#also it was hell trying to keep the family inside the huts!!!

[eljeebee]

For the whole morning, it kept raining. The heavy rain was replaced with warm thunderstorms, that everyone had to stay inside, afraid that they might get struck by the lightning.

Bernie went to the deck to take a quick look. There's almost zero visibility in the islands as the monsoon progressed. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, before going back inside.

As locals and tourists alike stayed inside, one child of the islands, a daughter of the ocean, was left outside.

The thunderstorm lessened into a shower, but it was still dark, and it looked like it could continue on the whole day.

Perlas was in the middle of the sea, far from her hut and the Sand Simoleon Beach. A conch on her hand, she raised it.

"That vampire can attack me anytime with this weather," she muttered. "I will not let them take that chance."

And then, using her mermaid magic, she blew the conch like a horn.

The shower stopped. The dark skies, the mist that it brought with, slowly vanished.

Perlas of St. Taz smiled when the sky brightened. Satisfied, and safe once again, she hurried back to her hut, before anyone could see her in broad daylight.

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[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Rated M

“Fuck me, of course it had to be a trick room.”

Satoru growled these words as he wandered restlessly down the accursed tunnels. The signs had been everywhere, plain as day. He hated himself for not seeing it sooner. Most Domains were imbued with hidden abilities meant to stifle opponents; sub-degree temperatures, rugged terrain, psychological illusions. Trick rooms functioned as a deadly concoction of all three, a deterrent used to divide and conquer. How it worked was if the Domain sensed more than one opponent — particularly if the opponent had stronger cursed energy (ie, him) — it would try to split the opponents apart, randomly moving them to different locations in the Domain like pieces on a board game, and then selectively eliminating the individuals one by one. Satoru had never been inside a trick room, but studied them plenty in school way back when. The key strategy was to “trick” the trick room, which could be accomplished by maintaining physical contact with another person. That way the trick room couldn’t discern whether the opponent was more than one, meaning Satoru shouldn’t have let go of Hannah’s hand. The trick room now decided it was playing Keep Away and transported his wife somewhere beyond his reach. In addition to being a colossal pervert, he was also a colossal dumbass. He wanted to punch something. If he got her killed for this he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

Satoru walked past another one of those eyeball things Hannah and him encountered earlier. It scuttled on the wall and blinked at him. He hurled a disc of cursed energy at it. The eyeball splattered in an array of guts and goo, its detached limbs twitching to get away. He felt nothing for it.

I’d probably become a hermit, he thought dolefully, switching back to his initial question. Seems appropriate, given all the crap they’ve put me through.

Appropriate, indeed. If a sorcerer’s mission was to prevent calamity brought on by cursed spirits and maintain the peace and security of society, then Satoru would say he had done more than his fair share. It was what he was destined to do, they said. You're the Six Eyes wielder. You have the world at your fingertips.

Hannah’s death would drive a burning stake right through that bullshit narrative. It wouldn’t be the Limitless, Infinity, or even the Six Eyes responsible for her death. It would be him. His arrogance. His failure. He let another person, someone so innocent, so kind, die on his watch. Destiny had chosen the wrong person to wield this power. Her death would be his greatest suffering.

So he’d build a hut on a high mountain overlooking the sea. Shave his head and renounce all earthly pleasures - even sweets if he had to - and live off the land. Forage for berries or some shit. Drink water from a stream. Compose poetry and get in touch with his sensitive side. Maybe write something insightful they’d teach the kiddos centuries down the road. However he chose to bide his time, it’d be spent waiting for the next life. The Gojo line would follow the way of the dinosaurs; Extinction.

And as he reflected upon his family’s demise and the possibility of being reborn in one of the eight burning hells, Satoru began monotonously twirling his wedding ring with his thumb. It was a habit he had picked up after going bare knuckled for so many years. The gold felt moored to his finger. He could pull, twist, scrape, and bite, and still the band wouldn’t — Wait a minute. Yes. Yes, of course. The ring! Hannah was wearing her wedding ring too. Nanami said cursed spirits shouldn’t be able to detect her signature within a hundred meter radius. The trick room was alerted of her presence because she was a living being, but even then, the protective charm imbued on her ring should throw the curse off the trail. And she wasn’t completely defenseless. There was also the knife he gave her.

Knowing this reassured him a little. Hannah was smart. She wouldn’t try anything reckless. She would be alright and would be found. He had to believe that.

Satoru walked briskly down the curse-infested Domain, his legs functioning on their own accord. The headache winding up the bass of his skull had intensified. He couldn’t wait to get out of this place. He turned the corner and caught the shine of something glittering near the wall.

Hannah’s shoes. All night he had been sneaking glances of her struggling to wear them. Must’ve finally taken them off. Good. It meant she had been here. She was alive. He then caught the glowing residuals littering the ground like toxic paw prints. A frown formed on his face.

The curse had been here too.

Satoru did not consider himself to have a short-fuse. He had his moments during the lonely-spent summers of his youth, but on the whole, anger did not come naturally to him. It was too much work, too much hassle. And yet eyeing the residual matrix on the ground, the knowledge that this curse was looking to harm someone he cared about, made Satoru's piss boil. The rage seemed all consuming. The kind of irrational, split-second rage that got drivers killed because they weren’t minding the road, but for Satoru brought everything into focus. He could feel his orientation slip, the lines between sanity and madness blurring together like dopamine straight to the head. His body hummed in anticipation, his heart beated excitedly. He felt the pull on his lips, cursed energy drawing around him like he was the center of gravity. He was going to tear this curse apart, limb from limb, bone from bone.

And he was going to enjoy every last fucking second of it.

Hiro watched the golden light radiate from Hannah’s hands, brightening both ends of the tunnel. He could see what she looked like now. The sparkly evening dress she wore was tattered, a long jagged slit exposing her leg. And her auburn hair was disheveled and matted. She was pretty, he thought. In that foreign kind of way. But with her shoeless feet, she looked like a crazed wildling venturing out of the woods after surviving a lifetime on her own. He shivered. If someone like her looked that way, what must he look like?

The boy continued watching the concentration evolve on her face, the furrowed brow and twitching lips. After approaching something short of twenty minutes, the golden light began fading like the flame of a candle. The tunnel grew dark again. In a great exhale, Hannah lowered her arms. Every part of her body felt drained of energy. She had only ever tried it on plants, not people. In essence, it was easier to grow a rose bush than heal a paper cut or a seven inch gash on a child’s leg. The process left her seeing vertigo and she had difficulty staying upright. Her stomach became slightly nauseous, and the ill feeling quickly spread to the rest of her body. But the plan had worked. She had successfully extracted most, if not all, of the cursed energy fettered in Kenta’s wound. The boy began to stir. His eyes fluttered.

“Onī-san,” he said groggily.

“Kenta!” Hiro embraced his baby brother. “You’re alive!”

Kenta sleepily looked around and sat up, rubbing his crusty eyelids. He didn’t know why Nii-san was crying or who turned off all the lights or why it smelled like poo. And for some confusing reason the top of his leg was itchy and his tummy hurt.

“Where’s Mama?” he mumbled.

“I don’t know,” Hiro said. “Hannah’s gonna help us look for her. And Papa.”

“Hannah? Who’s that?”

“This nice lady here.” Hiro grabbed Hannah’s sweaty hand in the dark and tried pulling her for Kenta to see.

The dazed four year old squinted his eyes. He could just make out the shaded outline of the lady his brother had named. He caught the low-lit sparkles of her dress, something shining like two eyes and long hair. “Woah,” he said. “Is she cool like big brother?”

“Yeah, she’s cool. She made your leg all better. See?”

Of course, this was a silly thing to say. The four year old couldn’t see anything past his nose, nor did he understand the previous ramifications of his leg. His eyes began to lull, feeling tired.

“All better,” Kenta yawned, closing his lids dreamily. “Night night, Onī-san.”

Hiro panicked when his brother’s body went slack. “No, Kenta!”

This prompted Hannah to snap from her stupor and return to Kenta’s aid. She touched his forehead. It was still warm. The fever hadn’t broken. She quickly checked his vitals, feeling his wrist to count the heartbeats with her fingers like she’d been trained to do in the hospitals. 87 beats. A steady pulse at rest. Anything over 110 was life threatening.

“He’s stable,” she assured, gently sweeping the little boy's hair to one side. “For now, at least.” Kenta being knocked cold could be due to a whole range of factors. Dehydration being one. An adult could last three days without drinking water. Hannah didn’t know the duration a child could last, and she wasn’t going to sit there and find out.

She grabbed Hiro’s hand.

“We need to move.”

Hiro felt something like a whimper climb up the back of his throat. “But I’m scared.”

Hannah squeezed.

“I know you are,” she said shakily. “I’m scared too. But I have someone here who’s looking for us. He knows a way out of this place. So it’s very important that we reach him before the monster — ”

Upon mentioning the monster, the six year old began to cry, tears trickling down his pudgy face. Hannah leaned close and swiped her thumb across his cheek, reminiscent of something his Mama would do.

“You have to be brave now, Hiro,” she urged. “You have to be brave for Kenta. Can you do that for me? Be brave?”

Hiro was deeply afraid, more so than ever, but he knew Hannah was trying to help, and wiped the drainage from his nose. “You w-won’t let go?” he sniffed.

“No.” She clasped his one tiny hand in hers like a knight taking a solemn oath. “I promise I won’t let go. I’m going to be holding your hand like this the whole time.”

Sniffling, Hiro took back the tantō in his wobbly hands. Hannah kneeled down next to Kenta and slipped his arms over her shoulders, carrying him piggyback and once more grabbed for Hiro’s open hand. With a benumbed tentativeness, the human trio staggered through the fleshy Domain like three blind mice — one sleeping, two awake — weaving and side-stepping over sharp, pointy fragments that jutted out of the ground like rotted teeth in a gum line. They muddled through bones and sludge and a whole host of other half-shadowed things that skittered in the dark. The passage seemed to stretch on for eternity, not knowing where it led. Hannah listened to Kenta’s soft breathing as he slept on her back. She would have to administer immediate CPR if his breathing became too erratic and arrest his heart. So far, all was good. His head snuggled comfortably on her shoulder. She readjusted her grip under his leg so he wouldn’t slide off.

Hiro clutched tightly to Hannah’s free hand, Stinging Nettle held in the other. He stayed very close, repeating her words of “You have to be brave” in his head like the lyrics to a favorite song. It was deafeningly quiet. They could only hear their labored breathing and the uneasy squish their footsteps made as inert lumps of lord-knows-what shifted beneath them.

The discs in Hannah’s spine ached from being awkwardly bent over with the weight of a four year old. Her neck felt stiff. She struggled to keep her head up, she was so tired. A part of her wanted to stop and take a break, but her conscience screamed, No, you bloody idiot! Stay awake!! There was no falling asleep. She had children to protect. Children whose lives depended on her. Stay awake. Stay awake.

Up ahead the ground dipped and gouged. The cave-like stench grew stronger the more they shuffled through the grime, a smell of rot and age and things long-ago dead. The walls drew inwards, shrinking, corralling them like herding animals. The ground, like cold jelly.

Hannah had forgotten her rosary beads in her evening bag, currently rattling inside her husband's back pocket along with her gloves. She wished she had them with her. The beads.

Much of what humans knew about angels and demons and the paranormal remained a mystery, but not all. For instance, you could not differentiate between an angel and a demon just by looking at them. They lacked physical bodies and could alter their appearance at will and had perfect knowledge. The Italian mystic Padre Pio talked of demons taking the guise of the Blessed Virgin in order to trick and deceive, while Scripture spoke of angels appearing as monstrous beasts with four faces, four wings, and hooves. That’s why you were advised to “test the spirits” either by spraying holy water, showing a holy image, or invoking the name of God. Pio also wrote that the number of demons far exceeded that of human beings, that “if they were capable of assuming a form as tiny as a grain of sand, they would block out the sun.” Hannah remembered listening to these accounts as a child before the visions became too great. At night she would lie awake in her bed clutching a crucifix and rosary, praying, invoking the name of God, afraid a demon would emerge from the shadows and possess her. However, fallen angels were restricted in their malice. They could only possess, tempt, harass, and frighten. They were not granted permission to kill or maim you. And holy angels did not go around possessing people.

Curses on the one hand were separate from demons and angels, and very much could kill you. Nor could they be cast out using traditional methods like holy images and prayer. So what were they? Why did they exist? Where did they come from? Ah, these were questions. Early theologians speculated that curses were manifestations of the Wicked One, but these theories were swiftly debunked. Satan could not “create” anything, only destroy. A better explanation came from Thomas Aquinas’ secret writings on the invisible and demonic, saying that curses were likely of human origin; the consequence for mankind’s fallen status and the existence of sin. Opposing faiths more or less concurred with Aquinas’ theory, some of whom were centuries ahead of the Dominican friar. The Great Master Kūkai went so far as to suggest that curses were perhaps, in some strange-demented way “more human than not.” What that meant exactly remained a mystery.

Still, no one faith or school of thought could conjure a sufficient answer as to why curses wandered the earth, and why Japan in particular spawned such a disproportionate number. What they could agree on were the solutions: Jujutsu. Sorcerery. Cursed energy. Exorcism.

But Hannah was not a sorcerer. She could not manipulate curse energy. She did not know how to fight something more powerful than herself. Heal, maybe. Fight, no. Helpless as a hostage locked in the boot of a burning car falling over a cliff. She was merely human. A human that could do nothing except get on her knees and pray.

Because they were not alone in the tunnel anymore. Something was out there. It sent her heart racing, that sudden, paranoid feeling they were being followed. Hannah’s grip on Hiro tightened, clinging to him as though he’d be lost forever if she let go. She walked faster. Hiro could sense it too. His eyes couldn’t help but jerk to a spot behind them.

Then they heard a noise.

It seemed at first far away, then very close; distant and then rushing ominously toward them all at once. Their eyes caught it. Something large and pale dropped to the ground with a silent whump, slowly creeping forward. A bone white face like a kabuki mask with yellow eyes rabid as disease shone from the shadows. It had been crawling on the walls like a beetle. They saw its mouth cleave into a hyper-stretched grin. The tiniest hint of acid tickled its throat as the thing spoke.

“RUN.”

Hannah did just that. She yanked Hiro by the arm with all her might and high-tailed him in the opposite direction. Her lungs, which had felt short of oxygen, seemed to give way to new breath, heart galloping in her chest. Sharp, cutting objects stoked her feet, pins and needles, slicing right through flesh and bone. She winced, but did not falter. The burning adrenaline flowing through her body nullified most of the pain. Hiro felt weightless. Her 5’1, hundred-twenty pound ass was literally dragging him down the tunnel. He was wailing and screaming, calling out for his mother. And only then did Hannah come to understand that the curse wasn’t trailing behind them, hot on their heels. It had waited. The evil thing had given them a head start because it wanted to chase. It wanted to hunt.

“RUN! RUN!!! RUN!!!!”

A hideous, ululating laugh echoed throughout the void as it shouted this, rising and falling in hysteric yips. Loud. Splintering. She could hear its long thundering gate stampeding down the grimy tunnel like the Minotaur from Daedalus’ labyrinth. Gaining on them, faster and faster. Hannah thought she felt a claw graze her cheek, missing by a hair, almost taking a swipe at Kenta, who was still knocked unconscious on her back, had she not moved her head.

They kept running. Hannah’s heart was pumping so hard she thought it would burst. Her breaths heaved like sobs. She had no idea where they were going. She looked left and right, saw an opening and swerved hard on her heels, thinking it would take them somewhere.

Except it didn’t.

They had reached a dead end.

Hannah spun around. 

The curse was there, crouched on all fours, stalking menacingly towards them. Hiro let out a boyish scream, cowering behind Hannah. The curse laughed and in two short steps was right on top of them. She watched it raise a gangrenous hand.

“I’LL FEAST ON YOUR BONES!!”

Hannah shut her eyes and braced for the end, doing her best to shield Hiro and Kenta from being struck. The scream she’d been holding stayed in her mouth, until...

“Hey, ugly.”

Everyone, curse and human, stopped. Hannah’s heart leapt. She knew that voice. Her eyes cracked just a sliver to see Satoru illuminated in a scarlet haze. An orb of cursed energy swirled on the tip of his finger.

“Feast on this.”

He flicked the red orb at the curse like a yo-yo, watching it spin, obliterating the whole right half of the spirits’ face upon making contact. It’s skull busted open like a gourd, shards of broken cranium splitting outward and purple mist spraying. The curse howled, taking four shambling steps back.

Hannah did not waver. She hooked an arm around Hiro’s small torso, and with her other hand tightly gripped Kenta’s arms dangling around her neck, and ran like hell. The curse was too stunned by the blast to prevent her from joining the Six Eyes wielder on the other side

“Oi, kid,” Satoru said, stopping them. “Mind if I borrow that for a sec?”

He was gesturing to Stinging Nettle, still wedged in Hiro’s fist. By some miracle, he hadn’t dropped it. Hannah set the boy down. He looked warily at her for permission.

“It’s alright,” she said, nodding her head encouragingly. “This is my…friend I was talking to you about.”

Satoru gave her a confounded look. Friend? But kept quiet. No one noticed.

The boy turned around and gazed up at the Six Eyes wielder, mouth agape, like he was staring up at a great monument, and wordlessly held out the knife. Satoru smirked and casually took it from him. He liked it when kids looked at him that way; Totally awestruck. Gotta be the height.

He then motioned with his finger for Hannah to come over he whipped out her belongings from his pockets.

“Here.”

She took the jewelry and gloves and observed him placing the knife in his pocket, blade facing up so the steel poked out the back. He then snapped off his silver cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves and only then did she recall the conversation they had before becoming separated, how she had verbally lambasted him like a child. How trivial and immature it seemed then. Her eyes flitted back to the writhing curse and anxiously bit her lip.

“So, I’m guessing you have a plan?”

He glanced at her.

“Plan? There ain’t no plan."

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m serious, Satoru.”

“I know. So am I.”

The mixture of guilt and gladness was too great for her to withstand.

“Then is it too soon to offer an apology?”

“An apology?” he asked. “What for?”

“For how I behaved earlier. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have gotten — ”

Satoru stepped forward and gently cupped her cheek. “We can talk about it later, alright?”

“But…” She was going to argue, but with the look he was giving her she quickly conceded, leaning her cupped cheek into his palm. The action felt natural. “Alright, later then.”

“Cool.” He smiled and flitted his eyes at the little boy, asleep, hanging from Hannah’s shoulder like a baby orangutan. “By the way, those are some cute kids. Good job looking after them.”

She snorted a dry laugh. “Thanks.”

“Try not to disappear again.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Be careful.”

Satoru gave her a gratuitous smirk. “Always.” And turned around to finish the fight.

If this were a movie, the soundtrack would begin playing some epic Hans-Zimmer-style music; Neo fighting Agent Smith in the rain, or Luke Skywalker dueling Darth Vader for the last time. Usually there would be a bit of dialogue stippled in where the hero makes the villain aware of why they must die, and the villain laughs and explains why the hero is blindsighted by their sense of justice. If the script is written well, perhaps you’ll be made to sympathize with the villain. Gain a better understanding of their motives and why they chose to become evil in the first place, while still rooting for the hero to win. Maybe the villain sees the error of their ways and is given a chance to redeem themselves. Or perhaps in the heat of battle, the hero decides they’ve got it all wrong and the villain is right. Whatever happens, it always goes the same: Conflict. Climax. Resolution. They all lived happily ever after (for the most part). The end.

But curses didn’t come with Happy Ever Afters. They could not be reasoned with. They could not be redeemed. A curse only had the worst of intentions; one dimensional characters at their finest. For that, there could be no sympathy. Made them easier to kill. There was never any guilt associated when excorcizing a curse.

The curse in question was still reeling from the hit. Satoru rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles.

“What’s the matter, big guy? That all ya got?”

The curse narrowed its uninjured eyes at the sorcerer, snorting challengingly like a bull. Enraged, it began to quickly heal itself. The pulverized side of its face started to bubble and grow, metastasizing into new skeletal flesh, until the injuries were gone. The curse grinned triumphantly at being made whole again and was on Satoru in a flash, taking a swipe at him with its long, hooked claws. Satoru dodged. The curse swiped again. Once more, Satoru evaded the attack. “Come now. Surely you can do better than that?” he taunted, further prompting the curse to assail the sorcerer in a windmilled frenzy of swipes and jabs.

Satoru sidestepped them like they were aimed to miss, like it was all fun and games, going so far as to openly laugh and hurl insult after insult, dancing endless circles around his aggressor. He didn’t have to show off this much, of course. He’d been itching all night to pull the trigger, to throttle something. He could deliver the finishing blow at any time. But where’s the satisfaction in that? he thought. Patience was a skill like anything else. Let the curse have its moment. Let it stay ignorant of the fact it was nothing more than a puny, nonvenomous snake in the thralls of a mongoose.

Tired of slashing through air, the curse backed away and stretched out its bone-white hand. A swarm of glowing cursed energy gathered around it, but Satoru anticipated this move and smooshed his palms together in a hand sign, thus teleporting in front of the curse. He grabbed its stretched out wrist, bending it back only slightly, and said in a low voice.

“My turn.”

He leaned on the balls of his feet and yanked the curse's wrist all the way back, hearing the metacarpals fracture and break like tiny chicken bones. Pop, pop, pop. The spirit roiled. Satoru shifted on his back foot and swung it upwards in a roundhouse kick. The curse was sent flying. Sparks of blackened energy flashed and flickered, though it couldn’t be seen amidst the dark.

The curse slammed into the wall, but the fleshy tissue coating the tunnel absorbed most of the impact. If the surface were harder, it would’ve crushed the creature’s bones into silt powder and ruptured all its vital organs, to the extent it had any, leaving behind a huge crater. Perhaps that was by design; the Domain was meant to prohibit its prey’s movement like sticky insect tape and function as insulation when taking significant damage. The curse managed to pull itself up, and with wolverine agility lunged for Satoru, joining its clawed fingers together to form a spade and began slashing in a scythe-swinging motion. Satoru kept his hands in his pockets and whistled a carefree tune as the curse kept missing, coming up short like a drunk yokel playing a round of whack-a-mole. New dog. Same old stupid tricks.

“You’re not very bright, are you?” he mocked, looking unbothered. His dress shirt was still tucked and his pants were holeless and his shoes weren’t scuffed. This fight was a breeze. “Do something else. I’m getting bored.”

The curse snarled at the jujutsu sorcerer, low and feral, yellow eyes shining with immense hatred. Instead of taking another swipe at the sorcerer, it got on its hind legs and lunged, mouth wide open, incisors and canines serrated like daggers, going right for Satoru’s neck, but this time the sorcerer did not move. He stood his ground, hooking his index finger over his middle. He waited until the curse’s mouth was inches above his jugular before letting loose, and watched with great satisfaction as the curse’s teeth shattered into a million tiny pieces, falling out and splintering. Gouts of dark purple blood sprayed in every direction. Satoru’s Infinity had created an impenetrable shield, preventing the curse’s teeth from breaking through; no different than chomping into a slab of paved cement.

The cursed spirit cried, full-throated and agonized, stumbling backwards, clutching its newly broken jaw. Satoru seized its neck and forced it to the ground. He took Stinging Nettle from his back pocket and with hunting precision, plunged the blade directly into the middle of the curse’s wrist like a floorboard nail. Its high pitched shriek was nauseating. He then started throwing punch after swinging punch with inbred rapidity. Overhand. Uppercut. Left hook. Right hook. Not giving the curse the opportunity to fight back. Its face jerked forward and down and side to side. Using Infinity as a bludgeon, Satoru’s fist never made contact with the curse. His knuckles commenced beating and smashing. Then he hatched an idea.

“Let's count together, shall we?”

Keeping the curse pinned, Satoru stopped punching and jammed his three fingers straight into one of its four eye sockets, digging all the way through till he found the optic nerve connecting the eye to the brain. He pinched the nerves between his fingers and thumb and pulled. The curse thrashed and struggled, screaming absolute bloody murder, high and inarticulate. With enough persistence the eyeball came popping out, still latched to the optic nerve like an umbilical cord.

“That’s one,” Satoru declared. “How about two?”

The curse writhed and squirmed, trying all it could to break free. Satoru held on and once again burrowed his fingers into a second eye, feeling for the nerve fibers. The tantō lodged to the curse’s wrist would not give, leaving blisters and corroded skin; Stinging Nettle’s hidden ability. Living up to its name, whenever the blade came into contact with a cursed spirit, it would inflame and agitate the flesh like a nest of African killer bees. “NO, NO, NO,” the curse cried. It was becoming desperate. It couldn’t heal itself and fend off the sorcerer simultaneously. That expelled too much energy, so it did the next plausible thing. A wild animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape danger. With all its might, the curse jerked and tugged. Tendons and ligaments tore and dismembered like thin denim. The curse sacrificed its own hand as the steel sliced cleanly through the marrow. Satoru allowed the wraith to slide out from under him.

The curse was slower to get up than before, now missing all its front teeth, skull bashed empty. A smooshed eye dangled from its socket like a pendulum and its right hand was reduced to a stub of purple fodder, giving it a zombie-ish appearance. It attempted to regenerate the mangled hand, but Stinging Nettle’s venom blocked receptors from communicating with each other and the eye wouldn’t heal, nor the hand. That left it with no choice. The curse lifted its remaining hand and aimed it at the Six Eyes wielder. A vortex of dark, swirling purple charged inside its palm and released a pulsating jet of raw cursed energy. Satoru hooked his front fingers again and radiated Infinity for as far as it could go, blocking the tunnel. The beam hit in a miasma of heavy smoke and scorching heat. With no ventilation, the fumes waded and feted.

Silence hung in the air.

The whole world seemed to be holding its breath.

Then in a great heaping wind, the smoke transfigured from an ominous grey, to orange, to finally a violent scarlett hue, surging outwards in every direction. The air cleared. Like the eye of a hurricane, Satoru stood in the center, a black-red ball of energy spun on the tip of his finger, turning the scenery around them a clarion color. The only emotion reflected in his blue eyes was one of pure, unadulterated rage. This had gone on for long enough.

“Jutsushiki Hanten, Aka,” he said boldly, widening into a smirk. Sayonara, asshole.

The red ball of swirling positive energy became a harsh white light and then launched from the sorcerer’s finger like a speeding bullet, crackling, rippling, and in a great burst exited right through the curse’s chest, causing its whole upper body to rupture in a horrid explosion of blood and innards. The curse fell to the ground like a test dummy, gurgling and squelching. Obliterated. No more.

Satoru approached the excorcized spirit. He squatted down and began pilfering through the remains that were sizzling and evaporating into nonbeing, ignoring the smell. And after some more deliberation, he at last withdrew a puce colored finger from the corpse.

The long night was over.

The battle had been won.

[renneiscent]

You Are All That Matters

Chapters: 5/?

< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >

I don’t like—I never like this kind of situation. This kind of situation when Jake and I have arguments, it feels like the situation is going to be more tense and stressful. I would never want to disappoint him or even break the promise that I have made; going to Duskwood. But this is different case.

JAKE: MC.

JAKE: We must talk about Michael’s demand.

MC: Well then, let’s talk

JAKE: Well. I can only see one plausible explanation for Michael’s demand.

JAKE: He wants to somehow complete his plan in this way.

JAKE: But I have no clue what your role is in all of this.

Until now, I also have no idea what kind of role I’m playing in this case at all. I never knew Hannah and somehow, among every human in this world, she sent my number. Is it coincidence?

MC: He told me about the Ironsplinter Mine of his own accord, Jake

MC: It’s kind of crazy but I think he trusts me

JAKE: At least that is what he wants you to believe.

MC: Michael said nobody would get hurt

JAKE: I do not think you can believe him.

MC: As you can read, the others expect me to go..

JAKE: No, MC.

JAKE: Nobody could expect such a huge sacrifice from you.

JAKE: Thomas may have got carried away by the current events.

JAKE: And I think he is not aware of the consequences this decision would encompass.

Nobody could expect such a huge sacrifice from you, he said. But you asked me to walk with you, in this dangerous path, until the end. I know what I’m about to say next will break our promise, will hurt his heart. But I already made my decision. It looks like this is the role that only made for me.

MC: I’m sorry to not talk about this with you earlier but I’ve made my decision already

MC: I’m going to Duskwood

JAKE: MC.

JAKE: Please listen to me.

JAKE: I cannot say why Michael has made this offer all of a sudden.

JAKE: But I can say with certainty that is merely a trap.

MC: And what if I can really end it all?

JAKE: You will not.

JAKE: I can understand that you want to help Hannah and Richy.

JAKE: But this is not the right way.

Then what is the right way, Jake? The only police we trust didn’t do the job really well. The group is having their own difficulty to leave the hut since the cars tampered. And I.. I can’t risk your safety, not when you are playing cat and mouse with your pursuers. I bite inside of my cheeks, trying to hold myself for not sobbing hard. After all, I’m still in the airport. Even if there are not many people here right now, but I don’t want people pity about me because there is this crazy young lady sitting with so much tears in her eyes. It’s just like cliché scene on those stupid romantic movies when the truth right now there is not romance here at all.

I’m looking up as I try to suck in all of my tears and sniffle, I wipe my cheeks which is really wet because of my tears with my jacket sleeve.

MC: He turned to me

MC: That has to mean something

MC: I’ll get them both back

MC: I can do it!

JAKE: I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger.

He said it again. He said the same words like when I suggested talking with Alan. The words that stab my heart so deep and it feels like my world will collapse because how he always protect me but I disappoint him.

MC: Jake..

MC: We have to see this as an opportunity!

MC: This nightmare will finally come to an end

And you will finally get Hannah back, your family will finally complete. And Jessy, she will meet Richy back, also Thomas who pushed me so hard to meet Michael’s demand and the rest of the group really. And no one fall more tears, no one will lose hope anymore. I really want to say that but my fingers are not strong enough to type and tell him even more. Somehow, I’m not that brave to let it out those unsaid things.

JAKE: It is far too risky!

JAKE: There is no way Michael will keep his word.

