#but alas i committed and now its on ao3

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: George Daniel, Matthew Healy Additional Tags: Matty jumped off the B stage into the crowd, George is not impressed Summary:

George was making a point of looking through his phone, making a point to not acknowledge Matty squirming behind him. Matty was sitting in the way back seat of the sprinter van, his forehead pressed against the cool window glass to try and ward off the inevitable motion sickness as they left the venue for the hotel. George was in the front most portion of the back seat, his stormy mood warding off the rest of their bandmates, lest they get caught in the middle of the lovers quarrel. George was pissed, and Matty, along with everyone else, knew it.

[corner-stories]

handwriting

Jean Kirschtein. Mikasa Ackerman. Chemistry Notes. Lacrosse Games. Shiba Inus. High School AU. 2870 words. (ao3.) | part 1

The pressed forget-me-not rides in Mikasa’s textbook, the one with flowers doodled into the margins. It stays there as she attends her final class of the day, then heads off to soccer practice. 

She forgets about the note and the flower as she runs down the field, chasing the ball as she scrimmages with her teammates. She practices assists with Historia and shooting drills with Mina at the net until the sun disappears on the horizon. 

When Mikasa heads home, she enters the house on the west side of town. She calmly greets her Aunt Kiyomi in the living area, as well as the Azumabito household’s resident Shiba Inu. The dog screams in delight upon seeing its favorite human. Mikasa turns down her Auntie’s offer to watch a movie together and retires to her room for the night. 

After changing out of her clothes and into something more comfortable, she flops down onto her bed and wonders how difficult sleep will be tonight. As she rests, the dog pushes its way through her ajar door and hops onto her bed, immediately making itself comfortable amongst the cushions. Mikasa doesn’t protest and lets Panko Ackerman-Azumabito rest his head against her thigh. 

But before Mikasa drifts off to sleep, she remembers the flower she slipped into her textbook. 

Hopping off the bed, Mikasa goes to the backpack on the floor and digs inside. Panko can only sit up and watch in confusion. 

When Mikasa procures her textbook, she goes to her desk and finds the flower and note. 

It hasn’t changed since the moment she saw it fall out of her locker. It feels so small as she holds it in her fingers, as if the stems or the leaves could wither and rot if she does something wrong. 

That same feeling of curiosity fires up in her head, the one she experienced when initially finding the flower. 

She can’t even fathom who could have sent the note. She barely talks to people in school, reserving most of her words for answering questions or communicating with her soccer teammates. 

She’s not even sure which class she shares with the person. She doodles in her textbook during all of them. 

Mikasa holds the note in the light and looks it over again, trying to find some trace of identity aside from the phrase “I heard you liked flowers” scribbled onto the lines. But alas, she can’t find it. 

She reads the message over and over again, committing it to memory, everything from the hue of the pen to the intricacies of the handwriting. 

Questions dance fervently in her head. 

Who sent this? Why did they send it? Why didn’t they sign the note? And why a forget-me-not?

Then after a moment, Mikasa lets out a sigh. She slips the note and flower into her journal and tucks it away into her desk drawer. 

When she goes to sleep that night, her dreams feel blank and grey. 

…

…

…

Jean tries not to get hung up on his gesture. To be frank, he had not put any thought into what the aftermath of his gift would be. 

What is he to do now? Keep watching Mikasa during study hall? Pray that she somehow figures it out? Or go under a rock and die?

With the feeling of despair currently making his chest feel like an empty hole, Jean highly considers option three. 

The seconds after seeing Mikasa holding his pressed forget-me-not turns into minutes, then hours, then a whole day passes and he still can’t shake the sight from his head. He swore he saw her smiling, even if it was just for a little bit. 

At least when Jean wakes up the next morning, the initial shock is gone. He doesn’t feel as torn and sick as he did the day before, but still he barely touches his breakfast while going through his daily existential crisis.

After heading to school, Jean is thankful to have a reason to distract himself. He’s never been a slacker, but today he makes his chemistry notes extra thorough as an excuse to not think about that one certain thing. He doesn’t even joke around when Sasha falls asleep beside him. 

The hours and classes drag on, then soon Jean heads to the fateful study hall that started it all. 

As he navigates the hallway, the nervous knot in his stomach returns. With a sigh, Jean pulls his green hoodie over his head and places his headphones over his ears. He blasts the first song he can find to drown out the noise. 

When he enters the room Mikasa’s in her usual spot, except instead of drawing in her textbook or going over her homework, her glassy eyes are scanning the classroom. 

The knot in Jean’s stomach gets worse, much worse. He tries not to look like a deer-in-the-headlights as he scrambles to his seat.

Throughout class he doesn’t even spare a glance at her, fearing that doing so would lead to dire consequences. He’s probably put her on edge now, as she’ll be extra vigilant in order to find out the identity of her secret admirer. 

So to not rouse suspicion that the big dumb lacrosse player took the time to press a flower for a girl he liked, Jean goes over his chemistry notes like he’s trying to find the cure for cancer. 

…

…

…

The days go on and the lingering thought of the flower in her locker begins to fade. Mikasa keeps herself occupied with other things — soccer practice, SAT prep, or the university brochures that her Aunt kindly placed on her desk. 

Kiyomi is always observant, but either she hasn’t noticed her niece being preoccupied by something else or is too kind to bring it up. 

Around this time of year, in the midst of spring, Mikasa gets particularly glum. When she feels the remaining chill of winter melting away, it’s hard for her to feel entirely happy. The anniversary of her parent’s death — which happened barely a month after her ninth birthday — has been igniting her lingering grief for nearly a decade.  

At least Mikasa wakes up one morning to find an intricately prepared bento box in the fridge. The note on it reminds her to bring it to school. Kiyomi has always done this, leaving ample amounts of food in her niece’s vicinity to counteract Mikasa’s habit of not eating when she’s sad. It’s always nice to know that Kiyomi cares in her own way. 

One day Mikasa is standing near the net during soccer practice. Beside her Sasha — the team’s left winger — and her current partner for working on assists. 

As they work together to slowly kick a line of balls into the net, Sasha chats to Mikasa about whatever’s on her mind. Their interactions are usually like this, Sasha being a motor mouth while Mikasa nods along with her usual stoic, emotionless expression. Whether they be at practice or eating lunch together, it’s always the same. At least Mikasa can find comfort in the routine and familiarity. 

Today Sasha is telling her friend about the depths of boredom that can only be experienced in the throes of AP Chemistry. When the brunette brings up her habit of snoozing in class, Mikasa begins to wonder if anyone in her generation is capable of getting any sleep. 

Then suddenly, Sasha passes a ball with a little too much force and Mikasa ends up kicking it high into the air, something she was very much not intending to do. As it goes flying she can already tell that it’s going off the intended trajectory.

Unsurprisingly, the team’s star striker causes the ball to soar with breathtaking speed. Mikasa and Sasha watch as it heads towards the running track surrounding the sports field. 

The ball gets dangerously close to hitting some poor unsuspecting person trying to get a few laps in. It lands just in front of a guy in a green hoodie, causing him to curse and stumble back. 

While Mikasa feels horrible for the deed, Sasha lets out a laugh and clutches her stomach as she guffaws.

“Whoa! Looks like it’s raining balls, Jean Boy!” Sasha exclaims in utter glee. 

After sharply elbowing her friend to quiet down, Mikasa gets a better look at the person on the track. It’s the guy in her study hall who brings his lacrosse stick to class at least three days a week. 

“Sorry about that!” Mikasa calls out to him. 

When their gazes meet, Mikasa immediately notices a sense of nervousness taking over Jean’s disposition. At first he seems annoyed with Sasha, which is unsurprising for most people who know her, but the second Jean looks at Mikasa his face softens and he begins to look sick. 

“Uh… it’s fine…” he stammers out. Awkwardly, he grabs the ball that almost struck him head on and kicks it back to the field. 

She’s noticed him acting like this in class once or twice before, sometimes being surprisingly quiet and reserved out of the blue. He usually chats with his seat mates during the hour — to what extent Mikasa doesn’t know, but it’s a lot more than her. Seeing him huddle to himself does feel a tad bit peculiar, but perhaps she’s reading too far into things. 

When the ball returns to the field, Mikasa runs to grab it off the ground, then says — “Thank you.” 

Jean manages a smile despite his unease and gives a friendly wave. 

“You’re welcome!” 

…

…

…

A week and a whole lacrosse game later, Jean returns home with his mother and does not hesitate to let himself rest. After tossing his dirty uniform in the laundry hamper, he takes a quick shower to rid himself of the dirt and grass on his skin. At least tanking that body check was worth it, since protecting Connie Springer ensured the team’s winning goal. 

Once he’s clean, Jean heads back to his room and lies on his bed. He’s exhausted from the game, but before nodding off he manages to read a handful of texts sent to him while he was busy. His teammate Thomas is congratulating him for providing the game-winning assist, Connie applauding him for surviving a body check from the absolute unit of a defender on the opposing team, and the final is a message from Sasha regarding something completely unrelated to the whole-ass lacrosse game she just watched him in. 

‘Oh Sasha, never change for anyone,’ is the last thought on Jean’s mind before he truly falls asleep.

As per usual, Jean heads to school the next morning. Except instead of heading straight to art class to dick around until the bell, he’s making a stop at his locker to pick up the fabled chemistry notes that Sasha so kindly begged for. 

Despite his somewhat messy penmanship and the single staple haphazardly holding the papers together, at least the notes are thorough. 

As Jean traverses the crowded hallways, he wonders when Sasha will actually start staying awake during class instead of mooching off him to pass. One should expect more from a senior on the verge of graduation, but one should also expect that the inner mechanisms of Sasha’s mind must remain an enigma. 

As Jean walks, another text tells him to head to the soccer field to make the transfer. Due to the abundance of emojis following the message, he does what he’s told.  

After he exits the schools’ north building, the warmth of the sun grazes his skin. As he traverses the student parking lot, he’s suddenly thankful for a reason to be outdoors. 

When Jean arrives at the field he walks on the path between the bleachers and the running track. After scanning the area for Sasha, he looks forward and suddenly realizes that he’s in proximity of the last — or perhaps the first — person he wants to see. 

…

…

…

As a handful of her teammates scrimmage on the field, Mikasa remains at the side to warm up. With a few dynamic stretches she can feel the blood flowing in her veins and her muscles beginning to activate. Morning practices are not her favorite, but it’s a good distraction from her usual post-winter blues. 

Once she finishes her final stretch and gets onto her feet, she glances up to see a person she doesn’t often see at this time of day. 

Jean’s hair is scruffy as he walks near the bottom of the bleachers. His disposition is uneasy, just as it has been before, but he manages to approach her with a boyish smile on his face — the kind that is subdued, shy, but ultimately genuine. 

“Hey, Mikasa.”

She tilts her head to the side and furrows her eyebrows at him. “How do you know my name?”

“We’ve gone to school together for the last four years,” he explains, his tone turning dry. “And we have study hall. And weren’t you in my bio class last term?”

Mikasa tries to think back to where or when she would have seen his face. At this point in her high school career, everything becomes a blur the second she’s finished with it. Only a select few things have managed to linger with her.  

But nonetheless, she nods her head slowly and pretends to know what she’s talking about. “I think so.”

There is a beat, and Mikasa can’t help but notice that Jean’s nervousness returns. His resting face often looks mean and sullen, yet somehow — standing in front of her — Jean has suddenly adopted the mannerisms of Panko in a veterinarian’s waiting room.  

He runs a hand through his hair and avoids her gaze. “Uh… have you seen Sasha?”

Mikasa gently tilts her head towards the field. Jean looks over just in time to see Sasha doing passing drills with Historia near the net. 

“Coach threw her in at the last minute,” Mikasa adds. 

Jean clicks his tongue. “Ah.” 

As Mikasa reaches down to adjust her shin guards, Jean slips off his backpack and rummages inside. What he takes out is a handful of papers with various paragraphs and chemistry equations scribbled onto them. 

For a guy who worked somewhat diligently in every study hall, Mikasa has never noticed how messy his notes could be. 

“Could you uh… do me a favor and give these to her?” Jean asks as he hands over the papers. “Sasha seems a little…” 

He pauses, then looks to the field just in time to see the girl in question tripping over the ball. 

“...preoccupied.”

Just like before, Mikasa nods slowly and takes the papers. As sleep-deprived and tired as she tends to be, she’s not too unkind to refute a simple request. 

“I can do that.”

Jean gives her a slight grin as he slips his backpack on. “Uh… good game last week, by the way.” 

Mikasa raises an eyebrow. “You attend the girl’s soccer games?”

Jean nods like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“Yeah, for Sasha mainly, but you’re all good,” he lauds. His smile towards her gets just a bit brighter. “You’re a better midfielder than most dudes on the lacrosse team, that’s for sure.” 

Mikasa lets out a hum, which is the closest she can get to laughing. She finds something humorous in Jean’s ability to applaud her while simultaneously shit-talking the guys he plays alongside. She’s tempted to start attending the boys lacrosse games just to double check his claims.  

“I suppose that’s a compliment?” she asks, her tone getting just a bit softer. 

Jean gives her a nod. “It is.” 

For a brief second, Mikasa glances down to her cleats. They’re muddier than she thought they were. 

“I’m not good at taking those,” she says in a voice that’s more like a whisper. 

When she looks up again there’s a sense of sincerity in Jean’s eyes. She’s only realized now that they’re hazel. The hue goes well with the ashy brown tones of his hair. 

“Then you better learn,” Jean tells her, and his voice becomes warm and gentle. 

Mikasa’s grasp around the papers tightens as a rush of warmth surges to her face, but she doesn’t know why. 

Jean’s smile persists, and when he voids her gaze again he seems to be having a short, private moment to himself. Mikasa can practically see the gears turning in his head, but she can’t quite pinpoint what he’s thinking about. 

When he looks at her once, he manages a polite nod. 

“See you at study hall, Mikasa,” Jean says, and the way her name rolls off his lips feels so effortless. 

Jean turns around and walks away from the field. For a few moments, Mikasa remains where she is and watches him leave until he is a speck between the bleachers and the running track.

Once he’s gone, she folds the notes in her hands and walks to her backpack at the bottom of the bleachers. She has no choice but to stash them somewhere until Sasha’s done rolling in the mud. As she sits down to put the papers away, her eyes glance upon the scribble-like penmanship on the pages. 

Her heart skips a beat when she recognizes the handwriting. 

[thehylianidiot]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by both @kiliinstinct and @grayseyebrowscar

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

As of 10/28/2023, I have 4 works posted.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

96,862. This close to 6 digits.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Fairy Tail. Maybe Zelda in the future.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Rewrite - 133

The Other Four Idiots, Plus a Cat - 50

To Slay a Demon - 29

First of Many - 13

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. It thrills my day, and I want to show that.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

First of Many, hands down. Like, the whole point is the reader knows how that villain origin story goes.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Feel like I don't have any fics yet that have gotten to the "and everyone was happy and well and it all went fine". Someday, but its gonna take some work to get there. I guess the closest is Rewrite because it's the only other one that as of now actually has an ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope, and I hope to keep it that way.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nah.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but I do have a few ideas so I think its only a matter of time.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I certainly hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Alas, no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Alas, no. But that would be cool!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Super Smash Bros Announcer Voice: No contest.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Other Four Idiots, Plus A Cat. Simply because I know 5+ years is a huge commitment for a fic.

(but I would like to see how far I get, and maybe even prove myself wrong)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Humor I think. When I do silly, I believe I can be pretty silly (although this is an entirely subjective measurement).

When it's no silly, I guess character analysis when I'm in the more angstier mood cause I like picking blorbos apart.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Especially for a whole paragraph.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I personally don't mind. It sounds pretty cool.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Let's ignore the unpublished public school stuff and just say I started when I posted Fairy Tail fics.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Four Idiots is my pride and joy and I've gotten way too attached to it.

I guess I'm tagging @genavere ? Feel free to ignore me!

[goingsparebutwithprecision]

Fic writer interview

Thanking @sinni-ok-sessi for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3? 13

What's your total AO3 word count? 50455 - holy shit, a whole nanowrimo!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Sleeping Arrangements (Good Omens) Habitual (Good Omens) Project New Hope (MCU) Passing the Time (Star Trek:DS9) With Friends Like These (Star Wars, The Mandalorian)

I think I kind of already knew about the top 3, but I would not have called the last two. Nice to see With Friends LIke These doing well, that was so much fun to write but I never felt like it found its audience, y'know

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Mostly not, alas - it feels very awkward to just repeatedly say Thanks <3, however genuinely and enthusiastically I would mean that! I want emoji reacts to AO3 comments, that's about the level I'm at. That being said, I'll try to make the effort if someone's written me an essay, because it's so cool to get that and I've had some really fun conversations that way

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I don't really do angsty endings. I've been known to write angsty fic, but I'm usually ending on an upswing...Story-Wise is probably the closest, being as how it's heavily implied that everybody involved is dead, and also Bilbo walks away at the end, but even that to me is more bittersweet than angsty.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Not Story-Wise, and probably not Lethe. But with the rest I don't know that there's much between them. The ship ones tend to end with a get-together, the dealing-with-shit ones tend to end on a found family gathering, and the funny ones end on punchlines; they're all happy but no stand-outs, if that makes sense.

Do you write crossovers? Write? Sure. Plan out intricately and in great detail? Absolutely. Finish? Never in my life. I tend to have the idea for a lot of crossovers too, but very few of those ever get started. Off the top of my head, the current list includes a Star Trek AOS/Disney's Atlantis fusion, thousands of words of BBC Merlin is happening in Starfleet now, a few incoherent sentences of post-Burial Mounds Wei Wuxian having absorbed all of its ghosts a la Matthew Swift of Blue Electric Angels fame, three scenes of Person of Interest and Castle, several pages of Phryne Fisher and Diana Prince are besties - ohhhhh, and my beloved "Oh Good, My Sith Found the Chainsaw" Star Wars/Lilo and Stitch nonsense, which is the only one of these I have any intention of finishing.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not as far as I remember. The closes I ever got was someone commenting on Project New Hope in a very "trying to start a fight about MCU Civil War" way, but claiming they agreed with my opinion on it despite MCU Civil War very much not happening in that universe. Very odd.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not really? The closest I've gotten in anything published is the blowjob letter in And With It My Constant Mind, which is more of an extended sext, and the ending of Untitled #3...the theme seems to be Cyrano De Bergerac and blowjobs, so make of that what you will.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know

Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Involves too much unfortunate-ordeal-of-being-known, I'm afraid. I'm in awe of people who do this though, the process mystifies me.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? I am invoking my god-given bisexual right not to choose. I cannot do it. Simply impossible. Cyrano/Christian/Roxane of Cyrano de Bergerac fame is probably a front-runner though.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Lin Chen's Hanahaki Research Project - I was having a lot of fun with character voices and style, and it was challenging me as a writer in interesting ways, but I think it needs more research and investment and full Nirvana in Fire rewatches than I'm ever going to commit to.

What are your writing strengths? Comedy, yearning, and sentences that sound good when you read them aloud.

What are your writing weaknesses? Actually finishing things and comedy (I contain multitudes)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? Absolutely do not have the confidence to do that, thank you and good night.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? By published work, the MCU, unpublished I was not immune to Supernatural

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? Was not expecting this to be the trickiest one to answer, what the heck. Ummm. Idk. I get more enthused by specific ideas than by specific fandoms, I think - if I actively want to write for something it's because I've been Seized By An Idea(TM), Taken Hostage By An Idea, Had My Whole Brain Rewritten To Think Constantly About This Idea, rather than like abstractly, huh, it would be fun to write something for X

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? I-love-all-of-my-children-equally.gif. No, that's a cop-out. Um. Usually I think whatever I've written most recently gets the most affection, so With Friends Like These is bang at the top. And With It My Constant Mind I suspect is going to have the most longevity at the top of my list, I was living with that one for years and I'm really really proud of how it turned out.

Right, no pressure tagging @starkey @missfangirll @july-19th-club @ereborne and any other writerly folks lurking out there who are interested :D

[10moonymhrivertam]

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

Y'know what, I think I do actually have a standing answer to this! Although now I don't know whether to be concerned or not cuz it's an old line XD But I posted an unfinished (as in, bracketed author's notes still in the text kind of unfinished) fic specifically so as not to lose the line, so I shall slap it in here.

Ah. Turns out it works best as a set of lines, but it was still the first thing that popped into my head, so here goes:

CW: Non-Graphic Animal Death

Carlos was counting the lab mice, suspicious that the bonsai they lived next to may have picked up some carnivorous tendencies. [...] Carlos lost count of his mice. His hands hovered over the cage, frozen. What had Cecil just said? Miss Frizzle? Aunt Valerie ? It refused to process. Carlos turned away from the cage to grab his phone, missing as the bonsai unfurled a branch and snagged a mouse by its tail and dragged it, shrieking, into its thick leaves.

END CW

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Oh, gosh, there are a few contenders. I could say the first one I remembered making, because I got to hand it to Mary Pope Osbourne before I knew giving authors fic was Bad. And I really don't remember much about the contents of it, just that it was handwritten and I did a little cover for it.

Of my modern fic, I think I'll pick two, due to them being the fics I've shown the most commitment to.

Face to Unfamiliar Face, recursive fic of @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors's Love and Other Fairy Tales. I think about it a lot because I'd like to do more work on it. Alas, every time I go into it thinking that this time I will post it to AO3, I start sketching out major structural edits and get scared of the workload and let the poor thing keep languishing. I should just carry it over directly and then redux it later, just for the purpose of archiving it. Maybe I'll do that today. (Thank you in advance if so, Willow 💜)

And The Princess's Son (Ba, Ba), a Witcher fic where Jaskier is Renfri's kid. It haunts me constantly. I think as-posted, it's finished and satisfying from a reader's perspective, but from my Author's Vision it's unfinished, so the haunting continues. Alas, the redux keeps stalling out in the first few chapters. And then I don't want to just skip forward to get it started with because I feel like I can better build up the Lilit stuff so it's not such a Deus Ex Machina, even if I don't think I've changed all that much about the mechanics of her whole Thing. 😭

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

I think solidly in the middle as a reader? I know I lightly avoid 'modern AU' tags in AtLA and Witcher and stuff, but not strenuously. I like plenty of Sanders Sides fic where they're proper people and not just figments in the mindscape. But I think I also prefer to read when it's not super rooted in canon, either? Fleshed out side characters and Everybody Lives, Nobody Dies for the win, baby!!!

Now as a writer...

One of my provided filter-able tags is canon divergence XD I still like to keep things pretty rooted in canon, though. I like having a scaffolding to build around. Going too far into original territory tends to make everything feel a little too wobbly.

I think the most original I get is smashing together fandoms that don't necessarily make sense based on tiny details. (Or details that aren't there. Ben Wishaw and Colin Morgan are just. Connected in my brain for some reason and so I have Once And Future...Spy?!)

[albertasunrise]

The Unexpected Gift - Part 4

Masterlist

Summary: When a baby girl is dropped on Javier Peña's doorstep with a note claiming she's his, he's suddenly thrust into fatherhood. With no clue what to do, he will need all the help he can get if he's not to stumble at the first hurdle.

