#in her defense she's in the village for less than a week before the events of RE8 take place and the whole thing goes to shit

[yngai]

my favorite part of ada’s village verse, beyond her later assuming the alias ‘crowley’ instead of ‘the crow’ because it suits her sense of whimsy better (& it’s one of many bad puns in her arsenal), is that despite being on a reconnaissance operation on behalf of her employers & trying to observe the cult & their rituals from afar, she is absolutely bullshitting her way through any conversation with people outside the village when she’s pretending to subscribe to crowley’s belief in mother miranda, just straight up making shit up, zero actual knowledge on the cult’s pagan belief system, trying so hardly to connect any dots based on like five seconds of prayer she heard once while hidden in the bushes

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.1

Author’s Note:  As for the next few or possibly several chapters, give me some time to write them.  I want to write the Lantern Rite chapter perfectly and in order to do that I need 1. for us all to experience the in-game event so I can capture it accurately and 2. to catch up on my schoolwork because my college goes by the 10-week quarter system and we are smack in the middle of it.  Apologies for the inconvenience, but I refuse to give a sub-par Lantern Rite chapter as I believe it will be the most important in this story!!  The next one or two chapters should be released by the end of next week.

......

Only on the eve of the Lantern Rite, several days before the celebration, did Xiao come to appreciate the hours of hard work you were putting into practicing music.

He had slaughtered a band of mitachurls, hilichurls, and lawachurls near Lihua Pool when he fell into darkness.  He collapsed to his knees, struggling for breath, spots filling his vision beneath the mask.  While he had dealt with karmic debt for two thousand years, this time had to be one of the worst falters.  He knelt beneath the somber moon that bore witness to his shortcoming.

The waves of pain drove him mad and the voices drowned out the singing of the crickets and frogs.  Xiao clutched at his chest in an effort to rid himself of the agony as he wondered if it was finally his time to die and join the fallen yakshas.  His mask disintegrated as he fell to all fours.  It's fine, just breathe, he reminded himself.

It was then when he heard the tune.  

"B-Barbatos?"  The yaksha groaned despairingly as he forced himself to raise his head toward the sound.  He was being saved by the wind god for a second time--No.  That's her, he realized when he recognized the all-too familiar tune.  But the way you were playing this time...had he only heard a fraction of your practice sessions? You carried the notes so well compared to last time--

Xiao rolled over so he lie on his back, eyes meeting the glints of the stars that shone down upon him.  It was like the pain had knocked the wind out of him.  No matter.  At least he would die listening to you.  The idea was peaceful to think about.

...miss...love you...

Your faint prayers that accompanied the moonsong somehow broke through the crowded shouting of the damned and eased the heavy knot in his stomach while he gasped for air.  The tune continued to build until Xiao could only compare your talent to that of the wind archon.  It was beautiful, soft, and it fit you perfectly despite your stubborn personality that was accentuated by the harbinger's shenanigans.

The image brought a faint smile to his lips, the expression slowly widening as you played on.  Your selfless nature; the need to protect a yaksha from harm's way...Your daring eyes when you butt heads with Childe...The honey-sweet grin you reserved only for Xiao and Xiao alone.  It was  the way you carried yourself in battle, the way you interacted with strangers.  How and when you prayed to him.  Your light humming accompanied your music.

Archons, you were remarkably stunning in every way imaginable.  The yaksha failed to notice how big his smile was as a few of his tears slid down the sides of his face.  It was his own longing for you that manifested and whirled around in his chest.  Beautiful, he thought as the music continued.  So, so beautiful.  It was as if the music described yourself.  For how could he give up and die now, after falling for you?  Maybe...just maybe...Xiao allowed himself to sit in the fluffy cloud of human 'compassion' as he listened to you play.  He wouldn't dare call the emotion for what it truly was.  Not now.  Not yet.  You had to understand something before he could allow himself to love you.  Er, to care for you.  Y-yes.  That's it.  Xiao refocused his attention on your music to avoid thinking any deeper on the subject.

Yet though his mind listened to your moonsong, his heart entertained the possibility of finally admitting his lo--er, compassion for you.

He didn't notice that the pain had long faded, that the spots in his vision had cleared and that the voices of the vanquished silenced themselves.  He drifted to sleep right there in the middle of the dirt road as you played into the night, and for the first time in a long time, he slept with mind and body in peace.

................................

"Morning, Mezzetin," Childe greeted you with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands.  He gave one to you before indulging in his while he leaned against your door.  "Sleep well?"

"I did, surprisingly.  The pain was pretty bad until I started practicing."  You rubbed your bleary eyes and let out a long yawn.  "Why do you ask?"

"You didn't call for him."

"Hm?"

"You've yelled for the yaksha every night you've been here.  You were quiet last night."

"How would you know that? Are you just constantly sitting outside my room like a creep?"  Your quip brought a smile to Childe's lips as he sipped at his mug.  

"Well then, since you're feeling well enough to banter with me, I guess I have no need to reward you for your cooperation..."

"Huh?  What do you mean, 'reward?'"  You perked up when he faked reaching for the door handle.  "Tartaglia?"  In your effort to get him to explain, you jumped out of bed and subsequently spilled your drink all over the sheets.  A jarring pain shot through your bones, but you ignored it.

"The Tsaritsa has requested I return to my post in Liyue Harbor to...discipline a few underperforming officers during the Lantern Rite.  Since I am in charge of you, I requested that you accompany me.  Her Majesty agreed."

"W-what?!"  Your sudden shout made him jump slightly.  "You...she...you're letting me return?"

"Temporarily, yes, and it is for business reasons.  We figured it would aid in your...dilemma."

"I..."  Your gaze fell to the half-empty mug in your hands.  

"You don't want to go?" The harbinger raised a brow in surprise.  "Why, I thought you'd jump at this opportunity."

"It's not that..." you trailed, your finger absently circling the rim of your cup.  "Would I...be able to roam around by myself?"

"Depends on where you want to go."  His eyes narrowed slightly and he set his cup atop your bedside table.  "You won't be able to visit Qingce Village, nor the Wanshu Inn."  He watched your shoulders drop in disappointment before continuing.  "But I will allow you to enjoy the festival."

"...Am I allowed to talk to them?  My adventure team?"

Childe let out a small sigh before nodding.  "I think it would be good for your health to see them."

"Why are you allowing me?"  It was your turn to narrow your eyes in suspicion against the harbinger.  "Wouldn't this be, you know, a risk for you guys to let me see them?  Aren't you worried about that?"

"There will be several Fatui agents in Liyue during the festival; even if you're 'alone,' one of us will always be nearby.  I don't take you as a complete idiot," he admonished.  "Besides, Mr. Zhongli knows more about adeptal blood than we do at this point.  If you manage to gather more information, that would be a plus."

"I'm not gathering information for the likes of you," you retorted, crossing your arms much like Xiao does.

"I'm not asking you as your superior, nor your captor.  I'm suggesting it as your comrade in arms."

"Ha!"  You couldn't help but let out a full laugh at the set of statements.  "You really expect me to believe that?  All you guys do is manipulate and deceive.  I don't trust a word that comes out of your mouth!"

"Even if you learn something and keep it to yourself, do it for yourself, Mezzetin.  I've realized something after you joined us."

"Oh? What could you have possibly realized?"  You rolled your eyes and returned your gaze to the window, not particularly caring about his side of the conversation and instead wishing he would just leave already.

"I realized some of my actions were not for your wellbeing, but for mine."

........................................

It was sprinkling when Childe, the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, finally tracked your rescue team down in Fontaine.  It really didn't take much of an effort, which was highly disappointing considering the harbinger loved to play cat-and-mouse with his foes.  Oh well.  At least Mr. Zhongli was here; the plan wouldn't work if he hadn't accompanied Aether and the yaksha.

The harbinger stood in the shadow of a nearby tree and scouted the sheltered camp.  Besides Aether, Zhongli, and an apparently-unconscious yaksha, there were two more opponents.  Childe recognized one of them to be the wine master Diluc, but couldn't name the other one.  Maybe he was one of Mondstat's knights, judging by the way he carried himself?  Then again, he seemed to be drinking pretty heavily...

Childe glanced back a ways where a few Fatui agents were waiting for his return.  This wouldn't take long; he knew two of the adventurer's tricks, and the knight didn't look like he'd pose much of a challenge.  All he needed was to speak with Zhongli.

"I have to admit I'm disappointed for finding you so quickly," the harbinger made his presence known and stepped out of the shadows.  A chill ran down everyone's spines.

"I still can't believe you were naïve enough to get involved with the Fatui," Diluc sent an admonishing look Aether's way before summoning his broadsword.  "And hid it from me, no less."

"We're sorry!"  Paimon squeaked with her hands in the air.  "We didn't trust him completely!"

"It was my fault for allowing this to continue without your knowledge, Aether."  Zhongli rose from his seat and manifested his polearm.  "Allow me to make amends."

"I assume you're the one we're after?"  Kaeya unsheathed his sword and stood side-by-side with Diluc, much to his bro's dismay.  Despite all the wine he had consumed, he remained unusually composed.

"I've come to speak with Mr. Zhongli," Childe answered, both hands raised semi-defensively while the expression on his face was no less than that of a sly fox.  "And to retrieve the yaksha."

"We don't think so!"  Aether charged first and swung his blade through the air.  It collided against the well-known hydro blades of the harbinger before parrying off.  

Next was Diluc, whose flaming weapon created steam as it sliced through Childe's blades.  His attacks were slower than Aether's, but the amount of power coming from them nearly made the harbinger flinch both in hesitation and in excitement.  It was then that Xiao's eyes had opened slightly before he lost consciousness again.  Kaeya lunged forth and used his skill to send a burst of ice at the harbinger in an effort to freeze him in place.

Childe barely dodged, one blade freezing over.  "Tch."  The last thing he needed was to deal with a cryo user in this weather.  He was already at a disadvantage by wielding a hydro vision in normal circumstances.  His hydro burst threw everyone backwards, and he switched to his delusion.  

Electricity surged through the camp as everyone got to their feet and readied themselves for an onslaught of electro attacks.  None came; instead, the harbinger stared straight at Zhongli, who remained reserved and unbothered as he pointed the tip of his lance at him.  "This is your only warning, Childe," the archon spoke in an especially deep voice.  "Return her to us, or suffer the consequences."

"I only came to speak with you, Mr. Zhongli," Childe's eyes narrowed beneath his mask.  "As much as I'd love to indulge in a fight, I came here with a proposition.  Would you hear me out?"

Everyone's eyes turned expectantly to the archon, and he returned their gazes before allowing his polearm to disintegrate.  "Lower your weapons," he ordered much to everyone's dismay.

"But Zhongli!  He could trick you!" Paimon reappeared before the consultant.  "You can't--"

"Relax, Paimon," Zhongli quietly assured.  "I may not have a gnosis, but a harbinger is still by no-means what I perceive to be troublesome in battle."  He followed Childe a few meters away so the group was unable to hear them.

Childe shifted his mask to its resting place on the side of his head.  "There may be a way to retrieve her," he started in a quiet voice.  "But it would only be possible if you declare war against the Tsaritsa."

"Tell me, Childe, why should I trust you after you breached our trust?"

"You can't, but I trust that we all have our comrade's best interests in mind, no?   If you're able to rally the people of Teyvat, the Tsaritsa may yield.  Her Majesty has no interest in declaring war against the mortals as you are already aware."

It was a fitting task for the God of War; declare a world war against the Tsaritsa, and she'd yield without calling his bluff.  Even so, the former archon was not convinced.  Childe would need to up his charming façade.  He was only lying for your own safety after all; he'd back you into joining the harbingers, and you'd be free of the Fatui's grasp in the outside world.  You wouldn't be hunted for the rest of your life; you could live freely in your captors' backyard.  The suffering you were being thrown into now would last a lifetime if you continued to resist.

Some part of the harbinger knew it was a twisted form of compassion--dare he call it love--for you.  He needed you to free yourself both of the Fatui's and Xiao's grasps.  The only way to do that would be to recruit you, but you weren't so easy to convince.  You wouldn't be in danger of getting hurt by his subordinates his way.  You wouldn't hurt yourself by chasing after Xiao if Childe stepped in either.  He didn't care that it was selfish of him to step between your struggling romance.

What better way to keep you safe, mentally and physically, than to break you into submission?

The two opposing forces continued their hushed discussion for twenty more minutes before Zhongli broke away from Childe.  He was about to fill the group in on the details when Childe attacked him from behind.

[shima-draws]

Hiro is here!! We've all been waiting for him!!

You know the drill by now, all the yummy details about his background are under the cut ;) Also be warned it is VERY long I went a little feral writing his backstory lmao

Hiro

Age: 17

Hair color: Orange

Eye color: Pink

Element: Psychic & Forest

Okay so a lot of this is gonna be stuff I'm pulling from posts I've already written to make it easier on myself and so I don't have to repeat anything.

Before he was born, the Novune Forces approached Hiro's parents because they knew that he would be born as a dual elemental. Part of their goal was to raise several dual type children to become human weapons--they targeted dual type babies specifically because they're said to be more powerful since they can use more than one elemental type.

It was the perfect opportunity for Hiro's parents because at the time they were not ready for a child despite agreeing that they were going to have it. Ofc the Forces did not reveal their plans so to them it turned into a nice surrogate parent situation where Hiro's mother would give birth to him and he'd immediately be given up for adoption afterwards. It was definitely hard for them to part with him but they trusted he'd be in good care. Well. That turned out great, as you can probably tell :')

Hiro, along with Kaz and Mallary, became the Forces' iconic trio, with Hiro considered to be the golden child and the most dangerous between the three of them because of his high intellect and skill in combat. He grew up under a very strict regimen and would spend hours each day dedicated to training both his mind and his elemental powers. He's an extremely gifted psychic elemental and took to his abilities almost immediately--he’s able to read his opponents movements and set up traps before they can even get to him. He’s usually airborne for most battles he’s in; he finds it easier to strategize from a higher vantage point, and he also just likes to float around and dodge enemy attacks and act like an ass lmao. He’s a pro at immobilizing his enemies so they can no longer move, ending his battles swiftly and cleanly. Physically he’s not very powerful so he uses a magic staff to fight. His intelligence more than makes up for his lack of super strength!

He has a special power like Kaz’s extra dragon typing (and, like Kaz, he has a streak in his hair from the experimentation)—Hiro gets visions of death, basically predictions of the future, and his visions are never wrong. He’s able to see who dies in battle and the Forces use this to their advantage so that they can prepare around any casualties. Hiro hates getting these visions because he doesn’t like seeing people die, he witnesses their last moments and it’s certainly traumatizing for him;; and like Kaz, this power was something he only unlocked through lots of experimentation on him, so he usually passes out for hours after getting a vision since it’s not a “natural” ability he was born with.

As for his second typing, it was something he never really clicked with. Forest elementals have to be very attuned to nature and are generally more kindhearted and gentle people, but since Hiro grew up in a base with only limited access to the outside (and because he’s forced into acting as an antagonist), his forest elemental powers were repressed over the years. He’s already powerful enough as a psychic elemental so he doesn’t feel the need to resort to a second power, especially since his superiors viewed his second typing as useless and he never received proper training on how to use it. He's already a huge threat as he is so they said good enough. The Forces believe that if something is useless, throw it away, so they eventually abandoned any hope of him succeeding in bettering his forest powers, and focused solely on enhancing his psychic abilities and making his death visions clearer.

Before Hiro became the cold-hearted and snarky colonel that the Forces know him as, he was actually a very kind child with an aversion to violence, and cried often. That got forced out of him pretty quickly though--he learned right away that disobedience means punishment and the only way to pay for his mistakes is by verbal and physical abuse. Poor baby :'( He and Kaz and Mallary go through a LOT of unfair shit as kids. The event that really drove home his intense determination and flawless record was the first mission he was ever sent out on.

This happened when he was around 13. Usually members of the Forces don't get to go out on solo missions unless they have a high position or are old enough to, but he was the exception because of his talent and because it was an experiment to see if he could handle it. His mission was to infiltrate a small, family run guild and basically gather intel and find out what their agenda was, as there were rumors they knew of some of the Forces’ plans. Upon Hiro’s arrival to the town where the guild was situated, he ends up rescuing the Guildmaster’s daughter, Lorelai, who is around his age. Unknowingly, he triggered his forest elemental powers, which caused them to land in a field of flowers he’d bloomed. Because of this, Lorelai starts to call him Flower, since he couldn’t come up with a codename in time and he doesn’t have a real name anyway lol

A couple weeks pass and Hiro spends more and more time with the guild, growing closer to Lorelai and being lulled into a false sense of security. He becomes extremely jealous of how the guild lives, and is very emotional at how much of a family they are, and how sweetly they treat him. Hiro starts to ponder over whether or not he should be sneaking around behind their back, when one day the guild is attacked while he’s out. When he returns, the village is set ablaze, and when Hiro demands what’s going on, his superior informs him that he was merely a decoy to get their defenses down, since apparently the Forces had definitive proof that they knew of their plans. His superior orders Hiro to search the village and kill anybody who was left.

Hiro, panicked, searches for Lorelai, and finds her hiding in the forest nearby. He apologizes to her and has a mental breakdown, blaming himself for all of her misfortune. Lorelai realizes that he’s being kept in the Forces against his will and begs him to run away with her. Hiro knows that he’ll be hunted down if he does, and Lorelai could get hurt, so he tells her he has to stay with them. In the midst of this, they are confronted with the current colonel of the Forces, who encourages Hiro to kill Lorelai. Hiro refuses, and the colonel calls him out for insubordination. The colonel then decides to kill both of them in order to get a promotion. Hiro leaps to defend both Lorelai and himself, and in the scuffle, receives the scar on his head, and accidentally kills the colonel. Traumatized, bloodied, and terrified, Lorelai is the one to apologize to him as he cries his eyes out. Hiro numbly reassures her and tells her to run while she can. Lorelai admits that she loves him and bids him farewell, hoping that they can meet again, and that she’s sorry she can’t do more for him.

This is when Hiro decides to become the perfect agent—dangerous, cruel, and flawless, so that something like this never happens again, and so that he can have enough power to make the decisions rather than just following orders to mindlessly kill people. From then on out he does what he’s told without any complaints and has a record for never failing a single mission the Forces have given to him. Any enemy considers him to be absolutely ruthless because he does not hesitate in battles and will neutralize with no questions asked. He’s a cocky little bastard around enemies lmao he loves to snark them and tease them. He’s strictly against killing after what happened to the colonel, so instead, if it’s a high risk operation, he erases the memories of his targets to reduce the threat. Because he’s so uncomfortable with the thought of death in general he reasons that losing your memories is better than dying, and that makes it easier on the Forces as well since they’ll leave less of a trail rather than just killing people left and right. 