Even though I have courage to meet Michael, but to be completely honest, inside me, I’m scared as hell. I really want to turn my back and leave all of this. You probably hate me because it feels like I’m having two-face right now but.. some part of me wishing for running away from this mess, some of it wishing Jake will come and rescue me, some part of me wishing Jake will be there to help if anything happens. But the majority that take control over myself right now is the part that is scared to have responsibility over someone’s death, scared to be haunted with this long nightmare. It’s like what Hannah and Amy’s feeling toward Jennifer; the guilt that haunts the rest of their lives.

MC: You always said I’d become important

JAKE: You always have been.

MC: You asked me to take this path with you until the end

MC: Today I’m the one asking you to do the same

MC: Please don’t make this hard than it already is

JAKE: I

JAKE: I can’t lose you.

JAKE: You’re all

JAKE: All that matters.

I’m hugging my knees after reading the message Jake have sent, letting myself to quietly sobbing. He said I’m all that matters, he said he can’t lose me. I know both of us have mutual feelings toward each other, even though we never say some direct things like ‘I love you’ or stuff, but I realised we deeply care about each other. And after Lilly’s video incident, Jake is showing his feeling more than before toward me. But tonight, his message still surprises me. Those words send some stings toward my chest, I have no clue how and I have no clue why but it hurts more than ever.

MC: I’m sorry..

MC IS NOW OFFLINE

< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >

[stoneworldsimp]

I know the songs

senku x reader

warnings: kissing in the end, crying

senku wakes up to the sound of the floorboards creaking.

peeling his eyes open, he looks around while keeping his body in place; nothing moved out of place. no pots of minerals have been taken. good, he thinks, it isn’t a thief. closing his eyes again, he slowly turns to his other side and faces the door that is now open. moonlight shines on his face.

he opens his eyes once more to see you sitting outside on the ledge of the hut, your back bent from hunching over to hug your legs to your chest. he couldn’t see your face, but it seemed you were looking up at the sky. he smirks to himself, wondering why you were up so late when you all had a big day ahead of you tomorrow.

before he realizes it, he’s getting out from under his covers and making his way next to you. the floor creaks once again, but he tries to be quieter. he knows you sense him behind you.

“why are you awake?” he asks once he’s sat next to you. his head is turned toward your face.

you keep your eyes on the sky. “thinking.” you don’t continue.

senku stays quiet, copying your body by peering up at the stars and resting his arms on his knees.

the weather was perfect, no wind was passing and it was almost, almost too warm to sleep with some sort of cover. stars were scattered by the billions, clear for anyone to see if they stopped and looked for a moment. neither of you knew what time it was. time passes slowly; senku believes more than an hour goes by before you speak again.

“before we turned to stone, i used to be a musician.”

his ears grew hot. his mouth opens slightly as if he were to respond to you, but you continue before he has the chance.

“i was a pianist. i played for lots of concerts before i turned eighteen, and it was amazing. playing with huge groups of singers or musicians in school made me realize i wanted to do it as a career. and honestly, i wasn’t super amazing in any other regard. playing piano was the only thing i was ever good at.”

you pause for a moment, and senku thinks to ask about your favorite song; he goes against it, in case you have more to say.

“this is the longest i’ve ever gone without doing anything..music related. even when i traveled from home and stayed with another family, there was a conservatory that was open for anybody who wanted to practice. normally i could at least listen to some arrangements or concertos online, but..obviously, we don’t have that.

“but, what if i forget how to play one day? it’s bound to happen, i’ve been itching to play for months but i’m barely remembering melodies to songs i thought would never leave my head. and no offense, but despite you moving relatively fast on creating certain contraptions, i doubt it’ll be quick and easy to build a piano. even if we end up finding materials, and building the shell, and the wires, and the hammers, and the keys, its going to be super hard because hell, if we can get the correct intervals for each key and build one thats at least two or three octaves...what if i stare at it forever, and can’t even touch it, because i just,”your voice wavers and lowers to a whisper,”because i just forget all of it?” you feel a tear halfway down your cheek and promptly wipe it away, glancing at senku for a split second before turning your head away. hopefully the moon wasn’t that bright.

minutes pass slowly and you’re about to give up on hoping for any kind of comfort when he lightly laughs. more tears fall from your eyes; dumbass. i knew i shouldn’t have opened up to this guy.

“that’s not going to happen.”

at his sudden change in emotion, you whip your head back around. senku faces you, the moonlight accentuating half of his face.

“you aren’t going to forget how to play just because you haven’t been physically playing. most of the time, memorization isn’t remembering melodies but also muscle memory too. if you think about the movement of your hands while running through anything in your mind, the memory’s gonna grow even stronger. you’re not going to forget how to play, because you are constantly strengthening your skills internally. from what ive seen in the mere months of us working together, you have an excellent memory. you’re strong on the inside.”

he feels relieved when he sees you smile, no longer sniffling with your body turned away. before you can say anything back, he mumbles,”i can also tell youre practicing in your head because i have to repeat what i say to you about four times before you can actually comprehend—hey!”

you push his face away with your hand as you laugh quietly. he laughs with you while his head comes back and you reply,”thanks, i think, senku.”

the both of you are closer than when he first sat next to you; your body is now facing his, only one leg dangling over the ledge of the hut. both of his legs are hanging but his torso is turned completely to you, and your faces are only a couple of inches away from each other.

with a small inhale, you close the gap and push your lips onto his. it’s awkward, it’s wet; you stay connected for a long time before pulling away. senku’s smirk is plastered on his face but he’s burning a bright red from ear to ear. due to the overall darkness and your own blushing face, you don’t seem to notice. you can only feel yourself getting hotter, and see the way his lips are slightly glistening from your spit after kissing him. you’re the first to talk, and it barely comes out as a whisper. “uhm, sorry. it’s uh, it’s been kind of, well, it’s kind of been a long time. since i’ve really done something like that.”

“let’s try again.”

you feel your heart drop at his immediate response. it must have shown in your face, because his smirk grows even bigger.

“it can be better, yeah? i’m ten billion percent sure that practice makes perfect.”

[valdomarx]

Lost in Translation

McShep + fake relationship, for @lamberts <3

John glances around warily. The people of this planet seem friendly enough, but with Teyla and Ronon off visiting another village, he feels acutely vulnerable.

“Will others be joining you?” The village elder gives him a inquiring look.

“Just McKay. He’s my scientist.”

The elder frowns. “What is scientist? We do not know this word.”

“Oh.” He looks around the mud hut and contemplates how to explain it. They clearly don’t have a frame of reference for astrophysics or computer programming here. “He’s part of my team. He travels with us and, you know, gets us out of difficult situations. Opens doors. Fixes things when they break. That sort of thing.”

“Ahh.” The elder smiles beatifically. “This we know. He is your chap’tah.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“It is good for one who travels to have a chap’tah.”

John grins. “He has his uses.”

Some of the villagers raise their eyebrows at that, but it’s soon forgotten as they move onto the trade negotiations.

-

“I brought you food.” One of the village women smiles at him shyly as she hands over some kind of bread and fruit. “Should I bring more for you to give to your chap’tah as well?”

“Thank you.” John waves her off. “But don’t worry about McKay. I’m sure he’ll track down the food himself soon enough.”

The woman draws back in horror. “You do not feed him?”

“What? No?” John boggles. “I mean. He’s allowed to eat. Does so a whole lot, actually. But I don’t typically oversee that personally.”

“In our culture, we honor our chap’tahs by providing them with food. Is it not so where you are from?”

“It’s not.” John thinks about the last time the Daedalus came by to restock Atlantis and the frankly incredible volume of snacks that were distributed among the scientists. “Not officially, anyway.”

“Perhaps you should try it.”

He thinks about the way Rodney’s face lights up when he brings donuts to the lab. “Perhaps I should.”

-

“We have prepared a hut for you and your chap’tah.”

“Great.” John isn’t crazy about staying the night here, but the gate is a long hike away and they clearly aren’t in any immediate danger.

The villager, a young man with broad shoulders, leads him to a hut on the edge of the central meeting place. “We hope you will be comfortable.”

John sticks his head inside. It is exceedingly small, barely enough space for one person. It was going to be cramped as hell with both him and Rodney in there.

But they are guests, and he doesn’t want to be rude. “Lovely. Thank you.”

The young man gives him a knowing wink. “We know that a man likes to keep his chap’tah close.”

And that was… weird. But okay, having a scientist close at hand was pretty useful.

-

Rodney storms up to him and John laughs so hard he nearly chokes. He’s wearing some kind of elaborately tied white tunic and has flowers woven into his hair. His face has turned a furious puce color and he is fuming.

“Fun day?” John asks when he’s regained enough breath to speak.

“They insisted on dressing me like this and it’s all your fault.” He waves a finger in John’s face.

“How’s that?”

“They said I had to be presented handsomely. As if my usual attire is anything but! And the more I argued, the more they insisted I had to because of you. ‘When one is chap’tah, one must be at one’s most agreeable.’” Rodney does a mean impression of one of the village elders. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Honestly, nothing! Just that you were my team scientist. Maybe they really love celebrating science here?”

“Oh, right, because this is a bastion of forward-looking experimental thinking!” Rodney gestures wildly around the village. “I feel so celebrated.”

John suppresses a smile. “I think you look very nice. White suits you.”

He keeps a straight face for all of two seconds before Rodney tries to throttle him.

-

That night, there’s a celebration in honor of their new trade alliance. The villagers build an enormous bonfire and smoke meats and vegetables over it like the galaxy’s biggest barbecue. After the food, they hand around gourds full of sweet mead which leaves sugar on John’s lips and tingling in his throat. And then the dancing begins.

Dancing has a long tradition in this culture, he learns: dances in the hope of a good harvest, dances to give thanks, dances to celebrate births and to commemorate deaths. Every family seems to own a drum or pipe of some kind, and they bring them out to play relentless, rhythmic music to which they twirl around the fire.

The mead must have been stronger than he thought, because when one of the villagers invites him to dance he takes her up on the offer, letting her show him the steps. He catches sight of Rodney watching him from the other side of the fire with a frown, and he’s compelled to pull him to his feet and to wipe that frown away.

Neither of them have the elegance and agility of the others, but that doesn’t seem to matter. John does his best to show him the footwork, but they mostly end up bumping into each other and laughing. At one point they collide so hard that Rodney nearly goes sprawling, and John catches him around the waist to hold him upright.

The firelight paints them both in hues of orange, and a red flush is spreading across the tops of his cheeks, the way it always does after more than one drink. John longs to trace it with his fingertips.

If I kissed him now, he catches himself thinking, he'd taste of honey and wood smoke.

They make it until dawn before staggering back to their hut. The villagers are still dancing, and they fall asleep to the sound of drumming.

-

John wakes up far too hot, with something fluffy tickling his nose and something soft and appealing pressed up against him.

He blinks, stretches, and realizes the tickling thing is Rodney's hair, which his face is buried in, and the heavy weight is Rodney's ass, which he's grinding up against.

Erm.

“Jesus, Sheppard, you could at least buy me dinner first.”

John stills, embarrassed. Though Rodney sounds bleary but not exactly adverse to the idea.

Interesting.

"How about once we get back?"

"Huh?" Rodney is not at his sharpest first thing in the morning.

"Dinner. You. Me. Atlantis."

"Oh." Rodney snuggles back into him. "Yeah, alright."

Nice. "Okay. Good "

There's a quiet moment, and John enjoys the warmth of his arms around Rodney.

Rodney never could appreciate quiet though. "Why did you stop?" He sounds almost petulant. It's kind of cute. "With the -" he gestures vaguely, "- you know."

"Technically I didn't buy you dinner yet."

"Ehh, I'm pretty easy. I'll put out for a potential dinner."

Really nice.

He smiles into Rodney's hair. "If you insist."

-

It’s several hours later that Teyla arrives. John is sat on a muddy bank playing a game involving balancing piles of sticks with some of the local kids, and Rodney has been hustled off to have more flowers braided into his hair. When the village women tugged him out of the hut, giggling and waving flowers, he’d thrown his hands up and barely even complained, so he must be in a truly good mood.

“John,” Teyla gives him a polite nod as she approaches, flanked by two of the villagers. “Caton and Sar’ai tell me that negotiations went well.”

He stretches lazily. “They did. I think we can get enough food to keep Atlantis stocked for several months.”

“Good. Well done.” She comes and sits by him on the bank. “They also told me that you were here with your husband.”

He blinks at her.

She’s hiding a smile. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

“Erm.” John thinks back over the last day. The chap’tah. The food. The flowers. The shared hut.

Ahh.

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding about me and McKay. Though, on reflection, I can perhaps see how they might have got the wrong impression.”

Teyla nods sagely. “It would be best if you, how shall we say, play along for the rest of the visit? No need to risk a diplomatic incident.”

Very well. If he must, he must.

When Rodney comes back, this time dressed in a fetching blue sheet with violet flowers tucked behind his ears, John pulls him close and kisses him. Rodney makes a happy humming noise and none of the villagers seem perturbed, so he’s going to count that as a win.

As they collect their gear and begin the walk back to the gate, John takes Rodney’s hand in his own.

Teyla inclines her head knowingly. “I am glad your mission was successful,” she says.

"Just doing my part,” he replies, giving Rodney’s hand a little squeeze, “in the spirit of intergalactic understanding."

[onp4012]

Romanian monsters and myths

I’ve seen that some of you want to hear more about those monsters and myths, so I am ready to spoil them.

Moroi

As popular as the Strigoi is the Moroi, an evil entity that comes from the spirit of an unbaptized dead child. In most parts of the country, Strigoi’s and Moroi’s are considered separate entities, but in Oltenia they are confused. The Moroi is the dead who have to return from the pit to bring trouble to family and friends. According to folk tales, an unbaptized dead child is sure to turn into a Moroi. Unlike Strigoi’s, where the transformation came almost immediately after death, the Moroi’s waited seven years to rise from the pit. When seven years have passed since his death(because number 7 is considered a magic number), the soul asks to be received in the kingdom of heaven and cries out "Baptism, Baptism!" or according to other sources "Cross, cross!". If anyone hears him then he can save him by giving him baptism: "The son or daughter of God, John or Mary, is baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen!". The ritual is completed by a piece of cloth that is thrown on the grave of the unbaptized baby. If this ritual is not performed, the soul does not find peace and turns into an evil spirit, known as a Moroi. The Moroi haunts the owners of the land where he was buried. It makes the owner's animals and children sick, who eventually have to leave the land to avoid a tragedy. It is a nocturnal creature that manifests itself especially on New Year's Eve. It is said that it can leave its native land by metamorphosing into a dog. If it receives food, the dog-mule does not cause damage and does not scare those who cut it off. Encounters with the Moroi in the middle of the night are usually fatal. The victim either falls in bed for a long time or finds an end until dawn.

Pricolici

Is a werewolf/vampire fusion in the Romanian folklore. Pricolici, similar to Strigoi, are undead souls that have risen from the grave to harm living people. While a Strigoi possesses anthropomorphic qualities similar to the ones it had before death, a pricolici always resembles a wolf. Malicious, violent men are often said to become Pricolici after death, in order to continue harming other humans. Even as recently as modern times, many people living in rural areas of Romania have claimed to have been viciously attacked by abnormally large and fierce wolves. Apparently, these wolves attack silently, unexpectedly and only solitary targets. Victims of such attacks often claim that their aggressor wasn't an ordinary wolf, but a Pricolici who has come back to life to continue wreaking havoc.

Samca

Samca is a female, grotesque, horror and demonic spirit that ruins underage children and pregnant women’s health. She allegedly has long, disheveled hair, crooked fingers that end with sharp nails, fire-spitting mouth and hands made of iron. Legend has it, she’ll turn up at the end of each month in front of a young child or a pregnant woman and either kill the poor soul or leave him/ her crippled for life. According to the myth, the spirit has not one, but nine different names. Samca enjoys torturing women in labor, sometimes killing them. She also either kills their their children, or blesses them with a disease bearing her name. A children suffering from Samca will have seizures, cry all the time, sigh a lot and eventually die. If one writes all of her names inside his house, Samca will not be allowed to enter. She is thought to be the wing of Satan, and she is said to have tried to kill baby Jesus, but was stopped by Michael ( the archangel, not Jackson). She can also change appearance, in order to deceive mortals.

Pâca (Pafa)

Pâca, also known as Pafa, is, according to Romanian mythology, the spirit of tobacco and smoking. Romanians have imagined her as a woman as old at the world itself, ugly and black, having horns on her head and a big, long nose, swollen eyes, tusks and talons, a tail and a pipe in her mouth. Flames and black smoke come out of her throat and she reeks of tobacco. When Pâca came out from the depths of Hell, death spreading smoke came out with her. Then her sons, the demons (dracii), gave birth to a seed which they sowed. The plant sprung from that seed is called buruiana dracului ( the Devil’s weed) or tămâia dracului (the Devil’s incense). As you may have guessed, this plant is what we call tobacco. Then some other demons invented the pipe, for people to worship Pafa by inhaling the smoke made by the plant the devils had sowed in her name. Pâca‘s children also invented snuff tobacco. The funny part is that God, upon seeing what the people were doing, took their tobacco leaves and instead of destroying them (since he’s almighty according to christians, right?), mixed them with basil (so they could smell nicer?) and gave them back to people, teaching them how to use the new product. (Good job, God)

Crasnicul

Crasnicul, or Crâsnicul, is the child born out of a woman’s union with a demon. Apparently, he looks like a cross between a piglet and a normal kid. However, as opposed to the latter, the first thing this demon spawn does after birth is not crying, but running around the house screaming. I bet it sounds similar to Dani Filth’s work with Cradle. Somehow, my intuition tells me their similarities go beyond sound, and we could also link the two aesthetically. In some areas, people thought you should trap the thing in a stove and burn it alive. Other believe that the Crasnic is born after an eleven months gestation period. It is also said that the Crasnic has a hellish desire to bite and kill the people around, immediately after birth. After he’s done with them, he (it?) will try to go back to where he came from. To prevent all this, the midwife will wrap him in a cloth and call the mother’s relatives to bludgeon him to death. Imagine how many malformed children have been bludgeoned to death just because people thought they were the result of the mother’s union with the Devil. Sad. But a great Horror image, nonetheless. ;-; (Ain’t very proud).

Muma Pădurii (Mother Forest)

Is an ugly and mischievous or mad old woman living in the forest (in the heart of the virgin forests, in a hut/cabin or an old tree). She is the opposite of fairies such as a "Fairy" Zână. She is also the protector of the animals and plants, brewing potions and helping injured animals. She cures the forest if it's dying, and she keeps the unwanted trespassers away driving them mad and scaring them to flee. She can be associated with witches (like the witch from the story of "Hansel and Gretel"), but she's a neutral "creature", harming only those who harm the forest. (She’s my favorite “horror one”, I really respect her.)

Iele

Ieles, evil fairies in Romanian mythology are the most mysterious and fascinating creatures that Romanian legends have been talking about for hundreds of years. Sources of inspiration for poets and writers, who turned them into literary characters, the ieles are also the subject of folk studies in which the authors tried to explain both the origin and the meaning of the creatures. Supernatural female creatures appearing in groups on the plains or in the woods, singing and dancing in steamy or undressed clothes, leaving behind signs of circles of fire. It’s said that they are the result of an incestuous relationship between the Sun and the Moon, so they were cursed to send their daughters on earth. This is the portrait of the ieleles, described by folklorists and folk tales over time. Legends about iele, which differ from region to region, say that the creatures appear in groups of three, five or seven. The stories depict the evil fairies in Romanian mythology as very beautiful, dressed in steamy clothes or simply naked. In the story they appear at night, in the fields and in the forests, far from the eyes of the world. Legends also say that the iels burn crazy and cheerful choruses that the eyes of ordinary mortals should not see. Behind them are signs of circles of fire in the burning grass. (In my region, it’s said that they are wives of unfaithful husbands that cheated on them, at which, the woman committed suicide in a river or was simply killed by her husband.)

[sapphic-yearning-lesbian]

Epilogue (The Kumandra Memorial Hospital)

As annoying as it sounds I had this sitting on computer for a long time; I was just struggling to like it. SOO two days ago I rewrote the ending; so roughly 4,000 words out of 7,000... ANYWAY’S  happy with it now.

Summary: Namaari and Raya being soft for each-other! Basically all fluff! 

Warning’s: Mention of liquor, mild swearing, and implied sexual intercourse.

Here’s a preview, the rest of the story is on A03

The First Date

     Raya had been discharged from the hospital for over a week, but she was still on bed rest, meaning she couldn't leave her house. Being surrounded by the same four walls was driving her insane. Even so, she was still thankful for her friends, family, and especially Namaari. They always came around and kept her company. 

So what was Namaari to Raya?

Hell, as if Raya knew! 

     Namaari usually came around when others were present, so they hadn't gotten the opportunity to grow to know each other romantically any further. Yet, Namaari always found time to come and visit Raya, knowing they wouldn't be alone. 

Maari, even bothering to show up, always meant the world to Raya as she genuinely felt wanted in her life.

     Raya was looking in the bathroom mirror as she was towel drying her hair. Simultaneously, Sisu was changing her dampened wound bandages. Anticipating this, Raya had placed saran wrap over bandages to prevent this, but some water did manage to seep in. Thankfully Sisu remembers the basics of wound care and helps her change them.

     Once Raya's hair isn't dripping, she brushes her hair as Sisu finishes. "Your bruise has gotten better," Sisu muttered under her breath, causing Raya to chuckle.

     "Ohh, that's nothing!" Raya answers as she looks down at her chest in the mirror. She notices her bruise is fading and green now, only crawling partially on her left boob, mostly on her ribcage. "The bruise was spread across my whole rib cage and boob before in a grape purple." 

     Sisu nodded as she turned away and tossed Raya a huge oversized shirt. "I'll be outside the door," She said while making a peace sign exiting the bathroom.

     Raya sighed as she slowly put on the shirt, trying not to injure herself further. Usually, Sisu or her Ba help her, but she's trying to do things independently; or at least try. She eventually managed to get the shirt on but was slightly winded by the effort needed to do the task.

     Once she was all dressed in her oversized tan shirt with cheeky black underwear, she opened the bathroom door and found Namaari outside the door smiling at her. "NAMAARI!" Raya squealed as she lightly threw her arms over Maari's shoulders, pulling her into a hug. 

     "Raya," Namaari hummed as she wrapped one arm around Raya's waist as the other made its way up to her hair, gently massaging her scalp. "I need you to trust me, okay!" Namaari whispered as she pressed a quick kiss on Raya's right cheek, pulling away.

     The warmth of Maari's lips kissing Raya's cheek still lingered as she nodded a quick yes. The next thing Raya knew, Namaari had pulled away and placed one hand over her eyes, as the other hand remained wrapped around her waist, leading her through the house.

     "I know you're tired of being stuck at home," Namaari voice varies in high and low pinches, revealing her underlying nervousness. "I hope this helps," She admits as she guides Raya out to the backyard before removing her hand from her face. "SUPRISE"

     When Raya opens her eyes, she first notices a white fabric hut in the middle of her backyard. The inside is full of comfy pillows and blankets. Her eyes then shift to the right, where she finds an array of foods and desserts on a picnic blanket; in the center sits a bottle of champagne and its glasses. She smiles as she shifts her gaze back to the left and notices a tiny projector pointing to her house.

     The gasp that leaves Raya's mouth is full of amusement and pure joy. She couldn't believe Namaari pulled this all off in less than 30 minutes because that's how long she took showering and changing. "It's beautiful, Maari... words cannot describe what I'm feeling." Her stomach had erupted in butterflies while her core tingled ever so slightly.

     Namaari only chuckles in amusement as she leads Raya to the assortment of foods she's provided. Once Raya comfortably sat down, she plops down (not so gracefully) next to her; she just wanted to be near her. 

     Maari understands how typical dates work: You sit across your date to get to know them better. But Namaari had learned so much about Raya these last four weeks. 

That's all Namaari could really do; listen. 

Technically Namaari was just another of Raya's friends. She couldn't comfortably kiss her or even touch her platonically, surrounded by others, out of respect, as they weren't official. 

A friend who also happens to know the taste of the back of Raya's throat? 

Anyways! Namaari knows Raya. 

Raya loves the outdoor's more than anything, and her preferred way of exercising is hiking. 

Raya has a prominent inner child.

Raya lives her day-to-day life in the spur of the moment but is very detail-oriented while working.

Raya's favorite color is turquoise because it's a mixture of both blue and green.

Raya is a night owl but will not work nightshifts.

Namaari knows Raya!

     Raya smiled from ear to ear as Namaari popped the champagne bottle. "Woahhh, look at the bubble," She spoke in awe as she noticed the way Namaari bicep tightened as she popped off the cork. 

The truth is Raya had quickly become obsessed with Namaari. She found herself missing her voice, the warm feeling in her abdomen when she was near, and her scoff. 

Anytime Namaari scoffed, Raya felt as she died and returned to earth. She cannot come to explain the mixture of feelings that small action has on her entire being. 

Raya is also very aware of Namaari's physical beauty; sometimes, she questions if Leonardo da Vinci sculpted her out of clay because there is genuinely nothing not to love! Raya loves Maari's rounded and wide nose, her pump upper lip missing its cupid bow, her squinted and curved eyes, her clean and maintained brows. But most of all, Raya loves Namaari's glistening, beautiful brown skin. 

But of course, Raya also learned to appreciate Namaari as a whole. She liked to believe that she knew Namaari. 

Her favorite color is gold.

She's an early bird!

Her favorite pass time is running marathons or volunteering with children. She is also very hard-headed and focused when working; sometimes, that seeps into her every day. 

Maari also claims to be emotionally unattached, but Raya can see past that: She sees how much she wants to be understood and loved for all her flaws. And Raya hopes to be that for her.

     Namaari poured the champagne into both their glasses, handing one to Raya once she finished. She then raised her glass to make a toast, Raya quickly mimicking her movements. "I want to toast to the beautiful stars and the moon shining above us." She raises the glass higher "And even as bright as they are, somehow you shine brighter than them, in your beauty." Namaari watches as Raya's face is engulfed in a red tint as she lightly shoves her shoulder with her own.

     "I want to make a toast to Tong!" Raya spoke with a grin, only watching Namaari raise an eyebrow in confusion, "Because of him...I stumbled into the arms of this gorgeous specimen sitting beside me." She said, replacing her grin with a smile. "Cheers"

     "Cheers."

     They clinched their glasses before bringing the alcohol to their lips, both of them looking at each other with such fire and passion. 

     At that moment, a new feeling settled in their hearts, which they wouldn't express that night because love is scary. 

...

     For the rest of the night, they engaged in heartfelt conversations, passion-filled conversations, plenty of stolen or perfectly choreographed glances, the perfect amount of physical contact, and plenty of kisses—all amongst eating smores, shrimp Chao, a wide variety of fruits, and rice dumplings.

     Once they finished conversating around 2 am they settled in the tent, watching the projected movie Luca on the side of Raya's house. 

     Namaari was the big spoon, and Raya was the small spoon. 

     They didn't actually watch the movie as they were too busy kissing each other's faces. Overall, they enjoyed having alone time as it allowed them to explore their romantic feelings for one another. 

     As the movie came to an end, Raya started to doze off. Namaari only watched her as she struggled to keep her eyes open, a smile resting on her lips. Never did that smile leave her face the entire night. Maari only scoffed as she bent her head down to press a kiss onto the tip of Raya's nose. "Are you awake, Dep La?" She asked in a whisper as the other only nodded while nuzzling deeper into her chest. "Can you look at me?" 

     Raya yawned into Namaari's chest as she pulled her face away just enough to lock her eyes onto Maari's. "Is this when you tell me our relationship is platonic?" She questions with the tiniest smirk on her lips. Namari only smirked back at her, causing her heart to began to flutter.

     "Actually, about that...will you be my girlfriend? Like officially?" Namaari questioned as she ran on hand through her hair. All the while watching as Raya's eyes widen as a cheerful gasp slipped from her lips.

     "AHHHH, I GOT THE HOT ER NURSE TO ASK ME OUT," Raya yelps as she lifts her free hand, pumping the air. "That's a yes." She finally clarifies as they both burst out laughing. 

---

Apparently I’m a hopeless romantic for these two. Good to know XD.

[lostinfantasyworlds]

Words: ~4,200

Cw for some descriptions of the pain of childbirth.

Includes my drawing of Inuyasha and baby Moroha later on in the story! (I will also post separately).

Read on AO3

A/N at the end.

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

The first of the evening’s stars twinkled against a darkening sky above Kaede’s hut, where Kagome lay inside, deep in the throes of labor. The initial pangs of discomfort had begun shortly after daybreak that morning, the recent sunset marking thirteen hours since then. Now well into active labor, Kagome braced herself for yet another painful contraction. She groaned before clenching her jaw tightly shut, feeling the muscles within her lower abdomen begin to tense.

The fingers of her right hand were laced firmly through her husband’s, who sat diligently at her side. She squeezed Inuyasha’s hand with all her strength, grateful that she could do so without hurting him too much. 

Although it was not traditional for the father to be allowed in the birthing hut, a (reluctant) exception had been made for Inuyasha. Kagome recalled the earlier scene in an effort to distract herself from the building pain.

“Kaede!” Inuyasha called out as he burst through the entrance of Kaede’s hut, carrying Kagome in his arms. 

Kaede made a sound of annoyance as she finished making her tea, her back turned towards the couple. Her lack of surprise suggested that she had sensed the half-demon’s aura approaching. “What are ye making such a fuss about, Inuyasha?”

“Kaede, the baby’s coming!” Kagome said through labored breaths. Kaede finally turned around to see Kagome in Inuyasha’s arms, one hand on her swollen belly and her face screwed up in pain. Her face softened as she realized the reason for the sudden intrusion.

“Ah, yes. Good, good,” Kaede said calmly and set her tea down to begin preparing the futon for Kagome to lay on. 

She moved slowly in her old age, and after a few minutes when Kagome cried out again, Inuyasha growled and snapped, “Would ya move it along? Kagome needs somewhere to lay down right fucking now!”

Kaede shot him a one-eyed glare as she finished placing the last pillow. She gestured to the futon, indicating that it was ready for Kagome to lay down on.

Inuyasha lay Kagome down on the futon ever so gently, making sure she was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. Once he was sure she was taken care of, he settled onto the floor himself, sitting cross-legged by her side.