Relationships: Javier Peña x Reader, Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to list any warnings. This will be 18+ as chapters progress. If you are triggered by anything to do with babies then read at your own risk. (Bit of a slower chapter but its building to something big I promise)

Series Masterlist- Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to this dinner. He supposed it was because he'd been told you were going and he wanted a chance to see you but if he'd known Jason would be there, he'd have never agreed.

The two of you were sickly sweet together. He doted over you and you over him, sharing chaste kisses and glances as Steve and Connie beamed about all the latest shenanigans of Olivia and María. You paid special attention to his daughter which at first, he had loved, but as Jason got involved he loved it less so.

Connie could see how uncomfortable Javier was with the situation and she knew right then and there that the agent was smitten with you and you... were completely and utterly oblivious to it. She wondered if she should tell you.

Would you want to know? Would it make a difference if you did?

As she watched you and Jason together, she could see that you were happy, content but she also saw the glances you threw at Javier when he wasn't looking. She could see how you both pined over each other but neither one of you knew how the other felt. You would be good for him, good for María but she worried if Javier would be able to commit to you.

He wasn't known for that.

She decided that if the two of you were meant to be, you'd end up coming together on your own. It wasn't down to her to play matchmaker.

"She's really beautiful Peña." Gushed Jason as he looked up from María to the agent across from him.

"Thank you." Javi replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched you with her.

You were bouncing the infant on your knee as he giggled and danced, delighted by the faces you pulled at her. You were a natural with her. Your mothering instinct came out every time you were with her and he yearned to see you with her more but alas, that wasn't to be. You'd been with Jason around three months now and had only seen him and María in passing. You'd missed so much. She was crawling all over the place and now, she was pulling herself up and standing whenever she could.

At ten months old now, she was staring down the barrel of turning one. It was something that Javier had not been prepared for at first but, as it edged ever closer, he found he was looking forward to it a little more.

"So have you decided if you're going to have a party for María?" Connie asked as she cleaned up Olivia, who'd managed to paint herself with tomato sauce.

"I don't know." Javier shrugged "Not like she'll remember it."

"We threw a party for Liv." Steve argued and Javier nodded "Yeah... true. I dunno. I'll think about it."

"You could throw it here. At least she'd have Olivia to play with and we can all enjoy a drink. Celebrate Javier keeping a baby alive." Connie teased, winking at him as he gave her the finger.

"You should do something." You piped up, your voice a little small as you looked over at the older agent "I know I would've if I'd had the chance."

The statement you made stung Javier more than he'd expected. With how little he'd seen of you lately, it had slipped his mind that you'd never gotten the chance to celebrate that milestone with your family.

"Okay." He answered simply after a few moments "We'll throw her a little party."

"Here that, Preciosa?" You whispered against her ear "Papi's going to throw you a party."

María started to clap and screech and the five of you chuckled at that. A comfortable silence fell over you all as you focused on the little ones around the table for a while but when María started to rub her eyes, Javier knew it was time to leave.

'I should get this one home." He said as he picked her up from your lap and held her close as her head dropped to his shoulder "Thanks for having us Con." He said to the blonde as she stood from her chair and hugged him lightly.

"Always a pleasure." She replied, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek before placing a soft one on the crown of María's head and walking them out.

"We should probably make a move too." You said after a few moments of silence and Jason smiled sweetly at you.

"Sure honey." He replied, giving you a small nod before getting up and putting his hand out to shake Steve's "Thanks for having us." He said firmly.

"Was a pleasure." Steve replied, shaking his hand back and giving him a quick nod "Will have to do this again sometime."

"Definitely." You replied as you gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before turning to Connie "Still on for tomorrow?"

"Definitely." She beamed and "See you at 12."

"Perfect!"

The two of you made your way down the stairs and into your apartment, Jason grabbing two glasses of water for you both like he always did before joining you in the bedroom where you'd stripped down to your underwear. You smiled at him as he entered, feeling bold as you walked over to him and kissed him before he pulled away to hand you your glass.

You placed it down on your side table and got onto the bed, admiring him from where you lay as he stripped down to his boxers before sliding in next to you. You scooted closer to him, pulling him into a kiss that no matter how hard you tried, didn't get any more heated.

"What's gotten into you?" He asked as he pushed you off of him.

"I want you." You moaned, "Got this new set, just for you." You continued as you lay down in the hope he'd admire it a little "Don't you like it?"

"It's okay." He replied with a shrug and all that confidence you'd had disappeared in a puff of smoke "I'm just not in the mood babe."

"Oh." You replied, unable to hide the sadness in your voice as your throat tightened.

You suddenly felt so very exposed and you practically leapt out of the bed, grabbing some clothes to sleep in and choosing to change in the bathroom. You felt so stupid as you pulled off the lacy garments and threw them in the laundry bin before pulling on your sleep shorts and one of your husband's old T-shirts.

Jason was asleep by the time you returned to the bedroom and you climbed back in beside him, laying with your back facing away from him and as far from him as you could. Silently crying yourself to sleep.

...

"So how did Jason like that cheeky little set you got?" Asked Connie as she sipped on her Coffee, a small smirk gracing her lips.

"He didn't" You replied simply and her brows pulled together as your posture changed.

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno... he just..." You paused a moment, trying to keep your composure as you tried to find the words "He wasn't in the mood or whatever." You said after a few moments of contemplation "Tried coming on to him and he full-on rejected me."

"Aw, hun-"

"I'm just not sexy." You interrupted with a shrug "I tried something... It didn't work out. I don't have a beautiful figure like you. Wasn't made to pull off lingerie like that."

"That's bullshit." She argued and you scoffed "Seriously. You're more gorgeous than you give yourself credit for."

"Con... I'm happy enough as I am. I'm just never going to have that passion you and Steve share." You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact you'd never get the things Javier had told you about all those months ago "I just... I wish Jason would look at me the way Steve looks at you."

"What way?" She asked and you sighed.

"Like you're every fruit of his desire." You started "Like the ground, you walk on his sacred."

"You mean the way Javi looks at you?" She said before her eyes widened when she realised what she'd voiced.

"What?" You squeaked "Javier doesn't look at me that way." You argued, scoffing at her as you took a sip of your coffee.

"Hun, he looks at you like you hung the stars." She stated, deciding it was too late to turn back now "And I see the way you look at him."

"I don't look at him," You fended "I'm with Jason! Why would I look at Javier when I'm with a man that actually likes me?"

"He does like you." Connie protested you you snapped.

"I am not his type Connie." You warned "Javier doesn't like me and I don't like him... We're friends." You continued, pausing a moment "Nothing more."

"Okay." Connie conceded, holding her hands up in surrender "Just don't settle for Jason because you feel like you can't do any better... You deserve the best life has to offer."

"Con-"

"You're beautiful... inside and out." She said softly as a kind smile filled her features "Never forget that."

~

2 months later - The day before the party...

Steve and Javier leaned against the wall, flanking the entrance to the house as a few of the search bloc men filtered inside. Peña was practically vibrating as he and Steve followed them in. The music in the lab blared, masking their arrival but it didn't take long for shots to be fired and for the building to erupt into chaos.

Steve and Javier shot anyone that dared to aim at them, moving through the house with practised ease as they checked each room for the man they knew, ran this operation. The two men split up, hoping to clear the rooms faster as Javier took one side of the hall and Steve the other.

"Clear." Steve shouted as he stepped out of the final room on his side of the building, only to jump at the sound of a gunshot "Javi?" He yelled as he sprinted in the direction the sound had come from and gasped as he stepped inside.

Javier was laying on the ground, clutching at his thigh but the man who shot him was nowhere to be seen. Steve wasted no time dropping to his partner's side and shoving his hands out the way so he could assess the damage.

It wasn't good.

"Fuck." He growled as he desperately tried to staunch the bleeding, looking up as Trujillo stepped into the room "We need medical evac now." Steve ordered "Javiers been shot. Think it's knicked an artery."

The other man nodded and sprinted from the room, leaving Steve and his partner alone again. Javier was no longer fighting Steve's hold, he was just laying there as his eyelids started to droop and his breathing became more strained.

"Stay with me brother." Steve pleaded "We're gonna get you out of here soon." He promised.

Javier didn't answer though. He didn't have the strength to. All he could think about was how shit it was that he was going to die the day before his daughter turned one. That he was going to miss her party.

His thoughts drifted to you. To how he'd never get the chance to tell you how he felt. To say goodbye. It pained him more than anything to know that he was leaving María and you without telling you both how much he loved you. That his final moments would be spent with Steve as he tried, in vain, to keep his blood from escaping him.

Then everything went black.

...

"What are you wrapping?" Asked Jason as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

"María's birthday present for her party tomorrow." You gushed "She's going to love it."

"Of course." He replied, "Forgot, her parties tomorrow isn't it?"

"Yup." You replied with a grin, popping the P "Said to Connie that I'd pop over tomorrow to help her decorate. Just hope Javi likes it."

"I'm sure he will." Jason said sweetly as pecked you on the tip of your nose.

A lot had changed since that dinner. Jason has moved in and you had somewhat moved on from the incident that night. You decided to keep things as they were. He clearly wasn't a man that was interested in spicing things up and you were fine with that.

You'd never really been spicy, to begin with.

Connie and Steve had made the dinner at theirs a monthly thing which had meant you'd seen a little more of María and Javier. You'd tried to see what Connie had meant by saying the way Javier looked at you a particular way but you never caught him staring. So you brushed it off and focused on the real world.

"Did they want us to bring anything?" He asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

"No." You answered plainly "But I got Javi a bottle of his favourite whiskey and a bottle of wine for Connie."

"How do you know what his favourite whiskey is?" Jason asked his tone a little accusing.

"He's my friend." You argued, "We used to hang out a lot before you and I got together." You confessed, "He was struggling a little with María and I helped him out a bit."

"Right," Jason answered and you internally scoffed, not interested in his sudden change of attitude towards your relationship with the agent.

"How come you don't 'hang out with him' now? Surely he still struggles with her." Jason pushed and you groaned.

"Well, I started dating you." You snapped "That's why." You growled "I chose you over-"

You stopped in your tracks as it suddenly dawned on you that you'd basically given up on him and María because Jason had asked you out. You'd ditched your friendship for a guy and you suddenly felt intensely guilty.

"Anyway... I thought I should get him something. It's been a tough time for him."

"Very thoughtful of you babe." Said Jason, changing his tone to one that was more friendly "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

You hoped so too.

As you finished wrapping the present and placed it in the bag along with the liquor, you hoped it might be an olive branch. A chance to start anew and to be a better friend to him from now on.

The following afternoon, you awkwardly knocked on the Murphy's door as you desperately tried to keep hold of all the decorations you had in your hands. You were confused, however, when the door opened to reveal Claire, the babysitter you'd recommended to Javier all those months ago.

"Where's Connie?" You asked, brows drawing together in confusion.

"She's at the hospital with Steve." She answered and your heart started to race

"Are they okay?" You asked, noting the sombre expression on Clair's face "What happened."

"Steve and Javier we involved in a raid yesterday and... Well, Javi got shot."

Everything in your hands fell to the floor.

"What?" You choked, your voice barely above a whisper "Is he?"

"He's stable but critical." She answered "I guess Connie didn't get a chance to call you yet. She grabbed me from Javi's and asked me to take care of Olivia too and then she was gone."

"I need to get to the hospital." You sobbed, eyes locked on the bottle of whiskey that had slipped from the bag "Can you put all this in there? I need to go." You said a few moments later, sprinting down the hall and to the parking level below.

You drove as if your life depended on it, screaming as fast as you could to the hospital before haphazardly throwing your truck into a spot and sprinting inside. You were directed on where to go and then jogged through the halls, desperately searching out his room number before stumbling on it at last.

You barged in, gasping at the sight of Javier laying there, white as a sheet and hooked up to a multitude of machines. Connie and Steve looked up in shock before Connie practically ran into your arms and sobbed into the crook of your neck.

"Sorry I forgot to call." She choked "It all happened so fast and I-"

"It's okay Con." You hushed as you held her tight "I'm here now."

You held her a while before the blonde finally pulled herself from your grasp and made her way back to where she was sitting when you arrived, her tired eyes fixed on Javier.

"What happened?" You sobbed and Steve sighed.

"Got taken by surprise." Steve started, resting a friendly hand on Javi's shin "Fucker shot him in the groin. Knicked the artery. He coded as we arrived and almost didn't make it through the surgery. He's lost a lot of blood, the bullet did a lot of damage but he's strong." Steve said with a surety "He's too stubborn to go out like this."

"He'll be off his feet a while." Connie stated, "The surgery was tricky so he'll need to keep off his feet in order for it all to heal properly."

"I can stay with him." You suggested, "When he gets out."

"What about Jason?" Connie asked and you shrugged.

"He'll understand." You replied, "I think I need to do this."

"What makes you say that?" Steve asked and you sighed.

"I ditched him." You answered plainly "I ditched him as soon as a guy paid me any sort of attention. I missed out on all this stuff with him and María and I feel terrible. What kind of friend does that make me?"

"We all make mistakes hun." Connie said as she tried to reassure you "He never held it against you."

"Well, he should have." You sobbed "I was a terrible friend and I aim to make it up to him." You stated as you took his hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.

Your eyes softened as you took him in. He looked so frail underneath all the hospital garb and your heart broke to see him this way.

"I'm so sorry Javi." You choked as you brought his hand to your cheek "Please forgive me." You paused a moment to push some of his unruly hair back, feeling your tears building past the point of no return

"I'm going to make it up to you and María... I promise."

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[bitchwhoreofastorm]

language (day 5)

(chapter 10 - tesfest2022 - read on AO3)

-

At that stage of her life Iliah truly was committed to being nothing more than an Ordinator; desperate for a place in the world, she would have been content to keep her head down and obey, let someone determine the course of her life on her behalf. Alas, powerful forces had something greater in mind for her; and one day she was summoned down to the archives during her evening off.

She found Almalexia there, alone, bereft of her normal divine trappings; the Goddess of the Dunmer was clad in a simple winter-robe, with her hair loose and falling handsomely around her shoulders, seated on the edge of the desk so that her bare feet dangled in the air. A book was propped open on her knee, which was crossed over the other leg so that the robe crumpled around her thick thighs, and her golden-green eyes were downcast at the faded pages, two of her fingers idly thumbing the corner of a yellowed page. 

Iliah didn’t realise she’d been staring until Almalexia looked up. “Ra’athim,” Almalexia said with a thin smile, “I requested that you be in the library, not its doorway.” 

Iliah blushed and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Pretending as if she hadn’t been staring at Almalexia, she now cast her eyes about the archives, looking anywhere and everywhere else. The room was every bit as ramshackle as it had been when she first visited as a child, with masonry at strange angles, shelves sagging, books askew, dust coating everything thickly. She had come to realise over time that Almalexia held a certain disdain for the past. 

And yet here was the goddess, in her own long-eschewed library. “Come here,” she bid Iliah. “Do you know what this is?” 

Iliah took a tentative step towards her. “A book?” 

“How keen your eyes are. Yes, Iliah, it’s a book. Come.”

Iliah approached the desk, until she stood beside the goddess, looking over her shoulder. The book in Almalexia’s lap appeared to be a dictionary of some sort-- thin, spiky Dunmeri lettering was interspersed with florid Tamrielic, but the bulk of the page was dedicated to a blocky jagged runes Iliah had never seen before. 

“This,” said Almalexia, “Is dovahzul. Dragon-tongue. This is the language spoken by the ancient Nordic elite.” 

Iliah leaned her head forwards, studying the runes. “And dragons?” she asked mildly. 

“And dragons,” Almalexia agreed. “Hence the name. Dovah is dragon, and zul is tongue.” 

“Oh.” 

“Are you surprised that dragons existed?”

“No, but I didn’t know they could speak.” The runes did look like scratches, as if they’d been carved into the page by a claw-tip. “Did you ever speak to one?” 

Almalexia shook her head. “No. They were hunted to extinction before my time.” 

One of Almalexia’s hands was resting atop the page,  the tip of a blunt-nailed finger resting on a cluster of three runes. Below it, the transliteration and translation: ‘yol / fire / molag’. The rest of the page was covered by similar clusters of words dangling from the boughs of draconic runes; Iliah spotted the word Vvardenfell emerging shyly from beneath Almalexia’s palm. 

“Here,” said Almalexia, turning briskly to the front of the book. “At the front is an alphabet of draconic runes and their sounds. Note this one: the rune ‘aa’ is pronounced at the back of the mouth, like ‘auh’-- a little shorter-- yes, that’s the sound. The pages following are a dictionary. After that, here, a guide to the grammar. Dovahzul grammar is very simple. These pages at the back contain a few songs and simple tales in dovahzul, with Tamrielic and Dunmeris translations on the reverse side. You can use them for practise.” And, having gone through the book, Almalexia snapped it shut. “Any questions?” 

Iliah still stood near her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the book’s fraying cover. “Can you speak it? Dovahzul.”

“Yes.” Almalexia offered the book to Iliah. “And now so will you.” 

So here was the challenge. Iliah had heard from Seron that Almalexia would do this: at one point or another she would offer her followers a subtle test, a gentle measuring of their use to her. The idea that her time had finally come sent a strange, electric thrill through the hollow of her gut-- the goddess’ eyes were on her! Almalexia was thinking about her! But she was not without anxiety, either; she had never considered herself to be intelligent, Karnalta had always been the brains to Iliah’s thoughtless brawn,  and though she’d picked up a functional level of ancient Chimeris during her childhood studies (her ancestors disliked their native Tamrielic), she’d never considered trying to learn an entirely new language, let alone one as archaic and irrelevant as draconic. She could hardly even fathom what use Almalexia would have for the language; the exercise seemed utterly pointless. But then, perhaps that was the point-- more than a test of ability, this was a test of obedience. Iliah did not need to understand, she only needed to have faith. 

So she set to work.

She would write twenty words on the inside of her arm each day, to memorise and recite while patrolling the grounds or standing on duty. She found she learned more quickly if she wrote as much as she read, and she started composing in draconic within the confines of her own mind: only a simple sentence or two at first, but as she learned more words, they evolved into short stories. She liked most repeating sounds, the clunky harmony of draconic’s long vowels. Ufiik koraav fiik, she’d whisper at first. Troll looks in mirror. Later-- Ufiik mindok ufiik zok brii. Kodaav koraav ufiik…

A month later Almalexia once more summoned her to the library. When Iliah entered she found the goddess accompanied by the old archivist and another magistrix. The archivist and the magistrix were bickering over something, so fiercely that they didn’t notice her enter, but Almalexia glanced up at once. 

“Iliah,” Almalexia greeted her, “Tinvaak dovahzul?” 

Iliah hesitated for a long moment. 

“Ni,” she said slowly, “Nuz zu’u mindoraan.”  

The answer must have pleased Almalexia, for Iliah was swiftly handed another book, along with another task. “These are the Five Songs of King Wulfharth in the original draconic,” Almalexia explained, presenting Iliah with an ancient tomb wrapped in a protective layer of silk. “Translate and summarise them for me. If you need to do research to understand a line, you’re welcome to access any tome within the archives. Be careful with it-- this is our only copy.” 

At that point in her life, Iliah had never even heard the name Ysmir. She had never done any form of research, nor written anything, nor felt confident in her ability to read multiple sentences of dovahzul, let alone translate them.

None of that mattered to her; Almalexia had given her a task, and she would simply do it. All else was an aside. 

She got herself a sheaf of blank papers and a quill-set from the Ordinator-Provisioner, set up a small desk in her barracks’ room, and from then on spent all her free moments poring over the old tome. It wasn’t so ancient as Almalexia had made it out to be, Iliah decided quickly-- the paper was dry and powdery, yes, the once-black ink faded to a berry-juice scarlet in places, but the pages bent and didn't crack-- she could remember books in Melam’s study that had been a few centuries old, so she guessed that this one had a similar age, perhaps copied from an older text during the reconstruction of Mournhold. The dusty smell of the pages reminded her of the Ra’athim tomb. 

But the dusty, unimpressive facade was a mask for greater treasure. The Songs of King Wulfharth were like unlike anything Iliah had ever read. They painted a picture of a world so far beyond her experience, so unlike anything she’d known, that they couldn’t possibly seem to be real-- and yet there were tantalising hints of history woven into the fantasy and fable. Here would be sentences,  innocuous throw-away sentences, that mentioned a date or a historical figure that Iliah seemed to recall from some other book she’d read long ago; like a nix-hound following a whiff of prey she’d make a note of it and plod dutifully down to the archives to hunt it out. Who was Kjoric the White? Where was High Hrothgar? Every answered question only lead to three more (Who was Alduin? Was Alduin a real dragon or a myth? When had the dragons died out?), and those questions would lead her to further dusty old tomes-- an encyclopedia of Skyrim history, a foot-thick record of diplomats to Mournhold reaching back to the early First Era-- and those books gave her secrets, and from so much archaic handwriting and a thin string of draconic runes, an image began to crystallise in her mind. 

She became obsessed. She had always had a mind prone to fixation, and with this new task she felt something awakening in her that she hadn’t known since she was a child-- a keen, creative, single-minded fascination that consumed her thoughts to the point of discomfort. Every spare moment she had was spent in the archives or in her room, reading her dictionary and translating and researching and annotating. She went to the markets one day and used her Ordinator’s pittance to buy a notebook, and from then on she started writing down questions and facts whenever they came to her. She’d duck behind pillars on patrols to scribble a new line of questions, or pretend to go to the lavatory so she could jot down an epiphany. At night she fantasised about writing a whole book about her findings, giving lectures to anonymous audiences on her newfound area of expertise. Maybe she could organise an expedition…

One day Idrenie came by to visit her. They’d held a strange but enjoyable friendship since Idrenie’s recruitment into the Hidden Armigers, borne, perhaps, of loneliness and a mutual sensation of both being outcasts. Idrenie surprised Iliah in her room that night with a bottle of sujamma and they got talking, though Iliah proved to be unable to speak about any other topic than the one that had consumed her. Sitting cross-legged on Iliah’s bed, Idrenie listened patiently as she delivered a rambling explanation of her work, politely biting back her comments until the rather disorganised lecture had finished. 

“Well,” Idrenie finally said, “Ordinator, I think you’re lost in the reeds.” 

Iliah blinked at her. 

“Lost in the reeds,” Idrenie explained. “Tsaeci saying. There’s this warrior who was summoned to a pond by-- let’s call her the water-goddess. So the warrior waded into the cattails and became so distracted by all the reeds in the pond, she couldn’t see that she was standing in it. You, my Ordinator, are knee-deep in pondwater squinting at a dragonfly.”

Iliah blushed and touched the side of her own head. “I’m researching,” she protested. “It’s necessary. How can I translate something I don’t understand?”

Idrenie leaned towards the book spread open on Iliah's lap and pointed at a random line. “What does this say in Tamrielic?”

“The frost was cruel and his warriors quaked in hoar wind.”

