#I just realized that the frog shape is familiar because it looks like the frogs I saw for sale in Chinatown as a kid

[laughingcatwrites]

@markscherz Not sure if you’ve seen this yet. 🐸

[luminiscented]

Ninjago x Fem! Master of nature! reader

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Summary: you are the elemental master of nature <3, you are not related to Bolobo and he does not exist for the sake of this

Type: headcanons

Warnings: pure cloud made fluff <3333

Note: istfg everytime i write something i lose the time im mostly using 🫡 THIS SHIT DOESN'T HAPPEN IN GERMAN OR BULGARIAN WHAT IS GOING ON W ME!?!?!!!!!11

LLOYD

♡ Ever since he came to live with the ninja on the bounty you were immediate best friends <33 You are just so freeing and fun to be around!!

♡ He had a silly little crush on you as a kid,, he is plain head over heels as a grown up now though,,,,,,,,

♡ While the others just pushed him to train more and more until he was mentally exhausted, you would take him on little meditation forest picnics to clear his head and have fun after you're done with the (serious) meditations

♡Lloyd is amazed by your ability to always show him a part of a familiar place that is absolutely new and virgin to him,,

♡he loves how you find the beauty in every little being,, seeing you so in touch with your element gives him more motivation to explore his own and improve everyday

♡ you two would be rolling around in the grass and catching frogs and he would be the happiest he has been in weeks <3

♡ you are this boy's heaven and he thinks you are literally amazing,,

♡ you dislike forcefully growing your plants out so you play the guitar and sing to them to help them grow,,, he really likes singing along with you <3

♡Lloyd is a sucker for greek mythology and he loves pointing the similarities between you and the gods that rule over the wildlife. You adore listening to him ramble about it and its so interesting to you,,,,,,,

♡ Lloyd takes notice of how you're just as wild as the forest - gentle, beautiful, but still mystic and untamed,, he is in love

♡ He caught you catching a fish for an injured mama bear with your bare teeth. Just like that. UH-

Kai

♡ At first when you and the ninja begin to train under Wu together, Kai is so jealous of you,, you make the mastering of an element look so easy, while he was struggling so much,, of course he wouldn't let you notice, pfft yeah and give you an ego boost-

♡He is actually scared of embarrassing himself in front of you, since you look really nice and he wants you to think he is cool,,,,,,,,,,,

♡ Kai is about to lose his lunch when he sees someone cutting one of your limbs off during a battle,, he almost faints from worry while you just shrug it off and start growing a new one while the others take care of the villain and the half conscious Kai.

♡ When he comes to his senses, you're almost done shaping your new fingers into their original shape and he is blown away

♡ HOW THE HELL@@@????@

♡He is so impressed!! Kai actually realizes your body works just like a plant and is very curious on what else you can do, but doesn't want to annoy you so he keeps his questions to himself and sensei Wu

♡ Kai is proudly showing you off at dinner time that night!! He tells everyone how you were so brave and amazing and how your power is incredible!!!!!!!! He is also impressed with your pain tolerance

♡ At one point he notices your weakness to the cold and he is gladly there to warm you up he is dying on the inside he is so flustered

♡ Kai only buys you chocolates and never flowers, because he thinks you would be mad that he gives you your dead babies??????? Once he switched the chocolates with poppies in a pot (with a ribbon on!!) and it was adorable,,

♡ he is scared of bugs and when he makes you mad you put beetles in his hair

♡ you love sleeping in his room since it is so warm and toasty,, you bring your water bottle along every time and he finds it adorable, because you act just like a plant <33

♡He loves it when you change your hands into different objects/weapons,, you started chasing a screaming jay with your gigant axe hand and he kept hyping you up,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Zane

♡ you're weird, he's weird - soulmates1!!!

♡ Zane is absolutely in love with your connection with nature and wants to see the world through your eyes,,

♡ sometimes he gets a little insecure about how you can love him - a nindroid, knowing what you see, feel, your deep connection with life, but you are quick to comfort him that he is a living being that deserves just as much love as anything else that breathes the same air and walks the same earth as you all <33

♡ Zane spends a lot of time trying to understand how using your elemental power can come so easy to you and not the rest of them, but when he starts to join you in your free time more frequently he starts to understand - you just have fun with it. You let every new ability come to you naturally and you practice it little by little until you perfect it. You completely understand your power and do not pressure it. While Wu, purposely or not, guides you all to use your powers to fight, you use yours to create, to give, to help, to observe and to drown yourself in every sensation that no one else really can - your unique ability to understand every living being,,

♡ The titanium ninja is able to see the beauty that comes with your mastery and you both start learning from each other.

♡ You are in love,,

♡ Zane is quick to notice how your habits resemble ones of a plant and takes great care that you feel okay with the urban life of himself and his brothers <3 the most gentle boy ever,, reminds you of a daisy,,,,,

♡ The ice ninja is surprised to find out that you can survive on water and sunlight for long periods of time. Of course you never refuse to enjoy Zane's five star meals, but when food is scarce, you prefer your 5 liters of water and two hour long sunbaths,,

♡ HE IS VERY CAREFUL THAT YOU DON'T GET COLD,, Zane knows the cold is extremely harmful to you and you're more sensitive to it than his brothers so he gets really worried sometimes and tells you to get a coat in the 30 degrees Celsius summer weather,,,

Morro

♡ Morro sees you as so powerful,,, and very stunning <33

♡ When he first gets redeemed, he is struggling to make contact with the ninja and the butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees you approaching are not helping!!!1!

♡ At first you are very shy around him, because you find him very cool,, one day you come to him and quietly ask if he could use his wind to bring some rain clouds, because of the hot and dry weather and that is your first conversation,,,,,,, you are so shy,, he is in love

♡ You thank him for his help and invite him to spend some time with you outside

♡ PLEASE TIE HIS HAIR UP AND PUT SOME FLOWERS IN IT HE WILL ACT LIKE HE HATES IT, BUT HE IS ACTUALLY IN LOVE WITH IT,,,,,,,

♡ You make these meetings very regular and you enjoy each other's company so much <3

♡ Morro is very surprised to find out that you are aware/can hear what is happening around every compound plant - flowers, trees, etc.

♡ This ablity of yours is mostly very fun to use,, you regularly get a listen to some drama, heartfelt conversations, people complaining about their day and many others. You sometimes can't help it, but burst out laughing on the dinner table, because of a funny conversation that you could hear,,,,,,

♡ Morro loves hearing about them, but mostly loves listening to your laughter <333 He loves it when you are laying close to each other and you tell him about the people that share their love - a man writing a poem for his wife, a boy confessing his love to his crush, an old lonely lady wondering if she'll meet her dead lover in the afterlife,,,, it makes you both very emotional and you love sharing those with him because you both find them beautiful,,,,, it also helps you two to keep your relationship healthy and always know what is actually important <3

♡ Most of the time you are able to tone down almost completely all the noise, but some times it gets unbearable and overstimulating to the point you're breaking down,,, </3

♡ Morro is always there for you, holding you in his arms and keeping you away from any noises you could avoid. There is not much he is able to do to help and it breaks his heart </3 he gets so worried,, he goes to sensei Wu for advice.

♡ When it goes away you would be SPOILED,,,, mans is not letting you out of his sight for atleast the end of the day,,, <33333 HE LOVES YOU AND CARES ABOUT YOU SM !!!

Nya

♡ Water and plants?? Girlfriends.

♡ Nya absolutely adores you,,,,, she is just so in love,,,

♡ You help her understand her element more and she helps you with it so much,,,,,,

♡ You help her study different species and different cures for poison and she is always able to find a new spot for you two to explore

♡ She is absolutely in love when you put red flowers in her hair,, ITS HER FAVORITE COLOR!!!

♡ In her early training she wasn't really able to control much - only moving and creating water and she was so sad every time there was a flood somewhere, seeing your sad face,,, when you notice her looking at the ground guilty you pepper your girlfriend with kisses and reassure her that she has absolutely no fault <33

♡ She is very curious when you experiment with your powers!!!!!

♡ You could clearly see that Nya was needing an extra pair of hands when working on her Samurai X armor and she was very surprised to see 3 faceless girls made from lianas and vines coming up to her

♡ you appeared behind the 3 semi-sentient beings and told her that the 4 of you would help her out so it doesn't take as much time <33

♡ Nya is amazed, but she is mostly surprised that these 'plant copies' of you are able to understand and process information to a certain level,,, HOW!?!?

♡ You end up finishing the work on her armor in an hour and from then on she spends the entire day asking you questions about them!!!!!!! She is very interested in this!!!

♡ You explain to Nya the entire process which took around 4 months to perfect - starting from a little flower, then a tall fig, morphing and changing the forms to make your 'copies' look more soft and human,,, when you quietly mention you wanted to impress her she is RED!! YOU TAUGHT YOURSELF ALL OF THIS FOR HER???? dying on the inside,, system overload,,,,,,,,,,, <333333

Cole

♡ Everyone is jealous of how well you two work together as a team, especially when you fight!!

♡Your elements combine with great harmony so do your personalities <33

♡Cole adores your little forest dates and especially when you two talk about bugs and beetles <33 HE LOVES BEETLES!!!!1!11

♡ Since Cole is kind of the muscle of the team he ends up with little bruises and cuts littered all over his body after every battle and is delightfully surprised to find out that you can not only regenerate super fast, but you can also heal others with your herbs within minutes!!

♡ The way to Cole's heart is through his stomach so its definitely a win-win!! He is absolutely shocked the first time the bruises disappear within minutes and when he figures out you can heal with your food he is absolutely stunned,,, he is very curious and asks about your recipes and if you could help him be as good as you,,,,,,,

♡ You would all be coming home and the first thing to do is stuff your boyfriend's mouth with your lavender biscuits,,,,

♡ Zane may be in charge of the cooking, but you're in charge of the desserts <33

♡ Cole was in tears one time when you made him his mom's broth when he was sad,,,,,,

♡ When you're feeling overwhelmed he tries to recreate your treats with your healing herbs to cheer you up,,,, they are very ugly and lumpy, but they are tasty and made with a lot of love, so you two cuddle and eat sweets all night until you feel better <33

♡ He finds your love for wild animals very adorable,,,, a bear tried to attack the boys, but you just went up and hugged it as if it wasn't just trying to kill you all,,,,,,, YOU STARTED DANCING A WATZ WITH IT AFTERWARDS HOW ARE YOU SO PURE??!1!

Jay

♡ its a weird combination - nature and lightning, but you two make it sound so natural!! <3

♡ Jay is the ray of sunshine to your flower <33 His parents absolutely adore you and you love them a lot too!

♡ He is very impressed by all of your abilities! He is very vocal for his amazement and praises you all the time <33

♡ As a person who got sick every other week as a kid he is very jealous by your immunity to all bacterial, fungal and almost all virus infections. YOU NEVER HAD A SINGLE DAY OFF FROM SCHOOL AS A KID WHAT,,,,,

♡ He is a sucker for fruits and he loves it when you grow him fresh blueberries on the spot,,,,

♡ He sees you eating flowers out of the blue outside and when you tell him they are actually edible he is hesitant, but tries one for you,,, now he can't stop,, HE IS OBSESSED,,

♡ Your powers are somewhat connected to your feelings so it is not rare for you to accidentally grow something when someone gets a reaction out of you,,, JAY LOVES THAT,,,,,,, it shows how you are an actual person with feelings and he finds it so precious,,

♡ When he gets you all flustered, flowers start popping on top of your head,, he really succeeded if you got some blue ones among the others,,,,

♡ Sometimes cactuses pop out of nowhere when you get annoyed or angry

♡ All flowers in the room bloom when you're feeling happy and new ones come to life when you laugh <333

♡ Your power is so beautiful,,, he is ready for marriage,,

♡ Jay is very scared of your semi-sentient carnivorous plants,,, they don't like him very much </3

♡ You can literally make a whole army of those, but you just teach them how to dance<33 you are so pure,,,,

[royalreef]

@littlebadger inquired: “ I don’t think you’re truly mean. You have sad eyes. ”

"And I think that if you believe myself to have 'sad eyes'," the two words came back in a perfect mimicry of his voice, turned back a few seconds to replay what had already been spoken, "then you clearly do not know enough about me to make any assessments whatsoever."

She exhaled hard, whuffing as her nostrils flared open wide enough to see a sliver of pale yellow skin. Her eyes, bespoken as they were, did not turn upwards, did not look back. The muscles beneath her iris flickered, drawing shut the two sides of her slit pupils to thin them further, a singular crevasse splitting open a shallow sea. Dark and deep and unspeaking of whatever lay beneath it, dwelling and thriving so long beneath the surface that they might never be seen by anyone who did not already live there all the same — and contrasted so sharply by the brilliant turquoise all around it, a sharp and vivid teal undercut only by the faintest rivulets of true blue, something that should have been warm, inviting, beckoning, but always looked faintly off. No whites to her eyes, no relief until her eyelids pinched shut, until her salt organ trailed off from the corner and slipped down towards the end of her snout.

Most people couldn't read her eyes, Miranda knew that. Virtually all landfolk, really, because they didn't know what they were looking at. She was smart enough to realize when they found her uncanny, as reading people was a part of her job, a necessity for her day-to-day. It wasn't a feeling she shared or understood with much depth, but she did still know that.

It was just... not what they were used to. Eyes were like that, really, because they were unique as to each animal which used them. They had to be. They spoke innately of navigation, being a direct means of contact, interaction, comprehension with the world itself, and what they were looking for and how they were looking for it mattered. Pupil shape spoke of light, whether it was uniform or dappled, whether it needed to be stretched across a horizon line, whether the structure sought colors or not. The color and the way the equipment parsed color suggested what they were looking for or fine-tuned for, when they sought what they did, how they understood it to be what they needed. It even told of when eyes were not the first line of understanding, when they were mere articles worn after the fact, utilized but not depended upon, or when they were vital, essential, weight-bearing upon which the rest of thought depended.

Thus, minor differences were hard to miss, and especially when someone was looking for familiarity in another. Even if something was slightly wrong or misplaced, then that changed things, altered the rest of their structure in a way that could not be tolerated, could not be understood.

Landfolk had whites to their eyes, because they used those for communication, eye-contact and eye-direction important to them. Landfolk eyes were all soft material, without an orbital ring to keep their shape. They tended towards roundness, because landfolk were tall and did not stay down low, where they had to judge distance despite themselves being in shadow and their target being in light. They were better with color, and Miranda was better with light. Miranda had more of an eyebrow ridge to shield and protect her eyes, complete with her nictitating membrane and her salt organ, and landfolk examples were paltry against her own.

All of these made it hard for landfolk to look at her and recognize her for what she was. Her thoughts did not map to theirs, written in a different language, impressed upon a different material, possessing different subjects as landmarks. They looked at her and could not comprehend her, in the same way they might look at a frog, or a turtle, or a bird, and be lost even trying to guess at what their emotional state, their given reactions, might mean. They would look and see a vast and uncertain expanse, a great and terrible void, perceive mystery as darkness. Already they struggled to see her as little more than an animal, at least when she was more merfolk, less princess, wearing her influences a little more blatantly. It just became harder when they sought details for refuge, thinking that they could find console in the map of her body, expecting her to have some latent traits that were theirs, instead of her own.

Miranda struggled with it less, or she thought so, at least. It helped, certainly, when she barely cared about eyes to begin with. Merfolk weren't very visual, and what was the point with staring into someone's eyes? If you were that close, there were better things to do, and most of the time she was far enough away that it didn't matter what she was looking at.

But it also helped that she had been around landfolk for years, and they had only ever seen the one merfolk in all their lives, defined entirely by however long Miranda wished to talk to them. That was what irritated her, she supposed. Landfolk could change. It wasn't like it was hard, they could certainly be taught how to read a merfolk, how to read her. Miranda had been taught herself, and she had settled in fine to it, without many hiccups after the first year or so. If they had just tried, if they had realized for a moment that she was her own, that she possessed her own rules, her own mannerisms, that she could not and would not move nor look like them...

It was all besides the point. It didn't help either that most merfolk also struggled to read her, but Miranda knew exactly why that was, and that was because she didn't want them to. She had been taught that too, how to obscure herself, hide her hand before she played it. It was useful, in the way most practical knowledge she possessed was, in that it left her untouchable and thus free to enact her will as she pleased.

Her fins pulled back, carded themselves into a straight line so that all three laid on top of each other as one, pressed the fuzz near her cheek into her scales and against the fronds.

"Truly, I do not know what you are hoping to get out of this. Do you have a point in trying to insist you know who I am, or are you merely going to continue standing there and wasting my time?"

[heich0e]

if you're still doing prompts I would love a tednou piece ❤

mint i cannot put into words the things i feel for this man and i'm so sorry i will never be able to do him justice but oh i tried

When you were young, your grandmother always told you that time was a fickle friend.

It had meant little to you back then, just another one of those silly phrases that the elderly woman seemed to have an endless supply of, on topics that ranged from the weather to catching frogs. You’d always accepted them for what they were and moved on, years passing as the fickle friend ticked ever forward.

But as you’d grown older you realized that time was not your friend at all.

It moved fastest when you were doing things you liked, so it never seemed to last.

Slowest when situations were their least tolerable, so it felt as though it would never end.

And most cruelly of all, it separated you from people who you loved.

You rolled over in bed, the flat cotton sheet between your body and your duvet winding itself around your waist in a way that was uncomfortable and constricting but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

It was the least of your most pressing concerns.

It had to be early, despite the fact that you didn’t know the exact hour – the blinds were open just enough in your bedroom to make out a strip of barely lightening sky on the horizon, throwing the cityscape into backlit relief.

You swept your hand under your blankets, looking for something, knocking the unusually large croissant shaped plushie beside you off the bed in your search. When you felt your touch brush the smooth, solid form that you were looking for, you wrapped your fingers around it and pulled it out from under your pillow where it had been hiding.

The bright screen of your cellphone told you, almost tauntingly, that the hour was 4:58AM. You blinked a few times as you processed this information.

No, time was definitely not your friend at all.

Your fingers seemingly had a mind of their own as they continued to slide across the screen, finding the right places to touch without you even having to think about it. Before you knew it, a ringing sound echoed through your bedroom --the repetitious jingling puncturing the perfect stillness that had previously surrounded you.

“Did you know that the oldest person who ever lived was 122?” you heard a familiar voice ask, in place of a proper greeting — as was his tendency. A second after the question was posed the video of his face filled the screen with light.

“Hi,” you said, your voice still a little sleepy despite the fact that you had probably been awake for the better part of an hour. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“She was French too,” Tendou replied, pushing some hair out of his eyes as they crinkled up in the corner with a smile.

He’d been letting it grow out lately: no longer the eccentric, pushed up style of his youth, nor the buzzcut he’d spontaneously gotten when he first moved to France because he hadn’t known how to ask for a trim. It was a nice length on him —the soft strands framing his angular features complimentarily. You couldn’t help but think he looked a little older, more mature with the added length. You wanted to run your fingers through them, feel their softness for yourself.

It had been so long since you’d been able to do that.

Pesky time, again.

“Are you okay? Why is it so dark? Isn’t it late there?” You watched his eyes search the screen curiously as he fired off question after question, struggling to make sense of your entirely dark FaceTime call. He was in his own bed, you could tell from the floral printed pattern of the pillows just behind him.

You crawled a little further over, the sheets rustling as you untangled yourself from them, until you could reach the lamp sitting on your bedside table and flicked it on. You blinked against the sudden illumination, rubbing your bleary eyes as they struggled to adjust.

“I can’t sleep,” you complained to the screen, almost laughing at how pitiful you looked and sounded on your end of the call. You shimmied back in your bed, to a more comfortable position on your own pillows, nestling down.

Tendou’s face curled into a little smile, and he shook his head disapprovingly though it was almost entirely feigned.

“You scared me for a minute there, I thought something was wrong!” he chided you playfully.

“Something is wrong” you replied indignantly, offended that he thought so little of your sleeping problems.

He laughed at you, no trace of sympathy in the sound, resting his cheek in his palm as he propped himself up in bed.

You narrowed your eyes at his dismissive laughter in response to your very important and very pressing issue. “I’m hanging up” you said, your finger ghosting over the button to end the call.

“Don’t!” he protested loudly at your own childish threat, his grin only widening at your sudden petulance.

“I’m gonna call my other boyfriend, Wakatoshi, who I’m sure cares a lot about my delicate sleep schedule” you sniffed indignantly, looking away from the screen.

“He’d answer you know — he’s probably already up and getting ready for his morning run,” he remarked, his head lolling to the side and pressing further into his hand so his cheek squished a little bit around his fingers.

Your lower lip jutted out —you’d been hoping for more of a response.

“You’re cute when you're tired,” he said to you, the words teeming with a familiar fondness. His softness made you feel a little weak.

You breathed out slowly.

That was what you were calling for.

“I miss you,” you said to him, rolling onto your side and leaning your cellphone against one of your pillows, freeing your hands in order to tuck them under your head as you settled down on your side. Your positions were almost mirroring each others, even though you were so very far apart.

“Come here,” he said to you simply, as though it was an obvious solution to such a big problem.

“You come home,” you replied, your counter argument flawless as usual.

“You know I can’t,” he sighed, his playful smile still on his face but his eyes flickering with something a little more sombre. The solemnity didn’t suit him.

“I know,” you said. And you did know. You always knew.

It wasn’t as easy as that.

But you still said it every time, anyway.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Tendou asked, trying to lighten the mood by changing the subject.

You didn’t say anything, rolling instead so that your face was buried in the crook of your own arm, hidden.

“Helloooo,” he tried to coax you out of hiding, a smile in his voice as he changed his tactic. “I’m hanging uuuuup.”

“Don’t!” Your head popped up as you protested, eyes wide. He was grinning when you looked and the screen, and you quietly cursed his use of your own threat against you.

“There she is.” Satori smiled at the camera. “So, why can’t you sleep?” he repeated his earlier question, twiddling with his fingers on his end of the call.

You watched the way his fingers moved, long and lithe, tugging and twisting at themselves as he waited for your response.

“Well?” he pressed.

“I had a dream about you,” the words came from your lips in a sort of sigh, barely words at all.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, his voice a little different than before. Breathier, and deeper.

“Hmmm” you hummed, nodding a little.

It was quiet for a moment.

The city had yet to wake up outside of your windows, and all the way on Tendou’s side of the world in Paris, the city was finally winding down for the night.

“Wanna hear another fact?” Tendou asked, the first one to speak after the prolonged pause of just staring at each other through the screens of your cellphones.

You hummed in agreement, your eyes fluttering closed.

“In french, instead of 'I miss you', we say 'tu me manques'.”

Hearing Tendou speak french made a pleasant little shiver dance down your spine, just like it always did. He’d come a long way in the time he’d spent since leaving home. You curled around yourself a little tighter under your blankets.

“That’s nice,” you said, meaning it.

“It doesn’t mean ‘I miss you’ though,” he continued, but it wasn’t in the usual vibrant voice he shared his bits of trivia in.

No, this was softer, gentler in every utterance.

“It means ‘you are missing from me’.”

Your eyelids squeezed shut a little tighter, a pang that was neither painful nor comforting and yet somehow both pulling at your chest.

“I think the french might be on to something,” you murmured, letting your eyes flutter open only to see him staring at you intently.

“Maybe,” he agreed with a smile.

“I’m sorry to call you this late,” you said, your lips pursing a little as your cheeks warmed uncomfortably. “I know you have to be up early for work.”

“You can call me whenever you want. You know that,” Tendou laughed, finally letting his head fall onto his pillow, his red hair fanning out around his cheek. “My time belongs to you, anyway. Always has.”

You blinked a little at the screen, wondering each time you opened your eyes if the soft smile on his face would have twisted into something more teasing. But it didn't.

Because he'd meant it.

Maybe you could still make a friend of time after all.

[volkswagonblues]

a lil guide to the Fire Nation for the ATLA fic writers out there

(aka. a no means exhaustive primer on east asia by an asian person)

This is a guide for fic writers want to write a canon-era story set in the Fire Nation, or featuring Fire Nation characters. A quick little primer on the tiny details of everyday life that you might not think about, but certainly stuff that would make me, an asian person, wince if I were to encounter it. BRUSHES, not quills. CHOPSTICKS, not forks. 

(note #1: this was partly inspired by a chat with @elilim​) 

(note: #2:  I originally intended it for zukka fic writers before realizing that other writers might find it useful. so apologies for a slight Zuko-bias for that reason)

(note #3: this is all stuff i was thinking about when writing firebender’s guide, in case anyone was wondering)

1. CLOTHING

Okay, I think the most straightforward way to describe what everyone’s wearing most of the time is “tunic”. They’re all just...tunics of different colours and varieties. Later when Zuko’s the Fire Lord he wears robes. The show provides a better visual guide than I could, here are a few notes to keep in mind:

a) Japanese people wear their collars LEFT crossed over RIGHT

I don’t think this would come up in writing as much as it would in art, but it’s considered bad luck to do it the wrong way because that’s only for dead people. Let my boy Zuko demonstrate:

b) There are no buttons

This is picky, but Wikipedia says “Functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes appeared first in Germany in the 13th century.[6] They soon became widespread with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th- and 14th-century Europe.” I kinda believe it. If you look closely, characters’ clothes are always tied together or wrapped in some way with a belt. If there are fasteners, they’re braided frog closures that go into a little loop, like the qipao-style dresses women wear in Ba Sing Se, or Zuko’s casual prince’s clothes in the topmost image. Anyways, I don’t think Zuko or Azula or the Gaang would technically button or unbutton anything when they’re changing clothes. Clothing is designed to be tied, not buttoned.

[so much more under cut]

c) This isn’t a real rule, but there’s something called koromogae, or the seasonal changing of clothing in Japan.

This is something I learned when I was writing firebender’s guide, and I just liked the fun detail about there being a strict calendar for when to wear something. I liked the idea of someone like Zuko, who actually spent most of his formative years outside of the Fire Nation, coming home and just suffering mutely through the summer heat because upper class etiquette says no changing into cooler clothes until August 15. 

From My Asakusa: 

And this website:

Generally, people change from thick, heavy, dark-coloured clothes for winter to thin, lighter, bright-coloured clothes for spring and summer. In traditional Japanese culture, particularly in formal settings such as tea ceremony, it is important to acknowledge the changes of seasons—in such circumstances, not only the patterns and colours of the kimono that are worn but also the utensils and furniture that are used are required to change. By changing their clothing, people notice and appreciate the change of seasons. [Japan Foundation]

Here are some visual guides from the official creators for clothes: (notice how it’s pretty much always left over right)

2.FOOD AND EATING

a) Traditional cuisine

It seems like the most common foods in canon are Fire Flakes and meat, to the point where poor Aang had to eat lettuce out of the garbage at some point.

HOWEVER, the Fire Nation seems to basically a big subtropical archipelago, so I would guess that seafood and rice are common. If you want to write about characters eating, a. quick google for “traditional japanese cuisine” would help you come up with a menu really quickly.

Wikipedia says:

The traditional cuisine of Japan, washoku (和食), lit. "Japanese eating" (or kappō (ja:割烹)), is based on rice with miso soup and other dishes; there is an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. Side dishes often consist of fish, pickled vegetables, and vegetables cooked in broth. Seafood is common, often grilled, but also served raw as sashimi or in sushi.

But before we get too serious, at one point the Gaang eats a “smoked sea slug” (Sokka’s Master) 

Oh ATLA, never stop being you.

b) Utensils

One thing to keep in mind is chopstick etiquette. Someone like Zuko or Toph, for instance, would have completely internalized all of these.

Another thing is that there are no glasses. Cups and bowls are made of ceramic or clay. Let the Gaang show you:

And another note: characters won’t eat “bread” in the European sense, ie. a baked lump of dough. Steamed buns, yes. Fried pancakes made from batter, yes. Flatbreads, okay I’ll give it a pass. Rice or noodles should be the most common carbs of choice.

3.ETIQUETTE

“In the homeland, we bow to our elders” - angry schoolmistress in The Headband.

Japan Guide has a list of etiquette rules for visiting Japan, which is interesting but not too necessary to read. In general, based on what The Headband tells us, Fire Nation characters would have been raised with a strong nationalist curriculum that values communal contribution over individualist expression. Even someone like Zuko, who openly rebels against that, probably couldn’t help but be affected by it. In general the Fire Nation seems to have an East Asian-ish set of values. It’s patriarchal, all the positions of authority are filled by men; there seems to be a strong emphasis on patriotism; there’s a sense of diffidence and respect towards one’s elders; and finally, there’s an emphasis on “knowing” one’s place in society and fitting into what’s expected of oneself.

I don’t really know how to describe it, but in China and Japan I sometimes feel like there’s rules for everything, and even people born and raised there acknowledge it could be stifling at times. You could go down a rabbit hole researching points of etiquette (for instance, rules on who has to sit where in group dinners...), but to me the most important thing is acknowledging that Fire Nation has a rigid system of etiquette, and also, they’re an imperialist power who’s pretty prejudiced against foreigners. Poor Aang/Kuzon gets called “mannerless colony slob” just for being slow on the bowing action (!!!)

(in firebender’s guide I had a lot of fun imagining the stupid microaggressions Ambassador Sokka has to face in the Fire Nation, so obviously I’m just biased)

4.WRITING AND DESKS

Characters would probably write on paper, with a calligraphy brush. Not quills or pens -- a brush. Technically, old Japanese and Chinese texts should be written top to bottom, right to left, but the show itself doesn’t do this, so I think you’re fine. 

One fun thing about traditional calligraphy is that you don’t use bottled ink. You have something called an ink stone, and then you grind your ink yourself by rubbing the ink stone in a special little dish with a bit of water. In my (very few) encounters with this stuff in the calligraphy lessons of my youth, the ink stones can be plain or have beautiful designs on the side. It looks something like this: 

ATLA is an East Asian-ish universe, so characters are likely to be kneeling at a table, not sitting. To demonstrate, here’s my boy Sokka doing his famous rainbow at Piandao’s:

and here’s the war chamber meeting when Zuko speaks out against a general’s plans to sacrifice some soldiers:

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS: This is Zuko’s cute little setup when he’s writing his goodbye letter to Mai. In this case he’s writing in a chair and table. It’s possible that some furniture items, like a sitting desk and a bed in a bedframe (not a bedroll or futon) are special royal palace features. Normally in a private setting we see characters sitting on the ground or on a slightly elevated platform with a low table. Maybe Caldera is just different? Or rich people are just different: the Bei Fongs also have a sit-down dining table + chair setup.

(That little rectangular box is his ink dish!!)

5.A NOTE ON GENERAL CULTURE

It’s worth talking about a few general points of East Asian culture. I can’t claim to speak for ALL of Asia, and I don’t think I should. But I do think ATLA fic writers who want to set something in the Fire Nation should take a few moments to at least skim the wiki pages for filial piety and Nihonjinron (literally, "theories/discussions about the Japanese"). There’s a certain...vibe to...asianness... that I’m not sure I can explain without like, a doctorate degree in sociology. 

It’s a bit like gender, I guess. There’s no definitive checklist to what is a woman and what is a man, and we can argue that gender is performative, that it’s a construct, but at the end of the day gender is still (tragically) real in the sense that it still shapes people and affects how we walk and talk and dress and think. Nationality is the same. Obviously, the Fire Nation is a made up place in a made up show, but out of respect to the cultures that inspired it, I do think it’s worth familiarizing yourself with some of these cultures’ codes and values.

Also, ahem, if I can direct you to war crimes in the Japan’s colonial empire. Again, worth remembering that the Fire Nation was an imperalist colonizer too.