“What do ye think you’re doing?” Kaede asked as she grabbed a clean birthing robe and water bucket from a storage chest in the corner. “Fathers are not allowed in the birthing hut, Inuyasha. It is time for ye to leave.”

Inuyasha cracked his knuckles in response, holding up his claws menacingly. “You gonna make me, old hag? There’s no way in hell I’m leaving Kagome right now!”

Kaede’s tolerance for Inuyasha’s rudeness was already running thin. “How dare ye threaten me in my own home! It is bad luck for the father to - “

She was cut off by Kagome, who had just finished breathing through her latest contraction. “Kaede, please, I want him to stay. I need him here with me.”

Kaede considered her request, ultimately deciding it would be less hassle for her to just allow the exception. She nodded slightly before turning away and sighing, preparing herself for a long night ahead with a stressed and overprotective Inuyasha.

Kagome looked up at Inuyasha, who smiled slightly, seemingly relieved that she wanted him to stay. She reached out and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. She returned his smile with a warm one of her own, before abruptly dropping it and replacing it with a glare.

“I want you here with me, but if you are rude to Kaede one more time, I will not hesitate to kick you out. Now apologize!” She gave him a look that made his ears flatten against his head. 

“Fine, whatever. Sorry, Kaede,” he grumbled almost inaudibly. Kagome rolled her eyes at his immaturity, but was still thankful that he would be by her side as they welcomed their child into the world.

Kagome was brought back to the present as her contraction peaked. Her muscles tensed impossibly harder, causing her to let out a cry of agony and squeeze her eyes shut. This was the worst and longest one so far. It was so intense that all rational thought was wiped from her mind as her vision went momentarily white. Unable to comprehend anything beyond her overwhelming desire for the pain to stop, she squeezed Inuyasha’s hand with a force that probably would have broken a regular human’s hand. 

She did her best to try and breathe deeply until her body mercifully began to grant her relief. Chest heaving and limbs shaking, she savored the brief respite, knowing that she didn’t have much time to prepare for the next contraction. They were only a minute or two apart now, and she instinctively knew that their baby was very close to making its arrival.

She felt the comforting coolness of a damp cloth dab the sweat from her forehead, and looked gratefully to her left where Sango knelt beside her. Sango gave her an empathetic, encouraging smile. She had happily volunteered to assist Kagome with the birth of her child, both as an excited aunt-to-be, and as part of her midwife training. 

Kaede’s strength continued to wane in her old age, and Rin had decided to spend some time traveling with Sesshomaru again to see if she still preferred that lifestyle over living with other humans. Not wanting to risk leaving the village without a midwife, Kaede had asked Sango and Kagome if they would be willing to undergo training so they could assist with births if the need arose. Although Sango was incredibly busy with her ever-growing family and occasional demon slaying whenever she got the chance, she jumped at the opportunity to give back to the village that she had made her home for the last seven years. As a mother of five children of her own, she had plenty of experience and advice to offer new moms.

Sango put a comforting hand on Kagome’s shoulder, remembering the excruciating pain of childbirth all too well. “You’re doing great, Kagome. Let me check on your progress.” She moved down between Kagome’s legs to determine how much farther she had to go. Kaede had taught her several methods of determining the baby’s position at any given point during labor. She hoped, for Kagome’s sake, that she was nearing the end.

“Good news, Kagome, you’re almost there! When the next contraction comes, you can start pushing,” Sango said, moving back to Kagome’s side down by her feet.

Kagome nodded slightly, closing her eyes and taking a few more deep breaths to try and prepare herself. Her heart was pounding, her hands were shaking, and a layer of sweat coated her entire body. She had never experienced so much pain, not from any of the injuries she had sustained during their countless battles. Even having the Shikon jewel torn out of her body was nothing compared to this. She had to keep fighting down waves of nausea as the contractions had become more and more agonizing.

She was already exhausted, already past her limit of pain tolerance, and the thought of pushing sent her into a panic. How much worse is this going to get? What if I can’t do this? What if the pain kills me? Maybe I wasn’t ready to be a mother! I’m not strong enough…

Terrifying cynical thoughts raced through her mind as her heart pounded against her ribcage, her breaths becoming more shallow.

“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly, to no one in particular. She kept her eyes closed, feeling weak and ashamed. She had been looking forward to being a mother for so long, so why was she suddenly so afraid? 

“I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. A few tears slipped out from under her shut eyelids and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She felt like she was on the brink of a complete breakdown.

“Yes you can. What you’re feeling right now is perfectly normal, Kagome,” Sango said soothingly. 

Kagome slowly opened her eyes at the sound of her friend’s voice.

 “Every mother feels the same way at this point, I promise. This last part isn’t going to be easy, but it doesn’t last too long, and then it will all be over and you’ll be holding your baby in your arms. When you look into their eyes for the first time, you’ll forget all about everything else, trust me.”

Kagome smiled down at her, thankful for the reassurance from someone who had been through this before. She then looked up to her husband who was still holding her hand and sitting cross-legged at her side. Her gaze was met with golden eyes full of concern.

Inuyasha was overwhelmed. There were so many sounds, so many smells, so many emotions. He had done his best to try and prepare himself for this day, but he had to admit that he was in over his head. It was killing him to see Kagome in so much agony, especially when there was nothing he could do about it. His instincts to protect her flooded through him with every cry of pain she let out, followed by the frustration of not being able to help. It was driving him crazy that all he could do was hold her hand and offer her words of encouragement every so often. 

He had kept relatively quiet since his earlier threat to Kaede, afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting Kagome. He was completely out of his element, having never witnessed a birth before. He had no idea what to do or say, or what was considered normal. All he knew was that he wanted to be by his wife’s side, and that she wanted him there as well. Now, as she looked into his eyes after voicing her fear, he knew he had to be strong for her. 

“You can do this, Kagome!” he said fervently. Hearing her say she didn’t think she could do it had made him want to scoff and call her an idiot, but he figured that wouldn’t be very helpful and might even earn him a ‘sit’ command in her current state. The idea of her not being able to do this was ludicrous to him. He had been watching her in awe all day, amazed by her strength and resilience. Since they first met, she had always been a fighter, never backing down or giving up when faced with a challenge. It was one of the many things he loved about her. 

He brought his free hand up to her cheek to gently wipe some of her tears and sweat away, letting his fingers linger on her face for a moment. 

“You’re so strong, you always have been,” he said, bringing his hand back down to grip hers between both of his own. He stared deeply into her wide brown eyes, trying to wordlessly communicate the neverending love and respect he had for her. “And I’m right here beside you.”

Kagome could feel her panic melting away at his words and the look in his eyes. She smiled a little at him before looking forward with a newly determined look on her face. That’s right, Inuyasha is with me. I can do anything with him by my side.

She felt the pain building again, but it was different from before. Somehow sharper and duller at the same time. She knew this was the final stretch she had to get through to meet their little one, so she gathered all the strength and courage she had left. 

The pain of pushing was almost unbearable, but she did her best to remain focused on the steady pressure of Inuyasha’s hand and the guidance given by Kaede and Sango. She felt every sensation in her body, her instincts kicking in to guide her through the final stage of delivery.

Over forty excruciating minutes later, a cry finally rang through the cabin, alerting all those in the area to the arrival of a new life. Kagome breathed a huge sigh of relief and fell back against the pillows. Kaede caught the crying baby and carried it over to the water basin to be bathed. Sango cut the cord and helped clean Kagome up enough so that she could comfortably lay her legs flat again. 

Kagome lay exhausted, trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. The cries of her baby echoed through the cabin, filling her with a euphoric pride. She had loved their child from the moment she knew of their existence. It felt like so long ago that she first found out she was pregnant. She could still remember the rush of pure joy she felt at the news. Finally, after so much wondering and planning and waiting, she was about to meet the one she already adored more than anything in the world. 

After giving her a few moments to catch her breath, Inuyasha helped support Kagome as Sango stuffed a couple pillows under her back so that she could sit up more. Once she was sure of Kagome’s comfort, Sango got to her feet and said, “I’m going to give you some privacy. You did so well Kagome.” She smiled warmly down at her friend, and then shifted her gaze to Inuyasha. “I couldn’t be happier for the two of you.” Both returned her smile, and Kagome reached out to take Sango’s hand.

“Thank you so much for everything, Sango. It really helped to have you here.”

Sango squeezed her hand. “Anything for my dearest friend. We’ll all come visit in the morning once you’ve had some time to rest.” She released Kagome’s hand and walked out of the hut to give a full report to Miroku and Shippo, who were waiting at home with her own children. 

As Sango walked out of the entryway, Kagome lifted her head up to anxiously look around for her baby, who was no longer crying. Her eyes found Kaede, who was wrapping the newborn loosely in a blanket. Her heart fluttered with nervous anticipation as Kaede slowly made her way over to her and Inuyasha, carrying their new addition in her arms.

“Congratulations Kagome and Inuyasha, it is time to meet your daughter,” she said with a smile. 

At the word ‘daughter,’ Inuyasha and Kagome’s eyes met, both of their mouths dropping open slightly. Their daughter. 

Kaede handed the tiny bundle off to Kagome, who reached out instinctively. As soon as the child was securely in Kagome’s arms, Kaede made her way outside to let them have their first moments as a family in private. 

A peaceful silence settled over the hut as Kagome held their baby close to her chest and stared in awe. Inuyasha moved closer to her, draping an arm over her shoulders. Kagome was overcome with emotion, an overwhelming feeling of love and warmth taking over every ounce of her being. She was still exhausted and in pain, and somewhere in her brain there was a terrifying, nagging reminder that she was now responsible for protecting this tiny being, but it all felt like dull background noise compared to the warmth that emanated from her chest as she marveled in the presence of her daughter.

“Inuyasha...she’s....” she trailed off quietly, unable to quite find the words. 

“...Perfect.” Inuyasha finished for her in a dazed tone. He couldn’t stop staring at the face of the life they had created. He had pictured the arrival of their baby many times in the months since they found out they were expecting, but he could never have imagined what he was feeling now. It was surreal and overwhelming to finally come face-to-face with the child who had only been an abstract concept in his mind until a few minutes ago.

He had struggled with the idea of becoming a father. Despite his excitement to start a family with the person he loved most in this world, he had trouble imagining himself in that role. Questions such as What if I ruin our kid’s life? What if something happens to them? Or to Kagome? How am I supposed to know what to do with a baby? had kept him awake countless nights over the last several months. Not to mention how much time he had spent worrying over Kagome. He’d had a hard time leaving her alone for more than five minutes during her entire pregnancy, constantly afraid that something could happen to her or the baby.

It was the worst on his human nights, the negative thoughts hijacking his mind and taking hold until he could think of little else. What if something attacks us when I’m in my human form and I can’t protect them? What if I’m not a good enough father and Kagome resents me? What if our kid grows up facing the same kind of discrimination I did for being part demon and part human? The questions became impossible to ignore on those nights, a couple times bubbling up to the point where his heart raced and his breath became shallow. He usually tried his best to hide his fears from Kagome, not wanting to cause her any extra stress, but those few times, it was too hard to pretend nothing was wrong. 

Kagome would try to comfort him. She would whisper reassurances into his ears. That she loved him and believed in him. That their child would be well cared for no matter what. That he would be an amazing father. She would look at him with such love and trust and warmth that he was almost able to believe that he was the person she saw him as. But it was hard to forget a lifetime of being told he was worthless, an abomination. It was hard to forget all of the awful things he had said and done in his past. How could he ever be a role model to a child? What if he had doomed them to the same lonely life of an outcast that he had?

Witnessing Kagome’s excitement to be a mother was the only thing that kept him from drowning in his anxiety. Although he didn’t know if he was cut out to be a father, he was positive that Kagome was meant to be a mother. She had always been the caring and nurturing type, and the joy she had to finally fill the role of a mother had radiated from her throughout her entire pregnancy. 

Whenever Inuyasha felt overwhelmed with doubts, he would just watch his wife tenderly rest her hands on her rounded belly, or listen to her hum lullabies to their unborn baby. In those moments, he knew that at least their child would have Kagome as their mother, and that even if he fell short, she would always be there to provide them with the care and support they needed. He vowed to match her as best as he could, all the while feeling terrified of letting her down.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that Kagome was looking at him. She seemed to sense his inner turmoil and asked, “Do you want to hold her?” with a sweet smile.

“Uh..” Inuyasha responded stupidly, but Kagome had already extended their child towards him. 

“Just remember to support her head and you’ll be fine.”

Inuyasha took the tiny bundle ever so carefully, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces at his touch. He slowly adjusted her position so that her head rested in the crook of his elbow and she was fully supported by his arm. He stared at her for a long minute, still unable to make sense of everything he was feeling. How could he have helped create such an incredible little human? How could he ever be a good enough father to her? She was so tiny and fragile, what if he hurt her by accident? Protecting Kagome was already stressful, but at least he knew she could handle herself in a battle. How in the world was he supposed to protect someone so small defenseless? He tried not to think about all the dangers of the world around them.

To distract from his racing thoughts, he focused on cataloging everything about her. The little tuft of jet black hair on the top of her head, her barely open chocolate brown eyes that looked so like Kagome’s, her tiny nose and mouth. Although she hadn’t inherited his eye or hair color, or his dog ears, the shape of her features still resembled his own. She was truly a perfect blend of the two of them. He inhaled and memorized her scent. It was similar to Kagome’s, with hints of his own scent, but distinct in its own way. 

Inuyasha cautiously extended one finger from his free hand to gently stroke her cheek, being mindful of his claws. Her skin was softer than the finest silk. He had never felt anything quite like it. He moved to pull away, feeling unworthy to touch her with his rough, calloused hands. At the same time, a chubby fist escaped the confines of the blanket surrounding it and waved blindly through the air. Tiny fingers found his retreating hand, and instinctively wrapped around his outstretched pointer finger. 

With a sharp intake of breath Inuyasha froze, suddenly hit with a surge of emotion so strong he could hardly breathe. His daughter gurgled and looked up at him, gripping his finger with surprising strength for a newborn. A soothing warmth began to spread from the point of contact throughout his whole body, almost reminding him of the sensation of being purified by Kagome’s spiritual powers. But this was something else, something deeper and more profound. 

Something shifted deep within himself as he felt her tiny fingers grip his own. Every priority, every feeling, every want and need he had ever had was rearranging, placing his daughter at the center of it all. The moment that she had touched him, he was forever changed. His rough edges softened just a bit, his heart grew a little larger. The world and his place in it made a little more sense. All of the doubts and insecurities he had about being a father faded to the background. He knew now that he would do absolutely anything for the little girl in his arms. 

A type of love he never knew existed rushed through him, seeping into every last crevice of his soul. It was all-consuming and indescribable. He felt as if he was staring into the sun itself, her radiant light giving him warmth and life in ways he hadn’t known he needed. All of the pain he had gone through in his life now felt worth it to be able to experience this moment. He would do it a thousand times over again as long as he got to meet her. He had known for a long time that he was born to be with Kagome, but now he knew he was born to meet his daughter as well. 

He let out the smallest of laughs, breathy and awestruck. After several more moments, he finally managed to tear his eyes away from her to look up at Kagome, who had been watching the heartwarming scene unfold. His mouth still hung agape, and as his eyes met Kagome’s, he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. The sensation surprised him, having never shed tears of joy before.  He hadn’t even noticed the wetness building in his eyes. As he looked at his wife, he noticed that tears were silently falling down her cheeks as well, though she wore a beaming smile. 

The familiar sight of Kagome’s smile made his heart swell with even more warmth. It hardly felt real that, after all the heartache and loneliness that he had endured in his life, he was here looking into the eyes of his wife and holding his daughter in his arms. He wanted to tell her how much he loves her, how thankful he was to be able to share this moment with her. He wished he had the words to explain what it meant to him to have a family of his own.

“Kagome...” he said quietly, trying to think of something else to say. How could he ever put into words everything he had just felt?

“Inuyasha,” Kagome responded warmly in a way that told him no words were needed. They had always had a quiet understanding between them, their love for each other much deeper than words could ever hope to describe. It was something he was eternally grateful for. With a smile, Kagome reached out to cover her husband and daughter’s joined hands with her own.

Her eyes drifted back down to their beloved child, and after a few moments of contemplation she asked, “Moroha?”

Inuyasha wasn’t sure where she got the name, but it didn’t matter to him. It fit her perfectly.

“Moroha,” he repeated, confirming her name.

Inuyasha rested his forehead against Kagome’s as they continued to gaze down at their daughter. He knew his fears hadn’t disappeared completely, but there would be time to worry later. For now, he simply let himself bask in the glowing happiness of this perfect moment with his family.

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

A/N (sorry it’s so long)

Hope you enjoyed the feels! I’ve been working on this for a while now, so I’m really excited to finally post it! I had originally wanted to post it before the premiere of Yashahime, but I kept nitpicking and editing it over and over. Plus I decided to add the drawing which took me forever. I also went all out and made the banner and everything, which I’m not sure if people usually do for oneshots but oh well!

This all started with me imagining that one moment of a newborn Moroha grabbing Inuyasha’s finger, and that being the moment that moved him and changed him forever. I could see him being really nervous and unsure about becoming a father, but I liked the idea of her touch causing a shift in him and basically turning him into a puddle of mush. I hope it isn’t too OOC for Inuyasha to cry at this moment, but I thought if anything would have the power to make him shed tears of joy then this would be it. Plus I saw it as kind of an involuntary bodily reaction to all of the emotion he experienced.

I tried to throw in some of Kagome’s POV, but I mostly wanted to explore Inuyasha’s conflicted thoughts and feelings about becoming a father. I hope the descriptions of pain/birth weren’t too much. I have never gone through childbirth, but it sounds ridiculously painful and terrifying so I was probably projecting a bit haha. Kagome is a badass for dealing with all of that with no drugs! 

I tried to look up real stories of how people felt when they saw their baby for the first time. There were a lot of mixed reactions, with a lot of people saying they just felt really scared or didn’t have a strong emotional reaction. This is a fic so of course I wanted it to be emotional and happy, but I tried to mix in some of the fear they must have felt also.

I didn’t want it to seem like Kagome’s strength only came from Inuyasha being there with her, but from what I read about active labor, the pain at that point can be extremely mentally and physically taxing, so I wanted her to have a moment of weakness where she felt like she wasn’t strong enough. And I always loved that Kagome and Inuyasha draw strength from each other in different ways. So I felt like she would have been able to tap into that from having him by her side.

Also, in regards to Sango and Miroku having 5 children, I find it hard to believe that they would have stopped at 3 considering how much Miroku talked about wanting to have 10 + kids lol. So that was just a little canon divergence I threw in there. This takes place about 4 years after Kagome returns to the feudal era for good. 

Anyways, I could ramble forever and over explain everything as I tend to do, but I wanted to get this out there before we see baby Moroha in Yashahime this week. I’m so excited!

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Seven (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE. BRIEF MENTION OF SUICIDE

wc; 14.5k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

There’s a familiar feeling of dread when you wake up this afternoon. A bottomless pit in your stomach that sticks with you no matter how hard you shake. You sit in bed for an extra twenty minutes, hoping that positive affirmations will be enough to get some of it to go away. Dread is an unbearably uncomfortable feeling, and it doesn’t go away either.

You have to get out of bed at some point, so you drag your feet around your room, getting shit ready for the shower. Ripped white skinny jeans, an open-back light blue shirt, white underwear. You drop it all onto the white bathroom counter, turn on the shower, and let it run for a couple of minutes as you lean over the sink bowl.

Maybe you’re just hungry. You’ve felt this same hopeless feeling before, and all you had to do was eat for it to go away. You’ll have breakfast, and by the time you get to the betting room, your heart and stomach will be full. It’s hard to convince yourself this lie, knowing that it’s deeper than that.

You take your time in the shower too, no longer feeling sorry for Finnick for taking so long. He’s got Gloss and Enobaria down there, and they’re not so bad when you get to know them well enough. Unlike their crazy tributes inside of the arena, they know when and how to dial it down without causing too much trouble. Every year, it’s like the tributes ramp it up for entertainment. You wish they knew just how fucking insane they looked, how unappealing it’ll get to the gamemakers.

The Capitol likes fun, big and new until it’s gross and they can’t stomach it anymore. It might take them a little longer to get to that point, since they’ve been watching this shit for years, so they’re more desensitized than the rest of you. But it’s going to happen, and the moment it does, the gamemakers are going to censor everything possible to get their exciting program back on track.

It’s sickening, but it’s always sickening.

You wrap it up in the shower, allow the Capitol hair machines to work their magic on your hair. And while you’re at it, you go ahead and decide to let the body blow dryers do the exact same thing. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re not in the Capitol. You’re at home, on the beach surrounded by your friends and family. It’s late spring, early summer. You’ll picnic on the beach after you’re done with the water, and then you’ll play games until sundown. Walking home in the dark is especially fun, Reed drunk is a sight that never fails to amuse.

And then the blow dryers stop, and you’re right back home. You get dressed, one article at a time. Underwear, bra, pants, shirt. To avoid an endless stare in the mirror again, you go out to the dining room. 

You turn on the tv, sit at the table, and watch as the avoxes serve a big breakfast. Good, you want to make sure that you’re full. The sooner the shitty feeling goes away, the sooner you can start focusing on more important topics. You take your time getting through it all. Pancakes, with assorted berries, syrups and candies to place on top. You get orange juice, coffee and hot chocolate served in a heartbeat. If you don’t want the berries, you can opt for oranges, apples, plums, mangos. If not fruits, then vegetables. 

You stick with the pancakes, mixing and matching your food to try and find the best combination. You’re procrastinating, you know it. The longer you take, the less time you’ll have to spend inside of the betting room. You eat and eat, but find that the feeling isn’t going away. This shouldn’t be how today is going, especially not after the shit you just went through yesterday. It might not have been your tributes directly, but it was bad enough.

At least lady fate has been nice enough to give you a warning, right? Right?

It’s one-thirty in the afternoon. Everyone inside of the arena is awake and working on their own projects by now. Nine girl is relaxing off to the left, she’s got a fire started, and she’s cooking some animal that you’ve never seen before, over it. She’s content, and you think that she'll be able to kite the games easily, if she doesn’t go and pull anything like Bauhinia did.

Had Bauhinia just minded her own business and stuck next to the dam, she’d be alive right now. It wouldn’t have made for an interesting day, but that’s okay. You still can’t believe that she thought it was a good idea to try and attack them in the first place. Sure, it was only one of them, but she really didn’t think that she’d get away with it. The careers aren’t just going to let it go.

Sometimes there’s genius tributes, who can make their way around the arena, fight other tributes and survive off of worms in the ground. And they have everyone fooled, right up until they make their first not-common sense decision. A part of you can understand how they made it so far, because they’ve obviously got the skills for it. They’re just lacking literally the most obviously important details.

Bauhinia had the chance of winning, and she blew it for herself.

District Seven is awake, but they haven’t moved from the huts. They don’t look like they’re planning on going anywhere, either. The dam is leaking water, which has them mildly concerned, as they should be. They’ve just decided to ignore it for the time being, take advantage of it while they can before they have to actually go to the stream.

Annie and Marsh haven’t gone out to their snares at all. You don’t think they’re planning on moving today, either. They’re holed up inside of their shack, splitting food and talking about how they’re going to ration it. Maybe they’re finally going to try and make the push to the village tonight? That’s good, they should make one last round with the snares and gather what they can. Just in case there isn’t any food over there, they’d have some rabbits, squirrels and whatever else to hold them over until their next trip. Same thing goes for stocking up water.

As for the careers, they’re getting a slow start to today’s hunting day. They eat, discuss, go quiet, and then repeat the process about a hundred times until they eventually agree on just heading towards the stream. They pack up their things agonizingly slow, keeping the wretched kama with them so that no other tribute can run across it and keep it. It’s smart, but also a waste of space, considering they broke the strap on the outside of the backpack that would’ve held it for them.

And the only tribute that’s left is Five boy, who is a lot farther along than you thought he would be. He’s practically at the stream, and the path he took was on top of the careers. How they didn’t see him is a complete mystery to you. Like every other tribute that moves through the woods, he’s not very quiet. 

Then again, the careers are dragging their feet, so yesterday must’ve tired them out. After walking for several hours, and then running, there’s no way that their legs aren’t sore. Plus, they’re carrying backpacks chocked full of goods they’ll need for a couple of days. At least this shows that they’re some form of human. You’re sure that they’re going to find some way to change that thought in the next day or so. With what you’re feeling today, it’ll probably be in the next few hours.

You finish breakfast, still watching as Five boy gets closer and closer to the stream. With where he’s at currently, Annie and Mash shouldn’t have a thing to worry about. Hell, the kid isn’t even geared up, no backpack, no weapons, he’s just letting the wind decide where he’s going. Even if he did manage to run across your tributes, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He’s harmless.

The careers get ready to go, heading the exact same was as Five boy, of course. Again, if they stick with the path that they’re on, they shouldn’t be a problem with your tributes, either. However, if that were the case, you’re sure your heart wouldn’t squeeze each time you think of the idea of them getting close to Annie and Marsh.

You brush your teeth in your bathroom, no longer taking your time getting ready. You’ve wasted thirty minutes eating lunch alone, dragging your feet isn’t going to delay the inevitable. If today’s going to be a bad day, it’s going to happen with or without you.

Plus, Finnick’s probably wondering where you’ve been this entire time. You know that he didn’t leave to go to the betting room until early this morning. With the confirmation last night that the careers wouldn’t be doing anything else, he decided to sleep for a little while longer. You didn’t really see any harm in it either. The important part is that he got down there this morning.

The elevator down makes you anxious, you press a hand to your stomach, hoping that it’ll ease your nerves. But the more you walk towards the betting room, the more the dread spreads from your stomach to your chest. By the time you’re actually inside of the room, you’re sure that being dead would be better than feeling this for the rest of the day.

Finnick is standing up instead of sitting, arms crossed while he watches the tv screen. Gloss is standing next to him, talking about something. Every now and then they’ll glance at each other, but for the most part, they’re reasonably interested in what’s going to eventually happen. It’s a matter of time before the careers and Five boy run across each other, isn’t it?

As for Enobaria, she’s in a group of sponsors, chatting away. You’d say that you’re surprised or that she’s gearing up for something, but the truth is that it’s a ritual of hers. She’ll lose a tribute, and then she’ll go talk to Capitol people all day to make her feel better. It’s a way to take away from the self-hated. The Capitol people are a fucking escape, with their rich lives, accents and complete obliviousness to social cues. It’s hard not to get lost in them.

Mentors are usually pissed at the Capitol for encouraging the games, but it works a little differently with the careers. You’re supposed to love the Capitol for favoring your districts all because of what you guys produce. The truth is that keeping up appearances is hard, and constantly trying not to be mad at them is even worse. At some point you’re going to snap.

And Enobaria wouldn’t want to ruin the perfect reputation that she’s built up all this time. To be fair, neither would you. It’s hard to get the Capitol to like a district that isn’t very good at the games, and it’s even harder to do when you’ve insulted them constantly. This is why you insult your own district to ally yourselves with the Capitol to make them think that you’re over being a savage.

Anyway, you wouldn’t be surprised if Enobaria doesn’t speak to any of you all today. She should be right back to it tomorrow, though. Nothing is permanent when it comes to her. She could be mad at you today, bounce right back at it the next day. She’ll also probably find a way to blow off steam.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that everyone is still at their respective places. Annie and Marsh are still at a 6-1, Sanguine is at 1-1, and Geare is at 2-1. As for everyone inside of the arena… you wouldn’t say that they don’t have a chance at winning, you’d say that they don’t have a chance at getting sponsored. The higher your odds, the more people are going to keep their eyes on you.

Before Bauhinia died, she was at a 14-1, which isn’t horrible, but isn’t the best either. Nine girl is at a 10-1, you can’t remember what she was yesterday. You can imagine that getting that backpack from the cornucopia has worked wonders for her. The more supplies she has, the easier it’ll be to live out in the woods. You still think that someone should make a run for the village before it’s too late. None of the careers are going to see, and do they really think another, lesser tribute is going to chase them down there?

The village is barren, it’s practically the golden ticket. Plus, Nine girl doesn’t even know about the stream on the right side of the woods! All she probably knows is about the dam leaking water, but that’s not really an efficient way to drink, right? Who knows how many diseases lie inside of the lake water behind the dam. The water probably has concrete dust anyway.

Though, you can’t completely blame them. If you were in the same spot as they were, you’re not sure if going out of your comfort zone would be a number one priority. In your arena, you always went to the pond. And after the pond was slowly being sucked up, you were apprehensive to go to the waterfall because it was uncharted territory… not really claimed, either. On the other hand, though, you knew that other tributes were in that area. Made it a little harder to want to go around there in the first place.

You appear behind Finnick and Gloss, who don’t seem to take notice of your presence at all. With the angle they’re turned at, Finnick could look to Gloss and still not see you. As you listen in, it’s basically meaningless conversation, until Finnick starts asking questions.

“Is she normally this stressed out?”

“You don’t even know half of it. Compared to the last couple of years we’ve known her, this is absolutely nothing.” Gloss lets out a breathy laugh, “I mean, she used to eat, sleep and breathe this room. None of us really understood how she’d survive down here. Sleep deprivation, hours without eating.” Gloss looks at Finnick, “The tributes would die and she wouldn’t even get mad. It’s hard to forget she’s human.”

“Do you think she unintentionally flirts with the Capitol people?” Finnick asks.

Your mouth opens, face twisting in disbelief as you look to Finnick. You have the urge to slap him upside the head hard enough to rattle his fucking brain with a question like that. You don’t mind that he’s asking these questions, he was practically asking the same exact ones last night before you went to bed.

After the Anchor question on the balcony, more followed. He had three years to catch up on, and you guys didn’t even get to finish. You got too tired to go on, so he let you go on the promise that you’d resume the questionnaire another night. He asked practically everything that he could think of.

How you were doing after all these years, what you like to do, how you fill your free time when you’re not in the Capitol. What your brothers have been up to, how Alyssum’s been doing in school, what they do now that they don’t have to work every hour of the day to provide anymore. And then went the questions for Caspian’s family and if you’re still close with them, which is an obvious yes. More questions about Mags, Anchor and Luther.