Growing up, Hiro didn’t interact with Kaz very much, and they usually just saw each other in passing. However they both respect each other a great amount, and they sympathize with each other, being in the same sort of situation. Both the Hiro and Kaz hate their upbringing and hold a grudge against their superiors for their treatment and experimentation on them;; As for Mallary, Hiro became enamored with her because she reminds him a lot of Lorelai (who he later admits to being his first love). He finds her strength captivating and the way she doesn’t give a shit about other people’s opinions admirable. Hiro eventually falls prey to her manipulation and falls over himself to please her, which bothers Kaz because he knows Mallary’s just toying with him.

After the Forces’ plan to kidnap Ginni and use her as a hostage blows up in their face, Hiro finds out that Kaz had escaped with her, and commends him on the extremely smart decision to do so lol. He wonders if he should start considering leaving the Forces as well, seeing as he’s mature and responsible (and smart) enough to make it on his own. He’s ordered to retrieve Kaz which was a HUGE mistake on the Forces’ part because they didn’t realize Hiro’s loyalties lied more with people on the outside. Hiro meets up with Kaz and Kaz eventually convinces him to desert the Forces and work with him to stop their plans. Hiro agrees to work as a double agent for a while, leaking all of the Forces’ information to Kaz, Ginni, and the guild. In the midst of all this, Hiro meets Olivia, who pretty much calls dibs on him and she’s like “Listen Ginni got to give Kaz his name so can I give the colonel a name?? Please???” So she starts calling him Hiro! And finally baby boy smarts up and starts crushing on a girl that actually gives a damn about him and god dammit it’s the cutest fucking case of puppy love since Dusk/Nozomi. Hiro absolutely adores her, but he’s too nervous to actually do anything about it because he’s got huge abandonment issues (thanks again bad parenting! And Mallary!) and doesn’t want to ruin one of the only genuine friendships he’s ever had. But he is head over HEELS for Olivia and it’s so……softe.

Mallary finds out that Hiro’s acting as a spy, and retaliates. Hiro realizes just how awfully she’s treated him and defeats her, allowing him to escape and officially join up with the guild.

After that it’s a whole bunch of crazy action stuff as plans come together and they get to take down the Forces. Hiro falls harder and deeper for Olivia while she remains oblivious (at least, for a little while, until she finally starts noticing). He grows closer to Kaz and Ginni as well, and begins connecting with Kaz on a deep level because of their shared history. (They’re kind of like brothers, and Hiro considers him to be his best friend :’) )

Once the Forces are defeated, Hiro and Kaz both decide to go on a journey of self discovery in order to better themselves and learn more about the world they haven’t seen due to being locked up for so many years. Kaz and Ginni are already on the verge of forming a relationship, but with Olivia and Hiro it’s still tentative since she’s unsure and he still feels inadequate as a romantic partner. Olivia admits that she likes him and Hiro is so happy he’s ready to burst, but then he realizes it’s not the right time for them to be together so he gently rejects her. (Olivia takes this as an actual rejection tho not a “I’m not ready to be in a relationship with you yet tho I WANT to” and Ginni’s like YA’LL ARE SO DUMB I S2G).

Hiro and Kaz go their separate ways, and Hiro travels around for a while! He eventually settles in a lovely little village where he learns about his forest elemental powers and how to use them better. He’s finally able to connect with other people and essentially becomes way softer around the edges, revealing the true personality he had when he was a kid. A year or so passes and suddenly Kaz, Ginni and Olivia show up to reunite with him, and not long after that Hiro and Olivia FINALLY get together and start dating 😔👌 (Ginni: TOOK you look enough, god)

At some point the four of them go on a journey together and Hiro runs into his biological parents again…!! And he finds out he has a younger sister and they all reconnect and it’s SO EMOTIONAL

Other than that I think that’s all I have 🤔 Thanks for reading though this epic rollercoaster ride of a story plot lol!

Extra personality traits

-Hiro’s sarcasm and snarkiness is a defense mechanism to prevent anybody from seeing his vulnerable side, and also a way to trick the fear inside of him. Kaz is the one to point this out actually lol

-Despite that he does enjoy teasing people lightheartedly and being sassy, once he gets comfortable enough with them! There is a difference between his snarkiness towards enemies compared to that towards friends

-Is EXTREMELY loyal to the people he cares about. At first he tends to act prickly and kind of standoffish towards people he doesn’t know well. Over time he becomes more open to trusting others. Once you earn his trust and he deems you worthy of his friendship he instantly becomes softer and kinder haha, it’s like a switch

-Often dismisses people that he thinks aren’t worth his time or aren’t smart enough to hold an intelligent conversation with him

-Spends a lot of time reading and gathering knowledge. He is very book smart—but not very people smart :’D He and Kaz will spend hours in the guild’s library, since they’re both very thirsty for information outside of what they studied during their time in the Forces

-Touch starved as FUCK. He flips his shit every time somebody touches him in a friendly way, and will melt into a puddle if he gets hugged

-He can be very nosy and insensitive sometimes, prying into other people’s personal affairs if he thinks he can solve the issue

-Absolutely a tactics expert. He calculates all of his moves very carefully, and uses prediction tactics to leave no room for error. He enjoys coming up with mock battle situations to challenge himself.

-Very self-sacrificial;; he views the lives of those he cares about to be far more important than his own. He’ll lay his life on the line for his friends in an instant

-Is the person in the group who is the least fond of violence. If he can find a way around injuring someone, he’ll do it. He prefers to restrict his enemy’s movements or slow them down so they can’t fight back. He is VERY good at neutralizing opponents before they can even register it

-SUPER speedy. Due to his small size he’s very quick, most people don’t see him coming

-He’s really sensitive about his height fjmaksldmas he snaps at people who make fun of him for it

-Tends to levitate when he’s in deep thought. Olivia finds this very cute

-Blooms flowers when he’s happy/embarrassed

-He’s actually. A very talented dancer :0 During his year away from the guild he learned a lot of folk dances at the village he was living in, and when the others witness it they get really starstruck because it’s super mesmerizing!! He blooms flowers as he dances

-At his core he’s a very compassionate character!!

-After escaping from the Forces, he’s able to express his emotions more openly, and goes back to the way he was as a child. He’s a crybaby :’) He cries whenever someone he cares about gets hurt

-The only person in the group with the fucking brain cell, and the most rational one. Unless Olivia gets involved, then he gets stupid and flustered lmao

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV.  Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking. 

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight. 

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

 “How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them. 

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier. 

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck. 

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing. 

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm. 

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.” 

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies. 

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.” 

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray. 

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity. 

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other. 

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food. 

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall. 

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act. 

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought. 

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl. 

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer? 

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever. 

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before. 

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower. 

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness. 

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him. 

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace. 

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.” 

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap. 

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.” 

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.” 

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real. 

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her. 

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight. 

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars​​, @greatcircle79​​

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Epilogue: Borrowed Time

Life goes on, impossibly.

Read on Ao3

---

Martin shifted the bag of groceries in his arms as he climbed the stairs, still feeling a bit nervous.

The dinner had been Jon's idea – his O&M instructor was covering kitchen skills, and he'd thought it would be fun for the two of them to try making something together. The recipe had sounded a little elaborate to Martin, who'd protested that he didn't cook much, but Jon promised that it wasn't beyond them. He added that Martin was ‘perfectly capable' in the kitchen anyway, and said it with such prim, knowing confidence that Martin hadn't even bothered to ask. Before he knew it, he was writing down a list of ingredients to bring over.

He supposed that was just going to keep happening, Jon telling him things about himself. It was . . . strange. Sometimes it was endearing, sometimes just annoying. Occasionally it made him feel sentimental and a little bit sad in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

The door to the flat opened after a moment of knocking, and he smiled as Jon appeared.

"Hi Jon, it's Martin," he said. He'd read online it was polite to say your name, to not assume the other person will recognize your voice. "I've got the groceries."

"I know it's you, Martin." His tone was light and a little condescending, and Martin felt heat rise to his ears. "Come on inside. You know where the kitchen is."

Martin slipped past him and set down the bag, pulling things out and arranging them on the counter as Jon followed him to the kitchen.

"The store was out of chili paste," he mentioned.

Jon shrugged. "We'll improvise, then."

"If you say so."

Jon began taking out cookware, placing things down wherever he found counter space. "Do anything interesting today?" he asked, over the clatter of pans.

"Not especially. Filled out a few applications, then took a walk," he said. "Met a really friendly dog in the park."

"Flattered that you tore yourself away to come here."

"Wasn't by choice, her owner wouldn't let me keep her."

"How unreasonable."

It was weird, not having to worry so much about money. Not that Martin was complaining of course, but there was still a voice in his head telling him he was being too slow and selective in his job search, that it was lazy of him. And he felt anxious dipping into the new funds too much.

He'd just about gone into conniptions when Sasha told him what she'd done while she'd been fiddling with Elias's computer. Embezzlement might not have been an escalation when they were already committing arson, but they could still get caught, and wouldn't a financial windfall point a lot of suspicion towards them? But she kept assuring him that it was untraceable, some hidden fund Elias had, ready to be drawn on by anyone with the account information. The running theory was that he'd been keeping it for his next identity, which . . . yeah, the less Martin thought about that, the better.

Fear of discovery aside, he couldn't deny it was nice having a buffer like this. There was space he'd never had before to think about where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with himself. And with the bills taken care of, Jon could focus his time on recovering. At the urging of his O&M teacher (and some amount of prodding on Martin's end) he'd even started talking to a counselor every few weeks. It was ostensibly just about handling the emotions that come up with sudden, traumatic vision loss, and he doubted Jon would be discussing the more exotic traumas he'd been through. Still. It was probably good he had something like that.

They went about the business of prepping ingredients, talking idly about food, things they'd done in the past few days, updates from Tim and Sasha. Martin's initial nerves already dissolving into the steady flow of conversation. There was something comfortable, he reflected, in being around someone who was so comfortable with him.

"Would you mind--" Jon frowned, fiddling with the hob on the stove. "I've got this, I'm fairly sure. Just . . . make sure I keep the pan centered?"

"Sure."

He came to stand behind Jon, watching over his shoulder as he set the carefully oiled pan on the stove and turned on the heat. Martin was a terribly distracted spotter, his attention frequently straying from the pan to look at Jon's face, pinched slightly in concentration. There was a single bead of sesame oil on his cheek, and it made his intensely serious expression that much more charming.

Despite his concerns, Jon had the pan well handled as he heated the oil and added in the aromatics. Martin only noticed him drifting once, the flames going high on one side of the pan.

"A little left," he advised.

In a moment of impulse and bravery, Martin curved an arm around him – placing a hand on his elbow, then running it down his arm to cover Jon's hand with his own, guiding the pan carefully into place. Jon leaned back, fitting the curve of his body into Martin's and sighing deeply.

"God, I've missed this," Jon exhaled. "Just . . . cooking dinner with you. All these little domestic things."

His voice was so unselfconsciously fond. It made Martin dizzy, just how easily affection poured out of him.

In hindsight, at least part of Jon's strange, awkward behavior around Martin had been a result of him holding back, wary of letting his feelings show. He never held anything back now -- his demeanor going from nonchalant or haughty to unbelievably soft and loving at the slightest prompting. It still took Martin by surprise, inspiring so much unreserved affection in someone. It wasn't anything he'd usually associate with himself. It was strange, and lovely, and at times made him feel almost frighteningly powerful.

He leaned forward, kissing the soft skin just beside Jon's ear. Jon smiled, holding his pose for a moment before gradually returning his attention to the pan, shaking it gently to move the vegetables around. Martin kept a hand on his, now fully for the sake of touch rather than any pretense of assistance, letting Jon's movements guide them both.

"Did we cook together in that cabin a lot?" he asked.

Jon nodded. "It was one of a handful of things we could do that felt . . . well, like a date, I suppose. We couldn't really go anywhere since we were lying low. I mean, we could walk around the area, isolated as it was, but trips to the village were all short and functional. So preparing something elaborate together made an evening feel special," he smirked. "You used to get defensive, too, just like today . . . saying you didn't really cook, like you were trying to lower my expectations."

"In my defense, I never said I didn't cook, just . . . ." Not since mum left , he thought. "Not for a while."

"To be honest, we were both at a disadvantage in that kitchen," Jon continued. "There weren't a lot of modern conveniences there. The power came from a generator, and the stove was an ancient, wood-burning thing that neither of us quite knew what to do with at first. Took a lot of trial and error before we really managed."

"Sounds cozy."

"Oh yes. So cozy we almost suffocated ourselves before we figured out how to adjust the vents."

Martin smiled, listening to Jon describe the little kitchen in that place. The cabin in Scotland had supposedly been a remote safehouse the two of them laid low in, but the way Jon talked about it sometimes it might as well have been a romantic holiday retreat. He made it sound so nice that Martin once idly suggested they go see it someday. Jon had gone tense and quiet at that, had shaken his head and said softly that they had to stay far, far away from that place. That there was nothing good that happened there now.

Jon was mostly open about the things he remembered. But sometimes "open" meant he'd easily speak at length about something, and other times "open" meant he'd answer your questions with short, one-sentence explanations, volunteering nothing unless pushed. And anything about the police officers he'd apparently worked with fell solidly into the second category.

Sometimes it seemed like they might have been friends, but Jon was always adamant that no one ever try to contact them. Daisy in particular seemed hard to talk about. Martin did know about the coffin. Jon had told him in a soft, emotional voice how another Martin had stepped from his cloud of isolation to set out tape recorders calling him home, how it had been one of very few things that let Jon believe he hadn't given up on him yet. And he knew something had been different about Daisy after the coffin, some sinister force like the one that had kept them at the Institute had loosened its hold on her.

He also knew that Jon was terrified of her, that he said again and again she was too dangerous to go near. That something about her made him sad -- and, Martin suspected, guilty, though he wasn't sure why. It was a topic he'd decided not to push . . . if Jon ever wanted to talk more about it, he would in his own time.

There were other things, things closer to home for Martin that Jon had hesitated over. Once while he was recounting the events of those years he'd paused mid-sentence. Stammered that it wasn't all supernatural in nature and some of it may still happen, and was he sure he wanted to know everything? Martin imagined Jon thought he was being subtle, but it wasn't a hard guess.

He told Jon not to give him the date. It was obviously going to be within the next couple of years, there was no spitting out that apple of knowledge. But he didn't want to be able to mark it on his calendar.

It shouldn't have felt like news, that his mum was going to die soon. Shouldn't have been the uncomfortable weight in his chest that it was. She was ill, of course it was coming, it had been coming for a while, hadn't it? But maybe that was the problem. It had been ‘any day now' for such a long time, ‘any day' had stopped feeling like a reality. And he still wasn't sure what to do with this information, if it really changed anything. Should he try to get some sort of closure? How did you make the most of the time you had left with a person who refuses to see you?

Martin hadn't asked Jon how much he knew about his mum, that just wasn't a conversation he was eager to have. But the careful, hesitant way Jon talked around the subject suggested . . . something, at least. Just like how the gentle, quiet tone he got when he talked about the Lonely told Martin more than he really wanted to have explained.

There was only one thing Jon flatly refused to tell him about, and that was whatever Elias had done to him on the day of the Unknowing. When pushed, Jon had gone quiet for a while, then said he didn't remember. It had been a lie, and a bad one, and both of them knew it. But it was clear there was no point in asking for more.

"You like pizzelles, don't you?"

Jon's voice snapped Martin to the present. With a last squeeze of Martin's hand, he turned off the flame, moved away from the stove and over to the pantry.

"Um, dunno?" Martin said, pulling his thoughts back together. "Never tried them."

"Really?" Jon frowned, pausing halfway to the cabinet door. Then he shrugged. "Well, no matter. You will."

Martin rolled his eyes. Jon spoke with so much more authority than anyone deserved to hold over another person's cookie preferences, and he couldn't help feeling contrary.

"No. You stepped on a butterfly last week and set off a chain of events that forever changed my feelings on pizzelles, I hate them now."

"That's all right," Jon said, popping open the plastic package and arranging the cookies on a plate. "If you don't want these, there's also canned peaches for dessert."

"Oh, don't you dare --"

Jon snickered, picking out a broken piece of one of the large, thin cookies and holding it out, just short of passing it into Martin's mouth. With an annoyed grunt, Martin leaned forward, taking a bite.

Damn it. It was really, really good.

---

Jon sank into the couch, pleasantly full and a little bit tired. He leaned back and listened to the sound of running water coming from the next room.

Martin had insisted on doing the dishes, on the basis that Jon had done "all the real work" of cooking. He wasn't sure that was true, but didn't argue. Just asked that he leave everything in the drainboard when he was finished so Jon could put it away later. He knew he'd be frustrated for hours if the dishes weren't where he expected them to be.

There were so many frustrations in his life now. His O&M instructor had promised he'd learn new ways to move through the world, that in time the frustrations would be fewer and fewer, and he'd find himself capable of nearly everything he'd done before the loss of his sight. Jon believed her, but it didn't make the prospect of getting there any less daunting. Nor did it make the learning process any easier.

The worst were the things his instructor would never understand, that no resource or guidebook would mention. The dread that gripped him when he became disoriented and found a door where he wasn't expecting one. The phantom tickles on his body that prompted him to pat himself down for spiders again and again.

Still. He was alive. The others were freed from the institute, and he was there with them, to struggle and to mourn and to continue on.

A part of him would always fear it had been a mistake. That the Web, or the Eye, or some other power still had plans for him that would reach apotheosis someday. Maybe he saw the fear as vigilance, as though something was waiting for him to feel safe so that it could rip that security from him. And as long as he never allowed himself to be truly, entirely at ease, that day would never come.

Irrational, perhaps. But it was so hard to tell anymore which irrational fears were truly irrational, and which would one day manifest with teeth and claws.

Even if nothing ever came for him, they had only bought the world some time. One day, maybe soon, someone would figure it out and attempt a ritual again. Maybe there would be others out there who would catch it in time, postponing the end over and over, forever. Or maybe someone would do it next week, and Jon would be plunged along with everyone else into unspeakable suffering until Terminus claimed them all. He could follow Gertrude's path if he chose, devote his life to stopping rituals at the cost of everything he cared for. Even then one could slip past him, come from someplace he hadn't been watching, or had been made not to notice. At some point he was going to have to find a way to live with that knowledge.

He'd work on it. But for the moment . . . .