I might do a continuation of this post and talk through my more abstract takes about Fire Nation culture - Is Zuko an example of filial piety gone right or filial piety gone wrong? Why I think Zuko’s flashbacks are like, at least part teenage melodrama bullshit (the reason is son preference), how someone like Sokka might be treated once he’s openly Water Tribe in the Fire Nation (probably with racism...), specific aspects of asian homophobia and racism, etc. We’ll see.

This is not a definitive guide. Comments and critique welcome.

If you think there’s a factual mistake, PLEASE hop in my asks and let me know. I also think there’s a huge blind spot in ATLA for South and Southeast Asian representation, so I acknowledge that I can’t speak for all Asians, and there is no such thing as a “pan-asian” identity.

If there’s something else you’re curious about, I’m not a historian or anything, but I like research. Ask me and I’ll try to answer the best I can.

And oh, one last thing, this is how I do research when I wrote firebender’s guide, in case anyone’s interested in learning more (LINK)

[fanmoose12]

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

Сhapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Сhapter 6

Life had never been particularly kind to Hange Zoe. Tragedies and heartbreaks followed her ever since the day she was born – kicking, screaming and nearly killing her own mother. Her mother never recovered from that blow, her health diminishing while vexation with her own child grew.

That day gave a start to Hange’s life – and to the endless stream of misfortunes she had to face.

Those misfortunes frequented, the amount of bad days increased as Hange was becoming older. But even as a child, driven solely by curiosity and fascination for the world, uncaring of the workings and the rules of the society around her, she had her fair share of frustrations. They usually appeared when her father was around – luckily, due to the nature of his work, he very rarely was. Hange didn’t know her father well, he was always absent, always somewhere else, doing something incredibly important, shaping the future of their country. He was many things - a leader, soldier, hero. But he was not a father. Hange had but a few memories of him, and after all these years she had forgotten the sound of his voice, couldn’t for the life of her remember if his hair was as brown as her own, or had she inherited that vivid color from her mother. But what Hange could never forget, what was etched into her memory for all eternity was the look in his eyes – full of incomprehension, bewilder, disappointment – that he always aimed at her. No matter what she did – excitedly gushed about her studies, showed him a shiny rock she found or urged to go and see the frog she caught, her father had the same reaction, always told her the same thing,

“I expected better from you, Hange.”

Those words were the first dagger that was buried in her chest. But it was far from being the only one.

Her father died before she reached her eleventh birthday. And despite the mourning clothes mother had forced her to wear, despite the endless eulogies she had to sit through, Hange didn’t feel the same sadness that everyone around her did, she didn’t – couldn’t – share their pain or understand their grief. Her father meant something for all those people, but to her he was just a stranger, an unpleasant one at that. When he died, a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Without him, it was so much easier to breathe.

But her sorrows, her frustrations— sadly, they didn’t end with her father’s death.

Once Hange finished her studies, completed her training, she was sent to the outside world, far away from Marley. And for a moment, for one fleeting moment, she was happy, excited to do what she always wanted – learn and explore. But she was not meant to busy herself with research, to familiarize herself with different cultures, she was sent to these distant lands as a soldier, a weapon of great Marleyan Empire. Instead of books and quills, she held a rifle and a knife. And the only thing she learnt was how much blood her motherland was spilling on the foreign soils.

Sleep was coming harder to her after that, her dreams were haunted by visions of red, by screams of pain and anguish. She had become a soldier, her hands made for creation were now covered in blood. Her brilliant mind was now broken by the horrors she had faced.

And so Hange decided to cover herself in thick armor, to hide behind a smile and false happiness. The bad days persisted, losses following after her like a shadow, chasing like an infatuated lover, but she didn’t let it break her, continued moving forward with her chin raised high and her lips curled up.

However, despite the positive attitude she had adopted, there were lots of days Hange considered bad, awful even – the day when she learned just how Titans were created, what price Eldians had to pay for that; the day when she realized that her teacher, brilliant Tom Ksaver was one of those so called shifters, that his days in this world would end abruptly; the day when she received her first wound and spent the night in infirmary, wallowing in pain; the day when she killed another human for the first time and saw the light fading from someone else’s eyes; the day when Wall Maria fell and she witnessed just how much destruction and devastation she helped to bring to this little island; the day when Mike and Nanaba died; the day when her squad perished; the day when she had to leave Paradis behind; the day when she was brought back.

There were lots of days Hange considered to be bad. But nothing – absolutely nothing – could compare to the fucking shit show that was waiting for her next.

___

This fateful day was off to a good, if only slightly weird, start. As always she was woken up by a knock on the door. However, this one was very different from Moblit’s – less rhythmic, and much louder. In fact, it didn’t sound like a knock at all, more like someone was kicking the door repeatedly.

Confused and still sleepy, Hange rolled from the bed and went to greet her guest, not bothering to put her glasses on. Behind the now opened door she found… a shape that could or could not belong to a human. She raised her hand, mumbled a quick ‘sorry’ and darted back inside the room, blindly searching for her glasses.

Once the specs took their rightful place on the bridge of her nose, Hange returned back to the shape that now took the form of a young, blonde man. She trailed her gaze down, to the tray he was holding. There were plates with pastries, omelet, sandwiches, sausages and a cup with brown liquid that had steam coming out of it.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke through her confusion, “But do I know you?”

“Not… yet?”

Hange couldn’t understand if his words were meant to be an affirmation or a question. Nevertheless, she took a step back, letting him in.

He went straight to setting up the table, humming under his breath as he did so. Hange watched him work, not knowing how to feel – puzzled or amused. She tried to catch the boy’s gaze and ask for his name, but, considering the amount of food he brought and how exquisitely delicious it looked, Hange already had a pretty solid guess about the persona of her visitor.

“Be my guest,” he gestured to the table after he finished setting it. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “My name is Niccolo.”

“I guessed it already,” Hange smiled, taking a seat. Her stomach growled, as the delicious smell of homemade food entered her nostrils, her mouth filling with saliva even before she took a fork in her hands. She forced herself to look away from the food, however, directing her eyes at the man who had prepared it all. “Thank you for the food, but may I ask what is the occasion?”

Niccolo didn’t answer right away. He took his time, dragging the chair to sit on the other side of the table, then absentmindedly fixing the napkin and pushing the plate closer to Hange.

She didn’t urge him, patiently waiting for him to start talking. She had a feeling that whatever he came here to tell her was going to be extremely interesting.

And Niccolo didn’t disappoint.

“I’ve spent most of my life hating Eldians. Like every good, conscious Marleyan, I believed them to be devils and abominations. When these people captured me I thought it’d be better to die than live among them. But then I’ve got to know them better, I cooked for them, I’ve talked with them, I… grew to like some of them.”

He took a pause, and Hange used this moment to push some food into her mouth. Just as she expected – it was finger-liking good. And it tasted even better, because she also had an intriguing story she could listen to while eating.

“And there is one person that I like most of all, more than anyone I had ever met. I’ve realized my feelings long ago - perhaps, they were born the moment that I set my eyes on her, perhaps, it was destiny that brought both of us together. And to think of it – a Marleyan and an Eldian. If someone had told me years ago that I’d fall for a devil from Paradis, I’d probably punch that person in the face, but look at me now…”

A Marleyan and an Eldian? Hange had heard that story before. Hopefully, Niccolo’s would have a happier ending.

“I wanted to confess to Sasha for a while now, but the time was never right, and I kept stalling… You know, I thought there was no reason to be hasty. but then Jean told me what happened during the attack on Liberio, how I almost lost Sasha and my chance to tell her how I truly feel, so…” Niccolo looked Hange in the eyes, his gaze shining with the love he had for Sasha. “I came to say thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Oh, what a sweetheart. Hange felt her chest warm at the sight of such devotion. She always was a sucker for a young, tender love.

“And?” she leaned over the table, eyes alight with curiosity. “What did Sasha say? She returned your feelings, right?”

“Um.” Niccolo brought a hand to his neck, rubbing the back of it. “I didn’t do it, didn’t, eh, confess. Yet.”

“And when—”

“Today,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. “I planned a dinner for Sasha, invited her family and friends. Actually… I wanted to invite you as well.”

Despite regret that spread through her, Hange curled her lips in a comforting, gentle smile. “Not the best idea, but I appreciate the thought. And,” she added, her smile turning into a cheeky grin. “I’ll be expecting another visit from you, where you’ll share all the details.”

Hange wished she could see it for herself – Niccolo standing before Sasha red in the face, stuttering his undoubtedly sweet confession, Sasha gasping, with her mouth opening in shock, their audience watching it all with a mix of mortification and amusement. Hange wished she could have the privilege of being the part of that audience, alongside a certain Captain, who would cringe horribly at the scene, unfolding before their eyes.

Hange wished— for many things. Alas…

“I’m sure your plan will work out perfectly, but just in case,” Hange winked, snickering, when she saw red spread through Niccolo’s cheeks. “Good luck.”

“Knowing Sasha’s friends… I’ll need all the luck I can get. But for now, I also need to get going, the dinner won’t prepare itself. So thank you once again.” Niccolo stood up, bowing his head. “For everything.”

“Make Sasha happy, that’s all the thanks I need.”

Niccolo nodded, showing her a smile. He headed to the door, and just before he left the room, Hange gave him thumbs up, wishing him luck once more.

As the door behind him closed, she slumped back in the chair and continued munching on her breakfast, a blissful expression appearing on her face.

So… not only a great cook, but also a romantic? Sasha was such a lucky girl.

___

Her next visitors were just as unexpected, and their conversation - a lot less pleasant. It was in that moment that Hange started to suspect that this day would take its rightful place in the collection of her awful ones. But she was far from knowing just how horrible it had the potential to become.

The moment that Armin tumbled inside the room without knocking, throwing the door open in his haste, and Mikasa trailed after him, her pace much slower but just as unsure, dread settled in Hange's stomach.

"Hange-san!" Armin was speaking in a quiet, but barely controlled voice. His chest moved rapidly, as he struggled to keep his breathing slow and even. Hange swallowed her worry, her thoughts running at a lighting speed. What could possibly have happened to make him so panicked? She chanced a look at Mikasa - the young girl wore the same guarded expression she always did, but her eyes kept shifting from side to side, hands clasped together tight enough to make her knuckles white. "We need to talk."

Hange gave them a cautious nod and stood up from the bed, the book she was reading moments ago all but forgotten now. Pieck's warning was loud in her mind, as her fear grew. Marley... they couldn't have attacked so swiftly, right?

Hange gestured for her guests to take their seats at the table that stood near the window. Absentmindedly, she wondered where Moblit was. He didn't show his face to her even once this day. What could he be so busy with?

"Your guard told us that you had a visitor today," Armin stiffly began. "Mind telling us who that was?"

Hange frowned, cocking her head to the side. If the guard told Armin about the visitor, didn't she also mention that it was Niccolo? The cooking boy had to be known around the barracks, if he was that close to Sasha.

"Niccolo came by, he wanted—"

"You mean, Marleyan came by." Armin corrected.

"Sasha's and your friend, if I understood properly," Hange protested.

"But he's Marleyan. Just like you."

So, Armin was accusing her. And not only her, but Niccolo too. Accusing them of conspiring, but for what purpose? By which means? Against who? Hange was so confused. Hange didn't understand. Armin was always so rational, so coolheaded. What could possibly make him so frantic? What drove him to such desperation, to such wild guesses?

"Armin..." any other time, with any other person who trusted her just a fraction more, Hange would have taken their hand in hers. She'd caress it gently, try to calm them down, but in Armin's state... Hange worried that it'd make matters even worse. "Armin," she repeated, lowering her voice ever so slightly, making it sound more trustworthy. "What happened?"

Armin didn't answer, lowering his eyes - in shame or indecisiveness, Hange couldn't guess. And so Mikasa took the word.

"Chief Zacklay is dead," she said. And if that wasn't mind-blowing enough, she added, "Eren escaped from the prison."

"Fuck."

What else was there to say? Everything was turned on its head - Paradis' biggest defender seemingly had gone completely off the rails. Hange wondered if the threat of Marley invasion was still the scariest crisis the island would have to face. The absence of the clear answer was… unnerving.

“We don’t know what to do, or where to look for Eren. That’s why… Armin hopes that you’ll shed some light on that.”

Armin hopes – an interesting choice of words. He didn’t think, didn’t speculate, didn’t hypothesize. He hoped – exhibited a desperate, illogical kind of feeling. So… it was that bad, huh?

“I know nothing about it.” Hange said truthfully. “As you’re aware I’m not even allowed to leave this room.”

“We know.” Mikasa agreed softly, pressing her hand to Armin’s. “But it’s hard to come to terms with it.”

“He is your friend.”

Hange didn’t understand what they were going through, she never had someone that close to her destroy the trust between them, but she knew it wasn’t easy. Eren had changed, Eren had already lied to them once, but he was their friend, they’ve spent years, believing him and in him. They couldn’t change their opinion of him in just one night, they couldn’t let a few mistakes kill what they had created over the course of their lives.

She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how her friends felt. Was it just as hard to believe in her betrayal? Did Moblit and Levi feel just as lost and unsure? Were they just as desperate to come up with a reason for her behavior? Whatever they did, whatever they felt, Hange hoped she would never have to learn about it. She was miserable enough as it was.

But Eren knew what his friends were going through, had to be aware of the consequences of his actions, of what he was doing to his friends, how much he was hurting them. What drove him to his decision then? What happened to the boy with bright eyes and big heart?

“Do you have any idea what Eren is going to do?”

“I don’t think it’s Eren’s doing, Zeke is probably lying to him, but…” his eyes were still cast down, his finger weakly tracing some vague shapes, when Armin muttered, “Hange-san… do you by any chance know what rumbling is?”

Hange froze. Her throat constricted acutely, creating a quiet, choking sound. For one second, one terrifying second her heart stopped, ceasing its usual rhythm.

Rumbling? Did she hear correctly? Was Armin speaking the truth, did he mean what Hange was worried he meant?

Rumbling.

A short, but scary word. One that was mentioned in but a few frowned upon books. One that was only whispered amongst the members of Titan Society, too horrifying to speak it loud and clear. The word that meant death, the end of everything they knew about their world.

“We were meant to experiment with it,” Armin explained, wriggling his hands. “Nothing too serious, nothing too… devastating. Just a showcase of the power we yield, to keep the other nations on their toes. To keep them away from us. But ever since Zeke had appeared, Eren became so…”

Even since Zeke had appeared, Eren had decided to act on his own, distanced himself from his comrades and friends, joined forces with his brother. Hange would have believed, would have been convinced that the boy she once knew was incapable of such cruelty…

But Liberio, the heart of her homeland was standing in ruins. And it was Eren’s doing.

She narrowed her eyes, gave a scrutinizing look first to Armin, then to Mikasa. Hange really, really hoped that she was wrong. Against all sense, she hoped that they would drive away her doubts, that Eren’s closest friends knew him much more intimately than she ever could, that their opinion of him was right and just.

“Do you think he is capable of proceeding with it?”

“No,” Armin answered.

And the same time Mikasa said, “Yes.”

Yes, said the girl, who was in love with Eren, who was devoted to him above anything or anyone else. She said yes, spoke it quietly, in pained voice. But without a shadow of a doubt.

Hange shuddered.

She— they had to stop this. Somehow. Anyhow. Before it was too late.

"Eren can't activate the rumbling on his own," Hange mused out loud, biting at her thumb.

"Right," Armin confirmed. "He needs the bearer of the royal blood."

And that was good, that meant not all hope was lost. To go through with the rumbling, Eren had to find Zeke, and Zeke was out in the woods with Levi. He would never get away from Levi, and so the world was safe, but—

Zeke wasn't the only one with special blood. There was also—

Fuck.

"Historia, where is she?"

Armin's eyes widened, a gasp escaping him as he came to the same conclusion as Hange. "She arrived in the town... This morning."

And that was the morning Eren decided to make his escape. Hardly a coincidence.

"You don't think..." Armin began tentatively, his eyes pleading Hange to say that it was a joke, that she was wrong in her assumptions. She wished she could give him that reassurance.

"I don't know."

She didn't know what Eren's plan was, what was his goal, what was Zeke’s role in all of this. She didn't know what means Eren would use to ensure his success.

Would he go to his brother, would he trust him enough? Or would he go to Historia and risk hurting his friend?

And how Eren would get to them? Both Zeke and Historia were heavily guarded - Zeke as the hostage, Historia as a Queen and a future mother. But who was the easiest target?

With Levi being in charge of Zeke, Historia was an obvious choice, unless—

Hange swallowed heavily.

Unless Zeke was planning something too - some rouse, or a play, something that would fool Levi, make him lose his focus.

Make him lose Zeke.

And if that worked—

"Where is Historia?" Hange repeated that question. Hidden in the forest, theoretically, Levi was safe. He could hold his own in a fight against Zeke, Hange has seen him do just that in Liberio, even if some part of it was a spectacle. She also had seen Zeke after Shiganshina, personally tended to his wounds that refused to heal properly because of the amount of his injuries. Back then, every hiss of his was like a melody to Hange, a miniscule payback for the carnage he had born.

Zeke was far away from Eren, guarded by Levi. Hange had to trust him with that task. She had to hold onto hope that Levi would be safe. But Historia... Historia was another matter. She was here, close, and as good as her security was, they were not on par with humanity's strongest. They had to protect the Queen first.

"Historia chose this day to arrive because of Niccolo's invitation. She's probably in his restaurant, along with the others." Mikasa said.

So she wasn't alone, surrounded by soldiers and friends. Would that be enough to hold off Eren? Possibly, although, Hange wasn't sure.

But Eren was not alone, he had followers, the ones Moblit was so worried about. Would they be just as amicable? Would they not hurt the ones Eren cared so much about?

"Historia is our main priority. We have to go to the restaurant and make sure that—"

"We?" Armin interrupted.

Hange deflated. Of course, how could she forget? She wasn't their superior, their commander, their friend. There was no we. She was an outsider. She always were.

"I didn't mean to—"

"No." Mikasa curtly said. "We need you, Hange-san. We do," she repeated to Armin, who was already opening his mouth with a protest on his tongue. "We need all the help that we can get."

Armin studied Mikasa for a moment, then turned to face Hange, regarding her pensively. The intense look of his big blue eyes was unnerving, almost impossible to hold without flinching. There was a man Hange once knew with the same intent gaze. Oh, how she wished to see him again. He'd know what to do in a shitty ordeal they were facing right now.

"You're right," Armin sighed at last. "We might not have same goals or even enemies... but our concerns align. With you on our side, our chances are much higher. So, Hange Zoe," Armin offered his hand for a handshake. "Will you help us?"

An unlikely alliance then, huh? Hange could work with that.

She shook his hand with a smile.

___

Something was turning, twisting inside Hange on the way to the restaurant. Even the air seemed stiff, the landscape outside of the carriage bright, pretty but ominous all the same. Liberio - her city - looked just as lively before it got crushed.

And today, right now, she couldn't get that image out of her mind. The streets she walked through hundreds, thousands of times; bakeries she visited day after day; parks and playgrounds she admired from afar - everything was now gone, turned into debris, into nothing but broken stone and crushed glass.

And all of it - all the destruction, pain and blood and death - all of it was a courtesy of one Eren Yeager, the boy with bright eyes and passionate soul.

Would the same thing happen to another city? To all the cities in the world? To hundreds and millions of—

Hange took a deep breath, stopping herself before she screamed in fury, ripped something apart, overturned the carriage, or worse - started crying.

No. Nothing of the sort would happen to the other countries or their people. They would stop this— this catastrophe and Eren, and Zeke, and whoever else was involved. They would not allow another tragedy.

In the meanwhile, Hange did her damnest to focus on small, trivial things - the inside of the carriage, the bumps on the road, the subtle similarities between Mikasa and Levi, the sunbeam playing across Armin's face - anything to keep her mind from other, much scarier things. It didn’t really work.

"We are here," Armin announced, cutting through her morbid thoughts. He put a hand on her elbow - a tentative, but heartfelt gesture. Hange wondered just how disturbed she must have seemed to earn it.

"Let's go," she shook off all the worries, all of her fears. They weren't needed. They would slow her down, serve as a distraction, nuisance. And today, she had to be on her best. "We have no time to spare."

Mikasa and Armin seemed to be of the same opinion, and so the three of them left the carriage and started moving towards restaurant's entrance.

The place was much bigger than Hange had imagined it to be. She expected to see something small, but snug, something homely. But Niccolo's restaurant was grander than most buildings on Paradis. It didn't quite reach the luxurious and exquisite nature of restaurants in Marley, but— clearly, that was Niccolo's inspiration.

The restaurant - as big as it was - was packed, the merry sounds of laughter were heard even from the courtyard. People were celebrating, people came here to have some fun. Hange knew just how rare those instances were. And she hated being the one to put a stop to it. But she'd rather ruin someone's day and be wrong about her assumption or ruin someone's say and be right, than— Than not ruin someone's day, be right and waste precious time.

The three of them walked through the dark brown door, and instantly Niccolo stood in front of them, appearing seemingly out of thin air.

"Armin, Mikasa! I didn't think you'd make it! And you brought Hange with you!”

The happiness on his face was so endearing, so genuine. Hange was wrecked with sympathy for him. Niccolo was just a boy, who loved a girl, and decided that today of all days he'd make his feelings known. Unfortunately, the day he had picked turned out to be one of Hange's bad ones.

"Congratulations once again," Hange made sure to put on an extra gentle smile, in vain hope that it would soothe the effect of her next words. "But that's not why we are here."

"No?" the happiness was gone from Niccolo's face, suspicion overtaking it, but only for a second. Next came anger. "I thought we were over this," he leveled, glaring at Armin. "I thought we've already discussed everything you wanted. And I'm not going to deal with this bullshit again. Not today."

Niccolo whirled around, his leg raised to, no doubt, dramatically storm out. Mikasa's gravelly voice and a tight grip on his wrist stopped him. "If you don't want to ruin this day for Sasha, then take us to Queen Historia. Right now."

Oh. Even Hange felt shivers at that tone of voice, and the threat wasn't even directed at her. Was Levi teaching her his tricks? Or was every Ackerman just naturally good at being so scary?

Niccolo yanked his hand out of Mikasa's grasp, massaging it with a wounded expression. He didn't try to argue once again, though. And soon Hange, Armin and Mikasa were following after him to the banquet hall.

He took them through the lengthy hallway, past kitchen and washing room. At the edge of it, Hange could see two familiar figures - one tall, another short. They were standing next to a wooden cupboard, snickering quietly to each other. As they came closer, Hange realized that Jean and Connie were holding several bottles of wine, clearly having trouble choosing which one to open.

"Niccolo!" Connie yelled out, waving the bottles over his head. "Which one is better?"

"That's not for you, you idiots!" Niccolo snatched the bottles from their hands, his retort vicious— and more shaken than the situation truly called for. Any other day, Hange would have found it weird, would have paid more attention to it. Any day, but not during her bad day.

So she shrugged it off and after giving Jean and Connie a painfully awkward wave, continued following after Niccolo.

Once they were inside, Hange couldn't help but marvel at the amount of people gathered. There were lots of civilians, none of which Hange could recognize. And among them, there was a sea of green, representing the members of Survey Corps. Most of these faces were known to her. One of those faces in particular swiftly left the conversation he was having, gluing himself to her side.

"Hange-san? Armin? What is going on?"

Moblit had his mouth open, his eyes shifting between the three of them. Hange didn't know what he had seen there, what face she was making, but Moblit didn't ask another question, silently falling in step with them.

Sensing the change in the room, Jean and Connie hurried to do the same.

They all stopped in front of the table in the corner - one near the window and with a nice bouquet standing on it. The table was occupied by two - giggling Sasha, who was retelling some story in a rather animated fashion, and Historia, who listened to her friend with a joyful smile.

Looking at her, Hange couldn't help but be amazed. Last time she saw the girl, she had just become a Queen, still doubtful and unsure in her position. And, although, the woman before her eyes didn't look exactly royally – what, with her simple dress and long, loose hair - but Historia had certainly grown, become tougher, more confident in her abilities. However, she was still as pretty as a picture, and the motherhood had enhanced her beauty even further.

"Your Majesty," Hange was the first to take the word, but after that she faltered, not sure how to proceed further. Should she bow? Kneel before the Queen?

She was spared from making that decision. Because right in that moment, right when she was meaning to open her mouth and explain everything to Historia as curtly as was possible— her day turned from simply bad to straight up shitty.

"You!"

Familiar voice. The anger in it wasn't unusual too. Never before it was directed at her but—

Hange recognized the pride of Marley, the future Warrior right away. It was all she was allowed to do before getting promptly tackled to the ground.

"Traitor! Liar! How could you do that to us! How could you side with the devils?"

Gabi kicked and punched anything she could reach, accentuating her every word and accusation, but the blows were barely registered by Hange. She felt no pain, only huge amount of relief.

Gabi was furious, Gabi was loud. Gabi was alive and well.

A month, a whole month she spent worrying about these kids, only to have fate throw them back together in the most ludicrous way possible.

“Gabi,” despite her kicks, despite her loud shrieks, Hange smiled happily. She pulled the girl closer, wrapping one arm around her, while her other went to softly brush the girl’s hair. “Gabi, are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

“And why would you care?” Gabi suddenly sniffled, voice muffled by Hange’s shirt. “You never cared about us, did you? Only about those devils!”

“Gabi…” Hange sighed, finding herself at a loss of words. How could she explain something so complicated? Something she couldn’t understand herself?

Luckily, an unexpected help arrived.

"Don’t judge too harshly, child. You may not understand it yet, but humans' hearts are tricky things. No rules apply to them, they never listen to reason. They don't act like we want them to. They create emotions, make our lives brighter, and at the same time... So much more confusing. And accusing someone of caring for the wrong person… it’s just not right."

Hange looked up, surprised to see a middle-aged man standing before her. She was fairly sure that she had never met him before, but his eyes, his manner of speaking... Somehow, they were familiar.

Before she could connect the dots, however, her attention was ripped away once more, this time by Niccolo's deep voice.

"Eldians, Marleyans," he scoffed. "All of us are vile, devil is in each and every one of us. We're all imperfect, but all of us yearn to find the place where we belong, where we're loved. We don't choose who these people would be, we love others for what they are, not what they represent, or what side of the conflict they come from. And if loving my enemy is treason, I’ll gladly go down as a traitor."

Niccolo glanced back, meeting the eyes of the one he had dedicated this speech to. Hange caught Sasha’s bewildered, loving look and smiled, feeling her eyes go misty.

So, Marleyan and Eldian? Was a union like that even possible? Four years ago, on the dawn of the day when she left the one she loved the most behind, she'd say that it would never work out. But... times were changing, right? For the better, or so, at least, Hange hoped.

"Hange-san..." Moblit crouched beside her, painfully awkward. "Erm..."

Oh right. Only now, Hange realized that she was still lying on the floor. And that in on itself wasn't so unusual, but most of the times... she didn't have a ten or so pairs of eyes watching her.

Hange cleared her throat. Then, as absurdity of the situation caught up with her, snickered quietly.

"Hey, Gab," she stroked the girl's side. "Would you mind letting me get up?"

Gabi rose on her elbows, considering Hange. The frown on her face didn't vanish, but— her eyes weren't so full of rage anymore - clearly, the speeches had left an impression on her.

"I'm still mad at you," she said, lip stuck out petulantly. "But... I'm glad that you're here. Because it means they're coming for us, right? Commander Magath and Reiner— Reiner will save us, right? We just need to wait for a little longer, until they arrive."

They're already here, Hange wanted to say. If Pieck came, there was no way that Reiner would want to sit that one out— or be allowed to, anyway. Marley was coming, their guns blazing. But in the room full of members of the Survey Corps and Queen herself, Hange couldn’t say that, wasn’t yet ready to betray her country like that. She could only kiss Gabi's brow and promise, "You will be alright."

Reassured, Gabi nodded and let Hange get up. As soon as her feet had touched the ground, Hange found herself with someone once again wrapped around her. This time, however, the embrace was that much warmer and a lot less violent.

"Falco," she carded her fingers through his sandy blonde hair. "I take it you've missed me too?"

"You can't imagine," he spoke, his face pressed to her stomach. "Going on missions with Gabi is a torture! I could barely keep up with her!"

"You'll learn with time," Hange looked back, exchanging a look with Moblit. "It's not that hard to deal with annoying shits like us, right, Mob?"

He tugged at his collar, strategically evading her curious eyes. "Perhaps, after a very long while..." he reached out, patting Falco's shoulder. "And with the help of a good alcohol stash."

"Oi!" Hange slapped his arm. "He's only a kid!"

Moblit shrugged. "He has to know what is waiting for him."

"Don't listen to him," she gently consoled Falco. "He's joking."

Although... Hange had to agree with Moblit on that. If Falco continues running after Gabi like that, he'd have his first grey hair by the age of fifteen.

With the boy still clinging to her, Hange surveyed the room, swiping her gaze across Sasha and Niccolo, who stood side by side, wearing identical, enamored expressions, to Connie and Jean, who were whispering something to one another, and finally to Mikasa and Armin, who hid Historia behind their backs.

Right. She didn't come here for a cheerful reunion. The fate of the world was at stake. Hange pulled herself together and— pulled Falco away from her.

"Sorry, dear," she fondly ruffled his hair once again. "I need to go now, but I'll get back to you."

Could she do, though? Could she return to these kids, ask them to be placed under her care? Should she do it, considering that she didn't even know what was going to happen to her, where would she be one hour from now? Was it wise then to drag kids along with her? They were sharp and strong, more than capable, and they did survive on their own for so long— wait.

How did they manage to survive on a foreign soil, all by themselves? And why they were here today, in Niccolo's restaurant of all places?

"I guess these ducklings are yours?"

Oh. The familiar man that Hange had never seen was back, now standing in front of Hange, showing her a kind smile.

"We haven't been introduced, but it's hard to mistake you for someone else. Hange Zoe, right?"

"Right," Hange shook his warm, calloused hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Braus."

"The accent was a dead giveaway, huh?" he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He had a nice laugh, Hange decided, deep, heartfelt and genuine. She liked Mr. Braus, just as much as she liked his daughter.

"I understand that you're the one who had taken care of my ducklings," Hange giggled, catching Gabi's very much unamused look. "Thank you for that."

"And thank you for saving my daughter's life. For that deed I could never repay you."

"That was... that was nothing. I did nothing, just happened to be in the right place, in the right time."

"It's only because of you that we're here, celebrating, instead of mourning. So," he gripped her shoulder tightly, his brown eyes staring into hers intently. "Let me express my gratitude, for that is the smallest thing that I can do."

"I think," Connie inserted himself between them, his mischievous smile lighting up the room. "This calls for a toast!"

No more than a second later, Jean had produced a bottle of wine, opening it swiftly and skillfully. Once the bottle was dealt with, he filled a glass with wine, thrusting it to the person standing closest to him. Which— happened to be Gabi.

She took all but a tentative sniff from the glass, before it was roughly yanked out of her hands. The drink splashed everywhere as Falco hurried to finish it, before Gabi caught up and took it away from him.

There was just as a couple of droplets left, everyone watched the scene in amusement, until—

Until Niccolo screamed.

He pounced from his place, wrestling the bottle out of Jean’s hands. “It’s not for you, morons! I told you not to touch it!”

Ice spread through Hange’s veins, as she heard the desperation in his voice. If her first thought was the right one… she had to make sure of it immediately.

“Who that wine was meant for?” she seethed, grabbing Niccolo by lapels of his shirt, suffocating him in her white-knuckled grip and currently not caring about it. Everyone in the room tensed, Sasha jumping closer to them, but Hange didn’t care, ignored all of them completely. “Who that wine was meant for?” she shouted, shaking the boy like a ragdoll.

“F-for the military officials! It’s the good stuff, expensive, it was meant only for them!”