“I think you translate it like that.” 

Iliah smacked Idrenie’s hand away from the book, but gently. They settled into a comfortable silence, for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. 

“I think Saint Nerevar fought Wulfharth,” Idrenie finally said.

“How do you know?” 

“I must’ve read it somewhere.” Idrenie shrugged. “Why don’t you ask Almalexia about him?”

“I can’t just ask her. She’ll think I’m lazy.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. And she clearly wants you to know. Why else assign you this task?” 

Iliah blushed even darker. “I can’t ask her. I just can’t. I--”

“You’re too shy,” Idrenie laughed. “Don’t worry-- I understand. She is pretty.”

Iliah’s face was purple from how dark her blush was; flustered, she looked away. “Where did you read that Nerevar fought Wulfharth?” 

“Don’t remember.” Idrenie leaned back. “Maybe I didn’t dream it. Maybe I saw it. I’m a seer, you know.”

“Why would a seer see things about Wulfharth.”

To that Idrenie could only shrug. “You know, you don’t have to ask Almalexia to hear her version. Maybe she wrote about it.”

Iliah shook her head. “Almalexia doesn’t write about herself. You could search that whole library and find nothing about her.”

“Vivec, then? Sotha Sil? I bet they were involved.” 

“I’ve already read the cantatas of Vivec, they don’t cover the War with the Nords. And the 36 Lessons--”

At that moment Iliah leapt to her feet, clapping both hands over her mouth. “The Lessons!”

“What lessons?” Idrenie sat up. 

“I didn’t even think to check the 36 Lessons!” Pausing only to carefully place her copy of the Five Songs on her desk, Iliah made for the door.

“Iliah!” Idrenie protested. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the archives!”

“At midnight?”

“Bye, Idrenie, thanks for the sujamma!”

She could’ve kissed Idrenie for that breakthrough. She had written off the 36 Lessons as ‘esoteric nonsense’, not even pausing to consider that there might be some historical truth hidden behind the tacky poetry.She cursed herself as a fool, all the way to the archives-- how had she not thought to look there?

The archives did, in fact, contain a complete set of the 36 Lessons, tucked away near a half-collapsed wall under a fine layer of dust. Working by the light of her bug-lamp, she eased each mistreated tome out of its warped wooden frame, and carried them one by one to the central table. 

In the end only two of the Lessons held what she needed. The first was a list of the five ‘Nord Demons’ who’d fought in the War with the Nords. They had names and descriptions in Vivec’s confusingly florid language, but crammed into the margins were annotations in a small, neat hand: 

HOAGA the Mouth of Mud. (Hoaga Golzahr i.e. Mud-Mouth clan. AKA Hoag Mer-Killer. Son of Kjoric, ment. 5 Songs. Ment. that ridiculous Imperial coronation. Necromancy. Don’t bury.)

CHEMUA, the Running Hunger, (NOT Mem-Yet Chemua of ballad ‘500 companions’, though she was his grandmother. Blight. See Karstangz-Bcharn proposal. Politically inconvenient to Dres; bury.)

BHAG, the Two-Tongued. (So called because there were 2x of him. Deserter. Shapeshifting and espionage. Not a concern.) 

BARFOK, Maid of Plains. (Indelicate reference to her relationship with Vivec here. Horrible woman. Indescribable thu’um. Bury.)

YSMIR, the Dragon of the North, (See 5 songs & countless other Nord legends. Dagoth involvement? Thu’um: mountain-shaking. Very powerful blasts. Listening Frame designed by Seht had strange effect, secondhand acc., Vivec at that battle but didn’t elaborate. Can’t be buried. Damn Nords and the Dagoth thing.)

The second relevant mention was hidden in the very last volume and consisted of a single line, which someone had already underlined:

“... and then came the northern men to help Kagrenac and they brought Ysmir again.”

… Iliah did not realise that morning had come until Archivist Andaren entered and asked what she was doing there. She sheepishly gathered up her books and returned everything to a neat stack in a corner, but her head was buzzing, her soul felt swollen and sick, there was a soft thudding in her ears. She could’ve stayed in that library forever, crawling through ancient words and ancient worlds, getting lost, lost… 

As she made her way back through the barracks she felt profoundly disoriented, as if she’d recently returned from some long inter-dimensional journey. When she blinked she could’ve sworn she saw the spectre of Wulfharth behind her eyes. Every shadow looked like runes, the rumble of life in the stones sounded like faint, draconic chanting… as if the subject of her obsession had suddenly grown too much for her, like she’d been gorging herself at a feast and was now ill. Even her thoughts came difficult and confused, half in dovahzul, half quotations, none her own. 

She did not even realise she’d returned to her room until she arrived in the doorway. 

And there was Idrenie, curled up and fast asleep in her narrow bed. Her ponytail was sliding loose, strands of deep red hair fell over her broad face and spread out on the white linens around her. She had a thumb in her mouth, her knees tucked up around her chest, her shoulders drawn up around her jaw, and a thin line of drool trickled from her parted lips. Iliah could only stare at her, not understanding how she’d come to lie in her bed, lacking the energy to question it. 

At last she tip-toed to her desk along the side of her cell and placed down her notebook there. Then she crept, silent and guilty, to her own bed, and slipped beneath the covers behind Idrenie. 

At first Iliah lay with her back against the wall, putting as much distance as she could between them. But Idrenie was a deep sleeper, her breaths deep and quiet as a river’s sighing, and gradually, deliriously, Iliah lost her resolve. She slipped an arm around Idrenie’s waist-- and when that didn’t wake her, she moved forwards, pressing herself against Idrenie’s curled back like a shell, nuzzling against the back of her neck. Idrenie smelt earthy and copper, like groundwater and rain, like weapons, like Iliah imagined a mother might smell. 

Like Almalexia might smell. 

Iliah closed her eyes halfway, until the fan of Idrenie’s hair near her face was abstract and red. She had never wondered, until tonight, why the archives didn’t contain anything about Almalexia’s life. There were no Lessons of Almalexia, no Temple stories of her mortal deeds. She had been Nerevar’s wife-- she may have been a childhood friend of Sotha Sil. She was Mournhold’s Queen before she was its goddess. She had given one of Iliah’s ancestors her own sword. She spoke draconic. She knew Wulfharth. 

It was a lie, that Iliah’s interest in the assignment came from ‘diligence’ or ‘academic curiosity’. In all those ancient tomes she had been furiously searching for the shadow of her goddess on the wall. She was reaching for history, grasping at a figure that someone had tried very hard to kill. Politically inconvenient; bury. What did Almalexia know or care about Wulfharth? Had she fought him? Spoken with him? Counted him as a friend? Had she touched him, even loved him?-- the thought came with a stab of strange acrid jealousy, and Iliah pushed her hand down, balling into a fist the loose fabric at the edge of Idrenie’s shirt.  How could one mortal girl deserve to know a god, even a mortal girl who had sacrificed everything on her behalf? Gods did not honour sacrifice; they merely expected it. 

(Was Almalexia even a god? She had not looked divine, when she first gave Iliah this task-- she had looked beautiful, in her robe with her thick red hair falling over her shoulders, but she had also looked mortal, so mortal that Iliah could have reached out and touched her-- grabbed her-- oh--)

Her throat felt tight, suddenly, as if she might weep. Iliah pulled herself as tightly against Idrenie as she could, inhaling deeply the scent of her warm skin, the heavy softness of her sleeping body. Father had called her a monster, a monster with monstrous desires; how right he had been, he'd seen that her desire to join the Temple was no religious sentiment at all. Worship was not enough for her; she wanted to know Almalexia. She wanted the body now in her arms to be Almalexia, she wanted to smell the back of Almalexia’s neck and feel the softness of her belly through a roughspun shirt. 

It was a horrible realisation-- she had buried herself in Temple duty, thrown herself to religion, and all it had done was rekindle the flaw that had damned her once before. She’d thought loneliness would cure her of what Father had called her curse and she’d fallen in love with the unattainable instead. All her life she had never dared to touch a woman for horror of it, accepting the lack of a cure but seeking prevention anyway; and now all she could think of was a goddess’ mortal flesh, her secrets, her life’s story, her breast-- 

She felt Idrenie’s hand come to enclose her own. 

She lay still, very still, as Idrenie eased her hand from her shirt; she lay still as Idrenie gently guided that hand across an edge of fabric, until her palm met the soft bare skin of Idrenie’s torso. Idrenie pressed her there, for a moment, and then released her, moving her own hand up Iliah’s arm, fingers rubbing abstract little patterns through her sleeve. 

They lay there in silence, for a while, only touching each other gently. Iliah could feel the rise and fall of Idrenie’s belly as she breathed. 

“Got bored of studying, Ordinator?” Idrenie finally murmured. “Find what you were looking for?” 

Iliah squeezed her a little closer. “I did.”

“Sorry to steal your bed.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I was dreaming about your goddess again. Dreamed she touched me here.” She tapped Iliah’s hand, then grasped her wrist. “I was hurt, she staunched the blood.”

Iliah held her breath and held still. She held her breath as Idrenie pulled her wrist upwards, up to the curved edge of a ribcage. 

“And here, too,” Idrenie murmured. “The cut ran all the way…” 

But then she released Iliah’s hand. 

“Sorry,” she said, stifling a yawn. “That was rude of me. You probably don’t want to hear about my dreams, not when they don’t involve Wulfharth.” She paused. “Is this weird, for you? Tell me if I should leave.”

“No-- no.” Iliah spoke in the smallest whisper. “It’s okay.”

“Want to hear more about my dream?”

Her hand still lingered on Idrenie’s bare skin; she could feel there the beating of a heart, slow with sleep and drum-steady. She opened her eyes, saw a haze of Idrenie’s red hair, and she wondered, vaguely, whether Idrenie was pretending she was someone else, too. 

“I don’t,” Iliah replied. “I want you to teach me some Tsaeci.” And before Idrenie could answer, Iliah kissed her hard on the back of the neck.

[kayr0ss]

Pitter Patter

[Diakko Week 2020, Day 3: Rain, Thinking!Diana, Realizing Feelings] AO3

Happy to participate in Diakko week 2020! @dianakko-week

---

Cold, damp, and dreary.

That wasn’t exactly the weather she was hoping for on a trip to town, but alas said trip couldn’t be postponed, if only because it was for business rather than pleasure. Restocking their supply of ink, quills, and parchment was business indeed—one of utmost importance. Diana believed that the quality of good academic output was diminished if one didn’t take care of its presentation. Content was a given, of course, but a high-quality essay was of even better quality if one had the right stationery to work with.

Akko, however, just wanted a day out in the rain.

She forgot her umbrella. Of course she did. Diana resigned herself to the fact that they would be stuck underneath a single black umbrella, huddled together to stave away the bite of the wind. The pitter-patter of rain actually sounded pleasant against the taut water-proof fabric, and walkways of Blytonbury were slippery and riddled with puddles that she did her best to elegantly avoid.

“Stop trying to step in them, you’re going to get my boots wet as well.” She gently chided, pulling Akko in by the arm so that she wouldn’t get rained on. “And stay nearby.”

“But the rain is so lovely!” Akko grinned, reaching forward with her palm facing upwards so that she could feel the droplets of water against her skin. “It isn’t so troublesome when you stop caring about getting caught under it.”

“You’re going to catch a cold.”

“And you’re going to be there to care of me.” Akko shot her a smug wink.

“That’s not an excuse.” Diana grumbled, annoyed at how charmed she was by Akko’s little stunt.

Their surroundings felt like a painting come to life. They were in between late afternoon and evening, with the sky dipping darker into inky blue with each passing minute. The streetlamps were incandescent spots of light spaced out evenly through the darkness, reflected by wet cobbled streets. They were approaching a row of stone-walled stores where the book and supply shop could be found.

“Do you smell that?” Akko chirped excitedly, comically leaning forward while taking in a deep sniff whatever confection was cooking nearby. It was deep and savory, wafting forth from the row of stores. Chicken pot pie, perhaps?

Diana hid a small smile. Akko’s pace was picking up already—food had that effect on her. Akko hand slid downwards and fell to clasp her own.

Her stomach did a summersault, but she ignored it and allowed Akko to lead the way quietly. The buildings were coming up closer. They were oh so inviting. If the yellow lamps along their opened doorways weren’t enticing enough, the way their windows glowed with light and life from the inside sealed the deal for Diana. She would very much like to be inside any one of those stores now—warm, dry, and nursing a cup of chocolate while she listened to Akko’s laugh.

She rolled her eyes at herself. Akko’s laugh was a very specific thing to be wanting to listen to, but then again she did also think that those buildings felt very much like… Akko herself. Inviting, safe, warm and light.

She really needed to stop this lining of thinking. It was silly and fantastical. Her heart was beginning to hurt and that could never be a good thing.

“Thinking about something?” Akko stopped her paced, blinking up at Diana.

“Pardon?”

“Your face went all scrunched up and Overthinking-Diana-Like.” The brunette said with a smile, obvious in her attempt to goad a laugh out of her while at the same time conveying sincerity.

The world, Diana decided, did not deserve Akko.

But the blonde simply shook her head, and Akko gave her one last meaningful look and decided not to pry. She was more thoughtful than people gave her credit for, and it was yet another bullet on her list of ‘Reasons Why She Makes Me Feel Things.’

But these feelings were as distressing as they were pleasant. She didn’t know where they would fit in her life, which was already bursting at the seams with responsibilities and commitments. She couldn’t afford a distraction, even one as lovely as the habit of debating which shade of red Akko’s eyes were, and these days it’s been proving to be difficult to ignore.

And so she tore her gaze away from Akko and towards the shops. Ah. It was useless. The warmth they conveyed only reminded her of Akko again.

Shielding herself was one effective method though. She couldn’t simply let herself go and be consumed by unpredictable flights of emotion, now could she? Like the umbrella she held, she would hide behind her duties and rationalizations, passing off the flutters of her heart as childish impulses and brushing away her excitement at every chance she could get.

“You know what you need?” Akko said resolutely, tired of her moping and rumination. “Like, five minutes to let loose.”

“I need—what?”

“I feel like you think of a million things a minute and I know your brain is very big but it needs to rest Diana!”

Oh, by Jennifer she was pretty.

“Earth to Diana?” Akko waved a hand in front of her.

Right—she had to answer.

“I sleep.” Diana muttered, hand tensing around the handle. “Sometimes”

“Sometimes.” Akko sighed in exasperation. “And I bet even then you’re thinking.”

The brunette’s expression turned sly. Oh no. What did she have up her sleeve?

Slowly, without letting go of the hand she held, Akko stepped back and outside of the umbrella’s protective circle.

“Akko, you’re going to—”

Diana’s words died down as Akko closed her eyes, smiled, and tilted her face upwards to let the rain freely pelt down against her features, clothes, and hair. Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and there was a peacefulness to her posture that she almost envied.

“Sometimes you just... gotta let yourself be.” Akko’s smile grew even wider, then on a whim, she tugged on Diana’s hand.

The blonde lurched forward, struggling to keep herself dry while Akko just laughed.

“Come on!” Akko teased. “We’ll grab what you need real fast and head back to the castle not a minute later!”

She wasn’t sure if it was because of the sound of her laughter, but Diana slowly—surprisingly—pulled the umbrella to the side before closing it.

The rain was gentle. Her worries about her boots and clothes growing damp disappeared the moment she decided it no longer mattered, and that small dose of freedom exhilarated her. The droplets tickled against her skin and were caught along her lashes. It was beginning to seep through her uniform, but it didn’t matter and—

And it was okay.

She looked towards Akko. She was smiling at her softly.

“How’s it feel?”

A thumb brushed behind her own.

Diana paused for a moment to consider how to answer, but it seems this little exercise answered a more profound question in her mind.

She let her eyes linger on Akko’s for a moment, only moving them to glance at their joined hands before coming back up to smile at her again.

Akko was so wonderful. So carefree, and kind, and beautiful in every way that counted.

Diana was falling—and much like the rain, she was done hiding under the shade of her umbrella.

She wanted to feel it.

-

fin

-

A/N: Coincidentally, I was binging The Umbrella Academy today LOL. Hope you all enjoy this quick last-minute drabble, it was inspired by this wonderful and so very iconic and historical quote:

Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in NO ONE ELSE, NO ONE ELSE

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (16/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~4500 words, explicit -- this chapter was getting to be 10k words long, so I chunked it into two smaller ones. Hopefully the next one will be up in just a few days since it’s already mostly finished.

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

Over the last several months of sleeping—literal sleeping—with James, Rose grew accustomed to being woken earlier than she preferred. At first, it was because the cats, used to their routine, would barge into the bedroom at around seven-thirty and start demanding breakfast. She had nearly shrieked the first time Pippin launched himself onto their bed, yowling right at their heads. James had grunted and shooed him away, but the cat was persistent, and continued pestering them until James crawled out of bed and fed him and his brothers.

Eventually, the cats realized their new housemate wasn’t as much of an early riser as their master; on the nights Rose stayed with James, they would graciously wait until eight to start making a fuss.

James was usually awake by that point, and would slip out of bed, trying not to make noise or shake the bed too much, but invariably, Rose would wake up, too. Not completely, though, and she enjoyed spending the next hour or so drifting between dozing and wakefulness; she especially appreciated it when James would slide back into bed and they would cuddle, or sometimes indulge in lazy morning lovemaking. He only did it around half the time; the other half, he would get started on breakfast or would make himself a cup of coffee and sit quietly reading or studying or watching the television. It made the mornings he returned to bed with her more cherished.

Therefore, Rose wasn’t at all surprised to feel her boyfriend slip out of bed, even though it was dark through the windows. She didn’t have the energy to turn to see the time; plus, the ache between her thighs after three rounds of lovemaking the night before disincentivized her from moving at all. Not that she was complaining. There was something satisfying about the soreness left over from thoroughly having sex, almost like the pleasant burn after a vigorous, refreshing exercise.

Rose absently reached out and rested a hand on the warm imprint of James’s body on the mattress beside her, wishing it was his actual body instead.

The next thing she was aware of was someone picking up her hand and moving it. She cracked open her bleary eyes. James lay on his side, arms outstretched as he wriggled closer until he was pressed to her. Maneuvering until she mirrored his position, she flung a leg over his hips and draped an arm around his ribs. He was naked, same as her, since neither of them had bothered with pajamas the night before. The length of his body molded to hers until there was hardly any space between them at all.

Shivering lightly at the feel of so much skin touching hers, Rose tucked her head into his neck, breathing in the warm, musky scent of him. 

They remained like that for an immeasurable amount of time. Rose would gladly have stayed there for the rest of the day, but alas, she worked the afternoon shift at the grocery store. Speaking of…

“What time issit?” she mumbled.

“Seven,” he answered, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

Excellent. She didn’t have to be at work until ten, and she planned to stay precisely where she was until the last possible moment.

James, however, had different plans.

When it became clear that she wasn’t dozing off any longer, he threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up. He was so close that his nose brushed against hers. The warm puffs of his slow breathing tickled her lips, narrowing her focus to nothing except him. She could count the freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, if she wanted to. Could see the day-old stubble shadowing his cheeks in what would probably be a nice beard, if he ever decided to quit shaving.

Glancing up, she noticed his gaze was as intense as hers, his eyes dark and depthless, twitching ever so slightly as they traced her features. She wondered what he focused on, when they lay like this. Was there anything he particularly liked to admire?

“What are you lookin’ at?” she blurted.

He blinked, his gaze refocusing on hers. His brows knitted together as he replied, “Er… you?”

“No, I mean specifically. Are you looking at anything in particular? Like… up close, I like looking at your freckles.”

“My freckles?” 

“Mhm. You’ve got lots of ‘em, and they’re adorable.”

Rose reached up and brushed her fingertips along the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones, following the trail of freckles up his temple to the ridge of his brow. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth quirking into a smile when she rubbed the pad of her finger through his eyebrow in the wrong direction.

“I like that your eyes are slightly different depending on the lighting.”

It took her a minute, having forgotten her question. “Really?”

He nodded. “Right now, they’re dark. Almost completely brown, like mine. If I were to turn the lamp on, they would go to a more whiskey brown. When you’re in the sun, they go even lighter. Amber colored, like they’re reflecting back the sun’s light. Sometimes they’re hazel brown, sometimes hazel green. And if you’re wearing a lot of eye makeup, they can almost go gray. I love watching them, to see what they’re doing.”

She’d never paid much attention to her eyes before, or even thought about what they looked like, apart from generic brown.

“You’ve got very pretty eyes,” he concluded, bending closer to her. His mouth approached her eyes, and she shut them automatically. A second later his lips fluttered gently across one eyelid, then the other, before he planted a kiss low on her forehead.

She smiled at him when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. He hummed through a grin, eyes slowly closing again as he angled his head to the side and finally pressed his mouth to hers.

Kissing James was always a slightly out-of-body experience. Her head emptied of anything apart from the feel of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body. It was as though the universe melted away, leaving nothing else behind except for them.

The entire length of their bodies was twined together, their front halves in complete contact. Despite all the love they’d made the night before, Rose could feel James’s burgeoning arousal the longer the kiss continued. There was nothing urgent about his movements this morning, not like last night, when he’d been utterly insatiable and almost frantic. Nevertheless, Rose felt her herself beginning to respond to him. Her heart rate increased, pumping blood all throughout her body and sending throbbing, delicious heat to all the right places.

Even in the height of her relationship with Jimmy, when it seemed like all they did was party and shag, Rose didn’t remember it ever being this all-consuming. It was intoxicating, and not even the last four months of being physically intimate with James had cooled her lust for him. She wanted him just as much—if not more—now as she did at the beginning. The deeper in love she fell with him, the stronger her desire to share her body and soul with him. Sex with James was so much more than physical pleasure; it was emotional satisfaction unlike anything she had experience before. Which, of course, made the sex even better, too.

His hands roamed at will across her skin, tracing abstract patterns and shapes into her flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He placed his palm onto her hip and rocked his entire body into hers; his chest pressed to hers, and his hips rubbed deliciously against hers. Pleasure swept through her belly, settling low behind her navel. 

He repeated the motion, and it was only then that she realized he was trying to coax her onto her back. Disentangling her legs from his, she complied, pleased when James followed suit immediately. He hovered above her, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of Rose’s head as he lazily rolled his hips into hers, stimulating both of them as the hard length of him teased at her folds.

“Is this all right?” he murmured, his breath catching in his lungs. “We, er, did it a lot last night…”

“This is perfect,” she interrupted.

“Dunno what’s gotten into me,” he admitted. “Can’t seem to get enough of you.”

“I’m certainly not complaining. Well. At least not ‘til I can’t walk anymore.”

He snorted and puffed up with an insufferable, egotistical pride. She rolled her eyes and flicked his nose before tugging him down for another kiss.

It was one of the slowest build-ups Rose had ever experienced. It was as though she and James were more focused on kissing, caressing, and feeling. They were merely letting things progress without much thought, together in the moment and basking in the emotional and physical love that they shared. Lovemaking in one of its purest forms. 