The sound of running water stopped. Jon smiled, scooting to make room on the couch, feeling the cushions sink and shift as they took the weight of another person. With a hmm that came out with more whine to it than he'd wanted, Jon found Martin's arm and tugged it towards him. With a quiet laugh, Martin obliged, leaning into him and resting his head against his chest.

"Better," Jon arranged their limbs more comfortably. Martin's hands were still cold, and he smelled faintly of dish soap.

"Glad to hear it."

Jon knew Martin found it amusing, how clingy he was. The first time he'd commented on it had been profoundly embarrassing. Part of it was just the way Jon was, but he also remembered the days after the Lonely. The skittish, uncertain moments of contact, the times when Martin stiffened at his touch but whimpered when he pulled away. The other days, when they could barely let go of one another, when Jon would plant himself beside Martin or wrap his arms over his shoulders, and he would relax into it, sighing with release. Both of them too grateful for the fragile miracle of each other's touch to consider breaking contact.

This Martin didn't remember those days, and if he ever sensed anything desperate or reverent in the way Jon clung, he didn't comment on it. Still, even if he found it funny, he didn't seem to mind how ardently Jon held on to him.

Jon moved a hand into the space between Martin's shoulder blades and scratched down his spine, the particular way he used to like. Jon felt him shiver with pleasure under the soothing contact, and a powerful warmth spread through him.

"God . . ." Martin whispered, "you really know everything about me, don't you?"

Jon snorted. "Hardly. In a very real way, we barely had time to get to know each other. And when we did, well . . . it was close by necessity. It was intimate, and intense. But there's still a great deal I've no idea about."

"You were never tempted to use those powers of omniscience to look inside my head?"

"Constantly," Jon said, with great seriousness. "But I never did. I promised."

Martin went quiet at that. Maybe Jon's reply had been a little intense, or maybe Martin hadn't actually realized that looking inside his head had been a possibility when he'd asked the question as a joke.

"Oh," he said eventually. "Um . . . good?"

"I have picked up a few things," Jon continued, speaking with quiet and fond admiration. "For example . . . I know you'd like a pet, but your landlord won't allow them so you keep plants instead. You can't say no to panhandlers. You have a favorite hoodie that you only wear when you're sad and need the comfort. You like old, careworn furniture, and rainy days, and sitcoms that were made before you were born. You're kind to people who aren't kind to you, but you never forget the unkindness."

"Wow. Okay," Martin made a soft noise, shifting in his arms, voice tight and quiet. "Okay. Y-You're, uh, probably going to kill me if you keep that up, you know."

"Trust me, you've survived worse."

He felt Martin move a little higher, slotting himself beside Jon and giving him a tight squeeze. Jon grinned as the breath was pushed out of him, all twenty-four of his ribs contracting at the assault.

That was another difference, one of dozens of subtle changes Jon couldn't keep his mind from analyzing. Martin wasn't ungentle, exactly. But he hugged Jon more tightly, shoved or poked him when he was annoyed, whereas the Martin in his memories had held back a little. Been more mindful of his strength, as if wary he might handle him too roughly. It had been subtle, a thing Jon hadn't even noticed until he had something to contrast it against.

It made sense, he supposed. The other Martin had seen Jon limp back to the institute with fresh wounds and new scars one too many times. This one didn't have to have those images in his head.

There were some things that were lost between them, Jon knew that. Memories too small and simple to explain, questions he couldn't ask anymore. Moments they would never share, both good and bad. But there was also so much they had gained. This Martin hadn't had an easy life, not by any measure. But he hadn't had to watch helplessly as the people around him died or disappeared or became monstrous. Hadn't been lost in grinning corridors, or attacked by Hopworth's hooligans, or made to feel the heat of the endless tenement fire. And for that, Jon was so, so grateful.

"You look thoughtful," Martin commented.

"Mmm," Jon sat quietly for a while sifting through his thoughts before speaking. "We should go to a movie sometime. When I'm up for going out out."

"That sounds less fun for you than me . . . ."

"Depends on the movie. I could listen, even without description. And I'd enjoy being with you," he said. "Or maybe a concert? Though I don't really know what sort of music you like . . . ."

"Really? There's actually a blank spot in your catalogue of Martin trivia?" he said sarcastically. "Surprised it never came up."

"You only ever used headphones at work," Jon bristled, feeling oddly defensive about it, "and we obviously couldn't bring our devices to the cabin. Too traceable."

"Hmm," there was a teasing smile in Martin's voice. "Don't know if I want to tell, now. Feels like I've got a secret."

"Oh, except . . . there was one song? I don't know the lyrics, but you used to hum it all the time in the cabin."

"What was it called?"

"I didn't actually ask. It sounded nice, though. Maybe we could listen to it together. . . "

"How'd it go, then?"

He hummed the tune from memory. It came easily to mind, connected as it was with images of Martin sipping tea or wiping down a countertop, a bright, easy smile on his face. After a moment, Martin burst out laughing.

"That's -- that's from a soap commercial!"

". . . What?"

"Floors and doors, walls and halls, Liquid Lather cleans them all," he spoke-sang along with the tune. "It was probably just stuck in my head."

Jon frowned, mildly disappointed. "Well. It sounded nice when you were humming it, anyway."

"God. If you want I can serenade you with an insurance advert sometime."

"No thank you."

"Or we could listen to your album from uni," he pushed, the satisfied smile in his voice growing.

"Thankfully we never recorded anything," Jon grinned ruefully, "so that's lost to time."

"Bet you could still sing some of it."

"Try me the next time I'm not expecting to live through the night."

Martin made a displeased sound at that, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry that you always have to come over here," Jon said. "I should probably be making more of an effort to get out of the flat. But it's so much still, even with a guide. I can do it if I have to, but I can't relax."

"C'mon . . . you know I don't mind, and even if I did it wouldn't be something to apologize for. You're going at your own pace."

"Suppose I'm just impatient with myself. It feels absurd, I've walked through a London warped by unfathomable terror, but now ordinary city life is overwhelming. I think I never understood how many people there are on every block until each one became another unpredictable factor to be aware of on my way to the damn corner store," he sighed. "It may be a while before I'm up for anything like a concert."

"It's alright," Martin gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm good at waiting."

For a moment Jon's mind went to a dark, creaking bedroom, air heavy with dust and thick with terror. It's all right. I'm good at waiting. The same phrasing, almost the same tone. Maybe it was to be expected, little parallels like this. Given a person's linguistic habits and enough time it was probably inevitable, but every time something like it happened it floored Jon in the most wonderful way. Some small but meaningful part of the man he loved reflecting and echoing back at him.

If the world didn't end, if he didn't dissolve into spiders or die at the hands of some unfathomable terror, Jon swore someday he'd find the words for how moments like that made him feel. And if he had any courage left in him, he'd tell Martin about it.

"Though, as long as we're talking about that," Martin said, "I've been thinking . . . ."

"In general?" Jon teased.

"Sort of. I've been reading some stuff about adjusting to vision loss? And I know this is fast – well, maybe not fast to you – but it seems to me like it's probably easier, especially at first, if you've got a sighted person staying with you . . ."

He felt himself breathe in sharply, and Martin's words came faster, his tone careful.

"Not - not to do everything for you, of course! I know you can do things yourself. Just to make little things easier, and – you know, that aspect aside it – it might just be nice –"

"Yes," Jon said decisively.

"Because it isn't really just the vision thing – I mean, it's alright if you do need help but it's also alright if you don't – but there's other reasons – "

"My answer is yes."

A faint laugh came out of Martin and he slapped Jon's chest lightly. "Stop agreeing and let me finish."

"Sorry."

"I'm not suggesting moving in. That would be too fast, at least for me," he said. "I'd want to keep my own place, and I'd probably still spend some time there."

"Of course," Jon nodded solemnly. "Perfectly reasonable to want some space of your own."

"Yeah. But if it works for you, I thought I might get a bag together, y'know, just sort of stay for a while? I – hell, I wouldn't, uh, mind the excuse to cook more dinners with you? And I slept better than I had in a while the night I stayed over here."

"So did I."

"I just think it might be nice. If you think so too, of course."

There was a pause as Jon waited, not sure if Martin had more to say. After the silence had dragged on for a while, he spoke up. "Am I allowed to say yes now?"

Martin laughed, nodding against Jon's chest.

"Then yes. I'd be very happy to have you stay here with me."

"Cool. Cool . . . " Martin exhaled. " . . . I love you."

"And I love you."

"More than I'll ever know?"

There was a teasing smile in Martin as he echoed the words Jon had said to him back in the tunnel. Jon was quiet for a moment.

He'd meant those words when he'd said them. It hadn't been a romantic turn of phrase. He'd confessed his feelings in that moment with the understanding that Martin would never be able to see how deep they ran. That he could tell Martin he loved him, but he'd never be able to show him that. He wouldn't have the chance. He found Martin's cheek with a hand, turned his face towards him, then bent down and kissed him, once.

"No," he said. "Not if I can help it."

[everlarkficexchange]

The Proper Response

Written by: @madetofly

Prompt 29: Post-MJ, Growing Together. Peeta is finally showing his affection and love for Katniss as they heal and reconnect. Katniss, being Katniss, seems to act like she doesn’t appreciate this, and is less than enthused. Peeta, taking this like an adult, stops showing her with the affection and tries to show her his love in other ways. Katniss, however, does not appreciate him stopping those things and set out to try and get him to continue it again because she misses it. [submitted by @albinokittens300]

Summary: After the war, Katniss and Peeta go back home. But when Peeta begins gifting Katniss with bread, she’s not sure what the proper response is.

Warnings: past character death, alcoholism (Haymitch), and references to events in the books.

Katniss threw her empty game bag over one shoulder, followed quickly by her sheath of arrows. Each step of the familiar routine helped her feel a deeper sense of ease, but she didn’t really feel like herself until her bow was in her hands. She gripped it tightly as she left the house.

*

She meant to make a beeline for the woods. With the fence around District 12 now little more than a suggestion, she could enter the woods from a spot right outside her front door, but the flowers in her front garden made her pause, just as they had every morning since they were planted.

  They were thriving despite Katniss not touching them since Peeta had planted them. She’d caught him tending to them a few times, but he did most of it discreetly while she was in the woods or selling her catches in town.

  The way Peeta appeared to be ignoring her made her uneasy. Not that she could blame him for it.

  She understood because she didn’t have a clue how to act around him either. Everything was different, not even talking to Greasy Sae was the same as before the war. Returning to normalcy would have felt even weirder than the state they were in, but Katniss wished she knew how to better bridge the gap she still felt between her and Peeta.

  Glancing at his house, she noticed lights in the kitchen that indicated he was awake.

  With a sigh, she turned away from him and from the flowers and headed into the woods.

  *

  The last thing she expected when she returned home was Peeta sitting on her porch with a plate of cheese buns in his hands. 

  He’d been tending to the flowers he’d planted for months, yet she hadn’t needed to face him directly in nearly as long.

  There was a moment when she hesitated. Her bag was packed with several rabbits. She’d been planning to keep them to herself, but upon getting a glance of Peeta, she started formulating a new plan to take them into town and sell them before he caught sight of her.

  Her indecision lasted long enough that Peeta happened to glance in her direction, his senses better honed after two games and a war. He offered her a smile and a short wave.

  Katniss did her best to return it, but she could feel the embarrassment twisting her features into something more like a grimace. Peeta’s smile fell with his hand.

  She couldn’t run, but she approached him with the same caution she used when she stalked deer. Peeta looked more nervous than the deer often did.

  “What are you doing here?” Katniss snapped, her voice coming out hostile out of her fear.

  She hated that Peeta had that effect on her. He wasn’t anything like Snow or the gamemakers or anyone Katniss felt justified being frightened of, yet he made her tense up every time she was around him. It had only gotten worse since the war ended. And Katniss knew it wasn’t because of the Hijacking.

  Peeta held up the plate of cheese buns. Plastic was wrapped over the surface to keep them fresh, but their smell still wafted towards Katniss and warmed her.

  “I wanted to bring you these,” Peeta said.

  Katniss stared at the bread, trying to ignore the way her mouth had begun to water.

  He had baked for her family between the games, but he had almost always presented the bread to Prim or her mother. Katniss has mostly been able to pretend it was for them, not her. She couldn’t do that anymore.

  They both had the same income, so she knew this wasn’t some gesture of sympathy. She wasn’t the starving girl he’d once tossed burnt bread to. That would have been far easier to accept.

  She slid her game bag off her shoulder and pulled out one of the rabbits she’d killed. With the new laws, she hadn’t bothered to skin it in the forest, and its dead eyes stared back at Peeta as she held it up.

  “Take this,” she said, holding it out to him.

  Peeta eyed the rabbit with uncertainty.

  “Katniss,” he said slowly, “I really don’t want—“

  “If I take the cheese buns, you should take the rabbit.

  Peeta sighed and sat the plate of bread on a small table on the porch, one that hadn’t been sat in since her mother and Prim had fled during the bombing.

  “The bread’s supposed to be a gift, Katniss. I didn’t want it to feel like a transaction.”

  Katniss’ hand that held the rabbit fell to her side. Was that what she had been doing?

  She stared at the bread, which was much easier than looking at Peeta.

  “Okay,” she said, further words failing her.

  Her mind raced as she tried to work out what the appropriate next move was. It seemed polite to invite Peeta in and ask him to share the bread with her, but the idea was so terrifying that it kept her frozen in place instead.

  She took too long to do anything.

  Peeta ran a hand over his face and brushed past her to leave, her heart racing at his momentary proximity.

  Katniss squeezes her eyes shut, keeping her back to him as he hurried back home. She was left with nothing more than the cheese buns and a plate that she’d have to return.

  *

  In the months that followed, various baked goods showed up on Katniss’ porch while she was hunting. Half the time it was cheese buns; the other half of the time it was something else. But Peeta was never with them when Katniss returned.

  Each time, Katniss returned the platter to Peeta’s doorstep in the early morning when she set out for the woods. She didn’t knock. Instead, she scurried away, frightened he might open the door before she escaped, though he never did.

  Sometimes, she left things for him along with the dishes: wild strawberries like this family had always bought, rabbits, the occasional cut of deer meat. He took them all without reaching out to her, and at first, she was grateful.

  As time passed with little more than glimpses of Peeta as he came to and from town, Katniss began to long for any sort of contact she could make with him. 

  She thought long and hard about what she might say if she were brave enough to knock on his door, yet she never worked up the courage to find out.

  Her nerves didn’t turn into fear until the gifts stopped coming all together.

  There had been no baked goods on her doorstep for nearly a month; the realization made her stomach churn and her chest tighten.

  Peeta had gotten tired of baking for her. It wasn’t like she could blame him.

  Even then, she didn’t work up the courage to knock on his door.

  Knocking on Haymitch’s door was something else entirely. She couldn’t leave any of what she gathered in the woods on his doorstep because they’d rot without him knowing they were there, stinking up all of Victor’s Village.

  Instead, Katniss brought him food at least once a week, supplementing the supplies from town that Greasy Sae always brought by.

  He was half-cognizant of Katniss during one of her usual visits, watching her with a dazed look as she wandered around the kitchen to put everything where it belonged.

  She was just gathering her empty bag when Haymitch spoke in words that were more than lazy grunts.

  “How’s Peeta? He didn’t stop by this week.”

  Katniss hesitated, her hands tightening around the straps of her bag. Though it was empty, she took her time adjusting it before she answered.

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him that yourself. I haven’t talked to him, and I don’t think he wants to speak to me anymore either.”

  Haymitch let out a loud, undignified snort that made Katniss glare at him. He was unaffected as he slumped back in his chair and regarded her with lidded eyes.

  “I see the two of you are being as ridiculous as always,” he said, tilting his drink in her direction. “Especially you.”

  Even with the slurred words, Katniss was offended. At least she was functional. Haymitch spent his days drunk in his house with others taking care of him. What right did he have to judge her for anything?

  “He’s stopped leaving bread by my door,” she shot back. “That was him, not me. It’s clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  But her defense didn’t get rid of the knowing grin on Haymitch’s face. He pointed in the general direction of his kitchen window, nearly sliding off his chair as he did so.

  “Sometimes I bother to look out the window. Don’t think I’ve missed that perfectly tended garden outside your house. I know you’re not the one doing that.”

  Katniss froze, images of the flowers flashing through her mind.

  Of course she had noted that the garden was still as well taken care of as Peeta’s own, but she’d assumed that was more about the flowers than her. Peeta wasn’t the kind of person to let any creature, even flowers, die pointlessly. Of course he would continue tending to them.

  She turned her face towards Haymitch’s window. The early afternoon sun streamed through the crack in Haymitch’s curtains and warmed her face. She could get the blurriest of views of her own garden through the dusty glass.

  “Stop being ridiculous, sweetheart,” Haymitch said, raising his drink to take a swig. “Go talk to the boy.”

  She didn’t say anything to Haymitch as she turned to go, frowning at the drunken laughter she heard behind her.

  The sun was bright, and it hit her with full force the second she was outside of Haymitch’s darkened house. She had to squint to see Peeta’s house. The sunlight reflected off the white siding, stinging at her eyes.

  She glanced over at her own house, eyes scanning the flowers of various colors that lined the outside of it. The garden had only expanded since Peeta had last spoken to her. Maybe Haymitch was right and the garden was about more than just keeping existing flowers alive. Katniss glanced down at Haymitch’s own flower beds of nothing but dirt and weeds.

  Without allowing herself time to second guess the move, Katniss headed straight for Peeta’s door and knocked. 

  It took him mere seconds to answer, his gaze widening when he found Katniss on the other side.

  “Katniss?”

  His shirt was speckled with every color of paint imaginable. Some of it was old and dried, but some of it was undoubtedly new, shining in the afternoon light. There was even a bit of blue across his cheek. It was smeared as if he had tried to wipe it away only to fail. It took all of her willpower not to focus on it as she spoke.

  “Why did you stop bringing me bread?”

  If she was going to do this, there was no sense in beating around the bush about it. Peeta’s mouth opened and closed several times as he looked at her. Eventually, he motioned for her to come inside and closed the door behind her.

  Katniss’ eyes scanned the space. She hadn’t had many opportunities to see the inside of Peeta’s house, but the layout was the same as that of every other house in Victor’s Village. The decor, however, was entirely different. Katniss’ house was clean but plain. Haymitch’s was a mess. Peeta’s was something akin to an art studio, with paintings all over the walls, some hung with nails and others propped against it on the floor.

  “I didn’t think you wanted me around,” Peeta said from behind her.

  Katniss’ eyes kept scanning the paintings. It was easier to have this conversation if she didn’t look at him. One painting in particular caught her attention. To most, it would look like nothing more than an interesting design of various shades of gray. To Katniss, it was a wall of the cave they’d hidden in together during their first games.