The good stuff, the best one they got, Hange reasoned. The next question was pointless, she knew the answer already, was the one who came up with this idea in the first place, but— Niccolo was a good guy, a sweet boy in love with a kind girl. Hange wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“What’s wrong with the wine?”

And that was it. That’s all she had to do to get to the bottom of it. One short, simple question, and Niccolo crumbled. He didn’t try to fight her, made no attempts to protect himself. He hanged his head in shame, avoiding the dozen pairs of eyes that now were boring into him.

“They made me do it,” he whispered, his hands, his lips— his whole body shaking. “I had no choice, you wouldn’t understand—”

Oh, but Hange did understand. Better than Niccolo knew. She knew how it felt to be forced to follow the current, accept every cruel tide. She knew just how frustrating, how painful it was to lose control.

So yeah, Hange understood. But she could not excuse.

However, she had no place to judge as well, she herself was a reason for so many tragedies and disasters. She couldn’t judge, and she didn’t have the time for it. The deed was already done, now they had to try and undo it.

“Who gave you the orders?”

The spine fluid, injected into wine, came from Zeke, that Hange had no doubt about, but Zeke was far away, deep in the forest, under Levi’s watchful eyes. So who had redistributed the wine? Who was the betrayer, the real culprit?

“It’s—”

He didn’t get to finish. For only now Hange had realized what had happened moments prior. Falco drank the wine. Falco. Drank. The. Wine.

Her heart thumping, Hange pushed Niccolo away, grabbing Falco’s hand instead. Armin, Mikasa, the Queen, let someone else deal with that shit, for now she had to try and delay the inevitable. She looked around, her eyes wild, mind racing. “Where— where is the bathroom or— or a—”

“I’ll show you.”

It was Moblit’s quiet, reassuring voice. He gripped her elbow gently, taking her away. Hange let herself be led, rubbing soothing circles into Falco’s palm all the while. She didn’t know what do, wasn’t even sure that spinal fluid can be taken out of someone’s system, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t at least try. Falco, sweet, smart Falco, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be turned into a Titan, a mindless creature with no loyalties and feelings. Hange wouldn’t allow it, she was ready to do the impossible and then more to save the little boy.

Once they reached the bathroom, Hange set out to work - took off her coat, rolled the sleeves of her shirt, sat Falco down on a stool, pushed his head under the faucet, instructed him to try and rinse all the wine out.

It was possibly entirely pointless, Hange was pretty sure of it— but. What else could she do? Sit tightly and wait for the young life to vanish?

"That thing in the wine..." Moblit spoke up - calmly, but defeated, as though he had already surrendered to whatever tragedy that would befall him. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Hange tensed. Hange jumped to her feet, fisting her hand into Moblit's shirt so desperately, the fabric creaked in protest.

"Moblit," she croaked, her voice shaking, broken, eyes begging him to say that he was joking, that his inquiry was simple curiosity. "Moblit, did you drink that wine?"

"It was served at every government meeting. I couldn't refuse."

No. No. Hange couldn't believe, didn't want to believe it, Moblit— not Moblit, she didn't want him to fall victim to this, become another casualty in her long, extremely bloody career. Anyone else, but not— not him.

"It's the same tactic we used in Ragako village," she explained numbly. "Back then it was gas, this time the fluid that turns people into Titans was added into wine. It activates after Zeke screams."

"Ah," Moblit shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "If - when - I turn, you could experiment on me. Just— don't give me a stupid name like Sawney or Bean, I'd like, I think, I'd like to be called Moblit. If I'd still have some semblance of consciousness by that time, if not - you can call me whatever you—"

"Shut up." Hange choked, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She ignored them, glaring fiercely at him. "Shut the fuck up, Moblit, you will not turn into a Titan, I will not allow it, I'll do whatever I can—"

"Hange-san," he smiled, and it broke her heart. "It will be okay."

It won't. Because it was her damn creation, made to defeat faceless, unknown enemies. And now it was used against people she cared about.

She had to do something about it. With a start Hange realized that the solution was... fairly easy.

"Avoid Zeke at all costs." She told Moblit, urgency turning her speech more frantic. "Don't go near him, try— try to get away if he gets into city—"

But Zeke couldn't get into the city. Zeke couldn't get out of the forest at all, couldn't make a single move without Levi knowing it.

Levi was the solution. He would keep Zeke under his guard, he would keep Moblit, and the rest of them, safe. Hange finally could take a breath.

But the calm didn't last for long.

As soon as she returned to Falco's side to check on the boy's condition, a loud crash came from somewhere deep within the restaurant. Hange heard the sound of hurried footsteps, then a concerning scream.

She exchanged a look with Moblit. Both of them started running at the same moment.

When they tumbled inside the main room, they froze in shock.

Sasha's family, members of Survey Corps and among them— soldiers with rifles. Hange scanned the room once more, her eyes travelling further, to the table by the window. She breathed out in relief - Historia was guarded by Connie and Jean. At least, the Queen was safe.

But not the rest of them.

"Squad Leader Moblit," the ginger head took a step towards them, a too wide smile plastered on his face. Hange didn't like that man and his smile. And the gun in his hands. The gun that was now aimed at the ceiling but could be very well aimed at Moblit, or anyone else in that room. “You’re the one I need.”

Moblit inched closer too, his chin held high and eyes defiant. Hange didn’t miss the fact that his movement hid her behind his broad shoulders. Oh, loyal, caring Moblit. How could she leave him to his fate?

“I’m here,” he leveled to the redhead. “What do you need me for, Floch?”

If it wasn’t for the gun in his hands, or the smile on his face, the way Moblit spelled his name – the obvious aversion, unhidden contempt was enough for Hange to understand that this Floch guy wasn’t very nice. And, despite the Wings of Freedom on his back, he certainly wasn’t Moblit’s friend.

So. That was one of the famed Yeagerists? And the rest of them, the ones that held civilians on gunpoint were the part of the same group? Hange was so not impressed.

“You’re buddies with Captain Levi,” Floch continued. “That means you know exactly where he is hiding.”

“Perhaps.” Moblit nodded. “But what makes you think that I will tell you?”

Floch’s smile grew, and the gun that was held lazily in his hand, pointing at the empty air, moved. It was lowered down, its barrel now staring right at Moblit. But the gun didn’t stop there, it moved again, shifting just a little to the side. To where Hange was standing.

“Hange Zoe, right?” Floch tilted his head, so he could look straight at her. “I didn’t have the pleasure to make your acquaintance before, but I’m glad that life threw us all together. Especially now, for you see…” he lifted a hand, and a soldier took his place, his rifle raised, while Floch paced from side to side. “I’m not allowed to hurt them,” first he pointed at Jean and Connie. “Or her,” now at Historia. “I’m, however, allowed to do with the others whatever I want. And since hurting our dear Squad Leader Moblit wouldn’t bear the needed results…” he spread his arms, shrugging helplessly. “No one would miss a traitor, right?”

“Don’t you dare!” Moblit surged forward, shoulders shaking from the unbridled fury. But he made no more than a few steps, before he was immobilized, two soldiers coming from behind to grab his arms and twist them painfully. Moblit didn’t back up even then, continuing his fierce resistance. “Leave her out of this!”

“Ah, yes,” Floch chuckled to himself, observing Moblit’s struggling with morbid fascination. “The luck is surely on our side today. You will be useful after all, Hange Zoe. We will take you with us.”

No sooner than these words left his mouth, Hange felt a pair of hands around her, subduing and enabling to make a single move. She thrashed, she kicked, but to no avail.

“Floch—” Moblit grounded, pulling on his restraints.

“Don’t you worry,” Floch squeezed Moblit’s shoulder, showing him a look of feigned affection. “No one is going to get hurt, if you cooperate.”

No. They couldn’t cooperate. Cooperating meant leading Floch and his bunch to Zeke, and that meant leading them to Levi.

“Mob! Don’t listen to him! We can’t–” instinctively, momentarily forgetting about the arms that held her down, Hange reached out to him, trying to catch his eyes.

But Moblit turned his face to the other side, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

Ah. Hange’s heart sunk, while Floch clasped his hands in delight.

“I’m glad you’ve made the right choice! And now,” he raised a finger, and Hange with Moblit were forced to move forward. “Let’s get going!”

___

Outside, the weather changed. The sun hid behind the heavy, grey clouds, the rain was now steadily falling down, creating puddles under their feet.

The gloomy weather further enhanced the trepidation inside Hange. The feeling, the certainty that something was going to get very wrong and very fast persisted, forcing her to grab the reins of the horse tighter, in vain hope of providing some miniscule outlet to her ever growing anxiety.

Despite the fear, Hange spurred her horse forward, doing her best to ignore the rifles pointed at her back. It was proving to be quite a vexing task, when the said rifles kept pushing her to move even faster but— it wasn’t the worst situation Hange had found herself in. That time when she and Zeke were captured by the enemy forces and put inside a fortified prison was so much worse. The prison had anti-Titan artillery surround the perimeter, they were alone and cut off from their allies. And still they managed to escape. Compared to that, a few Yeagerists were nothing.

Although, Hange had to admit – the stories did them no justice. In reality they were a lot more vile and disgusting.

But, apparently, Levi still trained some of them. And, boy, did he teach them well. One soldier behind Hange kept huffing, cursing the weather under his breath. Hange waited, and when he once again got distracted by the mud that splashed on his boot, she thanked Levi for his absurd obsession with cleanliness and acted, stealing that little moment for herself.

“Hey,” she leaned closer to Moblit who was riding right beside her, and whispered to him in a voice just slightly louder than the sound of the rain. “Remember that thing we did during Erwin’s coup-d'etat?”

Moblit winced, anxiety reflecting in his eyes. “When we punched people that were armed with rifles?”

Hange grinned. Atta boy, of course, he remembered. “I’ll give you a signal,” she nodded discreetly and returned to her previous position, now directing all of her attention on their fearless, redheaded leader.

“So Zeke is your main goal, right? You don’t actually need Historia?”

Floch scoffed, rising his nose up in distain. “The Queen is a back-up plan.” Wow, getting information out of them was that easy? Some devoted followers they were. Hange continued listening, eager to know what else Floch would reveal. “We’re not sure what exactly is going to happen, and Eren… doesn’t like hurting his friends.”

They weren’t sure what was going to happen. Only for these words Hange was ready to throttle each and one of them. What was going to happen? Mass destruction and death, a lot of unnecessary deaths.

But did these children care? Of course, they didn’t.

And would Zeke care about it? Hange wasn’t sure. Zeke was many things – cruel, violent, heartless, he never cared that much about other people. However, he was his father’s son, and, as much as he had loathed Grisha Yeager, Zeke still carried around the hero complex that his father fought so hard to plant inside him. Was it possible then that Zeke would be against the rumbling? Was it possible that he didn’t know of Eren’s true intention, that he blindly trusted his little brother?

Was it possible that their goals didn’t align? If so… then Zeke was a key player in this game of chess. He was a powerful figure they had to get on their side. If Hange could talk to him—

A loud sound, a crashing bang interrupted the flow of her thoughts, making her jump in the saddle.

That noise, it was similar to a thunder, but not quite. Hange knew that sound all too well, was the one who created the devise that was activated with the very same sound.

It couldn’t be— that noise couldn’t come from a thunder spear explosion. But… what other explanation was there?

“Let’s head there!” Floch commanded. “Something must have happened.”

Hange’s heart raced as they inched closer and closer to the place where the sound had come from. It wasn’t hard to find, the gory sight of the poor, wounded horse and the blasted cart was easy to spot.

They approached it slowly, and suddenly Hange froze, her eyes landing on something near the riverbank. Something that looked a lot like a body – a short one with strong stature and black hair—

“Moblit,” she whispered, begging him to clear her suspicions, to reassure her that she was mistaken.

But Moblit pursed his lips, and shook his head – brief, but resolute.

For a second, Hange froze, overcome with desperation and fear. Her heart stopped too, if just for a moment.

Levi, he couldn’t— but what if he did?

Ignoring the insistent shouts and strict orders to come back, Hange jumped off the horse, scrambling to get closer to the riverbank and to him.

She fell into the mud, uncaring of her clothes, of the mud she was splashing around. She felt nothing, the rain, the river, her captors, it all faded into background. She cared for nothing else, except the limp body in her hands.

Oh, please, please, please.

Her hands trembled as she turned the body to face her, careful as she could be. A bloody mess, her personal nightmare stared right back to her.

And in that moment— Hange felt her heart break, ripping, shuttering into thousands pieces. She thought she knew loss before, she thought she knew what pain was.

She was so wrong.

[cherryblossomriot]

i had a dream the other day that was basically a dinluke cowboy au and it has been HAUNTING me, so just allow me to deposit it upon you like my subconscious drop kicked it onto me:

Luke is a disabled veteran who has returned from war one hand lighter and several scars heavier. When he returns, his family, who are heavily involved in the politics/military of this fictional land, don’t understand his now jaded and melancholic view of both the world, but also the ideologies that they so strongly believe in, leading him to constantly feel like an outcast even among the people that he so dearly loves. They’re all passionate and strong-willed, but they still don’t understand, not his struggles with mental health or his new perspective, and it just makes things worse and worse and worse. Anakin is a general, and though he’s seen the gruesomeness of war firsthand, he’s also become desensitized to it and has anger-management issues, so he often almost finds a sort of refuge within the chaos of battle, so he clearly cannot even fathom the emotions and trauma that Luke is trying to sort through, much less know how to deal with them properly. Padme is a senator and cares deeply about the crimes and seemingly senseless violence occurring during the war, but she’s also a politician and knows how to play the long game, so when Luke comes to her, he leaves feeling misunderstood and pushed aside. Leia is the only one who seemingly understands, as the pair of them have a deep, intrinsic bond, but she doesn’t fully grasp Luke’s moods and doesn’t handle his breakdowns and flashbacks well. So everyone feels a little upset, a little unsettled, and a lot like they don’t understand why and how Luke has changed, which leads to Luke feeling more and more out of place within his own family. The war ends relatively soon after Luke’s return, which leads to parades which leads to awards which leads to balls and banquets, all of which Luke is forced to attend, his heart dragging but his head held high, because he’s an Amidala-Skywalker goddammit, and we have a certain responsibility and image to maintain to the public and everyone who endured so much. So Luke has to sit there through awards and boasts of glory and mentions of battle scars and it goes on and on and on, and he has to smile and bear it and accept the medal that they’re giving him because he did such a great service to his country and-he has a panic attack. A nasty one that leads to him having to flee from a ballroom, and outside to the gardens. Once he’s there, he realizes that he doesn’t want to go back in. At all. So he runs away. He just picks a direction and goes, stealing a car on the way (this is a modern au but also fictional countries because I don’t want to get into real politics, hooo boy no siree). In the middle of nowhere, he gets caught in a storm and basically crashes his car and passes out. 

But when he wakes up! That’s when the fun begins. 

He’s in this cozy sort of bedroom, and this hot guy is fast asleep in the chair beside his bed, and is that a little kid in his lap? Anyway, the hot guy wakes up, introduces himself as Din Djarin in the softest, most attractive voice Luke has ever heard with his own two ears, and doesn’t ask him where he’s from or what he was doing driving in the middle of bumfuck nowhere at 3 in the morning, so Luke is obligated to have a lil crush on him, even though he’s not sure about the kid. So he asks, and Din introduces him to his son Grogu, who waves at him and signs hello, because, as Din explains, he doesn’t speak much, and the foster system wasn’t too kind to him, so he’s got a little bit of trauma to work through. And Luke just, instantly falls in love with this soft dad and his cute little son who can shift his features from the biggest, most pleading puppy eyes ever to the face of a demented gremlin who will try to eat the frog he caught in the backyard, no matter how slimy it is, or how hard it tries to wriggle out of his hands. Din tells Luke that he can stay for however long he needs, because Luke’s kinda injured from his accident, and anyway, once he’s healed up, they always could use another hand on the farm. So Luke stays, and he meets all of Din’s other farm hands (and shitty friends). There’s Boba, who doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s always something slightly ominous and menacing, and Luke thinks that his name sounds familiar...hey wasn’t he on the news for robbing a couple banks a few years back?...no, surely not..., Fennec, who speaks even less than Boba, and manages to be far, far more intimidating, but also helps Luke with his prosthetic and gives him fun little tips that always sound more like she’s cut off a lot more limbs than she’s lost. Cara Dune (who is not gina carano but i digress) is also there, and she’s just constantly a harbinger of chaos, but will babysit Grogu whenever Din wants to brood and stare longingly into the distance (or at Luke who’s also brooding as the sun sets but shhh). Bo-Katan and the gang are there, and while Bo-Katan grumbles about how the old ranch boss had different/better methods on how to run things, she still follows Din’s lead and helps him with the finances and taxes. They all take to Luke like a wildfire, because Luke is a sunshine boy who can make friends with literally anyone and somehow manages to make Din not only smile but laugh, but also because they can tell he’s got a lot of trauma and pain bubbling just under the surface, and they all silently but collectively agreed a long time ago that they are the patron saints of troubled and lost souls. 

When Luke gets better and starts to help out, he’s constantly upset with himself because he used to help out at his aunt and uncle’s farm in the summers when he was a kid, and he knows how to do this stuff, but his prosthetic is really throwing him off and his body has sustained a lot of other injuries that make doing manual labor a much more different experience than it used to be, but everyone is really patient with him and helps him out, especially Din. At one point, Din is so nice that Luke just loses it, because he doesn’t understand how Din can be so kind and so patient, and care about him so much, and kind of calls himself broken and useless in front of Din, and Din gets super protective and grabs his hands (real and prosthetic) and tells him that he’s not broken or useless, and you’re so sweet and wonderful, and can’t you see? Ever since you’ve been here, everyone’s been so much happier, so much lighter. You’ve brought something precious to us, but most of all to me. And they’re standing really close and for a second Luke thinks Din is going to kiss him, but instead, Luke realizes that he’s crying, and Din just wraps his arms around him and holds him.

After that, time sort of blurs, marked by things like Grogu climbing into Luke’s bed because he sensed that he was having a nightmare, and Din waking up to find the pair of them coloring in a serene silence, Luke getting the hang of ranch life and his prosthetic and dealing with his panic attacks and flashbacks as they come, and Din enduring relentless badgering from his friends because hey, if you don’t marry Luke, I will and Fennec, you’re a lesbian and that doesn’t matter, it’ll be a marriage of twink and butch solidarity. And all the while, Din and Luke are spinning closer and closer towards each other, two suns hurtling in their orbit to the other with an inescapable certainty. 

When it finally happens, they’ve just gotten back from one of those cowboy dances (idk what they’re called...hoedowns? yeah okay) (and yes, I wanted to hit all of the cliches in the book, thank you very much), and Grogu’s fallen fast asleep on Luke’s shoulder. After they tuck him up all snug in his bed, they head out to the porch, because it’s raining outside, and the steady thrum of water droplets splattering on the roof and on the grass is the most soothing sound Luke has ever heard (aside from Din’s voice), and he’s a little too afraid to go to sleep and ruin his perfect night with a nightmare. They stand there for a while, silence binding them together, shoulders brushing every now and then, hesitant and questioning. Luke thinks about how Din had asked him to dance earlier, his lips tilted in a teasing, but achingly soft smile, and how his heart had pounded a tattoo to the shape of his ribs when they’d pushed up so close together, the fast, rowdy dances of the beginning of the night having faded to something lasting, something meaningful. Luke remembers the ball he’d run away from, how the dancing had been cold, almost jeering in a way, and Luke realizes how far he’s come, how different it is here. And suddenly, there isn’t a question in his mind anymore. He turns toward Din, who turns toward him, and when he leans forward, Din breathes an uncertain “Luke-”, but he doesn’t get to finish the thought. Luke kisses him, and he kisses back, and it’s just them. There are hands in hair and noses nudged together, and at some point, they move, without either of them releasing the other, into the house and into Din’s bedroom. Buttons are unbuttoned, and whole stretches of skin are kissed, and when it’s over, they curl up together, Din tucking his head into the crook of Luke’s neck and falling asleep there. 

When they wake up, Luke explains why he came here, why he ran away, all the while Din looks at him with his beautiful dark eyes and runs his hands through Luke’s hair, which is catching the sunlight filtering in through the window and making him look like he has a halo, all the while never once condemning him for keeping it a secret this whole time. After he’s finished, he expects some sort of shocked reaction-after all, his family’s pretty famous, but all Din does is kiss him and ask, “Wait, so you have a twin?” 

It’s so unexpected that Luke throws his head back and bursts into uncontrollable, and very contagious peals of laughter, and when he’s finally able to breathe again, he kisses Din’s forehead and murmurs, “I love you.” 

Din, who has been touch starved and lonely for years (no time for relationships when you’ve got a business to run and a toddler to raise), tears up and kisses him, too overwhelmed for words. But Luke understands.  

And then Grogu pushes his way into the room holding up a box of Frosted Flakes above his head and shaking it, as if to say, I’d like to eat now, please. 

Din and Luke stifle their smiles into the other’s shoulder, and when they get up, Luke can’t help but think that he’s finally where he belongs.

----

It takes approximately .5 seconds for all the others to figure out they’re together now, and Cara and Bo-Katan (of all people) start cheering immediately, to Din and Luke’s shock. Boba and Fennec grumble and begrudgingly hand over a huge wad of cash each to Cara and Bo-Katan because they thought it would take them at least another two weeks to get together. Din’s very done with his friends at this point, but he takes one look at Luke’s flustered but smiling face and decides he won’t kill them all this time. 

And if everyone thought Luke was a lot of excitement for a humble ranch in the middle of nowhere, then they are in no way, shape, or form, prepared for when his very angry twin sister shows up with a himbo with a shit-eating grin and his 7 foot tall best friend she hired to track her brother down. 

(needless to say, Boba punches Han within two minutes of interaction).

[aizawabby]

Can I have saitama with a s/o who's a badass but is also a softie with a bunnie

pairing: Saitama x gn!reader

warning: slightly suggestive, kicking, swearing, Genos being a cockblock

word count: 988

a/n: this was my first request i hope i did good

ko-if

————

“It’s so hot today ahhh” the bald headed man sighed as he walked past the large craters that were left from the recent invasion of monsters carrying his empty grocery bag. He reached into his shorts pocket, taking out his green frog shaped wallet. In despair he opened it only to find 500 ¥.

“Well at least I have my discount flyer” he shoved his wallet back into his pocket only to shove his hand into the left side back pocket, “ehh” Saitama’s eyes widen as the sudden feeling of panic cursed through him as he frantically looked for the lost flyer.

“where the hell did i-“ saitama emptied all of his pockets, desperately looking for that piece of paper till he snapped his head towards the direction he previously came from “oi you stop! Oi Oi stop” he shouted louder when the fuzzy white culprit ran away after making direct eye contact with the victim.

Narrowing his eyes, Saitama ran with full force cornering the poor bunny near some bushes who happened to lose interest on the flyer leaving it behind for some grass.

“Does that taste good?” Saitama crouches down petting the crane of the small animal.

‘He looks familiar’

Saitama looks at the rustling leaf in front of his face hanging on to the tip of the branch pinching it between his index and thumb humming when he hears a ‘whizzing’ sound getting up from his spot and looks ahead when his confused expression morphed into disgust as he saw a dog peeing on the opposite side of the bush.

The dog owner waved at saitama who continued to look at the dog in disgust. Turning away to finally pick up the object he came so far to pursue.

“hmm hot pot ingredients are on sale” , folding the paper he safely put into his froggy wallet.

“but what about meat? Hot pot is always best with meat” he thought looking at the bunny in front of him. “Rabbit meat does taste pretty good” he whispered under his breath as he slowly tried to approach the furry animal.

“OI YOU GET WAY FROM MY JINIE”

“Huh” saitama heard someone shout but before he was able to look at the perpetrator

a foot came flying towards his face knocking him down.

“Hmmp yeah that serves you right for trying to kidnap my jinie” you said picking up your bunny and giving it a kiss on his soft head.

Turning around before giving one more look at the man lying unconscious who looked awfully similar to your crush and neighbour Saitama.

Tiptoeing towards the man while guarding your rabbit in case the man tried to kidnap him once more all this was just a ruse.

“ oh god “

It was indeed Saitama.

Jinie hopped off your arms as you subconsciously loosened your grip. “Shit shit shit” you rubbed your hands on your face “what did I just do?” You ask yourself as you remember the kick from earlier from the force of the kick Saitama won’t be waking up in a while.

“ fuck” you pace back and forth biting your nail nervously thinking of a solution to help saitama when you hear a groan and see your bunny licking Saitama’s left cheek.

Falling to your knees you wrap your legs around his mid hovering over the man waiting for him to regain consciousness.

Slowly fluttering his eyes open, Saitama looks at you “huh am I dead?” he mumbles “wow the angels here look just like Y/n” he giggles when he suddenly sees your excited face “so cute” he says his hands reaching for your cheek but stopping mid-air when you fall on top of him and embrace him in hug.

Shocked at the sudden display of affection, Saitama’s face heats up.

Soon realizing that he in fact was not dead.

His arm starts to cramp, finally deciding to put it down to hold you, suddenly you let go of Saitama and sit on top of him.

“m’sorry Sai I kicked you by accident cause I thought you were trying to kidnap jinie”

“Kidnap Jinie? huh?” Saitama pauses “ I wasnt trying to kidnap him, I was just thinking of eating him” he whispered. Hearing Jinie squeal in fright at his confession made him even more ashamed of thinking about eating his crushe’s pet.

“ You. What.” You say through gritted teeth pulling Saitama up by his collar, “hehe i am just joking” he laughs awkwardly “you know I would never do that” he defends.

Y/n let go of him, arms crossed over your chest looking away angry.

“I’m sorry” he wraps his arms around you, your face pressed against his toned chest unable to stay mad at him you wrap your arms around him savouring the warmth of his body.

Sighing you let go and look up at him “im letting you off with a warning this time because your cute but there won’t be a next time alright ,” you poke at his chest threatening him.

Nodding he clears his throat “ well then how about I treat you to some hot pot hmm?my place I’ll get Genos to get some good quality meats,”

Smiling you accept his offer “also Y/n” you hum in response playing with your bunny “do you uhh mind getting off my lap? the situation might become dangerous if you stay any longer” he says coughing to cover up the pink on his cheek.

Embarrassed you quickly try to get off when smirking you lean closer to Saitama’s ear and whisper “what if I want it to become dangerous” and get off his lap picking up Jinie in the process.

Before the man can speak up or do anything his phone starts to ring, he groans looking at the picture of Genos that appeared on the screen.

“Cockblock” he mumbles

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Beneath the Surface: A Retelling of “The Frog Prince”

If I’d had any choice, I never would have taken the underground train. I had accompanied Roger to a political summit in the city of Roshen, but spouses leave after the opening speeches, and since I couldn’t leave Roger without the hovercar, I had to use public transportation. The train--built by the natives decades before humanity absorbed Arateph into the Interplanetary Coalition--was a horrible excuse for technology. It rattled me to my destination, jolted me into an underground station, and left me so shaken that I could feel my bones clattering as I climbed up the stairs to the street.

The crowd surged around me as I emerged onto the sidewalk. There were far too many tephans. You know what Arateph’s natives look like—almost like humans, but it’s an unsettling almost. Their eyes just slightly too high on their heads, their ears just slightly too far back, and hands (ugh) split into only three fingers and a thumb. Like a person shaped by a sculptor with a hazy memory of how humans look. I can take them in small doses, but in groups? My skin was crawling. I powered through the crowd as quickly as possible and tried not to let any of them touch me.

I sped several blocks away from the train station before I realized I was nowhere near my hotel. The buildings in this neighborhood were old, made of crumbling stone bricks that had been stacked by physical labor rather than printed by machine. Half the windows were made of colored glass, and half of those were broken. Garbage rustled in the gutters, holes marred the concrete sidewalks, and all the signs were written in an unfamiliar alphabet. I was, somehow, lost in a tephan neighborhood. And not a nice one.  

I turned in circles, trying to figure out which way I’d come. Tephans watched me from storefronts and doorsteps and alleyways, and I kept walking to prevent them from figuring out just how lost I was. I was Priscilla Overton, wife of a Coalition finance minister, pillar of this planet’s elite—and human. Some groups violently opposed human rule, and tephan attacks against humans were on the rise. Who knew what these savages would do if they knew how helpless I was?

I rushed through narrow, dark streets until I reached a wider thoroughfare--a residential area with slightly less grimy apartment buildings. Still not a nice neighborhood, but not a place where I suspected otherworldly rats would tear the flesh from my bones or criminals would murder me for my technology.

I pulled my datapad out of my purse to look for directions. Dead.

I unfolded my wristcomm and tried to call for help. No signal.

I put my fist to my mouth to stifle a frustrated scream. Why did these things happen to me?

I stormed further down the street, cursing Roger for ever bringing us to this planet. We’d been happy on Earth. Comfortable. Respected. With no chance of wandering into streets where aliens stared at you with their off-kilter eyes. The rewards we got for helping to civilize this backward planet weren’t nearly enough to make up for this torture.

I turned a corner and found myself in front of a long, low yellow-brick building with dozens of small windows. The window boxes had flowers in them—fist-sized bundles of tiny red and gold petals. Not something you’d find on Earth, but...nice. Nice enough to pull me down from my fury and make me think I could give my wristcomm another try.

I powered down the wristcomm and stood next to a pink metal lamp post (Arateph has strange color trends) while I waited for it to restart. A metal grate was below my feet. These primitives still used storm drains! I shouldn’t have been surprised, since the road clearly wasn’t made of Draincrete, but it was still jarring. Living on Arateph was a strange combination of living on another world and living in the backward past.

My wristcomm buzzed, still powering up. I was ready to explode with anxiety. There were tephans straggling by—not many of them, but too many and too poorly dressed for my taste. To calm myself, I played with my wedding ring—a gold band with a spray of amethysts and pearls. The ring had been in Roger’s family for centuries. Some days, it felt like my last tie to a familiar world.

I kept my life on Arateph as Earth-like as possible, but it could never be the same as living on Earth. Alien things always lingered at the edges. Trees that turned purple in autumn instead of familiar orange. Toothy red-and-purple-feathered birds that rooted through the trash and woke me with their awful screeching. And around every corner, people who looked like grotesque parodies of my own kind. An entire world conspiring to make me constantly aware of how far I was from home.

My sisters were going about their own lives on Earth, and the few times we could afford appointments at synced comms stations, we found little to talk about--we literally came from different worlds. If Roger and I ever had children--doubtful but possible at our age--our families would only know them as data-images.

This was why I hated being alone on this wretched planet. Gave me far too much time to think about these things.

My wristcomm chimed—finally awake. I unfolded the screen and attempted to bring up my list of contact codes. I found Roger’s; he’d be in the middle of a meeting, but I couldn’t help that. I pressed the code and waited.

A discordant note sounded. No signal. I threw down my hand in frustration. My ring flew down with it. The golden band slipped off my finger, tumbled toward the ground, bounced off the edges of the grate, and fell into the drain.

I gasped in horror and fell to my knees. It couldn’t be, not now.

The ring sparkled in the sunlight, caught on a lip where the structure of the drain met the tube of the deeper pipe. I put my purse on the ground and slid my arm through the grate, but my arm got stuck just above the elbow. The ring was still a foot beyond my reach.

I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. After the day I’d had—lost among tephans, fighting faulty technology, no hope of help from people who looked like me—this was the last straw. This planet had taken me from my home, my family, my friends, everything familiar, and now it was taking my one reminder of it all. Anybody would have cried.

Long before I felt any relief, a harsh voice broke through my sobs. “Are you finished yet?”

I looked up, furious at whoever was rude enough to interrupt my misery.