Rose was hardly aware of the lingering ache between her legs when he slowly slid into her and began to move. They continued to touch and kiss each other, their rhythm unhurried. Gentle sparks of pleasure were fanned into a blazing fire that took them both by surprise when, minutes later, Rose gasped and moaned, clenching around him. It was more intense than she expected, especially considering she’d been perfectly satiated when they’d gone to bed eight hours ago. Instead, it felt as though she hadn’t had sex in months, and her body was overcome with hormones and endorphins, flooding her senses with pleasure and love for the man atop her, inside her.

When she came down from her high, James was getting close to his. His face was tense with concentration, eyes squeezed shut as he was able to selfishly focus on himself. Sweat beaded at his temples as he rocked his body into hers, his tempo quickening as his urgency increased. His breathing became ragged, and the needy little moans he let out squeezed her heart. She loved seeing him like this. She loved watching him lose himself in her. She loved knowing he was finding pleasure and completion with her, just as she’d found it with him.

“James,” she whispered, reaching up to rest her hands on his pectorals. She rubbed her palms through his sparse smattering of chest hair. He forced open his eyes, his rhythm slowing, to blink dazedly down at her. She clamped her thighs tighter around his hips in apology and in encouragement; she hadn’t meant to make him lose his rhythm, but she hadn’t been able to stay silent. “I love you so much.”

His throat bobbed as his breath stuttered. “Love you, too… Oh.”

His hips quickly found their previous rhythm, though with slightly less finesse as his desperation and desire took over. Grunting wordlessly, his back bowed and he arched his hips deeply into hers, finally giving in to his release and his pleasure.

Rose watched him intently, enjoying the pure relief playing across his face, slackening his features. She wanted to kiss him. When it seemed as though he was coming down from the throes of passion, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and guided him down for a kiss.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he reciprocated the kiss feverishly. When they broke apart, he dropped his head into the crook of her neck and slipped his hands under her back, holding her tightly. She returned the hug just as fiercely, never wanting to let him go again. Rose didn’t want to go into work; she wanted to stay in bed with James all day and do nothing more than exist with him, beside him.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice somewhat slurred. Rose cracked open an eye and saw him smiling sleepily at her. “Happy Birthday.”

The words came out so tenderly, so reverently, so confidently, as though it were her actual date of birth. For an embarrassing second, Rose worried she had somehow lost track of an entire month; she blamed the lingering endorphins for her foggy brain as she blinked wordlessly at him.

He broke into a sheepish, boyish grin. “So, not today then?”

It took her mind a minute to catch up before she realized the date. April had begun, and with it, James’s mission to figure out her birthday.

Snorting, Rose said, “No, not today, you numpty.”

“Though you could be pulling an April Fool’s prank on me,” he mused. “Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events?”

“I promise you, on my own life, your life, the life of my mother, and the lives of your cats, today is not my birthday. And for the record, I don’t like April Fool’s Day. Never been a fan. It gives arseholes an excuse to be bigger arseholes.”

James pouted. “Well, is your birthday coming up soon?”

“Sometime this month,” she replied innocently, feeling a wide grin stretch across her lips.

“Ro-oooose! Can’t you give me a hint?” he begged. “A teeny tiny little hint?”

Rose tapped her finger against her chin before she answered, “It’s not the first day of the month, or the last day of the month.”

James groaned and face-planted into her breasts. Giggling, Rose carded her fingers through his hair. “Poor baby.”

“You’re making it very hard to be a prepared boyfriend,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“Now you know how I felt on your birthday. Besides, spending time with you is all I want for my birthday. And maybe some birthday sex.”

“How am I supposed to have sex with you on your birthday if you won’t tell me when it is?” he challenged, grinning smugly.

“Guess you’ll have to shag me every day, just to be safe.”

“You drive a hard bargain. But I suppose I can rise to the task. All in the name of love.”

Rose pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then nudged for him to get off her. “I should get a shower. I have to be at work at ten.”

“Bugger, I forgot.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you’re finished.”

With a parting kiss, they rose from the bed and parted ways.

True to his word, James had a stack of waffles and eggs waiting for Rose when she stepped into the kitchen. He was also stirring honey into a mug of tea, which he set at her place at the table. They ate their breakfast and chatted mindlessly about their plans for the day and school assignments: James offered to proofread her essay for her English composition class, while Rose offered to quiz him with flashcards for his upcoming political ideologies exam.

After they’d eaten, they cleaned up from breakfast and dinner the night before. Their bowls were still in the living room, as were piles of their clothes.

“Aha!” Rose had forgotten where she’d left her phone until she spotted it sitting atop her jeans. She picked it up, and saw she had quite a few email and text notifications. Her stomach churned when she saw Jimmy’s name. In the passion from the night before and that morning, she had forgotten about Jimmy and how she had told him she was ready to talk to him. She was beginning to regret that decision.

After taking a deep, calming breath, she unlocked her phone and opened WhatsApp. There were messages from Jimmy, her mum, and a friend back home. She tapped Jimmy’s name to bring up his message thread.

Thanks for hearing me out. I've been spending the past week figuring out exactly what I want to say to you, but it doesn't feel good enough.

I don’t know if I can ever tell you how sorry I am Rosie. I’m sorry for everything, but especially for hurting you, and not pulling my weight in our relationship. I’m sorry for going out all the time, and wasting our money. I’m sorry I left you with the bills and for never paying you back. And I am so sorry for cheating on you. It makes me sick, and I wish I had a good reason for why I did it, but I don’t, except that I’m an awful, terrible person.

“Ready to go?”

Rose jumped and had to fight not to hide her phone from James. Instead, she backed out of Jimmy’s messages and opened her mum’s. They were the usual “good morning” messages, along with some gossip from the estate.

“Yep, just wanted to check my messages. Nothin’ important.”

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and gathered up her clothes from the floor. She dumped them into the laundry basket to do later, then followed James to his car, where he drove her to work.

All morning, Rose thought about Jimmy’s messages, trying to mentally transcribe a reply. For all intents and purposes, his apology seemed genuine—she would have to tell Elsa, who had bet he wouldn’t actually give a real apology.

However, after years of putting up with his apologies only to have her heart broken again, Rose was wary about getting caught up in his honeyed words. She made a pact with herself: she would accept his apology, thank him, and then put him firmly behind herself so that she could look ahead to her future with James.

She didn’t have a chance to respond to Jimmy until the late afternoon, by which point she wasn’t sure if he would be awake or not, what with the five-hour time difference. In any case, she sank onto her sofa, exhausted from her day of running the cash register at the grocery store, and opened up his messages. She read them again, and was no closer to having an answer for him than she did when she first skimmed his words.

Maybe simple was the way to go.

“Thank you for apologizing,” she typed and sent.

A few seconds later, she saw that he was typing. Still awake, then.

I really am sorry, Rosie. If I could turn back time and do it all over again, I would change everything.

Rose snorted to herself; he would have to go back to almost the beginning of their relationship if he wanted to make any real changes. And honestly, if someone appeared in her living room with a time machine and offered to let her go back and change the way her relationship with Jimmy had gone, she would not even be tempted to take the offer. For as painful and traumatic as it was, it had eventually led her to James; he was the one thing in her life she would never regret, the one thing in her life she would never want to change.

Deciding to be perfectly blunt with Jimmy, she said, “I wouldn’t. You broke my heart, but I came out all the better for it. I’m in a good place now. Well. Apart from when you first texted me. But even that was a good thing. It showed me I hadn’t let myself grieve for everything that happened, but I’m fixing that now. I’m happy.”

I heard you went back to school. In America?

“Yeah. Got a full tuition scholarship from…” Rose deleted that last word; she definitely was not going to give him her specific location, thank you very much. “I decided I needed a fresh start.” Best decision I ever made.

Rose would have gladly left the conversation there, but something compelled her—the niceties of polite British conversation, perhaps—to reciprocate the questions back to him. “What have you been doing with yourself? Still making music?”

Nah, the band broke up a year ago. For a while I tried to make it solo. Things didn’t work out.

I’m working in construction now. Hard work, but the pay’s good. I’ve got my own flat and everything. It’s nice.

“Still with… your girlfriend? Can’t remember her name.”

Who, Brenda? No, we split an age back. God, it must've been two or three years since I’ve seen her.

Rose’s chest hollowed out. Not only had Jimmy destroyed their two-and-a-half-year-old relationship without a care in the world, he’d destroyed it with a woman he’d only had a short fling with. She tried not to let it bother her, really, she did; but it was crushing to know she hadn’t been satisfactory enough to keep Jimmy invested. She and their relationship hadn’t been interesting enough, hadn’t been important enough, for him to stay.

This is a Jimmy problem, not a Rose problem. He’s a wanker, and that is not your fault. It’s a reflection on his character, not yours.

The little voice in the back of her mind sounded suspiciously like Elsa, and Rose couldn’t help but smile. She would have to tell her friend that she was invading her inner thoughts. Elsa, her own personal Jiminy Cricket conscience. 

“I hope you find happiness, Jimmy. I really do.” She sent that message, then followed it up with, “I appreciate your apology, and I hope it gives you peace, too.”

I feel I haven’t done enough to atone to you. You were the most important person in my life, Rosie. And I still care a great deal about you.

“There really isn’t much more you can do. You’ve said your piece, and to be honest, I think we both just need to accept that things ended badly, but we’ve moved on. Or at least, we should move on.”

And what if I don’t want to move on? I love you, even after all this time.

The air gusted out of Rose as though she’d been punched, and her ears rang loudly in the silence of her flat. What the bloody hell was he playing at? There was no way—no fucking way—he could be serious. He could not love her. They hadn’t spoken in three and a half years. He hadn’t made any effort to contact her until now. While she was unspeakably grateful for that, that wasn’t the behavior of someone who supposedly loved her.

Take James, for example. On the days they didn’t see each other in person, they exchanged texts daily, even if it was something as small as “I hope you’re having a nice day” or “Thinking of you” or “Love you xoxo”. She couldn’t imagine going even a day without hearing from him in some way, shape, or form. On the days where one of them was in a bad mood, or they had a minor disagreement, they checked in with each other. Because that’s what love is. It’s eternal and enduring, even though the most trying of circumstances.

Shaking herself out of her head, Rose tapped away furiously on her phone.

“The feeling is *not* mutual. I have moved on. I’m in America. I’m studying something I love. I…” She nearly told Jimmy she was in a happy, healthy, loving relationship, but decided he didn’t deserve to share in or know about her joy. James was hers, and she had no intentions of letting Jimmy taint him. “I am happy you’re doing better, but I won’t give you hope of there ever being an ‘us’ again. We were young, we made mistakes, and we’ve learned from them. I have no intention of going backwards.”

Okay. Though I would like to do more for you. I left you with loads of bills to cover. It’s not fair you were out all that money. I would really like to pay you back.

Rose’s lungs seized up. “No. The debt has been paid, and I want to forget about it.” I won’t dare give you a scrap of ammunition… I won’t let you dangle this over my head in the future. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m going to decline. I’m also going to stop the conversation. I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

I’d like to discuss it with you further though. When you have the energy. Just think about it, yeah? You paid six months of rent on your own… that’s a lot of dough. Consider it reparations. Think on it, and we can talk about it later. Good night, Rosie.

Rose rolled her eyes, but closed out of her phone. Wanker. Wanker, wanker, wanker! A wanker who clearly grew and matured over the last three and a half years, but a wanker nevertheless.

She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, where a dull ache was forming behind her brow. Wanting to instead chat with someone who most certainly was not a wanker, Rose grabbed her phone, pulled up James’s number, and dialed it. He answered on the third ring.

“Hi!” he said brightly, a grin evident in his voice.

“Hey,” she replied, her body releasing all of its tension as she let his voice wash over her.

“Finished with work? Wanna hang out? Or do a long-distance Netflix and literal chill date night?”

Rose bit her lip around a laugh. “What, too worn out to do a proper Netflix and chill date night?”

He was silent for the span of a few heartbeats before he confessed, “There must seriously be something wrong with me if I would gladly have a real Netflix and chill date with you. We’ve had sex, what, four times in the last twenty-four hours? Not even… more like twenty hours. My bits are gonna fall off. And how are you even walking?”

Giggling, she said, “Quite full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Pfft, well clearly I haven’t done a good enough job, then.” He sniffed. “But seriously… isn’t this weird? I thought we were beyond the horny hump.”

She choked. “The horny hump??”

“Yeah, you know…” With the way he paused, it was not at all difficult for Rose to picture him in her mind’s eye, gesticulating vaguely with his hands. Her chest warmed with affection for him. “…the honeymoon period, I suppose. The time where all we want to do is shag. January. I thought we’d worked it all out of our system in January, but it’s like a second wave has hit, because good God, Rose…” He let out a wistful sigh that clenched her heart. “I want to make love with you over and over again. I want to lie naked with you and hold you and touch you. I want to be with you, exist in the same space as you.”

The yearning in his voice settled heavily in her heart, and all of a sudden, she wanted him in her flat right now so she could hug him. 

“I’ll be at yours as soon as possible,” she promised, standing from her couch and slipping her shoes on.

“No, wait, you don’t have to,” James hurriedly said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I want to,” she said simply. “I miss you, too. And I… if it’s something you still want, I’m really looking forward to moving in with you when my lease is finally up.”

“Something I still want? Of course I want it. I will never not want it, Rose.”

Even though it felt woefully inadequate to how she felt, all Rose was able to get out was, “Me too. I’m on my way. Love you,” before she ended the call and hailed an Uber ride to take her to James. To take her home.

[chrysalispen]

EPILOGUE. of truths sunk too deep for war

it’s done. now i take some time to finish some one-shots and plot out the next arc (which will take us through ARR, possibly to 2.55, though i am pondering making the CT raids its own separate multichapter fic because it’s so much on its own...) anyway, thank you all for reading ;A; i hope you enjoyed it and i look forward to starting on the next part! 

... though i think... maybe not today LMAO i need some sleep

AO3 Link HERE

================================================

(||Feel||))

Aurelia sank into darkness so deep and vast that time had no meaning. It might have been minutes, hours, days of wandering aimlessly, set adrift in a fathomless ocean stretching malms past any known horizon.

And as she drifted, she dreamt.

Snatches of memory caught at her mind’s eye like errant flotsam curling in eddies about her soul.

She saw herself at a dying man’s bedside, a Roegadyn woman weeping inconsolably while watching her kiss him goodbye, unable to save him.

She saw the parting of clouds as black as pitch as Dalamud descended over the fields of Carteneau, a terrible secret still locked within its flaming belly.

She saw her adolescent self curled upon the carpeted steps of a cold marble staircase in the middle of one of Garlemald's eponymous blizzards: shivering beneath a coverlet she'd dragged from the bed hastily made for her, trying to weep as quietly as she could while her new guardians fought over what they felt should become of her.

She watched broken shards plummet to the earth from the heavens, bathed in brilliant fire. An impression of white and gold, sobbing both in rage and in heartbroken agony. Tears seeped into the fabric wrapped about her fading form like rainwater into soil.

(don’t cry. don’t cry, I’ll save you---)

The trail of fire twisted this way and that before it faded into the background of an intricate vine pattern she recognized. Green brocade wallpaper imported from Thavnair. This was a memory from her early childhood.

Aurelia stood silent in her parents’ bedchamber as if she were a neutral onlooker rather than reliving her own memory. L'haiya’s strong hands were braced firmly upon the shoulders of her younger self, expression flat and stoic and sunset-colored eyes dark with grief. They fell upon the dying woman who lay in the bed: a great four-poster carved from Eorzean mahogany.

The figure weeping over that wasted frame, clinging to a pale and withered hand, was likewise one she knew. Julian rem Laskaris, begging his wife not to die and leave him alone. Promising he’d save her if only she’d try to stay with him a little longer.

If only.

If only-

As soon as she thought about her mother the scene was gone entirely. She was, instead, lying in the grass in the middle of a garden she recognized by scent if not sight. Sunlit warmth spread like a gentle embrace over her skin and into her bones, and dappled patterns like leaves rustling in a breeze beneath the summer sun cast their soft furred impressions behind her eyelids.

A burbling noise caught her ears and she listened for a few confused moments before she realized what it was. The fountain, she thought. Of course, that sound was the little fountain with the Doman koi in it. Father had had it installed in the garden as a conversation piece for visiting officers. It sat among the beds of lavender Elle had helped her plant when they’d pulled out the weeds. Althyk lavender, a rare variety and the only kind that would grow in a place as arid as--

Gyr Abania.

Something high and yearning rose in her. Home. She was home.

A cool, dry breeze fluttered in small wisps through golden forelocks that had escaped their confines. Wrapped snugly in her favorite grass-green pelisse, feet bare beneath her muslins, Aurelia sighed. Her fingers flexed, curled into a handful of soft ryegrass, and as she opened her eyes she saw overhead the strangely shaped leaves and heavy twined branches of a persimmon tree. Nearby was the old zelkova that framed the artfully arched parlor windows that faced the Menagerie promenade.

She was propped head and shoulders in someone’s lap. She could feel slim fingers carding gently through her hair and she could smell jasmine and tea rose, a mild and gentle lady’s sachet.

Her breath caught in her throat. That was a scent she knew.

When she opened her eyes to look upon her companion, the face smiling back was not L’haiya’s. She took in a wealth of long auburn curls, soft brows and fair skin, the delicate pearlescent oval in the center of the forehead that marked the woman as a pureblooded Garlean. Dark blue eyes, the exact same shade she saw every time she looked in a mirror.

Aurelia only barely remembered this face. She had been so young, and so many long years had passed that it was one she could now recall with true clarity only from paintings and daguerreotypes. But she knew it well enough to speak a name.

“Mama?”

The word was spoken in a voice that sounded hoarse, almost rusty, as though it had languished from long years of disuse. Vittora cen Remianus only smiled, tracing a small path from her daughter’s hairline to the upper rim of her third eye with the edge of her thumb.

“Hello, sunshine,” her mother said. “It’s been a very long time.”

Why are you here?

Misgiving swept over her in a small flood. Her mother had never seen their house in Ala Mhigo. After Vittora’s passing, there had been a small memorial in which her ashes had been spread over the Estersands. That was several months before Aurelia’s father had put in his transfer request to the XIVth Legion.

She certainly shouldn’t be in their garden.

...Where am I?

Aurelia had to know. “Am... I’m not dead, am I?”

“No, of course not.” Vittora was still smiling, but it had taken on a pensive cast, and she seemed to be looking at something Aurelia could not see. “Not dead. You’re just very deeply asleep. Come and see for yourself.”

Her limbs seemed to weigh several tonzes apiece; merely bracing her elbows against the grass felt like a heroic effort, but after a great deal of strain she managed it well enough to sit up.

She followed her mother’s gaze and her eyes went wide.

The boundaries of the garden she remembered began to fragment at the edge of the fountain, in segments of empty space that were uncannily symmetrical. A few years ago during one of her summer lectures, Aurelia had had the opportunity to watch students at the Imperial Magitek Academy researching Allagan tomestones from excavations further afield. She remembered the same sense of unease at the sight of a screen showing the compilation process.

It had looked very much the same as this. Empty blocks where the tomestone data was corrupted or truncated. Or missing.

Beyond the garden lay… nothing, as far as the eye could see. Shimmering lines of aether lapped at the edges of this facsimile, borders receding and advancing in turns like waves upon an ocean shore moving with a great and ancient tide beyond her understanding.

“Where is this?” she asked, in a small voice.

“A place that you will not see for, I hope, many more years to come.” A pale, slender hand folded over Aurelia’s, and a mote of light caught Vittora’s wedding band as she squeezed. For the first moment since she had laid eyes upon her, Aurelia realized how weightless her mother’s touch felt. Indistinct. “Our souls return here at the end of our mortal coil. They are drawn to the Lifestream and swept away on its currents.”

The edges of the mirage garden trembled with Aurelia’s agitation. She bit her lip.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“Me?” Her mother seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh, sunshine. I didn’t bring you here. You brought yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most mortals will never see the aetherial sea while they live. A small number may take to its currents only by way of forbidden magicks, and not without considerable peril to body and soul.”

A chill ran down her spine. With an abrupt swish of her skirts, she regained her feet and reached the edge of the tableaux in three long strides. At the lip of the fountain, she held her fingers beneath the running water.

There was no pressure and neither warmth nor chill. Her hand came away just as dry as it had been before.

“But you are different from most,” her mother continued. “Your soul may travel here and can even resist the Lifestream’s call for a time. Because of your gift.”

((Hear. Feel. Think.))

“My gift,” Aurelia echoed. “Is that- do you mean the conjury?”

“Yes and no, although this selfsame gift does allow you to harness and manipulate aether. You should not be able to do that, either. And yet here you are.”

“But why all of this now? Why me?”

“Why not you? Our star holds many mysteries. Some are readily explained and still others have yet to be unraveled, and this may well be one of the latter.” Vittora’s hands folded primly at her waist as she approached her daughter’s side; between thumb and index finger she spun an errant blossom. The petals fluttered with each rotation back and forth. “But I doubt you came to ask for answers I don’t have.”

Aurelia opened her mouth, then shut it, her brows knotted in hapless frustration.

“I don’t,” she wrapped her arms about herself, cupping her elbows in her hands and staring out over the star-shimmer shore, “I don’t know that any of it matters, Mama.”

“Why not?”

“I tried to set out and make my own path. Uncle and Aunt wanted me to make a match with a family of their choosing.”

“Many a soul has chafed beneath the weight of others’ expectations,” Vittora said. “You are far from the first scion of the imperial aristocracy to have put off a betrothal until they felt themselves ready to commit to a marriage, and I sincerely doubt you will be the last.”

“It was never a matter of readiness. I would have been perfectly happy finishing my schooling and leaving the capitol for good.”

“I see.”

“ ‘His Radiance’s Will’ can go hang. It would have done no harm for Uncle to allow me to choose for myself or not at all.”

Vittora’s brows raised. “Something tells me that Janus would not see the matter thus.”

“He didn’t. But he and Aunt could not very well prevent me from serving out my enlistment. I thought it would give me that much more time to decide.” She made a helpless gesture at the wide emptiness of the sea. “Instead, I lost everything.”

“Endings are as much a part of the vagaries of life as aught else, Aurelia. Your father rejected that truth. I would not see you do the same.”

Aurelia did not answer for a long time. Her mother moved closer, and with her drifted the watery, delicate scent of her sachet.

“Mama, I’m worried.”

“Why?”

She didn’t have enough left in her to dissemble. “Because I don’t know if any of the choices I've made have been good ones.”

“Sometimes there is no good choice, sunshine. Sometimes there are only choices.” Vittora bowed her head. The expression she wore was something like sadness. “But be they for weal or woe, the one thing you cannot do is be so afraid of making a bad choice that you do not let yourself make any decisions at all.”

The rebuke was gentle but pointed.

“If I were stronger then perhaps I would not concern myself so much with the outcome.”

“You are strong. I remember the girl you once were. And I think you are far stronger than you have been given cause to believe. You will make the most of what you have been given- as our people have ever done in hard times.” A pale hand patted her cheek. “It could be that you were meant to come to Eorzea all along.”