You think this is a good sign, like it’s Finnick’s own personal way to weasel his way back into your life. You’re practically down for whatever gets him to stay this time around. You don’t want him to be participating in this year’s games but completely fall off the radar by the time next year rolls around.

Anyway, Finnick turning to Gloss to ask these same questions is only natural, you’re sure that if Cashmere and Enobaria were over here too, they’d be more personal. To some extent, you think that Finnick isn’t trying to dig too deep, like he’s unsure of whether or not Gloss is one of your best friends or not. However, if he was going with that path, he wouldn’t have just asked Gloss whether he thinks you’re flirting with the Capitol each time you open your mouth.

“Uh,” Gloss says, smart man. He shouldn’t be quick to answer, but if he’s finding a better way to word whatever he’s thinking, he might have earned himself a hard slap to the side of the head too. “I wouldn’t say that it’s unintentional. We all know that the more you compliment the sponsors, the more willing they are to sponsor. So, I’d say that when she does, it’s on purpose too. She’s good at getting her way.”

“So I’ve heard.” Finnick mutters.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you ask, causing the both of them to jump.

Gloss places a hand over his heart, “Holy fuck, (Y/n). Again?”

You hardly pay attention to Gloss, eyes focused on Finnick, who’s beginning to turn red because of guilt, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“That’s what everyone says when they’re caught.” you roll your eyes, looking at the screen, “What’s up, Gloss?”

“Watching Enobaria unintentionally flirt with the sponsors.” Gloss snorts.

“Ha!” you elbow him, a smile peeking onto your face.

“(Y/n), I just meant that I’ve experienced it first hand. The elevator? The train?” Finnick says, you barely glance at him, “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

You shrug, a cheeky smile on your face, “Hey, I’d be careful next time, though. Who knows what corner I’ll be lurking behind next?” you reach over, fingers finding Finnick’s sides.

Finnick squirms, giving you a glare, “Get your dirty fingers off of me.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll just turn to Gloss instead--”

“I’m not ticklish, living a life with Cashmere will do that to you.” Gloss says.

You pause for a second, “She’s your younger sister.”

“Sisters are cruel.” he says.

You snort, going for his sides anyway, “You’re a liar!”

“Grab her!” Gloss shouts, Finnick laughs.

You move out of the way before either of them can do some real damage. Gloss had been going for your wrists, Finnick for your back. You knew it was only going to be a matter of time before they tried to torture you. But unlike them--the total liars--you’re not actually ticklish. 

It’s always the older sibling that messes with the younger ones. Of course, you’ve had your fair share of impish moments and getting on your brothers’ nerves. But you’ve never had the opportunity to hold down Reed and give him hell until he cried and begged and promised to do shit that he didn’t want to. Plus, the idea of Cashmere going that far on Gloss is heinous. Does he really think you’re that stupid?

“Anyway, hear the tributes talk about anything important?”

“For a while the gamemakers let us hear Annie and Marsh. Catch any of that while you were taking your sweet ass time getting down here?” Finnick asks, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Not my fault I feel like shit.”

Suddenly, Finnick’s no longer suspicious, “Sick?”

“Probably not, just a gut feeling.”

Gloss lets out a laugh, “Well, that’s not good. Last time you had a gut feeling was last year when… both of your tributes died on the same day?”

“Yeah.” you huff, “And if this year is a repeat, I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

“I would too. You’ve got quite the streak going on.”

You punch Gloss’ arm.

“So on top of everything else, you’re also psychic?” Finnick asks.

You place your hands on top of your head, “Yeah, something like that. What was Annie and Marsh saying?”

“Village, talking about going there before it’s too late. They both want to go tonight, they’re still worried about finding a water source, though.”

“Figured.”

The further Sanguin and Geare walk, the more they seem to awaken. No longer dragging their feet, conversation has picked back up into its usual vicious state. Mostly about what happened yesterday, and they can’t believe that the chase went on as long as it did. You can’t blame them, at first glance, Bauhinia doesn’t look like a girl that ran track in high school. Then again, appearances can be deceiving.

Five boy has made it to the stream, deciding to take a break. He’s sat on the right side of the bank so no one can sneak up on him from the way he came. He sheds some clothing, dipping his shirt in the water, ringing it out a little to not let him be completely soaking wet, and then puts it back on. You didn’t really consider the fact that it could very well be hot inside of the arena. It looks like it’s the middle of springtime there, like it can’t be more than seventy degrees.

Whatever he does, he doesn’t shed his shoes. He’ll sit in the stream water, let his pants completely soak, but taking off his shoes is out of the question. In fact, he even goes as far as to lift his feet in the air to make sure that they don’t get wet at all. You guess it’s not a completely fruitless idea. Walking in wet shoes isn’t comfortable at all, especially when your skin begins to wrinkle. Plus, if he were to take off his shoes and someone else were to show up, he’d be stuck running through the woods barefoot. If there’s one thing that no one wants to do, it’s run through the woods barefoot.

Rocks, dirt, sticks, needles, poison ivy, beetles, spiders, snakes, whatever can be lying in the grass. Hell, you’ve seen grass that looks like it’s harmless, but it turns out it has razor edges along the blade. It wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that the grass had reached above their shoes, constantly cutting and reopening wounds on their calves. Didn’t make for a very fun time for the tributes.

You can appreciate the determination going on with Five boy. He kinda reminds you of Six before he went and died via forcefield. The both of them have their own set of determinations. While Five boy has, for whatever reason, made it his goal to make it across the woods in a little less than two days, Six boy had been moving to get away from the dam.

Although, you’re really not sure what Five is up to. If he was looking for water, he found it. But you can’t imagine that’s why he traveled across the entire arena. If he’s lasted this long, that means he’s had his own supply off to the far left for a while. Why leave what you know is working? You’re all for taking risks until it’s unnecessary.

Upstream from Five is your tributes, who are still inside of the shack. You can’t hear the conversation, as usual, so you try your best to read lips. You think you catch Marsh saying that they should hole themselves up inside of the shack until tonight comes. Annie asks what they would do if someone came along and wants where they’re saying, he says to fend it off or just make a fucking run for the village.

Annie says splitting up isn’t a smart idea, he agrees, “What choice do we have?” Those words are the clearest. Annie doesn’t really respond, she just brings her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. Then, she shrugs. You can’t blame her, it’s hard knowing what to do when you don’t really have options. And with them being inside of the Hunger Games, everything is a risk at this point.

If they don’t move on, they run the risk of someone coming across them, their shack, their snares and taking one of them out. If they do move on, they leave behind shelter, the way they’ve been getting food, a certain water source, and they go on the chance that they might get caught on the way to the village. It’s not really a winning situation unless all conditions are perfect. Which is hardly ever. Oh, and also if they stay, the dam will eventually be their number one problem.

Marsh says that he’s going to step out and get fresh air, he’ll just be outside of the doorstep. Annie says she’s fine with that, watches him leave and then closes her eyes for a while. They’re not really splitting up, so you can’t see a problem with him just leaving for a moment. If he wanders off, that’s a whole new ordeal, though.

Sanguin and Geare are fast despite their sore legs. The map that the gamemakers show you, tell you that they’re basically on top of the stream. A couple more minutes, and they’ll be able to see it through the trees. And with the path they took, it’s parallel to what Five boy took. This is a fight waiting to happen. Any fucking minute now.

“Back to back.” Gloss says.

“Can’t wait to see what Sanguin has instore for us today.” Finnick says.

Gloss looks over, “You heard what happened?”

“Saw.” you correct, “Showed him what happened when I got back yesterday. Let’s just say that Finnick can eat and watch shit like that all day long.”

“O-kay.” Finnick draws out the world, but he starts laughing along with you two.

And like you predicted, Sanguin and Geare spot the stream through the trees. They’re not really overjoyed, just relieved that they finally found it after all this time. They take their time getting there, dropping off their stuff in the bushes along the treeline. Geare crouches down to splash water on his face, Sanguin complains about her hair being greasy.

They fill back up on water, talking quietly amongst themselves because there’s no use to shout if they’re next to each other. The moment they comfortably fall into silence, Five boy’s voice is heard. It’s not clear, it sounds distant, but it’s unmistakable. You watch as Sanguin and Geare share a look, hands finding their weapons, then dropping the things they don’t need at the moment before they head off toward Five.

A part of you wonders that if Five boy takes off running, if they’ll follow or just let him go. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if they just decided to go after him. But you also couldn’t believe your eyes when you watched Sanguin single-handedly rip apart Bauhinia like she was a fucking animal and not a human.

The careers disappear into the trees for better coverage, taking their time with getting down to where Five boy is. They’re definitely going to chase after him. And if they don’t chase, Sanguin will probably just throw her sword out of nowhere or some shit. Surprise all of you at the same time. If the odds could go to 0-1 with her, you’re sure that they would.

Five boy is humming to himself, turning a rock over in his hand. You watch in silent horror as Sanguin and Geare manage to get closer and closer without being detected. Actually, you’re sure that with their skills, they could easily cross the stream and still not be figured out. If they can do this in broad daylight, what can they do when they have the night as their veil?

You don’t like the chill that goes down your spine.

No words pass between Sanguin and Geare, they must decide that they’ll be able to handle Five boy in whatever way they need. The way that they simultaneously come out of the trees, with their hand-picked weapons brandished and the strict expression on their faces. They look like a pair of villains in a children’s fairytale. However, normally those villains are easy to beat and seem to have a chink in their armour. Sanguin and Geare are not like that.

Five spots them almost immediately, eyes widening and darting up, mouth parting as he watches them. You can see the glint of the sun off Sanguin’s sword land in his eyes for a moment, before disappearing off into the trees. No words come from any of them, he just stares as they get closer.

Sanguin and Geare split, wanting to take Five from both sides, which seems to finally set him off. Five jumps to his feet, crouching over slightly, caught in the decision of fight or flight. Would be he able to hold them off? You don’t think so. Would he be able to outrun them? You don’t think so, either. They’re good fighters, Sanguin’s an even-better runner. There’s no way he’s making out of this alive.

Doesn’t mean he can’t try, though.

And like a fucking psychopath, Five boy screams at the top of his lungs. And while that momentarily catches both of the careers off guard, it also makes Annie jerk to life inside of the shack. She grabs her short blade, throwing the door of the shack open to find what’s the matter. Marsh is already on his feet outside, eyes on Annie.

“What was that?” Annie asks, you can hear her this time.

“It’s not far away.” Marsh says, “We shouldn’t stay.”

“We can’t leave now, can we? Where will we go?”

“Up?” Marsh asks.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

Another scream, Five boy has brought his fists up to his face like he’s getting ready to fight. He’s an idiot, he’s going to get himself killed. If Annie can take out One boy--Colt--without blinking her eyes, Sanguin and Geare can both easily do it with their eyes closed. You have slight hope for him, looking at the Line Odds to see what the gamemakers are making of him. He’s at 15-1, worse than Bauhinia.

“He’s fucked!” you exclaim.

Sanguin bites, swinging her sword right at him. He ducks out of the way, jumping at her legs. He takes her out, scrambling on top of her, getting the sword away from him. He raises his fist up high, and before Geare can catch it, slams his fist straight into her teeth. You can feel the ache in your own front teeth, especially since he gave her all knuckle. She’s got to be feeling something.

Geare grabs a hold of Five, yanking him off and backwards into the water, which is now a huge factor. It’s splashing everywhere, getting all of them wet, slowing their movements down. The stream seems to get heavier, moving faster to make balancing impossible. No thanks to the gamemakers, you’re sure. A little interference never hurt anyone, right?

Sanguin scoops up her sword in her wet hands, which are still stained red from Bauhinia’s blood yesterday. She rinsed them off with the water from her water bottle, but even after that, and scrubbing them in the stream not five minutes ago, they’re stained. And they’re about to be stained again, you think.

Geare holds Five boy in place, raising up the sword. Five stays still eyes on the silver blade that’s about to make its home in his chest. His life is probably flashing before his eyes, every mistake he’s ever made is suddenly at the front of his mind. What he said to his family last before they had to say their goodbyes. It’s all he can think about.

Marsh has now geared up for the fight, completely switching gears from his original intention of running, “What if it’s the careers?”

“What--are you hearing yourself? You’re right! What if it’s the careers--you just want to run right on in?”

“There’s two of them, Annie!” Marsh shoves Annie’s backpack into her hands, “And just in case you forgot, we’re careers too! This could be our opportunity!”

“Or it could be our death sentence!” Annie grabs a hold of his arm, “This is stupid.”

“Come or don’t, I’m going down there.”

He tightens the strap on his backpack, quickly making his way down the hill. Annie stands there for a moment, runs a hand through her messy hair, and then lets out a sigh. She heads down there after him, tightening the straps on her own backpack, and gripping and regripping the short blade in her hand. This is bad, very bad.

The fight is about to go from three to five. The original stakes are now unmatched, now that two more careers have been added to the equation. District Four versus Five boy versus what’s left of the career pack. Who’s going to fight who, you wonder. Will Sanguin and Geare stay focused on their original plan, or will they be completely distracted by your tributes.

The tension in your chest has met its breaking point. Loud, shaking, vibrating. This is it. Exactly what you feared is going to happen. Last year, a couple of tributes had managed to kill both of your tributes at the same time. This year, it’s going to be the careers, since Sanguin is dead set on killing Annie at least, and Geare will naturally go for Marsh to finish District Four off once and for all.

“(Y/n), breathe.” Finnick’s rubbing your back.

Sanguin brings the sword down, she misses Five boy by a hair. He turned sideways just in time, but Sanguin’s not fucking around. She’s desperate to get this over with, tired of outsider tributes slipping through her fingers like sand. She raises her sword much quicker now, and slams it through his arm, pinning him to the ground. He screams.

Marsh quickens his pace, Annie quietly ushers him to slow down. He doesn’t listen to her. They both make it down the hill just in time to see Geare pin Five’s other arm down with his foot. Sanguin holds out her hand, Geare hands over his own weapon. One moment, they’re all still, Five has no way of escaping, Marsh and Annie are an audience to some sick show.

Chaos is what happens next. Sanguin moves faster than Marsh had predicted. She easily kills Five, a cannon going off. But Marsh has revealed where he was, moving towards her, swinging his own sword before she can pull hers out of Five. He brings the blade up high, Sanguin flinches to cover her face with her forearm. The blade slices right through her skin, blood flying, a yelp of pain leaving her.

Annie moves forward too, apprehensive at first, like she doesn’t know where to start. Attack Sanguin or Geare? Does she even want to be placed in the middle of this? If she ran now, she could save herself. Fuck, she could run all the way to the village and none of them would be able to catch her. She’d be able to hide herself somewhere where they’d never be able to find her.

And then Sanguin catches sight of Annie, and suddenly the whole mood is shifted. With her target spotted, Marsh is an easy object to get out of the way. She shoves, rips her sword out of Five, blood gushing down her arm at an unhealthy pace, and storms her way over to Annie.

It’s too late for Annie to run now. Her chin lowers, she makes sure that Sanguin can see the shortblade, and the fight really starts. Sanguin swings, Annie dodges and moves closer. It’s the same dancing game that she played with Colt, except this time, Sanguin knows of Annie’s games. For every step Annie takes forward, Sanguin moves backward to keep her away.

At some point, though, she can’t run any further. It’ll make her look like a coward. Annie is persistent, she won’t let up until Sanguin conforms or runs. Subject yourself to the fight, or find a way to get out of there before Annie does some real damage. And since Sanguin isn’t a career for nothing, she steps up. 

Blade on blade, over and over and over again. Annie swings up, Sanguin blocks, slips and goes downward. Annie will narrowly get out of the way before bringing her blade down as hard as she can, breaking through any barriers that Sanguin thought she had built up. You’ll have to say it, they’re evenly matched.

The adrenaline that must be running through them is fucking nuts. Sanguin swings upward, Annie backs out of the way, bringing her short blade down. Sanguin just barely dodges, but you know that she’s in pain because of her arm. Annie tries to fake her out like she did to Colt, but Sanguin works faster than that. It’s okay, Annie recovers.

As for Marsh and Geare, it’s not as intense. They don’t have problems with each other, not like Sanguin and Annie. All Marsh really has to do is take out Geare before Sanguin somehow gets an upper hand on Annie. Once he’s gone, Sanguin will be too. Her pride is too big for her to just run away from a fight she’s been itching for since she first saw Annie during the bloodbath.

Marsh seems more successful. Geare might have scored a ten, but he’s lazy. Almost like he’s trying not to take it as seriously, as if he could also do this without trying. He can’t, the number that Geare scored was a reach. He too, looks like an eight or nine at most, he fights like it.

Annie keeps pushing, her strength never-ending. She’s got the same amount of stamina that Sanguin has, maybe more. The careers can run for hours on end, but you never saw use in something like that. If they get caught in a fight, they’re going to want to keep going, they don’t want to die. Annie can always go back and forth between running and walking, anyway. It’s not that easy when you’re using a sword, or in this case, a short blade.

Sanguin lets out a shout, moving faster than Annie can catch her. Instead of swinging her weapon, which is no doubt having its way with her arms now, she shoves Annie back hard enough for her to topple over. Annie hits the stream water, creating a wave that briefly reaches into the air, and then it comes all crashing down. 

All at once.

Sanguin rolls her wrist, spins toward Marsh and swings. A strangled scream leaves your throat when you cover your mouth. Geare moves out of the way, far back enough for the blade to not even come close to touching him. However, Marsh is unsuspecting, back turned towards Sanguin. He can’t see the blade coming, much less has a reason to think he’s in any sort of danger.

For a second, it’s not as bad as it seems. Sanguin’s blade forces Marsh to his knees with how it hits the back of his legs. But then Geare moves forward, sword over his shoulder, eyes locked on Marsh. The two of them work together seamlessly, it’s almost like they’ve been brainwashed with how their movements are mechanical. 

Geare brings his sword down, sword connecting with the side of Marsh’s neck. There’s no way he can defend himself, Annie just has to sit here and watch. Sit here and take it. The blade goes clean through without a struggle. His silver sword, glittering beautifully in the sunlight, has blood all along the blade.

Another cannon blasts.

Where Marshs’ head was before, has now been replaced by a fountain of deep red blood. The body falls forward, legs slanted uncomfortably. The gamemakers show Annie, and you can see she’s on the edge. There’s tears in her eyes, face slowly turning red. She’s no longer sitting, she’s already on her feet, knuckles white from how hard she’s gripping the hilt.

A stand still, you think. Where will they go from here?

Annie launches herself at Geare, completely pissed. He’s already covered in her former district partner’s blood, but with the way she collided with him, it rubs off on her. They struggle, Sanguin trying to grab a hold of her too. Logically speaking, there’s two against one. Annie shouldn’t get the upper hand here.

But Annie didn’t volunteer for the Hunger Games for nothing.

With one hand wrapped around his forehead, yanking it back, stretching his neck so that it’s accessible, the other hand has her blade sheathed. And with no hesitance, because the longer you wait, the bigger the chance of interference, she slits his throat, and shoves his body forward.

Like yesterday, with the bloody freckles across her face, Sanguin gets a face full of blood. She catches him, arms wrapped around him to make sure he gets down comfortably. Annie spins her blade between her fingers, and finishes off Geare, her short blade in the back of his head. 

Another cannon. Enobaria and Wade are going home.

Annie places her foot on Geare’s back, pushing him forward while she yanks her sword out. Sanguin can’t handle all the weight, so she falls back, trapping her beneath the dead body. Annie stares down at Sanguin for a moment, breathing heavily. She’s caught in a decision, should she take out the last career, once and for all?

It’ll take away the threat. Four people left inside of the games after Sanguin is gone. But it also goes against her moral dilemma of killing people when it’s not needed. She just needs to do it. Sanguin will keep following her if she doesn’t, Annie doesn’t want to be chased, does she?

She’s shaking, eyes filling with tears, “This is your fault. It’s all your fault.”

Sanguin opens her mouth, eyebrows drawn in. She doesn’t speak, only stares and waits. Annie lifts her sword, taking in a deep breath, and slams the blade right through Geare’s back, and into Sanguin. It doesn’t kill her, but it’ll keep her down.

Annie gathers the backpacks, transfers the goods without a single word, and then scoops up Marsh’s sword, finding a spot for it so she doesn’t have to carry. She takes one last look at Sanguin, and then spits on her. Saliva mixed with blood, it lands on Sanguin’s cheek. 

Only three tributes dead, maybe four if Sanguin’s wounds kill her anytime soon. Annie takes off through the trees, straight downhill and towards the village. It’s a shame that it took for Marsh to die for the plans to finally fall through. Either way, she won’t have to worry about Sanguin going after her. She can take her time getting to the village. 

“Okay,” You breathe, “Okay, it could be worse.”

“Why didn’t she just kill Sanguin?” Gloss asks.

“Because she doesn’t need to.” Finnick tells him, “Sanguin isn’t a threat to her, and won’t be for a while.”

It’s quiet, you let out a slight laugh, “We know how stupid it sounds. If Annie had the choice of running away from Geare and Sanguin instead of killing Geare, she would’ve just run.”

“Huh.” Gloss hums.

Enobaria no longer needs to talk to the sponsors. You watch as they all let her go, she slowly bids each and every one of them goodbye. When she finally has her back turned to them, she gives you three an eye roll. Enobaria stops a few feet away.

“Insufferable.” She huffs, “Had I known Geare would be dying today, I would've just stuck with you guys. They act like I need the condolences.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t talk to them unless I have to.” Gloss gives her a smile, she glares.

“I’ve got to go tell Wade the news.” She hugs Gloss first, even after what he said, “I’ll see you next year. Good luck.” You're next, she gives an extra squeeze. Finnick gives her a one-armed hug.

“It was good seeing you.” You smile.

“Yeah, whatever—“

Gloss snorts, “I’m sorry for your loss!”

Enobaria flips him off, you all watch as she leaves the betting room. You look at the Line Odds next to see that Annie and Sanguin have moved. Sanguin has gone down to 2-1, probably because Five boy got the jump on her, and Annie was able to match her power. Annie has moved up to 3-1, whereas previously she was 6-1.

Good news, it’s all good news. Annie’s alive, she’s moved up on the odds board. Even if she didn’t kill Sanguin, she at least injured her enough to keep her away. You know for a fact that Sanguin’s going to go running to the cornucopia with her tail between her legs. She’s not going to bother to go after Annie.

For the most part, Annie’s fine. She’s got a scratch here and there from not being able to move out of the way in time, but other than that, she’ll be able to easily overpower Sanguin. Beforehand, Sanguin’s idea of revenge could be supported by her health, now it would be a stupid move. It would be stupid for her to do anything but go home.

“Shouldn’t you be loading up a sponsor?” You ask, looking at Gloss.

“I’m going to let her suffer some. Maybe that’ll make her more humble.”

“I’m pretty sure Annie letting her live was grounding enough.” Finnick mutters, you all laugh.

Annie runs through the trees, she’s almost out of the forest. She’s going faster since it’s all downhill, but the clearing beyond the woods is flat. And the hills will slow her down even more. The problem isn’t so much Sanguin anymore, but the other tributes seeing her. Nine girl, who has her own weapon. The Seven tributes, who are working in a pair.

But as far as you can tell, they're not near the tree line. They seem to be stuck where they are, probably confused about the three cannons. One and two are normal, signifies a small fight, maybe the careers ran into other tributes, or the careers lost one of their own altogether. But three is bigger, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

Sanguin is still laying underneath Geare, wincing each time she moves. A moan will leave her mouth when she tries to push him off, the sword blade digging around in her wound. She pants, pauses, and tries again, gritting her teeth. Geare is bigger than her, it’s going to take a moment to get him off of her. She’s probably under some sort of pressure, knowing that everyone is watching, that the gamemakers are waiting to collect the bodies.

She presses her hands against Geare’s shoulders, slowly pushing him off. It’s like peeling a bloody shirt off of a wound, you’ve got to do it slowly if you want little to no pain. All at once is going to hurt like a bitch. However, at the angle she’s going with, it’s probably making things a whole lot worse.

She barely slips out from underneath Geare before he comes crashing back to the ground, sword hitting the dirt next to her. She lets out a groan, fingers finding her stomach. She’s in the same situation that you were in five years ago. Except her wound is all surface, hardly goes that deep. Your entire knife got shoved in, five to six inches, maybe more? Sanguin is going to survive.

She gets to her feet, grabbing her sword. Annie left her nothing, so she’s got to get to the cornucopia before sundown if she wants to be safe. She stands around the area for a couple of seconds longer, looking over Five, Marsh and then Geare. Her face twists angrily, and she shouts.

Sanguin brings her sword up, and then slams it into Geare’s back, “Fuck!”

She leaves, turning the way that she’d come with Geare and Vanilee a day ago, and starts going downhill diagonally. She keeps with this path for a while, a couple of hours, at least. The stream was only three miles off to the right of the cornucopia, with where they had started on the first day, it made it seem a whole lot longer.

Either way, Sanguin makes it to the cornucopia at the same time Annie makes it over the one important hill that’ll hide her from Sanguin. With the village right in front of her, Annie starts running again. The second that she’s stepped foot onto the washed-out soil, she collapses to her knees.

You stand from where you’re sitting with Gloss and Finnick, “Is she hurt?”

“Why would she be?” Gloss asks, he presses his lips together, and then sits up, “I’ve got to send Sanguin some medication. I’ll be back.”

Gloss finds his usual people, always ready on-hand for him to come by so they can send his tributes a gift. They talk for a moment, and then he leads them over to where he’ll confirm and send the sponsor gift.

As for Annie, her hands have curled into fists, body shaking. You’re not sure what’s happening until you’re allowed to hear, just in time for her to gasp and sob, whimpering. She sniffs, slamming her fist into the dirt a couple of times, turning her knuckles red. Annie sits up, staring into the village with bloodshot eyes. She wipes under her eyes and nose, a frown on her face.

The relief that goes through you really is like a wave. She’s not hurt, just grieving for Marsh. It’s natural with tributes that are close to each other. Annie and Marsh have been side by side since the beginning, partners in crime. Losing him was inevitable, they’re so far into the games now. It’s been less than a week and there’s only five left. From here on out, they need to treat the games like they’re almost over.

You take a seat back on the couch, lacing your fingers and leaning forward on your knees. You’re all allowed to watch a split screen of Sanguin receiving her sponsor gift, and Annie pulling herself together enough to find a place to stay for the night. She drags her feet through the dirt, but it’s not deep enough path for a tracker like Sanguin to come around and follow it.

Annie walks for thirty minutes before picking a three-story house. When she walks inside, you can see that the floorboards are rotting, the yellow-flowered wallpaper is curling off the walls, and the staircase on the first floor is missing quite a few steps. Annie doesn’t care, she tightens her grip on her belongings and takes one step at a time. The second floor’s staircase is much sturdier, same for the floors. The walls are just as bad.

She picks a far back room, sets everything down, and rolls out what she’ll need for tonight. With how she’s not unpacking everything, and putting things back after she’s done, Annie doesn’t want to stay where she is. Or she’s keeping everything ready just in case someone does come after her. After today, you can’t blame her, but she’s all by herself inside of the village.

Sanguin sits herself in the grass, carefully pulls her healing cream out of the silver package, disregarding whatever note that Gloss has decided to give her. Speaking of which, he joins you guys back at the couch, sitting on the arm. Sanguin squirts the contents of the tube onto her fingers, and then lifts her shirt for everyone to see.

Not a pretty sight, where the short blade had cut her is a huge gash. Dried blood around it, with how she flexes her stomach when trying to look for herself, more blood surfaces, and runs down her skin. She glares, grits her teeth, and then digs her fingers inside, trying to spread it inside to make the healing process faster. Her face turns a deep shade of red, holding her breath. When she’s done the first time, she lets out a breath of air, recuperates, and then goes again.

It’s six in the evening before anyone in the arena begins to settle down for the night. Annie has made her bed, she eats and drinks water, trying not to cry anymore than she has already today. Sanguin doesn’t have any water, which means that tomorrow she’ll have a decision to make; stay inside of the cornucopia, where she knows it’s safe, or risk going out to get water. You have a feeling that her pride is too much to allow her to just stay inside and be thirsty.

As for Nine girl, where she’s stopped is actually fairly close to where the Seven tributes are. Maybe a mile or so apart, the Seven tributes are at their huts as usual, towards the top of the arena. Nine girl is somewhere in the middle, if she continues traveling up tomorrow, she’ll come across the team easily. For now, she makes a bed of grass and uses her backpack as a pillow.

“I think I’m going back to the apartment.” Finnick says, he yawns and pushes himself up from the couch, “You’ve got it handled?”

“Yeah, of course.” you give him a smile, “I’ll go and get you later. Eat before you go to bed.”

“I can take care of myself.” he says, and then waves to Gloss, “See you later.”

“Bye.” Gloss holds up his hand briefly, and then turns back to the screen.

You get comfortable on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. Not everyone is turning in for the night in the arena, but they might as well be. Something tells you that there’s not going to be another big event in the arena tonight. You can take it easy, probably even go out to dinner and come back and relax.

“When’s Cashmere supposed to be down here?” you ask, looking over at Gloss.

He hums, “A couple of hours, why?”

“We should all get dinner together before you switch out.”

“Sure.”

--

Without the weight in your stomach holding you down to the bed this afternoon, you slip out of bed with a yawn. You stretch your arms over your head, dragging your feet to the closet to pick out today’s outfit. Your fingers fumble, still half-asleep and squinting to be able to see properly. 

Dark blue jeans, a red tank top, black underwear. You throw it all over your arm as you reach to grab the tennis shoes, not really liking all the other options. You’re actually fairly sure that the last time you wore flats, you got blisters on the back of your feet. It’s hard to focus on your tributes when you’re complaining about the pain in your feet all day.

You throw your clothes onto the bed, as well as the shoes. On the way to the bathroom, you lock your bedroom door to make sure that you’re not going to get any unwanted guests. The shower water is warm almost instantly, but as soon as you’re dipping your fingers inside to double-check--a force of habit--you’re quickly turning the knob to make the water more cold.

Naturally, the Tribute Center has an automatic system that adjusts the heating and AC to make it comfortable for everyone inside. But this afternoon, things are particularly hot. It’s been that way since last night, when you had to shed practically everything to even get your body to a normal temperature. For good measure, you took a second shower, also cold.