A tephan girl sat in the stairwell of the long yellow-brick building next to the gutter. I yelped and reeled back, tears still flowing. Have you ever seen a tephan child? They’re ten times worse than the adults; all their slightly-wrong features stretched even further out of shape, their eyes big and bulging in their heads. This girl was gangly. Her skinny limbs dangled out of baggy green clothes, and a wild brown bush of curls frizzed around her face and over her eyes. By human standards, I’d have judged her to be about twelve years old (though I have no idea if these creatures age like humans). By any race’s standards, she looked positively feral.

I couldn’t believe the creature had spoken to me. “Did you say something?” I asked.

She held up a thick book, bound human-style but with blocky tephan letters on the cover. “Can you cry somewhere else? I’m trying to read.”

She spoke Anglese with only a lightly slurring tephan accent. Somehow, this child spoke the Coalition’s language better than most of the tephan diplomats at Roger’s interminable meetings.

In my shock, I blurted, “How do you know Anglese?”

The creature rolled her eyes. “I go to school. With humans and everything.”

Roger hadn’t been in favor of the integration policy, but it apparently had some benefits. Or would have, had I any interest in talking to the child. Before I could decide if I wanted to reply, I glimpsed the ring again and burst into another involuntary round of tears.

The girl closed her book with a sigh. “What are you crying about anyway?”

I couldn’t tell her that I was crying because of her terrible, technologically backward planet and all its inhabitants, but I had to talk to someone and it was so good to hear human words, even from an alien’s throat. I pointed to the drain. “My ring,” I gasped. “It fell...”

She picked up her book, scrambled down the stairs, and peered in the drain. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re making that much noise over that?”

I drew back my shoulders and snapped, “It’s an irreplaceable heirloom! Centuries of human history! You can’t get those stones anywhere but Earth!”

“Then you should have been more careful with it.”

That made me want to scream, but before I could gather enough breath, the child gathered the book to her chest and turned away. “Can you at least try to keep it down?”

As the girl sat on the building’s stone stairs, the wind tore a scrap of paper out of her book and sent it fluttering. She reached up and snatched it out of the air. My gaze fell on the girl’s arms—long, lanky things that were thinner than human arms. With four-fingered hands that could easily slip between the bars of the grate.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Little tephan girl! What’s your name?”

The girl cast me a dark, distrustful expression, but she finally intoned, “Tanza.”

Not bad, as far as tephan names went. I could pronounce this one. “Tanza,” I said, “Do you think you could reach it?”

The girl shifted her hand behind her back, her face becoming a hard mask. “What do you mean?”

I pointed to her, rambling in my excitement. “Your arms are thinner than mine. Just as long. You could probably reach...”

Her brow furrowed.  “You want me to dig in a sewer?”

“Not a sewer,” I said. “A storm drain.”

“Still dirty.” She looked at the storm drain with narrowed eyes.“If I get it for you, will you go away?”

I wanted nothing more. “Immediately.”

"What'll you pay me for it?"

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. "What? Who said I'd pay you?"

The child pointed one long finger at the storm drain. “If I get dirty digging in there, it’ll be my tenth laundry demerit and I don’t get supper. I’m not doing it for nothing!”

The building behind her held one of the few signs I’d seen with Anglese translations beneath the tephan words: Alogath Charity Home for Unwanted Children. I could see why this child was unwanted.

“I don’t carry cash,” I told her.

“Do you have a credit stick?”

I put a protective arm over my purse. “It’ll be deactivated the moment you touch it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need the whole stick. Just buy me something with it.”

A truck—a noisy, clanking tephan thing that actually rolled on the ground—roared past us. The glimmer on the ring shifted closer to the drain pipe. If I didn’t act fast…

“What do you want?” I asked her.

“A lot of things.” Her eyes went blank as she stared at imaginings only she could see. Finally, she declared, “A meal at the High Palace.”

She really said that! As if it were a reasonable request! I don’t know how this urchin even knew about human restaurants, much less the finest of fine dining establishments.

“That’s ridiculous!”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I lose a meal, you buy me a replacement. That’s fair.”

“Do you know how much a High Palace meal costs?”

“A lot less than it’ll cost you to replace that ring.”

I growled in frustration. The child had me backed into a corner and she knew it. I shuddered at the thought of taking this…thing into the sparkling society of a High Palace dining room.

I pointed a fierce finger at the child. “Only if you give me the ring immediately. Understand? There’s not a place on the planet a creature like you could sell it without suspicion.”

“I don’t want your ring. I’ll live up to my end of the bargain. And you’ll live up to yours, or that ring’s staying where it is.”

Of course I couldn’t really take her to the High Palace, but one more street-rattling truck could take the ring forever out of anyone’s reach. I’d have agreed if she’d asked for a hovercar.

“Fine!” I shouted. “I’ll buy you the meal. Just save my ring!”

The child placed her book on a clean patch of sidewalk and returned to the edge of the street. I snatched up my purse and stepped aside while the girl laid face down in the gutter. She slid her arm through the grate, all the way up to the shoulder. I held my breath for an eternal moment and didn’t release it until the girl emerged with a ring of gold and amethyst in her hands.

The ring sparkled merrily at me, grimy but whole. I snatched it from Tanza's hands and tucked it into an inner pocket of my gray blazer. I wouldn’t wear it again without resizing it—and not until I was in a neighborhood where I didn’t have to worry about it being stolen from my finger.

The child picked up her book and looked at me expectantly. Demandingly.

I couldn’t give her what she wanted. She was a complete stranger. I’d made the promise under duress. Not a court in the universe would hold me to it. What right did a tephan child have to make such ridiculous demands of a woman of my stature?

“Thank you,” I said. “You did a very good thing.” Then I sped down the street.

The creature was right at my heels. “The High Palace is the other way.”

I didn’t know if she was telling the truth. It didn’t matter. I walked faster.

She yanked at my arm. “You promised me a meal!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t get you into the High Palace.”

“A human lady dressed like you? You could get me in if you wanted to.”

I yanked my arm away from her. “What a pity I don’t want to.”

She gave a feral yowl. I started sprinting—or as near as I could manage in the heels I was wearing. The girl kept pace with me. I was a foot taller than her; why couldn’t I outrun her? Could I lose her in her own streets when I was lost myself?

Just when I thought I’d never be able to escape, I rounded a corner and saw the green-and-silver uniform of a Coalition policeman. My heart soared as I raced toward him. Help, protection, guidance, all only a few steps away. Something wonderfully human in this alien world.

“Officer!” I shouted to his retreating back. “Please, I need help!”

The officer stopped and raised a hand. A four-fingered hand. When he turned around, his face had the skewed proportions of a tephan face.

I nearly screamed. I’d stumbled into a nightmare.

The officer said, with the crisp diction of a tephan overcompensating for an accent, “Have you a problem, morik—madam?”

I’d heard that a few tephans had been admitted into the police forces, but I’d never thought I’d meet one. This tephan was young. Wiry and blond. Almost insignificant-looking if it weren’t for the uniform and the stolen sense of authority. Would he help a human?

Tephan or not, he had an obligation to assist the public. “Officer,” I gasped. “I need directions to the nearest train station. I’m trying to get home and this child is harassing me.”

The girl stormed up to him and shrieked, “She’s a liar!”

She shouted a stream of gibberish, and it wasn’t until the officer responded with similar sounds that I realized they were speaking the tephan language. Flowing, musical vowels were interrupted by harsh consonants, like rocks in a river. The sounds sent chills down my spine that only grew fiercer as the officer’s expression grew darker.

When the girl finished, the officer looked at me, not like an innocent victim needing help, but like a criminal who needed hauling to one of their barbaric tephan jails. “You have wronged this girl.”

I lifted my chin. “She’s lying! I’ve done nothing to her!”

“She claims she rescued your ring in exchange for a meal at the High Palace, and you are attempting to break your word.”

“I owe her nothing!”

“Did you promise her a meal?”

I threw out my hands in frustration. “It’s not like we had a contract or anything!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your promise means nothing without a legal document?”

“She had no right to hold me to a promise. I was desperate!”

He put a brotherly hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And she was kind enough to help you.”

I scoffed. “For a heavy price.”

The child shouted, “It’s one meal!”

The officer examined my face carefully. “You are Priscilla Overton, are you not? The wife of the finance minister?”

My jaw dropped. I’m prominent enough in human circles, but I’d never dared to consider that my face was known among tephans. It terrified me, but I knew it could be my ticket out of this. “I am, and when my husband finds out about how I’ve been treated—”

“Your husband is not a popular man. Not among tephans.”

I had never cared about Roger's reputation among the tephans. These primitives didn’t know what was best for their planet. But that wasn’t something I could say when I was alone in a strange neighborhood with two of them.

The officer continued, “It will not help his reputation if his wife is known as a promise-breaker.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Are you threatening me?”

He leaned toward me and said in low tones, “I am helping you.” He gestured to the street around us. “Do you think I’m the only one who heard the girl’s story?”

I shuddered to see a handful of tephans staring at us from among the crumbling buildings.

The officer said, “The Coalition doesn’t care much for tephan opinion, but if there is enough outcry against one man, even a human representative can be released from his job.”

At first, the thought lifted my spirits. Sent home! To Earth! It was what I’d wanted from the moment we’d stepped foot on this planet. But sent home in disgrace? Roger would have no future in government after such a public failure. It would mean everything we suffered here would be for nothing.

I asked the officer, “You really think they’d protest? Just because I didn’t bow to a child’s ridiculous demands?”

“If a person can’t keep a promise made to a child, how can anything they say be trusted?” His tephan gaze raked over me, like he was dissecting my inner thoughts. “Your people may have different ideas, but tephans still value virtue.”

How dare he—this puffed-up primitive in a human position of power—accuse humanity of being inferior?

My opinion didn’t matter. These creatures thought it a matter of morality that I feed this ragged brat finer cuisine than their planet had ever produced, and nothing I could say would change their minds. Now it seems ridiculous to think that those tephans could ruin us, but in that moment, alone in those unfamiliar streets, seeing how these two strange aliens teamed up against me, I could believe their kind capable of anything.

I looked down at the child. Her big eyes. Her frizzy curls. Her long limbs clutching the book to her chest. The grimy, bog-green clothes that fell short of the wrists and ankles. The smug smirk of a spoiled child who knew she was about to get her way. I had never loathed anyone more in my life.

“Do you have a name?” I asked her. “I’ll need a full name for the restaurant register.”

“I told you,” she said, as though she’d expected me to remember. “It’s Tanza.”

“What’s the rest of your name?” Most tephans I’d met had at least three or four names and were obnoxiously eager to explain them.

The girl's face darkened like I’d offended her. “Just Tanza.”

The officer looked at her with new pity, and even I understood why. You know how important names are to tephans. One name was a badge of dishonor--forever marking her as a child who’d never been claimed by any family, who’d never been given anything beyond the minimum necessary label. Tanza would have felt the shame of that, and I wasn’t quite so surprised that she’d turned into such an irritating little brat.

But I had no room for pity. “Do you have anything better to wear?”

She tugged at the cuffs, trying to stretch them over her arms. “Just more green. And all in the wash. Laundry demerits."

The officer said, "It'll do." He knelt in front of the girl, then looked at me and held out a hand. "I'll bet a fine lady like you carries all kinds of cleaning tools."

I sighed and handed him the nanocleanser from my purse. I showed him the power button, then he waved the metal wand over the stains on Tanza’s clothes. After a few seconds, the stains evaporated and the dirt from the gutter fell away as dry sand.

“Good as new,” the officer said, while Tanza gaped at her freshly-cleaned clothes. These primitives were astounded by the simplest things.

The child brushed through her wild curls with her fingers, swept them back over her shoulders, then stood with her hands at her side and feet apart, as if presenting herself for inspection.

I sighed. “I guess it’s as good as we’ll get. Let’s get this over with.”

Tanza tucked her book beneath her arm and her eyes sparkled with victory.

I looked balefully at the tome. “The book’s coming with?”

“Well, I can’t leave it here.”

I considered insisting that she take it back to the home, but I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Bring the book.”

I was seriously planning on entering the dining room of the High Palace with an alien who thought the proper attire included a set of green work clothes and a giant book. I had gone insane.

The officer stepped aside and gestured for both of us to walk past him. “I’ll escort you there.”

And there went my last hope of escape.

#

The officer escorted us through winding streets, side alleys and dried up canals until we finally crossed a bridge into a civilized portion of the city with human-designed buildings. One sprawling building of white stone-print bore a black sign with elegant script that proclaimed it The High Palace.

As we approached the building, Tanza suddenly skittered across my path. I almost tripped over her feet.

I glared at her as she fell into step on my right side. “What are you doing?”

She glanced warily to the street corner. “Kids from school.”

I glanced back and saw a pre-teen human boy with short black hair and immaculate clothing. He leaned against the corner of a building while he spoke with a handful of human friends. Well-groomed, friendly, human—why couldn’t that child have rescued my ring? I’d have been glad to take him as a guest to the High Palace.

As I engaged in fruitless wishes, the human children disappeared, and I arrived with my tephan escorts at the entrance doors of the High Palace. Wide glass windows showed a sparkling three-dimensional display of Old Paris in springtime. Tanza studied the images of bakeries and floral shops and fluttering Earth songbirds, as if attempting to dissect the technology. The few people passing by looked askance at the tephan pair with me.

Tanza asked, “Are we going in?”

I looked back at the officer. He just smiled at me and waved us toward the door.

I took a deep breath, put a hand behind the girl’s shoulders and pushed her inside.

The interior was a vision of white and cream: pale artwork on the walls, a glass fountain trickling crystal-clear water, rugs in intricate shades of vanilla, beige and ivory upon white marble floors.

The street sounds disappeared when the door closed behind us. No foot traffic, no rumbling vehicles, no screeching of alien animals. Just the hush of quiet voices, the gentle strings of a European symphony and the trickle of the fountain. It was like we'd stepped into a different world. My world. Except for the alien next to me.

The host standing guard at the dining room entrance stared at Tanza, then looked at me with the horrified compassion of someone trying to tell you there’s a wasp on your shoulder. “Madam, are you aware…?”

The only way to get through this with any dignity was to brazen my way through it. “I’d like a table, please. Two seats. For Priscilla Overton and guest.”

I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. “Your guest? You mean she—?”

“Is my guest. Is that a problem?”

He stared as if incredulous that I didn’t know the problem. I didn’t even blink.

Finally, he put a stylus to his datapad. “Does this guest have a name?”

The girl stood as straight and dignified as I did. “Tanza.”

He poised his stylus over the datapad. “Anythin—”

“Just Tanza.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he set his stylus aside. “Two seats for Priscilla Overton and…Tanza.”

The host led us into a blindingly beautiful dining room. A full wall of windows overlooked a river that glittered in the afternoon sun. The other walls were meshed with holonet that made the room look like a small nook in a formal European garden, with the tables and chairs surrounded by roses, tulips, lilies, and a thousand other flowers whose names I’d forgotten in my years away from Earth. Real potted plants scattered among the tables added to the reality of the image and the string quartet played some of the finest music from Earth's history. The room was a bastion of civilization in this barbaric world. A taste of home. It was more filling than any food could be.

The host led us to windowside tables with an excellent view of the river. My heart lifted. Prime seating—a sign of my place on this planet, which not even a tephan could take away. And it was flanked by two potted gardenia plants that would screen my guest from the handful of other diners.

I took the right-hand seat and motioned for Tanza to take the chair that sat closest to the shrub. Its branches brushed her as she sat down.

The host left us as a waiter handed us our menus. As Tanza sat down, she reached toward the branch above her head, plucked a single white gardenia blossom, shoved it in her mouth, and began to chew.

I froze in terror, then glanced at the waiter. Had he noticed?

If he had, he’d been well trained. He didn’t even stumble in his recitation of the day’s lunch specials.

“Would you like a few minutes to make a selection?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, yes,” I said, waving him away before my guest could decide to take another nibble of the greenery.

He bowed and vanished toward the kitchen.

When he was gone, Tanza spit the flower into a gold-embroidered napkin and wiped her tongue on the far corner. While her mouth contorted in the most disturbing shape, those tephan eyes glared at me. “That’s not a spiceblossom bush.”

“No,” I said, my tone stretched with scorn. “It’s a gardenia. And the blossoms aren’t for eating.”

She wiped her tongue on another corner of the napkin. “Why do they put flowers by the table if you’re not supposed to eat them?”

“For decoration,” I hissed. “And if you can’t behave in a civilized manner, we’ll leave this restaurant, promise or no promise.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t know all the fancy human rules of eating.”

Her sarcasm made my blood boil—until I saw her blush. She was prickly, yes, but unless I was very much mistaken, she was embarrassed. Now she was lost in an alien world, and I’d experienced that sensation too recently not to feel a little sorry for her.

But only a little. She had demanded this, after all, at great expense to me. Let her suffer the consequences.

“Rule one,” I said. “Don’t put anything in your mouth unless I tell you to.” I tugged her napkin out of her four-fingered hands before she could run it across her tongue again. “That includes napkins.”

With the napkin gone, Tanza's tongue was on full display in front of her chin as she kept the taste as far out of her mouth as possible. I don’t know if you know this, but tephan tongues can stretch further and thinner than human tongues, and this child made hers come almost to a point. I couldn’t look at that for the entire meal, but I couldn’t have the child destroying all the table linens either.

I waved over a waiter carrying a carafe of water, and I pointed him to our empty glasses. He leaned over our table and filled my glass almost to the brim. Then he turned and saw my guest—her pale skin, green clothes, those big eyes and that long, thin tephan tongue. He yelped, recoiled, dropped the carafe, and knocked over my glass. Water flooded the table and spilled onto my lap.

The child yelped, shouted something in her alien language and scrambled to pull her book out of the path of the water. An old man at the next table dropped his fork and stared at her. Fortunately, the few other diners in the room were too far away to see.

I hushed the child and found myself in the strange position of apologizing to the waiter while I was the one standing drenched. I didn’t know what reznat meant, but I was sure it wasn’t a nice thing for a tephan to say to her waiter.

“Could we...” I asked as I ran the nanocleanser over my clothes, “have another table?”

“C...certainly, madam,” he said, looking at Tanza as if waiting for her to pounce. I half-expected it myself, from the fierce way she curled around that book.

Once my clothes were dry, the waiter brought us to an empty table nearer the center of the room. No window view. No shielding plants. But it was further from the kitchen—where I was certain all the servers would be gossiping about us as soon as this klutz left us.

Once we were settled with new water glasses and dry menus, the server scurried away as if the girl were a poison frog. Tanza muttered alien words while she brushed water from the edges of her book, and gulped water until she got the taste of the flower out of her mouth. Then she glared at me and reverted back to Anglese. “He almost wrecked my book.”

After watching her lug that book around for an hour, my curiosity—and frustration—were mounting. “What’s that book about, anyway? And why are you willing to curse out waiters over it?”

“It’s a biography of Queen Marastel.” She set the book deliberately on the table, and looked around the room as if daring waiters to spill more water on it. “And it’s mine. I finally have a book of my own, and I don’t want it wrecked by an idiot with a water pitcher.”

The book was thick. What I’d seen of the print was small. It was not a children’s history book. I hadn’t expected this grimy alien child to be the biography type. Was there a developmental disorder that gave children irrational attachments to academic texts?

“Who is Queen Marastel?” I asked.

Tanza showed me the book’s cover. It had a picture of a young tephan woman—in her mid-twenties, to my human eyes—with a pale, narrow face, and deep eyes. The woman's dark hair was covered with an elaborate system of veils, and she wore a dress covered in so many white jewels and so much gray and white beadwork that I almost couldn’t see the ivory fabric underneath.

“Her,” Tanza said. “The last queen of Arateph.”

“Arateph had queens?” I asked in surprise. They hadn’t had queens when humanity had found them. It must have been part of their history.

I’d never thought of this planet as having a history. If I’d considered it at all, I suppose I’d assumed that they’d been muddling along the way we’d found them for the last few centuries, waiting for us to show up and drag them into modern civilization.

Tanza said, “The planet was ruled by a monarchy until about forty years before the Coalition showed up.”

“The whole planet?”

Tanza sat straighter and her diction became crisper—she looked like a little lecturer at one of those cultural symposiums that Roger and I always had to make appearances at. “After Kepha joined the other eleven kingdoms, the entire planet was united under the monarchy for three hundred and fifty-eight years.”

Not just a monarchy, but a planet-spanning monarchy. Such a thing hadn’t happened in all of human civilization, and these people had accomplished it when they were still on their home planet, believing themselves alone in the universe. I hadn’t thought such an archaic form of government could rule an entire continent without overextending itself, yet it had ruled their world for centuries. For the first time, I found myself wanting to learn something from the tephan people. How had such a government come about? How had they managed it?

Why did the woman on the cover look so sad?

I didn’t ask any of these questions because just then, a waiter appeared—not the water-spilling one, thank goodness. (I didn’t trust my guest to look at that one without throwing something at him.) This one was older, with crisp lines in his clothes and face. He looked like he could have won a staring contest with a statue—perfect unshakable professionalism.

“Are you ready to order, Madam Overton?” He didn’t even look at my guest.

Tanza’s eyes brightened as she picked up the menu, flipping through the pages to examine the options.

I asked her, “What you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never had human food.”

My jaw fell. “You wanted to come here and you didn’t even know what you wanted to eat?”

She gave me a withering stare, as though I was the stupid one. “I wanted to try it.” She closed the menu. “Besides, you said I can only eat what you tell me to eat. So what am I allowed to eat, Priscilla?”

I picked up the menu and realized with horror that I didn’t know the answer. What could tephans eat? Were there foods that were delicacies to us and poison to them?

I asked the waiter, “Do you have any suggestions?” I doubted these people served many tephans, but food was their area of expertise, and we were on Arateph.

The waiter looked at Tanza for the first time. “I’ve heard that people of her...race...are rather fond of the amphibian.” He pointed to an entry on my appetizer list. “The frog legs are popular. And a specialty of the chef.”

I hadn’t eaten frog in years. But if I could choke it down for Roger’s political dinners, I could manage it to satisfy a petulant tephan child. “We’ll have that.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else?”

I didn’t want to give Tanza any more chances to upset the wait staff. “No. Just get us our food as soon as possible.”

As the waiter walked away with our menus, an afternoon crowd filled the dining room; within a few minutes, we went from being nearly alone to being surrounded by other diners. I could tell by the sideways glances that most of them noticed my tephan guest. And I could tell that Tanza noticed them. She sat silently at first, growing more and more tense as we all tried to ignore each other, but when a bald man at the next table stared at her for several long moments, she finally snapped.

“Can you stop it?” she barked at him. “You’re giving me the shivers.” The man, red-faced, studied his menu as if his life depended on it.

Tanza turned back to the table, muttering, “You humans look so creepy when you stare.”

I was too stunned to scold her. I’d never considered that the distaste for the other race’s looks went both ways. If she’d lived her life in a mostly-tephan neighborhood, a human face would look just as slightly wrong to her as a tephan face did to me. It sounds strange, but the idea that she found us ugly made me like her more. It certainly made her more relatable.

But I couldn’t have her making a spectacle. “Please, don’t bother the other diners.”

She seemed ready to protest, but I spoke before she could argue. “That woman in your book. You said she was the last queen of Arateph. What happened?”

Her eyes lit up, rude diners forgotten, as she flipped open the book. “Revolution. The People’s House took over and had her and the king executed.”

I shivered. “So violent. And so young to die.”

Tanza gave me a confused look, then glanced at the cover and understood. “Oh, that’s from her first years as queen. She was almost seventy when she died.”

I pictured the woman on the cover with hair turned gray, but the same dark, sad eyes, facing an angry mob as they led her to the scaffold or the firing squad or however these people killed their leaders. It was brutal, but humanity had often been equally brutal, so I couldn’t dismiss it as their backward alien culture.

Tanza flipped through the pages. “They say she was weak and self-absorbed, but this book gives her more depth.” She looked at a page near the cover. “Verai’s a good scholar. Uses lots of primary sources. Very readable.”

Now that her interest was unleashed, Tanza talked on and on, taking me through an alien history, the tale of a queen beset by tragedy upon tragedy as she helped her husband rule a crumbling planet and struggled to produce an heir. All the scholars at those Coalition events were nowhere near as enthralling as this alien child sharing her favorite book.

As fascinating as the story was, I was even more entranced by the pictures—dozens were embedded through the text. Tanza condescended to turn the book around so I could see. It was grandeur like I’d never seen, buildings in alien colors and shapes and patterns, but bringing to mind the grandest palaces in human history, from Versailles to the Forbidden City to the red spires of the North Martian Emperor's summer home. The people in the pictures wore elaborate, brightly-colored clothes, and feasted upon vast tables full of unfamiliar food—including blossoms from the potted trees next to the tables. No primitive civilization could have created such a culture. No wonder this alien urchin was enthralled, and no wonder she’d seized the chance to attend the closest modern equivalent to such feasts that she knew of.

The return of the stone-faced waiter snapped me back to reality. He planted himself next to the table, passing blank-faced judgement by how thoroughly he didn’t look at the book or the way we bent over it. Face burning, I sat back in my chair and felt ashamed to be caught hanging upon an alien’s story like a dim-witted child.

Tanza swept the book under the table and sat primly as the waiters placed the food in front of us. First a gold charger, then the crystal plates bearing the food—ten frog legs, crisply fried in butter and lemon, dotted with parsley and surrounded by a handful of greens.

Half a dozen nearby heads surreptitiously craned in our direction.

The waiters set a similar platter in front of me, and after I’d arranged my napkin on my lap, I thanked the waiter, picked up the silverware, and began to cut the meat.

Tanza watched me carefully as the waiters left. She picked up her silverware, examined it closely—did tephans even have silverware?—and tried to imitate me, but when she touched the food, the prim little professor became the feral street child again. She still used the silverware, but that was her only concession to decency as she gobbled her foot, downing the frog legs almost whole. The butter sauce ringed her mouth and splattered on her clothing. She made the most inhuman snorting noises as she swallowed.

Now everyone was staring—the red-faced man at the next table, his three dining companions, the ten people sitting at the other nearby tables, the waiters who'd halted on their way to the kitchen. People murmured to their companions. Diners flagged down waiters and asked discreetly if there was something that could be done.

My face burned in embarrassment, but I couldn’t stop the girl. With all these eyes watching me—watching me, Priscilla Overton, entertaining an animal at the finest restaurant in Roshen—I couldn’t even speak. I wanted to sink into the carpet. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to run from the restaurant, flee from this planet, and return to comfortable, civilized Earth. But mortification left me paralyzed. I just sat and did nothing as Tanza devoured her food and licked every last drop of sauce from the plate.

Finally, she dropped her plate back on the charger and leaned back with satisfaction. Her big tephan eyes were bright. “That was amazing.” She licked all eight of her fingers, so lost in the euphoria of her food that she was unaware of the horrified crowd surrounding us. She looked at my plate with confusion. “You’ve barely touched yours.”

I let my fork drop to the tablecloth. “I’m not very hungry.”

Her eyes brightened. “Can I have it?”

“No.”

She gave me a disapproving look. “You can’t waste food. At least try to eat it.”

After that display, I’d never be able to stomach another frog leg. “It doesn’t appeal to me.”

“Then I’ll eat it.” Before I could react, she leaned across the table, speared a frog leg with her fork, and was chewing it before she settled back in her chair.

I wanted to scream. I could have tried to correct her, but I had no idea where to begin, and by now, it was far too late.

The stone-faced waiter leaned over my shoulder. He was pale and his eyes were wide—apparently there were some things that could rattle him. “Madam, if you cannot eat your food here, we can send it home with you.”

He was offering me a doggy bag. The finest restaurant in the city, which usually recoiled in horror from such vulgar practices, was so desperate for me to leave that the staff were sending me home with leftovers. I was, in effect, being kicked out.

I didn’t even care. “Yes, thank you.”

In seconds, another waiter appeared, carrying a green box that had probably held some kind of produce in the kitchen, repurposed into this restaurant’s first take-home container. I sat in silence as they poured the frog legs into the container, then I handed them my credit stick, and when I examined the payment screen of their datapad, I added on a gratuity that cost twice as much as the food did. Perhaps with a tip like that, they’d let me show my face here again. At the moment, I doubted I’d ever want to.

I gathered my purse and stood. That creature gathered her ridiculous book and followed me, smiling, out of the dining room.  

When we reached the lobby, I thrust the box into the child's hands. “Take it. I don’t want it.”

The girl's eyebrows rose. “You don’t? Are you sure? It’s really good.”

“I think it appeals more to tephan tastes.”

She thanked me as though I’d given her all the jewels that the queen on her book was wearing, then tucked the box under one arm and the book under the other.

I put a hand behind her shoulders and pushed her out the door. When we emerged onto the sunlit sidewalk, all my frustration exploded.

“There!” I snapped, giving her one last push beyond the awning of the restaurant. “You’ve had your meal. Take your food and go!”

She stumbled forward, then stared at me in bewilderment. “What set you off?”

My laugh was tinged with hysteria. “What set me off? Maybe I’m just a little peeved at being disgraced in front of some of the richest people in the city by a tephan who gobbles her food like an animal.”

She stood with her mouth open, struck speechless. Those big green eyes showed surprisingly human-looking hurt. “Was it that bad? I know I’m not fancy, but...”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice all those people staring.”

The creature turned red. She stammered, “I thought it was because I’m tephan. You told me not to bother them.”

I couldn’t bear to have that creature looking up at me with those big, sad eyes. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Maybe in a few years they’ll let me dine there again.” I pushed her steadily but firmly away from the restaurant. “I have more than paid you in full. Thank you for saving my ring. Goodbye.”

Still looking baffled, the girl trudged away from the restaurant. I walked in the other direction.

My anger started fading the moment the child was out of my line of sight. Each step away from the restaurant felt like a step back into a normal world. There were humans around me. I could read the signs. I even knew how to find my way to the train station. I’d be back at the hotel within the hour and I could pretend that this whole horrible afternoon had been a bad dream.

Light footsteps skittered behind me. A green-clad tephan child with a book and a box appeared to my left.

I yelped and reeled back. “What are you—?”

Tanza fell into step beside me. “I’m really very sorry for embarrassing you. I need to make it up to you. Let me show you the way to the train station—”

My previous anger felt like a candle flame compared to the volcano that those words set off within me. “Leave me alone!” I towered over her in my fury. “I gave you your meal! I fulfilled the promise! Now leave!” I stormed away, but at the first sound of footsteps behind me, I whirled around. “I swear, if you take another step toward me, I will see you arrested!”

The child’s face hardened into the petulant mask that I recognized from my first sight of her from the gutter. “Sorry for helping.”

“Helping,” I mocked. “Your help comes at too high a price.” I gave a short, cynical laugh. “I see through your plan. You think you can trail after me demanding handouts all day. Well, I have had enough.” I secured my purse over my shoulder like I was holstering a weapon. “Get out of here!”

Face white and lips tight with anger, Tanza bowed her head and turned away. I strode away in triumph.

An old man looked at me sideways, shaking his head. I made it to the end of the block before the guilt hit me. The old man had reason to disapprove. Tanza had made an offer of help, and I’d responded by screaming at her in a public street. Perhaps she had felt remorse. As embarrassing as it had been to be seen with a girl who ate like an animal, how much worse would it feel to be the one who’d done it? I thought of those pictures in that book of hers. Would I have fared any better at a tephan feast?

I turned around. “Tanza, wait—“

“Hey, Tanza!”

The voice, coming from the other end of the block, was louder, harsher, and younger than mine. A crowd of boys stampeded down the sidewalk—all humans, about twelve years old, and led by a boy with slick black hair and gray and white clothes in the latest crisply-cut fashions. The children Tanza had noticed when we’d first arrived at the restaurant.

Tanza—standing near where I’d left her—tried to move away from them, but hesitated when she saw me standing at the other end of the block. In seconds, the boys had her surrounded.