“Perhaps. But I think I could just as easily have elected to follow Uncle Janus and Aunt Marcella’s wishes, then called it destiny if the outcome were personally beneficial,” Aurelia said. “Life is what we make of it.”

Vittora laughed, the sound of it somewhat dry. “That rather sounds like something a certain Dalmascan would say.”

“What do you believe, Mama?” Aurelia watched the lavender blossom spin out of her mother’s fingers and float in lazy drifts to the grass. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“That is a difficult question to answer. But I think- I hope- that it is both. And in any case, I think a lack of belief in a higher power makes your capacity for kindness all the more precious. Please, sunshine, don’t ever lose that compassion.”

“Mama, I became a chirurgeon to help others. I should hope that compassion is the least virtue to which I could lay a claim.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the scattered petals of the blossom. “...But you have my word.”

The shade released a long, soft sigh, something that sounded very much like satisfaction..

Before her eyes, the outline of that slim, graceful figure began to warp into something that reminded her of heatwaves upon stone in summer, the facial features becoming slowly and steadily translucent. Aurelia’s heart lodged in her throat.

“No,” she said. She thought she had cried it aloud, but sound did not carry in a place like this. “No. You can’t go yet.”

“I must.”

“There’s so much more I want to talk to you about. Please.”

“You don’t belong here.”

“But-”

“No, sunshine. Your place is with the living. Go back to them.” Vittora’s gentle smile returned, and she reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her daughter’s ear. “You are very young yet and your future is still uncharted. It waits only for your pen to fill its pages. Take the new life you have been granted, and live it.”

The steady burble of the fountain had ceased. Flowers and trees and stone all began to disintegrate, leaving in their wake only the otherworldly glow of shining white-capped waves.

Her mother’s transparent hand fell to her side, and Aurelia felt its withdrawal as the faintest whisper of a breeze against her cheek as Vittora cen Remianus stepped forward into the line of stardust foam that surged onto the shore. Aether washed around her ankles and lapped at the hem of her skirts but she did not appear to mind or even notice as she took another step, and then another, and another.

The cascade of bright auburn curls Aurelia recalled so well turned to sepia before fading entirely as that lonely figure drew farther and farther away and disappeared, leaving her daughter to linger upon the edge of mortal consciousness.

Leaving her alone again just as she had done all those years ago. Aurelia’s eyes burned.

“Remember me,” the shade of her mother said as it walked out into the aetherial sea, drawn back into its vast currents. “Remember me, and I will always be with you.”

No, she thought. No, you can’t just leave me alone like this-

She made to step into the sea, to follow- and was soundly denied. A deep, resonant chime echoed from somewhere within the living currents of her own soul as her feet defied her mind’s order to move.

An unknown and unseen Something was pulling her back.

I can’t-

(Remember.)

There were words. Words that

||Hear. Feel||

echoed like a mantra as her eyelids, suddenly heavy as lodestones, fell shut once more.

(Remember-)

=

She could hear birds.

For a long moment, she did not move. Her eyes shifted beneath the curtains of her lids, following the dapple-pattern of shifting leaves while she turned her attention to the nearby trilling. A warm breeze brushed her cheek like a mother’s touch, soft and soothing, and water burbled steadily from someplace not too distant, and she knew she lay upon something (a bed? a lap? She wasn’t certain) soft and yielding.

Mama, she thought, and opened her eyes.

There was no sign of her mother. She lay on a small infirmary bed barely larger than an army cot, tucked under a light blanket. Someone had taken the trouble to wash her and dress her in a plain hempen robe. Her gaze peered through the fine folds of a transparent cloth the likes of which she had not seen in so long that it took an embarrassing few moments to realize it was some sort of protective netting- probably, she thought, intended to keep out midges and chigoes. High overhead a canopy of leaves danced in the gentle wind, turning like troupes of tiny dancers upon their branches.

On the right side of her bed, she sensed a soft weight. Aurelia blinked slowly, once, twice, and the world came into focus as she looked down.

A small Miqo’te girl dozed with her head pillowed upon the edge of the mattress. Her short dark hair spilled over the blanket in an unruly mess, eyes shifting side to side beneath their lids, and one ear flickered in tiny erratic twitches even as her tail lay curled limp and unmoving on the grass. In that brief moment of silence, Aurelia heard a tiny snore escape her slack lips.

Despite the sorrowful ache that still lingered in her own chest, she smiled and carefully slid a hand from beneath the blanket to rest it upon Vahne’s shoulders.

“The conjurers said she’s not slept since we arrived here.”

The voice came from the infirmary bed next to her. Its occupant sat atop the mattress with her back propped up by a pile of pillows, a tome in one hand with her fingers marking the page. Her right arm was in a sling and, like her leg on the same side, it was encased in plaster. More pillows cushioned the woman’s heel, and like Aurelia she was clad very simply in a hempen robe. Her auburn hair had been cut short.

“She’ll be happy to see you up when she awakens,” Rhaya Wolndara said. “She’s been very worried about you. She was furious with me when she found out I’d sent you packing. Wouldn’t talk to me for the better part of a sennight.”

“I-”

The word came out as a croak. Without further prompting Rhaya set her book aside, reached for the tin cup and water pitcher on the small stool between them serving as a side table, and poured. Aurelia accepted it gratefully and took small sips, sloshing the water around her dry mouth before swallowing as Rhaya watched.

“Take your time. You’ve been asleep for the past two suns.”

“Where is this?”

“You don’t recognize your own guild?” Aurelia squinted through the netting and canvas and finally spied the huge old tree where she had conducted much of her training. As Rhaya had said, they were in the Stillglade Fane, abed in the infirmary area reserved for patients that were not in dire need of treatment. “The Wailers dragged us out of that ruin. Brought all of us here for treatment. You collapsed. From exhaustion, I suppose.”

“The last thing I remember was-” She paused, straining to recall. The taste of soot seemed to linger on her tongue. “...The fire. Did-”

“Sergeant Epocan told me what happened. One of the village Wailers - a Lieutenant Daye, I think he said - was able to sneak out and run to the Druthers for help. It was fortunate he did. Their commander set a brushfire from the creek embankment that spread very quickly, but the Wailers and some conjurers from Quarrymill were able to put the fires out. With the village’s help, of course.”

Aurelia watched a grimace flash across Rhaya’s face as the other woman shifted in her bedclothes.

“On that note,” she said, her voice curiously brisk, “I owe you an apology. ‘Tis like my captors and I would have died in that fire without your intervention.”

Sewell.

“Sewell didn’t make it, Rhaya.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I was told. He came through in the end, though, didn’t he? Poor man. To have come so far only to die like that...”

Aurelia stared down at the small, spindly shoulders under her hand.

“He wanted me to tell you he was sorry for everything that happened.” The ache in her chest intensified, crept up her throat. “I did try to save him.”

“Come now, I see those tears. You’re only one woman; you can’t bleeding well save the realm entire, you know,” Rhaya chided her, taking the emptied cup from her hands to set back upon the stool. “Not a soul could reasonably ask more of you. You helped run the Empire out of a village full of people who could well have turned on you the moment they found out what you were.”

“Sergeant Epocan told you about that?”

“Only because you had told him that I realized you were a Garlean. That was a very brave thing you did, you know. You took a big chance on all of them, revealing yourself like that.”

“I like to think that most of them would at least have the sense to see I was on their side. Although I imagine,” Aurelia said dryly, “that stealing a flash grenade and using it to incite them to riot didn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry for my part in it. I shouldn’t have said those things to you- no, let me finish. I knew when those men fled that they’d be back, and at the time I… well. Your friend set me straight on a great deal.” She eyed the small girl. “And this one too. If she hadn’t run to you for help, I don’t know that I would be here now.”

“She’s a good girl.”

“She is. She still has some growing to do yet, but she is.” Rhaya’s smile faded. A pained expression tightened the corners of her mouth. “My youngest sister Kheni got herself mixed up with some bad sorts when Vahne was younger. The one sensible thing she did was to leave the girl with me. I never meant to raise children of my own, and it’s been bloody hard going it alone.”

“Sergeant Epocan tells me that Keeper families are often large,” Aurelia frowned. “Did you not have other siblings who could have helped you?”

“Aye. Two sisters and a brother, all younger than me. We weren’t on speaking terms.”

She did not miss that past-tense had. “You talk as if something happened to them.”

“They answered the Twin Adder’s call to fight the Empire last spring. My brother was cross with me when I didn’t do the same; I suppose he had grand notions of the Wolndara family fighting the Garleans in the same unit, or somesuch. Anyroad, I felt it were naught but folly to risk my life and leave Vahne without anyone to look after her, and I told him thus. And he- they,” Rhaya took a deep and visible breath, “they all three of them marched off to join the main force at Carteneau and - just like a lot of other folk - they never returned. Vahne is all I have left so I feel responsible for her safety. But… mayhap I have been a little too strict as her guardian. Just a little.”

Her gaze on Vahne’s slumbering form softened.

“I’m proud of her.”

"So am I.”

"Good." Aurelia lay her head back and shut her eyes again. She was still very tired. “I think I’ll let her be a little while longer.”

“I’ll call for one of the conjurers,” Rhaya said. “Rest. You still need it.”

She thought she nodded her response, but she wasn’t sure. The other woman’s words seemed to float into her ears and spin in small drifting circles, like lazy eddies of water, as she lapsed into another light doze.

This time her sleep was peaceful and dreamless.

~*~

27th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, Year 1 of the Seventh Umbral Era

“Up!” the voice shouted. “Put your backs into it! Mind the bleedin' base!”

Summer was winding down, but something of it lingered still in the air. A flock of sparrows descended upon the nearby fence with a great flutter of wings, trilling beneath the afternoon sun’s warm and benevolent gaze, and Aurelia Laskaris listened in an absentminded way from her vantage point in a fallow field. She was watching the villagers' combined efforts to raise the walls of a new house. The ropes went taut as a section of wall lifted by ilms, ash planks and iron nails to be lashed in place as the joints met.

“Hoist!!” the voice shouted again, and among the ensuing calls to coordinate the teams, she could hear the steady clattering clamor of tools working the wood.

“You lot have made an art of this,” she said. At her side Frieda Miller let out a small cackle.

“We work quickly,” the weaver shrugged, gently jostling the infant girl in her arms. “It’s the neighborly thing to do. Though if you told me this time last year we’d be doing something like this outside the village...”

She trailed off, hesitation crossing her features, but Aurelia thought she knew what Frieda meant. The people of this small and secluded forest village seemed to have taken if not a kinder view of outsiders, at least a slightly warmer one. They had unknowingly harbored a Garlean for moons and when Aurelia’s countrymen had attacked she had sided with them against her own kind: something none of them would have expected. Not only that, the hamlet’s entire defense against imperial incursion had been spearheaded by a Keeper Miqo’te: a man whose people were so often jettisoned to the fringes of the Shroud, and treated with suspicion and disdain by many.

Their familiarity with him, and with Aurelia, had forced many people to re-examine their assumptions about their world, and while some still clung stubbornly to old grudges and commonly-held wisdoms, others had made friendly overtures one by one. For better or worse, change had come to Willowsbend, heralded by the fall of Dalamud, and it appeared to be here to stay.

Whatever they might think of her, or of the surrounding events, Aurelia could only hope that their attitudes towards their neighbors continued to soften.

“So,” Frieda continued, “you two are to leave on the morrow.”

“So I am.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any plans to stay here? The Guild could always take Trevantioux back instead.”

She smiled, a little ruefully.

“Hardly any need for a third wheel, now that he and Noline have called things off.”

“He seems to be taking it rather well.”

“Ah. Well enough, all things considered. I’m still sorry I couldn’t be there with you to help deliver Isa, but-”

“Oh, never you mind that, Aurelia! What you did gave me a safe place to bring her into the world and that’s just as important.” Frieda grinned. “At any rate, no harm would have been done, I can trust Trevantioux to do his work properly. The man might be a bit of a jackass and a fool in love besides, but he’s a good conjurer, and he’s earned his place in the village.”

“Then it seems to me that you’re in good hands.”

Despite her words, Aurelia couldn’t help the pang of sadness she felt.

It was likely she could have remained in Willowsbend did she wish it, but there had been Trevantioux to consider. The events of that fateful night had changed him. Ever since he had made the hard decision to break his betrothal, he had seemed a shell of his previous self, rendered nigh desolate by Noline’s infidelity. His work was all he had left- and he had been tending to the village under Ewain’s tutelage for four years.

As fond as she had become of Frieda and Hugh and all the others in her own short stay here, Aurelia couldn’t bring herself to take his home from him on top of everything else. Thus, it seemed trivial to contact E-Sumi-Yan and explain the situation - and even more so to formally request an end to her current assignment, seeing as there would now be no open position to fill. It was an olive branch, but one Trevantioux had accepted with a great deal of grace. These days there were no sour remarks about her origins or sullen glares when she went on rounds. He had even been the one to offer the village’s assistance in rebuilding the Wolndara homestead, something that had surprised everyone - not least of all Rhaya herself.

Maybe that was the most important part of the whole outcome. If someone as stubborn as Trevantioux could change his tune, it should be no hard task for the rest of them.

In Frieda’s arms, little Isa made a loud blatting noise and swatted at a stray lock of her mother’s hair- and was thwarted by the casual sidewise tilt of Frieda's chin. “Be that as it may, know that you’ll be missed by myself and the boys, at the very least. Do you promise to come and visit us when you can?”

Aurelia smiled. “You wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t at least make the attempt.”

“I’ll make sure to have my best pies ready and waiting for you to take tea with me. Speaking of which,” Frieda said, “it looks like you’ve a friend coming up the hill.”

She followed the woman’s pointing finger and saw a willowy figure loping towards them across the empty field. The Miqo’te had grown a good two or three ilms over the season and showed no signs of stopping, but she was still more child than adolescent yet. She nigh vibrated with excitement, her tail lashing against her leg as she drew to a halt.

“Miss Aurelia, Shadow’s having her kittens!”

“Be well, Frieda.” She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Give Rauffe and the boys my love.”

“I will.”

At the foot of the incline, Vahne fidgeted, rocking from side to side as she waited for Aurelia to reach her. Some yalms distant, another section of heavy oak beams began to lift from the newly packed ground, and carpenters’ hammers continued to mark increments of time and progress in short beats.

“They’re moving very fast,” she said, smiling. “I daresay they’ll have your house finished in the next fortnight.”

Vahne nodded, in a vague sort of way - she supposed the particulars of housing construction didn’t much interest a young girl. That small face looked troubled despite the tranquility of the day and after a moment, she burst out,

“I don’t want you to go back to Gridania!”

“Vahne, darling, I must. It’s not up to you or me.”

“Can’t you just stay here? With me and Aunt Rhaya? We have plenty of space and since you two patched things up she'd be happy to-”

Aurelia sighed. She had been dreading this. “I can’t. It’s not that easy.”

“But I don’t understand why,” Vahne protested. “You could just leave the guild and go anywhere you chose if you wanted to, couldn’t you? You could become an adventurer! People do it all the time!”

There were a great many things that she thought she could have said in that moment. She could have lied, spun some bit of fiction she knew Vahne would accept. She could have attempted to tell the truth, to explain all of the sordid details and confluence of events that had brought her to Willowsbend, and hope that she might understand.

Instead, she reached for Vahne’s hand.

“Part of being an adult means having to make choices. Sometimes it means hard choices, even when you know it’s the right thing to do. Do you understand?” At the girl’s nod, she said, “Those choices don’t ever stop coming to your door. I would love to stay, Vahne, but I can’t. My choice to leave Willowsbend for good lets a man keep his home and it keeps the rest of you safe from the Garleans besides.”

“Safe from what? Those men are gone. You killed their leader and now-” Aurelia was slowly shaking her head, and Vahne’s lower lip began to tremble. “Please don’t go. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.”

“I will visit when I can, but life is taking me elsewhere. I can’t say when I’ll be back to stay,” she said gently. “It’s quite possible the answer is never.”

“I hate this! I hate saying goodbye. I feel like it’s all I’ve done my whole life.”

“It’s true that sometimes life feels like nothing but goodbyes, but sometimes in order to have a beginning you have to have an ending.” Vahne, to her credit, didn’t cry, but the hand around Aurelia’s felt almost crushing. “When I leave, I want you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Visit Goody Miller when you can? She’ll be in need of a friend herself and now that the villagers know you and your aunt, I’m sure you’ll be able to make even more friends.”

Vahne didn’t look altogether convinced, but the nod she gave Aurelia was slow and solemn.

“In the meantime,” the Garlean righted her posture, her tone briskly cheerful, “let’s cheer up, shall we? Tomorrow hasn’t arrived just yet, after all. It is still today, with plenty of light left in it, and I believe you were saying something about your barn cat.”

The Miqo’te brightened; her rain-grey eyes seemed to come alive at the reminder.

“Oh, yes! Have you ever seen newborn kittens?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t, no.”

“Good! That means I get to show you your very first litter.” She squeezed Aurelia’s hand and began to tug her arm in the direction of the reconstructed barn, rather impatiently, in the way a girl half her age might have done. “She’s made her nest in the back of the chocobo pen.”

Feeling unexpectedly light-hearted for the first time in what felt like forever, Aurelia followed her young friend. The grass parted for their passing and concealed their steps as though they had never traveled through the field at all.

What the villagers built here wouldn’t replace Rhaya’s home nor the memories that had formed within its walls. No force in the world could turn back time to recover the things they had all lost, she thought. Not truly- and perhaps that was for the best. A new home blessed with companionship would provide ample space for new memories and the promise of new friends. It was a symbol of renewal as sure as any spring.

In short order the pair had retreated into the stable, itself still smelling of sap and fresh-cut hay, to bear witness to these small new lives. And as men rebuilt and the forest resumed its vigil, time turned its inexorable wheel into the cusp of a new Age.

[loptyrs-moved]

Wilted Flowers and Jilted Lovers

Rating: Teen Word Count: 2,435 Pairing: Seth Hyde/Original Character Tags: complicated relationships, lovers to enemies, enemies to lovers, making out, aphrodisiac, hurt/comfort, angst

Original Post Date to AO3: 12/01/2019

Preview:  Gladiolus: Symbolizing strength and moral integrity; also represents passion and infatuation

They know how this goes, and it's always the same. They can't bring back the past. Their love is gone, and lost to memories. But Seth is a sucker... and he's absolutely hopeless. But so is she.

Sunset washed Cradle in rich red, purple and gold. The warm breath of summer had just ghosted over the land, bringing a heat in the breeze. Spring had been forgotten —as quickly as it came, it faded away. Seasons passed by.... just like fleeting affections of time passed.  The forest had been their place of solace — their oasis in the desert. A diamond in the rough. But not even the strongest of diamonds could withstand the fallout that came billowing over when everything fell to pieces. And since then, their place lost the magic it once had, even though it hadn’t changed much at all. The rocks were all the same. The magic crystals still grew plentifully amidst the trees.

And for several years, a pair of former lovers met here. They quarreled. They fought. They made love here… like time didn’t slip through the cracks of their fingers all those years ago. But old habits die hard. The setting sun washed over the land, streaking the cloudless sky with pink and orange against the cerulean blue. Hushed whispers echoed in the clearing. Rustling of leaves and the shuffling of feet made this forest a familiar scene between the two lovers. And like always, it hurt more than salt being rubbed in fresh wounds.

She was pinned against one of the trees, mind hazy, nerves singing from the overload of pleasure he gave her. It was sweet… and yet each kiss stung more than the last. Hands pulled at each other desperately trying to get closer without going too far. Fingers tangled in sky blue hair, pulling him deeper into their kiss. Lips and teeth spoke the truth of needing the other more than their next breaths.

“S-Seth… we… we shouldn’t be…” a breathless voice whispered as the man holding her in his arms pressed loving, tender kisses along her neck. His teeth nipped at her, leaving the most subtle of marks against her warm, russet brown skin. Sinewy, gloved fingers dug into the fabric of his black and blue military jacket as she tried her best to keep her balance, for her legs weakened from the impending threat of giving out from underneath her. She knew better. She knew better than to seek the Ten of Spades out, since the outcome of these encounters always ended up with one of them being on the other side of a blade. Or two.

It was always the same. Either one or both of them would be hurt.  Was this their punishment? Did the gods find them to be their tools of amusement? What sort of sin did they commit in the lives previous that they were doomed to continue this vicious cycle of heartbreak?

The graze of his teeth against her collarbone forced a soft moan to bubble from within her chest. “Seth…”

He pulled away for just a moment to meet her gaze. Melancholy swirled in her mismatched gold and brown eyes. They called for him. Yearned for him. The setting sun caught the specks of gold in her irises, dragging him further into their depths.  How he missed this — how he missed her. He missed the sensation of her skin flushed against his, and how her chopped, messy brown hair felt like between his fingers. How he yearned for her to be at his side once again.

But alas, such selfish wishes would never come to fruition.

No matter how many times he tried to push her memory out of his head, they seemed to always linger behind, tormenting him with sleepless nights and dreams of the love that escaped him.  It had been years since they parted ways. Three if anyone was counting. And in those three long, agonizing years, Seth never forgot the feelings he had for Camille Fontaine. Despite their turbulent history, he still loved her. He always would. Seth loved her more than anyone could even possibly begin to fathom.

Loving Camille was natural… like second nature. And he had a hard time kicking the habit of losing himself in the heated kisses they shared. It didn’t help that they met in the same place where vibrant red and orange gladiolus grew wild. They infected the air with their subtle scent as the wind spread their pollen across the land—a rare type of pollen that made even the most composed of people lose themselves to their most carnal desires. And the former lovers were no stranger to it.  

Camille and Seth knew this part of the forest like it was the back of their hands. It was a home to memories long passed. Wildflowers once grew in abundance here. A special breed of gladiolus  flourished here, making this place special. Magical even. However… like most spells, the magic fades away, leaving behind a gilded memory best left in the past. There was only the sun, shining its bright light of all the memories they should have left buried behind, casting a shadow of what they both had become now—a farce… and the angel of death.

Seth swallowed the lump that  formed in his throat. His hand cupped her cheek, caressing her. “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” he said, his usual light, airy voice now hoarse with desire. There was a sadness that brewed behind twin hazel irises. “And I know yours haven’t either.” Her eyes avoided the earnest expression in his warm ones in fear that if she looked at him directly for too long, she would burst into tears.

Her heart screamed for her to tell him she felt the same, for it was the truth.

Camille never stopped loving Seth. How could she?

The love they have—had—was one that only came around once in a lifetime. But it was over… the moment she signed her life off to the most sadistic man in Cradle was the absolute breaking point. There was no way she could allow the man she loved for so long, and with every fibre of her being to be involved in the darkness than he already needed to be. She only did it to protect him. Why couldn’t he see that?

It was best if they forgot each other. It would have been better if they had never met.

But she knew it wasn’t what she really thought. She would have rather died knowing him for even just a moment than to live for centuries without meeting him at all.

