#and baye is like no the fuck i wont

[s1utspeare]

Ooooh. Either "Take off your shirt. Don't give me that look" or "What was that? You winced" for foba. >.>

gaia i love u and because i love u ur getting BOTH.

Send me a prompt and some characters and I'll write some whump!

There are difficulties in life, and Ba-ye can see some of them, the little ones, the unimportant ones, the ones that tell him to bring an umbrella, or not to ride a horse because the fall from a donkey is much shorter, or to kiss Fo-ye in the dark corner of a collapsing teahouse because they might not get a chance otherwise (though that was less of a premonition and more of a do it, Tiezui, when else will he be here?).

Very rarely, very occasionally, he can see an Important one clearly, and he'll have some idea of what's coming, can warn Fo-ye and the others, and that's enough for Fo-ye to keep him around. Most often, though, it's just feelings, things that say, we'll get out alive but it'll be close, or if you go in that tomb you'd better have a flashlight because all the torches are going to go out, or you'll be bankrupt after this, Zhang Qishan, but at the same time richer than you ever were before.

He never predicted the war.

In that instance, Fo-ye had been the more perceptive one between them, able to see the patterns in the politics and the way that Japanese soldiers kept swarming their cities, an infiltration that no one was quite able to keep out. They tried, but the Japanese were emboldened and determined and supported by Germany and Italy. They had technically been there since 1937, filling the larger cities like Beiping and Shanghai, and Changsha is just a stop on their overarching conquest, though to the rest of them, to the people that live there, it is far more than that. It's their first and last line of defense, and it's their home.

Maybe that's why they fight so fiercely. They have people to protect.

It's September 22nd, 1939, and Qi Tiezui is crouched behind a stack of hay bales in a slowly dissolving barn. His back is pressed against the straw, which pokes through his changshan, making him itch. He doesn’t dare move, though, because Zhang Qishan is pressed to the front of him, using his own body as something of a shield, or maybe more like a hiding place, as he stares between the hay bales with eyes like mirrors, though Tiezui can’t see anything reflected in them. 

They’ve been outrunning a troupe of Japanese soldiers for over an hour now, and had gotten separated from the rest of Fo-ye’s men, the handful that they have left. The vast majority of those on the frontline, Fo-ye’s stalwart companions, have either fallen to injury or worse, and they’d been running out of options for who was going to take the information to Cunqianjie, where their backup is supposed to be stationed. 

Ba-ye, technically, is not supposed to be here, but Zhang Rishan had been caught up in the poison gas at Xinqiang River three days earlier, and though he had survived, is currently unconscious in a battlefield medic’s tent, still within the front lines. Normally, he would go with Fo-ye for these sorts of missions. Er-ye would have been Fo-ye’s second choice, probably, but Er-ye’s still pushing himself too hard after taking a bullet for Fo-ye five days previously, and Fo-ye had refused to let him come. 

So Ba-ye had done the calculations, and even though everything was fuzzy and waterlogged, had determined that neither of them would die on this mission, and had volunteered to accompany Fo-ye to Cunqianjie. 

He can’t bring himself to regret it, either, even though they’re pinned down by enemy soldiers and darkness and a wild, paralyzing fear that Ba-ye has yet to get used to, even though he’s been feeling it constantly for almost a week now. 

Above him, Fo-ye exhales, and his arms go just slightly lax, which tells Ba-ye that the danger has passed for now. 

“Did they leave?” he whispers, wiggling to try and see over the hay bales himself, but Fo-ye just stands up, making sure that he’s still mostly hidden in the shadows and the hay, and nods. 

“They’ll be back,” he says. “But we can afford to rest for a few moments.” 

Ba-ye nods eagerly. He wouldn’t call himself weak or unprepared, but he definitely does not like running so far and so fast, and he’ll appreciate any rest he can get. He’ll need it in order to fulfill the demands of this mission. 

Fo-ye steps back to the wall, sliding his back down it to sit on the ground, and it might be a trick of the light, but Ba-ye is well-attuned to Fo-ye’s expressions, and he does not miss the flicker of discomfort that he sees there. 

“What was that?” he asks, and Fo-ye looks at him, face blank and smooth. 

“What?” 