The ringleader prodded her shoulder. “Escaped from your cage, Tanza? What are you doing among civilized people?”

His yellow-haired friend poked at the box of frog legs. “Looks like she’s looting houses.”

Tanza yanked the box away. “I’m not a thief!”

The ringleader tugged at the book under her other arm. “That’s a big book. Still playing at being smart, small-brain?”

Tanza pulled it back. “Don’t touch that!”

One boy pried up her arm while two others slid the book away from her. “Ooh, it’s a small-brain book!” the ringleader said in mock delight. He flipped through the pages with dirt-stained fingers. “It’s even written in their pretend letters.”

Tanza snarled, “Give that back!”

He slammed it shut and pulled it toward his chest. “Why? Scared it’s too complicated for me?”

“It’s mine!”

He looked at it thoughtfully. “Is it, though? I don’t think a charity case like you can afford a big book like this.”

“It’s mine!” she repeated, nearly shrieking now. “Teacher gave it to me!”

“Bet she stole it,” said a voice from the crowd. “She’s just a grubby little nameless charity house thief.”

Tanza, driven past the breaking point as the ringleader held the book just beyond her reach, shrieked in outrage and pounced. She tore at the book while the boys yanked it away from her. The individuals disappeared into a storm of arms and legs and paper. Five against one. I watched in terror for a few moments before thinking to call for help. I had my wristcomm. I could hit the emergency button….

It was over before I could lift my wrist. Tanza was sprawled across the sidewalk, surrounded by the shredded, dirty pages of her book. Her box had been torn open. Fleshy frog legs were scattered on the ground as though the animals had been thrown against the wall.

The boys, barely scuffed, loomed over her, mocking. They lifted the empty binding of the book like a trophy, cheering over it and slapping each other on the back. Then, satisfied with their destruction, they ran off the way they came, leaving their victim on the ground.

Numbly, I shuffled toward her, feeling lost in a different sort of nightmare--one where I was one of the monsters. Those boys had been waiting for her. If she’d had an ulterior motive for coming after me to apologize, she had been hoping for protection, not handouts. And I’d thrown her to the wolves.

Tanza pushed herself onto her knees and pulled the pages toward her, like a mother hen gathering up chicks. She looked more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her, eyes wide and glistening, her face slack with horror. Her emotionless mask was gone. She pressed an armload of shredded pages to her chest, curled into a fetal position, and cried.

Curled up like that, face and hands hidden, she didn’t look like a tephan. Not like the rude negotiator at the gutter. Not like the little professor or even the animal at the table. She was just a friendless little girl, surrounded by the wreckage of her most prized possession.

I thought of the last time I’d seen her lying in the street, arm threaded through a storm drain while she reached for my ring. The ring was in my pocket, safe and whole. How had I thanked her for her service? Tried to duck out of the promise, treated her like a savage, screamed at her in the streets, and left her at the mercy of bullies.

The ring I loved so much was one of dozens that I’d brought from Earth, and my day had been destroyed at the thought of losing it. This book was the only one she owned, and it was gone forever. I couldn’t imagine her distress.

How had I thought her the savage?  

My stomach twisted with loathing, and for the first time all day, it was directed toward myself. I could fool myself no longer; I’d done nothing to be proud of today.

But that could change.

Approaching Tanza with soft, careful steps, I crouched next to her. “Tanza?” I brushed a finger across her shoulder.

The girl recoiled from my touch and turned away. She came up on her feet, but stayed scrunched into a ball, protecting her pages and hiding her red eyes.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Her voice was thick with tears. “Go away.”

I grabbed one of the pages. “I can help—“

She whirled her head toward me and snapped, “I said go away!”

I stumbled back, and for a moment I was ready to do as she wanted. This was not my problem and she didn’t want my help.

Then my good sense returned, and I barked, “Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to leave a child in the street.” I started gathering pages. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

I looked around for help. The crowd had merely started taking a wider berth around us, but after a moment, I saw the green and silver flash of a Coalition policeman’s uniform—on a policeman with tephan hands.

I’d never thought I’d be glad to see that officer again. I waved toward him, shouting, “Officer! Please, can you help?”

My voice startled the officer, and his surprise turned to concern as he neared and saw the devastation. He crouched next to us and asked me, “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” I said. The twist in my stomach reminded me that those words weren’t the complete truth, so I amended, “I didn’t destroy the book. There was a group of boys...”

The officer had already turned his attention to Tanza, speaking low-toned words in their tephan language. When they finished, his demeanor toward me was less hostile but more disappointed.

“Now you want to help her?” he asked.

That now was an accusation that cut like a knife. I deserved it, but I met his gaze boldly. “Yes,” I said, daring him to deny me.

He spoke a few more words to Tanza, then told me, “Gather pages.”

He helped Tanza to her feet while I gathered what I could of the paper. Torn edges, smeared alien words, and pictures of long-dead royals who stared at me with accusing eyes. The queen providing food to the poor, shelter to the homeless, clothes to shivering orphans. She’d done all that and wound up executed; looking at Tanza and the tephan officer, I couldn’t help wondering how much worse they thought I deserved.

#

When I’d gathered all the pages I could into a crinkling, crunching mess, I followed in silence as the officer led us along the route we’d taken, every block seeming as long as a mile. When we reached the familiar yellow building where everything had started, I gave the pages to the officer, and he motioned for Tanza to go toward the stair of the building.

“Is there anything else I can do?” I asked Tanza, almost desperate.

Tanza just turned her head away.

“I think you’ve done enough,” the officer said. The words were soft, but I heard the condemnation in them.

I shouldered my purse more firmly, avoided Tanza’s eyes, then asked the officer, “Can you tell me where to find a train station?”

The officer pointed down the street in the opposite direction from where I’d originally approached the building. “The nearest one is just beyond the Killing Square.”

The words shocked me out of the numbness I’d been feeling. “The what?”

But the officer was already rattling off directions, and I was too busy memorizing the steps—left, then right, past the purple tower, turn two blocks after the bridge—to ask what exactly a Killing Square was. I didn’t think a uniformed police officer would purposely send me to my death, so I assumed something had been lost in the translation.

“Thank you, officer,” I said when he finished. Then I looked at the girl and added, “Thank you, Tanza.”

Tanza's green clothes—now scuffed from battle—hung loosely off her slumped shoulders. After a long moment, she raised her head and looked at me from beneath lowered lids. “Goodbye,” she said.

Her tone meant, “Good riddance.”

My pride flared at that. I thought I'd been rather compassionate--helping her gather the pages, hailing the officer, even trailing her all the way to her home to make sure that she arrived safely. Surely she could show a little gratitude.

But as I walked through the narrow, battered streets, it was my own rudeness that haunted me. Snatching the ring from her fingers as though afraid she'd contaminate it. Fleeing from her rather than fulfilling the promise. Leaving her to fight five against one when a moment's action on my part could have saved her. All day, I'd thought myself better than her because I was human, but my actions had been inhumane.

I tried to put it behind me. There was nothing else I could do. The book was gone, beyond repair. Tanza probably never wanted to see me again. It was best to move on and forget all about the tephan girl and the dark-eyed queen that so fascinated her.

Then I turned the corner and came face to face with Queen Marastel. A picture on the gray stone wall, larger than life, showed the woman whose face I’d seen a hundred times in Tanza’s book. I stopped in my tracks, mesmerized. The image was a photo, more or less, but not like any photo or holo-image I’d ever seen from human technology. The colors were more muted than reality, while a strange vibrant shimmer added depth to the image, so it looked as though I could walk inside the pictured scene with a little effort.

The queen’s hair had gone completely gray, her jewels were gone, and her vividly colored gowns had been replaced by a white fabric sheath. What I noticed most were her eyes—they were striking in most of the book photos, but here, her gaze knocked the breath from me. Surely no human gaze could show that much sorrow.

How was she here? Would this queen haunt me wherever I went on this planet, reminding me of my sins against the child?

I noticed a small plaque next to the picture, with a tiny Anglese translation at the bottom, which explained that the image showed Queen Marastel in front of this very building, moments before she was led to death in the center of the square. “Oh,” I said aloud, turning slowly to examine the streets and buildings around me as understanding struck. “The Killing Square.”

This was the center of the revolution that had ended this planet’s monarchy. It was a hauntingly bland neighborhood; no sign of the violent destruction that Tanza had told me of, not after more than eighty years’ worth of repairs.  But pictures and plaques decorated almost every building I saw, telling the story that time had erased. Seven brothers from Kepha stood scarred but proud before a jeering band of executioners. A red-haired older woman tried to cheer up three children as armed rebels escorted them all to prison. The king himself stood tall and white-haired, every line of his face showing his fierce love for his planet even as his people tried to kill him.

I could list examples all day, but I could never make you understand the feeling of being there, gazing at these people in the moments before their deaths. They were young and old, tall and short, had hair and skin in every imaginable shade. They came from regions I hadn’t known existed--desert wastes and mountain ranges and snow-covered tundras. These people had families they’d hated to lose, homes that were as familiar to them as the cottage by the Atlantic had once been to me. They’d made mistakes and suffered for it. They, too, had regrets.

Fear, anger, hatred, love, bravery, cowardice--every possible human emotion filled those alien faces, and it didn’t take long for me to stop seeing them as alien at all. They were people, who’d lived on this planet just as I did, who had loved it the way I’d loved Earth.

I’d never even wanted to know about this world before, but now I was desperate to understand every story these pictures presented. Without Tanza’s book providing context, would I even have paused to look at these pictures? Would I have cared about these people? I doubted I would have. Tanza's childish enthusiasm for a book had upended my world--as I’d upended hers.

With that thought, I found myself back before the picture of the queen. Her sorrowful eyes pinned me in place. It seemed, to my overworked imagination, that she was disappointed in me.

I glared at her. “What else do you want me to do?” I demanded. “What’s done is done. I can’t fix it. I don’t even know what book it was.”

In that hall of death, it seemed a pitiful excuse.

I tore my eyes away from the picture, and my gaze landed upon a door I’d wandered past in my history-induced daze. It was brown and wide, with a sign above proclaiming it the entrance to the Museum of the Alogath Execution Center. I wandered toward it, then froze in my tracks only a few steps away. Next to the entrance was a window—and through the window, I saw books.

This was a museum! Museums—even tephan ones—had gift shops! If there was one place in this world that sold books about Queen Marastel, it was likely the museum that displayed her face on a public street.

I raced into the building, almost giddy, and found the shop just beyond the main entrance. The tiny nook held pamphlets and trinkets, and at the front of the room, a big, silver BookVend machine printed and bound volumes with lightning speed.

I raced through the door. The tephan woman behind the counter dropped her book in surprise as I leaned, panting, against her counter.

The woman asked in smooth Anglese, “Can I help you?”

I stood up and tried to look less like a maniac. “Yes,” I said, in my best politician’s-wife voice. “I need you to help me find a book.”  

#

The door to the charity home loomed large in front of me. I hesitated with my hand before the door. Was I doing something stupid? The freshly-printed book under my arm might not change the fact that the child would want nothing to do with me.

This wasn't about me. I had to try.

My knock was answered by a pale, knobby tephan woman with wisps of blond hair hanging around her face. She stared when she saw my face and clothes. “Madam?”

“Excuse me," I asked, "but does a girl named Tanza live here?”

The woman's eyes glazed over as she struggled to translate my Anglese.

I tried again, speaking more slowly. “Is Tanza here?”

“Tanza…” She trailed off in confusion before her eyes lit with understanding. “Oh!” Gently, she corrected, “It’s pronounced Tanza.”

It sounded exactly the same to me. I was starting to believe those people who said tephans could speak and hear sounds that humans couldn't.

The woman called into the building, and after a storm of voices and footsteps, a slight tephan girl in green clothes came to the door, her curls making a curtain over her still-puffy eyes.

Tanza scowled when she saw me. “What do you want?”

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I wanted to apologize,” I said. “For what happened. How I treated you. You saved my ring and I treated you like an animal. That was wrong.”

Tanza crossed her arms. “Glad you noticed.”

This child kept finding ways to irritate me, but I swallowed my words before I snapped back in response.

I pulled a book from under my arm. “I know this doesn’t erase what you went through, but I wanted to undo some of the harm that I’ve done today.” I handed her the book, which had the same cover as the book she’d brought to the restaurant. “This is for you.”

Warily, Tanza examined the queen on the cover. “It looks the same.” She flipped through the pages, and her eyes brightened. “It is the same!”

“I printed a new copy. There’s a BookVend down the street. You rescued my ring; it was only fair that I replace your book.”

"Yes, but I didn't think..." She examined the book in amazement before turning that astonished gaze upon me. "This is really mine? To keep?"

“Yes, of course,” I said.

Tanza clutched the book to her chest and smiled at me, positively radiant. That smile transformed her from a feral orphan into a polite little princess.

I couldn’t keep from smiling back.

“Thank you,” Tanza said. Then she saw the other book under my arm. “What’s that one?” she asked, as though hoping it was for her and not daring to ask.

I pulled it out and showed her the cover. It showed the same image of the queen, but this time above an Anglese title—The Queen of Sorrow. “The Anglese edition,” I explained. “This one’s for me.”

If I’d thought she was happy before, it was nothing compared to her radiance now. “You’re going to read it?”

I shrugged. "I couldn't resist. You made it sound so interesting."

She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Wait until you get to Chapter Five. That’s when she first meets the king, and you would not believe the uproar it causes."

She set down her book, grabbed mine, and started flipping through the pages, desperate to show me the start of the story.

From down the hall, an adult voice barked, “Tanza! Don’t bother the woman. I’m sure she’s busy.”

Embarrassed, Tanza closed the book. She pushed it back into my hands. “Sorry. I don’t get to talk about it much.”

“I don’t mind. You’re an excellent instructor.”

Her eyes brightened with hesitant hope. “I could show you more. If you want.”

“I’d be grateful.”

Tanza called over her shoulder. “Garsa! Can I have a visitor in the study room?”

The tephan woman appeared in the entryway. She blinked, taken aback. “As long as she leaves before supper."

Tanza looked up at me. “Do you want to stay?”

No tephan had ever asked me that question before. In all my time here, I’d been an outsider. An invader. I’d never had the desire to be anything more. But those words, coming from Tanza, felt like a welcome.  

I was glad to receive it.

I put a hand on Tanza’s shoulder and smiled. “I’d love to.”

[savagenutella46]

Who I’d Be - 2 of 2

Part 1 <- did I do that right? Sorry in advance.

Inspired by m3owww’s statue of ice

"She can't know, Timmy." Marinette whispers, wincing at the tight grip Tim has on her elegant green-silk dress, clutching it so hard wrinkles begin to form. Janet will have her head for those later.

They're standing in the corner, shouldered off from the rest of the Gala by a lone velvet curtain covering the long window sitting beside them, while Tim grasps onto her dress and pleads.

"Why not? She'd love to come! She'd be so proud of you." Marinette winced again, the wholly untruth of those words invisible to her twelve-year old brother, who's eyes are so innocent and excited. She looks down at him with a brief smile, and gently extracts her dress from his hold.

"Timothy." A pointed look, to show she is done with arguing with him about the conversation. "I assure you, Janet will not know of the exhibit prior to your mouth, so you will do your best to shut it." Formal language with Tim will always turn the sparkle off in his eye, the excited glint disappearing, and as much as it brings a hammering wallow to her heart, she swallows the regret harshly down her throat.

"Look, Tim. She's never been a fan of my photography. She would rather go to your parent-teacher conference." She plasters on a fake smile as she says the words, and they practically grind against her teeth as they fall out of her mouth.

He's been begging her to tell their mother about the photography exhibit for days on end now, and she can't give in now. He doesn't know about what happened to her old camera, and he never will. It was in pieces by the end of dinner, that day.

Tim sags his shoulders and sighs, putting on an unimpressed look at the mention of parent-teacher conferences. "Whatever." He turns around and reenters the ongoing Gala without another word.

Marinette swallows her plea for him to come back, please, and sighs. She looks down at the wrinkles in her—

—satin dress, and Janet, an almost unnoticeable twitch of her jaw, displays her disdain for the tiny creases at her hip. Marinette breathes a sigh of relief and feels a drop of sweat roll down the side of her neck when Janet turns back to the fellow business partner she had been conversing with before Marinette caught her attention by walking back into the room.

"Are you okay?" She flinches at the unexpected hand on her shoulder—jumps a little too noticeably to just be nerves, settling once she notes the hand is smaller than Jack's.

Marinette turns around, and suddenly, her vision is spilled over with a bright worried blue peering into her own eyes, searching for anything and everything, leaving her bare, almost as if they were stripping the secrets from her very own soul.

She must've looked surprised, because the voice quickly started to speak again, soothing her downtrodden nerves with a surprisingly gentle voice. "Sorry, you looked backed up for a moment there." Marinette clears her throat and spares a quick—panicked—glance back at Janet's back before settling back on the boy, who's followed her gaze with an almost imperceptible furrow in his eyebrow.

"It's fine, did you need something?" The boy's lips quirk up for a second before flickering his gaze down to her midsection and up again.

"Your hands are bleeding." Marinette's eyebrows shoot up, tearing away her eyes from the boy to take a glance at her clenched hands, where her nails have penetrated the skin and blood was oozing out.

"Oh," She breathes, and unclenches the fingers from their grip to reveal crescent-shaped welts in the heel of her palms. The boy takes a warm and surprisingly gentle hand to each of hers and begins to tug her along the floor, almost bumping into several ladies with long, expensive dresses who each took a turn to glare at her once they saw who was dragging her.

Huh, they must not be a fan of this guy.

"So, what's your name?" She turns her gaze back to him, and he's already peering at her with a slight turn of his head and a tiny grin. She never knew such a small upturn of lips could convey so much emotion, so much gentleness, but she finds herself not wanting to tear her eyes away from it.

"Oh, Uh—Marinette, Marinette Drake."

"Jason Todd." She swallows harshly as she realizes just who he is.

"You—"

"Yeah. Not really a big deal." He turns his head back to watch where he's going, and she finds herself going cold under the loss of Jason's gaze. Marinette mentally scolds herself and lets him pull her into a secluded room away from the Gala, momentarily breaking away to grab a first-aid kit from a fancy wooden cabinet.

Jason rummages through the white kit, "That woman, she's your mom?" She can almost decipher an undertone of scorn from his voice. Marinette coughs and looks away, a prickly feeling rattling its way up her arms and fingers at the slightly mention of her mother.

"Yes." The painting on the beige walls looks very interesting right now as she feels the weight of his piercing stare on her shoulders.

"Figured. She was lookin' at you real weird. Like she wanted to shoot an arrow in between your eyeballs." Marinette's head snaps back to Jason, and he has a skeptical look on his face, like he thinks...

No. He's wrong.

Whatever he's thinking, it's wrong.

—But, still, it hurts to wonder.

"You know, I've heard about Jack and Janet Drake, but I've never heard of you. Just Tim, that's his name, right?" She nods, turning her gaze back to the small wrinkles in her once magnificent green dress.

"I tend to keep out of the limelight. Less people to judge me." She hears a huff of laughter from right in front of her, and looks back up to see Jason kneeling before her hands, gently taking both of them in his warm hands, wiping away the blood with a cotton ball.

"I understand that. Still weird though, never would've guessed you even existed if I hadn't seen you right in front of me." The atmosphere around them was slowly starting to get uncomfortable, and Marinette feels as if a frog jumped in her throat and planted itself at the base of her lungs, scratching and strangling her.

"W-weird." She'd never been one for receiving public praise or glory. Never had her parents talk about her with a twinkle in their eye and a found sense of pride in their voice and posture, as if she were the best thing in their lives. No, instead they confined Marinette to her bedroom to waste away.

(What they didn't know, there was a rope she would swing down from her vast window, escaping through the abundant gardens to escape to the library.)

Jason hums in agreement, but not without a disbelieving glance in her direction. Not like she was looking anyway, feeling a nervous sweat start to form on the back of her neck as she stated hard at his hands, who are making their way back down to his own lap.

"All good." She wishes it could be that easy. To slap a bandaid on all the things that made her worthless, and finish the whole ordeal off with an “all good”.

But, no. This is not an “ordeal”. This is her livelihood, her existence. She is—

Who is she?

She’s putting up her photography on her appointed wall space. Snapshots of Gotham at her finest, smog floating through the air, the dim glow of lights as they spill onto the leaf-littered streets. The assault of dirty rain, like cold, hard truth spilling onto the leaves of sweet lies she almost surrounds herself with.

Because she defines herself with photography. She defines herself into computers, hacking the Pentagon at least twice a week.

But, photography without her, it stays the same. Marinette without a passion, she dies and wilts away under the scornful glare of her mother. She is hated, worthless, disgusting, mortifying to mention, as if the utter of her name will bring disgrace upon the Drakes.

Marinette is wearing her finest dress. Leaf-like structures sewn into the bodice, streaking their way down her waist and puffing out to follow the soft ivory dress.

“Woah.” Marinette could’ve sworn, even as someone stands very obviously behind her, looking over her shoulder, that she did not tell a soul about this exhibit.

—Except Barbara Gordon. Marinette turns around, and Barbara appears to be ethereal before her own eyes, ginger hair curled and spilling like a waterfall down her back. A deep mahogany dress fits around her, as if it’s made solely  for the capable woman.

“Babs, you made it.” (Because, Barbara would kill her if she called her anything different.)

Barbara smiles beautifully at Marinette and slaps the boy next to her on the back—the one her uttered such a defining, yet normal word under her work. (Woah—she never thought her work was capable of such a word.)

It’s Jason Todd standing next to Barbara, looking quite fancy himself and staring at her with an awe she’s never seen on anyone before. Marinette smiles at him with familiarity, eyebrows slightly furrowing when he tears his gaze away, suddenly, and a red tint blooms across his cheekbones.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t, besides, this is worth it.” Barbara pulls her gaze back with a warm voice. She continues, “Where’s your parents?” She turns her head and scans over the crowd, before returning back to Marinette with a questioning look. Suddenly, Jason’s eyes are back on her as well.

She fiddles with her thumbs, taken aback by such a question. “Um, uh, they’re—“ Sitting at home, arguing with each other. (They’d decided to skip Tim’s parent teacher conference, for the boy was top of his class, what more did they need to know?) “They’re—they couldn’t make it.”  She coughs, ignoring the apologetic eyes before her.

“So! What do you think?” She smiles, quickly changing the subject, and even though their gazes remain the same for a second, they quickly agree with her non-verbal plea to change the subject.

“It’s great—“

“Wonderful. How do you get your shots so high up? You’d need to be awfully skilled to do that. The amount of dark to light shots of Gotham contrasts perfectly with each other, really shows the side we don’t see.” Jason listed, keeping his eyes on the photos the entire time.

Marinette opens her mouth, gaping at Jason. She’s sure Barbara is doing the same without looking at the older, judging on the cricket-inducing silence coming from Marinette’s left.

Jason seemingly snaps back to reality, shutting his mouth audibly and clearing his throat. “Sorry, you just...” And Marinette finds it in herself to talk once again.

“Thank you, that...really means a lot to me.” Jason looks back at her, and she smiles widely at him, a real, genuine smile she’s sure she’s never produced in her fifteen years.

Jason smiles back with the same intensity and continues to rattle off compliments, ones she knows is coming from his heart, because there’s a heavy blush on his face the entire time.

Maybe she’s found her passion. Maybe this is who she is, because, standing under the bright museum lights, standing next to two unexpected—but welcome— friends who acknowledge her worth, she’s found herself.

She’s Marinette. Just Marinette.

This is who she is. She is something. She is everything she’s ever wanted to be.

Taglist: @jjmjjktth @moonlightstar64 @laurcad123

[thesweetestkimberry]

(icy) hot chocolate

pairings: shoto todoroki x reader

summary: not only are you homesick, but you’ve also harbored feelings for the icy hot student in your class.

warnings: might be a curse?, ooc, doesn’t make sense, mentons of selena and chocolate de la abuelita 🤷🏽‍♀️

notes: pls have mercy, it was like,, 2 am, this one hops around and i might take it down,, but enjoy anyway !

『° 。✰˚⋆☾⋆。✰°』

after you’d finished your homework, or what you wanted to finish, you were left feeling a bit disheartened. your family sent you to this school in hopes of you being able to master and better your quirk, even going so far as to give you the opportunity to become a world renowned hero.

so after saying your goodbyes to your friends and family, you were on your way to japan.

the transition was slightly difficult, especially considering the amount of culture shock. the manners and daily life was so different from what you were used to, however it was helpful to have a few staff and students speak english to aid you.

Aizawa knew a bit of english, mostly due to being friends with present mic. all might spoke english as well, along with some students who were able to hold conversations with you in said language. momo and todoroki were the ones you mostly conversed with, momo was nice enough to help you in classes and in anything you had difficulty understanding.

you only knew shoto spoke english when he asked you a question one day during lunch. a non important one, but it sounded fluent enough, only responding with how his father put him and his siblings through private education during their younger years. apparently that’s where he began to learn the language.

you’d gotten along with the class pretty well, your personality allowing for a little bit of everyone to want to befriend you. despite all that, something drew you to the dual quirk user. was it his looks? his quiet nature? maybe his obliviousness that you sometimes found endearing.

it wasn’t long before the girls were able to tell that you’d been less than sneakily about eyeing him.

“you like him!” mina shouted one day at lunch, your hand slapping over her mouth to quiet her, the outburst earning a few confused glances from your other classmates.

“ooo (y/n)’s got a crush?” kaminari teasingly asks, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close, “let go of her dipshit!” sero scolds, reaching over to yank his friends arm off you. you send him a grateful look, only to have it turn into one of disgust.

“did you just lick my hand!?” you shout, furiously wiping it on mina’s uniform, watching her laugh.

“but seriously (y/n), you can’t hide it from me!” she said in a sing-song voice, poking a finger at your chin and using it to turn your head to where todoroki was sitting, next to iida and midoriya.

“no way! you have a thing for todoroki?” denki announced, you and sero smacking him to shut him up.

your breath hitched when you turned to check if shoto had heard you, only to see his mismatched colored eyes staring right back at you.

you squeaked and ducked your head, covering your face with your arms, suddenly wishing someone’s quirk could just make you disappear.

with a few muttered apologies from denki, lunch had ended, and back to class you all went. you hoped and prayed you didn’t have to interact with shoto anytime soon.

as if the ancient deities of the past answered your prayers, you didn’t have to be in close quarters with him until classes ended, meaning you’d all be going back to the dorms.

forgoing dinner, you sat in your room, embarrassed.

“oh god, i bet he thinks i’m fucking weird.” you groan, flopping down onto your bed you palm your eyes. the sensation causing bursts of light to seemingly appear behind your closed lids. adding onto your embarrassment, you’d become upset, resulting in wondering about how things could be different back home.

of course this trivial little mishap didn’t deter you from wanting to attend UA, but it did make you wish you had advice from your friends and family back home. finding yourself missing them, you checked the time, realize it’s midnight. way past curfew.

you also realize that you’re craving something sweet. walking over to your little pantry, you pulled out a familiar pack of hot chocolate.

making your way quietly and carefully out your room, you hopped into the elevator and made your way down.

unbeknownst to you, someone had crept out of their room and pressed the button for the elevator, bringing it back up as you exited, walking to the kitchen.

you hummed to yourself, a familiar tune of a cumbia by a famous singer from your parents’ time.

pointing yourself some milk in a pot, you unwrapped the brick of a chocolate, savoring the smell. you broke the chocolate along it’s grooves, about to add in enough for you, only for a cough to draw your attention.

your head shot up at the sound, your voice caught in your throat at the boy who stared back at you

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to disturb you.” he says slowly walking up to where you were, “todoroki!” you exclaim in surprise.

“what are you doing up? i didn’t wake you up did it?” you ask him, worried you had disturbed his rest with your noise.

“don’t be silly. i already happened to be awake, i also heard you humming, what was it?” he asks, finally making his way next to you, so close that your shoulders were almost brushing, “oh! it’s called dreaming of you.” you inform him, dropping in the chinch of chocolate into the now warm milks

“want some?” you ask, gesturing to the pot you were stirring. “what is it?” he questions, leaning down and catching a whiff of the mixture, “it’s hot chocolate.” you respond.

“hot chocolate? it’s a beverage correct?” he asks, the question making you look up in surprise.

“yeah, it is. but why do you say it like you’ve never tried it.” you joke, waiting for a laugh or smile, only to receive a blank look.

“oh my god! you’re trying some.” you say definitely, watching his brows shoot up, “are you sure? i wouldn’t want to be a bother.” he says with a pink tint to his cheeks that you don’t seem to notice,

“just give me a few minutes and it’ll be ready.” you say adding in an extra chunk of chocolate for shoto, mixing it in and watching the milk turn a darker shade of brown.

“my grandmother used to make this for me all the time,” you share, watching how he stared at you intently, “she even used to add cinnamon.” you continue, making sure the chocolate has melted completely before turning off the stove.

before you could move, shoto beat you to the cabinet where he retrieved two mugs, yours and his.

shortly after moving into the dorms, the whole class had gone out to the mall in search of things that would make the dorms more homey, and to avoid any confusion, you all decided to get individual mugs.

yours was shaped like a frog, whereas shoto’s was a red and white striped mug, for obvious reasons.

serving the hot drink, you carefully handed shoto his. as he took the mug, your fingers brushed gently against one another, the feeling shooting a warm feeling throughout both your bodies.

the two of you quickly part, blushing and turning away from one another.

“careful, it’s hot.” you warn, although feeling stupid because of his quirk, “i can cool it down.” he says simply, placing the mug in his right hand.

“i... i overheard denki say something during lunch.” he said after a brief pause, your body freezing and nearly dropping the mug in your hands. quickly setting it down, you bowed your head, afraid to meet his eyes.

“i’m sorry about that, you must think i’m weird.” you apologize, still not meeting his gaze, unaware of how soft it fell on you.

“no not at all.” came his response, his answer shocking you. “in fact,” he says, setting down his mug, “i’m glad you feel the same way.”

his words made you nearly jump out in joy, your heart screaming and face flushing.

“feel the same way?..” you ask, slightly disbelieving his words, “yes, about having feelings for you. i have for quite a bit now.” he admits, a pink blush looking beautiful on his skin.

“todoroki i,” “shoto, please.” he cuts you off, “shoto... i-i feel the same way, although you already knew that.” you groan, a blush taking over your features as well.

“would it be alright of me to ask if you’d like to join me for an evening out?” he says shyly looking at you, his eyes darting between you and your mugs on the counter.

“are you asking me on a date?” you confirm, watching as he nods before standing straight and looking into your eyes, “yes.” was all he could say, a faint flame lighting up in his hair and on his shoulder.

“of course,” you answer, watching his face light up, his eyes showing how truly happy he was, even is his mouth only showed the hint of a smile.

“but you have to try the hot chocolate or else i’m not going.” you tease, watching him scramble to retrieve his mug, “calm down,” you giggle, “i’m only joking.”

he stares at you, a faint smile still on his lips, “well, here’s to us.” he toasts quietly, tapping your mug with his before raising it to his lips, taking a sip.

you gouged for his reactions smiling wide into your mug when you saw his eyes widen, “this is delicious.” he says looking at you, holding the drink close to his chest, “i’m glad you enjoy it, it’s mostly a comfort drink for me.” you say taking a few sips of your own.

“thank you for allowing me to share this drink with you.” he says gently nudging your shoulder with his, the action surprising you.

“thank you for reciprocating my feelings.” you say, daring to rest your head against his shoulder, considering he was slightly taller than you were.

“how could i not? you’re everything.”