She bit her lip, the sensitive skin threatening to split if she pressed her teeth down any harder. The taste of iron seeped into her mouth as blood oozed from the cracked skin. It was only to keep herself from letting the dams holding back a torrent of tears from splintering, and ultimately shattering.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” Camille repeated, avoiding his gaze. Her voice was but a whisper, fearing that they would be overheard. “We shouldn’t. We can’t keep meeting like this, Hyde. ”

We don’t have the luxury to love each other anymore.

The cry of the birds echoed above as they flew above in the pink, twilit sky filled the air. They were free, soaring through the warm winds that carried them to places where it was warmer, and safer than where the lovers lost were. The sound of Seth Hyde’s heart shattering into a million pieces was like a bullet cutting through the air before it pierced its target, lodging itself deep within the flesh, and muscle as it bled with no mercy. Love was merciless. Cruel. It tore people apart. Poets sang of how it conquered all, while it was the reasons why nations went to war with each other. Love was blood splattered across the battlefield. Love was the harsh and deafening clang of swords clashing as steel met. Whoever said it would overcome any sort of conflict was a liar. A fake. A fraud. Just like the Ten of Spades.

And yet… he couldn’t help but tilt her head up to meet his tired eyes. The hint of a smile flashed in his sad, hazel irises. A thumb stroked her scarred cheek slowly. Lovingly. “You always say that, Cami. But you were also here waiting for me, weren’t you?” A hand took hers in his and squeezed. gently. Seth’s ached, and heart bled every time he and his former beloved met like this. He wasn’t a masochist, but living a life without Camille in it pained him more than anything. It nearly killed him to see her on the other side of him, threatening to kidnap the Alice that had fallen from the stars and landed in the middle of their pathetic war. To see the one he called his love fight in his name was a punishment worse than death itself.

Yet he still sought her out, wanting to rekindle things—to fix things. There was a part of them that desperately wanted things and people they couldn’t have. But just like her, he wasn’t immune to that man’s reach. Seth Hyde was caught in a vicious whirlpool, and there was no way out. They used him just as they used her for their biddings, whether it was under the guise of being a carefree and high-ranking military officer, or an assassin whose only home was in the shadows. They were two sides of the same coin, and the Jabberwock was the one deciding which one would be the other’s demise.

They could be each other’s ruin if he so wished it to be.

Camille chewed the inside of her cheek. She withdrew her hand from his. Gold and brown eyes grew cold as the sun disappeared off beyond the horizon. Night was approaching, and neither one of them could be caught out here, reliving memories that should have been discarded many years ago.

“You know why I’m here. You missed your check-ins with Dalim the last two times he came looking for you,” she said, her words sharp like the tip of her sword. “And it’s getting old.”

Seth winced. She straightened herself and slipped from his arms. The dark look on her face was one that he had grown accustomed to in recent times. The ray of hope was gone from her eyes, leaving icy cynicism in its place. “You’re wasting everyone’s time, and he’s not pleased about it. You’ve grown sloppy, Hyde, and it’s been ever since you’ve joined that little army of yours.”

Each word was a dagger, cutting into him, stabbing him — leaving his scar-ridden heart bleeding. His brain screamed for him to take her back in his arms, and hold her tight so that she wouldn’t slip away from him again. He couldn’t bear the idea of the one he called his beloved serve that sadistic monster like she was personal attack dog. But what could Seth Hyde protect? Who? He couldn’t even keep his dear sister out of their clutches, so what made him think that he could keep Camille out of their grasp.

She was too hot headed for her own good, and one day, she would fly too close to the sun and fall headfirst into her own demise. But she didn’t want his help. Camille was just as stubborn as he was. It was the reason why he loved her so much… and why he was so reluctant to let her go.

“Cami… I…”

She took a step forward, giving him a murderous glare. She slipped past him, putting a distance between them. Her hand slipped into his coat pocket, and took his written report that was long overdue, slipping another in its place. “So I suggest you get your head out of the clouds and do your job instead of fooling around. Time is of the essence. Don’t forget who you really work for, Ten of Spades.”

Words were stuck in his throat. This wasn’t the first time Camille broke his heart, but it still tore him to shreds nonetheless. He couldn’t even cry, no matter how choked up he was. Nails bit into the skin of his hand, drawing blood. He wanted to argue back with her, but how could he when he knew she was right? It would be futile now. So he remained silent as he watched Camille walk to the far end of the clearing.

“He’ll be expecting an update in the next two weeks,” Camille said nonchalantly, casting a last glance at the man she once loved. And in her eyes, Seth saw tears. If she stayed any longer, there would be no telling what would happen next. They could end up in each other’s arms… or at the opposite end of blades — like it had been for six long, painful, heart-wrenching years. But time was of the essence. And their employer was an impatient man.

“Don’t disappoint him. ”

Seth Hyde stood alone as he watched Camille disappear between the gnarled trees and all their hideous branches. Twilight blanketed Cradle. The moon was rising from where the sun sank, casting her glow on the land. The subtle scent of the gladiolus filled Seth’s nose. And it made him feel sick to his stomach. Acid rose in his throat as his chest throbbed painfully. This place was tainted. Tainted by greed. Sullied by a toxin that choked the life out of everything it touched.

He couldn’t stand to be there any longer… leaving it behind in the past… where it belonged. Tears threatened to fall as all those memories came crashing down on him with no mercy, like an avalanche. He grit his teeth. Damn it. Damn that bastard who held those he loved in the palm of his hand, threatening to crush them whenever he felt like it.

Seth shoved his hands in his pockets and a shaky exhale shook through him when he noticed a scrap of paper in his pocket. It was torn. The late report was taken by Camille when she left him in the dust, but this wasn’t part of it. And when Seth pulled it out, his eyes widened. His legs felt weak as he read the scrawl on the slip. The dams were destroyed. Tears ran down his handsome face. Hazel eyes were puffy and red, and were blinded by the torrent of overwhelming dread and fear as the words branded his brain.

He knows about us… and he’s watching. So please… let me go, so that I can let you go too. Please Seth, if you love me, forget about me. Hate me if you must. But let go of me so that I don’t hurt you anymore. Please…

[shekissesturians]

~Sun Showers ~ Mirio x Fem!Reader/Oc (Chapter 1)

Synopsis~ Quirks are as much a blessing as they are a curse.

This is the reality Toogata Mirio is confronted with upon interning with Nighteye Agency. It is hard to create a program that can counsel all the different varieties of abilities that can manifest in a quirk. Most follow a basic formula that is easy to adapt and control... while others fall through the crack with a quirk that does not fit into counseling parameters.

When Mirio responds to a flyer that is seeking help for a final art project, he encounters a girl who clearly is one the few who has fallen through the cracks. The more he gets to know her the more he learns how unstable her quirk is.If she doesn't gain control, he fears that she might become one of the many who become another problem in the system. A statistic that is "treated" and lost.

He can't let that happen.

He won't let her fall. ~

Chapter 1- 3,520 words - Ao3 link 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Wanted to post a full version on Tumblr as it might be easier for some to read. Hope you enjoy <3

                                                  *    *    *

Mirio thoughtfully thumbed the green flyer in his hand as he looked around himself trying to gain somewhat of a handle on his surroundings. The one thing he knew was that he was currently at Tsukuru High School…. And that was the current extent of his knowledge. Currently, he was in decent sized courtyard that had a strip of grass planted down the center with benches dashed along on either side. Around the courtyard was a string of tan doors situated under white awnings, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out where their room markers were. This school wasn’t nearly as big as U.A. so he had figured it would be no problem finding the room mentioned on the flyer! Alas… he was gravely mistaken.

Mirio quickly brought the flier back up to his face reading it over for a third time now-

~Wanted ~

Nude models for final art project.

3 session commitment.

Will compensate time with a paid in full dinner.

This is professional - I really need to pass my class.

I promise it will be a good dinner!

If interested meetup time is from 3pm-5pm at classroom B32a at Tsukuru High School.

I will be there every day, please consider!!

Please!!

- 3rd year, Ueno Yua

He had discovered the flier while patrolling with Bubble Girl and knew immediately he needed to help out a fellow student in need! Especially after they asked so kindly, and he would get free dinner out of it which was an especially nice bonus!

It all worked out perfectly, Sir Nighteye had him doing patrols from 11am till 1pm, then a check in from 1pm till 2pm, which would give him more than enough time to get across town to Tsukuru High within the time stated on the flier! Unless he got horribly lost… which he did- because for some reason this school decided not to mark their classrooms!

Mirio released a deep sigh just as he felt a small tap on his shoulder. He froze, glancing over his shoulder to see a pair of big grey eyes looking up at him from underneath deep cyan hued bangs.

“Excuse me? Are you lost?” The girl’s voice was gentle and soft, so soft it took Mirio a second to hear what she had said, “ Um, pardon? Are you lost?” She repeated a second time a bit louder when she realized he couldn’t hear her.

“Oh!” He brightened into a smile, finally pulling the flier away from his face, “I am lost, how’d ya know!?”

The girl, who appeared to be around his age, pointed to his uniform. Mirio’s gaze followed her finger to where it was pointing inches away from his chest.

“We have different uniforms.” She stated politely, but very matter of fact.

He looked back and forth between the two of them, quickly noticing the differences. While his uniform was the standard U.A. green and white, this girls’ was white with a red and blue plaid on her short skirt and tie.

Mirio released a quick laugh, “ Yeah I guess that is an easy tell, isn’t it?” He looked back over to her and held out the flier for her to see, “ I’m here because of this flier. I am looking for room B32a, do you know where that is?”

The girl blinked as the flier was thrusted in her direction. She looked over it briefly before her eyes widened and a huge smile spread across her face.

“That’s me!” She suddenly pressed her hands together in a cheer. Her voice still soft but now filled with excitement, “That’s my flier!”

“Wait, this is your flier!?” Mirio couldn’t help but smile along with the girl’s new infections excitement. It was a complete switch from the quiet demeanor she had displayed just moments ago. Now she was bouncing in place, her short hair bobbing on her shoulders, while she practically glowed from ear to ear.

… It was pretty cute.

“Yes! I’m Ueno Yua!” She quickly grabbed his hand, pulling him into an overly excited handshake.

Mirio laughed, “I’m Toogata Mirio, nice to meet you, Ueno!”

“Oh, thank you so much for coming!” She quickly turned, shifting her grip to pull him towards a nearby room, “B32a is right over here!”

Mirio stumbled behind her as she practically dragged him under the awning pathway that lined all the classroom entrances. It wasn’t until he was underneath that he finally spotted the classroom numbers above the door.

They were there the whole time!?

Jeesh.

“You can’t see the numbers if you aren’t under the pathway.” Yua pointed above the door. She looked back at Mirio to see defeated realization etched across his face.

Her smile instantly sunk with concern, “Ah…I should have wrote it in the flier! Maybe that’s why others haven’t shown up…”

“You mean, you haven’t gotten any other models?” Mirio straightened his posture as she released his hand to pull an ID card out of her skirt pocket.

“You’re the first.” Yua pressed the card to a black reader pad next to the classroom door. With a light click, the door was pulled open and instantly the smells of solvents and paints waft out of the room.

Mirio was instantly consumed with curiosity as he entered. It was nothing like any classroom he had seen before! There was a whimsical chaotic-ness to the room. Wood easels were spewed about with no real organization in mind. Some held canvas’, some did not, but all of them were spattered in an array of paint stains which gave each easel its own unique character.

Behind the forest of easels, on the far back wall, was a large metal trough sink. The counter space surrounding it was piled with different sized cups and containers. Mirio grinned as he continued to take in the room. While the classroom was colored in grey and white tones it was the aftermath paint splatters and spills across the floor and even the walls that gave the classroom its warmth and color.

While Mirio explored the room further, Yua walked over to her easel that was set up near the center of the room and began to prep her station.

“Thank you again by the way,” She spoke out to Mirio. He paused in his current exploration of a large shelved wall that house nearly every color of paint one could imagine. “- for coming to model. You saved me, I would have failed my project.”

He grinned back rubbing a finger under his nose.“Well, that is what heroes do!”

Yua curiously tilted her head as she fiddled with some of the paints on the small table next to her easel, “Oh! You’re a hero?”

“Well, working on it.” Mirio made his way back towards her, “I go to U.A.”

“Really!? Wow, you must be something then!” Yua excitedly squeezed the brushes in her hands tighter, “I get to capture a future Pro- hero in my painting!? It really is my lucky day!”

Her actions caused him to chuckle, she was definitely an easily excited person.

Now Yua’s attention wasn’t even on him anymore. She was looking up towards the ceiling completely encapsulated by her thoughts, whatever they might be.

Mirio had a hunch though.

He could see it, the passion she had about her work. It made him even more pleased that he decided to answer the flier. It wasn’t what one would consider “normal” hero work but he was helping someone in need so it definitely counted in his book! As a bonus, she seemed to be really nice as well.

“Okay.” Yua finally breathed out seeming to gather her thoughts just as Mirio reached the painting station she had created around her easel, “I know exactly what I want now.”

She sat down her brushes before walking towards the center of the room. Yua turned motioning for Mirio to follow her as stepped up onto a raised platform that was draped with a thick red sheet.

“So you will be posed here,” She gestured beside herself, “ - and If you could go ahead and get undress I will adjust the lighting.” Again her eyes drifting to the ceiling in thought while she chewed lightly on her bottom lip, “I was thinking about a kneeling pose.”

Mirio watched as Yua knelt down on the platform resting on her right knee while her left leg stayed up in a bent position.

“Like this!” Yua guided, “Oh I will need to get you a cushion for your knee…” She noted feeling the pressure of her own on the hard surface, “- but then I’ll have you lean over your leg and look to the ground.”

Mirio nodded, studying her examples carefully, “I can definitely do that!”

“Wonderful!” She popped back up to her feet with a smile. Once again she pressed the palms of her hands together happily, “I have a cushion over here we can put under your knee once you cha-”

Yua’s voice froze she turned to see Mirio instantly phase out of his entire school uniform,

“What happened to your clothes!?” She quickly rubbed her eyes with her fists making sure she had just correctly seen a man permeate through clothing.

“Oh that’s just my quirk. Pretty nifty huh??” Mirio stepped away from his clothes with a smile, “So you just want me over here?” He stepped up onto the platform.

Yua stared at him with unwavering eyes as he stepped up next to her. She had figured he was in shape being at U.A. and all but she never imagined him being in that good of shape. His physique completely through her off guard, but in a great way, this was better than anything she could have hoped for!

Mirio could feel her gaze carefully trailing over his form, examining him with what he could only describe as… inquisitive intrigue. Still, when her bottom lip was captured between her teeth as she slipped into another bout of deep thought, he couldn’t help the tint that rose to his cheeks.

She was really too cute to be making a face like that while he stood next to her naked!

“...You really work out huh?” Yua finally released her lip.

Mirio couldn’t help the snort of a laugh that escaped him, “Oh you know, on occasion.” He teased.

His voice seemed to snap Yua out of her daze as she quickly covered her mouth with her hands. A mortified wave of emotion washed over her features upon the realization she had just been staring at him in the most unprofessional way possible.

“Sorry!” She quickly bowed, hoping that she had not made him too uncomfortable…. That was until she realized she was now face to face with his crotch.

Yua’s eyes widened in absolute horror, “Sorry again!!” She squeaked, immediately covering her hands over her eyes and tripping over her feet as she tried to turn away from him.

“It’s okay!! It’s okay!!” Mirio kept repeating. He slapped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to conceal his laughter and not embarrass the poor girl even more, but the series of antics that had just unfolded was too much.

While Yua squatted down into a ball rambling of apologies, Mirio suddenly felt himself begin to sweat as an intense wave of heat hit the room.

“It’s alright Ueno! No worries!!” He tried to reassure her as his laughter finally calmed.

The shroud of heat that suddenly encompassed the classroom was now thickening the air like a sauna.

“Ueno, I’m sorry, but do you feel like it got really hot in here all of the sudden??” Large beads of sweat were now accumulating his skin. This wasn’t in his head, the temperature definitely changed in the room.

As soon as the words left his mouth Yua’s string of apologies halted. She removed her hands from over her eyes, lifting up her palms to take in the new sensation around them.

“… It’s me.” Yua’s voice softened as she returned her hands to cover her face, the red tint on her cheeks deepening.

“Pardon?” Mirio leaned down trying to hear her better. She was talking softly again and he could barely hear her. His hands fanned his face furiously as he waited for her response, it was getting hotter by the second!

“My quirk!” Yua forced her voice to speak up, “It’s … it’s because I’m embarrassed.” She slapped her face a few times with the palms of her hands in an attempt to knock out the embarrassment.

At her words, a light suddenly clicked on in Mirio’s head, everything made complete sense now!

“You don’t need to be embarrassed Ueno!” He quickly jumped into a crouch in front of her, “I’m the one that's naked, I should be embarrassed!”

“No, no.” She shook her head and began to pinch her own cheeks, “ You’re the model, I’m supposed to make you feel comfortable, but I just bowed my head into your crotch!”

There was a warm haze to everything in the room now. The temperature was getting close to unbearable. It quickly became obvious to Mirio that Yua did not have very good control of her quirk…. If any at all.

“You’re not the first person to get up close and personal with my willy, I’m used to it!” He tried to brush off her concern, until he saw her eyes widen through her fingers, “ Wait… that didn’t come out right.”

A sudden spike in heat forced Mirio to cringe. He could barely breathe at this point, it felt as though he was about to burn alive, but he couldn’t just run out and leave her alone. He had to think of a way to help her. He was a hero, he could do this!

“So get this,” Mirio forced up a smile, steam was now beginning to swirl around them. He had to work quickly, “I tell dad jokes, but I don't have any kids…. Guess that makes me a faux pa.”

Yua peaked up at him through her fingers to see the huge grin he was holding even though his face was turning beet red from the heat.

“So when does a joke become a dad joke?” Mirio paused for a beat, “….When it becomes apparent!”

Yua couldn’t contain the smile that broke through the cover of her hands as he continued.

It was working! Mirio could feel the heaviness of heat in the room begin to dissipate along with the swirls of steam. Now he just had to land the big finisher!

“Did you know… your Japanese when you go into the bathroom, and you’re Japanese when you come out of the bathroom, but do you know what you are while you’re in there?” He raised a brow in Yua’s direction with a pause making sure he had her full attention, “European!”

At his last word, Yua’s laughter broke into the room instantly causing the wave of intense heat to dissipate.

Mirio couldn’t contain the deep sigh he released at the sudden temperature change. He felt like he could breathe again! His chest rose and fell with each breath as he began to cool down. Sweat was dripping down his face but he couldn’t help but genuinely smile as he watched Yua laugh.

It was a deep laugh, a hearty laugh… a nice laugh.

“Those... were horrible.” Yua’s laughter slowed into a chuckle before she flashed Mirio a grateful smile.

“Hey now!” He tried to wipe the sweat that was still dripping into his eyes away with his forearm, “You laughed. You thought they were funny!”

“They were funny and horrible.” She locked her eyes with his, “Thank you, Toogata.”

“Any time!” Mirio straightened his posture, “Though I’m sorry, I’m so sweaty now.” He looked down at himself, he was literally drenched in a sheen of sweat.

“No, no,” Yua looked over his form with him, “This is actually perfect, don’t wipe any off! It’s defining your physique, and with the right lighting you’ll be even better to paint now!” An excited glow was back on her features.

Mirio smiled as he watched her quickly rush about - grabbing a pillow, adjusting the standing lights around the platform, and situating the red sheet across the pedestal to her liking. She was back to being passionate and focused as though they both weren’t just nearly baked alive.

He could tell though, this probably wasn’t the first time an incident like this occurred. Though her overall disposition was bright there was a lingering sullenness in her eyes he just couldn’t shake concern for.

Once Mirio was in the position Yua wanted, she quickly skipped over to her easel and got right into laying paint down onto the canvas.

“So if you don’t mind me asking, what is your quirk? Cus honestly that was pretty crazy!” He tried to speak as upbeat as possible, he was so curious but hated to trigger another occurrence.

“Oh….” Yua responded, slowing in her painting a bit as she thought through how to answer his question.

“- And I mean crazy in a good way!” Mirio quickly added, turning his head towards her so she could see his smile.

“It’s weather.” Yua spoke up after finishing a few strokes on the canvas, “It’s triggered by my emotions, so… I have a hard time controlling it….”

“That’s pretty sweet though!” Mirio chimed in making sure she wouldn’t have a chance to feel negative. He could tell from the way her voice was softening it wasn’t something she was necessarily comfortable talking about, “ So you could make it rain, or snow, or anything like that?”

Yua couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips from the enthusiasm of Mirio’s questions. She found the positivity over her quirk pretty refreshing.

“I can.” She answered, splitting her attention between him and the canvas in front of her.

“So which emotion would make it snow?” Mirio thoughtfully inquired, “That would be awesome for on a hot summer day!”

Yua paused from her painting to study Mirio for a moment, she had never thought about her quirk in such a way before,

“… I don’t know,” She went back to her work, shading in the contours of his back, “It’s often rather random, …many times I don’t even realize it's me right away… Honestly, I try to avoid triggering it.”

“All quirks take practice, gosh I still lose my clothes on a regular basis!” Mirio poked fun at himself, trying to lift her own spirits.

He didn’t know Yua at all, but the thought of her feeling such turmoil with her quirk made he himself feel downhearted. There were still red marks on her cheeks from where she had been pinching herself earlier, trying to get her quirk to stop. She was really struggling, perhaps even more than he initially realized in the moment.

“I can only imagine.” She giggled, “Doesn’t it get frustrating though?”

“Well yeah, of course!” Mirio glanced over his leg to watch her paint for a moment, “But it also makes people laugh, so I think that’s a pretty great trade-off.”

He watched Yua captured her bottom lip in her teeth, she was thinking again, contemplating something important.

“You really like to make others laugh, don’t you Toogata?” She finally released her lip, turning to dip her brush into a jar of gamsol before dipping it into a new color of paint.

“Absolutely! I mean you never know whose around that might need a pick-me-up. Laughter can really change a lot for people, also… it’s just fun don’t yah think?” He flashed her a bright grin.

“Yeah… ” Yua made eye contact with him for a moment before turning back to her work, “It is…. so where would you like to eat after we are done?” She completed a few more strokes before picking up some more paint on the tip of her brush, “I definitely owe you a good dinner after this session.”

“Oh yeah!” Mirio nearly forgot, “My payment!”

“Have you been to Kaiyo Joō?” Yua smiled, focusing on her work, but keeping her attention on Mirio.

“Oh that’s good! I won’t get sushi there though.” Mirio responded.

“Really why?” Yua tilted her head in question.

“It’s a little fishy.”

Yua nearly knocked over her canvas at his comment as she snorted out a laugh.

Mirio couldn’t help but laugh along with her, and he was sure for a second he felt a crisp breeze swirl throughout the room.

... She really did have a nice laugh.

Next- Chapter 2

[unlockthelore]

Nap

Waking from an impromptu nap with their twins, Sesshomaru and Rin talk for a brief moment of mindful appreciation. From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog. 