  “Of course I wanted you around,” Katniss continued. It was much easier to blurt things out once she’d started. “I just didn’t know how to act or what to do.”

  Peeta sighed. She listened as he took several loud footsteps forward until he’d come to stand at her side. She didn’t look away from the painting.

  “There’s no one way you have to act, Katniss, but I can understand if you’re uncomfortable around me.”

  It took Katniss a second to realize that he was thinking about the highjacking. In all of her worries over Peeta not being around, that had been the farthest thing from her mind.

  She turned to look at him straight on. He was close, much closer than he’d been in a long time.

  “Sometimes I do get uncomfortable,” Katniss said quietly, “but it’s not because of that.”

  No, she’d forgiven him for that before he’d even arrived back in District 12, but that was a detail she couldn’t yet bring herself to reveal.

  “I’ve never—” she started to say before cutting herself off. There was no easy way to voice what was on her mind. “I don’t know exactly what we are, but whatever it is, it’s new to me. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”

  The confession hung heavy in the air until Peeta smiled in a way that made her heart skip a beat. That was something new too. She hated the way it made her want to flee again, but she fought against the urge, staying rooted in place.

  Slowly, Peeta held out his hand, watching Katniss through long lashes. Katniss held her breath as she took it and let him link their fingers together. Both of them stared at their interlocked fingers, neither daring to make another move at first.

  It was the most physical Katniss had been with anyone in a long, long time. Even when her mother and sister had been around, she’d always felt uncomfortable about it unless it was from Prim, but Peeta’s hand around hers felt good. It almost made her want to cry.

  “I don’t expect anything,” Peeta said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But maybe we should be more open with each other. That might solve at least half of our problems.”

  He offered her a small smile that Katniss hesitantly returned along with a slow nod of her head.

  “And you can have space whenever you need space,” Peeta stressed, his brow furrowing suddenly.

  Katniss’ smile widened.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She didn’t know what other words should be said. She felt like she should promise him something in return, but what that should be eluded her.

  It was silent for a moment, both of them lost in their own thoughts as their hands continued to dangle between them.

  “Actually,” Peeta said slowly, “I haven’t had much time for baking recently. I’ve been more focused on painting. There’s something kind of…large that I’ve been working on.”

  When Katniss only blinked at him in response, he continued.

  “Something for you. Even though I wasn’t sure I’d work up the courage to give it to you.”

  Katniss’ eyes widened, and her stomach fluttered in an unfamiliar way. She felt light-headed as Peeta led her by the hand to one of the rooms off the main hallway. It was the one he used as an art studio. Various canvases in half-finished states were scattered around the room, all of them abandoned for the particularly large canvas placed in the middle of the room. Peeta’s paints were laid out carefully around it.

  Katniss gasped the second she saw what was on the canvas. Though it was nowhere near finished, the figure was undoubtedly Prim.

  A smiling, happy Prim as opposed to the one who had been hardened by the rebellion and life in Thirteen. This was the Prim Katniss wanted to remember, and apparently, Peeta did too.

  Katniss hadn’t dared look at any false representation of Prim since she’d died, frightened that it would be too much for her, but seeing a reminder that someone else was thinking of Prim like she was—not just thinking of her but viewing her in such a way—left Katniss with a sense of comfort she hadn’t been expecting.

  Without thinking, Katniss surged forward and wrapped Peeta in a tight hug. He gripped her back just as tightly. She pressed her face against his t-shirt, able to feel places where the paint staining it hadn’t dried. It didn’t bother her. In a way, it was comforting.

  They had hugged before, of course, even when they weren’t faking it for the cameras. But they hadn’t really hugged in anything like real privacy. For once, they had something that was just for the two of them, and Katniss hadn’t expected how much comfort she gained from that.

  There was no telling how long they stayed locked in their embrace. Neither of them bothered to check the time. But eventually, they did pull away, smiling stupidly at each other as they did so.

  “And, Katniss,” Peeta said as he led her towards the kitchen, “I don’t need any meat in exchange for this one.”

  He motioned at the painting over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. Katniss paused in her step, watching the spot where he’d disappeared for a minute as she debated the proper response.

  She shook her head. There was no proper response. She would have to stop worrying about things like that. Instead, she smiled and followed.

[sinafay-the-defiant]

Nearer to Death

((Story co-written with @grakkar-gorefang / @thefugitivemango . @argonas​ and @avehi-the-adamant for character mention))

~*~*~

So small, so precious… 

Grakkar was always in amazement when he held little Neelah in his arms. She’d grown quite a bit, but the orc could still hold her (mostly) in one hand. He cradled the sleeping little one close, palming the back of her head while her body rested along his forearm. She slept so peacefully… blissfully unaware of anything that had happened these past few weeks. --Well… not entirely. She got fussy around Sinafay, seeming to sense her tension. That didn’t make things any easier, Grakkar knew. A part of him was sure that it was his mate’s need for help that helped him heal as fast as he did… which still took time, of course. He’d died, after all. And he wasn’t the young, sturdy orc he was on Draenor…

Still, now that he could, he helped as much as he was able. Tending to Neelah wasn’t much of a chore for him anyway, but a reprieve from the constant attention she demanded was a boon to Sinafay. Grakkar didn’t mind. She was a gift, in every sense of the word. He never thought he’d have a child of his own; less so with a Draenei! He thought he was infertile, and knew Draenei pregnancies were a rarity. And yet here she was, a beautiful mix of her mother and him-- fortunately, a bit more of her mother-- sleeping soundly in his arms. Even coming back from the dead was only the third-luckiest event in his life. The second, meeting Sinafay. The first, Neelah. 

“... Grakkar…”

Grakkar winced, and grunted. Another nameless whisper echoed from the back of his mind. A voice he didn’t recognize, calling out his name. He heard them clearly more often his dreams, but… sometimes, throughout the waking day, he’d hear them. It wasn’t always the same voice, and they didn’t always call out his name. All of this starting after he came back from that place… from the Maw. In truth, a part of him didn’t believe Sinafay when she’d told him what her Ebon Knight friend had said. It had seemed so outlandish a claim. But seeing it for himself… it was now undeniable. Countless souls trapped in such a terrible, desolate place! He wondered… were they the voices he was hearing? According to clan shamans, near-death experiences often awoke a spiritual connection between a person and the afterlife.

And Grakkar had come as close to death as anyone could get.

For now, he pushed the concerns from his mind. He wasn’t going to let these strange voices dampen his appreciation for lasting to another sunset with his daughter. Gently, he put Neelah down in her bassinet, and swaddled her in a warm blanket. 

“Sleep in peace, my little one.” he smiled, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on her hardening forehead. “Know that I love you, now and always.”

Sinafay smiled from the doorway as she watched her mate put their daughter to bed. She’d never imagined herself as a mother, but having a child with Grakkar was by far the best thing that had ever happened to her. She hadn’t been able to cherish these moments as of late, too tired and stressed to appreciate them after Argonas’ sudden attack. She’d been far too on edge, suspicious of every odd noise and movement on the farm. 

Avehi’s arrival was a relief in more than one way. Not only did it bring her precious information on what was going on after that horrible event, but it gave her a much needed rest from her exhausting vigil. With the Ebon Knight and her drake guarding the farm, Sinafay was able to get a bath and some much needed sleep. She wasn’t certain how many hours she’d been out for, but she’d woken up on time to see the touching display between her mate and their daughter.

“You’re going to spoil her, aren’t you?” She teased, with only a light Draenei accent in her Orcish now. She kept her voice low, as to not wake the sleeping infant.

Tail swaying, she walked over and wrapped her arms around Grakkar’s torso from behind, pressing her naked chest to his back as she hugged him tightly.

“Fatherhood suits you well,” she purred.

“Only paired with your motherhood.” Grakkar replied, hands closing over his mate’s.

He exhaled a sigh; gazing down at his daughter, feeling his wife’s warm embrace… this was perfect. A paradise he never knew he wanted. A dream from which he never wanted to wake.

“... help us…”

The moment passed, spoiled by yet another voice calling from the back of his mind. The messages were usually similar. “Help up, save us…” most disconcerting. He wished he knew where they were coming from. Rather… knew for sure. He parted Sinafay’s hands from around his waist to turn in her embrace.

“Come, speak with me.” he bid her, before passing her by on his way out of the room.

Sinafay tilted her head curiously. Speaking hadn’t exactly been what she’d been looking for, but at this point, any alone time with Grakkar was a good time. It certainly beat her standing guard over the farm alone. She -did- often wonder what was on his mind since his return to the living. He didn’t enjoy speaking of what he saw, the memories disturbing, so she didn’t like to push. Perhaps he was ready to speak on it now?

She followed him out of Neelah’s room and into their own. The bed was simple, but large and sturdy, covered in pelts from the various creatures Grakkar had managed to hunt down and bring home. The Draenei sat on the bed, tail curling around her form as she took Grakkar’s hands in hers.

“What’s on your mind, My Love?”

Grakkar was silent for a moment, simply holding Sinafay’s hands as he stood before her. Thumbs traced over the backs, then along the sides of her thumbs. He stared off at her chest-- not so much ‘at’ as ‘through’, contemplatively. Slowly, he organized his thoughts, piece by piece, before his gaze met his Mate’s. A natural smile formed over his lips; a reflex, feeling the warmth of her golden globes shining into his. He couldn’t help it, even in spite of the heavy topic weighing on his mind.

“I, uh…” he began, already seeming to lose his focus in her shimmering gaze. “I… think often about our village’s shaman, back on Draenor. Otrok.”

He cleared his throat, before sitting down beside Sinafay on their bed. It creaked, as it always seemed to when they both occupied it. He’d have to reinforce it again, for the second time this season. But that could wait. One hand kept hold of hers, the other resting in his lap as he continued.

“Otrok was a pup, when the Ancestors called on him. We used to tease him for it-- the youngest shaman we ever knew.” the Orc let out a jovial huff at the memory. “His mentor and predecessor, Meshi, she’d whack us on the knuckles or zap us with lightning when we did. Defensive of little pup Otrok, that one. She’d tell us that it was nothing we should tease him for. That ‘the Ancestor’s call can come at any time. At any age.’ And we’d, of course, nod along as we took the lecture.”

Gently, he gave Sinafay’s hand a squeeze.

“... I think they call to me, now.”

“Calling -how-?” Sinafay couldn’t help but ask, tilting her head in confusion.

She didn’t understand at all how shamanism worked, had never bothered to look into it. She’d been averse to the very idea of it due to her alternate self being so immersed. Even now, the thought of Grakkar showing interest in it irked her. Leftover jealousy…

At least -she- wasn’t alive anymore.

For now, she pushed those negative feelings back. Even if her mate became interested in that path, she had nothing but support for him. Especially this late in his lifetime, she wanted whatever would be soothing to his soul. On that note, there was a more pressing question.

“What are you supposed to do when they call on you?”

"Answer."

A logical enough answer, predictable as it was. Grakkar nodded slowly, searching Sinafay's face for… anything. A reaction. A showing of how she felt about the revelation. She understood, right?

She somehow managed not to twitch...

"The Ancestors, they… they mean much to my kind. You know this, I know, but…" he sighed, brow furrowing. "It is an honor, but also a responsibility. They call with a purpose, and to ignore them is to dishonor them. Sina… I need to answer. I need to learn how. And for that, I need to seek out a shaman." 

Sinafay frowned heavily, baring her fangs in displeasure as she turned her head to the side, avoiding eye contact. There was no question. She hated the thought, no matter how supportive she was trying to be.

“We fought so hard to finally be together,” she couldn’t help but voice, “After everything that happened a few weeks ago, you cannot be serious about leaving. There must be some other way…”

She took his hand and brought it to her face, pressing her lips to his finger tips.

“How about you ask a shaman to come teach you here. Neelah needs you,” she took a moment to suckle on his index finger a bit more before adding in a sensual tone, “-I- need you.”

Grakkar’s hand moved to cup Sinafay’s face, fingertips idly massaging the back of her head as his thumb brushed along her cheek. He smiled, unable to help but chuckle at his mate’s… forwardness. It was endearing-- and she had a point. They’d worked so hard to be together. Suffered through all manner of pain and anguish. He didn’t want to leave. But he didn’t want to ignore the call, either. He exhaled a sigh.’

“I have to find one, first. One who would travel out here… and wouldn’t get upset at seeing how we live.” he explained, brow furrowing a bit. “That will be a challenge. And either way, I’d still have to leave.”

The Draenei’s frown deepened. She’d never been good at hiding her emotions. Her tail had gone from swaying to twitching, arms crossing over her chest as she worried her bottom lip. She was upset. Angry. Not with her mate, specifically, but at the situation, as a whole. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek deeper into his palm.

She hated this. But she knew better than to try and stop him. Orcs were stubborn creatures.

“Not right away. I need a bit of time, my Love. Time with you, before you go on your journey,” she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him as her eyes fluttered open once more, “And you visit weekly when you -do- go.”

“Hopefully more, if I can manage it.” he replied. “I don’t want to be too far from you and Neelah. Whatever the Ancestors have in store for me… it will include us all. I only need to leave to find out what that is, first.”

He tilted Sinafay’s head up, leveling his gaze with hers. Stern as his expression was, his eyes conveyed a deep affection for his mate, and a genuine concern for her well-being. He’d given this a lot of thought already.

“You and Neelah are everything to me. You know that, right?” he smiled, weakly. “The Ancestors must know it, too. This calling… whatever it is, it’s as much for you and her as it is for me.”

She gave a nod, meeting his gaze now, but couldn’t quite shake her anxiety over the situation. They’d barely begun to recover from Argonas’ attack, and now this… Leaning forward, she gently pressed her crest against his forehead.

“I love you, Grakkar. And I trust you.”

[alittlebitgoofy]

Glass wings (lemonjuice) - chapter two

chapter 2!! i somehow wrote this and posted it in less than a week since chapter 1 went up and tbh i don't know if i'll keep that pace but it's pretty cool. this chapter is the debut of our favourite dragon so !!

thanks to zyan for betaing 

also this chapter was aiming to come out like 2 days ago on my friend's brithday but it got delayed by 2 days, so happy belated brithday morph ily!

ao3 link

Juice was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake - trailing after a hyperactive pixie for a week was going to be more effort than she had in her. Only a day had passed and the exhaustion was settling in. How was she supposed to survive when the living definition of energy was making her fly after her, keeping her in line and out of trouble? It was exhausting.

It was hard enough dealing with the other fairies and leadership responsibilities, sometimes Juice wanted to rip her wings out during meetings; they went on for so long, and she was always expected to be attentive. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but no one  could stand how boring the meetings were. While Juice appeared like a deer in headlights, Lemon had too much energy. 

It wasn’t anything Juice was used to. Most of the fairies lacked any real stamina, let alone enough to fly around for hours, barely getting really tired. Kiara was the only one who could really function solo, apart from Juice and the other people who helped keep the village in order. Juice held the most responsibility, as the current leader. It was exhausting in general, throwing Lemon on top of her jobs was not an easy feat. 

Although watching over her ended up sounding a lot better than what was about to happen: a dragon sighting. 

The thought of it filled Juice with dread, brandishing her sword in preparation to scare it off. Dragon’s were dangerous by nature, and this one could wreak havoc on the village. She couldn’t afford to deal with two problems, so one had to be dealt with as soon as possible. There was the issue of what would happen with Lemon. She couldn’t leave her, that was an awful idea. But having her with her to deal with a dragon didn’t seem like something one person could deal with.

That was until she realised — Pixie dust. It was decently well known that it had a calming effect on dragons, the exact opposite effect it had on humans or other creatures. Lemon was useful for once, so she brought the girl along.

“So, you have to deal with a dragon but you need me to come along with you? Sounds fun!” Lemon grinned, fluttering slightly ahead of Juice, as she directed them to where the dragon was spotted. 

“What part of a big beast that could kill us is fun?” Juice wanted to bang her head into a tree at the excitement the pixie showed. Did she not get the danger a dragon could possess or was she just stupid? “The part where you need my help.” Lemon glanced at the fairy smugly, something about the confidence that emanated from her infuriated Juice. Though she couldn't put her finger on why. 

It reminded her too much of what she wished she could be. What she was expected to be. The freedom she wasn’t allowed, the responsibility of leading a herd of fairies was too much to allow for such things. She couldn’t dare show weakness, not when they needed her to act strong. No one else would, without someone to play the strong, smart and reliable leader, people wouldn’t know what to do. Lemon had it all and didn’t seem to understand that. It was part of the reason Juice was so hesitant about the pixie. But that thought was a distraction from the task at hand, and Juice needed to focus. 

Even with the chaotic pixie by her side.

They got there soon enough, Lemon keeping surprisingly quiet. It was a welcomed silence. There was nothing to be seen apart from slightly burnt grass. There were few signs that a dragon had been there, let alone recently. But the possibility loomed over, and Juice knew she had to be thorough. That was when she noticed the foot prints.

Two pairs, one of a dragon but far smaller than any she had seen before. The other pair looked like a fairy or a human. They had to look deeper. 

“You know, I feel like there’s something over there,” Lemon piped up, gesturing in front of them, to the only thing around for miles, a lone house. The thing was, Juice knew that house. It was where Kiara lived with her girlfriend Kyne. What would they be doing near a dragon? It was reckless to stay in that area, Juice hoped they would have left by now. But if not she would have to question them before acting to move them. Duty�� came before her emotions, no matter how painful it could be.

“I think the dragon is that way, in the house maybe,” she continued, Juice nodded and followed her lead as they went to investigate. 

-----

“Oh, hey Juice, what’s-”

“What is she doing here? I almost caught you the other day but you had to escape. Is Juice keeping an eye on you? At least someone finally did something about it.” Before Kyne could finish her greeted, Kiara noticed Lemon hovering next to Juice. 

“There was a dragon spotted around here, do you two know anything about it?”

“No? A dragon? What would one even be doing around here,” Kyne spoke, she acted as if she had no clue about what Juice was claiming but something felt off, no matter how convincing Kyne could be. Lemon seemed just as disbelieving, shaking her head slightly, muttering something to Juice about feeling a dragon around there. 

“I heard about the sighting but I didn’t see anything over here. Are you sure it was over here?” Kiara directed her question at Juice. She was deflecting, Lemon felt it almost immediately, informing Juice of it with a slight grumble. Somehow Kiara and Kyne didn’t pick up on Lemon’s whispering to Juice, something she was intensely thankful for. 