[cherripeach]

Chapter 10

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:5 i’m jared 19 and i never learned how to read

Warnings: Curse words, implied sex jokes

Words: 3.4k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

You three made it to homeroom right before the final bell rang, meaning none of you were late which was boring in your opinion. Being fashionably late especially on the first day just shows character. 

The classroom was full of caldrons like from Harry Potter but also full of lab coats like a science lab. There were also just shelves with glass covering them full of plants that you have never seen before and ones you hoped to never touch because you are 100.69% sure they can kill you. Then, there were just shelves of bottles of potions like in the movies which you also did not want to touch not for fear of death but because they could turn you into a frog or something which sounded kinda cool now that you thought about it. Still, you were not going to do it.

Your teacher, however: a hottie. He obviously knows about style and fashion if his dual colored hair and his fur coat are anything to go by. He also had a perfectly shaped face with sharp eyes that you just couldn’t look away from. The whip in his hand told you enough about his life outside of school, and the collar at the end of it also told you enough. This man was def not someone to disrespect, and ngl he could yell at you. That’s for another time; you just hoped you could stare at the man for the entire class. 

Once you and your three friends put the lab coats and goggles on and went to your seats (you assumed because Ace and Deuce dragged you there), the gorgeous man started to lecture, “I see you’re the fresh new faces who will be joining my class today.” He walked around the classroom and gazed at everyone’s figure. “Hm~ What an unusual hair color. Not bad at all, I say. Be careful not to take too long to finish, understood?” He made it to your group of seats near the back and stopped, “My name is Divus Crewel.” His gaze was caught on you for a couple of seconds until he returned to walking around the classroom, “You shall refer to me as Master Crewel, if you please.” He had the most miniscule smirk when he turned back to meet your eyes. 

You turned to Ace with your wide eyes and muttered, “Please tell me he gets you hot and bothered too.” 

Ace just glared and spat back at you, “Only you are dealing with those feelings.” 

Master Crewel clapped his hands twice, “Come, settle down. It’s time for class to begin. First off, a few disclaimers.” 

The entire class ceased the side conversations, and you even placed the weight of your chin on your hands with your elbows on the desk so you could balance your newfound crush for him.

The magnificent man just lightly placed the edge of the whip on his desk, “I shall have your tiny brains remember hundreds of names of medicinal herbs and poisonous plants. And mushrooms are a whole different topic. I’ll have you remember them so that you don’t accidentally poison yourself if you eat some when you go for a walk. Dogs love to eat anything they see, after all.I don’t want to see anyone getting a failing mark during the exam, so I shall be as strict as I can.”

You don’t even remember what he was saying, but you just nodded the entire time. This was a class you knew you were going to stay awake in. Your eyes were still stuck on his figure, and you knew just from looking at him that you may not have a failing grade because you bet you were going to ask for help. 

Your three idiots were seemingly having a conversation next to you while your brain was stuck in your fantasies of after school tutoring. 

Your mind was stuck in your fantasy until the end of class when someone had to use his textbook to smack the back of your head, “Ouch!” You spun around only to find Grim and Ace behind you with a textbook in Ace’s hand. 

 Grim snickered out behind you, “You deserved that, Prefect. Even I, the Great Grim, was paying more attention in this boring class.” By the end of the sentence he sighed all of it out. 

“Come on. Let’s not be late.” Deuce grabbed his stuff and motioned to your group to leave. 

You lightly and neatly put up your lab coat and goggles because male Cruella De Vil was still situated at the front of the class, and you had to look good in front of him. 

“Have a great day!” You gushed out while frantically waving at the man to give him a proper farewell. 

Ace slapped your hand down once you exited the room, “Can you please stop? It’s getting real disgusting.” 

You blew a raspberry at him while the four of you were on your way to your next class, “Oh, shut up and let me be a simp.”

“A what? You know what I’m ignoring you.” Ace shook his head and sighed at your comments. 

The conversation stopped after that when you began to make your way up stairs to get to your next class. You had to go up two flights of stairs which ended with you leaning along a wall, red-faces, and out of breath by the middle of it. 

“Hurry up, supervisor,” Deuce advised. 

You hissed, “Shut up.”

The three of you arrived at your next class which Decue said was “something-something history.” And you were actually kind of excited because you have no clue what has happened in this world, and it is gonna be so different with magic and everything.  

You three took seats near the middle of class, so all of you could still concentrate but still talk some. This class room was structured much more like a lecture hall than the past one with a chalk board at the front behind a teacher desk and desks being on different platforms going up, and so your group had to go up a couple of stairs to get to where you claimed were your seats. 

The class all took their seats and shut their mouths once an older man without a uniform came into the classroom carrying a cat. 

The cat had your full attention for this class because you now have the human desire to pet and love the cat as one should. 

Once the professor sat down with the cat on his lap, he introduced himself, “I am Trein, the professor in charge of Magical History. And this is my familiar, Lucius. I shall have you learn the history behind the magic that you are using now.”

Lucis, the cute little black cat who had a hint of white on his front right under his head, confirmed Professor Trein’s previous statements with a “Meow.”

It took a couple of seconds for you to process the Professor’s words, but once you did you turned to Deuce who was located to the left of you and blurted out, “Wait, is Lucius a real cat? What's a familiar? Can I not pet him? OMG, what if he can understand what I’m saying. That cannot be it-”

Professor Trein cut you off midway with another Lecture (Deuce was just gazing at you with disappointment in his eyes), “I do not only grade by your reports, but also by how you behave in my classroom. I will not tolerate sleeping in class. Now then, please turn to page 5 of your textbooks. This is related to the magic stone that was discovered inside the Dwarf Mines.”

You were taken aback by everything, but you also realized that you did not have a text book. You didn’t even have a book bag or pens, so you turned to Deuce to only flutter your lashes and pout at him until he shared his textbook with you and gave you lose leaf and a pen. 

Lucis decided to bring his voice into the conversation, “Meow.”

“The discovery of this jewel led to magical energy being able to spread worldwide. It could also be considered as the 1st year magic was made possible.” Professor Trein continued his lecture, and you were actually actively taking notes because this was like some wack anime and you had to know the full plot line.

“Meow.”

Ace yawned into his hand when you gazed at him. 

And Deuce was taking notes but his eyes were also beginning to close, “Oh…! The Dwarf Mines, huh… Oh…! Magical energy, huh…” You had to kick him to keep him awake.

Grim rested his head on the desk, “Ugh… I want a more explosive and flashier magic class!”

You could only sigh at the three idiots not paying attention while your pen kept on writing. 

By the end of the class and the lecture was over, all three of the spots next to you were occupied with asleep idiots. You put your stuff into your pockets and got up to nug Grim on his shoulder for him to wake up. His head slowly lifted up with his eyes still closed, so you decided to just carry him to the next class. He was in your arms by the time you got everything together and moved onto the other two idiots asleep. 

You kicked Deuce in the calf who jumped up immediately and rushed to get everything together, and then moved onto Ace to pull his hair. Ace stayed still until you found a certain spot of hair closest to his neck and pinched it and tugged on it. That had him reaching for your hand to stop your actions and had him awake and ready to move. 

“Get up, class already ended.” You let go of his hair to move to the walkway of the classroom. 

Ace shook his head to wake himself further up, “Okay.. but why did you have to pinch me so hard?”

“Were you gonna wake up by yourself?”

“No.”

“I think you see my thought process, then.” You shrugged your shoulders while the two remaining boys got their things together. After that all three of you were off to your next class, causing you to walk down stairs and through hallways until the three of you made it to a field outside.

The boys made you drop off your stuff, which wasn’t much anyway, and Grim in order to go and change into a P.E. uniform. Apparently, in the locker room, there were some extra uniforms for you to change into. 

The locker room stunk of mold and fungus from somewhere in the corners of the room, but Deuce led you to a bin of uniforms. He just pulled the first one from the pile and gave it to you. It was a bright green shirt with a dragon or lizard on it. Then, he gave you a black jacket with yellow stripes on the sleeves and a pair of pants with a faded royal purple stripes on parts of the pants. Seems were also ripped out of certain parts of the uniform with most of the colors being lightly faded. Looking at the uniform as a whole, it was definitely going to be too large on you. 

You thanked Deuce while he was walking away to the right side of the locker room, and then, you got moving. You observed the locker room to see if there were any bathrooms and to your luck, toward the back there was another door which led into the bathroom. You entered the next room to find no line and no one in the last stall. On your way to the stall, you passed up a bulky male with silver-white animal ears on his head in a yellow uniform who was washing his hands. You set foot in the final stall to only find the toilet flooded and writings all over the wall, causing you to let out a sigh and shut and lock the door just happy you did not have to use the restroom. 

Once dressed, you took your cloak and other clothes and walked out of the stall to wash your hands. Looking in the mirror was not on your to-do list, so you kept your eyes stuck on the faucet and your hands because the headache from the rat’s nest on your head and the slight pain from parts of your face gave you all the information you needed. You left the restrooms and found a deserted area where many lockers were empty. You threw your clothes in one of the middle lockers, closed it, and took account of the number of the locker. 

You left the locker room to see that you were one of the final people to get dressed and get out of the locker room. Grim, Ace, and Deuce were seated on the ground near the back of the group, and you made your way to them with many different eyes on you. 

The hulking man blew his whistle to get everyone in the class and started a speech, “I’m Vargas and I’m in charge of watching over your physical education.Excellent magic starts with excellent bodies! Behold…! These muscles that I train every day! A magician with no stamina is unspeakable! First, do 20 laps around the field! And then, 100 sit-ups!” He blew the whistle again and threw his pointer finger out the motion for you all to start your laps.

The three of you jumped up from your spot on the ground and slowly walked over to the track. 

Ace grimaced at the teacher, “Eh… I don’t hate exercise, but I can’t handle teachers like him.”

“I have confidence in my physical abilities,” Deuce had his hands on his hips and was twisting his torso around to stretch it. 

Grim shook his head, “What's so fun about running around? I’m not a hamster, yanno?”

You just sighed and joined the group of students starting to run. Ace, Deuce, Grim, and you slowly joined the middle of the group in a jog around the field. 

You were left pondering for a second about everything and anything and your mind went straight to how you could get out of the stuffy cloak because even if you did look like an adventurer you could not stand to wear it in the heat all the time. So you started up a conversation:

“Yo, Deuce,” You bumped arms with him, making Deuce’s eyes slowly drifted to your figure, “Do you know where I could get a school uniform? Is there like a store or something nearby?” 

Deuce contemplated your question for a couple of seconds until he snapped his fingers, “There is a shop on campus that has everything. We could stop there after school today.” 

“Well, that’s one thing covered,” Your feet were still in a constant jog, but they started to cramp in some areas, “I hope they have a clearance section.” 

The rest of PE was much more strenuous than you expected. This teacher thought that all of you were Olympic Athletes with all the work he is making you do, but looking at some of the students here (the green shirt-green haired fellow who is racing down the track whenever possible and the furry male who you saw in the bathroom earlier). Everyone was doing better than you. Even Grim. 

However, the exercises were soon over and you were all allowed to go back to the locker rooms and change. You were for now stuck lying on the ground wheezing from the physical activities you just completed in the past hour. Ace and Deuce went back to get changed and Grim is asleep on the grass behind you. 

“You okay?” A male’s voice could be heard from somewhere above you, but you were too drained to even move your eyes to see who it was. 

You groaned, “Don’t mind me. I’m just slowly decaying.” 

The male was speechless for a second and did not respond until your eyes fluttered open the slightest bit, “Do you want water? Or the nurse?” 

“No, oh gracious savior, but I’d rather you leave me here to be eaten by the birds.” You shut your eyes, listening to Grim groan besides you.

“Um...okay. Please get better,” The male’s footsteps could be heard walking away. 

You stayed there for about another hour in your head just trying to breathe in and out and maybe even fall asleep until a kick was landed on your side. 

“Get up, you lazy ass.” Ace was blessing you with his presence and his torment.

You hurled your body forward and up to grip Ace’s foot which was making its way to your side again, “Don’t you have a sense of common courtesy to not kick someone when they are dying?” 

“You aren’t dying, but you are wasting our break time.” Ace groaned and pulled his foot out of your grip, “So go get dressed.”

Rolling your eyes, you gathered yourself and stood up to make your way back to the changing rooms. You left Grim to be with Ace, so you hoped those two would not cause problems. The rest was a lack of oxygen and lack of water blur until you found your three idiots out in the hallway and began your track to your next class. You decided to take your time a little because you had a ten minute break before the next class. 

Deuce was looking around the hallways for the next class, “Let’s see, the next class is..”

Ace was pouting next to you, “For a magic school, it doesn’t really feel that much different from a normal school, huh… It’s a lot more… ordinary than I thought… Guess I don’t have to worry much even without magic.” His body shifted to turn to your side, “Dontcha think so, too, Grim? Hm…” 

You gazed at where Grim last was which was to the left of you and let your eyes focus and blink for a couple of seconds, “Are you fucking kiddin me?”

A gasp was heard from Deuce in front of you, “Look outside the window! That fluffball running in the Courtyard…” He pointed out Grim’s exact spot in the middle of the large area. 

Once you began your sprint to him, you could hear him cackling about how he did not deserve to listen to boring lectures all day. 

You stopped your run when you realized that you would never be able to make it farther due to PE kicking your butt, “If I have to go to school, then, so does he.”

Deuce and Ace were arriving right behind you.

Deuce crossed his arms, “Running away on the first day…” He shook his head, “That guy just doesn’t learn, huh.” 

“Being negligent on the first day, are we? So, d’ya want us to help you catch Grim?” A smirk bloomed on Ace’s face. 

You scrunched your nose, “If I have to be here, then so does he.”  threaded your hands together and squeezed your eyes shut and bowed, “Please, please help me.”

“I want some chocolate croissants from the canteen!” 

Deuce blurted in agreement, “Then, I shall have some café latte from the cafeteria.”

You rose from your bow, “Perfect, perfect. Thank yooou!!” not even thinking about how you were going to afford that. 

Ace and Deuce pulled their magic pens out of their pockets and joined each other in front of you to start their hunt for Grim. 

Ace smirked at Deuce, “And that’s a deal! Alright, shall we go help out our helpless prefect, Deuce-kun?”

Deuce narrowed his eyes and rolled back his sleeves of his jacket, “Sure thing, Ace-kun. I’m most looking forward to lunchtime.”

“I’ll be in the classroom once you catch him.” You waved the two off while they began their hunt for the cat. 

By the time you made it to your next class, the three showed up with sweat dripping from their faces, their clothes in disarray, and the teacher right behind them. 

This would surely be a great year.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

[@redrequiem has requested some time-travel fix-it Yunmeng brothers, and here it is! I hope this is something like what you were hoping for ^_^] (Also posted to Ao3)

[Writing masterpost]

--

In hindsight, Jiang Cheng can admit that chasing blindly after the latest demonic cultivator of the week probably hadn’t been his smartest idea. Normally he wouldn’t let anyone even dare to suggest that let alone admit it, but, well. The disciples he had brought with him are nowhere to be found, and he’s tired. Sue him.

He looks down at the burnt-out array he’s standing in the dead center of, the unfamiliar lines of it no longer glowing red. They’re just marks on the ground, and he realizes as the breeze picks up through the forest that they’re not even permanent. Ash drifts around his feet, the characters blurring and then disappearing altogether into the breeze. There goes studying it to see if he can reverse it - not that he would because he’s not a fucking demonic cultivator but damn if it wouldn’t be nice to try to see how to undo whatever it is that has left him stranded in the middle of the woods with nothing but what he’s carrying on his person. 

The breeze carries with it the smell of green water and lotus flowers, and at first he thinks nothing of it - the scent of it is so intimately familiar that he notices it more when it’s gone than when it returns. Except he’s supposed to be on the border with Qinghe. Nowhere near the lotus lakes of Yunmeng. 

This just keeps getting fucking better and better.

----

Let it never be said that Jiang Cheng can’t find his way around the forest that surrounds his home. Getting down to the water is easy, and from there it only takes a quick look around to get his bearings to know what part of the river he’s on before he’s on his way home. He flies low over the water perched on Sandu, seething with irritation. Fucking demonic cultivators. Every time he kills one it’s like three more pop up in their place, and no one else is hunting them down to help him cut their numbers down. Not that he necessarily wants the help - better if he just does it himself. But still, it’s the principle of the thing. It’s a thankless and arduous task, and the last thing he needs is to be stuck randomly back all the way in Lotus Pier with his disciples all the way out by Qinghe. His free time to go out trailing these monsters is limited.

He barely pays a thought to Zidian sparking on his wrist as he flies closer to home, he just corrects the flow of his angry energy away from the whip automatically to keep from waking the weapon up entirely. It takes a few more moments before he registers that the weapon is still sparking even without his energy to fuel it - a few moments in which Lotus Pier comes into view, the lanterns on the docks steady in the evening air.

He alights at the end of one of the docks furthest from the main boardwalk back into the complex itself and he sheathes Sandu to take a closer look at Zidian on his hand, his irritation growing when sparks spit and flash along the length of it, utterly uninformed by his own energy. He turns his wrist this way and that as if that will help him solve the problem, and then he hears it.

“Fengmian!”

His blood goes ice cold, his entire body as still as a corpse. It doesn’t even feel like his heart is beating as he holds his breath, muscles in his jaw jumping as he clenches his teeth hard enough to give himself a headache.

“When are you going to stop running off on this fool’s errand?” Yu Ziyuan demands, voice snapping out across the water. Zidian sparks higher on his wrist in response to the anger of her former master somewhere nearby, close enough that he can hear the sneer in her voice. “They died years ago! Their boy is probably dead by now too, and you have a son right here!! Does he mean so little to you that you have to run from home every other week so you can find that boy to replace him?!”

A soft voice, low, conciliatory replies too quietly to be understood, and the breath rushes back into Jiang Cheng’s chest in a painfully sharp inhale. Mother. Father. Arguing about - what else - him and Wei Wuxian. His hand curls into a fist tightly enough around Sandu’s sheath that the worked metal designs on it threaten to puncture. He likes that pressure, he usually finds it grounding, but there’s really no comprehending or coping with the sound of his parents alive and - well, if not well then at least normal - somewhere so close. So so close. He can practically feel Yu Ziyuan’s arms around him in the last embrace she had pulled him into that day the Wen had torn his world to shreds. He can feel the phantom of Jiang Fengmian’s thumb on his cheek brushing away his tears.

The tears are real, but he has to reach up to scrub them away with his own hand. A lantern sparks to life at the end of the pier, bobbing and swaying rather than stationary, and Jiang Cheng darts into the thickest shadows thrown by the overlapping corners of one of the closest buildings, crouching down low as he peeks around the wood and there they are. Younger, alive, and as he remembers them most often - Jiang Fengmian walking sedately where he wants to go, and Yu Ziyuan storming after him to demand answers that will never satisfy her. 

His entire body aches to run to them.

“I have a duty to him, I cannot ignore it,” Jiang Fengmian says now, close enough that Jiang Cheng can hear the weariness already so present in his voice. 

“You have a duty to your own first! Do you think A-Li and A-Cheng don’t see you leaving to search for him?! What do you propose I tell them, that they’re inadequate children because I bore them for you?! That you do not love them as you love a boy who is, for all you know, already nothing more than a figment of your imagination!”

“Yu Ziyuan!”

“Jiang Fengmian!!” 

Jiang Cheng is expecting them to storm apart, to go their separate ways and seethe until the next time they come together. But...if they’re talking about Wei Wuxian like he’s not even here, if the only children in Lotus Pier are...himself and Jiang Yanli, then, he supposes, it shouldn’t surprise him that their reactions aren’t like what they will later become the more their marriage fractures apart.

Jiang Fengmian turns and sets the lantern at their feet so that he can place his hands on Yu Ziyuan’s shoulders. Jiang Cheng blinks as Zidian settles down on his wrist, finally no longer spitting little sparks under his muffling hand there in the dark. He watches with wide eyes as Jiang Fengmian sighs and pulls Yu Ziyuan to his chest and she...goes. To him. To her husband. She folds herself into the circle of his arms like she belongs there. What the fuck is happening?

“I will go out once more, no more than three days. If we can protect him, we must. I owe his father the wellbeing of his only son. It is a good lesson for the children in duty to protect those weaker than us, to extend kindness where we can.”

Yu Ziyuan is still for a long moment before she extricates herself from Jiang Fengmian’s hold and pushes him away by the arms to look up at him. Jiang Cheng can’t see her face clearly from here but he can imagine all too easily - her eyes angry and determined under the hard cut of her brows, lips pressed together in open irritation.

“Do not let this boy take your son’s rightful room in your heart or in this Sect,” she says, voice deadly calm. “I will revisit such hell on you a hundredfold for each day I see it. Do not test my patience any longer, Jiang Fengmian.” She stoops to scoop up the lantern and retreat back towards the residences, leaving Jiang Fengmian alone on the pier.

Fresh tears spring to Jiang Cheng’s eyes as he stays frozen in the shadows watching his father tip his head back to look up at the moon overhead. He stays there for a long time, lost in thought, before he heaves a sigh and turns to follow after Yu Ziyuan back into Lotus Pier.

The only other time Jiang Cheng has so desperately wanted to follow after them is the day they died. He knows he can’t. This is either a figment of his imagination, in which case it would likely end how all of his dreams of them do, or he has truly somehow been forced to travel to a time where he’s still a child, in which case they wouldn’t recognize him, nor believe him when he tells them who he is and what their future holds. He doesn’t know what will happen if he’s discovered, but it seems better not to risk it, much as he longs to run to them and collapse into their arms.

A different plan takes reluctant shape in his mind as he crouches in the shadows and watches the complex gradually go darker and darker as candles and lanterns are extinguished for the night. By the time everything is still and quiet but for the frogs in the mud and the wind in the trees, he knows what he’s going to do.

He’s going to find Wei Wuxian, and he’s going to kill him.

----

Finding Wei Wuxian is so easy he nearly laughs aloud at the sight of him. After chasing ghosts and rumors of his brother for thirteen years it’s almost anticlimactic to find him sitting on a stoop in town gnawing on a piece of..something that’s burned so black as to be inedible to anyone but the truly desperate. 

Any doubts that he may have had about this somehow being the past are thoroughly dashed as he stands there watching the boy who is without a doubt the same boy he remembers his father bringing home so many years ago. He’s hunkered down over his ‘meal’ as if afraid someone will come along and snatch it from his hands. There’s a bundle of coarse fabric beside him that may have once possibly been meant to carry vegetables or rice or any number of things, but Jiang Cheng knows from that first night together as children that it’s full of the sorts of things a young boy with nothing else to his name would consider worth keeping. An extra shirt, so riddled with holes and bare patches that it’s more rag than clothing. A blanket suitable only for swaddling a baby that he had sworn up and down that he could still curl up tightly enough to fit under as long as he didn’t mind cold toes or fingers. A few melon rinds to snack on. A grass butterfly to play with.

Jiang Cheng looks at his waif of a child and he can’t help but see all the pain he’ll come to cause in the future. He can prevent it all right here, right now. Zidian sparks on his wrist, begins to flicker to life. Little Wei Wuxian looks up and around suddenly at the noise of it, his eyes zeroing in almost instantly on the purple lightning at his side.

“Whoa!!” he cries with delight, his entire face lighting up with delight. “That’s so cool, sir!! How do you do that?!”

Zidian sputters and then flickers out again, responding to the horror in his chest that replaces the fury. He’s just a child. A child. 

He’s his brother.

Jiang Cheng holds onto the last vestiges of his fury for another long moment or two as he watches Wei Wuxian return to gnawing on his food with his back teeth as he looks up at him with wide, guileless, quicksilver eyes.

And then with a breath he shoves 13 years of blinding hatred away from his chest.

It feels like setting down a heavy pack at the end of the day. Like taking his guan out of his hair and removing the stiff shells of his Sect Leader robes until he’s stripped down to just..himself. Jiang Cheng, A-Cheng, who misses his siblings more and more with each passing day and yearns for the days when things were so much simpler. Whose grief is threatening to swallow him whole in a blaze of blistering fire.

“Do you want more to eat?” he asks his brother, small and vulnerable sitting there with nowhere else to go. Wei Ying blinks up at him and then glances at the food in his hands and back up to him. “You can say yes, Wei Ying,” he sighs and Wei Wuxian’s eyes go even wider.

“You know my name?!” he chirps, seeming torn between being afraid and excited.

“Yes. I know you. I can keep you safe and get you more food, food that isn’t burnt. Come with me.” Jiang Cheng turns on his heel with a swish of silk and he hears Wei Wuxian yelp a little before tumbling to his feet to come running after him.

“Hey!! Mister! Wait!” he calls, out of breath, and Jiang Cheng stops in his tracks so suddenly that Wei Wuxian runs into his legs with an, ‘oof’. “Ow,” he mumbles as he rubs at his head. Jiang Cheng is going to have a bruise on the back of his thigh in the exact shape of that head but he scowls as he recognizes that he really has no one to blame but himself.

“What? Aren’t you hungry?” he snaps, and Wei Wuxian blinks slowly up at him.

“Yes,” he replies as he reaches tentatively towards Zidian with one dirt-smeared hand. “But...I don’t want to get separated,” he adds, voice small, and then those little fingers are slipping into his palm. Not reaching for Zidian, then. Reaching for him. “Can I?” he whispers, eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears as he tries to hold Jiang Cheng’s limp fingers in his tight little fist. Jiang Cheng swallows past the sudden tightness in his throat and glares straight ahead for a moment before turning and kneeling on the hard-packed dirt in front of the boy. He adjusts his grip to clasp Wei Wuxian’s hand like he had when they had both been this age, when they had held hands in his room in Lotus Pier and promised to protect each other from their worst fears. 

“Yes,” he says now, chest tight. “Yes, we should not get separated again. You can hold onto me. Don’t let go, alright?” 

Wei Wuxian smiles at him wide and happy like the break of dawn and Jiang Cheng finds himself smiling in response, his eyes definitely wet again. “I’ve missed you, Wei Ying.”

He’s not prepared for Wei Wuxian to throw himself into his arms for a hug, but he immediately wraps his arms around the boy anyway and holds him close, his eyes squeezed shut against the torrent of emotions flooding through him, too numerous and too raucous to be named. So he just hugs his brother there in the middle of a street in Yunmeng, and he wonders just what the fuck they’re going to do now.

----

Lotus Pier is, of course, not an option. Not only can he not show up there dressed like the Sect Leader and wearing Zidian, but if he takes Wei Wuxian there nothing will change. Gusu’s out as well. He’d like to claim that he has some rational, thought-out reason for it, but honestly he just doesn’t see a point in letting Lan Wangji finally get what he wants after all these years, even though he’s just a boy right now. Petty? Sure. Jiang Cheng has never claimed not to be.

Lanling is an enormous ‘absolutely not’ written in bright red ink in his mind’s eye, as is Qishan. Qinghe very nearly makes the list, but then he thinks about trying to explain such esoteric, questionable events to anyone in the straightforward, bullheaded Nie Sect and he puts it under a mental column labelled, “I guess, but only if it’s absolutely, 100%, life or death necessary”. Not very promising.

In the end, there’s really only one place he can think of that’s at all viable, and so after a few days of Wei Ying eating his fill as often as necessary and sleeping almost constantly in their room in an inn a few towns away from Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng gathers his brother up with their few meager belongings and begins the trek to a place few people know about, even among the Great Sects.

It takes another two days of travel at the pace Wei Ying is capable of maintaining with him, and then a day after that of looking for what he knows to search for in the area, but finally he finds it. Or, rather, it finds them.

“Where are we?” Wei Ying chirps from where he’s perched on his back like a sack of potatoes (potatoes with very knobbly knees that won’t quit squeezing his ribs) and Jiang Cheng shushes him, but it’s too late.

“Stop!” Jiang Cheng obeys the command and between one blink and the next there are two women blocking the path in front of him, nearly identical down to the numerous weapons strapped to their belts. And the knives leveled at his throat.

He can’t put his hands up or Wei Ying will fall off his back, but he does his absolute best to look as unthreatening as possible.

“You are trespassing on the lands of the Meishan Yu. Turn back.”

“I need to see the Grandmistress.”

“Turn back.”

“Please,” he adds, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice. Wei Ying is very still on his back, mostly hidden in his cloak, and Jiang Cheng can feel him trembling faintly. “Hold on tight,” he whispers before he lets go to brandish Zidian on his wrist for the two women to see. “I am her grandson. I need to see her, it’s urgent.”

The two guards share a glance with each other and then drift forward in sync to study the weapon on his wrist. There’s no mistaking it for anything but an artefact of the Meishan Yu. And everyone in the cultivation world knows who its current master is.

“Demonstrate,” one of the women says, the one on the left who he’s pretty sure is the one who ordered them to stop. He nods and takes a step back before holding his wrist out to the side and letting Zidian spark to life, feeding his fear and desperation into it until the whip uncoils and he’s got his hand wrapped around the hilt. Lightning spits and arcs from the whip as he lifts it to crack once into thin air before he withdraws his energy and it goes dormant again.

“I need to speak to my grandmother.”

For too long there’s nothing but the sound of the wind through the trees, Wei Ying’s too-quick breathing in his ear, and two unreadable gazes fixed on his as the Yu warriors size him up. Without any external cue that he can see, the pair of them suddenly turn at the exact same moment and begin walking up the path. Jiang Cheng scrambles to get a good hold on Wei Ying’s knee again so he can follow after them. 

----

“So - you’re from the future.”

“Yes, Popo.”

“And this boy is going to ruin it?”

Jiang Cheng looks over at where Wei Ying is studying a rack of retired spiritual swords so closely his nose is almost touching the side of one of the blades, his little puffs of breath fogging up the cold surface.

“Wei Ying!” he barks. “Not so close!”

“Yes Yin-gege,” he says dutifully, without moving an inch. Jiang Cheng slumps forward to brace his elbow on his knee so he can hide his eyes in his palm. 

“That means step away from the swords, Wei Ying.”

“Yes Yin-gege,” he says again, but this time he at least shuffles two steps back. And then he leans even further forward to keep squinting at the steel at precisely the same distance.

“He seems truly monstrous,” Grandmistress Yu says with an indulgent chuckle.

“You haven’t seen what he’s capable of later,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his tone dark. “The things he did...what I’ve seen..”

“Mm, I believe you, very ominous. What would you like me to do about it?” Grandmistress Yu is just as pragmatic as Jiang Cheng remembers her, and just as emotional alongside it. She had taken one look at Wei Wuxian hidden in his cloak and ushered him out to ply him with sweets and tea and an affectionate ruffle to his hair. Not for the first time in his life he wonders how his life could have been different if he’d been brought to Meishan Yu to be raised rather than staying in Lotus Pier.

“I don’t know,” he admits with a growl of frustration, though he’s quick to check himself when Grandmistress Yu raises an admonishing eyebrow. “Sorry, Popo. I really don’t know. I just..I figured if I’m here, now, maybe it means everyone can maybe..try again. Growing up with me and jiejie in Lotus Pier wasn’t...it led to such terrible things, in the end. Maybe things can be different if he’s raised somewhere else. Maybe people won’t have to die.”

“A-Li won’t have to die, you mean.”

“There are plenty of others! He killed so many cultivators! And Wen Ruohan, he -”

“Oh yes, you leave that snake to me. But we’re discussing this parentless, future-evil child you’ve brought into my home. What are you looking for, A-Cheng? Someone to adopt him for you? A wife to raise him with yourself?”

“No!” Grandmistress Yu raises her eyebrow again at that outburst and he ducks his head, but this one he won’t apologize for. “No, Popo. I don’t want a wife or..anybody. But thank you. I don’t think I could even raise him, anyway. I don’t even know if I can stay here or if I have to try to go back or..I don’t know.”

“Hmph. I always thought you Great Sect Leaders always have an answer for everything,” she needles, a glint in her eye.