At one time, silence would have been a comfort to Sesshomaru. It was easy, if not lonely and somewhat fruitless, to drift about the world alone with only his thoughts and nature’s symphony to fill the void. Nevertheless, regardless of how his father’s allies viewed it — a waste of time or mere dalliances, the days he spent traveling with Jaken and A-Un, then later crossing paths with Rin were treasured memories. He’d grown more in the years chasing Naraku than he had in centuries spent cleaving through enemy after enemy. 

The silence that fell after a battle couldn’t bring him as much solace as his companions.  It didn’t fill him with as much joy as Rin and Jaken’s cheer, or listening to their idle bickering. It didn’t give him as much purpose as the first time he heard his daughters’ cry and saw Rin’s tired smile as she nudged him to hold them, wrenching him from his thoughts and into the visceral moment. 

And it was incomparable to now, basking in his daughters’ laughter echoing off the walls of what’d been his childhood home. A castle that’d once been imposing and deathly still come to life with the pair running circles around his legs. Towa reaching for the fur tossed over Setsuna’s shoulder, nearly tripping and catching herself with staggering steps and wheeling arms. Setsuna looking back at her sister, hands outstretched to help catch her until Towa recovered and their chasing began anew. 

Rin, stately and poised as she could be, tossing a grin over her shoulder at him as she breezed past and scooped the girls up in her arms. Their squirming no match for her. Small voices crying out for their father to save them from their mother’s tyranny. Rin rubbing her cheek against Towa then Setsuna’s, their protests dissolving into giggling laughter. 

It was almost picturesque. Sunlight filtered through the shoji washing over them in a gentle golden haze. Sesshomaru wanted to step forward. Be part of this moment with them. But he stood in place and watched as Rin tipped her head back, basking in the sunlight with her eyes closed and sun kissed skin swathed in light. She set the girls down, her hair obscuring her eyes from view until she stood in a flourish of pleated skirts and long billowing sleeves almost covering her hands. Opening her arms to him, fingers curled once then twice, beckoning. 

Sesshomaru tipped his head to one side then approached, almost coming nose to nose with her as he leant down, allowing her to hold his face between the soft comfort of her palms. Rin’s eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled and Sesshomaru felt his heart pulse. Eyes widening slightly when her lips brushed against his cheek in a soft peck. Lifting his hand, he reached for her but she slipped through his fingers before he could take hold.

Fluid as water, she danced out of his grasp, her dark hair whipping around and trailing after her, orange pleated skirts swelled with air and circled around her in a tempest. 

Rin was a storm given shape and broke the echoing quiet with booming laughter and terribly bright smiles. Calling for him to join them in a siren’s song, reminding that his feet weren’t anchored to the ground despite how stuck he felt. Wanting to simply bask in the moment and commit it to memory Sesshomaru found, wasn’t enough.

Alas, duty called to him and he shared a longing glance with Rin. Her honey-brown eyes closing in acceptance, a gentle smile dousing him in cooling relief as she herded the girls close to her. 

It was odd. 

Hearing the girls’ discontent when she told them he couldn’t join them right away. 

For someone to earnestly want him by their side was unusual. To be in his presence with no ulterior motive. 

And yet the longing glances they gave him as Rin led them away by the hand were too genuine for him to disregard.

Offering only a curt nod and a lingering look before he turned away, resolute to finish the meeting with his council as quickly as possible. Any doubts of Rin’s estimates and considerations would be brushed aside, regardless of their protests at his conflicting interests. While she was his wife, the lands were his father’s and now his own, and one day — his daughters’.

He would never allow harm to come to their interests, and neither would she. 

To say otherwise would be an insult to his wife’s character and that he would never allow.

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

The meeting dragged on for much longer than Sesshomaru would have liked, and while he should have reveled in the quiet halls and lack of ranting yōkai, he wanted a specific sort of noise. Jaken had grown a little wiser in his recent years of service and upon crossing paths with him, immediately directed to the study Sesshomaru shared with Rin without a word. Sesshomaru hummed, ignoring Jaken’s relieved sigh as he passed by, seeking out the trails of energy left by his daughters wandering at their mother’s heels. 

Sliding open the door to their study, disappointment coupled with fondness at the sight of Rin lying beneath a shroud of their daughter’s sleeping forms and a half-buried scroll helplessly trapped beneath Towa’s leg. Rin’s dark hair fanned out across the floor, arms braced over Setsuna and Towa’s back as they curled at her sides. Towa’s fist jammed beneath Rin’s chin while Setsuna did her best to bury her face in her mother’s shoulder. Silently, Sesshomaru stepped inside and slid the door shut, careful not to disturb his wife and daughters as he took a seat near the window. 

Sunbeams cut diagonally through the windows, cresting over his head with lingering warmth and bathing them in an almost dream-like haze. It was still quiet. Yet, listening to their gentle breaths and sleep-wrought murmurings, Sesshomaru felt at peace. 

Seconds drifted into minutes and minutes into what could have been hours. The silent calm broken by a tug to his sleeve. 

“Father?”

Sesshomaru opened one eye, glancing down at Towa staring up at him with wide-eyed curiosity. Setsuna standing behind her sister, fist balled and rubbing against a closed eye. With a sideways glance, Rin was still fast asleep but now Setsuna’s fur was draped over her in a makeshift blanket. Their youngest’s daughters expression, cool and steady, showed little of the kindness she gave to her mother. 

She’s much like you. Quiet words, loud actions.

Perhaps Rin had a point. 

“Your mother is resting,” Sesshomaru said, lifting his arm to allow Towa to tumble into his lap with Setsuna perching on his knee after her sister settled in a mess of flailing limbs narrowly catching the daiyōkai in the chin. 

Towa flashed an apologetic grin, that was far more pleading than remorseful. “Can we go outside?”

“It’s not raining today,” Setsuna added, patting his fur lightly. “Can we?”

Glancing up at Rin as she slept, the choice was obvious. If the girls ran rampant inside they would eventually wake her, and it was a nice day. After a moment of deliberation in which two golden-eyed children squirmed and tugged at his sleeves, Sesshomaru hummed affirmatively.

Towa cheered loudly, Sesshomaru’s eyebrow raised when she clamped her hands over her mouth with wide eyes fixated on Rin in horror. A tense pause broken by their mother’s gentle breathing eased the girls’ racing heartbeats. 

“Quiet, Towa,” Setsuna shushed, climbing off Sesshomaru’s knee and skipping over the few books left strewn about on the ground. Her sister hot on her heels though grumbling at the scolding. 

“I am being quiet,” Towa hissed in a low whisper, sticking her tongue out when Setsuna turned back to her with a sharp glare. 

Waiting until the girls were out in the halls racing toward their room, Sesshomaru stood and picked up a blanket folded neatly beneath three small pillows on the bottom shelf of a small cabinet. Undoing it and glancing over the embroidered flowers impassively, he glanced down at Rin’s dozing form then laid it over her. Her brows furrowed and he hesitated. Exhaling through his nose when her forehead smoothed out and she curled beneath the blanket. Leaning down enough to brush a whispered kiss against her crown, the sight of her lips curled at the corners left him with a feeling warmer than sunshine. Three quick strides across the room and a light tremble as the door slid rattled in its frame allowed him to hear the girls’ bickering carrying down the hall.

A wonderful if not common sound.

It took a moment to guide them both to calm down and relinquish their grudge against one another for almost waking Rin. A moment longer for them to find what toys they wanted to bring with them only to abandon them to Sesshomaru’s confusion. Insisting there were other things to do as they pulled him by the hand, the disparity in their sizes against his own making their efforts in moving him almost comical. Still, he followed after them without much of a fight and tipped his head back to feel the wind against his skin. 

The girls took off in a blur of movement once the entirety of the fields was laid out before them. 

Trailing behind, Sesshomaru tucked his hands in his sleeves as he watched Towa and Setsuna race through the open field, carefully avoiding the flowers lying in a wreath around the roots of a towering cedar as they climbed up the dampened wood. Rain hung heavily in the atmosphere, the air humid and thick with each breath. A lukewarm breeze slipping through the openings of his sleeves and rustling the leaves overhead, glistening a pale gold beneath amber sunbeams. Sesshomaru eases his hands from his sleeves, tipping his head back to watch as Towa swung her feet to and fro, reaching up to grasp Setsuna’s hand to pull herself up higher. 

Unease quickly stamped out as he watched the girls help one another higher and higher, careful to keep an eye on them in case any of the branches proved unsteady. He sighed gently. Their habit of climbing reminded him far too much of Rin. Even with all she’d experienced, her habits were the same. Removing her shoes only to climb into trees or tumble through the grass on a whim. Never a quiet moment to be found in her presence. 

A smile tugged at his lips as he heard Setsuna’s laughter, a gentle ringing reminding him of tolling bells. Like him, she seldom laughed or cracked a smile but Towa’s own cheerful words were infectious just as Rin’s smile was compelling. It was humbling. How close to them their children could be and how different. 

Remaining close enough to catch either of them should they fall, the girls tired themselves out running about the field and tumbling through the grass. Towa, tugging at Sesshomaru’s hand, urged him to give chase after her. Their laughter carried on the breeze as he followed at a leisurely pace. Giving them enough time to run ahead before he closed the distance, scooping Towa beneath his arm and hiking Setsuna up on his shoulder. 

The clouds covered the sun as the afternoon rolled on, both girls beckoning him over to the cedar they climbed and nestling close to his sides. Vaguely, Sesshomaru recalled one of Rin’s talks. Her lament of uncomfortable quiet and how his own was purposeful — easy — and delightful. Glimpsing his daughters as they began to doze off, covered and practically swaddled in his fur, he wondered if he was too quiet for them or did they share their mother’s belief that his silence was enough.

Sesshomaru felt it was too late to ask them. Quiet snores emanating from Towa, her fist balled loosely and pressed against Sesshomaru’s shoulder while her other hand was caught between Setsuna’s own. His younger daughter curled up on her side with her own fur tucked over her shoulders, the tie of her ponytail loose, black rivulets with a single fleck of white obscuring her face from view. Sesshomaru’s fingers twitched, hesitant as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, laying his hand atop her head to ease her stirring.

It felt strange. He never truly slept on his own. Only lingered somewhere between barely resting and alertness. Prepared to strike should anyone deign to challenge him. Yet, each night, he found himself dozing off to the sound of Rin’s heartbeat or her sonorous humming. Long past chasting himself for showing ‘weakness’ when he awoke well-rested and to the sight of his wife’s smiling face.

If it was considered weak to find peace in his daughters’ presence, then perhaps, for a moment — he could allow it.

Sesshomaru wasn’t sure when it happened but he opened his eyes at the sound of sifting grass, his nose twitching and tension easing at the familiar scent. His eyes barely opened when he heard the quiet sigh, the sky and its clouds blurred around the crystal image of Rin looming over him with a gentle smile. She almost seemed like a vision. Particles of light drifted around her, tinting her dark hair a soft shade of brown, honey-brown eyes flecked with gold and crinkled at the corners mirroring the widened crooked smile showing a sliver of teeth.

His gaze lingered on her lips. Attempting to understand how that smile remained the same though she had changed over the years. Small hands tugged at his nagajuban’s folds and he glanced down at Setsuna who’d shifted sometime during his lapse in wakefulness, now curled up on the right side of his chest with fistfuls of the white undergarment in hand, her legs half-buried beneath his fur. 

A slight tip of his head alerting him to Towa’s fist tucked beneath his chin as she sprawled out across his side, her other balled hand resting at his collar. One leg haphazardly stuck out of the fur surrounding her while the other was buried in it. Lying on her stomach and snoring raucously without a care in the world. Sesshomaru was almost amused. For all of her griping about never being able to lay a hand on him in training. She found the composure in her sleep.

“Taking a break?” Rin asked amusedly, her voice cutting through his rolling thoughts as she crouched down beside them, the sun-glossed haze around her eased enough that he could make out night’s approach in amber and gold. 

“...Mm.” Sesshomaru glanced up at Rin as she moved closer, grateful to see the tiredness in her eyes was gone. She deserved peace no matter how fleeting. Her energy evened out to its usual calming ebb and flow, sidling next to his own in a way that made his chest feel full with very breath. “You needed to rest and they wanted to be outside.”

Affection warmed her eyes, hooded and centered entirely upon him. “Is that so?” She asked, drawing out the words with a little smile and a knowing look that almost made him avert his eyes. Somedays he forgot how perceptive she could be.

The birds crowed off in the distance, seeming to have returned to their nest now that the girls weren’t scaling the tree branches. Rin’s hand cutting across his sight, fingers brushing a few smears of dirt from Towa’s reddened cheeks. “Towa’s started running more often, I see,” she snickered, plucking a leaf from Setsuna’s hair.“And climbing.”

“They both have,” Sesshomaru murmured, watching Rin turn the leaf over in her fingers before setting it between her lips. 

She turned it over with a lazy flick of her tongue, a small glimmer of jealousy writhing in Sesshomaru’s chest as he watched her repeat it a few more times. Quickly putting the thought of out mind. Jealous of a leaf of all things. Glancing up to meet her gaze, he pointedly looked away when he realized he was caught.

 “Did you chase them?”

“Mm.”

Reality set upon him as Rin’s fingers brushed against his cheek, treading a familiar path along the marks on his skin. No one would dare to touch him so flippantly. Yet she caressed and admired him with deft fingers and keen eyes, almost insatiable in how many times her fingers dragged along their chosen path. Sesshomaru hummed throatily, allowing himself to lean into her touch, eyes half-lidded as he inhaled her scent.

The forest, musty old books, ink, her paints, flowers both wild and those grown in her garden, dried herbs, spice, honey, ocean spray, their daughters, Jaken, his mother, and himself. There were a number of scents all wrapped up into one but it was Rin. And he could have spent the entirety of the remaining afternoon picking out new ones and that one truth wouldn’t change.

“Thank you for letting me sleep a bit longer.”

Her voice was much softer, pleasant and genial, as if she were singing. Or perhaps it was because he found her voice soothing. Even when she called his name, it was sweet and melodic on her tongue. Comfortable in a way he couldn’t find the words for. Leaning entirely against her palm, his lips grazed the crook of her thumb, eyelids heavy as he looked up at her.

“…You needed it.”

Rin’s brows furrowed, lips pursed as if posed to argue. But they both knew the truth. She took her duties quite seriously but she hadn’t had a break since the seasons’ change. It was why they left their true home — a lodge overlooking the sea from Mount Sakurajima’s peak or at least that’s what the priestess Kagome said it was called in her time. Handling affairs swiftly and letting the girls play with their grandmother did put a smile on Rin’s face thankfully.

 “I know,” she relented with a sigh, easing him from his thoughts as she  knelt in the grass and cradled the back of Setsuna’s head.

“These little ones have a lot of energy,” she said with a titter of pride, combing her fingers through Setsuna’s dark hair, the single white lock wound around her little finger. “I told you when they started running we’d be done for.”

Sesshomaru huffed. The idea of him being beaten by his daughters’ excitement was ludicrous, Rin’s sly sidelong glance telling that he’d fallen for her trap and he rolled his eyes in response. Glancing down when he felt the beginnings of Towa’s squirming, soft noises stirring grunts and whines from Setsuna. Adjusting his fur around them and brushing his fingers through Towa’s hair, her distress gradually eased into contentment leading Setsuna back into the vestiges of sleep alongside her.

“So you’ve mastered the art  of calming our daughters,” Rin whispered, her head propped up on a balled fist, eyes alight with joy and some unreadable emotion Sesshomaru couldn’t put to mind. “Mm, I’m a little jealous.”

“Mm?”

 What would she have to be jealous over? Mastering this, as she put it, wasn’t easy. His hands weren’t made to cater to children and he’d hardly known how to hold her without a bit of guidance. While Rin took to child-care easily, citing her time spent with Kaede aiding in child births and her travels as reference. Still she seemed natural. Knowing what they needed, cooling their frustration with her songs.

Rin seemed to take his silence as curiosity, flicking a finger toward him. “It looks comfortable.”

It took him a moment to understand what she meant until she poked his fur. A slight shiver rolling down his spine in a wave, though he dared not let himself quake in front of her. Not out of fear, to his surprise. Simply to avoid her teasing.

Thoughtfully. Sesshomaru glanced over the thick white mass and arched a brow. Towa and Setsuna seemed content within it, even though the latter had her own. 

“… It  does?” He asked after a moment of hesitation, glancing at Rin to see her staring up the tree as a squirrel scampered up the dampened wood.

“Absolutely,” she mumbled, a distant absence to her voice.

Curious. Looking down at their daughters then to her, he shifted slightly. Enough to ease Setsuna closer to her sister and free his left arm, Rin glancing toward him inquisitively as he tipped his head toward the empty space. Recognition dawned in half-mooned eyes, a sort of reverence to her smile as she sat upright.

“Sesshomaru…”

He could practically hear the half-hearted protest. Something along the lines of him not having to do this or that she was fine. Even if he couldn’t convey it, he wanted this moment with her and them. The girls were fast asleep and Rin seemed set to drop off into slumber at any moment. He’d rather they were all comfortable, and where was better than his embrace?

After a long moment of gazing at one another, Rin conceded and shuffled downward then eased into the crook of his arm. His hand settling comfortably at her back and pulling her closer. A soft gasp and silverylaugh ringing in his ear as she nestled her head against the hollow of his throat. His fur tucked around her middle, warm breath dancing along the curve of his jaw when she sighed.

“It is soft..” she hummed contentedly, patting his chest twice over his heart. Sesshomaru squeezed her shoulder in response, half-wondering if she could feel his pulse racing. “Are you sure about this?”

Her voice was deepening, a sure sign she was drifting off to sleep, if the kiss to the side of his neck wasn’t. He allowed a small smile hidden in her hair. Squeezing her shoulder again in response, a quiet hum her consent, cuddling closer to with one of her legs thrown over his own. Listening to her quiet murmurings as her hand trailed from his chest to Setsuna’s back.

“I think she’s hunting in her sleep again,” Rin mused softly, thumbing across Setsuna’s fur. “And Towa..really,  I’m not sure. Fighting, maybe.”

Sesshomaru snorted. Without a doubt. His eldest was nothing short of a fighter, spitfire condensed into a tiny form.

“You’re a good father.”

He blinked slowly, looking down at Rin. She moved slightly. Looking up at him with a soft smile and admiring eyes, making it almost impossible for him to argue. There were some moments he wasn’t convinced that fatherhood was something he was capable of. He could be too quiet, seem distant, less words and more action. A creeping concern that his daughters would grow to resent him constantly lingering at the back of his mind.

But how could he argue with that smile?

“You’re a good mother...”

Rin’s eyes widened slightly, a look of surprise darkened with contemplation etched in wonder. “I’m not sure of that..” she sighed, casting a glance at the girls.

“You are.”

Rarely did Sesshomaru press such force into his words. Often times he didn’t have to as his point was communicated seamlessly through expressions or presence. But, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone speaking ill of her, even if it was herself.

Rin glances at him, seeming to weigh his words as her gaze flicked across his face lingering somewhere below his nose. Carefully as if he would break, she palmed his cheek and grazed his marks with the pad of her thumb. Softened skin with a faint roughness, perfumed with a flowery scent and thin cuts from pages daring to harm her whilst turning.

“You have so much faith me.”

Sesshomaru almost scoffed. How could he not? His eyes softened and he leant against her hand. “As you do in me…”

She arched a brow at that, snorting derisively. “Well of course I do, y—” Sesshomaru arched a brow, amused by the perplexed then astonished look on her face before she seemed to settle on indigence. “You.”

If he were to accept her compliments it would be on his own terms, none else. Although if he were honest, she was cute puffing her cheeks in agitation. He hummed, tipping his head enough to press a kiss to her palm. The creeping upset immediately assuaged as he guided her head to lie on his chest. Rin’s hand returning to his chest, laying heavily on his heart as she melted into his side.

It was fairly often she did this but only when she was truly comfortable and her guard lowered. Strong and imposing, thoughtful and tricky, Rin’s guard kept her alive but like this when she melted into him — almost instinctively — it was as if she was giving him permission. Allowing him to see her vulnerable, to protect her.

He hugged her a bit tighter, earning a somewhat louder hum of content and her nose brushing against his neck with a whispered kiss.

“Rest,” he mumbled, watching her quietly.

Her arm draped over his chest, crossing Setsuna’s back, hand lying on Towa’s. A murmured word of affection tucked neatly alongside others in his chest as she dozed off. Their quiet breaths, gentle murmurings and heartbeats welcomed sounds as Sesshomaru gazed up at the sky and allowed himself to smile.

[nautiscarader]

Wendip Week 7 - telling the truth

I was unable to come up with a story directly about not being able to lie, so I decided to put a spin on it.

(Ao3)

===

As the thunder rolled through the dark, gloomy skies outside the cozy wooden house, the young woman standing by the windows felt the weather couldn't have been more appropriate for the situation. She turned around and began walking back and forth past the living room, where four other people have gathered, each of them following her with intense stares.

Knowing she cannot delay this any longer, Mabel grunted and addressed her brother and his family.

- So, you are wondering why I have gathered you all there... - Not really - Dipper's son interrupted her - You asked us to sit here so you can do your detective spiel. - Was that from a movie, or something? - Emma continued - Didn't you guys have a cartoon where you were younger, or- - DUCK-TECTIVE WAS NOT A CARTOON!

The girl shrieked when Mabel slammed her fist against the wooden coffee table, her eyes filled with anger.

- IT WAS A MASTERPIECE OF STORYTELLING AND ANIMATION, AND IT IS A SHAME IT WAS CANCELLED AFTER ONLY NINE SEASONS!

Seeing the sheer terror in both Emma and Tyrone's eyes, as well as a bit of it in Dipper's and Wendy's, Mabel leaned back, fixed her coat, and resumed her act in much more subdued tone.

- So, as I was about to answer, I gathered you all here because I'm afraid that there is a force out there, ready to destroy your family. Our... family... - she spoke under her breath, looking ominously into the raging storm outside - I am talking of course...

She turned towards the four and eyed them with icy-cold, piercing gaze.

- ...about distrust! The one thing that can break even the toughest of bonds between the loved ones. Husband and wife, mother and daughter, brother and sister...

Mabel pointed to each of the members of Pines family, disregarding Dipper's and Wendy's confused stares that appeared on their faces when Mabel jumped onto the table.

- Tonight I have been contacted by a daughter of yours, who would like to remain anonymous...

The three other members of Pines family all turned towards Emma, eyeing her with accusatory looks.

- ...regarding a case of missing cookies!

Mabel dramatically revealed an empty jar she has been holding underneath her oversized, brown coat. Wendy, Dipper and Tyrone let out a collective groan.

- Okay, in my defence, I didn't know what she was gonna do - Emma quickly explained herself. - Mabel, do you really think it's necessary? - Dipper asked his sister - Yes, brother. - she turned sharply towards him - In fact, your reluctance suggests I should start with you...

She grabbed a flash-light and shone its beam directly into Dipper's eyes, making him cower and cover his eyes.