It must be some sort of heatwave, thanks to the summer. And the window that you’re dealing with inside of your room probably isn’t helping all that much, either. By allowing the sun rays inside, you’re subsequently signing yourself up for the warmth that comes with it. Unfortunately, the windows don’t really come with blinds, so you just have to put up with it.

You do have to say that the heatwave inside of the Tribute Center is nothing compared to what you deal with at home. You have AC in your victor house, of course, but all the years prior when you’d just have to bear the sweat and flushed faces was like existing in hell. The only way to get away from the heat, if you weren’t swamped with housework via your brothers, was to go down to the beach and sit in the water for a while. But shedding clothes meant sunburns, and sunscreen goes up in price during the summer.

You’ve gotten used to it over the years, as you’ve grown older, you’ve also developed the philosophy of not letting stuff like that get to you anymore. Especially with not how Alyssum is getting older. If you pretend to act like everything is just fine with the heat, eventually she’ll have to stop complaining when she realizes that no one relates to her mundane problem.

However, shirts sticking to your back, using folders as fans and the irritating feeling of sweat rolling down your skin isn’t always ignorable. At least she doesn’t have to deal with you, Reed and Mox telling her that she should’ve felt what it was like to live in the shack for all these years. There’s been a silent agreement not to compare the previous living situation to the one you have now. It’s not her fault she’s living the way she is now. Plus, you think that you’d rather save those stories for when you’re old and wrinkly.

The cold water feels nice on your skin for a while, until it begins to make you cold. You step out, tie your hair out of your face and get dressed. Looking in the mirror today, there’s definitely a difference on your face. You’re not as sullen, yesterday it almost looked like someone told you that your dog died. Might as well have, Marsh is gone, and he’s not coming back.

Marsh placed seventh, with a final Line Odd of 6-1. He scored a nine on his training score, he had the Capitol in tears during his interview. He’s memorable, especially with the way that he went charging toward the careers. His intention might not have been to save Five boy, but it was still noble to face them head-on. You can only hope that none of this is in vain, that Annie will survive.

You get dressed, place your ring on your finger and hurry out to the dining room. It’s almost one already, and you haven’t even eaten yet. Dread isn’t the only thing that can ball and chain you to a bed, worry is pretty good at it too. Even better when you don’t fall asleep until late in the morning.

You shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this, Annie is fine. She’s in the village, far away from Sanguin, who’s still injured, as far as you know. All the tributes that she would have had to worry about before are now miles away from where she is now. Hell, Sanguin would have to walk hours up and down hills just to get to Annie. And then what? Annie would be able to defend herself.

The tv is already on when you get out there, which makes you think that the avoxes had done it so that you wouldn’t have to ask today, until you see that Elysia is sitting at the table. There’s a mug in her hand, it has coffee in it, you don’t even have to pretend like you don’t know. It might be the afternoon, but she takes in caffeine like it’s an alcohol addiction.

“Hey.” you say, making her look up.

She raises her eyebrows, a smile crossing her face, “Good afternoon. How are you holding up?”

“Could be a lot worse, Annie’s a survivor.” you sit at the table, watching as cold cut sandwiches, fizzy beverages and potato chips are placed on the table. It’s not much of a fancy feast, the Capitol does this sometimes when it’s a casual afternoon.

“I’d say.” Elysia looks over to the tv.

You look over too, it’s focused on Annie at the moment. It looks like she’s finally unpacked her things, but she hasn’t moved from the back corner. Sanguin, Geare and Vanilee’s bed rolls are placed inside of each other. It’s a good way to keep warmth and make it a little comfortable. 

Food, knives, water are spread around her. She won’t be needing water refills anytime soon, she’s inherited all the dead tributes’ water jugs. You think that if she drinks enough to keep her body going, she’ll have enough to last her a week, maybe two if she really tests her limits. 

She’s sitting in the corner of the room, legs to her chest, arms wrapped around them to keep them from slipping. Her hair is messy, eyes bloodshot, bags beneath her eyes. She didn’t sleep at all last night, there’s no question about it. But at least all the scratches and cuts that were inflicted have healed. She applied the medication last night before she laid down to sleep.

You sat down in the betting room for a while with just Gloss. As soon as Cashmere came around, you kept to your idea and went out to dinner with them. It wasn’t anywhere fancy, you didn’t even bother to get a private room to eat at. It was a soup and bread place, you stayed as long as you could before Gloss fell asleep on the table.

It was nice catching up with Cashmere, she said that she’d seen Enobaria and Wade just before they left for the train. Wade was reasonably upset, but Enobaria didn’t even look phased. In fact, Cashmere leaned across the table and whispered; “Enobaria says that she hopes Annie wins.” You’re glad you have these guys as your friends, even if they have to go home, there’s no malicious intent.

They’re your best friends, through and through.

After dinner, Gloss went back to his apartment, and you were left with Cashmere for a little while. You caught her up on a lot that’s happened inside of the arena, your opinions, how you guys hung around Cecelia for a while. Cashmere agreed that Sanguin’s experience with Annie was probably enough to bring her back to reality. They’re teenagers, tributes in the Hunger Games, they can’t control anything, much less try and play god. 

As soon as the first conversation was over, Cashmere started a second one about Finnick. Which made you groan with a, “It’s not that important, Cash.” But she wouldn’t let it go until you answered her questions. She hasn’t been able to ask you all the juicy details in private like she’s really wanted to.

There’s not much to tell. You let her know that Finnick was asking about you to Gloss while you weren’t there yesterday. And the night before you spent hours talking on the balcony after Bauhinia died. The two of you came to the conclusion that Finnick is deciding that he’s going to stay for a while--which you’d partially come up with by yourself yesterday.

Cashmere said it was a good sign, good for you when it comes to mentoring and the boarding school. You can finally chill out and be there for Alyssum more after school instead of relying on Reed and Mox to take care of her all the time, “You don’t want to be the absent older sister, trust me.” She’s right, it would be a shame to be so focused on saving other teenagers in District four, and completely miss out on Alyssum’s innocence while she still has it. A couple more years and she’s enrolling into the boarding school early.

After that was over, you went ahead and got Finnick before you would be too exhausted to get up this morning. Your attempts were, obviously, futile, as you hardly slept last night and you’re tired anyway. Finnick’s lucky you’re reliable, otherwise you would have considered staying in bed for a little while longer. What ruined that idea is the sweltering heat of the fucking Tribute Center. 

And since the betting room is quite literally under a glass roof, you can’t imagine that it’s very cold in there, either. In fact, you’re sure that it’s going to be worse. Which now makes you partially consider changing into a pair of shorts so you’re not stuck sweating the entire day. The tank top is nice, but it only brings you so far.

Ugh.

Sanguin is up and at it already, heading towards the woods in the direction of the stream. Figures that she wouldn’t wait a little while to give herself time to heal. She’s always on top of it, always moving. A part of you wonders if she put on healing cream as soon as she got up this morning, or if she’s waiting to do it later tonight.

Either way, she’s got a full backpack again, her sword is propped up against her shoulder with the blade flat. Exactly how she’d carried it before she went and murdered the boy from Three. To think that was only two days ago is fucking insane, it feels like forever. But you guess that’s just what happens when you get back to back days of absolute mayhem.

The Seven tributes are wandering around, heading into their own personal uncharted territory of the left side. Well, actually there’s a lot where they haven’t been before, always keeping to their safe bubble. It’s not a bad strategy, but they can get away with it for so long. The gamemakers don’t like comfortable. Comfortable means you need to be pushed outside of your boundaries and experience new things.

As for Nine girl, you think she’s unintentionally stalking the District Seven tributes, with how she’s trailing them. She could very well be tracking, but the path that Seven is leaving isn’t all that obvious. It’s too obvious to be a coincidence, maybe she’s just trying to play it off that way? Or see where District Seven leads her? You’re surprised she isn’t cloud watching today. She’s sitting pretty, does she really need to follow the other tributes around?

You eat your sandwiches, watching the tributes move around inside of the arena. Annie stays put, Sanguin gets closer to the stream, Seven is nearly in the section all the way off to the left. When you’re done eating, you have the avoxes pack up some sandwiches for your friends inside of the betting room, and get ready to go.

You take one step towards the door, before you’re stuck where you are, watching what’s unfolding on the screen. 

Uncharted territory can be dangerous for obvious reasons. The tributes don’t know what they’re heading into, which means that they don’t know what to expect. Foreign animals, plants, traps set up by the gamemakers to ensure a pleasant surprise. Heading off into the unknown means that you’re expecting unpredictable situations. Anything can happen the moment you’re no longer in your safe space.

Because of this, it’s important to keep a schedule. Let the gamemakers come to you, they’ll be playing on your side of the court for this reason. But walk right into what they want, you’re subjected to their own house of horrors. And the only way of making it out alive, is fighting for freedom, or hoping your counterpart isn’t as good as you are.

The gamemakers hardly ever allow both tributes live. If they did that, it would take away the entire entertainment aspect. Not allow the Capitol people to see tributes like Annie fall apart at the seams because she doesn’t have her best friend around her anymore. You’re not sure what’s so fun about a depressed, sleep-deprived teenager but… to each their own.

Seven girl is leading, with the male tribute just behind her. Everything appears to be just fine, there’s no visual signs that they’re about to be submerged into frigid waters. Then they’re warned, a howl loud and clear, telling them to turn back and go away now, before they continue to make the mistake that they’re working on.

Maybe the tributes don’t hear the wolves, maybe they’re so caught up in their own heads that the silence breaking doesn’t register. Or maybe they choose to ignore it, because it’s a couple of wolves, and animals tend to run away once they realize that there’s something much bigger trying to challenge them. Because of their blatant obliviousness, they’ve fucked themselves over.

They’re not any ordinary wolves. They’re Capitol-made and controlled mutts.

The first one breaks through the trees, huge, black, eyes belonging to the devil himself. The girl catches sight of the genetically mutated mutts, comes to a complete stop, and then spins herself around. She takes off running, grabbing onto her district partners arm, snapping him out of his daydreaming daze, bringing him right back to reality.

They run together, arms pumping at their sides. The boy doesn’t care what path he takes, through thickets, thorns, and between trees that shouldn’t be possible to squeeze past. The girl however, is more careful about where she goes, thinking that it’ll help her move quickly, knowing where she’s stepping and that the path is definitely clear. It’s working the other way around. For once, a lack of carelessness is going to be the downfall of a tribute.

She falls behind, the wolves gaining on them both more and more. The pounding of their paws against the dirt is loud enough for the Capitol cameras to pick up. Like a heartbeat, a steady thrum against the ground. It’s also a telling sign that the Seven girl needs to give up her act or accept her death.

It’s frustrating, especially since she doesn’t even seem to notice her mistakes. One of the first rules of being chased is always being aware of how close they are. She doesn’t have to do it by looking behind her, which is always a mistake the idiots seem to make. She can just hear the footsteps all by themselves, getting louder and louder. Doesn’t she have any will to live?

If she does, she doesn’t get a chance to prove it. The lead wolf uses its hindlegs to launch itself at her. It’s mouth unhinges like a python snake, revealing rows of sharp teeth, drool coming out as a long string. It pounces on Seven girl, snarling, and bites straight into the back of her neck. The screaming is loud, you wince and sit back down at the dining room table.

The wolves around the leader continue after Seven boy, which comes as a fair surprise to you. But then again, the girl isn’t necessarily dead just yet. As soon as that cannon goes off, it’s like a whistle to the dogs. They’ll all go back to whatever hell hole they crawled out of. They might even be used a different year, for the exact same purpose that they’re serving now.

The leader bites down, and whips its head to the side. A mouthful of flesh rips out of the girl, her scream loud enough to be heard as a warning to both Seven boy, and Nine girl. Run, and run fast if you want to survive. The blood coats the tree bark around the girl, drips off the flesh that was previously attached to her body. Her hands twitch, eyes open and rolling to the back of her head.

It’s more or less the same situation that Bauhinia was in. But instead of it being done by another tribute, which will definitely leave a permanent impression on mentors and future tributes alike, this is being done by a mutt. The Capitol has specifically engineered these guys to do this. Bite, rip, rinse, repeat. Seven girl’s screams start off loud, but slowly die out like she’s lost her voice.

The next wolf that is leading on Seven boy, jumps at him just like the last wolf did to Seven girl. However this time, instead of all the other surrounding wolves continuing forward, they swarm and maul the boy. Their teeth are just as sharp, but without all the rows. You’d say that his situation is better, but he’s got more mutts going at him from different angles, with no time to breathe in between bites. 

By the time that Seven girl does die, allowing the wolves to go home, the boy is severely hurt. Puncture wounds from the teeth, shredded skin, half his face is missing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a noise. He just lays in the grass like he’s already dead, the only thing keeping him from being collected by the gamemakers like his district partner, is the cannon. 

He’s a living soul in his corpse of a body. 

It’s like sleep paralysis. He can’t speak, can’t move. He’s stuck where he is, like a suffering dog that just needs to be put out of his misery. But there’s no one to do it. You all will just get the pleasure of watching this poor boy wheeze and bleed. Doesn’t mean much for entertainment, his life is practically over.

The only tribute that’s nearby is Nine girl. But there’s no promise that she was following the Seven tributes in the first place. It looked like it, now you’ll just have to wait and see if it was true. This could take hours, and she has a bigger chance of accidentally missing him than stumbling upon him in the bushes. It’s not like he’s being loud.

You stand up from the table again, “I’ve got to get downstairs before anything else happens.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

You go down the steps and through the door. You punch the elevator button, head down to where the betting room is, bad quietly walk down the hallway. It’s all barren cement, no one hangs out here, and the peacekeepers standing outside of the door are required. Just in case a few mentors get too upset, because the Capitol people hardly ever care about rivalries.

The moment you open the door, a cool breeze hits your face. No wonder why the Tribute Center is so hot, the betting room is hogging all of the air conditioning. The glass ceiling is now blocked by a white cover to reflect the sun and ensure that you all won’t be sweating like pigs. Because of the cover, it’s dark, which is why there’s colored lights strung up on hooks. Almost like Christmas lights, but somehow less fun and more sophisticated.

Finnick and Gloss are already sitting at a white table, so you head over and drop the basket of food in the middle. 

“Did you see what happened?” Finnick asks, watching as you unload the basket.

“Yeah, Elysia and I watched it together.” You then move the basket off the table and onto the floor, sitting down and crossing your legs, “I guess the gamemakers were bored.”

“Or they have a vendetta against the Seven mentors.” Gloss cocks his head in the direction of where they’re standing off to the side. Arms crossed, angry faces. They’ve been screwed over, you can’t really blame them. Their tributes couldn’t even defend themselves, “Thanks for the lunch.”

“Figured you guys were hungry.” you look at Finnick, “What are you making of Annie?”

He shrugs, uncapping the bottled fizzy drink, “Well, besides the obvious fact that she’s some form of depressed, I think she’s in shock. How long did her and Marsh know each other?”

“They were only a year apart. So, since Annie was fourteen and he was thirteen.”

“Four years.” Gloss says, “A long time to build a friendship. What about you and Finnick, how long did you two know each other prior to your Hunger Games? I remember you guys being mentioned as friends at some point.”

You make a face, not entirely sure, “Well, I was a sophomore and he was a freshman…”

“Middle school?” Finnick proposes, but he doesn’t look confident either, “Only a year or whatever. We mostly saw each other in the hallway, and then it went on from that after my girlfriend dumped me.”

“Which one?” you ask, half-kidding, half-serious.

Finnick gives you a look, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember which girlfriend?” Gloss asks.

You snort, “He has brain damage from all the girls he’s gone through. I can name fifteen he went through while we were just friends.”

“It was not fifteen!” Finnick defends, face turning a shade of red, “Probably only five or something.”

“Probably.” Gloss has a smile on his face, clearly enjoying Finnick’s discomfort.

“Finnick, just trust me for once when I say that it was fifteen.” You muse.

“Except there weren’t fifteen girls in my class that liked me like that. I should know.” 

You and Gloss share a look, and then laugh. He wouldn’t know, it’s not always obvious when girls have crushes on people. Girls learn to hide it when the guy or girl they like is after someone else in that moment. You wouldn’t be surprised if his entire grade of girls had liked him, and only a quarter of them showed it. Finnick thinking that he’s aware of everything is a complete joke.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that all the remaining tributes are standing where they were yesterday. There’s only four tributes inside of the games, about to be three as soon as Seven boy is gone. Annie, Sanguin and Nine girl, who you really need to find a name for to make it all easier to say. 

“Do you guys know the name of the girl from Nine?” you ask, running a hand through your hair for any snarls that might exist in your ponytail.

Gloss’ face scrunches up, eyes finding the Line Odds too, “Uh…”

Finnick tilts his head from side to side, also thinking. They’re just as clueless as you are. You can’t even remember if anyone mentioned her name outside of the training score and interviews. Everyone normally stops paying attention after District Four, for obvious reasons. No one can really compare. The only person you think would know her name is Annie, mostly because she likes to keep track of stuff like that.

It’s not like you can really ask her. And you can’t really pull a name out of thin air, anyway. When it comes to the districts, you guys have ridiculous names just as much as people in the Capitol do. Gloss? Cashmere? Enobaria? What about Anchor and Marsh? Even Sanguin’s name isn’t really a name. It’s an adjective, based off the word sanguine, which means positivity or something dumb like that.

Of course, this philosophy can’t apply to everyone. Finnick’s name is normal, so is Mags, Luther, Scotch, Wade and Cecelia. It only really falls apart when it comes to last names, like Gallows or Golding. At some time or another, you all came from the Capitol, or you great grandparents changed their last names to make them more fierce during the rebellion. That last part is especially true when it comes to your family.

You don’t remember the original last name, just that Gallows wasn’t inherited through a husband. Your great-grandmother had changed it after the nickname she got from the people around her in District Four. She was in on the plan before the rebellion had even started, and got a head start when it came to taking out peacekeepers and Capitol officers in the district. It was suspicious after a while, how every single one of them committed suicide the same way, one by one. After all the known Capitol people were gone, she was onto traitors, and she was good at finding them.

Hanging people from rope relates to the gallows. However, after the rebellion failed, she wasn’t able to go back to her regular life. With the conspicuous last name, and the way that people would talk when she came around, her position was found quickly. She was a wanted woman inside of District Four by high-standing officers. By then, she’d already birthed your grandmother, who was being held at someone else’s house during the day, and went unfound by the peacekeepers when they went looking to wipe out your family.

Your great-grandparents died, as well as any of their siblings, grandchildren, cousins, whatever. The only person left was your grandmother, who got sent into the foster care system with the last name still attached. And since there was no family to help her revert back to the original last name, she just kept Gallows out of spite. What are the peacekeepers going to do eighteen years after the fact? Kill her? She was a baby when it happened, wouldn’t even be able to recall the details, much less looked like she had an inkling to continue her mother’s murder path.

It’s a fun story to tell to the older kids, you know that your brothers enjoyed it when they got to exaggerate every little detail and add in facts of their own. As you got older, they filtered out the bullshit to make it more believable. Even now, the entire story seems like it’s out of some dark fairytale or something. With no happy ending.

“I think it starts with a T.” Finnick says.

“Huh?” you ask, looking at him.

“The girl’s name.” 

“I think you’re right!” Gloss says, he’s rubbing his forehead, “What the fuck was it?”

“Something stupid that ended in a vowel.”

“That starts with a T?” your face twists.

Finnick hums for a moment, listening as Gloss tries out names. Then, Finnick’s face lights up entirely, slamming his hands on the table, “Tekla!”

“Tekla?” Gloss pauses for a moment, “Oh fuck, you’re right.”

You nod slowly, taking their word for it. So, Seven boy, Tekla, Sanguin and Annie. The boy dies, it only leaves the three girls. What an accomplishment, to completely unintentionally wipe out the guys. You don’t want to say that they’re a bigger opponent, but they typically have an upper hand when it comes to fighting. It’s like they’ve been taking drugs.

Finnick and Gloss eat their lunch, you all come down with your final predictions on what’s going to happen inside of the arena. You all think that Sanguin and Annie will be fine, since they’re miles apart and both caught in their own worlds at the moment. The real problem is Tekla and her moving around so often. She knows that Sanguin is alone in the cornucopia by herself, and she also knows that she could sneak up on Sanguin since she has a weapon of her own. Courtesy of when the careers had left the cornucopia alone.

Seven boy is still alive an hour and a half later. Tekla has slowed down in the direction she was heading. She doesn’t look unsure, more that she’s lost motivation, you guess? Or maybe she’s lost the path that the Seven tributes were taking before they stumbled into the Capitol trap. Either way, there’s no telling whether or not she’ll actually be able to find the boy.

Every time you think that the boy has finally breathed for the final time, he inhales sharply, like he’s being pushed back into his body. It’s a shame, watching him struggle like this. You’re sure that he should be dead by now, well past his expiration date. Hell, soon the bugs are going to start to get to him. If you thought the wolves were bad, watching him being eaten alive is going to be worse. Much, much worse.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” Gloss says, gathering the trash, “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t have too much fun.” you smile, he gives you a mock look before leaving. You turn to Finnick, “I’m thinking of going out and drinking after this. You wanna come?”

“With or without Gloss?” Finnick asks, eyebrows drawing in.

“If it were with Gloss, I would’ve asked while he was here.” you wiggle your eyebrows, “Come on. Me and you, at that awful drinking place, The Victory Speech.”

He purses his lips, “You think it’s a good idea?”

“Annie’s safe inside of her house, what’s the worst that can happen overnight?”

“The dam breaks?”

“You think that the Capitol would do that right after mauling two tributes to death?” you look at the timer above the Morning Line Odds that says how long the tributes have been in there for. It’s a couple hours less than seven days, “The games haven’t been even going for a week, they’ll want to draw it out for a little while longer.”

Finnick gives you a look.

“Don’t start acting like a parent, I’m older than you.” you point at him, “Yes or no. Or I’ll ask Gloss and Cashmere--”

“Yes.” Finnick says.

You grin, “You won’t have some sort of relapse, right?”

“Haha.” he rolls his eyes, “Ready to get shitfaced off the water-tasting alcohol?”

“I am going to have three of those in a row just to see what happens.” you laugh, he does too.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’ll give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“I’ll probably be fine.” You shrug, “Won’t be my first near-death experience.”

Finnick cracks up, shaking his head.

It’s only another thirty minutes before Tekla does come across Seven boy by accident. She wouldn’t have even known he was there if it weren’t for the wheeze he let out as a warning before she stepped on him. He’s hidden under bushes, camouflaged in. The only obvious sign that he’s there is his legs, but even then, they were easily missed by Tekla.

She stands over him, eyebrows drawn in. Her eyes will occasionally flicker up like she’s looking for someone, like it’s some sort of trap and a tribute is waiting for her to be off her guard to attack. Unfortunately, it’s none of those things. Just bad luck, and horrible timing. She crouches down next to him, face twisting as she carefully moves leaves out of the way to see him properly. 

“Gross.” she says, “I don’t even know how you’re still alive.” Tekla shakes her head like she’s getting rid of her thoughts, standing back up on her feet, “It’s over now. Rest easy.”

She raises her weapon and puts him out of his misery. A second cannon goes off, making Sanguin stop in her tracks, looking up at the sky for a moment. The Fallen won’t show until later tonight, but the tributes all have the same reactions, anyway. It’s because the sound comes from above them, so naturally they’re going to want to see where it comes from.

As for Annie, she barely snaps back to life long enough to squint, allow wrinkles to appear on her face, and then she relaxes again. She sets her head back against the wall and closes her eyes, gripping onto her sword tightly. You wonder if she came to the conclusion that she’s one of the final three inside of the arena now. Annie’s made it, she’s beaten all the tributes from District Four that came before her.

Hang in there, Annie. You’ll be home soon.

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

[steve0discusses]

S4 Ep40: Fixing Dartz By Not Actually Fixing Dartz

Yo Merry Christmas, I’m quarantined as hell, so I’m just streaming and playing video games until my problems get vaccinated away.

So lets just write about Yugioh because hell a lot didn’t go as planned this year (can you believe my 2020 goal for this blog was to finish ALL OF YUGIOH?) but although my goals were halved and quartered--With this blog I don’t freakin care anymore, and somehow...that’s how it’s one of the few creative bastions I have left standing.

Wild.

I’m so done with the internet, I’m not even updating twitter right now.

But hell yes, lets update the Yugioh blog.

So onward, with the last episode of this season. We last left off with Yami getting devoured by a hate tornado which is just...a lot of 2020 energy. This whole season, in a nutshell is just...2020 energy, honestly. And this tornado is just twitter. It’s just twitter incarnated.

Rather than try to save himself and consequently fix his ghost problem, Yugi has decided to keep himself haunted by fixing Pharaoh’s inner emotional problems. Really is something, isn’t it? To do low key therapy for the ghost that basically...put you in therapy? Yugi can help fix his problems but like...he’s still a mess of problems because of it. Now Yugi shouldn’t walk away, of course, that’s effed up, but it is a little irony there.

Pharaoh, of course, has decided to submit to the hate tornado, and sees it as a manifestation of his own anger and bad vibes.

Isn’t that’s the real problem we have when we have to confront the feelings we don’t want to confront? Where we tend to feel guilt and hate for being upset, which is just sort of a thing humans naturally tend to do--instead of actually working on controlling what you do with those feelings so that way we stop lashing out and setting everyone on fire in the burger restaurant?

Like Pharaoh should be learning to count to 10, not trying to just remove his anger. This has sort of been his problem for a while--he assumes he can just...delete his rage. That’s not a thing. You can’t do that unless you have very specific medication through a doctor, and that’s why he keeps failing at it.

And this goes back to S1 when he “fixed” Kaiba and like nothing really happened. Pharaoh’s decided to wipe himself and like...it’s up to your own interpretation but like...in my book that Pharaoh brand clean cycle does freakin nothing. It gets reversed like constantly.

(read more under the cut)

So Yugi decides to hit up Plan B, which is, honestly? Not a great message. But it’s the anime trope that we keep going back to because it’s the catch-all to make any anime protagonist into the good guy.

Like...

...

.......Yeah I’m gonna talk about it.

this is a trope that is so common it’s sort of ubiquitous with the genre. You gotta have the protagonist give up on their own strength, and be lifted up by their pals at the very last second--it’s like the anime hero’s journey.

But I really don’t like it. I don’t like the power of freindship. I’ll say it.

Because there’s some things you have to handle on your own. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have your main character show strength and show character development by doing things by themselves at the last minute. We already know that Pharaoh’s a good pal and believes in his friends--but like...does he believe in himself?

I can’t tell you if he does by how this episode goes, that’s for sure.

The whole point of this tornado is to see Yami discover his own strength and overcome his weaknesses...and yet he still relies on that good ol chestnut, friend powers.

Like last episode I feel like they did this already and it was way better--other people offered their help willingly, then Pharaoh got to have a big ol fight solo in the clouds to prove he was strong on his own as well. We finished the whole season last episode, so what are we accomplishing now other than a last minute secret boss fight?

Why would Yami doubt himself now? It’s weird. Yugi’s right to have mentioned “yo didn’t we figure this all out in desert hell???” because...we did. Yami is retreading old territory.

And that’s a thing that happens when you write, PS, when Yugi was saying “we already did this!” Yugi was reminding the writers of the show “we did this already. Like guys. We did this.” and sometimes when you’re writing, your characters will do that to you, and you should always be paying attention to cues like that.

Anyway, he vanquishes the hate tornado by thinking fondly of all of his buddies, and then the storm that should have been over the Atlantic Ocean, as according to the dub, parted in the sky above California.

GEOGRAPHY, the secret final boss of this season of Yugioh. And they failed. In a big way.

Yugi holds out his hands in real life, and pretends to hold a ghost that isn’t there. Now I want all of you to do this position IRL. Like that. OK. It looks like Yugi is holding onto a pair of ghost boobies.

Meanwhile, actual and very literal ghosts with very real bodies show up and start picking up Dartz and like...

...The ending of Dartz’ storyline is a TRIP! Lets just get into it!

This cursed dog. I can’t stand how this dog is drawn. I hate it so much that I actually love it, and if I saw this in a thrift store I would impulse buy it and hang it over my fireplace mantle in a golden gilded frame.

AHHH????

WHAT????

He electrocuted you with LIGHTNING! He killed your...everyone! He killed EVERYONE!

Also girl, how are you HERE? Like Physically??? I saw you die! TWICE!!

Yugioh is on SOMETHING with this one, and I think that “something” is called “we weren’t allowed to give you a PG-13 sad ending.”

This is just the freakin weirdest thing. We have a character who is worse than Darth Vadar, and this show has pulled so many dark things in it’s history, but it just...

...it can’t punish Dartz at all, and I don’t know what they were thinking.

They have been poetic before--Pegasus got his eyeball gruesomely ripped straight out of his face, nearly got murdered by Bakura, and was not able to resurrect his wife. Noah hella died, had to give up his plan to rule the world and be a real boy, and had to murder his own Dad even, the moment he finally made a bond with his brothers. Marik had to lose all control of his body, live helplessly inside Tea’s bod for an entire season and accept the fact that he murdered his Dad and now has to live on without any of the magic that ever made him powerful in a broken world and a broken family he will never understand.

Dartz though?

If he does get some sort of poetic retribution, it will be off-screen because we don’t have time for it.

And that’s kind of a bummer because this is usually something Yugioh is kinda good at! I enjoy when this show goes dark, this is a great opportunity to do it...and they didn’t.

It was just the wettest fart Yugioh has ever played on me.

Just the wettest. Nice knowing you, Dartz. Glad you were here to murder everyone on Earth and then totes get away with it because we’ll just pretend like the Orichalcos was a totally different person--although it’s not. Because Yami JUST told us that it doesn’t work that way. Yami JUST told us that the Orichalcos was using his own pain and his own hate against him.

It’s not a separate person, it’s the same!

And to suggest that Yami vanquishing that hate tornado somehow cured Dartz of all his sins, is some upper level Jesus stuff that I don’t think this show would normally want to tread on. Straight up. Yami is a pretty poor stand in for Jesus Christ, and I feel I can straight up say that because it’s Christmas.

...what HAPPENED in the writing room with this one? Did they just run out of episodes? There are less episodes this seasons than other seasons have been.

Was it edited for the English version? Because I...kind of doubt they could edit that much to make it that drastically different.