Before anyone could reply, a soft growl came from behind the door. A small black dragon poked its head through Kiara’s legs, blankly staring up at Juice and Lemon.The creature was far too small to be considered a genuine risk, but Juice couldn’t take any chances. No one quite knew how long dragons took to grow up and having a baby today could mean a burnt down village next week. That was the one thing the fairy needed to keep safe. There would be no village to watch over if a dragon was to burn it all down. 

“Kiara, Kyne! Do you know how dangerous dragons can be? And you’re keeping one as a pet?” Juice spoke seriously, leaving Kyne and Kiara staring, guilt seeping in at the genuine concern she exhibited. 

“We couldn’t leave him. He would die, Juice.” Kyne shook her head, it was a complicated situation, but leaving a baby dragon to die was worse than taking care of one. She would fight for the little creature if it came down to it.

“I feel like that pixie is more dangerous than he would ever be,” Kiara snarled. Her contempt for the small sparkly creature was obvious, given the side glances and downright glare if Lemon tried to speak up. 

“Leave her out of this.” Lemon herself was unphased by Kiara’s reaction, but Juice’s quick defense made her smile. The fairy gave off an air of not liking her or caring but she could see straight through it. Lemon could only hope they would move past it and maybe get along a little better as time went on.

The dragon growled softly, looking up at Lemon before cowering behind Kyne’s legs. What was he afraid of? Before Lemon could question it, Juice poked her, forcibly putting her into her human form. At the noise of complaint she got, the fairy only shrugged and gestured down to the less scared looking dragon. 

He was small and black, scales glittering in the sun in a way that made him look like a shiny scaly crystal ball. A soft growl came out as he trundled over to the pixie’s feet. Lemon cooed in adoration, bending down to meet the small reptile closer to eye level. 

He paused, sniffing Lemon’s face before nodding to himself, a rough tongue licked her face, another soft growl being let out when her hand stroked his warm, scaly back.

“Aww he isn’t mean and dangerous, he just wants some love.” The softness in Lemon’s voice was hard to not notice. "The dragon seemed happy with/comfortable around her, and that made Kyne relax ever so slightly" Juice wasn’t surprised by what was happening, the pixie was the type to be distracted by anything cute, but she wished Lemon wouldn’t engage with a potentially dangerous creature.

“Lemon. No.” Juice’s scolding did little to move Lemon, she only let out a hum of acknowledgement before busying herself with petting the dragon once more.

“His name is Pythy; I guess he likes you, pixie,” Kyne spoke, clearly interested in the dragon’s sudden fascination with the human. She held no contempt for the woman like her girlfriend did.

“You trust her?” Kiara muttered, barely audible, but just enough for Kyne to hear her and nod in response. “He approves.”

“She’s trustworthy, just an idiot,” Juice spoke up, shaking her head as Lemon was too occupied playing with the baby dragon to acknowledge what had been said before Juice entered the conversation.

“You’re right, I’m an idiot. But I'm a sparkly idiot!” The yellow-haired girl grinned up at Juice. She looked almost cute, petting the dragon with a huge smile on her face, clearly not phased by the comment. Something about Lemon’s constant enthusiasm was interesting, it made Juice want to be around her more, even if her opinion of the woman was neutral, if not a little negative leaning after the events of their meeting.

Before her mind could continue to ponder the enigma that was Lemon, Pythy took a new interest in Juice. He sniffed at her feet, noticing something familiar to the scent of Kiara - that was enough for him to decide Juice was good. The dragon clawed lightly at her legs, growling softly and looking up at her. No one quite got what he was trying to communicate, until lemon picked him up and handed the creature to juice, who was then licked just as the pixie had been before her.

“Alright, maybe he isn’t dangerous. But I’ll need to come back to check on him periodically. Just keep him out of sight of the people in the village and take care of him. A dragon needs lots of attention and care.” Kyne and Kiara nodded, both  letting out a sigh of relief, however the mischievous smile on Lemon’s face was enough for juice to pause, staring at her blankly. “Please, that’s just your excuse to see him. You can admit you like him, Juicy.” Lemon grinned, pleased by the startled expression that flashed across Juice’s face before she returned to a more neutral look. 

She ignored Lemon, saying goodbye to the girlfriends and their pet dragon. All she could do was try to ignore the warmth she felt when Lemon called her Juicy.

-----

Things didn’t get easier with Lemon, but Juice found herself with surprisingly more patience for the girl’s antics. 

She had currently decided to race against Juice in her pixie form, narrowly dodging trees and other obstacles. That was until her attention faded, sending her careening into a rock without any chance to move out the way. Bracing herself, Lemon was confused when the impact never came. Before she noticed, she was suspended, all the speed cancelled out mere inches before the rock. Juice looked at her, half annoyed, half trying not to laugh. 

“Thanks, Juice, that would’ve hurt.” “Is there no way to keep you out of trouble?” Juice laughed as Lemon shook her head. She wondered if the pixie was more trouble than she was worth, but Lemon was by far the most interesting person she’d been around for a long time, and having to stay close to her wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It had taken most of the day for her to come around, but Lemon hid a quick humour under the energy and stupidity. It was fun to see it come out. “There might be one way,” Lemon mused, before flying to Juice and sitting on the fairy’s shoulder. “If I’m here then there’s a much smaller chance of anything happening. You can keep me out of trouble, right Juicy?” 

Juice sighed to mask the unfamiliar but soft feeling bubbling up inside of her. “If it stops you flying around into rocks, then fine.” Lemon nodded enthusiastically, laughing and cracking jokes about her own stupidity, reveling in when Juice would smile or laugh. 

Maybe having a fairy watching over her for the next week wasn't such an awful thing.

[thepilgrimofwar]

Warplanning 3 - Edited Roll20 Log

[Event Start]

The meeting was finally called as twilight began to deepen and Relriah and those in her company had arrived, packing the War Room fuller than usual. It was the first time since the start of the Civil War where Relriah, Judereth, and even Zarannis were all present round the table at once. Though it must be stated that the ex-Ranger General seemed better put together from the last time she was seen in the manor. Her armor was properly polished and there wasn’t a hint of the least bit of whiskey about her.

Stenden looks dour, though great victories had been won this week, it was the manner in which they were won seemed to bother him. Rumours of the massive use of Blood Magic turning the tide of battle seemed to unsettle him. It would not look good if the war was won by something that seemed like borderline necromancy.

Thank you for coming everyone,” Stenden speaks up.

[Blood Magics]

Solendis clears his throat. “The first order of business, and most important, is Blood Magic and its use.”

Relriah responds immediately. Very out of character from the woman he thought he knew. “You cannot deny its effectiveness. Not only in terms of casualties but morale as well. There are even rumors of the Lady in White fighting on our side.”

Vissehn glances between husband and wife with eyes growing wider by the moment. He struggles to suppress a grin.

Renalays squints with her almond eyes over the expanse of the wartable, almost -confused- by the concept that someone would be upset over the use of her powers. "I have no idea what this 'White Lady' the Illthians have been referring to me as -means,- but I make no apologies for using the full of my powers, as is the right of Sin'dorei."

Ethalarian arches a brow from his seat and leans forward, elbows braced across the top of the table. "Unnatural means?" He gestures to Thanidiel and back to himself. "Do you even know who we are?"

Thanidiel then grunts with Ethalarian's toss of his hand towards herself. She's a freak of the Light.

Solendis presses his lips together and shakes his head. “While that is true, Inquisitor- And effective or not, my dear- we cannot be seen to win this war with... Seemingly unnatural means. Our peasants aren't the most discerning of types when it comes to magic use. Light knows many of them have never seen a mage despite their prevalence in the greater Kingdom of Quel’thalas.”

Lirelle now starts to stare at Solendis. Then looks at Renalays, then for Kebha, then herself, then baaaack at Solendis.

Thanidiel spends a long time evaluating Relriah and the Emberhearts more than she does Renalays. A cock to her head and a burrow to her brow. Then the questions swirling there are answered by Solendis' response back to the Inquisitor. But only halfway. "But your Lady speaks of these rumours as beneficial?"

Relriah backs up Thanidiel. "Incredibly beneficial. She's a legend that only appears to punish unruly Lords. Arenias in this case."

Beathyn steps forward in an attempt to physically block the growing tension between the couple. "The price of being the bread basket of the Kingdom. Hard labour is valued rather than education."

Renalays:"Power has little to do with education. If that was the case, Dawnstalker here would be the worst of us." It's a compliment.

Relriah then looks to Renalays. "And I believe we ought to use every tool at our disposal."

Ethalarian nods. "Yeah, exactly."

Vissehn:"So, this Lady in White, she comes up and what-- chastens th'Lords who gets too big for their britches? Why's it a bad thing-- an' why can't we just have our Ladies of Death an' Blood ride front and center and scare the piss out of the defense?" He waves a hand to Lirelle and Renalays.

Thanidiel spoke. "I think you will struggle to find less.. utilitarian opinions amongst us, who have all acquainted with the mainland, Solendis, Lordling. Is this your wish that we hold aside the most 'monstrous' of our powers? Or do you sincerely want the discussion?" She then nods to Vissehn and Relriah's points.

Vissehn looks to Stenden. "Might save some lives, honestly. Fear of the righteous dead is enough to sway more'n just farmers hearts."

Stenden nods at Vissehn and regards his father. "Can you leverage the powers of the Inquisitor into tales of the Lady in White? I'm sure we can spin tales that actually help further legitimize us in the eyes of the people if the Lady fights on our side- The side of justice. It's not like we can win the war... Without unnatural looking means." He gestures towards Lirelle. Literally a vengeful spirit back from the dead- Who had not infact been seen on the field.

Stenden "The supernatural is not to be feared. That's what I was taught." He mimicks words that Solendis himself had told him. Long ago.

"Not if we can make an ally of it." Relriah adds.

Ethalarian nods in agreement with Thanidiel. "I'm not keen on gambling with the lives of the Blood Knights who have rallied to my banner by playing nice with a bunch of uppity locals."

Renalays:"Does this imply I should make myself scarce to your peasantry for the duration of this little squabble?" As if she wasn't already? She's been terrorising the servants with her ways.

Lirelle glances at Judereth. "Are you going to bell her too?"

Relriah smiles at the Inquisitor, privy to her & Lirelle's terrorizing of the house staff. Though the latter was unintentional.

Stenden shakes his head. "You're dressed in white, I think appearing before the peasantry might help our cause if my we can get the White Lady on our side of the war effort."

Stenden looks to Lirelle. Wondering if he could get her to dress in white too.

Lirelle | Not a chance.

Ethalarian turns now to Renalays at his right. "I owe you one, by the way."

Renalays:"You owe me many," she says without missing a beat, "Knight-Captain Dawnstalker." Those are some behind-the-scenes implications. But she brushes right on with a turn of her snooty chin up in the air towards the end of the table, that white mask encompassing her face obscuring anything but her eyes. "Perhaps I ought to make rounds among the skirmish 'lines' then? Inflate these rumours you prize?"

Stenden nods. "If you wish- It'll send a message, one way or another."

Ethalarian shakes his head and goes straight back to leaning back in his chair, only this time with the added benefit of dropping a booted foot on the edge of the table. You can take the bumpkin out of the country...

[Prisoners]

“Speaking of which, onto the prisoners then,” Relriah spoke up. “Excluding the wounded, we have almost two hundred prisoners taken by the Coalition alone. What should be done with them?” She had been responsible for the capture of a good number of them and was curious of their fates.

Lirelle:“Make use of them. They were all fine with taking up arms against you, turn those arms back on Arenias.”

Stenden raises an eyebrow at her suggestion. “What does that entail exactly?”

Thanidiel:"They can change their banners and walk free, or sow fields with a sword at their backs."

Lirelle points to the cluster of tokens on the war map. “Release the militia. As for the soldiers, send them to fight on the front lines.”

Stenden shakes his head at both of them. “Absolutely not. Enemies or not, they are prisoners. They’ve done their duties and their role in the war is over. I will ask no more of them.”

Lirelle regards him with a flat emotionless stare. “They are traitors. They chose to raise their banners and go against you. To keep prisoners is a waste of resources spent feeding and guarding them. Men are going to die on the field. This is an inescapable reality. Why sacrifice the lives of those who are already loyal to you when there is another option? I would wager that if you asked any one of your people whether they would rather the death of a Ilithian traitor or the death of their husbands and sons, not a single one would answer differently.”

Renalays:"I wish," she affirms plainly. "I need to gather up strength, as it were. The Emberglades are more glutted with the dead than the Dead Scar yet they still must be -pulled- forth. The quantities of each battle are too large for consistency. As for the prisoners; something must be done. Dawnbrook has the most efficient option. It's too late to send them back or free. They've seen your roads and your patrols, your armies and the proprieties of the land and villages just by marching in chains."

Stenden gives Lirelle a withering look, the first time he had ever given her one. “And that is exactly why I am a Lord and they are subjects.” He says with all the conviction in the world. Stenden looks at Renalays, then back at Lirelle. “This is not a conflict between warring states, this is a -Civil War- Today’s traitor is tomorrow’s subject. The husbands and sons in my dungeons -are- my people. The Ilithian’s -are- my people.”

“Sederis asked me to build a better realm. A -better- realm. A realm where the people aren’t held accountable for the decision of their traitorous Lord. We have a chance right now to build it, and forcing prisoners to sacrifice themselves on our behalf is not how we do that!”

Ethalarian:"They seem to disagree with you on the whole 'warring states' thing. That said, I don't know that it's worth the risk of them looking for an opportunity to turn on us if we put them at the front."

Lirelle scoffs. “This is a civil war that you still need to -win-. Your ideals are pointless if you’re dead. To sacrifice men already loyal to you in the place of known traitors is a mistake that Sederis would know he could not afford to make. In order to rule with stability long enough to make the changes that you want to sometimes requires an iron fist, and Sederis eventually understood that. You would end this conflict surrounded by just as many turncoats as you would loyalists. Your position will never be secure.”

Thanidiel:"Has anyone -asked- them to convert swords or hands yet?"

Stenden responds to Ethlarian. "So we don't put them in the front, we keep them in chains. Not use them as flesh shields for the battles to come."

Stenden wanted to yell, but held his tongue. Instead he clenched his fist, staring at the war map, then at Vissehn, then back at Lirelle. “Then what’s the point of winning? I’m fighting for a realm where an iron fist is not necessary-” Then something seems to spark from behind his eyes. “-Where an iron fist is not necessary-.” The boy snaps his fingers and looks at Thanidel, then at Shalemarch on the map. “What if they decide to fight on the frontlines of their own accord? Again we extend amnesty. Families safe, property restored, if they fight for their proper Lord. I won’t be betraying my people, you get to turn them against Arenias.”

Thanidiel:"You'll be surprised at the ferocity and loyalty of a man given an option to repent. It was a...strategy, when we were putting down heretic bands in the South in the days before Sin'dorei."

Lirelle folds her arms. “That will work, provided enough of them take the deal. I trust that you or your father will make sure that the numbers are actually sizeable?”

Solendis nods, speaking mostly to his son. "It can sometimes make them fight twice as hard to prove their loyalty."

Ethalarian shrugs his shoulders. "Then put them with me and mine. They might not take quickly to a nobleman or some former Inquisitor, but they might look well on another commoner."

Renalays:"For clarity, I am very much in active service and all that implies of my presence."

Vissehn stiffens. "There's more reason than -Lords- and -Subjects- not to put swords in the hands of those who'd wish us dead for bein' the supporters of an untested Lord. They're your citizens-- and traitors, the lot, but mayhap it was just where they were born. Giving them a choice in it, to serve-- as part of the distribution, the belly of the army, or the lines, just split them up among the loyal, those who don't wanna hang. A drop of vinegar is well disguised in wine. Just split em'."

Stenden sighs. Deeply. Responding to Vissehn. "I will hang those I need to. But the rest? Following orders? I'd have them repatriated after this war is over."

Thanidiel:"Aye, I would normally advocate to work with the commoners as well, but I think they will frown upon my training with Lady Relriah."

[Shalemarch & The Peasant Rebellion]

Judereth clears her throat and speaks up. "Which brings us to Shalemarch."

Judereth continues. "There have been... Complications with my succession of Shalemarch. First of all, a mercenary company, fearing that they would not get their due started looting their way through the province. Lirelle and the Crows have made short work of them. But this has in inadvertently started off something that needs to be dealt with immediately." She gestures towards the map.

Lirelle mostly looks at Solendis when she speaks. "Do not allow your idealism to be taken for softness. Until all the sentiment has been rooted out, you will have no choice but to be constantly vigilant even after this is over."

Vissehn curses at the mention of the unprofessional mercs. "Fuckin' novices."

Judereth | "They are calling themselves the Shalemarchers. Peasants who are drawing others to their cause. Farmers, blacksmiths, and the like. They believe they've been pushed around long enough by the Nobilities and dying unnecessarily for their wars. Especially in the years of late."

Vissehn goes silent at this announcement.

Judereth puts her finger on their token, almost as if squishing a bug. "Normally, putting down peasant rebellions are quick and bloody. But Lord Emberheart, in his merciful wisdom" She said it, almost mockingly- Almost- But with enough respect in her tone to let it slide. "Wants to bring a peaceful solution to this..." she pauses, finding a more appropriate word. "Debacle."

Lirelle chokes down a snort at Judereth. Good girl.

"They're disorganised and banded, right?" Thanidiel asks. "We're 'professional' as far that goes in the Emberglades. All you have to do is corral them with the Crows and infantry backing and starve them out. Burn or take food as they try to march and come upon it."

Judereth nods. "For the time being. Which was why my first suggestion was just that. Come down on them hard and fast and they'll starve out without knowledge of maintaining significant numbers."

Lirelle adds. "The Crows are the only reason they're alive now to organise themselves for bullshit causes. If you remind them of this, force or not, I suspect many will lose the taste for it."

Thanidiel:"I think Garris can do what's necessary if we have to go back to starving them out as they roam. The Crows are fast and know how to quickly strip a village or field."

Vissehn speaks. "Lemme talk to them."

Stenden looks at Vissehn and gestures for Judereth to pause for a moment. "Can you make this such that no one has to bleed or starve over this?"

Vissehn looks sharp to Stenden. "Let me try to end this without the blood-- the way you'd want it. I know what they're thinkin, been in those caches before-- m'uncles would have burned Silvermoon given half a chance. I can help talk 'em to the table."

"Very well," he says with a small smile. "If anyone else would like to go with him, feel free. If not," he looks to Thanidiel and then to Renalays, knowing what the state usually does to peasant rebellions. "We'll do what must be done."

Stenden gestures for Judereth to continue.

Thanidiel seems satisfied with having Vissehn handle it alone.