“Who would have an answer for this?!”

“Well. Probably Wei Wuxian,” she chuckles and, as if summoned, Wei Ying suddenly pops up next to her, his little face peering over the edge of the table between them.

“Hey, that’s me! Popo, can I have more sweets?”

“Of course xiao-Ying,” she tuts, pulling the plate of little honey cakes close enough for Wei Ying to reach over and snag one.

“Don’t touch anything with sticky hands!” Jiang Cheng turns in his seat to call as Wei Ying promptly runs off again to resume studying the weapons lining the walls as he munches on his cake.

“Okay Yin-gege!!”

“He’s a cute little thing, isn’t he?” Grandmaster Yu chuckles, though she finally relents when Jiang Cheng gives her a look that can only be described as ‘morose’. “A-Cheng, you worry too much!” she chides. “You can stay here for now, with xiao-Ying of course, while you get things figured out. You’re safe here, you know that. And if everything you’ve told me really happens so far from now I’d say you’ve got plenty of time to figure out what’s going on.”

“Popo..”

“Aiyah, A-Cheng, I know. I’m sure it’s very disorienting to be here from the future, but we’ll figure it out! And anyway, you’ve already changed things just by stopping your father from finding the boy. No matter what happens next, you’ve changed the future. Best to just take things one day at a time, there’s only moving forward.”

“What a nightmare,” he mutters into his hands as he scrubs them at his face. “I need to go back to where I came from, I believe. Whether things are different there or not, I don’t think it’s a great idea for me to exist here at the same time that I’m a child in Lotus Pier.”

“Mm I suspect you’re right about that. You said Zidian recognized your mother and you simultaneously?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting, I’ll want to look more closely at that one day. Until then - we’ve got all sorts of unorthodox cultivation manuals in our library. Perhaps something we find there can help you.”

Jiang Cheng drops his hands at that to stare at Grandmistress Yu, who scoffs at him as she picks up a honey cake for herself.

“Don’t look at me like that, A-Cheng. We’re known for crafting unusual first class spiritual tools and utilizing thoroughly unique combat methods. Do you really think we limit ourselves to the hidebound orthodoxies the other Sects do? Open your mind a bit, child, you’ll be much more content in life for it. Xiao-Ying, come talk to your Popo.”

Jiang Cheng watches in stunned silence as Grandmistress Yu pulls Wei Wuxian up onto her lap to talk to him, indulging him and his chatter easily as he talks, clearly thrilled to have an attentive audience.

Research. He can do research. He can research the hell out of unorthodox cultivation manuals, and one way or another he’s going to go home.

----

“Yin-gege, look what Popo gave me!!”

“Not now, A-Xian, I’m busy.”

“Yin-gegeeeeee,” Wei Wuxian whines, flinging himself into his lap and laying across him with one arm flung over his eyes. Jiang Cheng turns a page in his book and tries very very hard not to think about this exact scene playing out almost identically in Cloud Recesses in less than a decade from now. He really doesn’t want to compare himself to Lan Wangji but the resemblance is mildly uncanny in this particular moment. “It’s really really cool! It’s just like your bracelet!”

Well. That’s one way to get his attention.

Jiang Cheng snaps the book shut and looks down at the boy in his lap. Over the last few months in Meishan Wei Wuxian has gained all the appropriate baby fat for his age and is now, obnoxiously, cuter than ever. A fact which he absolutely uses to his advantage, no one will ever convince Jiang Cheng otherwise. Right now Wei Wuxian is grinning up at him so widely his eyes are nearly shut and sticking his right hand up towards Jiang Cheng’s face to show him a jet black bracelet, currently far too loose on him but it’s clear he’ll grow into the fit of it nicely.

“Popo made that for you?”

“Uh-huh. She won’t tell me what it does yet,though, she said I have to learn how to talk to it and ask it myself. But isn’t it so cool?! Maybe it’ll make lightning like yours and we could be like twins!”

Jiang Cheng pauses at that and can’t help but cast a slightly guilty glance at his book set aside on the table. Raising Wei Wuxian, even temporarily, has become full of these little moments - moments where Wei Wuxian is certain their future together is as set in stone as the present, while Jiang Cheng is desperately researching how to leave.

He refuses to let the reversed circumstances make him at all sympathetic to the Wei Wuxian of their adulthood after the Sunshot Campaign, though he can at least acknowledge the dark humor of whatever or whoever is in charge of deciding such twists of fate. The brother who was left behind is now the one attempting to escape. Funny, in a sick way. If he ever meets the author of his fate he’s going to punch them.

“Yin-gege, are you ever going to help train me to fight like the others do?”

He’s going to punch them hard.

“No, A-Xian.”

“Why?”

“I don’t fight like the Meishan do and you shouldn’t learn different styles when they’re trying to teach you theirs.” It’s not strictly a lie but it still sits sour on his tongue.

“Oh okay! Yin-gege?”

“What, A-Xian?”

“Popo said there might be one day when you’re not going to be here anymore.”

Jiang Cheng goes still and he looks down at Wei Wuxian still laying in his lap, his cheerful face unusually solemn all the sudden.

“Did she?” he whispers. It’s surprisingly gutting to hear it from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. 

“Mhm. When do we have to leave?”

Oh - that’s worse. That’s so much worse.

“A-Xian..I...we’re not...I can’t take you with me.”

Wei Wuxian blinks up at him and Jiang Cheng watches in horror as it clicks. As understanding floods his little face and his eyes fill quickly with tears.

“Oh,” he manages to choke out and Jiang Cheng tugs him upright quickly to crush him to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, tears springing to his eyes without his permission. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeats it over and over into Wei Wuxian’s thin, trembling shoulder, but it feels so painfully inadequate. How can he even begin to apologize for this? For everything? For horrors that haven’t even happened to him yet, and for the sorrows that have?

“If you’re sorry then don’t go!” Wei Wuxian demands, petulant and sure that the solution is just that easy, in the simple way that children so often try to solve their problems. Jiang Cheng manages a watery, strangled sort of laugh and holds on a little tighter.

“It’s not that simple, A-Xian. I wish it could be. I do.” 

Wei Wuxian clings to him hard enough that his nails leave little scratches in the back of his neck and Jiang Cheng still feels like it’s not enough to make up for all the years without him, all the years of pain and misunderstandings, or what he still has to do no matter how much it’s going to upset them both. 

Grandmistress Yu finds them like that just before dinner. Their tears have mostly dried but Jiang Cheng can’t stand to let go of his brother, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem inclined to let go either.

“A-Cheng,” she says quietly as she lights some of the candles around the room to chase away the evening shadows. “I found something.”

----

“I’ll make sure he meets you and A-Li,” Grandmistress Yu promises him a week later. The array they’ve agreed is their best bet to get him home is glowing the same sickening shade of blood-red as the one that had brought him here. “And I’ll tell him what I feel is important for him to know about all of this. I’ll help him, A-Cheng. Trust your Popo.”

Jiang Cheng nods and tries to pretend that he’s not clenching his teeth against the pressure of the lump in his throat. Grandmistress Yu reaches up to caress his cheek and brush his tears away, an unconscious echo of Jiang Fengmian’s final goodbye to him. Needless to say that doesn’t help him stop crying.

“No tears, A-Cheng, come along. He’ll find you when you get home, I’ll make sure of it. He’ll know to find you.”

Jiang Cheng nods again and turns resolutely away from Wei Wuxian’s tiny form, sleeping soundly in Grandmistress Yu’s bed on the other side of the room. It’ll take a couple of days for the drugs they gave him to wear off enough for him to wake. By then Jiang Cheng will be long gone, and Wei Wuxian will have to move on, grow up without him. Without their family. Fresh tears drip down his cheeks as he steps forward into the array. No sooner does he center himself in it just so than it flares blindingly bright around him, obscuring everything but the shadow of his hands through his eyelids as he raises them in front of his face to shield his eyes from the glare.

When the light fades, he keeps his eyes closed. He’s sobbing anyway, so there’s really no point in opening his eyes yet. Jiang Cheng drops to his knees and wraps his arms around his chest and he wishes he could hold his brother. Over the months of raising him as A-Xian, of being his Yin-gege, he’s had to let go of his anger entirely to avoid taking it out on him, so young and defenseless and still so wonderfully, beautifully innocent.

Now, all that fills him in the vacuum left by his anger is the gaping wound of a sibling he’ll never have again. He had told Grandmistress Yu everything he could about their lives and what he knew of the political intrigues that had been their ruin. He had needed to make sure she knew so she could prepare for the events that would unfold between then and now, but he’d also needed someone still alive to understand just how much he loved - loves - his brother. No one is alive now to remember just how inseparable they were, how they would both be willing to either kill or die for each other with no questions asked.

He had needed to remind himself of it, most of all.

But all of it, now, is gone. He knows he’s not in Meishan anymore. The world is quiet around him, too quiet for the middle of a sect. He’s in the woods again, the sound of trees rustling and the call of a night bird underpinning the ragged sobs tearing from his chest.

“A-Xian!” he manages, trying to give a voice to his pain, a name, to speak it into the air so maybe it won’t weigh quite so heavily on his heart. “Wei Wuxian!!!”

“Jiang Cheng?!”

Jiang Cheng’s head snaps up and he forces his eyes open as there’s the sudden sound of hurried steps crashing through the underbrush. 

“Jiang Cheng!”

He can only stare in shock as Wei Wuxian himself - a grown man - comes skidding to a stop on his knees in front of him, frantically patting him down looking for injury, for a good reason for him to be on the ground in the middle of the woods crying like he’s lost Lotus Pier and his parents all over again. 

“You’re here.”

Wei Wuxian laughs nervously, still patting him down. “Yeah? Where else would I be, huh? What’s wrong, are you hurt? I can’t find anything.”

Jiang Cheng grabs both of Wei Wuxian’s wrists and the gesture forces the man to meet his eyes, his own wide and startled. 

“Wait - what in the world are you wearing, A-Cheng?” Wei Wuxian laughs as he pats him down again, this time just tugging on his robes - the same ones he had been given soon after he had decided his Jiang robes were too conspicuous to keep wearing in Meishan. “Is this Yu Sect? Where did you -” Jiang Cheng watches as Wei Wuxian’s eyes somehow manage to go even wider.

“Yin-gege?” he breathes, as if afraid of the answer, and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure if the sound that escapes him is another sob or a laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I didn’t want to leave you like that I swear I didn’t, A-Xian, please, believe me-”

“Oh A-Cheng come here,” Wei Wuxian chuckles, pulling him in for a hug and holding him tight. “Shh, it’s okay. Popo told me everything, she wrote every bit of it down for me, it’s okay. That was so long ago for me, you don’t have to be sorry. Come here, I’m here. I thought this might happen soon, we’re the right age for it hm? It’s alright, don’t cry.”

“Everyone else - Lotus Pier. Jiejie -”

“All alive, everything’s fine, Jiang Cheng. Shh. Just calm down first and then I’ll catch you up on everything, alright?”

Jiang Cheng nods and gulps in deep breaths as he clutches Wei Wuxian’s robes, buries his face in his brother’s hair. 

“I’ve missed you, Wei Ying,” he whispers, his voice breaking. Wei Wuxian shushes him again and rubs a hand slowly up and down his back.

“I missed you, too, Yin-gege, A-Cheng, my didi. But I’m right here. You’re alright.”

There’s a long pause and then, as if lifting the weight of the world off both of their shoulders with the depth of his sigh, Wei Wuxian adds, “We’re alright.”

[vagrantblvrd]

I’ve seen posts where people think Sebastian Stan should be cast as Luke for future space adventures? Which believe me, are amazing and I would 100% watch the hell out of?

But also please to consider this:

Din comes across this character played by Sebastian Stan who gives Din what is obviously a fake name. Because Antilles, right? One of the most common names around and he might as well have not given Din a name at all, but it’s not like he’s going to call the guy on it or anything, right?

Din’s out hunting down Imperial remnants that have anything to do with the experiments on Grogu and finds this Antilles guy in a cell at one of the bases. He’s clearly had a rough time of it if the look he gives Din when he opens the door to his cell is any indication.

Just this...shock and surprise and something like grief before he tucks it all way behind this oddly familiar smile.

Antilles has clearly been treated to Imperial “kindness”, in that he’s bruised all to hell and can’t walk on his own - almost falls when he insists he’s fine, no really - so Din gets to play human crutch. (Might have been there a while, because he’s all scruffy too, unkempt beard and hair, and anyway, he’s not had an easy time of things.)

Which is fine because Din dealt with most of the Imperials by the time he found Antilles, but! They hit an intersection while looking for the labs and a couple of stormtroopers coming from the opposite direction.

This moment where they all stare at one another in that uh, situation? kind of way but haven’t had the time to react just yet.

Thing is, Din and Antilles happened to trip over their feet just before the troopers walked up, are untangling themselves but Din’s not in a good position to draw his blasters or any of his other weapons. Is like of course this would happen now and resigned to using himself as a human shield, because Antilles is in rough shape and Din’s armor, and anyway.

Doesn’t matter in the end because he feels this tug at his hip and Antilles ducking under his arm and pew-pew-pew, down go the stormtroopers, felled by incredible aim and Din’s blaster and Antilles who gives him this little smirk that is also oddly familiar.

Antilles shrugs, says something about his dad teaching him to shoot or whatever and when Din gets them both back on their feet apologizes for grabbing his blaster. But since doing so just saved their lives, Din’s not all that bothered by it.

Anyway, they get to the labs and Din parks Antilles in a chair while he digs for anything helpful. Scrounges up some datasticks and destroys the rest and when he turns to collect Antilles on the way out - 

The guy’s got this look on his face. Complicated, because angry and wistful and a whole bunch of other things Din doesn’t have the time or luxury to unpack.

They get back to Din’s ship, and Din catches the - he doesn’t even know - expression on Antilles’ face when he sees it.

Some of the grief is back, and the wistful nostalgia and weirdly enough, Antilles pats the hull of the ship as Din gets them up the ramp and he swears he hears him say something like long time no see, old girl, and anyway. Din has stuff he needs to get back to Lu - to Skywalker to see if he or his New Republic friends can make sense of it.

He gets Antilles patched up and there’s clothes for him to wear - old bounties who didn’t need it anymore or gifts from people Din helped in the past an he didn’t know what to do with them and anyway.

Antilles looks better after he’s patched up and cleaned up, wearing this mishmash of clothes but he’s not complaining. Seems more grounded, settled, too, than he had earlier, like he’s had time to sort things out for himself.

Shaved his beard, but kept the mustache and just shrugs when Din notices it, just an observation on his part and doesn’t ask because it’s not like matters and anyway.

They run into some trouble getting back to Skywalker’s school, but Antilles isn’t useless. Knows how to fly, is a damn good shot - impressive, really - and knows his way around both jungle and desert in survival situations.

Because that trouble they run into and crashing and continuing to not die after the crashing is done because Imperials or other baddies, and anyway.

Antilles is far from useless and also snarky as hell and Din actually starts to like him.

Wonders a little at how sad he seems sometimes, the two of them sitting at the fire they’re cooking that night’s dinner over and Din looks over when Antilles isn’t expecting it.

Staring at the flames and sad, the kind that runs deep.

Din doesn’t ask, though, doesn’t think it would be appreciated because there’s something...brittle about Antilles in the right conditions and anyway, he doesn’t ask.

Antilles gives him little pieces of himself here and there, though. Mentions his parents, the one who taught him how to shoot, the one who taught him how to fight. Both of them arguing about who was going to teach him to fly until his aunt and uncle had enough of the pointlessness of it and taught him themselves.

(”I learned to fly on a freighter,” he tells Din, cutting through an asteroid field to avoid Imperial TIES after them like it’s nothing. “Corellian make, fastest thing around.”)

Apparently Antilles knows a whole lot of things besides all that, knows how to cheat at sabacc well enough Din almost doesn’t catch him at it. And when he does, the man gives him this wide-eyed look of innocence like who, him? cheat? he would never that is so painfully familiar Din has to look away because there’s a reason he’s out here on his own, isn’t there.

(All these inconvenient Feelings and no chance that Skywalker would ever return them, because Jedi and also look at Din, okay, kind of a mess of a human being and Luke is Luke.)

Anyway.

Eventually they make it to Luke’s school and Din can’t help but notice how quiet Antilles gets as they come in for the landing approach. Hands whit-knuckled in his lap, and he’s trying to look like everything’s fine but his jaw in clenched and he’s got that look in his eyes again and anyway.

Luke comes out to greet them with Grogu running ahead, and both of them stop short at the sight of Antilles.

“Din,” Skywalker says slowly, in such a way that Din realizes something is going on, “who’s your friend?”

Din explains meeting Antilles in the cell of an Imperial remnant base and their many adventures getting back to the school and so on.

The entire time Skywalker (and Grogu) are staring at Antilles, and Antilles is staring back at them, and Din is just like this is Force nonsense again, isn’t it.

And then Antilles is like, So I Have Something To Tell You.

At which point he tells them that he’s from the future - because of course - thanks to some doohickey in the ruins of a Jedi temple he was investigating - because of course it’s to do with Force nonsense - and also he’s here to set the timeline right after a sith or whoever got their first and meddled with the original timeline.

Because of course he is.

There’s a whole Thing in which Antilles and Skywalker go off to talk Jedi stuff.

(Oh, yeah, apparently Antilles is Force-sensitive, probably actually a Jedi himself and Din is like, of course he is because that’s his luck, isn’t it?)

Anyway, Din goes off to check on Luke’s students with Grogu and everyone’s happy to see him, pepper him with questions about what he did while he was gone and he tells them the parts that don’t involve killing people, because wow, no.

And then later on when everyone’s asleep or supposed to be asleep Skywalker finds him and they just kind of enjoy a moment of quiet, peace, while they can.

Comfortable the way things are around one another, and Din’s traitorous heart goes all soft and squishy when Skywalker gives him this warm smile as he catches Din up on happenings at the school while he was gone.

(How many frogs Grogu’s eaten - too many to count, honestly, I’m starting to worry - and so on.)

Din feels guilty at how much he enjoys these moments with Skywalker because they’re not something he gets to have, and anyway, yes.

Shenanigans in which Antilles is clearly in league with Skywalkers students and just about everyone in shoving Din and Skywalker together until finally one of them breaks and confessions concerning Feelings are had and convenient that they’re locked in a storage area because no one else to see when Din presses his forehead against Luke’s and they both do that breathy little laugh that’s all soft and surprised and only for them, and anyway!

Then the Serious Shenanigans happen in which the sith (or whtatever) Antilles was after pops up and does an Evil Monologue in which it’s revealed they were responsible for killing Antilles’ family in that original timeline and also ushering in a new era for the Empire and oethr bad stuff.

Oh, and also, Luke and Din are his parents because those experiments on Grogu and that time both Din and Luke got caught and had blood samples and the whatnot taken and anyway.

He’s cloned from them or something equally dramatic, idk how science works, and they rescued him and raised him as their own and the mustache of his should have been a bigger clue, really, it’s been staring them all in the face (literally) the whole time, what fools they’ve been not to realize!!1!

Emotional fallout and sacrifice plays with one of them being no, bad, don’t try that again or I’ll be Disappointed and the good guys winning the day as the timeline is set right, and all that good stuff.

Din, Luke, Grogu, and Antilles go to where the Jedi ruins are with the time travel doohickey to send Antilles - he still won’t tell them what his name is.

There’s emotional goodbyes all around and then poof, off he goes back to the future where he belongs Din and Luke and Grogu like wow, that was a thing, huh?

But also.

The thing where they’ve both been captured - together and separately - by Imperial remnants and had blood samples and the whatnot taken and Antilles could exist in their timeline right now.

Realize he never told them where they found him or how, and are like oh, no, because what if they don’t find him now? What if they never find him???

So of course Artoo trundles over and plays this little holomessage of Antilles.

Looks nervous as hell and that sadness they knew the reason for all over him, must have recorded this before he told them who he was, and anyway.

He doesn’t know where they found him exactly, just the name of the system and his best guess at when it happened, and then he gets this look on his face like. It’s too much like the one Luke gets sometimes, like Din’s when he’s in a bad place, and anyway.

They go looking where he told them and they find this kid, tiny, adorable, scared kid who can tap into the Force and he’s got Luke’s eyes and Din’s hair and other little small things and he’s just.

“Would have been helpful if he told us what we named him,” Luke says, but he’s kind of an emotional mess the way Din is, and anyway, yes.

(Also, though. Grogu is the worst influence on their kid, but an awesome big brother.)

[toraodwaterlaw]

Taken Apart

After Vergo’s attack, Corazon escapes to the coast with Law. They’re both alive for the time being, but duty soon pulls them apart. 

Pt. 1 of a 2 part CoraLives!AU story. 4.5k, minor warning for a panic attack and for non-graphic description of Law dissecting/experimenting with his powers on himself.

-

Everything hurt down to the rough chop slap of waves against wood. Law groaned and forced his eyes open. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he would have thought that everything that had happened on Minion had been a dream because he was back on the ship that had ferried him from island to island over the last six months. He lifted himself on trembling limbs and slumped into a seated position.

“Cora-san?”

The towering blond was hunched over on the far side of the small vessel, his blood stained shirt and coat discarded while he wrapped bandages around his torso. He froze for a moment and then continued tending to his wounds. At first Law thought that maybe Cora hadn’t heard him. His voice was frustratingly weak, even to his own ears. Then Cora sighed, put the bandages aside, and pulled his shirt and coat back on.

“Commander Donquixote Rosinante from the marine headquarters,” he said, voice low and clear. “Marine Code 01746.” When he turned around, Law saw that there were tears forming in his eyes. “I’ve been with the navy from the start. I’ve been undercover so that I could try to prevent my brother from causing a tragedy in the future.”

Law had known or at least suspected most of this for some time. Then he thought of the message he’d foolishly delivered into Vergo’s hands. Was Cora upset with him for ruining his years long mission? He looked away at the angry grey sea and then back at the man— the marine— in front of him. “Why are you telling me all of this now? I already knew.”

Cora hung his head. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t want you to hate me.” He shook his head and blinked. “Wait— you knew?”

“Of course I knew. I’m not stupid.”

“No. No you’re not.” Cora’s startled expression softened as the start of a smile crept on to his face. “But if you knew, why did you ask me before?”

Law balled his hands into fists and wriggled in place. “I just wanted to see how you would answer. To know if… if you cared enough to lie about something like that. For me.”

Cora huffed out a soft laugh. He reached a long arm toward Law and then aborted the gesture. Instead, he got to his feet, his smile gone. In its place was a grim, determined look that Law hadn’t seen since Cora had confronted him about his full name months ago.

“You asked why I was telling you this now.”

He nodded his head back to the cliffs behind him. Law followed the motion and craned his neck to try to figure out what he was supposed to be looking at. There, at the top of the snow lined rocks, was what appeared to be a giant cage. He must have made some sort of face because Cora nodded in response.

“Doffy is up to something,” Cora said. “I don’t know what but I do know there are marines there who are probably in a mountain of trouble. I can’t let them face the Donquixote Family alone. Not when…” His eyes shut and when he opened them again there was a fire there. “It’s my responsibility to stop him.”

Law was beyond tired and so it took a moment for the pieces to fall together. When they did, his heart plummeted. “You’re going back?” He grabbed the side of the boat to push himself up to his feet. Between his exhaustion and the rocking from the waves, it was all he could do to keep upright. He squeezed his eyes shut while he fought back the turning of his stomach. “I’m coming with you.”

Cora frowned at him. “Law… You can barely stand.”

“And you were shot. A lot.”

Law took an angry step forward. The whole world seemed to pitch around him. He braced for a fall into the water and instead found himself in Cora’s hands. The world continued spinning and he realized he hadn’t upset the boat. He was just too ill and weak to move around in a boat without making himself dizzy.

It made him furious. He felt tears prick at his eyes in his anger.

The entire top of his head was enveloped by a large hand. “As angry as Doffy might be, I’m his brother. He won’t kill me. I’ll be back,” Cora said. “It’s you and the Op-Op fruit that Doffy wants. So what I need is to know you’ll be there when I come for you. That means you need to get out of here, start figuring out that fruit of yours, and get better.”

Law lifted a hand and looked down at it. He’d felt something the moment he’d swallowed down his first bite of the bitter fruit. Since then that feeling had only grown. He couldn’t yet figure out the shape of it but he could see the outlines.

That didn’t mean he agreed with leaving Cora behind. Unfortunately Cora knew him well enough by now to head off any argument.

“Calm.” Law felt the now familiar subtle tingle of Cora’s powers washing over him. Cora took a long legged step back. He pulled up the anchor and then grabbed hold of the rope that would take him back up the cliff. “This will ensure that you and anything you touch is silent. It will help you slip away without anyone noticing so that you can get to Swallow. Wait for me there. I won’t be more than a day or two.”

Law marveled when he was met with absolute silence as he slapped his hands on the wood of the boat. His eyes widened and that drew out another smile from Cora. Law scrambled to his feet, ready to latch onto Cora’s leg if he needed to. Before he got more than a handful of shaky steps, Cora was already partly up the rope with his foot on the bow of the ship.

Something about the way he was looking at him made Law stop. Cora’s smile became so wide and bright that it seemed at odds with the cloud filled sky above. Law blinked up at him.

“Law…” Cora’s smile broadened even further, reaching impossible levels. “I love you.”

With that, he kicked off the boat and set it adrift. Despite his frustration at being sent away, Law couldn’t help but smile himself. That feeling settled in his heart and bubbled into silent laughter. A sudden gust caught the sail and before he could do anything to stop it, the ship had carried him away from the rocky shores of Minion. Law didn’t move. He stayed rooted in place, unblinking, until Cora disappeared from view.

That effervescent feeling faded fast as the sounds of battle increased. Gunfire echoed through the air and still there was that strange, horrible cage. Law tried to focus on sailing to Swallow as Cora had instructed but he couldn’t stop from looking over his shoulder at the island he was leaving behind.

His vision started to blur so he swiped a hand across his eyes to wipe away tears, only to find there were no tears there. He shook his head but still his vision failed to clear.

“Dammit.”

All Cora had asked of him was to survive and he couldn’t even do that.

Then he realized he’d heard himself speak, which meant Cora’s powers had worn off. His chest tightened. He could feel panic welling up. Now was not the time for that. He had to look at it rationally. In all likelihood, Cora had redirected his energy somewhere more important or Law had simply travelled out of the range of his powers. He wasn’t sure if that’s how these things worked but they had to abide by some sort of rules. Cora had told him that Devil Fruits weren’t magic. They had their limits.

But there was nothing he could tell himself that would stop him from seeing Cora riddled with bullets, the snow beneath him turning red.

Law’s breathing quickened until each gulp of air was too shallow to sustain him. He felt his lungs burn and he started to cough. His vision, already blurred, darkened at the edges. He braced himself by putting his hands on his knees but it wasn’t enough to stop him from swaying. Hot tears welled up and fell from his cheeks as he cursed his body for betraying him at every turn. At this rate he was going to black out and then there was no saying what would happen to him. If he was lucky, he’d regain consciousness before he drifted too far off course. Unlucky and Doflamingo would find him after eluding the marines once more.

He curled into himself and wrapped his arms around the back of his head. He was so tired of it all. He wanted it all to be over. For weeks now, he’d been ready to lay down and wait for the end. In all likelihood, he would have given up a long time ago if not for Cora. He owed it to Cora to keep fighting.

He squeezed his arms tighter to shut out the sound of his own rasping breath, of slapping waves, and distant canonfire. His heart skipped an uneasy beat and a shiver ran through him. He suddenly felt very aware of everything wrong in his body. It wasn’t simply a matter of feeling the pain and numbness in his skin or the fire burning in his lungs. This time he felt aware of every organ— practically every cell— in his body as though he could see them spread out before him like a frog sliced open for dissection.

He slowly unwound his arms and lifted his head. He looked down at his hands, turned palm up. He looked the same but he felt different. It felt like if he tried hard enough, he could see the deposits of lead that had painted his flesh white. He blinked and realized what he had taken for a continued haze in his vision was actually some sort of blue glow. When he reached out he could feel a light buzzing film around him. He was, it would seem, surrounded by a sphere of energy. It reminded him of the way Cora’s powers worked.

Was this the manifestation of his own powers? He had no sooner noticed it when it disappeared by withdrawing into him. Try as he might, he couldn’t make it appear again. He had no idea what he’d done to summon it in the first place.

He had more immediate problems, though. The sea had grown choppier as wind picked up. If he continued to let himself be buffeted by the elements, he could end up capsized. Knowing that his powers were really there, even if he couldn’t yet figure out how to access them, helped to focus him. He could survive this. He would survive this.

With that thought in mind, he wrangled the ship back under his control and finished sailing to Swallow. He’d spent a lot of time at sea since he’d joined the Family and especially in the last six months as he and Cora jumped from location to location, but he’d never been more eager to reach land than he was at that moment. It felt like a finish line in an impossibly long race. 

Law gathered what he could from the supplies left in the boat.  A knife. His pack with a change of clothes and a bedroll. Flint. It was the most he could easily carry on his own and should be enough for him to hold on until Cora returned. He jumped out of the boat as soon as he felt the bottom scrape land. The shock of the cold water jolted him wide awake and then, just as suddenly, sapped all the energy from him. He had just enough strength left to make sure he fell forward rather than back. He pulled himself over the rocky shore until the water no longer lapped up on his boots.

Law cursed his stupidity. He’d been with the Family long enough, rescued a stumbling Cora enough, to know what happened to Devil Fruit users in sea water. He should have remembered. And even if he hadn’t remembered that, he knew better than to jump into waist deep icy waters. He needed to get inland and start a fire. Before he could worry about figuring out his new abilities or curing the Amber Lead, he needed to get warm.

He braced himself with a breath and pushed up onto trembling legs. He mustered his energy to push the boat back out to sea. If things went as planned, Cora would come for him. If not… he didn’t want to leave an obvious trail for Doflamingo to follow.

He followed the shore for some time to further confuse the trail by avoiding making tracks in the snow. He continued that way until he found a copse of trees. The snow wasn’t quite as deep under the pines and it would give him cover for a short time. He walked to the middle of the pines before he collapsed against one of the trunks. He got dry clothes from his pack and tossed the wet ones aside after he’d changed. It was tempting to gather wood and make a fire now, hope that he would be safe there until Cora came, but he knew better. That wasn’t why he’d stopped anyway.

He remembered his parents spending long days and night puzzling out medical problems. If he could figure out what the Op-Op was capable of, he might be able to do what they’d never gotten a chance to. So he would think things through the way they would have— he would take what facts he had and work from there, one step at a time.  He was lost now but he wouldn’t remain that way. 

First, he knew he had the power, he just needed to know how to draw it out. Second, he’d done it by accident on the ship. Third, it seemed to take the form of a sphere. That was a place to start. If he could visualize what he’d seen and what he’d felt, he might be able to do it again.

He held out his hand. He tried to recall every detail, no matter how miniscule, of what had happened earlier. There’d been the subtle, numbing tingle of it and a somewhat unnatural, antiseptic taste on the back of his tongue. It had an observable outer membrane that created a sphere around him. Within that sphere, he’d felt a sense of control. He’d felt as though he was not only aware of every hair on his head, every cell in his body, but that he could manipulate it all if he wanted. If that was true, he really could be free of the curse born into his blood.

There! A whirling blue ball appeared in the center of his palm. If he concentrated on it, he could make it bigger. Soon it was the size of his fist, his head, and then his entire body. He pressed the edges of it until it surrounded him and the bases of the trees around him. As before, there was a sense that he could manipulate anything around him. There was certainly a temptation to grab hold of the lead in his flesh and rip it out but, on consideration, he decided the trees would make better test subjects.