I’m just boggled. Like usually I’m of the opinion to let the writers do whatever they do because I do not know what was going on behind the scenes, and I’m still of the opinion that they did the best of what they could do with the resources they were given.

BUT, this episode just feels...hella sus. I feel like they just had to make an ending. Any ending. Get an ending on there and finish the season before the power goes out and then run away with whatever paycheck you get (because in entertainment--you might not get one).

Seto and Joey made it completely back to the KaibaCopter before Tea was like “I mean it’s been 15 minutes, guys, you really didn’t hear him behind you? You really lost his tiny pitter patter of his little shoes? The little shoes that make a little tinkly noise like a kitty cat’s collar? A little kitty cat collar that he also wears around his neck? His neck that has a golden pyramid held by a tow chain that makes a little clanky clank when it hits his two belts covered in metal rivets that makes a little singsong clippity cloppity noise every time he so much as breathes? He’s a walking talking Bell of Notre Dame, you lost him?”

and Seto was like “Oh damn it, I know he’s the same size as Mokuba, and so I should be really good at not losing this kid but also have you noticed how many times I’ve lost Mokuba???”

Joey just looked into the distant tomb hut and said “......You’re kidding me.” and decided to immediately run back because Joey Wheeler knows what’s up.

Had Joey Wheeler actually made it back to Atlantis, he would have seen Dartz and his entire family hugging it out and would have immediately socked the guy straight in the dick and it would have been a great way to finally give Dartz just one single consequence for murdering everyone on Earth but you know, I did not write this episode.

I’m really glad that in the same episode that Yami called upon the powers of friendship, his friends hella ditched him to vanquish in a watery grave.

This is wild!

Seto’s words were “Good riddance” as the island went down, and you could not tell if he was talking about the island or about Yugi.

That and Kaiba Really Hates Islands. LOVES watching an island go up in smoke (or underwater, in this case). Loves nothing more.

Seto, your powers of friendship were just used to save the world.

Apparently the standard for friendship power is...not much. But they did just make Yami, of all people, do a literal Jesus in Gethsemane so...the bar for morality is just not very high in this anime.

Did the Great Leviathan stitch Weevil Underwood’s body back together or something? This is...

...Yo Weevil are you immortal now? Are you the big bad in S5 that comes out of nowhere and kick’s Bakura’s ass back to the Shadow Realm like Marik in S2? Because I’ll accept that.

I won’t like it, but I’ll accept that.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

look at those toddler shoes worn by a full adult! Weevil Underwood is so over-designed for a super low-level miniboss and I low key love that they love Weevil Underwood this freakin much.

Of all people, Weevil Freakin Underwood.

Listen, listen, listen.

If Mikey was still alive, he’d be older.

He’d have been older in that Leviathan tummy, he’d be Alister’s age but he’s not. He’s uh...

Yo show that got real dark. Show this is what you should have done to Dartz. I love this sort of dark ending for a rude asshole who is going to try to put his family back together although it’s completely impossible--this would have been a good Dartz ending. But...whatever. It’s fine.

We’ll...let Dartz have his family back, it’s fine.

Meanwhile, in the first actual picture of California that really feels like California, Valon immediately accepts the fact that Mai left him.

This is also a great dark ending for Valon. To accept that the people in your life have moved on and that you, too, must move on, even if it’s alone. This would have been an excellent ending for Dartz.

And then Mai just bounces. She does not seek out Joey Wheeler, because she’s like “I have to fix some stuff, I have some serious problems, and it’s going to take a really long time before I can get over my toxic past.” and just freakin leaves us. Sorry, anyone who was hoping Joey and Mai would smooch at any point, it’s uh...it’s not legal yet.

And TBH I don’t even know if Valon is legal either, and the show decided to not reveal that to us, or allow them to smooch.

And as for Raphael? Uh...

They didn’t bother, I think. I didn’t cap it, at least. But we did get at least one person washed up on a beach.

It would be Kuribo.

I talk about 2020 energy a lot in this season but like...wild 2020 energy here, to be so freakin chill and can I say--delighted--to be stranded on an abandoned island.

The show does not elaborate any more on if the cards are dead or alive, or if the games we are playing are with actual people forced to play these horrible games for us. It’s best that they don’t tell us. Just like Mr Mime. No one wants to know.

Mr Mime as in the Pokemon Mr Mime, PS, I just realized that there is a mime in this universe and he’s just...I don’t really want to know about that guy, either. All mimes honestly, I don’t want to know anything at all about all mimes.

Luckily, for Yugi, Kaiba didn’t fly very far from this island, and so we don’t have to have some sort of weird season cliffhanger where we guess how long Yugi can live off of coconuts (2 hours. he would last 2 hours on this island)

Although it would be such a cliffhanger to wonder what Yugi’s hair would look like after that. the same, right? Like it’s the same amount of grease and nasty stuff? He’d just have his roots growing out?

And there they go--goodbye Dues Ex Machina Cards. Either the show can’t keep you on board because you’re hella broken, or the three dragon warriors died, or retired, or whatever it is when a card is like “I’m done with humanity, please leave me alone and never call me again.”

Did Seto low key just break up with his side piece just now? Tragic.

Remember that time that Yugi was so bouyant he was armpits out of the water in S2? It’s crazy how bouyant Yugi Muto is. Like if someone did one of those anime cross-sections of his anatomy, he needs like 3 or 4 duck shaped pool floaties in there.

Now, full disclosure, I have written the ending to this post 3 times because tumblr keeps deleting this post out of my drafts folder (I shouldn’t be writing this in my drafts folder, being real, it’s been really buggy lately, and I’m gonna have to make a different solution to this) So I’m just...

...gonna end on this note. This exciting note that Bakura is next. Finally, Bakura (JK of course, because apparently Bakura doesn’t show up for half the season. Bro told me this and offered that we should skip that filler and of course I told him that is not the point of this blog and we will be watching all of that gruesome filler piece by piece. Because for someone, out there--that filler is their favorite episode. I don’t know who you are--but get ready for filler.)

Now Yami could just...call up Bakura at any point at his house and make an appointment to end the world...but maybe S5 will go a different direction? We shall see.

Anyway, that’s it for this Season! Thanks all for sticking with us when I just...didn’t have an upload schedule for this entire year. It’s been a YEAR. But, I’m hoping for good things in the future, and that things will adjust back to a normal upload schedule and that...hopefully tumblr won’t die or something weird like that.

I’m gonna finish the Full Metal alchemist Live Action movie next (we’re like halfway through) and then after that--onward to to S5! See y’all there!

Stay safe!

(and here’s the link to read these in chrono order if you’re new here:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[itswildwinters]

Hello lovelies and welcome to my October 2020 fic recs. These are the fics that I read these last few months. The main pairing is Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles.

This is also an appreciation post to all writers out there. Thank you for contributing so much to the fandom, for making all these incredible pieces of work for us all to read!

I’m wishing you all a happy Halloween in advance!

If you check out any of those incredible fics below, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!

From What I’ve Tasted of Desire by @evilovesyou 

When Louis moves to the small Scottish town of Fortrose to spend some time with his father, he thinks he's come to terms with the fact that the next two years of his life will be rainy and dull. That changes when he meets the ever-elusive Harry Styles in his Biology class and he makes it his goal to find out the big secret surrounding him and his family. Louis unexpectedly finds himself in the eye of a storm of secrecy, age-old myths, friendship and romance.

Twilight AU / Vampires / Werewolves / Slow Burn / Highschool & College AU

eyes off you by @soldouthaz

“Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us all safe while we’re in there,” Liam says.

Through the crack in the door, Louis can just barely make out the broad curve of Harry’s back, the slope of his curls as they tumble down all sleep-soft and lazy, and the sharp twist of his arm - all leading down to where he’s got his pointer and middle finger crossed over each other behind his back.

“I promise,” he tells Liam firmly, “I promise.”

--

or; a charlie’s angels inspired fic where louis is the brains, harry is the charm, liam is the muscle, and niall drives the getaway car - and zayn is there, too. sometimes.

Action / Pining / Assassins (kill bad people)

Walls by Travis_Crux 

Following his line of sight, he frowned and shook his head, "What's wrong?"

"Wasn't your timer on your ring finger?" Liam asked, at that the Alpha immediately swapped the tumbler and looked down at his finger which sported a string of tiny blue flowers on the underside of his ring finger.

The two of them looked at one another.

"You could've touched nearly fifty people by the time you grew delirious," Liam advocated, always the voice of reason. "Comrades, nurses, doctors."

Sighing, he turned away and continued drinking the water. Literally, the only fucking thing remaining in the middle of a fucking war.

Or

Harry has his soulmate timer stuck at zero from the beginning of time but suddenly the fates show mercy and a lovely forget-me-not takes the place of his timer. In between finding his soulmate in a war camp and solving the puzzle of the charismatic doctor who is treating him, all he can hope for is to live.

ABO / World War I / Soulmates / Angst / Hurt-Comfort

works like a charm by @falsegoodnight

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

Harry Potter Setting / Porn With Plot / Enemies to Lovers

(quiet like a fight) fingers laced together by @letthemkissyou

It’s a thin hope, frail and as thin as the silver strands of a spider web, desperate in the way Louis keeps clinging onto it even when he’s already expecting and preparing for the worst. Maybe one day, he’ll have a home, a place where he can feel safe and sound, tucked away safely from the world that has the tendency to treat him horribly and then even worse, that maybe there will be someone in his life who cares for him, even if in the smallest of ways, and does not just use him for whatever they tend to need at the moment.

Or, the one where Harry is gifted a hybrid and it's a whole new world for the both of them.

Hybrid Louis / Past Abuse / Fluff / Angst 

We’ll Cast Some Light (You’ll Be Alright) by fondleeds 

There’s tense silence, the whole room completely hushed. The other teams on surrounding tables look between each other. Then, Louis pushes himself away from the table noisily, chair scraping. His face is angered and crumpled, red at the ears. The door slams behind him as he rushes out. The surrounding teams look at Harry simultaneously.

“God, Simon is going to kill us if we don’t die on this mission first,” Niall moans into his hands.

-

There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.

Demons / Enemies to Lovers / Violence / Angst / Fluff / Demon Hunters / Smut

Three Days in February by @mercurial-madhouse

“We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet. “And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted to the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.” “What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?” Confusion slid over Louis's features. “Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.” The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Angst / Action / Adventure / Magical Realism / Hurt-Comfort / Slow Burn

Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Explicit Sexual Content / Vampires / Incubus / Dubious Consent / Blood / Violence

The Compulsion to Find Love by Toomanytears

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

ABO / Omega Louis / Alpha Harry / Worldbuilding / Slow Burn / Fluff / Angst

Just a bit of work by missyoutoosweetscheeks

It was quite painfully pathetic, really. Twenty five, stable job, stable flat, stable mind (well, quite), a painfully non-existent love life with an even more painfully intact virginity.

Marcel didn't think his life was going to get better with his painfully aparent sociopathic tendencies to block anyone who showed interest in him.

Until, of course, he became Louis Tomlinson's next prey.

OR

In which Marcel is a virgin, and becomes his office's amorous co-worker's next big conquest.

Top Harry / Bottom Louis / Office Sex / Dubious Consent / Porn Without Plot 

Fuck U Betta by @jacaranda-bloom

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

Porn Without Plot / Light BDSM / Top Harry / Bottom Louis

push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly

Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

College/University AU / medical student Harry / Fashion student Louis / Strangers to Lovers / Pining / fluff / slight angst / Hut-Comfort / Anger Management

might we be stardust stories by ryanreynolds

"It was easier being at war."

In which werewolves and vampires have been fighting each other for a century, and Harry and Louis' marriage is what's gonna bring peace to the realm. Hopefully.

Werewolves / Vampires / Arranged Marriage / Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Pining / Fantasy

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

ABO / Fake-Pretend Relationship

until this blood runs cold by @soldouthaz

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

Vampire Harry / Frottage / Blood Drinking

call you mine by @falsegoodnight

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

-

Or, Louis’ curious about how it feels to be bitten. Harry’s going to need more than just one bite.

Plot What Porn / Vampire Harry / Bottom Louis

your biggest fan by @soldouthaz​

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.

And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

Top Harry / Bottom Louis / Porn What Plot / Nerd Louis / Jock Harry

give me love by @falsegoodnight​ & @soldouthaz​

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

-

Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

ABO / Alpha Harry / Omega Louis / Bottom Louis / Past Relationship Trauma / Slow Burn / Angst / Fluff

The Stars Look Very Different Today by @kingsofeverything​

For Harry Styles, child genius turned glorified spaceship mechanic, rescuing lost or broken down ships is a fairly common occurrence.

There’s nothing common about his latest mission, the ship, or that ship’s captain.

The last thing he expects to find in a distant galaxy is the one thing he’s been missing on Earth.

Space / Time-Travel / Science Fiction & Fantasy / Enemies to Lovers

The cat is out of the bag by 28sunflowers

Harry somehow gets himself stuck as a black cat on Halloween and needs help from Louis to change back into his human form.

The problem is: Louis doesn’t even know witches exist, much less that Harry is one. And there’s also the fact he thinks Harry is ghosting him after they had sex for the first time.

So the situations isn’t ideal. But it’s okay. Harry will figure something out.

Light angst / Witch Harry / Potions Accident / Fluff and Humour 

[irene-sadler]

Six Months

someone wondered when the Baroness (a side character from the Tournament aka Sir Reynard and the Red Knight which I wrote earlier this year) was coming back and uh, “back” implies that she ever left in the first place, tbh. spoilers: she didn’t.

anyway so here’s a little something something

its a quick family story plus a story about civilians in wartime packed into a little over 4000 words. rated PG. ft teen romance drama, sheep, grown up romance non drama, and not a single canon witcher character. think Roseanne (original show not the weird remake that died on arrival for Reasons) but in the setting of The Witcher. or don’t if u have no idea what i’m even talking about b/c u dont watch 90s cable sitcoms constantly like i do lol.

Six Months:

The Nilfgaardian soldiers came at night, but they found an empty manor house. The occupants had had plenty of warning they were on their way; the family’s oldest son had ridden nonstop from Rivia Castle to warn them that there had been a coup, that the Queen had vanished and her young son was in charge, and that it was only a matter of time before their old enemy Caldwell came looking for them. Hilde thought they were, in many ways, fortunate - not lucky, because no luck had been involved - fortunate that their son was riding his fastest horse, fortunate that the rest of the household managed to collect what they could and hide the rest without dramatics or incident, fortunate to have somewhere else to go. An old herbalist’s hut in the woods wasn’t much, but it was, she’d said, a roof over their heads. They’d always had a plan, in case everything in their lives went very badly wrong. Everything had, and the hut was part of it.

    Then her son rode off with most of her other sons and the rest of her husband’s knights, on the chance that the Queen was out there somewhere, and left the place somewhat emptier-feeling in his absence.

    “Wish I was going with them,” the Baron said, looking down the woodland road after them.

    “We talked about this, Eldred; you’re sixty-seven years old, your eyesight’s going bad, and your knees don’t bend anymore. A warband’s got no use for you.”

    “I know that,” he said. “Don’t mean I don’t wish I was going.”

    A little flock of sheep crossed the path, with some of her nephews trailing after them, waving sticks and shouting.

    “I’ll be worried about them, too,” she said, as one of the sheep suddenly bolted. Eldred took her hand, squeezed it, and limped off after it.

    The next time their paths crossed he was in a slightly better mood. She hooked her arm through his elbow and looked up at the full moon through the trees.

    “Can’t hear myself think in there, so I came out here for some fresh air,” he said. There wasn’t enough room inside for even half the people who had followed them along. Most of the household had settled around the hut in tents and bedrolls. The inside of the hut was still jammed with the smaller children. They were also fortunate that it was spring, and nobody would freeze to death sleeping outside. No luck involved, again. No army fought in the winter, although she wouldn’t put it past the Empire to try.

    “We’ll have to build pens for the sheep and pigs, tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe some more shelters, too. The farmhands can do it. And I’ll organize some of the women t’ forage in the woods. We’re fortunate it’s spring. We might be living off pottage of oats and chickweed, but we won’t starve t’ death.”

    “You know,” Eldred said, “I was thinking I might get a shot at some of these invaders after all. They might turn up here.”

    “They might.”

    “Wouldn’t want any spies or wanderers t’ spot us and take word back to th’ army that we’re out here.”

    “No.”

    “Anyhow, with all these boys out here, I thought I might train ‘em up a little, just in case.”

    “That’s not a bad idea.”

    “Might take some of these girls, too,” he added.

    “Even better,” she said. He smiled down at her.

    “We’ll be safe here.”

    “Of course we will, with you around,” she said.

    ———

    Wars were just a part of life. She was born and raised in Rivia; she’d grown up watching her brothers and father ride off to war with Lyria, over and over again. Her father was killed by a Lyrian archer when she was twenty-three. She’d watched her mother’s face while they buried him. She never wanted to know what it took to make someone wear that hard, dead expression. Over a decade later the King married a Lyrian princess and those wars stopped, but more took their place. There had been the rebellion, after the King died, led by her own disgruntled brothers, who refused to serve a Lyrian; her husband’s promotion from petty knight to Baron was a direct result of the glory he’d won putting it down. That war had almost destroyed her marriage, but they’d pulled through, in the end. Then there had been bandits, minor invasions, civil unrest; it seemed like there was always something to fight over, but never anything new. Whether Lyrians were killing Rivians or Nilfgaardians were killing Rivians, they always had the same damn excuses for it. The older she got, the less patience she had for any of them.

    ———        

    Smoke from cooking fires floated through the newly cleared area around the camp. The forest echoed with the sounds of axes hitting wood and more trees falling. The pigs slept in the shade out of the heat, watched over by a pack of skinny boys from the village. The herbalist’s hut sat surrounded by a dozen almost identical buildings - buildings, children, chickens, dogs, a donkey that someone had brought in, loaded down with rushes -

    The Nilfgaardians hadn’t found them, but a whole lot of other people somehow had. Some of them brought livestock or food, but a hell of a lot of them had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Hilde refused to turn them away, even if a few of the hands muttered darkly about spies and famine. More was better; more people meant more hands to work and more eyes to keep watch. Eldred’s little force of skinny teenagers with homemade bows and farmhands armed with handaxes had grown in size, if not, in her opinion, in quality. He seemed pleased with them, at least. Some of them were standing watch at the edges of the clearing. She was pretty sure none of them were asleep.

    It turned out they weren’t; a minor racket interrupted the idyllic peace of the summer afternoon - some kind of argument, she thought. She abandoned the shirt she was mending and headed to the north side of the buildings, where she found a pair of youths shouting at each other. One, she noticed, was her own youngest son, waving a bow and turning an impressive shade of red. The other was a dark-haired girl. The latter spotted her before the former; Hilde watched with detached interest as the girl’s eyes widened and her stance shifted from aggressive to frozen fear.

    “Herron,” she said. “It’s -”

    “What’s this about?” Hilde asked.

    “- your mother.”

    Herron deflated, visibly.

    “We were just - we were talking,” he said, staring at his own feet.

    “I heard.”

    “Just a - a disagreement over the watch schedule,” said the girl. She raised an eyebrow, considered telling them to cut the shit, and then decided not to. Whatever it was, it was probably harmless, and it wouldn’t be improved by her involvement.

    “If you have an issue, take it up with the Baron,” she said. “Meanwhile, quit disturbing the peace.”

    The girl bowed and escaped at not quite a jog. Herron stared after her, still beet red.

    “Who’s that?” she asked.

    “Nobody.”

    “No?”

    “She’s just - she wasn’t at the right guardpost.”

    “Whatever you say,” she said. Herron was shifting uncomfortably, showing the usual signs of a teenager who desperately wanted to escape.

    “Go on,” she said. “Get back t’ work.”    

———

    Herron had begged to go to war with his brothers. He was only fourteen, and although he looked like a skinny, lanky, teenage copy of his father, he had none of Eldred’s athletic ability. The best that could be said for him was he was a decent shot. Maybe he would have survived the battlefield, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Besides, he was her baby boy; she felt like he had been ten years old only the week before. She couldn’t let him go, and Eldred had taken one look at her face and hadn’t argued with her. The resulting angst had taken weeks to wear off.

    Whatever Herron was up to, she was just glad he was finally speaking to her again.

    ———        

    The rainy season hit exactly on time; a genuine stroke of luck, because the rain would keep their ever-increasing hideout a secret for a little longer. The pigs were happy, but the sheep and humans less so. Hilde and her selected lieutenants kept the place running anyway, despite the endless mud, the nonstop damp, and the weather that ranged from a drizzly mist in the mornings to downpours in the afternoons and evenings that were so heavy Eldred stopped making his militia patrol the forest for fear they’d get lost or drown in a flash flood.

    During one of the downpours one of the militia members came splashing through the mud and into the hut. Eldred stopped scrubbing rust off his sword.

    “Something going on?”

    Hilde thought he sounded a little too hopeful.

    “Nothin’,” the man said. “Not really. Just, we had this kid come up t’ th’ east guardpost just now.”

    “Ask around; has t’ belong to someone around here,” Hilde said.

    “Don’t think so, milady, on account of it ain’t a human child.”

    “Oh. I’ll take a look,” she said. “Go on, I’ll be there.”

    Eldred shook his head slightly at her as she stood and pulled a cloak around herself.

    “What?”

    “Nothin’.”

      She could barely see where she was going, but she managed to slop her way through the muck between the huts and made her way the guardpost. A little pack of militia stood around the spot, watching a single, very small shape that huddled under a blanket. The shape didn’t look up when the guards all spotted her and stood.

    “Honestly,” she said. “How many people does it take to keep an eye on one five-year-old? Don’t you all have work to do?”

    “We were thinkin’ maybe there could be Squirrels about,” someone explained, awkwardly. She rolled her eyes; the expression might have lost some effect in the pouring rain and dark, so she added a little of it to her tone.

    “Yes, well. If so, I’ll protect you, Jenny. Get going, all of you. Find something else to do.”

    Most of them trailed off, muttering among themselves. One man stuck around; she raised an eyebrow at him, which he seemed to take as a sign. He stumped off a few yards away and stood squinting out at the dark woods. She rolled her eyes again and crouched down.

    “Hello. Who are you?”

    “I’m six,” the huddled shape said.

    “What’s that?”

    “You said I was five.”

    “Oh. Sorry. It’s hard to tell for sure, under that blanket.”

    “I don’t want t’ get wet.”

    “What’s your name?”

    “Ailfe.”

    “My name’s Hilde,” she said. “If you come with me, you can get something to eat and sit in front of a fire. What do you say?”

    “Alright.”

      Ailfe sat next to the fire, inhaling a steaming bowl of barley and dandelion leaves. Hilde offered seconds after the first bowl was done, bided her time, and, finally, asked, “So - Ailfe. Where are your parents?”

    The girl shrugged, took just enough time away from eating to say, “Dead,” and went back to it. Eldred shook his head again, slightly, when she glanced at him; he had looked less than surprised when she came in out of the rain lugging a bundle. He was trying to look like he was wearily embracing the inevitable, but she could see a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. She smiled back.

    “Where are you from?”

    “Dravograd,” Ailfe said.

    “Ah.”

    She’d heard rumors, in passing, through the militia, who’d heard them from the merchants on the roads. Hilde knew enough to believe them.

    “Well,” she said, “You can stay here, if you like; it’s not like we don’t have the room, and you can help my nephews with the sheep. How’s that sound?”

    “Fine.”

      Not twenty minutes later, the girl was dead asleep. Hilde pulled a dry blanket around her and stretched out on the pallet in the corner next to Eldred.

    “Couldn’t let her starve,” she said to him.

    “We’ve had stranger things than elves in our family, I suppose,” he replied. “Remember my uncle Egbert? Th’ one who turned into an enthusiast and became a priest of Pareplut?”

    “I always wanted a daughter.”

    “I know,” he said, kissed the side of her head, and added, “I love you.”

    “And I love you, Eldred,” she said.          

    -——

    When she’d decided she was going to marry him, her parents hadn’t been too sure about the idea. She was twenty and he was slightly more than a decade older, but she’d seen him in the tournaments, and she’d heard about him outside them. He was very often the best knight on the field - perfect form, an undeniable talent - and he was a close cousin to the King, and her aunt’s husband had it on good authority that he was as capable an administrator as he was a fighter. It was true that he wasn’t much to look at, but she wasn’t foolish enough to care about his missing front tooth, or the scar on his chin, or his crooked nose. The day he’d won yet another tournament and gallantly offered her the prize with a gap-toothed smile, she knew nobody in the world was going to change her mind about Sir Eldred Greenwood. Her parents would just have to get used to it.

    ——

    The rain stopped for good and the sun cooked all the water out of the air. She started sending the kids and donkeys off to the stream, a mile away, every morning and evening to fill kegs with water. Ailfe trooped along with the others, wearing a shapeless cap that covered her ears, looking as filthy and half-wild as any of them. She had forgotten about the incident with Herron completely.

    She was sitting on the top rail of a fence in the twilight, watching bats flutter through the smoke and lights of the camp and chatting about nothing in particular with Eldred. Anything resembling privacy was hard to come by, but most people seemed to be off doing something, somewhere, and nobody was near the sheep pens. At least, they didn’t think so, but they were wrong. Right around the time she lost interest in the bats and they ran out of things to talk about, something interrupted the forgotten background hum of insects and humanity.

    “Wynn?” a voice said, from the nearby guardpost, out of sight past a shed. Eldred jumped about three inches and, to her mild disappointment, stopped kissing her.

    “What the hell-”

    She covered his mouth with her hand, quickly.  

    “Shush.”

    It was only Herron. She recognized his voice. She didn’t immediately recognize the voice that responded.

    “Hi Herron. You on watch?”

    “Yep.”

    “When do you get off?”

    “Uh, in around an hour. Why?”

    She figured it out, after some thought; it was the girl he’d been arguing with, weeks earlier. Eldred raised an inquiring eyebrow up at her. She shook her head at him.

    “Do you want t’ get dinner afterward? My folks are cooking a chicken that quit laying.”

    “Oh,” Herron said. “I already ate.”

     After a brief pause, the girl said, “Um, well, have a good shift, then. I’ll see you later.”

    “Later,” Herron replied.

    Hilde waited a minute, then sighed wearily. Eldred looked pained.

    “That was the single worst thing I’ve ever overheard,” he commented.

    “I’m thinking you ought to have a talk with our son,” she replied, quietly.

    “First thing in the morning, and not a minute later,” he agreed. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

    “We weren’t.”

    ————

    They’d had five sons. The oldest, Hal, had a wife and children of his own. He was at court, most of the time; Eldred had sworn off the place as soon as Hal was old enough to go without him, and only went up for holidays and emergencies. Edgar and Robin, the twins, were five years younger and as unalike as they could make themselves. Edgar was a wanderer, had barely been home for most of the last decade. She wasn’t sure if it was fortunate or not that he had been home during the spring. Robin had just gotten married during the winter, and had a position at court. Jack, the fourth, had died of consumption when he was four. Her youngest son was a surprise; she’d been over forty when he was born, and nobody had expected both of them to survive the event, but they’d been wrong. Herron was weedy, but he was as strong as an ox. He looked like his father, crooked nose and all, but he acted just like her long-dead oldest brother - kind, loyal, brilliant, and unbelievably easy to manipulate. It worried her, sometimes, but she knew better than to wonder if her youngest son would come to a similar end. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past, and even less by trying to predict the future.

    ———

    The dry spell continued. One evening the donkeys and children went off as usual. An hour later as she was helping finish butcher one of the pigs, one of the boys scrambled out of the woods. Hilde balanced the knife in her hand and glanced at the trees behind him. Nothing seemed to be following him - at least, not very closely.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “They’re comin’,” he said, wide-eyed and shaking.

    “Who?”

    “Black Ones. We was on our way back, and - and -”

    She swore under her breath and turned quickly; she would have told one of the others to get Eldred, find the militia, but it was too late; someone had already gone.

    “- they took all the donkeys,” he continued, “Even Donny.”

    “What about all your friends? The other kids?”

    “I don’t know; everyone was running around, and there were soldiers, and nobody was payin’ attention to me and I just ran away.”

    Herron raced up, sweating heavily.

    “Ma, someone said th’ enemy’s here, and dad says t’ get everyone inside th’ stockade-”

    “Yes, I know what t’ do,” she said. “There’s a bunch of kids out in these woods, somewhere.”

    Her daughter was out there, somewhere. She had to go find them.

    “I’ll go look for them,” Herron said. “I’ll find them.”

    He looked terrified. She couldn’t send him - but she couldn’t not send him; she knew she couldn’t really go herself. What would she do out in the woods? Get lost. Get killed. Herron was, if nothing else, a good shot, and a halfway decent hunter.

    “I can do it,” he said. He looked even younger than he actually was, but he sounded confident. She breathed out and nodded.

    “Please be careful.”

    “I’ll try.”

      The stockade was barely a wall; it was a fence with a gate, but it was better than nothing. They’d built it to head height with the sharp ends of logs pointed out toward the trees, and it wouldn’t stop an arrow, but it would stop a horse. Hilde stood by the gate, looking through the holes in the fence at the path her husband and a bunch of teenagers and farmers had taken into the woods. He had trooped out with a sword in his hand, smiled at her under his helmet, and hadn’t looked back. She told herself he would be fine, and Herron would be fine, and the collection of women armed with axes and pitchforks and old spears left over to defend the entirety of the camp would be fine.

    Hours passed, and nothing happened. The feeling of stretched nerves in the air turned to one of faint boredom as the afternoon wore on. She took to pacing the perimeter of the fence, watching the trees for movement, listening for a sound other than the endless rattle of cicadas and crickets and the noise of livestock and people. The shadows got long, and nothing happened. She sternly told herself not to worry, or, at least, not to imagine horrible things that could be happening very far away.

    “Horses,” someone suddenly said. “I hear horses comin’.”

    She stared out at the woods, clutching the makeshift spear she’d armed herself with. There were horses out there; she heard a rumble that could only be a line of heavy cavalry, dozens of armored horses and men. She’d heard them a thousand times in a thousand melees, and she could imagine exactly what they would do to her mass of barely-armed, unarmored peasants if they broke through the fence.

    “Get ready with the spears,” she said. “Just like we practiced.”