- Mabel! - Admit it, brother! - she leaned against him - It was you! everyone knows you have a sweet tooth! You can ask me! I can ask me! I have whole life of evidence against you...

She turned towards Wendy, whose lips curled into a smirk.

- Yeah, she's got a point there. - Come on! You know I'm trying to control my weight ever since we stopped running away from monsters on a weekly basis. - Dipper grumbled back - Besides, what kind of parent would I be, if I didn't follow the same rules that we set for our kids? - Interesting... - Mabel pondered for a while. - Then the next in line is... Wendy!

Mabel jumped in place once more, pointing at her sister-in-law with vindictive glare.

- How could you betray our trust? I had you for a friend all these years... - she spoke dramatically, her voice quivering with pretence emotions. - Mabel, you do know I don't like sweets that much. And I especially wouldn't eat a whole jar of them. - she rolled her eyes. - Again, bad role model for the kids. - The kids!

Mabel turned her attention to the two youngsters sitting next to each other.

- After your father, you are the most suspicious ones here... After all, all kids like their sweets... - Wow, we are honoured to be interrogated by the most brilliant of minds here. - Dipper rolled his eyes. - Hey, not your turn. - Mabel barked back - I'm gonna come back to you.

She pointed her beam at the red-haired boy.

- Tyrone, we all know you stay up late, don't you? Those late night gaming or study sessions make you hungry, don't they? - Well... sometimes... - Ah-ha! And here we have, an irrefutable proof that it was you, Tyrone, who ate the chocolate chip cookies! - Except we don't. - Emma added quickly.

At once, Mabel looked down at his sister, who interrupted her speech.

- We don't. He doesn't like chocolate chip cookies. He prefers hazelnut. - Is that true? - Yeah. I-I thought you knew. - the red-headed boy shied away.

Mabel scratched her chin, contemplating her next move.

- Hm. Now that I think about it, there is one more potentially guilty person in the room... - Mabel turned around, only to spin back and point at Emma - It was you! - Me? - Emma flinched - I was the one, who complained about lack of cookies! - Precisely! - Mabel spoke triumphantly - By drawing attention to it, you thought you could absolve yourself from any suspicions. You thought you could fool your own aunt, young lady, but alas! Your plan has been foiled... - Yeah, it has. Cos I wasn't even there.

Once again, Mabel has been thrown off balance by her suspect and looked at the cross-armed young girl.

- I've spent the whole day with you and aunt Pacifica! - she roared - We came late, I went to the kitchen and that's when I found out someone ate all the cookies. That was less than hour ago! - Well... looks like we have an impasse...

With a half-defeated expression on her face, Mabel turned around and began circling the family. And though her antics were over-the-top, every person in the room followed her, and listened to her words, as she clearly had an ace in the sleeve of her sweater.

- One of you have committed a heinous crime, yet no one of you would admit it... And this is why I brought this!

With a sudden turn, Mabel slammed something onto the coffee table, and only when she uncovered a box-like object, covered in vertical and horizontal labyrinthine-like patterns that began glowing as soon as light began shining on it. And while the kids were surprised and naturally gravitated towards it, Wendy and Dipper were utterly shocked.

- What the heck, Mabel? - Mabel! Where did you get it? - Oh, last time I was in California I might have visited a certain family that had magical connections... - Mabel smiled - And honestly, Star didn't really need this anymore, I mean last time they interrogated someone with it, and that was it... - Mabel, this is too much - Dipper interrupted her - This is Truth-Telling Box, I'm not gonna let you use it, especially with kids! This thing nearly destroyed those, who used it, because Star was too afraid to admit she has a crush on Marco! And honestly, I think you are making a mountain out of molehill. - Okay, enough!

Suddenly, Wendy's usually calm voice interrupts the quarrel that was about to engulf the twins. Mabel and Dipper looked at her, and after a while of uneasiness, Wendy spoke out, in a slightly quieter voice.

- Alright, I admit, it was me. - Whaaaat? - Emma and Tyrone exclaimed - You ate all the cookies? - But you said it yourself you don't like sweets that much. - Yeah... I usually don't...

Wendy looked away for a moment, and the rest watched as her cheeks turn crimson almost matching her auburn hair, while her lips curl into a soft smile.

- But you didn't notice the pickled jalapeños were missing as well.

She looked at Dipper, and as she spoke, his eyes grow wide and he dashed towards her, embracing her with a tight, long hug.

- Why didn't you tell me sooner? - he asked with a tears in his eyes - I wanted to be a surprise, especially for kids, you dork.

When he let her go, Mabel joined them with an even more expressive and tear-filled hug, leaving the two kids utterly dumbfounded.

- Uh, can anyone explain us what is going on? - Emma exclaimed - And why jalapeños are important all of a sudden?

The three adult chuckled, and Wendy reached to embrace her two kids, giving each of them a soothing kiss.

- You see, it's a bit of an old wives' tale, but it is sometimes true. If a woman has sudden taste swings, it's a sign she might be pregnant...

Only now, the siblings exchanged stunned looks and swarmed their mother, exchanging cries of joy. The two spoke over each other, asking if their mother knew if it was a boy or a girl, and already coming up with names, while Wendy tried to calm them down.

- Alright, alright, kids, it's still a long time until we get a new Pine in our tree. - she chuckled - Why don't we start planning on the details tomorrow, huh?

She turned towards Mabel and Dipper, watching her with the kids still by her side.

- And yeah, sorry for not telling you.   - That's alright, that kind of surprises are the sweetest.

Dipper reached and kissed his wife, a gesture that for once did not result with their children sounding like they were about to puke. Dipper broke off the kiss and waved at Mabel, so she could join the enormous Pine hug-pile, and she eagerly jumped into the mix, enjoying the warmth and comfort of her extended family. At least until Dipper spoke out.

- Seriously, though, Mabel, what the heck was with bringing a MAGIC ARTIFACT to find missing cookies? - Oh, relax, don;t act like you haven't done something equally weird. - THAT IS TRUTH - spoke the Truth-Telling Box.

[fistsoflightning]

12: something’s electric in your blood

prompt: tooth and nail || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 3077

Zaya is and has always been greater than that Qestir girl waiting for more.

Pre-calamity Coliseum duels to the (almost) death on the bloodsands, anybody? How about Azim Steppe MSQ divergence? Also: Zaya background! All around a fun time ;)

The nobles must have been bloodthirsty today, swarming like vultures around the Coliseum, Zaya thinks, if the lanistas had decided to place them in the same fighting brackets as the Bull of Ala Mhigo. Craving something terrible and magnificent. Something that surely would kill them if the two of them were not chained down by rules.

Even though they hadn’t personally gotten to fight him before, the tension that lies in the air between him and them is just as electric as it had been back home, when the top contenders of the Naadam stepped out, closer to the ovoo where they’d worked their way to just for the thrill. Zaya cracks their knuckles under the tape wrapping them close, readjusting where their hora sit on their hands. Time for a show.

They are the one to rush forward first—always have been, since Magnai had patience and Sadu did not find her mark in swords but staves—and when Raubahn meets their fist with ringing metal the storm in their chest sings.

It is still mostly play; no fighter in the Coliseum is fool enough to risk that, but he puts up more of a fight than any of the other fighters Zaya’s been pitted against, even in the damned free-for-all that was more akin to everyone ganging up on the smallest fighters first. Even this—as showy and reforged for entertainment as it is—this is closer to the fights Zaya had given up for their freedom.

Zaya braces themselves on the sands, feeling the heat from the lights seep into their scales through it as they kick upwards when Raubahn looks down, and the bull helmet he wears goes flying while they flip back onto their feet, ready to dodge—

Just not fast enough.

Raubahn’s fist colliding with their chest combined with him jamming the butt of Tizona into their stomach must have broken something because crimson blood dribbles out of Zaya’s panting mouth onto the white of their pants. The corners of their vision are more than shot, their hora thrown across the arena from when they dropped them earlier, and if Raubahn has the common sense to aim at their horns now he’ll almost certainly kill them after they pass out.

They drop to their knees, the surge of roaring in the crowd their death knell.

Zaya is all but defeated, but the crowd calls for more, for greater, and both of them look to the coliseum criers in their safe little royal box for guidance, lower than the crowd boxes—low enough that only they catch the little rolling of the absolute arsehole’s arms.

Keep going, he’s telling them. To the death, he means. 

Funny joke, Zaya thinks, adrenaline turning to nausea in their chest, burning excitement drowned and soured in golden fumes; easier to let one of their top fighters die than to figure just how to soothe the crowds they’d purposefully stirred.

The problem is this: both of them wanted a fight, but neither of them wants to kill the other noxius, both accused of crimes they have not committed simply because the entirety of Ul’dah is corrupt and shitty and racist and wants to see them die gloriously, somehow, as entertainment cattle. Yielding isn’t an option. Both of them have a merciless sort of reputation that they can’t give up by yielding at the cost of their sole livelihood.

Raubahn comes to stand over them, the tip of the shitty blade he’d needed to pick up to save his skull from being done in by their foot earlier now pointed at the scales on their forehead. Blood drips down the handle from the gash in his arm until it’s dripped onto them, too.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, solemn and sharp against the din of the crowd that makes Zaya’s horns ring. Mournful, but not sorry. “But someone needs me alive.”

The problem is this: Raubahn can and will kill Zaya if it means he gets the winnings, not because he is greedy—never once has the Ala Mhigan struck Zaya as greedy, despite what the others say—but because his bail is higher than Zaya’s has ever been and his plan that he’s whispered to the other noxius at night, when the lanista is asleep and they are left awake, hurting, is to garner enough money to buy the Coliseum and turn its rules on its head. Buy his freedom, buy his life back, buy the whole institution that started this damned mess. Better Ul’dah, in what little ways he can.

Can’t exactly do that if he’s got a rib stabbed through his lungs, can he.

Zaya spits out blood onto the sands, sight blurring and tearing up against the unholy lighting, brighter than fire bursting before their eyes. It is obvious. The little boy that stares down like a hungry lion from the stands, who doesn’t have a father that loves him, who loves a fellow noxius who freed him like he was his only father, who needs Raubahn to survive this match so he is not left to Ul’dah’s cruel streets like so many others.

Raubahn raises his sword, and when the blade rises the lights all turn to shine behind him, outlining him in shining white. Shrouding him in night pitch. The air is boiling around them, the ashamed fury held in his gaze just before he closes it almost red. Zaya could close their eyes and find themselves back in a young girl’s skin, head bowed to an Oroniri axe as the scalding flames of the Dotharl’s reborn fighter boil them alive under Azim’s heat and Nhaama’s distant gaze, bow in hand and blood sticking their bangs to their forehead.

EVEN SHOULD I FALL EIGHT TIMES—

The problem is this: more than a few someones need Zaya alive, too.

—I WILL RISE UP STRONGER NINE.

When the sword swings down, Zaya reaches up and catches it, letting the blade sink into their fingers as it begins to crackle. Blood runs down their arm, dripping onto the sands, letting them have their fill of noble’s drink as the air goes from boiling to electric.

The audience falls quiet.

They all burst into confused murmurs when Zaya starts laughing, because now that they’ve got their hand on the blade it’s not hard to tell just how garbage the thing is, dulled by battle enough that even when Zaya’s fist is clenched around it the sword barely cuts deeper into their palm. They’ve stopped Oktai’s lance with their bare hands before. They’ve stopped Magnai’s giant fucking axe with their bare hands before.

The blade shatters like nothing, its pieces joining the star array of the other metal shattered in this free-for-all under Zaya’s heel and Raubahn’s blade alone, a gleaming reminder of what anyone who steps into the bloodsands steps over in a blazing path to glory.

Raubahn keeps his stare level as he steps back once, twice, retreating backwards until his feet touch the blades of Tizona, leaving the path to their hora wide open; a mistake, if you were anyone dumber and crueler than the Bull of Ala Mhigo, perhaps. They’ve had enough mercies to know one when they see it.

It hardly takes them a blink of the eye to dash forward, scoop up their hora and go flying once more at Raubahn, blows meeting less like a true fight, more a dance. He isn’t letting them win—thank the gods—pushing against their punches with as much force as before. The Tizona’s edges glow bright with each clash, flaring hotter every time they pass over Zaya’s head; around the edges of the arena flames sputter to life, growing higher each time they make desperate passes at each other, and if Zaya were any lesser gladiator they’d have balked at the idea of being cooked alive.

But Zaya is more than a gladiator, and lightning strikes and burns hotter than any flame ever could; even when Raubahn’s cursed blades strike true against their chest and back they do not falter, lightning coiled around their hands as they strike back through the metal he wears before he can even move to block. Lightning is the blood that courses through their veins, thunder echoing off the walls of the Coliseum as Raubahn switches from offense to defense until Zaya finally manages to duck low and sweep his legs from under him. 

The crowd roars, but they are no louder than the thunder that sings in their horns as they kneel around his chest, staring down the man who has yet to flinch away from the electricity that burns in their palms even though the lightning branches in sharp red across his skin. His eyes are unfocused, still reeling from flashes of lightning thrown wildly at him, and Zaya thinks quickly that if they kill this man, here, for everyone to see, there will be nothing short of an outrage.

The only option, really, is to force his hand, and Zaya wouldn’t rather die than tarnish his stance in the Coliseum.

Zaya wraps their hands the best they can around his throat—hells-damned Roegadyn and their oversized stature and the fact Zaya wasn’t born seven fulms tall like Taban—and strangles him, praying even as they dig the sharp of their fingers into his jugular, the heels of their hand into his airpipe, letting his vision swim with the gaze of hundreds on the two of them. Their hands don’t slip, even with all the blood running down their right hand and into Raubahn’s hair, because he isn’t struggling against it.

Give up. They stare into his eyes the whole time, sweat and blood and tears burning at their eyes. He’s been holding his breath like some sort of—of fool with a deathwish, just like the audience has been holding theirs. Not like this, you idiot, don’t make me kill you for this, YIELD—

Raubahn finally, finally raises his pointer finger into the air—thank Nhaama, thank Azim, thank whoever and whatever is watching this hellhole—and the crowd bursts into chaos. Confetti begins to rain down as Zaya stands up and hears hollers of coward and savage and monsters from the stands, some of it sticking to the sweat on their forehead as they hobble over to their hora, raising a fist into the air for good measure.

“Ho there!” 

Someone is calling down at them through the din, and both of them snap from their heaving gasps for air to see Raubahn’s boy, up in the arms of that white-haired man Zaya never seems to be able to shake, even trapped as they are in the Coliseum. Always as quiet as a spring breeze, even though he’s nowhere near as refreshing and is about as charming as a rock. “Good match! I’ll be taking him outside, alright?”

And just as he appeared, he’s disappeared into the crowd of people raging—not as infuriated as they might have been in J’moldva and Greinfarr’s tale, but far from appeased. A sack of gil goes flying at someone’s head; probably, Zaya thinks, someone who lost a giant bet in Ul’dah’s poorly hidden gambling ring, because who would bet on a random fighter over the Bull?

“Ignore them,” Raubahn wheezes, voice wrecked as horribly incriminating and suggestive bruises start to purple round his throat. The beginnings of a guilty niggle form in the pits of their stomach when he reaches up to rub the skin, so they toss the flask filled with hi-elixir they’d taken from their hip to drink at him instead. He catches it gladly. “Be proud of your victory. My dignity and reputation will surely return in time.”

And as much as they hate that victory comes at the cost of ruining Raubahn’s fame, no matter how temporarily, they do, burning all the more brighter for it.

…

In the wake of dragging back who they could from Magnai’s demands—Lyse and Gosetsu all too stubborn, A’dewah too afraid of Hien’s scorn, Hien himself thinking it all a game like a fool—Zaya heads forth to Dotharl Khaa, because if rumors are true Magnai has not spoken to Sadu since half a decade ago. Presumably, when he took the Dawn Throne in the Naadam.

Zaya’d never thought they’d see the day Magnai would lead the Steppe—not from doubt. Mostly because they’d been expecting to die in Eorzea somewhere before they’d even built the courage and temperament to come back, especially after the moon fell. Small mercies, maybe.

They run across the Steppe (it is not so long a journey if you are not a coward, and Ochir is roosting somewhere in the peaks, probably), unfortunately catching a stray matanga and its blood all over their shirt along the way, so when they arrive in the desert at a blissfully cool night, they grab a bucket by the side of the small oasis and fill it with water before stripping and tossing the entirety of the cloth portion into the bucket. The chill sends the small aches of older scars to focus.

All the reason to work faster.

The water runs ruby red after enough time, and—looking around, Zaya sees no safe place to dump the tub without running risk of polluting the rest of the water with runoff...

“‘Tis good to see you returned, Dzoldzaya,” Sadu calls, and the shock of hearing a voice so suddenly (not including their full name) has them falling flat on their arse, droplets of bloodied water flying through the air as they swing their arms back to keep themselves from falling farther. She keeps her gaze level even when she notices Zaya’s shirtless “What? Surely you did not expect Dotharl Khaa to be left unattended so close to the Naadam.”

When they push themselves back up, it’s easier just to pull their old bracelet from the Mol out of their pocket and toss it to her, trusting that Sadu will catch it as they get back to washing.

“Ah.” She steps over to their side, crouching down to look at the dirtied water. “Zaya, then.”

They nod, grimacing a bit when they pull out the cloth from the tub to see no discernable change. Still almost pitch black, even if there’s little difference between soaked blue and stained blue in the midst of night.

“Psh. Water purification is a simple thing,” she says offhandedly, dipping her fingers into the bucket as her hand glows. “With what little water we have without bringing back some from the Yat Khaal, it must.”

As the water clears, she pulls out the smaller bits of fabric out of the tub as her other hand taps low on Zaya’s back.

“You’ve new scars,” Sadu notes as she stands and wades into the waters of Dotharl Khaa. The storm blue of her chestwrap blends with the dark water when it soaks into the skirt. “Grown stronger, to wear those proudly, I hope.”

Zaya grunts in agreement, scrubbing at their shirt a bit harder to ignore the strange electric warmth lingering on their skin from Sadu’s fingers; it wasn’t this prevalent before, or maybe the memory is simply worn by the time they’d spent away.

For a good few moments, it is serene; the gentle splashing of moonlit water and the oasis flora rustling in the light breeze is all the sound there is until Sadu speaks again.

“Your soul—it is different,” she says, her voice almost serene to the constant brusk tone she’s adopted somewhere along the way, in the years Zaya hasn’t been here to face against her and Magnai in the Naadam for fun. “Before, ‘twas like a ocean breeze, bringing tidings of rain on the horizon. Gentle blues.”

She holds up the soaked bit of cloth meant to tie onto Zaya’s belt up, shaking it to see the large bloodstain shrunken and faded; her hair gleams in the moonlight, the rest of her doused in shadow save for her sea green eyes. It is hard not to wonder what she must see through them, really, so Zaya looks to her and tilts their head, thinking what color is my soul now, then?

They raise a hand from the cool waters to point at the moon. Sadu takes one look at them and guffaws, shaking her head.

“Everblue as always, you fool.” She pauses to dunk her hands back into the water. “Darker now. A shade torn from thunderstorm skies itself, lightning and all. Mauci says it has been an age since a soul like yours has graced the Steppe,” Sadu muses, the corner of her mouth tipping into a small grin. “Formerly in that of a child of the Dotharl, no less. Perhaps Nhaama led you astray.”

Zaya lets a little huff fall from their lips as they shrug; it wouldn’t be the most surprising thing, next to Hydaelyn and all the Echo bullshite. 

“Perhaps,” she adds, her tone now teasingly playful. “Should you fall gloriously in the Naadam, She will lead you back.”

That pulls a snort from their lungs, ungraceful as it is—that would be voiding the whole point they’d come down to the Khaa in the first place! They look up to her and tilt their head with a smirk. Do you truly think that the Naadam will take me?

Sadu gives a wicked smile, eyes gleaming with lightning stronger than Zaya had ever remembered. “I dare hope not! It should be my hand that tests you, not that of your outsider friends.” She wrings the cloth between her hands easily, wading out of the water. “Even if we are to fight together against your lordling fellow, I shall find a way to see just how bright your soul burns myself. Perhaps drag that moonstruck fool down from his throne; make a reunion of it.”

“Soon,” Zaya promises with a wispy voice, tired from a day’s worth of travel and reunions, and a small chuckle leaves their chest when Sadu’s head whips up in surprise. “After.”

Sadu smiles, teeth sharp and gleaming like a predator’s, but soft like a friend’s, even if she has always had and always will have a bloodthirst to her. “Good,” she whispers. “I’ll give my all and prove myself once and for all in front of that damned fool who thinks I will bow to him and his radiance.”

Radiance, Zaya thinks when they start laughing, Sadu grinning like a lion the whole time. Of course he’d grow a big head once I wasn’t here to beat it out of him.

[laufire]

I really wish that we had gotten a flashback episode of all the ways heaven/hell had messed with the winchesters/cambell line. Like 8 generations back ensuring that one of them survived a fight or erased their memories. Also imagine being gabriel wanting to get away from all of this and then running into sam/dean and being like oh I am gonna screw with you so much. Also what did you think of gabriel - I know mystery spot is one of my favorite episodes because its funny but also horrifying

Asadfjasdf a flashback episode like that would have been really something. I’m now imagining some poor angel had to, idk, save one of Dean and Sam’s great-grandparents from the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 or something like that lol.

I like Gabriel, especially after the episode with the pagan gods (and yeah, that was definitely what he thought upon meeting the brothers). Where, btw, I shipped him so. much. with Kali, the Hindu Goddess of Creation and Destruction *-*. He faced Lucifer for her!! After she’d proven willing of killing Gabriel!! TRUE ROMANCE THERE. I mourn that she never appears again, but also, that seems to be the only way for a WoC to survive in this show, alas :(

He’s fun to watch in general, and although he isn’t a character I’m wired to have ~deep thoughts about, I enjoy him. He was gr10 in “Mystery Spot”, which yes, was funny yet horrifying -it’s a combination this show pulls off better than any other I’ve watched-, and one of the best uses of the Time Loop trope (one of my favourite ones ever) I’ve seen, definitely.

OTOH... I am more and more annoyed by certain fandom’s attitudes toward him lmao. It irks me that he seems to be the go-to angel for a brotp with Castiel in fic despite (and lbr, because) the fact that he’s much closer to the Winchesters than to him and there are other angels to choose. It’s just... so proppy by design.

But most of, it seriously annoys me that fandom deemed BELA “irredeemable” (alongside Ruby) and campaigned for her death, yet in the same season Gabriel puts Sam through the horrific emotional torture of watching his brother died over a hundred times (one of which lasted LONGER than his actual s3 death lmao) and he’s Sam’s second most popular ship in ao3. But BELA is irredeemable because... she steals some stuff... and dares inconvenience the brothers... while committing the crime of not being a dude AND being a serious, threatening shipping prospect. The double standards of this fandom REALLY rub me the wrong way LOL.

(also I get the impression he’s one of those characters doomed to be constantly reduced to a few traits in fic, that then are overly exaggerated LOL)