"Perhaps Dawnbrook should attend to provide the tougher touch when unnecessary.” Renalays says. On the other hand, has a slight narrowing to her eyes as they study Vissehn. Is it distrust of motives or age? However it is - it remains unspoken.

Lirelle nods. "If the reminder of what they are dealing with is not enough, then we will make sure no one has reason to follow this line of thought in future."

Judereth clears her throat. "Lastly. I'm not sure how many of you have heard. But Nelio Goodember is now my Steward. A hostage. But no longer in the dungeons. Which solves two problems. One, the books and numbers- which were surprisingly sound, by the way- will continue without the usual break during successions. Two, with the provisions of amnesty-" He looks at Stenden, who had referenced her plan earlier. "His loyalists will be given a choice to fight for their rightful Lord, tangentially in the name of their former Lord. Their militia will be folded into our ranks."

[Tokens are updated on the War Map]

Stenden nods. "That is good news, he looks to the others at the table. If there is nothing else-"

[The Holdouts of the Black Banner]

Zarannis steps forward. "There is one more thing."

She gestures towards the map, running a line across the mountain range of the Cloudrend Glades all the way to Dawnveil, then places a token, marked with the insignia of Lord Tar'saren, Lord of the Broken Bulwark that had been obliterated in the Phoenix Wars. "There are holdouts of the Black Banner in the mountains. I intend to make use of them."

The Ex-Ranger General looks to the others around the table. "I'll take any volunteers willing to help me. But I warn you, it may be dangerous. Some Tunnels under the mountain filled with scourge from the Fall, and we're in search for a company of men who still think they are fighting the Phoenix War. She looks to Solendis, "that said, I'll be needing Sederis' Banner once more."

Solendis nods. "It will be given. But are you entirely sure it is wise?"

Stenden speaks up. "Wise or no, we ought to bring them home. But knowing their reputation they're likely to join our ranks without question."

Thanidiel:"If we're dealing with undead as well, then the lightweavers should go. But then it's a matter of who we're willing to lose from the frontlines in our final push on Illithia."

Judereth "There's a lot of ground to cover between our current lines and Illithia's fortress by the sea. Besides, we'll need to liberate Kearn and I hear they are without a garrison. So, there will be a small lull to get our house in order before the final push."

"So we're dealing with the east and the tunnels in this current week?" Thanidiel grunts again. "If that's the case, then I'll go with Commander Wintergale," Outdated and perhaps an unintentional sting. "I'd be careful about those reports of Kearn though. It's valuable, and the Empty Fort Strategy isn't uncommon in the treatises."

Zarannis gives Thanidiel a nod of respect. "I appreciate your support."

Ethalarian exhales through his nose and shrugs his shoulders. "I'll go too, then."

Zarannis nods at Ethalarian as well. "I'm sure the Dawnspire Knights and the others of the Coalition will keep things in order on the frontline until we can return."

Relriah responds to Thanidiel. "We will be careful. I do not doubt that when it comes to my father, treachery is not out of the question."

[Event End]

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 8

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

"No."

"I'm not sure where you got the impression that you were being given a choice," Touka says dryly. Madara's actually grown moderately fond of her, beserker ‎of a kunoichi that she is, over the last few years, but he's seriously considering whether blowing a fireball at her head would be considered overreacting. Sadly, it probably would. Whether that’s going to stop him is still up in the air. "You were the Nidaime's right hand. You're going on the ballot."

"You can't actually make me be Hokage," Madara says.

"Why not?" Touka asks, merciless as ever. "We made Hashirama do it."

Madara...really doesn't like the sound of that, because if you look at it in a certain light, they did. Not a promising precedent.

"I'm objecting to the fact that there's a ballot at all," he says instead. "We don't even have a body -"

"His students were very clear about the circumstances he was left in - and that was two weeks ago."

"It's Tobirama! If anyone can pull some sort of ridiculous nonsense out of thin air -"

"He had an opportunity to give his life for the village," Touka says, and she doesn't mean to be cruel with it, that's the worst part. He knows that her cousin’s suffering has hurt her as much as it's grown to hurt Madara. "A justified opportunity. You know as well as I do that he would take it."

Madara does. But he's had enough.

Enough of pointless losses, enough of war, shocking as it is to say. ‎They're going to make Kiri pay for this, of course they are, but -

All Madara wants is to get to bury his friend (his almost-something-more) this time.

To mourn properly.

(Not to be the last one of them left standing.)

‎"I'm going to go find his body," he announces.

Touka sighs. "Listen -"

"Put my name on the stupid ballot, I don't care," Madara interrupts. "But I'm going. This isn't like Hashirama, disappearing into nothingness; Tobirama was fighting flesh-and-blood shinobi. Either Kiri left his body behind for sky to bury or they took it back with them. There's even a chance - marginal, I admit, but a chance - that they managed to take him alive. I'm going to make sure that's not what happened."

Touka's frowning, but she seems more inclined to listen.

Good, because Madara's not going to take no for an answer.

"We already have an empty mausoleum for Hashirama," he points out‎. "As you're always observing, twice makes for a tradition. We wouldn't want that."

Touka unwillingly snorts. "Fine," she says. "Go. But mind that you come back. You may be old for a frontliner -"

Madara is not that old!

"- but your name still means something in terms of village defense," she concludes. "Don't let these Kiri bastards write both your names on their wall of trophies or we’ll never hear the end of it."

"I won't," Madara promises.

He leaves the village three hours later, after giving Hikaku - his second, now that Izuna isn't there - notice of his sudden promotion to temporary acting head of the Uchiha clan.

He makes good time. Tobirama's students (they reminded him so much of ducklings, following along behind Tobirama, that he had to remind himself not to call them that to their faces) had given him a pretty good idea of where they'd been when they'd split up, and while Tobirama would have branched off from there, Madara is certain that he can track him.

After all, after all this time spent sparring against Tobirama - and might he say, his respect for Izuna's skills was never higher than when he was fighting the man who was his brother’s opponent - Madara knows what the aftereffects of his jutsus look like better than most.

He forces himself to pace himself on the way, though. As much as he would like this to be a rescue mission, requiring full-bore speed, it's not.

It's just retrieval.

Tobirama’s already gone.

Why is it, he wonders, that every time he starts to admit to himself that he could grow to love someone, they die?

What he has with Tobirama isn’t about the village anymore, not about Hashirama, it's about Tobirama himself - he can admit that, if only to himself, now that Tobirama is gone.

Tobirama is irritating, overly literal and works too much, and Madara had already been missing him like fire even before he’d gotten word that he was gone forever.

But really, Madara’s losses are starting to be too many to count. Izuna, ever a gaping wound, was bad enough, but then he lost Hashirama,‎ too, and now Tobirama as well...is it him? Is he the connecting factor, the bad luck?

Was it Izuna’s ghost come back to snatch away any chance of the new happiness he’d just about nearly convinced himself he could find in the softening of Tobirama’s eyes?

Still, pacing or no pacing, Madara is still who he is. He makes good time and, sure enough, it only takes a day or so to locate what must have been the battle site.

‎The first thing Madara sees is the corpses of Kiri nin piled up and twisted into a defensive wall and he can't help a smile: Tobirama's total disregard for the bodies of the dead never fails to amaze him.

Then he takes a deep breath, fortifying himself, and looks around further.

And that‎ -

That’s when things stop making sense.

He knows these corpses.

Madara never doubted that Tobirama would put up a fight to the end, passively suicidal or not - the man was far too spiteful to do anything less, and really, it's Madara's own fault that he didn't force his clan to make peace earlier because Tobirama and Izuna were two peas in a pod when it came to that. Even less did he doubt that such a fight‎ would have a significant death count, enough to ferry Tobirama to the Pure Lands in style.

But - those were Kinkaku and Ginkaku. Amazingly strong, but ruthless, and cowards to boot: they would have hung back until the very end, letting Tobirama tire ‎himself on their soldiers and moving in to claim the final kill only when his chakra was totally depleted and his body broken.

If they were dead...

Madara casts his eyes across the rest of the battlefield with hope rising like a fire in his belly. These are all of Kiri's strongest, all the ones they devoted to this battle - Kagami had returned with his Mangekyo sparked from Tobirama's loss, and he'd had his Sharingan active the entire battle; he'd given Madara a list of every shinobi on Kiri's side, and this is everyone.

And - and here was what really didn't make sense - their deaths were wrong.

Tobirama had attained mastery over all elements, ridiculous ‎overachiever that he was, but like most shinobi he fell back on his natural affinities when cornered. Water and lightning and sword - those were the signs of Tobirama's fighting, and while there were a good number of those lying around, that wasn't what had killed the majority of the Kiri warriors.

No - what had killed them was wood.

Wood splinters grown through the mouth or the back of the neck to pierce the brain; wooden spears to impale the heart; tree roots wrapped around the throat to strangle...

Madara fought the Mokuton for most of his life. He, more than anyone, knows what a battlefield looks like, after; he knows how to recognize the bodies it leaves behind.

‎But it's impossible.

Hashirama is gone, and for all their mastery or science, neither Tobirama nor Madara has any access to that mysterious Senju bloodline limit.

At least, Madara thought they didn't. Has Tobirama been holding out on him?

Madara licks suddenly dry lips. It suddenly occurs to him that it doesn't matter, not really. What matters is - if Tobirama did figure out a way to use the Mokuton - if every single one of the Kiri shinobi are dead -

Tobirama might be alive.

He could be dead of chakra exhaustion, too, but Tobirama had once explained - on one of those dark nights when everything seemed bleak and they both missed Hashirama like drowning men missed air, when they sat together on the roof and looked down at the village they'd created together and drank Hashirama's favorite sake to pretend that he had only just gone down the hall to get more - that he'd deliberately sealed away an infinitely small portion of his chakra for just such an eventuality.

Tobirama had been the only Senju capable of giving Hashirama a good ‎spar, he’d explained, in the years before Madara was available as anything other than an enemy on the battlefield and he'd been determined to be what his brother needed, even if it meant going far, too far, beyond what he could handle. The seal was designed to activate in the event that all his chakra was gone, sending Tobirama into a deathlike coma meant to conserve his strength until he could awaken once more. He'd understood the risks, of course, but he was a Senju: he had no fear of being buried alive in the welcoming earth, should it come to that.

Tobirama, alive..!

Madara curses himself for not having listened to his instincts and run here as quickly as possible, and immediately starts searching the area.

It occurs to him as he does that the bodies around him are decayed more than they should be - moss and lichen and mushrooms eating up the soft flesh, bones already showing - and he wonders if Tobirama has played some trick with time to accomplish it.

Well, if Tobirama is alive, Madara will just have to ask him about it.

The possibility excites him.

He starts a systematic search of the area, straining his sensor abilities (above-average when compared to anyone but Tobirama) to the limit and covering each twist and turn of land, careful to test each square inch for jutsu designed to hide things or confuse the senses.

Even so, it takes nearly two days of nothing, nothing, and more nothing – no sign of Tobirama, but no sign of a body, either, and that gives him hope – before he finally catches a break.

It’s faint – extremely faint – but Madara’s learned Tobirama’s signature as well as his own through the long nights of working on the Rinnegan together, and it’s unmistakable.

It’s Tobirama.

He’s alive!

Madara whoops, entirely undignified, and dashes off in that direction. It’s not far away, but it’s deep, very deep. Tobirama must have found some cave or cavern to crawl into to recuperate.

It takes some searching to find it – actually, Madara doesn’t find a proper entrance at all and ends up just burrowing into the ground with a doton jutsu – but soon enough he’s in the cavern, which is dark as pitch, and he can hear Tobirama’s voice distantly up ahead of him.

He's there!

He’s alive!

He’s – recounting a story about the village?

“– and then Madara says, ‘You don’t actually think that, do you’,” Tobirama is saying. He sounds…happy? Extremely tired, but oddly happy. Perhaps being so close to death has reminded him of all the reasons he has to be alive. “And then, of course, the Hyuuga leader puffs himself up and says, ‘Are you calling me a liar’ and Madara responds ‘Listen, if what you want is to start measuring dicks I’m willing to pull mine out right now –’”

…why is Tobirama telling that story.

He promised to stop telling people that story.

(Actually, he’d dealt with the situation as sternly as ever and then, the second the still-blustering Hyuuga had left, put his face on the desk and let his shoulders shake with laughter for nearly ten minutes, which had been the one bright spot of a fairly awful day. And then Tobirama couldn’t even look at any Uchiha or Hyuuga for the next week after without smirking. But he had said he would stop telling everyone about it eventually, though he’d refused to indicate when ‘eventually’ would be.)

“– yes, I know, right? Much less shy, especially compared to when he was a child –”

Ugh. Speaking of Senju spreading stories they promised they wouldn’t, has Hashirama told everyone about that particular incident? Madara really hopes not.

Still: embarrassing stories or not, Tobirama’s alive and that means everything.

“Tobirama!” Madara calls out.

Silence. And then – “Madara? Is that you?”

“Yes! Hold up, I’m coming towards you now.”

It’s harder than it looks, given how dark it is in the cave even with the advantage of the Sharingan; Tobirama must be entirely blind. A strange place for a suiton user to hide, deep in the ground, but Madara supposes that growing up in a doton-inclined clan might have that effect.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tobirama says. His voice is slurring a little from exhaustion – and blood loss, undoubtedly; he can’t be fully healed yet given the amount of blood he left behind on the battlefield. “You’ll be so happy when you find out, just like me…”

Madara has half a second to wonder what Tobirama could have found down in a cave like this that he thinks would make Madara happy - another stone tablet, perhaps?‎ - before he makes his way into the cavern where Tobirama waits.

He sees -

Tobirama.

Alive, wonderful alive and somehow, after all this time and despite all odds, beloved. He's smiling, that crooked little lift of his lips that ‎softens his whole face, and he's - he's -

He's covered in roots.

Twining around his legs, resting on his shoulders, wrapped in a constrictor's embrace around his chest and narrow waist, even woven through his pale hair - everywhere.

And they're not normal roots, either: to his Sharingan, they shine bright in the dark, loaded heavy with chakra of a serene glowing gold that feels bafflingly familiar.

But at the same time, Madara's sure he's never seen anything like it before.

"Madara, I'm so glad you're here," Tobirama says, and he looks pleased, more than Madara has ever seen him, his eyes curved up into crescents with joy even though they are still only half-open, heavy with the call of sleep, and staring in Madara's general direction in a way that suggests Tobirama can't see but is relying on his sensing. Tobirama then reaches up a hand and puts it on the root on his shoulder, a familiar gesture, almost the way he would if it was someone's hand resting there - someone he liked, of course, because the vast majority of people would have their hand cut off for daring to place it there. Madara'd only recently been inducted into the ranks of those who could do it with impunity. "You'd never have believed it otherwise."

"Believed...?"

Tobirama’s lips stretch in a real smile, which for him is the equivalent to beaming. "I found Hashirama!"

Madara stares at his friend and sometimes-lover, wondering if he'd gone mad.

What in the world is he talking about? Is he suggesting that he found his brother's corpse and somehow pulled the Mokuton out of it – fine, that does sound like Tobirama, designing some forbidden jutsu that -

Something moves in the dark.

Madara's attention had been focused on Tobirama, overly focused in his relief, but his Sharingan misses nothing: his head snaps in the direction of the moving roots that someone is sending his way in some sort of large lumbering cluster -

Those...aren't roots.

Or, rather, they are.

But they shouldn’t be.

Gnarled bark and roots twist together to create a terrible mockery of a human body; it's the exact opposite of a wood clone, which accurately formed to resemble a person but living only to the extent of the chakra lent to it - this thing is bursting with life, with that strange gold chakra, and even as Madara watches a thin layer of moss grows over one 'arm' while a scattering of blue flowers appear to curl over the thing's shoulders. Its hands are too large to match the rest of its body, too-long splintering fingers with web-like veins running through every elongated joint; its legs are titanic, sinking deep into the ground like ancient tree trunks.

And its head: lined by a heavy fall of something not quite branches and not quite leaves, thin and willow-like and only vaguely resembling hair, its misshapen face has too much jaw, gaping open in something like a too-wide smile to reveal teeth made of needle-sharp splinters, and the eerie eyes, dark brown with a pupil of gold instead of black, are lined with dark red marks like heavy slashes seeping sap instead of blood.

It's a monster.

"Tobirama -" Madara starts, then stops.

Marks around the eyes.

Dark marks on that ‘face’, streaks of color, and in the center of the thing's forehead are two concentric circles.

No.

No.

The thing before him shifts forward, all of it moving at once and leaning towards him over Tobirama's smiling unseeing unknowing blindness.

"I'm so glad you're here, Madara," the thing says, and the familiar ‎voice it uses is only a little distorted (too many tones all at once, previously absent harmonics, a low rumbling pitch) from the one Madara once loved so dearly. "I missed you!"

And as much as Madara tries to convince himself that the whole horrific mess is just a monster, just a mimicry, just an illusion of the worst sort -

It's still recognizable as his best friend.

[inrainprose]

I wish you would write a fic where... it sorta takes place in your Flip the Coin AU (Sasuke’s fam is alive, Naruto’s very broody, etc.) except on one mission Team 7 goes on they stumble upon one of Orochimaru’s many hideouts and discover a captured Suigetsu. They decide to bring him to Konoha and on the way back there he starts getting along with the gang :)

They carried him back like a sack of potato and the bonding happened then. Hope you’ll enjoy! Still taking those prompts too ^^

cross-posted on ao3

When he came back to himself, Suigetsu was careful not to move, or make a sound, or open his eyes. He had no idea where he was, with whom, and he could hear voices nearby – it was best to remain still for now.

“Is it going to be a thing from now on? Just so I know if I need to invest in a mansion or something,” a man said. Young, by the sound of it, and not nearly as angry as his words suggested.

“Don’t look at me. It was the kids’ idea,“ another one answered. Slightly older, slightly slurring his words, like he couldn’t be more done with this conversation. In fact, after a hasty farewell, he opted out of the entire situation in the characteristic puff of a shunshin.

“Sorry our wish to rescue people is an inconvenience to you,” came a third voice.

This one was closer to Suigetsu’s age. Sulking, displeased. The first man sighed.

“Don’t get dramatic on me, Naruto. I’m just saying, I need to know if I’m going to be housing any more strays. My house is not that big you know.”

“We can leave if you want,” the boy, Naruto, spat out. There was a lull – Suigestu imagined they communicated by glare and face alone.

“We can leave,” the boy said again, slower. “If you want.”

It didn’t hold any defiance and provocation this time. In fact, the boy sounded shy, unsure in the suggestion, like he didn’t want to voice it and yet fully expected it to be agreed upon. Another heavy sigh answered.

“Stop spurting nonsense and go get some food for our guest. He’s awake.”