    Spears was an overstatement; more than a few of the people who lined up behind the fence with the points of their weapons facing toward the trees were holding pitchforks, but Eldred had thought they’d do just as well. She had her own doubts, but they didn’t have anything better. Any side conversations ended as the sound of the oncoming cavalry rumbled louder; they stood and sweated and waited until the first horse appeared on the narrow road between the trees. She squinted at it; it was hard to see in the dusk, and she wasn’t very familiar with Nilfgaardian armor, but she didn’t think the rider was wearing black. In fact, the knight riding up at the head of the column had a distinctly familiar seat. She breathed, finally, and leaned the spear on the fence.

    “Those are Lyrian banners,” someone said.

    “It’s a trick,” someone else replied, shakily.

    “No,” she said. “No it isn’t. Open the gate.”

    She trooped up the road, met the column, found Herron limping along beside them with a bandage on his leg, a pack of children surrounding him, and Ailfe in his arms.

    “What happened?”

    “I did it,” Ailfe announced. “I saved the day.”

    “Oh?”

    “Well, sort of,” her son replied. “She did keep the Blackclads from catching her and the other kids -”

    “-we climbed a tree,” a boy announced, smugly.

    “-and then I found them and they caught me -”

    “Herron fought like a good one,” said Ailfe. “He got wounded, look.”

    “- then Dad and the lads turned up and attacked the Nilfs -”

     Ailfe finished the story in an excited shout.

    “- and then, durin’ the fight, th’ army came!”

    The knight from the head of the column pulled up and stopped.

    “Not that we needed help,” he said.

    “No, of course not,” Hilde replied, rolling her eyes at him.

    “- anyway, it all ended more or less well,” said Herron. “And they’re saying the Queen’s back.”

    She looked up at Eldred, caught a gap-toothed grin on his face.

    “Oh?”

    Eldred nodded at her.

    “We can go home soon,” Herron said.

    “Home?” Ailfe asked.

    “I’ll tell you all about it,” he said. “Come on, let’s get down to the camp. Ma, are you coming?”

    “In a minute,” Hilde said.

      “Well,” she said, in the comparative quiet after they left, “Did you see any of our sons?”

    “Not in this unit - these people are just scouts, really,” Eldred said.

    “They’re all alive, at least?”

    “Far as I know. We’ll see them soon enough, if all goes well.”

    “That’s a relief.”

    “Can I give you a lift back?”

    “A ride from a noble knight? I can’t say no to that,” she said.

    The camp was swarming with Lyrian soldiers, Rivian civilians, donkeys, barking dogs, and runaway goats and sheep. Eldred reined in the horse at the gate and overlooked the chaos. She thought she caught a glimpse of Herron and Wynn, ducking out of sight behind a hut, and quickly pointed out the leader of the soldiers.

    “Ah,” Eldred said. “Well, I suppose we could wade into this mess and talk to him -”

    “You’re the Baron,” she interrupted. “You can’t just sneak off by yourself with all this going on. Also, it’s getting dark.”

    “I wasn’t going to go by myself.”

    “Oh,” she said.

    “What I’m thinking is we go off somewhere and come back after this has a chance t’ calm itself down -”

    “I suppose I can always pretend you kidnapped me,” she said. “Someone has to maintain an appearance of responsibility around here.”

    “I promise to have you back before dark,” he said. “What d’ you say?”

    “It’s a deal.”            

    “Someone told me our Hal’s a Colonel, now,” he said, turning the horse around. She wrapped her arms around his waist and propped her chin up on his shoulder to see the road ahead.

    “Is he?”

    “Not that it’s a surprise; he’s just like you.”

    “A social climber?”

    “A pragmatist.”

    “You always were a romantic, Eldred.”

    “I’m a lucky man. We wouldn’t have made it all these months without you.”

    Luck had nothing to do with it; they’d planned and fought and were, again, fortunate that it had all worked out in the end. She buried her face in his neck and let him think it had, anyway.

    “I can’t wait to go home,” she said.

[xmalereader]

The Mandalorian X Male Reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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@fuyuki-oshiha

Request: Can I request a mando x male reader. Where the male reader and mando have been together for a while and mando proposes to reader and If you can some light smut

Warnings: Light smut, fluff, baby yoda being a cockblock, humorous.

-

-

“Just a little higher—yep! Right there!”

“Here?”

“No wait—move a little bit higher, wait! There! There! Perfect.”

Y/n stands back as he stares up at the mandalorian fixing up their small home. “What you think?” He looks over his shoulder to see the child holding a frog in his hands as he gives y/n a confused look before shoving the small creature inside his mouth. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to get used to that,” he gags out and turns back to face their small house.

After traveling and being together for years th two have finally decided to settle down. They were a small family of three and the kid came first, din was more worried about the kids childhood than anything else. He wants the little womp rat to have a life, they didn’t have to run away anymore, they can finally settle down in a nice planet that the kid would enjoy being on.

The planet was small and the population wasn’t big, good thing is that not many bounty hunters know about the place and it gave them a chance to actually start a new life. It was full of green forests and vegetation, the ocean was near by so y/n and the kid could go any time they want and play around in the sand and in the waters. It was perfect for the three.

“Y/n?”

He is brought back from his thoughts as he looks up to see Din staring down a him. “What is it bucket head?” He calls back with a grin on his face, knowing that Din was frowning under that helmet of his. He simply shakes his head and turns back to look at their roof top, “Does it look good from down there?”

“What? Your ass? Because it sure does look pretty great from down here.”

Din wasn’t having it today as he listens to the other laugh at him. “Can’t believe I’m proposing to this man.” He mumbles to hismelf as he climbs down the ladder and walks over to y/n. “Maybe you should fix the roof and ill keep an eye on the kid.” He says with a small grin as y/n shakes his head. “Nope I’m on baby duty.”

The two turn to look at the child who was staring back at them with his big black eyes. “Maybe we should take a break, it won’t even rain tonight so we can finish fixing the roof tomorrow.” Said Din as he removes his gloves and heads inside the hut.

Y/n smiles and picks up the child, holding him in his arms as he taps his nose. “Lets make some dinner, what should we eat tonight?” He asks the child who only cooed at him and squeals as he began to climb onto his shoulders. Y/n allows this with a small laugh as he enters their home.

The mandalorian was already removing his beskar, setting it into a small pile on one of their chairs. “What should I make today?” Asks y/n as he enters their small kitchen, gently taking the child off his shoulders and setting him down on top of the counter. “Actually I want to do something different tonight.”

Y/n raises a brow at Din, frowning as he held a wooden spoon and points it towards the mandalorian. “You’re not Turing my kitchen into a work shop.” He glares at his direction but Din laughs and moves the wooden spoon away from his face. “I want to cook today, let me make you something.”

“You, cook?” Y/n gives Din a baffled look.

“You saying I can’t cook?”

“No, no! Just a little shocked...and worried.”

“I’m not gonna burn down the place.” Din takes the spoon from him and rolls his eyes. “Out.”

“You’re kicking me out of my own kitchen?!”

“Yes.” His voice was stern.

“okay.” Y/n is quick to give in as he reaches over to take the kid but Din stops him. “Kid stays with me, need his little help.” The child blinks up at y/n and gives off a small chirp in agreement, meaning that him and din had already agreed to help each other.

Y/n eyes the two in curiosity. “Should I be concerned?”

“Go!” Din laughs out. “And don’t come in unless I tell you too.” He adds.

“I feel so bretrayed, my own boyfriend and son kicking me out of the kitchen.” He says out dramatically with a hand over his heart as he showing them that he has been hurt.

The child giggles at his caretakers dramatic moment and waves his own little hand towards him, shooing him away from the area as he too waves a wooden spoon around. “You heard the kid, now go.”

Y/n groans and walks over to his bag, taking a pair of gloves out. “Ill be outside getting the garden ready, want ot make sure that we have a good spot to planet our own Vegetables.” He grabs the things that he’ll need, kicking the door open as he sends the two a wink and steps outside, making sure that the door closes behind him.

Once Y/n has gone, the mandalorian sighs in relief and reaches up to remove his helmet. Setting it down next to him as he turns to face the child who tilts his head to the side, his ears lowering slowly as he waits for instruction.

“Alright ad’ika, today is a very special day.” He says, talking to the child as he moves around the kitchen and gathers up some ingredients. “Today we are going to make a cake, something that I’ve never done before but we should give it a try since we will have to learn, but that has nothing to do with what is today.” He hears the child chirp at him.

The child was frowning and had his little arms crossed over his chest, tapping his little foot as he grew inpatient with his buir.

Din rolls his eyes. “You’re getting y/n’s sass and its showing.” The child giggles as he moves around the counter, helping his Buir with making a special cake for y/n.

For the rest of the day both Din and the kid worked together to make the cake, it took a couple of times to find the perfect mix before they started baking. The kitchen was a mess and the kid was all covered in flour but Din was able to clean him up before they could present their work.

They made sure to clean up the kitchen since they don’t want to upset y/n with the mess.

Y/n was outside all day, he was sweating and dirty. He was covered in dirt and mud as he gathers his things and places them down by a corner where no one will take his things, sighing deeply he wipes the sweat away and enters his house. “I’m almost finished but I hope that we get to plant—“ he’s frozen in place as the lights are off and small candles are lit up around the place, giving it off a romantic vibe as y/n looks around to see both Din and the child sitting by a all table.

“What’s this?” He smiles at his boys and kicks off his shoes, walking over to sit acros from Din as the Mandalorian smiles under his helmet. “We both made you something.” He says as he places the cake in front of y/n who’s eyes widen.

“Din..”

“Happy anniversary.” He hears Din say as y/n gasps. “Oh no, I totally forgot I’m so sorry!” He quickly says as Din shakes his head. “I figured you would, we’ve been busy for the last couple of weeks so I didn’t expect you to remember.” He shrugs it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

“But still! I don’t have anything for you and you made me cake! Like how the hell did it turn out so perfect?” Y/n inspects the cake as he raised a brow.

“You saying I can’t bake?”

“No, no, just surprised.” Y/n smiles at Din and sighs. “Thank you, this is perfect.”

“That’s not all I did.” Din turns to the child. “Ad’ika, Can you bring me y/n’s gift.” The small green child nods as he waddled Over to one of There bags, digging inside he pulls out a small brown box and uses the force to pass it over to Din who takes it genlty. “Thank you.” He says as he reached over to steady the kid and sit him in his lap.

“For you.” Din slides the small box across the table and towards y/n.

Y/n genlty takes the box and bites his lip nervously as he pops it open. “It’s a ring? No wait—“ he takes it out of the box and takes a closer look, not noticing Din removing his helmet as y/n inspected the ring.

“It’s beskar! It’s made out of beskar!” He says proudly and looks up to face Din only for his eyes to widen, seeing dins face for the first time in years. “Din—“

“Marry me.” He blurts out as the child coos at the two and smiles.

“Wait what? Din you just—you can’t just—!” He was stuttering. First he gets a proposal from the man that he’s known for years and now he finally gets to see his face, breaking the creed.

“Din the creed—“

“It’s still my creed, I haven’t broken it.” He explains. “What do you mean?”

“The creed is only broken if I show my face to strangers or people that I don’t know or can’t trust but you—“ Din reaches Over to take his hand. “Your family and were allowed to show our faces to the ones we love, also to our spouses.”

Y/n holds Dins hand. “But I’m not your spouse.”

“That’s why I’m asking you to marry me, are you saying you no?”

“What?! No! Of course I want to marry you!” Y/n shouts out happily as he stands up and makes his way around the table to hug the Mandalorian also giving him a kiss on the lips as he grins. “You know I could get used to this handsome face.” He wiggles his brows as Din chuckles. “Not in front of the kid.”

The child was sitting between the two as he looks up at them, smiling happily that his two parents were going to get married, finally! He claps his tiny hands together and cheers out in mando’a. “Oye!!”

“How come the kid knows better mando’a than me?” He questions as the child continues to cheer. “Because he actually Pays attention.”

Y/n gasps. “What? How dare you, the wedding is off.”

Din barks out in laughter. “We just got engaged!”

“I know.” Y/n grins at him and looks down at the beskar ring that he held in his hand. Din smiles as he takes the ring and slips it onto his finger, brining his hand up to kiss the top of his palm. “We can plan things later, right now it is our day.”

“Your right.” Y/n takes the kid from Din. “Which means that this little one needs sleep, ain’t I right?” He asks the kid as the small little bean coos and leans his head against his chest, closing his eyes immediately as he grows tired from all the working.

“I’ll put him to bed.” He tells Din and heads to the kids room, setting him inside the crib they had as he covers him up with a blanket and makes sure that he has his stuff frog next to him since the kid really liked that stuff toy that Din got him. Smiling he quietly leaves the room and heads back to the main room to see Din sitting up against the wall. “He asleep?” He whispers out.

“Yes.” Y/n responds as he walks over to straddled Din’s lap. Smiling at him as he keeps his arms wrapped around him. “Good.” He hears Din say as he leans up to kiss his husband to-be. Y/n laughs against his lips as he pulls away, cupping his face as he examines him closely. “Wait, the last time I touched your face you had stubble.” He gasps dramatically. “Why did you shave it off? I love your stumble and mustache.” He grins at Din who rolls his eyes. “I needed to shave, besides it’ll grow back.” With that he dives back in, capturing his lovers lips into a deep kiss as the other laughs and falls back onto the floor with Din hovering above him and gripping his hips.

Y/n sighs out a moan as he ran his fingers through Din’s hair, gripping it softly as he grinds his hips upwards, hearing Din moan back as the two have their own make out session. The two are so distracted that they don’t notice the child standing information of them, holding his stuffed frog with his ears lowered down in worry as his whines, thinking that is own dads were fighting or something.

Din is the first to detect the whining, pulling away quickly as he sees the child and groans. “What?” Y/n questions as he leans his head back to see an upside down baby, smiling nervously he gives the child a small wave. “Hi..”

He was shirtless while Din had his pants semi-off, the two were too distracted to even know that the kid was watching but of course the kid had no idea what was happening. He was afraid that his parents were fighting that he had gripped his frog closer than usual and begins to tear up, letting small tears pour out of his eyes.

“No, no dont cry!” Y/n scrambles off the ground and reaches out to take the kid in his arms, patting his back as the child buries his face between the crook of his neck as he sobs silently. “It’s okay, we weren’t doing anything.” He assures him and turns to give Din a side glance. He was pulling his pants back up and sits back against the wall. “Maybe its best to finish once he’s officially asleep.”

“good idea.” He chuckles out and turns his attention back to the kid who has calmed down and was only sniffing quietly as he holds onto Y/n. For the rest of the night the three of them stay awake, keeping the child entertained and happy until he has fallen back asleep.

[suuung]

Interconeccted, chapter (1)  kylo ren x reader

a kylo ren x reader fanfiction.  warnings: this fanfiction will develop dark themes as it goes on.

chapter 2: here

through which two force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain. 

                                                 “The food we’ve managed to get will last us months.” Your cousin cheered.

You hum back reading one of the few books in the abandoned pile. All of them were quite dusty after finding them scattered on the ship you rested on. It was titled; The Forgotten History of Jedi

“Now we’ll just have to sneak it back.” She mumbled.

Shea grabbed the heaping bags and stepped out, putting them on the horse.

“Lets go!” She hollered, annoyed.

You reluctantly placed the book in your bag, leaving the rest behind. You sat up on the horse and felt sadness erupt through you again. The both of you live on your own in a small village, a very isolated one for sure. ‘Adventure’ like this didn’t happen often, only every few months. She thinks she knows well. She is the older cousin and the only one to take care of you after your family died of famine at your young age. It wasn’t common for families to survive on this planet, there was little to food and yet your family was not rich, and barley had made enough to get by so ultimately you and Shea are still struggling.

As you rode the horse back to town heat licked at your sunburned face and coiled around your limbs. Looking up at the bright sky and everything seemed to have a glaze. The headache that the heat brought felt unbearable. You suddenly felt your thoughts slip away, a blackness coming over you. Like a blanket, but not a blanket of warmth but a blanket of coldness making you recoil in fear. Suddenly, a sharp pain drove through you.  Collapsing and falling on the hard gravel beneath you both. Pain sizzled through your legs up your chest increasing in small waves across your face. Swiftly your body curls into a small ball while the pain burns and radiates.

 Everything became fuzzy; then nothing at all. 

You woke, everything feeling broken and detached. The familiar decaying ceiling in your eyesight. You had bandages wrapped tightly around your head, assuming that was from the fall you sat up slowly. The headache was unbearable. Looking around you were alone and Shea’s bed across from you was empty. 

You called for her but your response was silence. Glancing at the chipped and broken clock, noon just hit. She’s probably at the market selling junk. 

There was water beside your bed, hesitantly reaching for a sip the glass slipped. Pain coming over you in sparks. Reflecting something sharp, making it worse each time it touched. The glass broke and made a loud shatter. You didn't wanna bother cleaning it up. It ended as soon as it started, although the headache was worse, the pain had subsided.

Swinging your legs over the bed and walking into the crooked kitchen catching yourself from tripping on your own feet.   You lived in a small hut outside the village, fairly run down and little to no insulation. You were hungry, you hoped she would return soon as you looked at the empty containers. 

You remembered the book from yesterday, your memories did feel fuzzy. You walked over and grabbed the book, returning to your room and sat on your bed.

The Jedi are the opposite of the Sith, another group of force wielders, the Sith use their passion, and other strong emotions to fuel their power.

Turning the page brought you to the index. 

History Of the Jedi 

Force Chosen       

Movementuls 

Force Bond

It caught your eye, going to the page number. 

Common to occur between Jedi Masters and their apprentices, a Force bond, also known as Force chain or Jedi kinship, was a link through which two Force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain. 

Stronger force bonds need a balance of the light and dark sides. Weakers have light and light; dark and dark. 

Turning the page again you felt your fingertips burn. 

Another page flip.

Fighting or hardship together with the forcebond causes their powers to become amplified as the bond between them grows stronger with every passing moment.

It is known for the beginning of a force bond to include physical pain bursts and may cause the pain to double by the effect of altering two minds. 

This can’t be real, the tales were true about the force. Mother always told you and your sister it was a hoax, a scam. Something the galaxy could never accomplish.

Suddenly loud crashing and screams were heard from the village.  Fear choked you as the face of your cousin appeared in your head. This must be another attack from the first order. You’ve heard hellish tales about them, they must be looking for someone. 

You stumbled to the window looking out. Your heart sank. Everyone in this village has had a family member snatched. Giving a child freedom to roam was asking for the first order to take them.  

You ran outside, grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Clutching onto your shirt you held it up to cover your mouth, wind was blowing furiously from the ships landing on your planet. Blasters were shooting civilians and they were taking men and children. You snuck behind ships, running over loose rubble and tumbling down steep sand, feet slipping as your throat shocked and inhaled deeper, faster crying for Shea.  

You caught yourself off guard. A stormtrooper spotted you and yelled out. Your adrenaline demands you to run, you keep running but you know your time is up. Out of the corner of your eye you see something sharp and red shooting at you. You try to jump out of the way but it's too late. You scream and collapse to the ground as your wrists are bound and you are guided onto a ship along with other kidnapped citizens. 

The whole thing felt fuzzy, and soon enough the doors closed and the ship took off. You woke to the doors opening once again, but now being inside a landing bay for ships. You must be on the imperial navy ship. Only bad things have been heard to be done here. A stormtrooper barked orders for everyone to stand, they grabbed each person kidnapped and pulled them into different lines, Men and women. A stormtrooper tugged harshly at your shirt shoving you into the line of other girls, everyone was terrified. You were all barked at again to follow each leader of your group. Still handcuffed you walked down the hallways of the imperial ship. It was dark and tourture filled. 

You were halted, all of you given a number by a droid. 

“CLASS: FEMALE: TROOP” “ID: 2310984” 

 You watched those numbers inbrand into a storm trooper suit, then gave them to you. You wanted to die. Your new life you must act as you can cope with being caged, now fed on a schedule as farmyard pigs, and spoken to without the slightest trace of love.

It has been a month in this hell-hole. You still havent seen a trace of Shea. Your life feels so meaningless, perhaps it's because there is no love here, no hugs or kind smiles, no-one to tell you everything will be okay. And then there are the eyes of everyone here, alive and dead, as if they are so desperate for this nightmare to be over, to be able to leave this place.  

You started off your morning like all the other mornings. The female base dorms are cold and dark. You never manage to sleep so breakfast feels like an eternity to arrive. You are given cold scraps of food each morning, along with water. You are in stormtrooper training for the next 2 weeks. You still don’t know what to expect after this, perhaps things will lighten up and you will be brought more light into your new dark life. You are taught daily the mantra not to feel bad for the killings of villagers. Not to feel guilt anymore, not to feel human emotion. You’ve seen so many things this past month you want to forget, one thing still burns within you.

The image of General Hux and the Commander Kylo Ren. You were with your cohort of Stormtrooper Trainees going to retrieve practice guns. The mantra settling in your head once again, You are stormtroopers. You are the keenest weapon in the Emperor's arsenal. Do not fail him. Do not fail me. Your world felt in slow motion as you walked past the commander.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating and your whole body felt heavy, like it was pulling you. The shackles on your handcuffs strained and made noise. 

Panic. It drove through me fast and hard.

Breath. It felt so hard to capture.

Movement. Something I could conjure once again.

Force you've never felt before, a force that was screaming at you to run but as if your body were reborn in its most perfect form.

You coaxed yourself to sleep each night trying to re-feel that day. To grasp those feelings of warmth and pulling you felt for that short moment. You needed to be close to him again, your body screamed and ached for it each day but you were still met with the same cold mattress each morning. 

The helmet of Kylo Ren was all you saw each time you close your eyes. Suddenly you were brought out of thought by an announcement calling a meeting for all stormtroopers led today by General Hux and Commander Kylo Ren. 

You and all the other female soldiers in your dorm put on your uniforms quickly, your heart pounded as you put on your helmet. Your leader lined you all up and made your way to the docks outside where all thousands of them were perfectly lined up. One screw up and your life will be over. 

About a half hour later of stormtrooper groups getting led in to get ready for the announcement General Hux with Kylo Ren stood at the podium. Your heart started to pound rapidly as you kept your composite and stayed as still as you could. Anxiety crept up as you started to shake. Kylo spoke, his voice altered from the mask. 

“As commander of the first order, we will be initiating an attack on the desert planet of Jakku tomorrow morning. Trainees will not be sent out but will remain on the ships as extras if needed. We are in search of Lor San Tekka. We believe he has a piece of the map leading us to Luke Skywalker.”

You began to zone out as Kylo stepped down from the podium and General hux began to preach about the attack. Your mind felt fuzzy as you kept your gaze on Kylo through your helmet. His cape flew furiously in the wind, flapping and whipping. 

The more you stare the more dizzy you feel. A sharp pain woke you out of your trance. It was on the side of your head, like a headache of a million arrows shooting at you. Your arm fell down slightly but you picked it back up hoping no one had seen the slip up.

 You kept your eyes on Kylo, and you swear you felt your heart drop out of your chest at the sight of him clutching the side of his head staggerly. He stumbled and looked down at the ground still clutching his head. 

You gasped quietly as your heart pounded, the pain you had felt stopped completely the moment he felt it. Soon enough he stood and gathered his composter. 

You felt yourself not being able to breathe properly, not being able to conjure what just happened. Then, suddenly, he turned his head towards your direction and the cold eyes of the helmet stung into you. 

[justablobfish]

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village. 

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen. 

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them. 

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken. 

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do. 

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back. 

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong. 

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed. 

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well! 

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods. 

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them. 

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further. 

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. 

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends. 

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up. 

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap. 

In front of the hut stands Geralt. 

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman. 

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him. 

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs. 

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea. 

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking? 

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales. 

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face. 

And then he waits. 

For a moment. 

For a minute. 

For ten. 

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all. 

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now. 

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away. 

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again. 

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors! 

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso. 

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow. 

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles. 

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!" 

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow. 

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly. 

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself. 

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery." 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again. 

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does. 

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay! 

He opens the door and steps inside. 

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice. 

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic. 

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous. 

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it. 

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion. 

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice. 

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently. 

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then. 

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready. 

In the door stands Ciri. 

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children. 

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation. 

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!" 

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza. 

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily. 

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side. 

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it." 

 "Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!" 

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?" 

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!" 

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess. 

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle. 

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!" 

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them. 

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?" 

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through. 

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone. 

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress. 

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before. 

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same. 

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-" 

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall. 

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!" 

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?" 

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!" 

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children." 

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago. 

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain. 

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly. 

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object." 

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life. 

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off. 

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly. 

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children. 

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room 

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily. 

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope. 

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively. 

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her. 

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents." 

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?" 

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision. 

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly. 

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist. 

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases. 

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder. 

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?" 

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?" 

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that." 

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back." 

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs. 

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would." 

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?" 

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once." 

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now." 

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously." 

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?" 

[c-is-for-circinate]

The Three Dragons, or, Repentence, Revelry, and the Hero Resolve (a tale of Onde)

So when I offered to go telling stories from my D&D game the other, I got several votes for the elves, and I wrote that one out, but several people were also very interested in the dragons, and, well.  The Hero Resolve is one of my very favorite not-technically-a-god-but-honestly-might-as-well-be NPCs in this game, and making up folklore for a world that doesn’t exist is pretty damn awesome, so--

Once upon a time, there were three evil dragons.

.

Things tend to come in threes in stories.  On Nokomoris, where the entire eastern side of the continent has been settled for tens of thousands of years by dwarves, gnomes, and humans, tales of people-in-threes are everywhere.  This tale in particular, which has been told and retold so many times in a million forms that it’s barely recognizable, is sometimes told about a dwarf, a gnome, and a human villain, a trio of bandits or thieves or murderers or the like.  It’s also sometimes told about three trolls, or three vampires, or three unwary foxes, or anything at all that might bring harm to a small village in the middle of nowhere.

The way the story is most truthfully told, the way that matches up, more than it doesn’t, with the world that actually happened--begins with three dragons.  They were all of them adults but far from old yet, and they lived together in the mountains somewhere, in one lair shared between the three of them.

The largest and strongest and proudest of them all was the black dragon.  His very favorite thing was to come roaring in to a village or farm and strike terror into every heart, to ravage and ruin it and leave half of it to spoiling without even taking it for himself, and send the survivors terrified away to tell tales of his power and glory.  He was, he knew in his heart, the very very best; and he was full of violence and wrath, but his greatest sin was pride.

The fastest and cleverest and most joyfully cruel of them all was the green dragon.  Her very favorite thing to do was to catch just a scant clawful of little squishy two-legged people, and promise their survival if they’d play her game and could win it.  She never played fair but sometimes she let them go, if they’d entertained her just exactly the right amount to tickle her happy.  The world was, she knew in her heart, the most wonderful toy to be played; she knew vengeance and anger, but her greatest sin was cruelty.

The third dragon, the blue dragon, was the youngest and smallest of the three.  They were not as strong or as fast as their friends, though they were sturdy (and any dragon is strong and fast enough.)  They were not as clever or as vain, but they were wise (and every dragon is smart and beautiful enough.)  They were, in fact, very much the most practical dragon of the trio, and very much the most beloved.

(But C, you say, that’s not how dragon stats compare in 5e at all.  It’s blue dragons with the high str and cha, black dragons with the high dex.  The adult blue dragon CR is higher than the others!)

(But y’all, I say--this is a fairytale.  And also not all chromatic dragons exactly match their written stat blocks.)

(Yes.  I said “not all chromatic dragons”.  Back to the story.)

The third dragon was the practical one, as I said, and was very much the one who made it possible for three adult dragons to live and hunt and pillage the countryside together instead of fighting each other to miserable pieces.  The blue dragon had seen very easily how the three dragons might fight, and might destroy one another in the process, or might go their separate ways and each take his or her or their own small patch of territory, to defend from heroes and larger dragons alike--or they could band together and rule and ravage the skies. 

The blue dragon made sure that when they chose which village to attack, it would be large and mighty enough to satisfy the black dragon’s vanity, and that they didn’t accidentally step on anybody interesting enough to satisfy the green dragon’s need for a challenge.  They made sure that any survivors left to spread their tales could not raise an army against them, or find the secret trails up the mountainside to the dragons’ shared lair.  They ate nearly every two-legged victim the green dragon might have let go.  Their greatest sin was callousness, for they cared about no one at all besides their two dragon companions, and them only barely at that.

And so the three dragons fought, and flew, and thought themselves invincible for many years.

.

Now, there’s another figure that’s a cornerstone of folk tales throughout Nokomoris, and that, my friends, is the Pretty Witch.  Oh, she’s a princess sometimes, buckled under by the weight of trying to protect her kingdom, but on the whole, princess stories never really took off around here.  The great romantic heroine of the ages is the village witch.

Usually she’s a druid or a sorceress, to go by d&d terms.  Sometimes, in the stories, she summons a fae or a demon or a celestial or an elemental from another plane to help her against some great threat, and they fall in love; other times she captures an enemy and keeps them in her hut, and they fall in love as she nurses them to health and also interrogates them for their evil plan; in yet other stories, a brave hero faces all the witch’s challenges and proves they can protect her.  Some of the best stories, of course, combine all three.

Most real village witches never reach such a fairytale happily-ever-after, of course, or even get past casting second- and third-level spells.  The vast majority of village witches are either old enough to be someone’s (or everyone’s) mother or too busy to be interested in most offers of romance, and plenty of them are both.  That part’s true enough of the witch in this story, too.

Her power, on the other hand...

Well.  There are always exceptions.

.

The story says that one day as all three dragons swooped together onto a village on the edge of their territory, they watched a small woman step from a hut on the side of the village and raise a staff.  The story says that, mid-swoop, they began to feel themselves shrink--that the black dragon found his scales running together and turning soft and brown-pink-pale, and the green dragon found her claws growing short and weak and flat on her arms, and the blue dragon found their wings disappearing from their back even as they tried to pull up and fly away.

The story says that by the time the three dragons hit the ground, they were dragons no longer.  Every story argues, a bit, about what they were and which one was which, but--in every good bit of folklore about three people out in the world, there’s a dwarf, a gnome, and a human, so that must be what these three were here, right?

