank you for taking on our case, Mr. Etson.” 

The egret gestured to a pair of chairs, taking a seat behind the desk himself. Mao Mao dropped into one chair as Adorabat perched on the back of the other.

“It’s no trouble at all, Mao!” From her position atop the chair, Adorabat could see several empty, coffee-stained mugs on the desk. “It’s not every day a legendary lost civilization reappears in the middle of nowhere!”

Mao Mao chuckled. “Well, my life is pretty legendary. Here.” He reached into his sash and pulled out a thick binder of documents. “This is the town chartar, along with records of every citizen going back three hundred years and a copy of the original constitution of the monarchy. Apparently there was a fire before that, and a lot was lost. I keep saying this town needs a fire department, but nobody listens.” He muttered that last part to himself.

Mr. Etson took the binder and leafed through it, head darting from page to map to calendar and back again. Apparently satisfied, he nodded and pointed at a map on the table. “According to our records, these were the previous boundaries of your jurisdiction. After the civilization disappeared, they fell under this district...” He pointed out a different map. “...which eventually became unincorporated land about one hundred and eighty years ago.”

Mao Mao nodded. “And the town charter lines up?”

Mr. Etson nodded in return. “Indeed it does. So, I need you to fill out…” he searched around the surface of the desk for a moment, then found the paper he needed. “...this form, and I’ll have my assistant copy what we need from your binder.” He opened the door and nodded to someone outside, handing off the book.

As Mao Mao hunched over the desk and began writing, Adorabat spoke up. “Um, excuse me Mr. Etson? What’s this building made out of.”

He looked at her brightly. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t have these in the Pure Heart Valley! We build everything we can out of mud bricks.”

Adorabat gasped. “MUD?! But it’s so clean!”

Mr. Etson laughed. “The bricks go through a special drying process that keeps them sturdy and clean. Did you notice how much cooler it was in here than outside?”

Adorabat nodded.

“That’s because of the bricks, and some special building techniques. Mud bricks absorb the sun during the hot day, then radiate it at night when it gets cold. Plus we use special windows to make sure that the air moves through our buildings quickly, so it doesn’t get too hot.”

“Why don’t you just use air conditioning?”

“When we build like this, we don’t need to! It’s hot for most of the year, so we came up with ways to avoid the heat.”

Adorabat realized something. “We have slanted roofs on our houses back home so the snow falls off!”

“Exactly! Pure Heart Valley gets much more rain and snow than we do, so you build with that in mind!”

Adorabat was amazed. Why didn’t they learn about things like that at skewl?

Mao Mao signed the document with a flourish and handed it to Mr. Etson. “There you go, all done.”

The egret looked over the document for a moment. Then he held his wing out again for Mao Mao to shake. “Mr. Mao,” he said, “you’re on the map.”

Mao Mao took his hand, grinning. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Etson. Pay us a visit sometime, alright?”

Mr. Etson nodded. “I’d love to, Mao.”

Someone handed Mao Mao the binder of town documents as they walked out of the office. “All done, Adorabat!” Mao Mao said, patting her on the back. “We’re a city now!’

“Wow!” She paused for a moment. “Um, Mao Mao? I’m hungry.”

Mao Mao glanced up at the wall clock as they left the lobby. It was definitely time to eat. Plus, they had a few hours of parking left...

“How about we check out the market?”

Adorabat couldn’t wait.

===

Happy and full, they strolled along the lush banks of the red river. The sunset made its unusual coloring even more striking. All around them were small patches of farmland, making full use of the fertile soil. Adorabat pointed at each crop and asked what it was. Mao Mao knew some of them. They came across a vendor selling some sort of local fruit from a stand next to a whole grove of trees.

“How about some dessert, Adorabat?”

“Yes please!!”

The vendor smiled, handing them each a fruit. They were rosy pink and egg-shaped, but bigger than a regular egg. “The best way to eat them is to jam a claw into the tip, then pry outward. It should come out in a clean segment.”

Mao Mao tried it with his and peeled out a wedge. He bit into it and his face lit up. “Oh, that’s delicious! Adorabat, try yours!”

She considered for a moment. She didn’t have claws. But what she did have was… Sharp teeth! She drove one into the fruit and pulled the whole thing away from her mouth. The segment popped out, stuck to her tooth. She pulled it off and bit into it. The flavor was really weird, kind of crispy like an apple but much more flavorful. It was good!

Mao Mao thanked the vendor and bought a bag of several more to bring home, then they continued walking as they finished their fruits. It wasn’t long before they were back on the aerocycle, headed for home.

Adorabat yawned. She was sitting on Mao Mao’s lap at the front of the aerocycle, secured in place with a special seatbelt. The sun had set now, and they were cruising over a dark, vague landscape. Adorabat could feel herself slipping into sleep. She mustered up her energy for one last thing.

“Hey Mao Mao?”

“Yes, Adorabat?”

“Thanks for taking me with you. I really love going on adventures with you.”

Mao Mao patted her on the head. “I’m glad you had fun. You can take a nap now if you want. I’ll put you right in bed when we get home.”

She nuzzled into his stomach and was out in an instant.