He looked at the trunk closest in front of him. He flicked his wrist in an attempt to uproot it. The portion inside the sphere shuddered but, ultimately, remained in place. He tried again with more force behind his gesture but found the same results. He stopped to consider further. Perhaps a tree was too large for him to manipulate or perhaps the problem lay in the fact that he only had a portion of the plant under his control. Maybe a mixture of the two. Whatever the case, the focus of his next trial would be something smaller.

After a quick glance at his surroundings, he settled on a fallen branch. He moved his hand upward and the branch followed. It made circuits through the air, lifted by nothing but his will. He was about to see if he could move two different objects, when his strength abandoned him all at once. The blue sphere shrank back to nothing as exhaustion fell on him like a blanket. He slumped into the snow beneath it. He could do absolutely nothing but watch the thin rise and fall of his chest.

Not the result he’d hoped for but it was still progress. He’d learned that there was a price to pay for his powers. The strongest barrier of what he could do was his own limited stamina. That was something he could work on but he had next to no energy these days and it would stay that way until he’d extracted all the lead from his system.

What he wouldn’t give for a frog to dissect with his new powers. Any animal would do, really, but that was the one he’d practiced on most in the past and so would make the best starting point. He didn’t have a frog though. He also didn’t have time to go hunting for a suitable replacement.

Law bit his lip and held up a hand. He didn’t have the time to do this right. He needed to act. Maybe not on a hand, however. As a surgeon those were the most important tools he had. He eyed his booted feet. He’d rather not lose any limbs, if he could help it, but he needed a part of him that he could easily look at. He pulled out his left boot, carefully placed it aside, and then did the same with his sock. The biting cold against his bare skin made him wince. 

Easier than before, he summoned up the blue sphere. He had a moment to muse that he needed a better name for it as he expanded it just enough to envelop his foot. It felt like it used less energy the smaller it was. He needed to find a balance between the energy it took to sustain the bubble and the energy it took to do things within it.

He grabbed the knife he’d taken from the boat and held it with shaking hands against his ankle. He wished he had a scalpel. Likely he didn’t need anything at all, given he’d been able to manipulate a stick without so much as touching it, but the weight of a tool in his hands felt reassuring. Cora had said this wasn’t magic so he would treat it like any other medical procedure. This knife would be his scalpel and the space he controlled, his operating room.

He sucked in a breath and cut downward. His whole body tensed in reaction to what he knew was about to happen and he flinched despite himself. When he forced his eyes open and saw his foot disconnected from his leg, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He wasn’t the squeamish sort. Any last scrap of him that might have been had disappeared while he hid amongst dead bodies to survive. That didn’t mean that he was prepared to see himself chopped to bits.

After a few steadying breaths, he realized something. It wasn’t bleeding. It also didn’t hurt. He’d written off the initial lack of pain as shock but surely it should hurt? All it felt was cold. That’s when he noticed he could not only still feel what it felt but could move his toes if he tried.  Despite the crudeness of the knife, the cuts were remarkably clean as well. He’d still feel better with better tools on hand but it seemed, if needed, he could operate with whatever was on hand.

“Fascinating.”

He aimed the knife at his foot again and sliced a few more times. His foot fell to the ground in four neat pieces. There was a sort of numb tingle along the cuts but otherwise no sensation to speak of along the incisions. He picked up one of the pieces of his foot and examined it. The tissue all seemed to be functioning as usual despite being about as far from usual as it could be. What was more, when he focused in, he could sense each of the component parts. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could manipulate every capillary, tendon, and bone at will. Everything within this operating room was his to control. For the first time, he truly felt like he could be rid of the Amber Lead as he felt it sluggish in his veins.

A scream broke through the winter air and snapped Law back to the present. He froze in place as another followed and shouting came after that. Two— no— three voices disrupted the silence. The smart thing to do would be to stay still and hope that whoever they were, they didn’t come this way, but then he heard a call for help. One of the voices was begging the others to stop. He thought of his futile pleas to Vergo and his hand tightened around the knife. He wasn’t in a mood for bullies.

That meant it was time to see just how much power he actually had. He quickly and carefully realigned the disparate quarters of his foot and pressed them back together. They reconnected as though they’d never been cut at all. Any other time he would have been eager to experiment further but right now he had some skulls to crack.

He quickly reattached the foot and let his powers die away as he pulled on his sock and boot once more. He sheathed the knife at his belt and took off at a run toward the voices. He marvelled at the fact that just moments before his foot had been in pieces on the snow and now he was running as though that had all been a fever dream. It was a good distraction from the rage bubbling up inside him as the first voice was reduced to whimpers.

He could see now where the sounds were coming from. Two boys about his age were standing with bats in hand over a bloodied lump on the ground. It looked like a polar bear but it was wearing clothes. This close Law could hear the bear saying ‘sorry’ again and again, so it clearly wasn’t a normal bear. He remembered a story Cora had told him and his brain supplied the word— Mink. Here was a creature he’d never hoped to see and they were treating it like a monster.

Law could hear his teeth creak, he was grinding them so hard. “Leave him alone.”

The two boys looked up at him. The redhead spat on the ground at Law’s feet. “Why should we?”

“Yeah,” said the other, the one with a hat that said ‘penguin’ on the front. “What are you gonna do about it, kid?”

They both leaned down to talk to him, as though to emphasize how much taller they were than him. If that hadn’t worked for Cora, then it was hardly going to work for them. Law almost pitied them.

He dove forward quickly and punched the redhead in the gut so that he dropped his bat as he doubled over. He knocked the other off his feet with a low, sweeping kick. While they regained their bearings, Law summoned up his powers. The bubble of his Room, as he’d decided to call it, enveloped them all. He ran on pure instinct and gestured at the both of them. They lifted off their feet and then crashed into each other. He then tossed them into a snow bank. He was sorely tempted to use his knife, knowing they wouldn’t be seriously injured, but he could feel himself running out of energy. Until he knew if he could put them back together outside a Room, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of a good scare.

He felt his knees wobble beneath him. He cancelled the Room before it stretched him too thin. Rather than wait to see if the pair of bullies got back up, Law walked up to the still cowering bear. The bear shrank even further into the snow. It looked up at him with small, dark eyes. He was almost cute.

Not that Law noticed such things. No, he was focused on the injuries the bear had sustained. He tried to approach to see if there was anything he could help with.

“I’m a doctor. Training to be one, anyway. I can help.”

It wasn’t exactly the full truth but he had been further expanding his medical knowledge while serving under Doflamingo. Besides, he figured it was probably more reassuring at the moment than saying he was a pirate. Or former pirate. Or whatever he was now that he’d pissed off his captain for good.

Not that it mattered. The bear put his paws on his head. “I’m sorry,” he whined.

Law huffed. He ran a hand over his face and took the opportunity to gather his fraying patience and energy. He wasn’t in the mood to coddle. “You didn’t do anything. Now come on. I can help you.”

The bear peered out from behind one paw. “You made them float.”

“Yeah?”

“And you threw them.”

Law crossed his arms and glared at the two dark lumps in the snow. “Well they were hurting you weren’t they? I can just stop helping, if you want.”

The trounced boys groaned. However they planned on reacting to their thorough beating, they’d be up soon. Law nodded at them to indicate as much. When the bear did nothing to react, he shrugged and started to walk away. A paw wrapped around his wrist.

“Actually, um, uh… sir?”

Law snorted at that. “Law.”

“I’m, uh, Bepo. Not that you asked. Sorry.”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt dizzy. He needed to get somewhere to rest. Soon. It looked like two hobbling teenage boys had other ideas. They’d picked themselves up out of the snow and were coming toward him.

“Hey you,” penguin hat said.

Law put a hand on his knife and turned back to Bepo. “Come on.”

“Wait.”

The redhead. Law could hear footsteps getting closer. He spun around, knife in hand. “Don’t try it.”

Penguin hat put up his hands. “That’s not—”

Law readied for another fight. His body had other ideas. The corners of his vision had gone fuzzy and his stomach flipped over on itself. He could see the boys mouthing something at him. Logically he knew they were speaking but he couldn’t hear a word. It didn’t matter. He could beat these fools even if he was only half conscious.

Another step toward them, knife raised, and everything went black.

[vercopaanir]

Of the Mudhorn

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 16

Masterlist Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: While Kuiil takes care to save the life of the wounded fathier, you and the Mandalorian care for the foundlings in the desert, and you learn the secret of the child.

Words: 5.1k 

Rating/Warnings: T, maybe for some romantic themes? I don’t know, man.

Notes: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read and left comments. I cannot believe how this story has grown so exponentially! It could not have happened without your support. I am currently planning another PP character story. I’m not sure when it’ll be published, but I may be posting a preview of it sometime in the near future!

Please check out the newest artwork for this story here!

AO3

Recovering from your injuries has kept you asleep for a day and a half, so you’re not remotely tired when Kuiil offers you, once again, the use of his sleeping quarters. He had prepared a humble meal for you and the two children, and the Mandalorian sat quietly across from the table, one boot resting on his knee as he helps the petal eared infant in his lap drink bantha milk from a small clay cup. The Ugnaught speaks of the peace that had come to the valley, the steady work of his moisture farm, and the temperament of the blurrgs while you fill yourself on warm food and safety.

You stand to clean the table, grateful that he has lit several lanterns in the spacious living quarters so you can see better. When you gather the dishes, you don’t miss the way the two siblings yawn, sinking their elbows onto the table, but what surprises you most is the sudden jerk of the Mandalorian’s helmet when his head begins to nosedive forward.

Rounding the table, you gently extract the baby from his arms and smile softly when his visor tilts up toward you. Laying a cloth over your shoulder, you pat the child’s back with firm thumps and whisper, “Why don’t you take the bed? I’m not going to sleep for a time.”

When he doesn’t even put up an argument, you know he’s exhausted his physical limitations. He pushes himself to stand with a weary exhale from deep within his chest, and he practically drags himself to the back of the tent. He pauses as you turn away, and you hear his deep baritone rumble, “Come on.”

Corde and Venka slip from their seats at the table, gratefully falling in line behind the bounty hunter and rubbing their eyes with chubby fists. You smile when their familiar shadows disappear behind the thick curtain partition, and you smother a laugh to hear the baby on your shoulder belch and giggle triumphantly.

“I will tend the fathier, now. You are welcome to join me,” Kuiil says with a shrewd look, and you slide the baby comfortably into the crook of your arm, letting your free hand rest upon the Uganaught’s shoulder. He leads you outside, across the small yard to the blurrg’s pen. He shows you the stool by his workbench, and you set the child on the ground to toddle near your feet, enjoying the cool desert breeze while Kuiil begins sorting through husbandry supplies. “Will you tell me where this creature came from, and the children, or will I be left to guess?”

“I would be surprised if you couldn’t,” you say, smiling when he snorts and sets himself to work. The animal seems too spent to be able to fight or fuss under the handling of the Uganaught’s care, and you begin to tell the tale of everything that had happened after your last visit to Avarla-7.

Kuiil is an adept listener, sharing that quality with the Mandalorian. He doesn’t interrupt you, and he only makes affirming noises to assure you he is listening while he washes, tends, and treats the animal’s wounds. When you get to the story of Canto Bight, of your time in the stables, he returns to the workbench to remove his gloves and sit across from you. 

“The children have burns on their hands, from what I suspect are brands. This is not uncommon in slave trade,” Kuiil says, and if he sees your face drain of color, if he notices the trembling that takes over your hands, he is too polite to comment on it. “I suspect, had the Mandalorian not come, you would wear a matching set.”

“Part of me will never let go of the guilt that he came back,” you confess, lowering your voice, and your chin to look down at your hands that were pristine beneath the lamplight. “So much could have gone wrong.”

“And do you think the small comfort you might have achieved would compare to the loss the Mandalorian would have taken?” 

Kuiil has never spoken to you unkindly, but the terse, unforgiving growl makes you feel rather sick. You turn your eyes toward the child that is currently hopping after a toad that is nearly as big as he is, and you bite your lip. “I-I don’t know.” 

“I do. And I suspect he does, as well.”

You watch the dim shape of the child at play, his world once again tilted decidedly in his favor without any knowledge of the hungry eyes following him from every corner of the galaxy. For something so small, so pure of heart, it overwhelms you, this knowledge that there is evil in the universe searching to snuff his little life out. Your hands curl in your lap, and you only realize you are gritting your teeth when your jaw begins to ache.

“I thought, when I first came here, that I was being traded a life of servitude for honest work,” you whisper, your voice beginning to choke with the tightness of contrition. A tear pearls in your eye, and when it falls to land upon your dress, the little child turns to look up at you as if he heard its descent. “I feel as if I somehow unwittingly cheated the universe. That one day the Maker will look down, see the excess of my happiness, and take it all back.”

The sounds of the frogs and insects and the quiet stream of the wind in the air is all there is to hear between two former slaves, for you know that Kuiil knows your fear first hand. There is nothing he can say, wise or brazen, that will ever quell the haunting in your heart of being a stranger without the yolk of servitude. 

“Perhaps, your reward is great because you have saved two more souls from the worries you yourself now carry,” Kuiil grouses, looking down at his workbench and beginning again the task of organizing it. You turn your pale eyes towards him as he begins sorting through parts, fishing out a dirty rag to wipe the workspace down with. “And should the Maker find fault in that, I would no longer wish to know them.” 

The child toddles up to you, gently hugging your ankle and pressing his face into the fabric of your dress. You lift him up into your arms, kissing his nose before pressing your brow to his. Six little fingers touch your cheeks, and you sniffle and smile. You stand slowly, the Ugnaught’s words going round and round in your head.

“Thank you, Kuiil. For everything.” 

He says nothing, and you sit quietly until the sky nearly begins to lighten on the horizon. You turn towards the tent, the child nuzzling against your chest and yawning sweetly. You step quietly, slipping your boots off near the door and hunching down as you part the partition back. Upon the bed, the Mandalorian is flat on his back dressed in full armor, snoring quietly through his helmet, which weighs his neck down at an odd angle. Corde is asleep beneath his arm, hugging his middle and burying her face into the fabric of his shirt. Venka is curled at the foot of the bed, and you cover your lips to keep from laughing at the sight. Tucking the child into his pram, you gently nudge it so it floats silently beside the bed, and turn to the mess of bodies you now face.

You gently begin to situate the small boy, lifting his head to slip a folded blanket beneath his cheek to serve as a pillow. Next, you remove the Mandalorian’s boots, taking care with every buckle and tie so you can set them quietly on the ground. Just as you brush Corde’s hair from her warm cheek, a gloved hand grabs your wrist on instinct.

“It’s still early,” you murmur, lowering yourself so you perch on the edge of the bed by his hip, feeling the strength give in his fingers where he holds you. “Go back to sleep.” 

His hand falls back onto the bed, and just like that, he’s out once again. You smile, gently laying down beside him, heat flushing your face at being so close. You’re on the edge of the cot itself, and you can’t help but remember his words from the hotel room when he took the space nearest the door. Your head pillows on his bicep, but you can’t be more comfortable than you are in that moment. You expect to be by yourself when you wake up, as is common with the bounty hunter you’ve grown to know and share your space with, but when next you open your eyes, there is an early morning light streaming through the hut’s meshing that catches on the beskar vambrace draping over your abdomen. 

Quiet breathing through the vocoder is nestled in your hair that’s strewn across the pillow, and when you shift just slightly, you realize that someone has covered both of you with a blanket. The light is enough for you to see that neither child that had been asleep the night before remains where you left them, and when you look at the pram and the open shutters, it also sits empty.

Raising a hand to your forehead, you slowly sit up, fighting a yawn, before gently moving the dead weight of the arm pinning you down. There’s a muffled snort from under the helmet sinking back into the pillow, and his hand flexes on top of the blanket. 

“Mphf-what’re you doing?” His voice is a rasp, scratchy and rough with sleep, and you wonder if he rested at all while you were recovering. You lay a hand on his arm soothingly, rubbing your thumb in circles. His voice is almost a plea, “Lay…lay back down.”

A smile dances at the corners of your mouth, and you whisper, “All the children are gone.” The utterly unimpressed grunt from under the helmet tells you exactly what the Mandalorian thinks of that, and your grin widens. “Sleep more if you like, but I would feel guilty leaving our host alone to mind all three of them.”

“As if they’d slow him down,” he mutters, but you feel him sit up behind you as you let your feet drop to the floor. You let your world settle upright, your balance and wakefulness coming together as the chill of the desert is chased away by the sun.

A gentle pressure between your shoulders inclines your head to turn, finding the Mandalorian pressing his helmet ponderously against your back. 

“Really, you can keep sleeping,” you whisper, your heart aching at the sound of such a deep sigh.

His helmet angles to the side, and you feel his vambrace tuck beneath your breasts as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards against him. Your head falls back into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and for a moment, you let yourself go limp, enjoying being handled.

“A tempting offer,” the rough baritone rumbles quietly. “But will you make it worth my while?”

Instinctively, your legs press together at the same time your lips part to breathe. Your heart begins to pound, heavy and fervent when his other gloved hand comes up to cup the front of your throat. There’s only the barest tease of pressure, and you know he can feel how your pulse is singing beneath the leather of his glove. Your own hands fall, resting firmly on his thighs that crowd either side of you, and you swallow hard.

Your breath rattles in your throat, and you lick your lips, turning your face toward his helmet that presses gently to your temple. “I…I don’t have anything to offer.”

His hum is laced with the static of his modulator, and you feel it deep in your belly. His arm around your waist tightens, and you bite your lip near enough to bleed when he drags you back hard against his body, leaving not even air between you.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, ner Mesh’la.” His voice is a growl now, so quiet that you can only hear it from beneath the helmet, and your entire body shivers when the beskar nuzzles your jaw, just beneath your ear. “You could have me on my knees, if you wished.”

You open your mouth, whether to whisper a plea to continue or beg him to stop, but both of your attentions draw to the giggling coo near the partition of the sleeping quarters.

The child stares up at the both of you, large, dark eyes blinking sweetly, and one hand drags his stuffed bantha behind him on the ground. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and you feel a warm flush when you can feel the Mandalorian’s own chuckle in his chest at your back. His arms fall away from you, and you push yourself from him and the bed to stand up. Immediately, the child toddles at full speed toward you, huffing excitedly and waving his free hand upward. 

Leaning down, you lift the infant up into your arms, and he drops his toy in deference to being up high, immediately grabbing tiny fistfulls of your hair in his fists. The Mandalorian moves around the small space, and you blow sweet kisses into the baby’s face until he falls forward, pressing his open mouth against your chin and gurgling happily. 

“He missed you,” the Mandalorian says, his voice quiet as he sits to put his boots on. You tilt your head toward the child, bumping foreheads with him and smiling when he tries to kiss your nose next. He achieves biting the tip and grinning up at you proudly. The warrior’s voice catches when he says, “I didn’t think he would stop crying.”

Your heart sinks, and your smile falls, looking down at the little one in your arms to his father who busies himself with the ties of his boots. His view changes when you step between his feet, and he looks up at you through his visor. You think you can see his throat shift when he swallows.

“You’re a good father, you know,” you murmur, one hand drifting to cup the chiseled arch of one side of his helmet. You hear him exhale, his breath shaking when you smile. “Whether I’m here or not.”

His glove comes up to cup the back of your hand. You linger a moment before you turn and duck from behind the partition, carrying the child through the modest living quarters. You know your hair is tangled and your dress is wrinkled, but you step into your boots and begin preparing a small meal for the baby that hangs in the crook of one elbow. You want to give the Mandalorian privacy to eat or drink before you take up more space and time in the tent. The sun is shining bright, and when you step outside, you can hear Corde giggling from somewhere in the distance near the blurrg pen.

You sit at the workbench on the same stool you occupied the night before, leaning the child back so he could hold the little cup full of cold bantha milk comfortably and feed in the shade. Heavy footfalls bring your face up, and you smile at the blurry shape of your host.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Kuiil greets, picking up a tool from the bench in front of you. He seems to linger over the child, who blinks owlishly at him. “He’s eating more these days.”

“He is,” you agree, patting the child’s tummy with affection. “I think he must be going through a growth spurt.” 

“Perhaps it is from his power,” Kuiil ruminates, rounding the workbench to the other side.

This draws your attention, and you blink slowly. “W-What power?”

Kuiil pauses, looking across the bench at you with a hard frown, his bushy brows lowering in confusion. “You do not know? The Mandalorian did not…tell you?” he demands gruffly, and you’re left feeling not unlike a fish, your mouth opening and closing helplessly. “Did he not speak of the mudhorn?”

You wrack your brain for any detail you may have missed from the story you’ve grown so fondly of thinking about, but you can’t recall anything about the child. He had simply told you the child had been present when a mudhorn was defeated.

Kuiil seems to interpret this misinformation from your face and throws the tool down so noisily, the child jumps and nearly drops the cup he drinks from. The Uganaught storms off toward the tent, and you flush with worry, sure you’ve just opened a door that was meant to stay closed. You heave a sigh, looking down at the little one you cradle, sighing, “I think I got your father in trouble. What could he be talking about, hm?”

The baby simply blinks up at you, his eyes falling slowly with drowsiness, and you can’t help the smile on your face. Movement out of your periphery draws your eye, and you see the Mandalorian stomping out of the tent, Venka trailing meekly behind him. The bounty hunter collapses near a small fire pit, his rifle across his knees with a cloth. The little boy sits near him, and Kuiil emerges a moment later, huffing up to you.

“That man is more muscle than sense, at times,” he growls at you, to which you blush and bite down a grin. “So I shall tell you the tale.” 

Just as he had listened to your story the night before, you spend the entirety of his recollection sitting quietly and attentively. You only move to set the empty cup aside when the child has finished his meal, lifting him to your shoulder to burp him. Kuiil pauses to offer you a cleaning cloth, and you grow still when he describes the Mandalorian’s experience with the mudhorn.

“I…I don’t understand,” you murmur, looking down at the little one who’s nuzzling against your neck sleepily. “How is that possible?”

“I have heard stories, myself,” Kuiil rumbles, watching the little one dozing against you. “But they are not answers. I do not know what is true, but I do know that the Mandalorian would not lie about this young one.”

You lay one hand against the child’s back, feeling him breathe softly and curl against you for warmth. It doesn’t seem real, like something out of a dream, but it begins to fall into place with what you do know. 

Why would the Empire seek out such a small innocent without something to gain? Something beyond what you could ever know. What does surprise you is how you feel no difference for the little one you cradle near your heart. He is still the same, sweet being you had given your heart to, and you press a kiss to his brow. 

“I’m going to lay him down,” you murmur, standing and crossing the yard to the hut. You can feel eyes on you, following your every movement, but your focus is on the child you tuck into the pram waiting inside the tent. You leave the shutters open, in case he cries or wakes up to find you, and you arrange the blanket so it keeps out any unwanted chill. 

Now with the sleeping quarters free, you take a moment to undress and change your clothes, sighing in relief at the feeling of clean, unrumpled fabric against your skin. You work the tangles out of your hair with a brush from your bag, and you splash cold water on your face from the faucet, taking care not to use too much. 

As you dry your face, you can hear a quiet, rasping voice just outside the tent.

“Kandosii,” the Mandalorian praises, and you step close to the edge of the tent by the door to listen. “Again.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and you frown, wondering if you perhaps can’t hear as well as you think you do. When you peek around the edge of the door, you can see Venka leaning close to the Mandalorian by the fire pit, but you can’t make out anything that they’re doing. You step outside, trying to keep your feet light, but both of them look up as you approach. 

When they lean away, there is nothing you can see, save for some scratchings on the ground in the rocky sand. The rifle still rests across the Mandalorian’s knees, the barrel pointing away from the boy.

“What are you two doing?”

You kneel down beside Venka, one hand brushing the boy’s shoulder companionably. He turns his face, still round with baby fat, towards the Mandalorian who nods encouragingly to him.

Venka reaches towards you and takes your hand, and you watch him curiously as he turns your palm upward. He uses one finger and begins tapping your palm in an uneven, stilted rhythm. You blink, glancing from his blurry outline to the Mandalorian’s shadow, which looks on silently.

The tapping stops abruptly, and Venka’s hands fall to his knees, now turning back to the warrior with the eagerness of a student. The gleaming visor nods once in approval, and the boy beams.

“I…I don’t understand,” you laugh softly, curling your fingers where they still hover upwards.

“It is called Dadita,” the Mandalorian explains, standing up with a ponderous sigh and rounding the fire pit to stand beside you. He uses the pronged barrel of his rifle to begin making long dashes and shorter nicks in the earth. “Every dash and beat represents a letter in Basic Galactic. It is a code we use in battle, to disguise messages so enemies cannot decipher our intentions.”

Your furrowed brows slowly lift up with understanding, and Venka takes your hand again, quickly tapping against your palm. The look of pure joy on the little boy’s face brings tears to your eyes, watching him tap earnestly to communicate with you. To speak and to be understood after so long of having no voice

The Mandalorian takes a knee beside you, watching as the boy taps his message quickly.

“What is he saying?” you ask softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“‘I love my sister. We are happy.’” 

Your hand not held by the child covers your mouth, more tears falling when you close your eyes. Venka holds your hand with both of his now, looking worriedly between you and the Mandalorian, and you feel a warm, gloved hand resting on your shoulder. He nods at the little boy once, and Venka stands up and wraps his arms around your neck. You gather him close, hugging him tightly, and cup the back of his head. He seems content to be held, so you embrace him until your tears dry salty tracks on your cheeks before you kiss his mop of fluffy curls. 

“You will have to teach us all how to speak it,” you whisper, turning to face the Mandalorian. His visor bows silently in agreement, and you pet the boy’s hair back into place where you’d mussed it. “Go on, don’t-don’t worry about me.” 

Venka hesitates, glancing between you both before running off towards Kuiil where he’s welding at his workbench. You sit beside the armored warrior silently, eyes closed and breathing deeply. You feel something shift within you that you had thought was unmovable, and now you can’t imagine what to do with yourself without those surrounding you.

“Why…why didn’t you tell me about the child?” you ask, your voice half a croak from the tears clogging your throat. You feel the Mandalorian sigh even though you can’t hear it. “About what he did? What he can do?”

The Mandalorian looks down at the rocky stand you both kneel in, resting the butt of his rifle on the ground and leaning on it. He’s quiet for such a long time, you wonder if he’s going to ignore your question, but you also know for someone who speaks so rarely, he chooses his words carefully.

Finally, he whispers, “I was…afraid you would leave, if you knew.”

Whatever you were prepared for him to say, it was not this.

“What?” you breathe, eyes widening. You hear the man beneath the armor let out a deep groan, and he lets his helmet fall forward against his rifle, as if in pain. You sit forward, grabbing the lip of his helmet and pulling his visor around to face you. He tenses immediately, and you blink the tears from your lashes. “Tell me, p-please.”

He lets out a strangled, quiet noise that’s near a whimper, and his hand not holding his rifle gently wraps around your wrist. “I was afraid you would leave if you knew how dangerous it was to…to be close to him. To us.” There’s a heavy, loaded silence for a brief moment before he whispers over the strain of his leather glove that tightens around his gun, “I-I don’t think we can go back to that, Cyare. I don’t think I can.”

With the firm grip on his helmet, you draw him down to you, pressing his helmet to your forehead, and you whisper, “You will never have to.”

The Dadita lessons begin the next day, when the sun is bright in the morning without hurting your eyes. You think he must have prepared for it, as you direct Venka how to wash the dishes from breakfast when he walks back into the hut carrying the drooling infant in one arm, asking the three of you to come outside when you’re finished. 

You barely have Corde’s hair brushed before the two children are dragging you outside. The Mandalorian stands near the barn where the blurrgs are chomping upon great swaths of desert flora and vegetation, and the baby toddles after a rogue frog hopping about in the shade, giggling in its chase. 

His amban rifle rests in the crook of his arm, the barrel opened at the end where it hangs from his elbow showing plain for you and anyone else that it isn’t loaded. He uses the pronged tip of the barrel to draw in the sand the markings for every letter in Galactic Basic, only stepping away when Kuiil asks for his assistance with a task or chore. 

The code itself is not hard for you to master, but understanding it being spoken back to you is the true challenge. Venka picks it up with ease, tapping in your palm with rapid fire fluency. You huff, amusement and exasperation coloring your face as you shake your head.

“You are too clever by half for me,” you tell him, trapping his hand in yours and tickling his side. He wheezes, dancing away before coming back to you. “Alright, then, slower this time.”

Kuiil takes a break from farm work with you near the barn, watching as he eats a humble meal beside the Mandalorian of the children tapping various objects and upon different surfaces to speak to one another. At one point, Corde skips into the barn to tap through the wall, sharing secrets with her brother, and you move to sit beside the Ugnaught, your head beginning to ache from memorizing so many dashes and dots.

“Have you ever had to use this before?” you ask, folding your hands in your lap. Kuiil glances the way of the Mandalorian at your question, and you notice his fingers tapping along his cuirasse pause. “In battle or…otherwise?”

Venka runs from the wall of the barn around to the door to join his sister, ignoring your call to him not to touch anything inside.

“No.” He sounds like he’s frowning, thinking back to some memory he’d rather not bite into. “Though it would have been an advantage if I had.” 

“There are not many Mandalorians to use it with,” Kuiil says, by way of an explanation as he gathers up the small plate he was eating from. “But now you have some to speak it with.”

The Mandalorian watches the Ugnaught amble off, and you smile after him, feeling warmth from the words. When you turn back around, you find the bounty hunter kneeling beside you, and you suck in a breath of surprise at how silent and how quick he is. He doesn’t leave you room when he cups your chin with one hand and lifts the edge of his helmet to his nose, stealing a kiss as soon as you’re both alone. 

Your hands fly up to his helmet, holding the carved arches where his cheeks would be, and you can’t swallow the tiny moan that escapes you when he parts your lips beneath his. With one hand now free, he slides it to rest upon the flesh of your waist, the other drawing up your jaw to cup the back of your neck. You thought you had dreamed the sweetness you’d tasted upon the Razor Crest, and the urgency of his warm mouth leaves you floating the rest of the day.

He exploits his stealth around you more as the week passes. Stealing a kiss behind the barn or the curtain of the sleeping quarters becomes more sought after than water in the desert, always careful of his helmet or the light to protect his face. Your fingers find purchase somewhere new to titillate you-in the frothy, soft curls beneath his helm, on his slim waist beneath his cloak, even once, when the children slept in the mid-afternoon, upon the buckle of his belt to pull him closer when he crowds you behind Kuiil’s hut. 

It becomes distracting in the heat, so you busy yourself with teaching the children things to keep them from idling and to keep yourself from gazing too long at the armored bounty hunter never more than a few steps behind you. Venka becomes an accomplished tailor under your patient instruction, hemming the baby’s robe while Corde assists the Mandalorian in bathing the small child. You marvel at the tenacity the little children have, following their guardian’s shadow and watching him with all the admiration of students.

One evening, they both go out with the Mandalorian so he can teach them how to look for tracks in the desert terrain, and you help Kuiil feed the blurrgs. When they return, stained with dust and dirt and their eyes brighter than crystals, you can’t help but laugh at the tired slump in the warrior’s pauldrons. When you can’t help a giggle, he grabs you around the middle with greedy hands and wipes his dirty helmet against your forehead, smearing dirt all over your face as you shriek with laughter.

You watch him lumber away, tossing Corde over his shoulder without ceremony while she screams giggles of her own, Venka trailing after him as he heads into the hut. Watching them, you hold such a pain within your chest unlike anything else you have ever felt that it brings tears to your eyes.

How could something you have never had before become all you know?

-

Mando’a Translations:

Ner Mesh'la - My Beauty

Kandosii - “Well done.”

Cyare - Beloved

Dadita - A code used by Mandalorians, similar to Morse code.

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