“You winced,” Ba-ye says, squinting at Fo-ye as if that will help him to determine if the man is lying to him or not. “Why did you wince?” 

“I didn’t,” Fo-ye says, and Ba-ye is reminded that Zhang Qishan is a terrible liar. 

“You did,” Ba-ye replies, and then leans forward, trying to grab Fo-ye’s arms and figure out what he’s trying to hide. “Tell me, come on, let me see—”

“Ba-ye,” Fo-ye says exasperatedly. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not going to be nothing in a few hours when you suddenly drop dead on me!” Ba-ye exclaims furiously, not impressed with Zhang Qishan’s tendency to try and protect him from himself. 

“You said that neither of us was going to die.” 

“I also said that the premonition was fuzzy,” Ba-ye says, reaching forward to undo the top buttons on Fo-ye’s shirt, and Zhang Qishan moves away from him sharply, a little too scandalized in Ba-ye’s opinion, as if they haven’t already undressed in front of each other, and then his breath folds in on itself again, and a knot forms between his eyebrows, and one hand comes up to clutch his ribs. 

“Ha!” Ba-ye exclaims, pointing. “See? There. You are hiding something.” 

“Ba-ye,” Fo-ye says wearily. “Forget it. Please.” 

“No,” Ba-ye says. “Would you let me off that easily? I’m not going to stop bothering you until you take off your shirt.” The expression Fo-ye gives him is just a hair’s short of amusement, and Ba-ye rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. Shirt. Off. Now.” 

“We said we were going to wait until things calmed down for that,” Fo-ye murmurs, but his fingers are already undoing the buttons by his collar as steadily as he can. 

“This is not sexy,” Ba-ye informs him. “This is making sure that you don’t collapse on me because you forgot to tell me you got stabbed, and are bleeding out like a martyr.” 

“I didn’t get stabbed,” Fo-ye says, finishing the removal of his shirt with only minimal wincing, until he’s sitting bare-chested in a barn in front of Tiezui, and he can see the purple-painted splotches ensconcing Fo-ye’s ribs. 

He sucks in air through his teeth. “Fo-ye!” 

“Just cracked,” Fo-ye says, as if there’s anything just about that. “The pin grenade.”

Ah, yes. Ba-ye remembers now, fifteen minutes earlier, when they had been separated from the others by an explosion that Fo-ye had shoved him out of the way of. Ba-ye’s dirty and a little scratched up, but Fo-ye clearly took the brunt of the blast, which Ba-ye should have expected, because it had thrown Fo-ye side-first into a wall. 

“You should’ve said something,” he grumbles, reaching into the sack he has slung across his body and taking out a roll of bandages that he had stolen from their supplies before they had left, something telling him that they would be necessary. 

“When?” Fo-ye asks, sounding genuinely curious, and Ba-ye wants to punch him. 

“Hold still,” he says instead, and begins concentrating very hard on wrapping Fo-ye’s ribs, binding them tightly so that he’ll hopefully be able to get through the rest of the this without damaging them further. 

Fo-ye, for his part, does hold still, which is appreciated. The sun is starting to set, so there’s not much light filtering into the barn for Tiezui to see by, and he doesn’t want to do this too loosely. They stay quiet as he works, and Fo-ye doesn’t so much as flinch, even when Ba-ye ties the bandage off tightly. 

“Thank you,” he says once Ba-ye has finished, and Ba-ye nods, sitting back against the hay and blowing the hair out of his eyes. 

“Tell me next time,” he says, “I’m going to be very upset with you if I have to find out myself.” 

“You’ll be upset with me anyway,” Fo-ye says. 

“True,” Ba-ye murmurs underneath a sigh, gazing at the other man with him, his face sharp and angular in the barn shadows, and then he leans forward, feeling the press of the thick stack of written information hidden inside his clothing, and kisses Zhang Qishan. 

“Come on,” he says when he pulls back, hoping that this won’t be the last chance he has. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

[shooks-stupid-stuff]

are you sick of my deltarune ocs yet? too bad.

and no i didn't mess up and forget the fucked up and evil sakomi's eyepatch this is just before the ds cartridge incident shut up-

once again ft. @m-chromatic's oc shaplin (though she's very small cjhvjv-)