(It wasn’t, in reality--but it doesn’t really matter.   They were all people, soft and squishy two-leggers, and what does it change if all three were halflings or tieflings or even dragonborn, any more?)

They hit the ground on two legs each, naked and brown and pink and suddenly, for perhaps the first time in their long dragon lives, scared.  And all at once, they began to run.

(But C, you say--what about legendary resistances?  And anyway Polymorph is a concentration spell, one witch can’t cast it on three dragons at the same time anyway.  Hell, if they were swooping down on the village, fall damage alone should have knocked at least one of them out of it when they hit the--)

(Shhh, shh, I say.  It’s a story.  This isn’t how it really happened.  Of course it isn’t.  It really took days, or a team of adventurers, and probably both, and there were traps and wands and artifacts of all kinds that went into the doing.  This is only the version people tell each other--and it’s a better, shorter one, and lets us get to the rest of the story much quicker, usually.)

(But really, you say, even still, it’s just Polymorph--one good injury and they’d be right back to being themselves.  Surely three adult dragons would know enough about magic to realize that.  Surely one of them would be smart enough to try and injure themselves or one of the others to break it, right?  Maybe the blue one.)

(You have to let me get back to my story, for that.)

So--yes, yes, you’re right.  They all three of them hit the ground and fell immediately unconscious, how’s that?  Or perhaps only one of them did, but that was very much enough.  However it happened (and it must have been more than a thousand years ago, it must have been before Kera the Conqueror swept through the lands, must have been a thousand or two thousand years before your mother was born), however they fell, whatever they saw--the three ex-dragons did not become themselves again.  The spell did not break.

(Not even True Polymorph can do that, you say--

Yes, I say.  I know.)

(And why do we keep interrupting the story like this, anyway?)

(Well.  Because it’s a fairytale.  It’s the lore of legends.  This is a story to tell at bedtimes and campfires and long afternoons spent working with your hands while the children at your feet learn to spin yarn and shell beans and mend things.  This is the sort of story that’s meant to be told with interruptions.)

.

The man who had once been the black dragon woke up, and discovered that he was still a man, and he fled.

He had no direction in mind; his head was clouded, and his eyes were weak, and his feet were soft and clawless and he had no wings at all, and he had never run across ground like this before in all the many years of his life.  He had no thought save escape, and he ran without stopping except to fall to his knees and drink from a nearby stream like a dog before he forced himself up to run again.

He collapsed, eventually, outside a woodcutter’s hut.  He could not even bestir himself when the woodcutter and his wife brought him inside to nurse him back to health.

It took a full week before he could do more than stand and hobble, and in that time the woodcutter’s family nursed him with nothing but kindness, and man who had once been a black dragon found himself struck to the heart by it.  He had done so many things in his time as a dragon that he had been proud of, but now it seemed that he was a person, weak and desperate, and would be for the rest of his life.  It was unthinkable that a mere woodcutter like this should nurse a great black dragon back to health.

It was unthinkable for a person to have done the things the man had done, when he was a dragon.  How could a man live in this world of men, having done such things?  How could he be proud of who he was?  And so, faced with the kindness of the woodcutter’s family, the man who’d once been the black dragon began to feel the most tremendous guilt that has ever been felt in all the world for the things he’d done.

(Oh? Do you doubt him?  But man, or dragon, or dwarf, or tabaxi, whatever he was--he’d always been the best.  If he couldn’t be the very best killer, he could at least be the best at guilt.)

He would atone, he decided.  He would atone for the rest of his life.

When the man who’d once been a dragon could stand and walk without pain, dressed in the woodcutter’s old clothes and boots, the woodcutter finally asked what his name was.

“Repentance,” the man said, and went on his way to seek it, and that was the last anybody ever saw of the great black dragon.

.

(Oh, you think there’s more?  Of course there is.  A man appeared in the city to the south, and set himself to punishing every evil, including himself, however he could, and there are enough stories about him to last hours.  None of them are happy, of course--even when he found love, he could not allow it to bring him joy, because of course he deserved none.  And so the man Repentance found himself bringing sorrow even now to those who came to care about him most, caught in an endless loop of sin, and so he could never forgive himself or be redeemed, no matter what.  But at least he wasn’t a dragon.

Is that better?)

.

The woman who had once been the green dragon was even now a little cleverer than her first friend, and when she stood and realized that she was still a woman and not a dragon at all, she fled with a goal in mind.

It took days of careful, desperate travel, but she knew all the secret paths back to their lair in the mountains, where the three dragons had kept all the wealth and weapons they’d claimed as treasure over the years.  The woman draped herself in finery that seemed coarser and fouler-smelling now than it had when she was enormous and beautiful without it.  She put on the armor she’d plucked from the backs of knights, and then took it off again when it was too heavy, and eventually she had dressed and armed herself and filled a pack with as many riches as her new weak arms could carry, and set off again before anyone else could arrive to find her.

She found a port, and made her way onto a ship, bound over the sea to a land that had never known her as anything but this.  She sailed for days, and planned out her future.

She had lost her claws and so much of her power, but the world was still built of games, was it not?  And she could still play, with money and cleverness and secrets.  She was beautiful, apparently, by the standards of people, even if she was so much less awesome and terrible than she’d once been.  She could make claws out of daggers and a life out of this.  She could be a lady, a thief, a queen.  She could make do.

(You think she should be despairing, vengeful, angry?  Woman or dragon, gnome or goliath, no matter what--she was always ready to carve joy out of any chest she could find.  Why not find it again?)

When she disembarked in the new land, the guard at the port asked for her name.  “Revelry,” she said, and went off to seek it, and that was the last anybody ever saw of the great green dragon.

.

(Oh, it’s a parable now, is it?  Well.  What good folk story isn’t?

You want the rest?  She became a bandit queen and a baroness, and was feared and adored by many, and gathered riches and servants and lovers and secrets.  You could tell stories for days about the wicked and cruel exploits of the Baroness Revelry, and some of them would be sexy, and some of them would be fun, and some of them would leave you feeling queasy in the pit of your stomach afterwards, and in some of them, you’d be on her side.  After all, at least she wasn’t a dragon.

Is that enough?)

.

When the person who had once been the blue dragon awoke, they saw the witch of the village.  They saw the look in her eyes.  They saw the deep forest, and their own new delicate feet and hands and bones, and the torches from the other villagers approaching.

They stayed put.

The witch stayed, too, and watched them, and when the townspeople arrived she sent them away.  The witch was a very long way from young, and not as beautiful as she should have been, for this to be a really good story, but--for all that, there was something of power in her eyes.

“What will you do now?” the witch asked of the person who had once been a blue dragon, who had not taken their own eyes from the witch’s face and her gnarled broomstick.

“I don’t know,” said the person who was not a dragon any longer, who did not see any benefit to lying.  “What would you have me do?”

They were both quiet for a long moment as the witch looked the ex-dragon over, with her thoughts as impenetrable as a witch’s mind ever are.  Then she said, “Come inside.  I have floors that need sweeping and wood that will need chopping for the winter.”

.

The person who’d been a blue dragon slept on a pile of blankets on the witch’s floor.  The witch gave them chores to do in return.  They fetched water from the well, and scrubbed and cleaned, and learned to cook and tend a garden.  It was not a thing like being a dragon, except for all the wrong reasons.  The witch was small, and kind, and old, and not a bit of her was weak.  The no-longer-dragon had never known anyone as relentlessly practical as themself before.

Nearly every day people from the village would come by.  Some would come begging for help with colds and children and cows, and the witch was always kind to them, while her new lodger watched from the corner with sharp dragon-gold eyes.  Others would come with gifts, a few eggs here or a sack of flour there.  Sometimes the villagers with gifts had asked for help in the days before, and sometimes they hadn’t.

The person who was no longer a dragon asked questions, sometimes, and the witch would answer them, sometimes.

“Why do they bring you tribute?  Do you require it of them?”

“No,” said the witch, and, “they do it because it is kind, and right, and makes their world better in the long run.  Now go tend to the garden.”

Or, “Why do you not take over this village and half the countryside?  You have the power for it.”

“Because I do not wish it,” said the witch, and, “because they do not need me to, and because they and I are all happier that I do not.  Now go and tend the garden.”

Or, “Why are you kind to the ones who do not bring you gifts or tribute?  They do nothing for you, but you are generous to them.”

“Because,” said the witch, “it is kind, and I am able, and they are not, and that is what it means to be a person.  Now go and tend to the garden.”

Every time she answered a question, the witch would send them out to tend the garden.  The ex-dragon was careful with every plant, because it was only foolish to be careless with a witch’s garden, and learned to water every one exactly as much as it needed.  They learned to harvest berries and vegetables and herbs, and tend to the flowers and shrubs that produced nothing of any value, but only grew.  And they began, little by little, to understand.

.

Eventually it was winter.  The witch showed the one-time blue dragon how to drag their blankets closer to the fire, and how to chop the firewood and bank it at night to keep it going so they would both stay warm, and all the other things that needed to be done with the world frozen in white.

There was no more work to do in the garden, but by then the no-longer-dragon’s questions had changed, too.

“Why did you turn me into this?”  The witch could have picked anything, after all--a rabbit or an insect or a stone, and never thought about it ever again.  But she had chosen a person, who could walk and talk and think and work.

“Because it would save this village,” the witch said.  “I had not a care for you at all.  Now come and learn this potion.”

Or, weeks later, “Why did the villagers forgive me?”  They still came every day, and nodded to the ex-dragon when they passed, and didn’t flinch to do it.  They were not witches.  They didn’t have her power.

“Because they don’t know who you are,” the witch said.  “Or because they know and don’t care, or because you have done them no harm since coming here, or because they are too dead to hold a grudge, or perhaps they haven’t forgiven you at all and are only pretending.  Now go and bring this amulet to the miller and his wife.”

Or, after even more weeks, when it was nearly spring--”Why did you let me stay?”

“You know the answer to that already,” said the witch.  The person who had once ravaged the entire countryside as a great evil blue dragon found that they did know, after all.  It was the same reason as the bushes with no berries and the amulet for the miller, and everything else, too.

“Is there a difference between a dragon and a person?” the dragon-who-wasn’t asked.  “Between a tiefling and an aasimar and a human?  Between anything at all?”

“You know the answer to that, too,” said the witch, and of course, of course they did, by now.  “Ask what you really want to know.”

“Do you care now?” the person asked.  “Do you care about me, even though you didn’t then?”

The witch’s hard face softened, then.  “Do you?” she asked in return.  “Have you learned to care, after all that?”

The person thought about needy bushes and hungry inchworms and a thousand trips to the well on foot, about tea with the miller’s wife and little brown eggs from the seamstress’s daughter.  They thought about whether they already knew the witch’s response to this question too, in their heart, and what it would mean if they were wrong.

“You know the answer to that,” the person who was a witch’s apprentice now said, because they had learned well, and because some things hurt too much to admit if they’re not returned.

Then the witch stepped forward, finally, and pulled them into her arms like a mother.  “You’re my own child, now,” she said.  “Everything changes.  The past only matters because it gave us what we have now.”

.

(Does it seem too easy?  It’s not.  Growth never, ever is.

It took more than a summer and a winter, when it really happened.  It took more pain and more yelling and more doubt to build that trust.  But it did grow.  And the story’s tidier, like this.)

(And if the forgiveness here surprises you on either side, or the willingness to try, well--)

(Witches are practical down to their bones, and whether they use it to be cruel or kind or selfish or saviors-of-all is down to them, but they all know there’s no sense in discarding an outstretched hand when it’s offered.  It worked, this time, for the right people with just the right amount of neediness and hope.  Sometimes the world does that.)

.

By the time summer came around again, the witch’s apprentice had had plenty of time to think and ponder and consider who they were to become.

The only difference between a dragon and a person was their shape, after all, so what was evil for a person must also be evil for a dragon.  What was wrong for a person must also be wrong for a dragon, and always had been, whether the dragon they’d been had known it or not.  So: they had done great evil, long ago and far away, and could not make it undone.  What next?

The witch, who was just as practical as her apprentice, sat and talked to them as they cooked and knit and worked potions and spells together in the hut all winter long, and by the time the world was warm again, the apprentice had made a decision.

“I can’t stay,” they said.  “I’ve done too much harm in the world.  I need to go out and do it good instead.”

“Because you think it will fix things?” the witch asked, to make sure, and also because she had grown to love her apprentice as her own child and did not want to see them leave, either.

“No,” said the apprentice, who had learned well.  “Because it’s kind and right and I’m able.”

“So be it,” said the witch, and hugged them close, and said, “Be Resolve, then, and return safe when you can.”

“Resolve,” the new druid said.  They went off not to seek it, for they’d already found it in their own heart, but to see it through.

And that was the last anybody ever saw of the blue dragon.

.

And that’s the end of the story.

.

(Well.  It’s an end.)

(Oh, you want to know about the Hero Resolve?  There are months‘ worth of stories about that, and you’d probably know a few dozen of them yourself already, if you lived in Nokomoris.  They all go more or less the same way, really.)

(The Hero Resolve arrives in a town, or a valley or kingdom or mountain or an island in the middle of the sea, and someone, somewhere, is suffering.  They find somebody with the power to do something about it.  It might be the sufferer themself, sometimes, but usually it’s not.  Maybe it’s the local lord who’s too distracted to notice the problem, or the local witch who’s too overwhelmed to cope.  Maybe the local bandits are too incompetent at stealing to provide for their children.  Resolve isn’t always picky in the way you’d expect, when they choose who to give advice.)

(The advice isn’t always easy to follow, mind you.  There’s hardly a good story in that.  But if they do follow Resolve’s suggestions--they’ll live happily ever after, eventually.)

(If not, Resolve will generally have to beat them up first, with shillelagh staff or beast form or just a bit of bare-handed cleverness, probably, depending on who’s telling the story.  But everyone else will live happily ever after anyway.)

(And that’s it.  That’s the Hero Resolve.  They roamed for years, back and forth across the continent, to every place you could ever name.  They fixed a lot of problems.  They probably took a couple levels in monk or something.  Every culture on Nokomoris has some variant on the Stubborn Hero stories if you ask.)

.

...

...

(Oh, you want more?)

.

(Well then.)

.

Once upon a time, as the Hero Resolve was out wandering the land, they came upon a rumor of a great evil on the other side of the sea.

(There, that’s how these stories are supposed to start, right?)

Since they had nothing else better to do that afternoon, they packed up their staff and their lunch and all their magic items, the bow with a string spun from spider-silk that could send an arrow through solid rock, the cloak that looked like a midsummer sky dyed with berries grown in water from the Spring of Life, and so on and so forth, as y’do.  They took a boat and sailed over to the kingdom on the other side of the sea and asked the crew and the passengers what they’d heard in these rumors about a cruel baroness who tormented the land with her powers, and pondered how they’d deal with the problem when they got there.

They had just about enough information to go looking for the Baroness’s castle when they disembarked in port, and found it in short enough order.  Some versions say they asked a magpie for help.  Other versions say the Baroness sent the magpie herself, to invite the renowned hero into her parlor, looking for another game or--

Or who knows what.  The important thing is that Resolve found themself ushered into a lavish entryway draped in silver and velvet, and from there into an even more lavish parlor draped in damask and gold, and then into an even more lavish dining room draped in platinum and silk.  They were still dressed in their sea-salt-stained traveling leathers, with their spidersilk bow and their sky blue cloak.  They had their iron knife at their belt, and their staff that had been a gift from the witch when they first left home, that looked like nothing so much as the gnarled stick of a broom with the bristles pulled off.  And there in the dining room of sumptuous luxury, they sat down to wait.

When the Baroness herself came in, she was--well, nobody is quite sure what she was, gnome or tiefling or even a tall graceful elf, in a world before elves.  She could have been dragonborn or human or one of the cat-people, bird-people, turtle-people from the south, who knows?  It’s different every time somebody tells the story.  Everybody agrees, though, on this: that she was as breathtakingly beautiful as a single moon on a pitch-dark night, and that her eyes glittered the color of gold.

Their eyes met, the Hero Resolve and the Baroness Revelry, two pairs of dragon-gold eyes in faces that should not have held them.  For one long, breathless moment, it was as though no time had passed at all, and then they fell into each others’ arms and hugged with arms they’d never had to put around each other before.

.

Resolve and Revelry slept that night curled up like lovers in Revelry’s enormous fur-draped bed.  They spoke, a little, about where and how and who they’d been in all the years since they’d seen each other.  They hid more.  The Great Hero Resolve had made a whole life out of seeing the end of the sort of deeds the Evil Baroness Revelry had made a life out of seeing done.  There was only so much they could admit to each other of themselves.

And yet...they were still both of them so very much themselves.  Revelry’s grin and sparkling wicked wit still brought Resolve to helpless laughter.  Resolve’s steadiness and dry understated insight warmed and calmed a thing in Revelry’s chest that had not been calm in so many years.  They had neither of them been quite this happy in all the time they’d been apart, and now, back with each other again, it seemed like the real loss hadn’t been their claws and fangs and wings at all.

Resolve was used to sleeping lightly and waking early.  The witch always rose with the sun, and it was only sensible for a hero on the road, whether they camped by the side of the road or in haylofts or let themself be made a guest of anywhere.  They opened their eyes with the first light of dawn, and looked down at the woman sleeping next to them, and thought about the sharp edge of their iron belt knife, which had killed fiends and monsters and people.

It would be simple, to do the job they’d come here to do.  They loved their oldest, dearest friend, of course they did, but--

How does an evil thing love?  It seemed impossible that Resolve could have ever really loved their dragon-companions, back when they were still a dragon, before they understood what love or evil or being a person even meant.  It seemed impossible for Resolve to still love her now, and if Revelry was still the same as she had been, how could she ever love anything at all in return?

The Hero Resolve felt the hilt of their knife on the floor beside the bed, and watched their long-lost heart’s companion sleep until Revelry opened her eyes, glinting golden in the morning sun.  And looking at those eyes, Resolve let the knife go, and promised themself that they would try again tomorrow.

That day they breakfasted together, and Revelry showed Resolve all the halls of her manor and all the gardens of her estate, and Resolve showed off some of their many shapes and forms, and they told longer and truer stories about their lives.  Resolve tried to grasp for their namesake every time they caught a glimpse of the evil in Revelry’s stories, again and again, all afternoon and all night.  They slept tangled together in the same bed again.

And so they lived for a week, with Resolve trying to find conviction within themself and failing, with Revelry discovering more joy in her long-lost friend than she’d felt in all the years in between, with Resolve’s iron knife tucked safely beneath their pillow in Revelry’s bed every night.

.

On the seventh morning, Resolve got as far as drawing the knife in hand.  They’d thought a million times this week about attacking their old friend in the middle of the day, and every time they caught sight of those old familiar eyes, they lost the nerve.  Murdering a sleeping lover in her very bed...it was cowardly and dishonorable, of course, but it would be effective.  Effective mattered more than honorable.  Resolve had learned that from the witch all those years ago.

Results mattered more than intentions.  Fine, Resolve loved Revelry with so much of their heart that this might break them forevermore.  So what?  Revelry was a monster, a scourge on the land around her, a murderer and worse.  That mattered.  Resolve’s own heart would heal, or wouldn’t.  They’d slaughtered too many people in their own time for their feelings to be worth more than the lives of Revelry’s future victims now.

And yet, as they sat poised with knife in hand, watching Revelry sleep...once more, they hesitated.  And this time, when Revelry opened her eyes, she saw the knife before Resolve could tuck it away.

“Are you going to kill me, my love?” Revelry asked, as calmly as a still summer morning.

“Yes,” said Resolve.  “Yes I am, because whatever you are to me, you bring so much suffering to the rest of the world.  It’s kind and right to do this, and I’m able, and whatever else I am or ever have been, I choose to be a person.”

Revelry nodded a long, slow nod in the quiet of the room’s dawn light.  Resolve waited for her to grab for a weapon or a spell or Resolve’s own staff, for the Baroness had become quite a wizard in her own right in the time since they’d known each other last.  And they waited, poised and frozen, until Revelry said,

“Then I’ll let you.”

Resolve drew back in shock and confusion, and Revelry continued, “I’ve felt more joy this week with you than from any thing I’ve seen or done in all the years we’ve been apart.  I’d rather you kill me than watch you leave again.  I’d rather know I could at least make you happy.”

“This won’t make me happy,” Resolve snapped, with tears in their eyes.  “It has to be done, even if it does ruin me to do it, but that doesn’t make me happy about it.”

Revelry frowned, then, and for the first time began to reach below her own pillow.  “Really?”

“You know I love you,” said Resolve, and all in a flurry their iron knife met the rod Revelry kept tucked safely to hand in bed every night, just in case--though this hadn’t been the way she’d expected to use it.

“Then I can’t let you kill me,” Revelry said, rolling to her feet and facing off against the great hero now, both of them barely armed and dressed in bedclothes, squaring off with the enormous fur-draped bed between them.  “I love you too much to let anything make you miserable, including yourself, whatever you think about your morals now.”  And then they fell to fighting.

It was a strange, furious half-battle, both of them trying too hard not to hurt the other in spite of themselves, desperately working to keep their voices down before the servants of the house could hear and came running.  They twisted and fought, arguing the whole time--

“I can’t just let you keep doing the things you’ve always done!  You were given a chance at a whole new life, and still you’ve chosen to be a monster!”

“Why do you care about them?  What are any of them worth that you care more about them than yourself?”

“Because they’re people!  And I’m a person!  And so are you, but you don’t want to be!”

“If I stop tricking idiots to their deaths, will that make you happy?  And keep you from trying to do something ridiculous and self-destructive like murdering your own lover in the name of honor?”

“It doesn’t count if you’re only doing it to please me!  I can’t be the only thing in the whole world you care about!  Your entire morality can’t just be me!”

“Well why not?”

And they fell back, both of them panting and bloodied, in now-ragged night gowns, staring at each other from opposite sides of a destroyed room.

“I don’t care about torturing them,” said Revelry.  “It’s fun.  I don’t care if it makes me evil, I don’t care about them or their feelings or their stupid little lives, but I care about you.  I’ll stop it all, if you ask me to.”

“This is a terrible foundation for a relationship,” Resolve said.  “But fine.”

.

(Yes, I’m taking liberties with the story.  Know your audience, they say.  Most of the time that bit’s just a lot of arguing, or more violent and less dramatic or romantic depending on who’s telling it, but who doesn’t love a good half-naked sword fight?  Why ruin the tattered nightgowns thinking about the fact that the two major participants are mainly caster-classes, anyway?)

(One of them is clearly an illogical idiot, you say.  Fair enough, but let’s table the discussion there before you and your neighbors get into your own virtual brawl over which one it is.  They’re both illogical idiots.  That’s how love--and fairytales-- work.)

(Want a life lesson from this one?  Don’t turn a single person into your entire moral compass and your whole world.  Also, don’t try to force yourself to stab the person you’re in love with for the Greater Good.  None of this exactly how it actually went, and it only worked out in the end with a whole lot of luck and a lot more hard work than we have time and space for here.  This is a fairytale.  It’s not meant to be exact history.)

(But yes, from me to you--it did really end happily-ever-after, even when it actually happened.  Or at least, as-happily-as-ever, which is about as good as real life ever gets.)

.

In the end, Resolve and Revelry slipped off in the middle of the afternoon, without a single word to the servants or any sign of their going.  Revelry brought a single small bag of tools and treasure, less even than she’d taken from her old hoard when she first began this life, and they boarded a boat back across the sea under fake names, with secret grins that threatened to burst out into laughter at every moment.

Resolve brought Revelry back to the home of the witch who they still called Mother, and introduced her by name, and did not explain the details of their past, although the witch was canny and clever and figured it out right away anyway.  Eventually, when Resolve ventured forth across the land once again, Revelry came with them, and together they learned to turn saving-the-world into a game interesting enough to keep Revelry’s attention even when Resolve wasn’t watching them at every moment.  She never did quite learn to embrace guilt or regret, but she grew to find a soft spot for scrappy, clever underdogs who just needed half a chance to learn to fight.

They did eventually come to the city where the man Repentance lived and worked, and met him and embraced him again, for a while.  He still remembered his love for the blue dragon, but he could not forgive his one-time companions for their pasts any more than he could forgive himself.  Revelry, at least, was easy for him to condemn and hate, but most especially he could not understand how Resolve might have come to see the evil of their past crimes and yet still willingly laugh and live and find joy in it all anyway.  In the end they parted ways quickly, for while they all three of them now sought to bring good to the world, Resolve and Revelry chose to pursue it through happiness and hope, and Repentence could only see regret.

And so they traveled on for many years, and lived very nearly happily for very nearly forever after, and that’s all there is to the story of the Hero Resolve and the Baroness Revelry.

.

The end.

.

(No, I mean it this time.)

.

(Look, that’s the end of the story!  There’s plenty of other little side-stories and folktales in there, but whenever anybody on Onde actually tells this story, this is where it ends.  That’s how it goes!)

(Yes, I mean it.)

(Yes, I realize I've said that these are two extremely high-level spellcasters, both of whom remember spending centuries of their lives as nigh-immortal dragons and one of whom has barely found enough of a sense of right and wrong to qualify as Chaotic Neutral.  And I’m suggesting they lived out the rest of their short natural lives as a couple of flightless humanoids and never found a way to correct their lives or forms.  And they never ran into any desperate tragedy of disparate species lifespans, or had to deal with archdruid timeless body, or--)

(Yes.  Yes, I did say at the beginning of the post that this was the story of my very favorite near-godlike NPC, but--)

.

(Okay.  Okay, fine.)

(There’s one more thing to know.)

(This isn’t part of the story, though, so don’t go spreading it around.  Nobody on Onde knows this part, except for those that do.  And that’s a story for a very different day.)

.

True Polymorph is a ninth-level spell.  It can transform any willing wizard or druid who’s already at a high enough level to cast it into a fully-grown adult green or blue dragon with ease.  It’s permanent, if you concentrate on it for a full hour.  And dragons can cast spells, even the sorts of spells that would let them turn back into an old humanoid form that’s gotten comfortable and familiar, and maybe they rarely learn to do much in the first thousand years or so of life, but most dragons aren’t forced to live as humanoids for a couple of decades or centuries to figure out how, so--

Well.  True Polymorph lasts without being concentrated on, anyway, once it sticks, but--even it doesn’t tend to hold up well to dropping to zero hit points or running afoul of a Dispel Magic, after a while.

(Yes, the RAW are ambiguous, here.  And?  This is Onde.  True Polymorph can guide the world into holding a new shape indefinitely, but it can’t rewrite the truth of existence.)

A fully-grown adult dragon may not find themself reduced to zero hit points all that often, but Resolve and Revelry weren’t about to give up adventuring just to return to their old forms forever.  Dispel could get...awkward.  There had to be a safer way, didn’t there?

“How did you make it stay?” Resolve asked the witch, so many years later that even an archdruid such as the witch had become old.  She shook her head.

“There’s a spell,” she said.  “With components I never saw in all my life before or since.  They’re long gone now.”

(Was it a spell?  Was it a one-use spell scroll, enchanted in centuries gone by and long forgotten?  Was it a magic item?)

(Does the nature of the MacGuffin matter, in the end, or just its effect?)

“But the spell exists” said Resolve--and, well, what are heroes for if not tracking down mysteries and finding components?  Plane-shifting to gather sap from the forests of the gods, or the bones of every material plane, or the dust from the plains below Sigil itself, or--well.  Does that matter, either, the how?

It’s very difficult to tell a legendary hero that there’s no way.

.

(They transformed the man Repentance back, too, when they changed themselves.  It took them two days to hunt him down and slaughter him, two dragons against one, when he decided that it was his duty as a dragon again to do exactly the thing that dragons were for.)

(It goes like that, sometimes.  Not every redemption arc quite works.  You can tell yourself that he let his oldest companions rip his throat out, in the end, out of the last shards of love for them or horror at what he’d become.  It might be true.)

(Everybody learns.  What they learn, on the other hand, is entirely up to them.)

.

There are people to the west of the Western Wall mountains, in the dragonlands where all colors of dragon are common, and known, and feared, who tell a story about a high valley in the dry lands of the peaks, surrounded by dense pine forests and bare dust-blasted stone and open sky.  If you need something--if you truly need something, and you’re desperate enough to do what it takes to get it, you can climb up there looking and ask.

You’ll get advice from somebody, if you’re lucky, if you can make it past the storms and the woods and the heights up the secret paths to get there.  Follow it no matter what, however hard it is, and things will turn out happily ever after for you in the end.  If you reject the advice, things will turn out happily ever after for someone, probably, but there’s a good chance you’ll get your ass kicked on top of the problems you already had, first.

It’s not a bad place to retire, when you’re old and enormous enough to call yourself truly Ancient.  Ruling the whole world is a nice idea to toss around every couple of decades, but really, it’s such a lot of work, and--really, it’s enough of a job just being your wife’s conscience (or letting your spouse be your conscience), let alone taking on an entire planet full of other people too.  Better, really, to let things go along on their own way.

It’s not a bad place to raise children up here, either.  Oh, there’s plenty of bloodlust and rage in most wyrmlings of any color, but--what’s bloodlust and rage got to do with anything?  How is anyone supposed to learn how to be a person, without somebody there to teach them that they are?

They go their own way, when they’re old enough, and some of them for the better and some of them for the worse, but--

Well.  That really is beyond the end of this story.  There’s no telling what hasn’t happened yet.

.

As to ‘happily-ever-after’...

That’s a fairytale ending, of course.  Resolve and Revelry have been to the feywild plenty enough times to know a fair few fairy tales direct from the source themselves, but at this point, we’re not really telling a campfire bedtime story any more, is it?  Now it’s just backstory for a couple of NPCs who are still alive.  They’re as happy as any old married couple who’s had centuries to grow into each other.

They’re not quite gods, because even an ancient dragon with an archwizard’s spellbook or an archdruid’s control is still a creature of flesh and blood and bone, and mortal in their own way.  Some villain or hero or furious ex-student, some god or quest or just old age and ennui will get them eventually.  No telling how, though, or when.  No telling what might happen in the mean time.

No telling when the Hero Resolve might pull on a different shape and go on walkabout for another few years once again, with or without their love at their side, and see what they’re able to do for the world.