#anyway i’m going to kill myself. i’m tempted to wax poetic about this so no one engage jcbfjdjdjdfhfb

[cruel-hiraeth]

thinking about the tenderness that childe must handle you with—the composure he must maintain—while he’s in his foul legacy form; his monstrous hands encircle your waist with ease, and his claws are deadly weapons—so knife-sharp that a bit too much pressure could pierce flesh, shatter bone, and rupture organs…

[snippets-n-excerpts]

Part 2

I’m... surprised she would say something like this, to an outsider. It is not the first time I’ve been objectified nor told to go die. I’m a mutt, an abomination to either clan. Not enough of one, too much of the other, and thus reviled because I am not-what-they-want. All unions will now be gone over with a fine-toothed comb to objectively get the kind of breeding they desire.

I’m half tempted to wish my mother had... well, no matter.

Sakumo, who I’ve been waxing poetic about in my mind and calling ‘old man’ for the giggles since I met him, stills very, very carefully. The people watching the spectacle shift uncomfortably, some even turning away. That’s a first. I blink slowly, not drawing attention as I lean against the very solid chest behind me, face towards the ground. Dammit, I am four, I should not be getting a “daddy crush” on a man I often drooled over once upon a time just because he cares. Just because he makes me feel safe. Possibly the only reason I’ve survived to this point is due to my mental age which has helped so much, but it has me making some seriously questionable decisions in relation to my relationships.

“By your leave, then,” he murmurs with the kind of quiet fury I often indulge in myself. Nice to know.

He about faces, snags my basket which is lighter than it should be, and not-stalks right out the gates. “Where do you live, Hime?”

I squirm, looking up from my place against his chest. He sighs, letting me down slowly. Grabbing his hand, I stare very hard at the path as I lead him to the residential area of where the Three Clans often let outlier family members live peacefully. Mother had to give up her house in the compound—was rewarded for doing such a selfless thing—and now I live in an extensive mausoleum of a Traditional Japanese house. By myself. Since she was out there being terrifying (and didn’t seem to care about being here even when in village). Being from a military oriented family in the past, I didn’t have nearly as many hangups as my past friends about being kept in the dark or about killing. Or being left alone. The less you knew, the less valuable you were, and the less likely someone would snatch you up for information. And, unfortunately, sometimes people died or had to die. Because jackasses exist the world over.

“Come in, old man,” I sigh, dropping my sandals in the entryway with the kind of weariness that only comes when you just can’t anymore. Cannot care or make a fuss or feel anything properly. I head straight to the kitchen, exhausted to the core but in need of food. If I skip a meal, if I stop eating, <I>I die</I>. Slowly. So, even not hungry, even physically distressed, I have to eat and eat and eat and <I>eat</I>. It does not help that my terrible eating habits have crossed lives with me.

I have my very tall shadow leave the basket on the counter and start partitioning it out. The thirty pounds of star fruit are now maybe a quarter of that—which is fine. (I get so much to share with the clan kids, like I can eat that meany in three days, give me a break.) I climb on the counter, knees pressing into the heavy stone top as I shuffle through the cabinets. I wanted mochi, which I could make, and a stir fry like nothing anyone here has ever made before. That tomato stall didn’t bring green tomatoes for anyone but me, after all. I even had to grind dry corn for the meal and if I wanted tortillas? Well, at least Auntie B from a lifetime ago taught me despite being some weird little white girl at a mostly Mexican family reunion.

Damn, now I’m craving chimichangas.

“I’m sorry.”

I still, looking over my shoulder at the dark blue and black clad man, his pale skin and silvery-white hair dry enough now to spike up almost comically in a stark contrast. He seems to be trying to will the floor to eat him. As he technically has the ability to make the ground literally reach up and swallow him, I hope there is no chakra in that silent wish. He’s just good enough I would believe he could do that without hand signs.

“Please don’t damage the floors.” Well, that slipped out. He looks perplexed and I elaborate. “I know for a fact there is a technique that lets the ground gobble you up. Please do not make that happen indoors. You could ruin the floor.”

He stares and stares and stares before doubling over in a hysterical crow of amusement. Then he straightens up as if it never happened, face calm and nearly serene.

Fucking ninjas.

•-•-•

I sit two plates on the low table, rice between them, and then turn to gather the dishes only to blink and (<I>fucking ninjas</I>) see the rest gathered on insulated boards set in a semicircle around the rice. The look I give the silvery white haired man is probably too cute to be a glare like I mean it to be. He kneels on his cushion like nothing happened and I notice how all the raw cubed, steamed, and lightly sauced foods are in front of him. That sneak! I mean, I made more dishes like that with him in mind, but really!

I dish up my rice and then it’s off, my hunger furious and voracious. I’m so hungry - but this food will not be capable of filling me up. I’ll still be hungry. I’ll be full. I’ll be hurting with it. But I will be starving all the same. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m missing something.

“This isn’t working for you, is it.”

I stop stuffing my face long enough to look up and sigh. What else could I do. “No.” I gnaw on a piece of star fruit, savoring the flavor. “I’m missing something.”

The stare of those eyes is intense. “You get your food from civilians who know you well enough to give discounts. You are literally eating everything and are seemingly starving anyway. Your... Head’s <I>wife</I> is...”

“A massively ornery bitch?”

He snorts, covering his lower face with a broad hand. “We’ll go with that,” he mutters before composing himself. He becomes so very serious. “Hime-chan, you’re not to be treated like that, not even by your Head’s wife.”

I shrug. “Our Head hasn’t been in village in six <I>months</I>. What’s he going to do about it when he’s back? Atsuko-san doesn’t do anything when he’s here—she’s the perfect wife. He has no reason to complain, okay? And my word? Means <I>nothing</I>. I’m four, not stupid.”