Suigetsu spluttered, but tried to keep a dignified front when he rose from the futon he had been laid upon. Facing him were a man with dark hair and a friendly smile, and a blonde boy with whiskers and an impressive frown on his face.

“Who the fuck are you people,” Suigestu asked, tone hard enough, he hoped, to hide the hint of panic creeping into it as he realized how clueless he was about this new situation. The last thing he remembered was the cave trembling around his tank – he had thought an earthquake was bringing him the most pointless end imaginable. He had heard some people, seen some shapes… but then the cave had come crashing down indeed, knocking him out probably.

One thing was sure, he wasn’t in Orochimaru’s den anymore.

“I’m Uchiha Shisui, and this sulking brat here is Uzumaki Naruto. His team rescued you from some lair a couple of days ago, and brought you back here.”

“Here?”

Suigetsu could see trees, hear birds and the bustling of a village. The sky was blue, cloudless.

He didn’t like this one bit.

“You’re in Konoha.”

Great.

.

“Just sit still dammit!”

“Why! Why are you doing this? I didn’t ask you for anything!”

“And I asked you to stand still and shut the fuck up, so do it!”

The girl punctuated the order with a mean stab of her acupuncture needle right between Suigestu’s shoulder blades, paralyzing his whole upper body. He flopped down on the futon with an undignified yelp, and she didn’t even have the good taste to look apologetic as she proceeded to stab him some more, humming under her breath on top of everything.

It had been more than a week since he had woken up, and he should have been far, far away from that horrible place already, if not for the small but significant fact that his body was apparently very displeased at having to be moving and doing things again. Basically his muscles had been melted to goo by months of inactive floating in his tank, and now he had to suffer Sakura or whatever her name was and her mean needles.

Suigestu’s life sucked.

He was still living at First Uchiha’s place – there were many of those and he wasn’t about tor remember their name, so he had numbered them by order of meeting. Second Uchiha was the girl’s teammate, who also partook in needle stabbing when he wasn’t busy arguing with Naruto over one thing or another – so, not that often. A shame, because he was actually more delicate about it than Sakura and her lumberjack hands – who would have thought such a girly girl with hair so pink would be such a brute?

As if reading his thoughts, she stabbed a needle at the back of his knee with way more force than necessary.

“Why are you even doing this,” he mumbled again, growing groggy under her ministrations but stubbornly refusing to give in to sleep. It was bad enough that he shared a room with Naruto – although at least the disgust seemed metal, and they did their best to avoid sleeping in each other’s presence – he wasn’t going to take a nap while the girl was playing long and sharp needles at his exposed skin.

“You need to gain back strength,” she sighed for the umpteenth time.

“No, I mean… Why are you doing this.”

It was maybe the acupuncture relaxing all muscles in his body, and it was maybe the warm air and the quiet day, and maybe he was more tired than usual and she was less tightly coiled. In a corner of the room, Naruto and Second Uchiha were arguing over a sealing scroll, pretending quite badly not to be eavesdropping, but they too seemed calmer today, at ease.

Whatever it was, he actually voiced the question, and she actually answered.

“People shouldn’t be caged,” she said.

There were a million words lodged in the silence that followed, a thousand things Suigestu wasn’t aware of, couldn’t begin to understand. From what he had gathered, Naruto had lost it that day, stumbling upon the rows of cells in Orochimaru’s hideout, hence the place collapsing on top of Suigetsu’s head. He had no idea why Naruto was always so defensive and angry, why people looked down upon him in the streets – they glared harder at Naruto than Suigetsu, and wasn’t that saying something – and why it made his two friends glare in turn, almost protective. He didin’tknow no idea what had passed between the three genin, what was their story, but their bond was plain as day, deeper and more meaningful than Suigetsu believed team bonds to be.

Or maybe he just never had seen a real team before.

.

“Do you want me to remove it now?” Naruto asked, although he looked perfectly fine with not doing that at all. Suigetsu almost flipped him off, but he was getting antsy and restless, and he really wanted it off indeed. So he sucked it up and nodded curtly.

A hand seal and a good shove on his chest – unnecessarily forceful – and the sealing chakra tag Third Uchiha had slapped on him earlier during training came loose, unfreezing his chakra system at last. Third Uchiha was the older brother of Second Uchiha, and undoubtedly the worst of them so far. He had been tasked to supervise Suigetsu during training, a condition for him to be allowed to practice fighting again. And yeah, Suigetsu didn’t have to go that hard on Sakura and Second Uchiha, and he didn’t have to try to drown him and stab her with her own sword – they wouldn’t even give him one, he had to make do. But what was the big deal? They were training, weren’t they? They were supposed to get a little hurt.

Third Uchiha disagreed. He had sealed Suigetsu’s chakra, and sent him off, back to Shisui’s place, with a cold stare but impassive face.

What a bunch of losers. Unable to stand a real fight. Suigetsu didn’t hurt any of them on purpose. It was just how it was. He used to break skin and bones all the time when he trained in his village, used to beat his fellow shinobi into unconsciousness, the only way to prevent from being the one ending in the hospital or passed out in a ditch for three days. What was the big deal?

But it was, apparently, because in Konoha people had to be nice to each other or something, and now they were all mad and sulking. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe they were finally going to kick him off for good.

He could have left days ago really, but why the rush? It’s not like he had anywhere to be, and if they wanted to house and feed him free of charge for now, he wasn’t going to just pass it up. But maybe it was time to move on now. He needed to get on finding the seven swords, not to waste time in this terrible, dry place.

He looked around the room. Packing would be quick, at least.

Of course that’s when fucking Naruto decided now was a good time to hang out in their room.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said as soon as he entered. Suigetsu wasn’t even doing anything.

“What?”

“They’re not going to let you go.”

Suigetsu frowned, fists tightening.

“I thought this was no cage,” he spat. He was still itching for a fight, and Naruto was a decent opponent at least – he could walk off most injuries somehow.

“That’s not what I meant,” the other boy sighed. He seemed to debate whether or not to even continue this conversation, and settled on a yes, for he went on.

“They’re not going to give up on you. To let it go. No matter what you do.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Believe me,” he retorted, full of undisclosed emotions. “I do.”

It made no sense to Suigetsu, none at all. What was he even doing here still, why had they taken him in in the first place and why were they keeping him around now. It made no sense at all.

“I could leave, if I wanted to,” he said, stubborn, just because he could. He had to.

For a split second, Naruto looked almost bitter.

“You could.”

He could. He really could. He could just walk away right now. Any time.

Sakura kicked down the door, startling them both.

“We’re having dinner,” she announced. “Get your asses down.”

First, Second and Third Uchiha were already sitting at the small kitchen tables, and it was a tight fit with all the six of them, but they didn’t seem to mind. No one said a word to him, commented about the afternoon events in anyway, so Suigetsu just sat down in front of his bowl and let the conversation wash over him, Sakura berating Naruto to eat properly, Naruto kicking Sasuke under the table over one comment or another, Shisui and Itachi watching over them, looking amused.

He could leave anytime. And he would.

Just. Not right now.

[kosmosian-quills]

Week 6 - Home

For Week 6 of @yourocsbackstory​‘s fall event. It’s a bit of an infodump but I was honestly in tears writing this. I hope you enjoy!

A quick glossary of the Polish words used here:

Zkwiatami - a town I invented, (lit. with the flowers)

Dziadziu - affectionate term for “grandfather”

Babka - affectionate term for “grandmother”

Czereśnia - sweet cherry

I grew up in a castle, an ancient heritage site that has belonged to my family for over 700 years. It’s something to be proud of, connected to the mainland by only a tidal road, it’s slightly out to sea. A good defense strategy on the part of my ancestors, certainly. It’s a citadel in every respect and not just the place where I live, but it houses the hundreds of people who work for us. Looming stone towers manned by the Royal Guard, banners bearing the sigil of our country – burgundy and navy with golden frays, the pride of my country. Despite us being technically separate from the country we are running, oddly enough, we are self-sustainable on our little citadel, and have almost everything we need here since it is certainly large enough for it.

The castle part is more obviously separated from the remainder of the citadel, and it’s here that differentiates life for me in the Royal region compared to the life of those in the same walls as us.

We have grand gardens and moderately open spaces, we have huge sweeping corridors adorned with paintings and artefacts from our history, things that tell stories far more than words can. We have the regal furniture and proper… everything. I don’t go out to the citadel much, and don’t go out to the mainland any more than that – only for my occasional public appearance or speech or event or something.

It’s a place I’m content to live in. After all, my parents are here, my friends are here, everything I know is here.

Yet I still sometimes hesitate to call it home.

It’s where I live, it’s where I was raised, it’s where I’m expected to inherit and run and manage, but it’s still nothing compared to the cosy, humble little cottage in Zkwiatami, a small village that is the heartbeat of our nation’s flora and fauna.

My mother was not raised Royal. She attended a distinguished private school through her father’s work, and through her own hard work and personal achievements, became acquainted with my father before he was King. They were wed some time later, and I was certainly the outcome of that, but by that point my father had been coronated as King. I never met my father’s parents, but I spent a tremendous amount of time with my mother’s parents as a small child.

They had owned that cottage for decades. It’s surrounded by beautiful woodland and wildlife, a small farm in the middle of a clearing, where I spent long summers in the sun and shade with my grandfather, Jan.

Oh, Dziadziu, how I treasure those times there. I had no rules or expectations forced on me when I was there, I was free to act like the child I was. Dziadziu was far more generous with physical and emotional affection than that of my father, but I can remember being truly happy with him. He was always excited and interested in me and my accomplishments. When I started ballet, I remember showing him all I had learned, and the smile on his face as he placed a crown of corn poppies on my head is one of my happiest memories at that cottage.

Even as I grew older, grew less excitable and more responsible, that beautiful cottage was still one of the few places that managed to get a real smile out of me as I blossomed into my teenage years. Dziadziu was still as supportive as ever, sharing that house with him for visits was nostalgic. The wooden doors and painted frames, the creaky floors covered with thin colourful rugs, the floral arrangements on the window sills, smelling fresh and well cared for. The furniture patched together with simple sewing or temporary-turned-permanent fixes on broken things, in typical Dziadziu fashion. The thatched roof with the wood-burning stove, the rickety sounding boiler and just… everything that my grandfather had made from that land, is something I can look back on with a smile.

It’s here, it’s my family home.

I’ll never forget my time there, even through the sad and bad times in my life. Dziadziu had gotten ill, very suddenly, and I remember holding his hand as he smiled for one of the last times in his life.

I couldn’t be there, in that room, when he died - and for a short while my thoughts of that house were tainted with guilt, of regret, of despair. Those happy smiling times with a man I respect, admire and feel warm with affection for were murky waters, only bringing tears and sadness.

Two weeks after his funeral, and mother was sorting out the estate – it’s hers after all – she came across a box with my name on, and passed it on to me.

I spent several hours with my friends looking through that treasure trove, and those sad memories were nothing but a distant, vague thought.

Photographs, printed, of me that he had taken when I was a child. Those squinty eyes, the muddy clothes, the wide grins. I’m on the tree swing being pushed by Dziadziu, I’m watering flowers with Babka before she died, I’m wearing that crown of corn poppies and smiling, stood in first position. Hundreds of photos, each one had been handwritten on the back meticulously with the date, and subject of the photo, in my Dziadziu’s loopy handwriting. There’s even some on the day I was born, when my grandparents held me for the first time.

There’s even a few things I had given him. Childish drawings, some family self-portraits scribbled in pencil and paint, there’s monsters and flowers and anything I could think of, it seemed. There’s a plush teddy of a rabbit, floppy ears and fluffy body, wearing a yellow shirt with cherries on it – the rabbit I used to sleep with when I stayed there in that cottage, the rabbit I affectionately called “Czereśnia”.

I never knew he had these, but the backdrop of almost every photo was that lovely cottage and estate, and those memories were no longer locked away by vicious bitter tears and loneliness of a childhood long gone. They were now something I can look back and remember with pride as golden times well spent with people I loved dearly.

The place I am more than happy, to call my home.

[sarah-writes-stories]

Chapter 11: Future Imperfect

A Post-Canon Inuyasha Romance/Adventure Epic

Find it on: Fanfiction.net / AO3 / Wattpad

Words: 2,474

Prologue  •  Chapter 1  •  Chapter 2  •  Chapter 3  •  Chapter 4  •  Chapter 5  •  Chapter 6  •  Chapter 7  •  Chapter 8  •  Chapter 9  •  Chapter 10  •  Chapter 11  •  Chapter 12  •  Chapter 13

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"M– Morning, Kagome." Inuyasha stammered nervously.

"Don't you 'morning Kagome' me, Inuyasha. What were you four talking about?" Her hands move to rest on her hips, the toe of her shoe tapping out an impatient beat.

Both Rin and Miroku seemed disinclined to make the situation any worse, but Shippō, who had initially been shocked into silence by Inuyasha's snarky reveal, held no such qualms.

"Is it–? Is it true?" He whimpered at Kagome.

"Shippō…" Inuyasha growled in warning at the same time that Kagome asked the kit, "Is what true, Shippō?"

"Inuyasha said that you guys were gonna– Mmph!" Shippō couldn't finish. Inuyasha had lurched forward and grabbed him, clamping his clawed hand firmly over the kit's mouth.

It didn't seem to stop Shippō from struggling and trying to talk, as a great deal of mumbling and grumbling erupted from behind Inuyasha's hand.

"Inuyasha…" Kagome had hand enough. "SIT BOY!"

Shippō was thrown aside right before Inuyasha's face slammed into the ground.

"Now that is something I never thought I'd be lucky enough to see again in this lifetime!" Miroku laughed outright, shaking his head at the sight.

"Kagooooome?!" Inuyasha tried to sound incredulous around a mouthful of dirt.

Kagome was instantly mortified at what she had done. "Ack! Inuyasha, I'm so sorry! I don't know what just came over me! Kuso! Please, forgive me! Here, let me take those damned beads off once and for all!"

"NO!" Inuyasha almost looked panicked at the idea.

"'No'? But why?" Kagome was absolutely shocked that he would refuse.

"Because…" He grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Because why?"

"Because I said NO that's why! Look, wench, these beads have saved both our asses more times than I'd like to admit, and if the price of that is that sometimes you're gonna SIT my ass when I've been a baka, then fine. So you leave them be!" He practically snarled the last words.

Kagome could only stand there staring at Inuyasha in shock. In a huff, he finally turned away from her, nose pointed to the sky.

Miroku cleared his throat, reminding the arguing couple about their audience. It also reminded Kagome about why she'd SAT Inuyasha in the first place.

Sheepishly she cleared her throat. "Now, Shippō, you were saying?"

"Inuyasha said that you two were gonna be mates! Can you believe that, Kagome?!" He was sure that Inuyasha would get SAT at least three more times now for making up such stories.

Kagome was immediately livid all over again. "You–? You told them? Without me?!"

Inuyasha cringed.

"SIT BOY!"

He slammed back down to the ground again.

"Wait," Shippō was confused. "You mean, it's true?!"

Kagome wasn't paying attention to the kit. She was still glaring at the small crater in which her fiancé lay. "I change my mind. You totally deserve to keep those beads on for the rest of our lives!"

Inuyasha knew he'd fucked up. "I'm sorry, Kagome. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to. It just slipped out before I could stop it."

He slowly climbed back to his feet, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. "I'm sorry." He softly the words again, softly this time.

Miroku took pity on his friend. "Kagome, it truly was an accident on his part. The second the words were out I could see that he wished to take them back."

Kagome sighed and looked at Inuyasha who had inched up closer beside her, if still not looking at her.

"It really was an accident?" She asked him.

"Yeah…" He mumbled before continuing. "Look wench, I promise. I won't tell anyone else. Sango still doesn't know yet, and there's the headman and the rest of the village, too. I'll keep my trap shut and you can be the one to tell everyone else. Deal?"

Kagome was still disappointed by she could tell that Inuyasha was sorry. She wouldn't torture him anymore.

"Fine…" She said with resignation.

He looked over at her with hopeful eyes. "So, you forgive me?" He sidled even closer, taking her hands in his.

Kagome's heart melted at the tentative yet tender touch.

"I'll always forgive you, Inuyasha." She blushed and smiled up at him, love shining in her eyes.

Rin sighed dreamily. "Oh, Inuyasha-oniisama, Kagome-chan, this Rin is so happy for you both!"

Kagome smiled a genuine smile at the girl then. "Thank you, Rin-chan. I'm very happy as well."

"You are?" The question came tentatively from a very sullen-looking Shippō.

Kagome looked down at the Kitsune. He sat on the ground, arms crossed over his chest in a striking imitation of Inuyasha.

"Yes, Shippō, of course I am. I would never have agreed to marry Inuyasha if I didn't love him very much."

"But he was always so mean to you."

"Maybe. But you know Inuyasha, he's kind of mean to everybody." She smirked, giving the kit a wink.

"Oi, wench, I'm standing right here you know!"

Kagome only turned and stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder before continuing her conversation with the fox-boy.

"He may be gruff and grumpy, but he loves me and I love him." She paused when Shippō remained sullenly silent. She knew her kit so well and instinctively understood the real problem.

"But that doesn't mean that I love you any less, Shippō. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you. I told Inuyasha last night, but you should know, too, that I'm not leaving anymore, Shippō. I won't be going back through the well again. I plan to stay here with you and Inuyasha and everyone. So you see? This is a good thing. Can you be happy for me, Shippō?"

Shippō was silent for a long moment, considering Kagome's words.

"Can I still cuddle with you at night?"

Inuyasha let out a strangled sound from low in his throat, and Kagome blushed a bright red, though Shippō wasn't sure what it was about his question that had made them both react so strangely.

It was Miroku who finally answered the kit's question, a sly look in his eyes. "I do not think so, Shippō, for you see, you are no longer the only one who wishes for that honour."

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Miroku was the first to leave the small gathering, returning home to eat his morning meal with his wife and children, though not before swearing to Kagome that he would not speak a word to Sango about their announcement until Kagome herself had had the chance to do so first.

And just as he'd waved farewell, Inuyasha let them know that he needed to go as well. He had to do a quick perimeter patrol of the village and the surrounding area, but he promised to be back before the morning meal was ready, promising to bring back a few fish to contribute.

With that, Rin, Shippō, and Kagome went inside. They found Kaede already awake and sitting in the kitchen area attending to the pot that would soon hold their breakfast soup.

Rin sat beside Kaede, offering to help her prepare the vegetables, while Shippō when over to a corner of the room. He always kept a small ball in his jacket for times like this. He tossed the ball up in the air and caught it, settling in to wait for his breakfast.

Kagome moved to tidy up her sleeping space, before joining the older woman near the fire.

"Anything I can do to help?" She asked.

"Aye, child, ye may wash the rice and prepare it for the pot."

"Of course, Kaede-sama."

As Kagome went about her assigned task, Kaede watched her. Still marvelling at the strange turn of events that had not only brought the young woman back to this world, but had changed the course of the child's entire life so utterly, and in such a short amount of time. She wondered what the future might have in store for the girl. She was a Miko and yet had not been trained as such. Kaede knew that, up until now, Kagome had survived on the instinctual use of her powers, alone.

"Kagome, child?"

"Yes, Kaede-sama?"

"Have ye given any thought to what you would like to do with yourself now that ye are to live here permanently?"

"You mean, besides marrying Inuyasha?" Kagome smiled cheekily at the older woman.

Kaede returned her smile. "Aye, child, besides that."

Kagome paused in her washing of the rice, drying her hands on the towel beside her, before putting a thoughtful finger to her lips.

"Well, I expect I'll have to learn how to take care of a home here in this world, though I have no idea what that entails. I expect I'll have to rely on you and Rin and Sango to teach me what I don't know. Then there's my training. I kept it up while I was gone and I'd like to continue. I tend to practice with bow and arrow three times a week, plus a couple days of mock hand-to-hand defensive combat… and I try to do a basic sword kata once a week as well."

"My goodness, child, I had no idea ye'd been training throughout your absence!"

"Oh, hai. I wanted to be ready the second the well let me back through."

It was Rin who spoke up next, she'd been practically bursting with questions since she'd heard that the older girl had returned, and it seemed like now she might just have a chance to ask what had been on her mind for almost three years. "Kagome-chan, Inuyasha-oniisama had once tried to explain to this Rin what your other world beyond the well was like. Is it true that you have come to us from a future time?!"

Kagome could see the amazement written all over Rin's face at the very idea of it. "Yes, it's true, Rin. My family are the keepers of the shrine that guard the Bone-eater's Well and the Goshinboku. Everything you see here around you will one day become a massive city. Everywhere you look there will be buildings as tall as the sky, roads paved in a sooth, rock-like substance called concrete. It's a world filled with all sorts of mechanical and technological wonders that you can't even imagine. But in the middle of it all, our family kept the well and the sacred tree safe."

"Wow…." was Rin's only response. Shippō had inched closer to listen to Kagome speak, as well.

Kagome smiled at the girl's wondering face, but she was not prepared for the girl's next question.

"And where is Lord Sesshōmaru's kingdom? Is it nearby your great city?"

"Lord– Lord Sesshōmaru's kingdom?"

"Hai! When I travelled with Lord Sesshōmaru, Master Jaken would often talk to this Rin about our Lord's plan to establish a vast kingdom and rule over it once another century or so had passed. I know that I will not live to see such a wondrous sight, but I was wondering if you would tell this Rin all about it. Have you ever visited?"

Kagome was suddenly very uncomfortable. She had not mentioned to anyone anything about the fears that had taken root in her after that fateful night when she and her friends had realized that it something must have happened between now and then.

Something really bad.

She'd hoped to ease into trying to solve this mystery, but it looked like, perhaps, fate had other plans for her.

"Uh, Rin-chan, before I fell through the well and came to this time I had never heard of Lord Sesshōmaru."

Rin looked utterly confused by Kagome's words, as though they could not possibly be true.

"He doesn't have a kingdom in the future, Rin, not even the kingdom he has now in the West. In fact, there are no youkai anywhere in the future at all."

Rin's jaw dropped open at her words, but she continued. "Youkai are thought of as myths. Fairy stories that parents make up to scare their children. The only person I knew who actually believed they were real was my grandfather. He always believed though I have no idea why. He used to tell me tales of the Shikon no Tama when I was a child, but before I came here, I thought someone had totally made it up all."

Everyone in the room fell silent. The shock written across their faces was unmistakable.

"But– But– that is not possible. My lord is… dead?" Rin said the words in horror, her hands rising to cover her distressed face.

"What about me?!" Shippō said suddenly. "In 500 years I'll only be 508! I should still be alive. What about Kitsune, Kagome? There are still Kitsune in the future, right?"

He was worried that he might already know the answer to his question.

"Oh, Shippō. I'm so sorry. No Kitsune either, and I don't know what happened to you. If you were still out there somewhere you never came looking for me." Her voice was sad.

"I woulda come, Kagome." The young boy sniffled. I woulda come…" He trailed off, a tear slipping down his round cheek.

"Kagome, why did ye never mention this to us before? All the times that you and Inuyasha travelled back and forth to that world, I assumed that it was as this one was. Are ye truly saying that there are no youkai or hanyou anywhere in your entire world?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying Kaede-sama. But it's not just youkai and hanyou." Kaede gave her a questioning look.

"I mentioned that I barely felt my powers when I was back in that world, and I meant it. Where I come from there are still Monks and Mikos, but none of them have the kind of… magical… spiritual powers that we do here in this world. Not even my grandfather has even an ounce of spiritual power in his entire body, and he's been the guardian of our shrine his entire life!"

Kaede gasped at that. "These revelations are most disturbing, child. For things so ancient and unwavering to be gone so quickly..."

The older woman looked at Kagome for a long moment before continuing, "And it leads me to believe that your sudden return to this world has not occurred by coincidence."

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A/N: I do not own Inuyasha, or any of the characters created by Rumiko Takahashi. (I only own this original story.)

And I love to hear from readers! Please leave me a comment below!

[propagandaprincess]

The Human Huntress

Feysand

Chapter 1: The Kill

Chapter 2: Violet

Chapter 3: Dinner is served

Read on FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13257773/1/The-Human-Huntress

Summary: The human Archeron sisters fought to survive until Feyre landed them all jobs in the palace of the High Lord of Spring. Nesta as a handmaid, Elain as a chef, and Feyre as a huntress. When Feyre kills a rare elk to be served to the gathering High Lords, they ask to meet the impressive hunter who killed such a beast, only to discover a strong-willed human huntress instead.   Rated M for future chapters. 

Elk...why the hell did she pick elk to serve these damn high lords? Feyre thought as she blew the hair out of her eyes.

Why not whitetail deer or a nice rabbit stew? I know she can make a grand meal out of those. But no she had to pick Elk, the one thing that required a full day trek across this cursed court.  She sighed outwardly as she pulled her mare into a trot, scanning the tree line for any signs of a gang of elk nearby. Finally she spotted fresh droppings to her east.

“This is about as close as your allowed to get girl” she patted her mare lovingly as she dismounted and tied her to a nearby pine.

Quickly she grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows to add to her arsenal of blades fastened around her thigh. With quiet feet she approached the droppings and examined them. Elk for sure but something was... off about it. She glanced up at the tree for more signs and found gashes in the tree bark above her likely caused by elk antlers but they were higher up than they should have been.

Fuck the male must be a big fucking elk.

From the freshness of the gashes she suspected the gang must have passed through less than an hour ago, but no hoof prints marked the soil.

Best to be careful than sorry, I’ve got 2 days to kill this beast, get it back, skin it and quarter it before Elain even starts on it. She thought as she crouched eastward toward where she thought they would be.

It was slow moving from here on out. No sudden movements, no loud noises, Mother help her if she suddenly got a tickle in her throat and fell into a coughing fit. It took her the better part of an hour to find the gang, lounging in a very small clearing.

What she found was again not what she expected. Instead of lots of cows and calves and one male. There were 3 male, two young, their antlers gleamed with velvet and blood as they shed their skin and one older male, the alpha one could say and he was...

Huge. That was the only word that came to mind. His shoulders held enough meat alone to feed her sisters for a week. His antlers almost seemed polished with varnish and his coat... Instead of being a rich walnut brown was white as snow.

Feyre let out a steadying breath and aimed at her target. As if he sensed his impending doom, the elk lifted his head from grazing and looked toward the tree line where Feyre was crouched. She didn’t waste second before she let that arrow fly to its target. Right behind the shoulder blade, straight toward the heart. It struck true. But the elk didn’t so much as flinch. He continued gazing at where she stood. The rest of the gang was in a frenzy. The few cows that were there ran off with their young the younger males followed after them. But the biggest elk held its ground. Completely unmoving.  

She had the second arrow knocked quickly but before she could let it fly, he charged.

She had less than a second to think before his antlers pierced where she stood. Thankfully she was able to scurry up the tree next to her in time. The magnificent white elk did not let up. He circled around and rammed the tree she hid in. Shaking pine needs across the forest floor.

Feyre shot three more arrows in its neck but they earned no more than a grunt from the beast. The tree was cracking under the pressure of his brute force. Without a moment's hesitation Feyre did the only thing she could think of.

She jumped on his back.

The elk bucked like wild horse trying to throw her off but she held steady onto his antlers that were as thick as the branches she just jumped from. She unfastened her biggest dagger from her belt and stabbed it forcefully in his neck.

The elk thrashed and bucked harder nearly succeeding in throwing her off. She dug the knife in deeper and then with all her might she slid the it across its neck, slitting it’s throat.  

As the elk bled out it fell to the ground. Feyre scrambled so she wouldn’t be crushed by his massive corpse. She watched the elk die she leaned up against the tree next to her trying to catch her breath.

Holy hell I’m going to make Elain pay for this. She wanted to stay put and rest a while but there was no time to waste.  

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The sun was starting to set as she finished gutting the elk. She had to go ahead and quarter it just to fit it on the back of her horse. She strapped the antlers on to her saddle as best she could. There was no way she was leaving those behind after all the hell she went through to kill the damn thing. Her poor mare was panting hard when they finally reached the palace stables.

The sentries on guard whistled when they saw what a magnificent kill she hauled.  

"You've outdone yourself Feyre" Dominic shouted as she rode into the stable.

"Yeah but you look like you've slaughtered a whole fucking family with how much blood your soaked in." Shouted the other sentry, Philip.

She sent him a rude gesture as she made for watering her horse and unloading the carcass.

"You would be too if you saw the fight this one put up." She called back. For Fae, they weren't so bad. They were one of the few who actually treated her like an equal rather than "human scum" as some of the other High Fae that sometimes roamed the palace would say.

"Now are you both just going to stand there with your mouths watering or are you two lazy sacks of shit going to help me unload this beast? Elain is probably having a meltdown since this is supposed to be the main course for tomorrow night's dinner."

She hauled the antlers off and tucked them in her mare's stall. She would come back for them tomorrow, right now she had enough to carry.

"You could say fucking please." Dominic shot back as he and Philip made their way to help. The three of them made quick work on getting it back up to the palace.  

Elain nearly started sobbing with relief as they hauled the elk into the kitchen. A loud thud sounded as they heaved it onto the butchering blocks.

"Finally! Oh goodness you are really cutting it close. It needs to slow roast all night and then I need to roast the potatoes and..." She trailed off as she fluttered around the kitchen preparing stations and barking orders and the other servants. 

She turned to Feyre again finally "Will you get to work trimming the..." Was all she was able to get out before Feyre cut her off.

"Oh no, no, no. No way am I lifting another finger to help prep that elk. You wanted such a large animal to cook for the fancy meal so you deal with it. If you only knew what I had to go through to kill that damn elk..." She looked around at the scurrying servants as they worked. Most of the desserts were prepped and ready as well as the appetizers and such. Elain was in charge of the main course and all the trimmings to go with it. But Elain was just now getting out what spiced and ingredients she would need. She usually had all this prepared days before an event.

"Why haven't you prepared anything yet? And don't you lie and say you were waiting on me. You have a million other things to make I'm sure." She questioned her older sister with a sharp tone. If she was sneaking around with that damn High Fae again...

As the sisters bickered Philip and Dominic saw this as their queue to leave. With identical winks they left them to their work.

"I went to the village today." Elain stated quickly, hiding behind a pantry door as she searched for the right spices.

"Why the hell did you need to go to the village? You know we shouldn't be spending our wages. We are saving that for our passage to the continent."

I leave for one day day and she goes on a shopping trip. She knew she was being stingy but one of them had to be responsible. Despite her protests about helping Feyre washed her hands and started trimming meat off the bones, eager to do something with her hands that wasn't strangling her sister.

"I know, I know." Elain started, throwing her hands up defensively "I didn't spend much I swear and what I got was a gift."

"Why and who did you need a gift for?"  

For the love of God please don't say Lucien I thought we were over this he can't love you. She pleaded to the Mother that she wouldn't have to have that conversation with her sister again.

"A needed a gift for you of course!" Elain looked surprised. Like what she said was common knowledge.

"I don't need a gift it's not even my..." Birthday. Fuck it's my birthday tomorrow. She had seriously forgotten tomorrow was her own birthday.

"Feyre I know where we live is eternal spring and it's hard to tell that it's actually winter. But there is no excuse to not remembering your own damn birthday."

"Right, Winter Solstice, part of the reason for this stupid party tomorrow." Feyre added quietly as she returned to working.

"Well? Aren't you going to ask what it is?"

"Why would I do that when you're just going to tell me I have to wait till tomorrow?" She knew her sister well enough that she loved surprises. There was no way she would ruin her own fun.  

"You could at least show some excitement! I know you are worried about money but you deserve a little fun." Elain said stepping next to Feyre and taking the knife from her.

"On that note, you need a bath, desperately. Take some leftovers from dinner and go to bed."

"I thought you wanted my help." Feyre said indignantly.

"You'll just get in my way." And with that Elain pushed a container of food in her hands and she headed out of the kitchen and toward their quarters.

************

The palace really was beautiful at night. Moonlight showered the hallway, illuminating all the paintings she passed by on a daily basis. She rarely stopped to look, not allowing herself that luxury, but today she slowed her pace to admire the works of art.

She studied the swirls of color that made up each flower on the painting in front of her and how the colors and textures seemed to lift off the canvas. They didn't look real, they were extraordinary. A normal rose couldn't compare to the one in the painting. It was like comparing the beauty of a human like her to one of the High Fae that roamed these halls.

Feyre was so lost in the colors and contemplating how to mix paint to get that perfect shade of red that she didn't hear them approaching until they rounded the corner.  

High Lord Tamlin and Lord Lucien were deep in conversation as they left the study. It seemed they were up late making sure everything was in order for the other High Lord's arrival in the morning. Feyre didn't want them to see her but it was too late. Tamlin's piercing eyes found her as she started to continue to her quarters.

"Feyre! Finally back it seems." Lucien was the first to greet her. He was a kind Lord. He often times tagged along on her shorter hunts for rabbit or deer.

She knew there was no avoiding them. She couldn't be openly rude to the two males who had graciously employed her and her sisters when they so desperately needed money. But it was a struggle biting her tongue sometimes. While Lucien was kind, High Lord Tamlin had a short fuse. She heard rumors around the palace that in his anger he shredded just about anything in reach with his power. Some servants were subject to that shortly before she and her sisters were hired. Feyre always wondered if they were hired to take the place of those servants who had accidentally gotten to close.

"Yes, finally. But the elk is in Elain's capable hands now and I'm sure it will be delicious tomorrow." She tried to leave it at that and head on her way but Lord Tamlin decided to speak up as well.

"How many elk did you kill? Judging by the amount of blood on you it looks like a whole gang." His eyes slid over her body taking in her stained clothes but they lingered too long to only be starting at that.

Feyre tried not to let her fury show.

"It was a large elk that put up quite a fight. Had to slit it's throat in the end." She added extra emphasis on that last part.

Touch me and it's your throat I slit. High lord or no. She thought viciously.  

After a moment she added "The strangest looking elk too. It's pelt was whiter than a sheep's."

They looked startled at that. At first Feyre was worried that they caught on to her subtle threat.

"What? That's impossible." Lucien balked.

"You think I'm lying? Pelts in the kitchen if you want a look." She pointed down the hall in case these spoiled High Fae didn't know where it was. She didn't feel like defending herself tonight. She was tired and just wanted a bath and to crawl in bed.

"I don't think she's kidding Lucien." Tamlin muttered as he stared at her again. Thankfully at her eyes this time.

"Holy hell. You killed a shadow elk." Lucien nearly whispered that. He looked... in awe.

"A what?" Damn Fae and their damn cryptic bullshit. She thought.

"A shadow elk. They are notoriously hard to track and very hard to kill. I've only ever seen one once on a hunting trip with my father when I was young. He tried to kill it and was nearly impaled by it." Tamlin explained.

"Ah. Yeah it was a bitch to kill. Hopefully it's tasty though. Well I'm exhausted. Goodnight." She replied shortly. Before they could bug her for any more details of the hunt. She quickly scurried away. When she reached the room her and her sisters shared she locked the door for good measure. She didn't like how the High Lord always looked at her. There was something territorial about his gaze. Like she was one of his belongings.

That thought sent a shiver down her spine as she washed up for the night. She ate her dinner in the tub and was almost asleep before her head even hit the pillow. But a knock on the door interrupted her slumber.  

It would be a while before Nesta and Elain came to bed. Worried that something was wrong she quickly robed and unlocked the door. Only to find the High Lord of Spring.  

"There you are. You ran off so quickly I didn't have the chance to catch you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Hand still on the door knob ready to shut the door quickly if he made any sudden moves. Again his eyes trailed her body unabashedly.  

If you kick him in the balls he will throw you and your sisters back out on your asses and you will be back to square one. She reminded herself.

"Do you need something Lord Tamlin?" She asked curtly, politeness be damned, it was late and he had no business bothering her in her own quarters.  

"No, just a word actually. About tomorrow." He paused. Feyre lifted an eyebrow at him, curious as to what about tomorrow could possibly concern her. Her job was done until Elain decided she needed more game to serve up.  

"There will be a lot of High Fae from different courts here tomorrow, many accompanying the various High Lord's. But not every court is as accepting of human staff like we are." Like I am seemed to be what he wanted to say.  

Staff, servants, we are one step away from slaves here so don't think yourself so high and mighty for employing us. She kept that thought to herself, though. It was still generous for him to employ her and her sisters.

"What you’re saying is, keep hidden tomorrow."

"Unless called upon yes. By either myself or Lucien. Elain should be fine in the kitchen, I will assign Nesta to those visiting Fae that are accepting of humans. But I recommend that you stay here in the servant’s quarters for the day." He phrased the last bit like staying cooped up in my room all day was a vacation.  

"So I’m a prisoner." Feyre challenged. His mouth curved into a pompous smirk.  

"Of course not Feyre. You're never a prisoner. Like I said you are allowed to leave if I or Lucien call for you. I was actually wondering if you would join us for lunch tomorrow before the crowd descends. We would love for you to share the story of how you killed that shadow elk.”

She knew that this invite meant order. She learned that once when he was foolish enough to "invite" her for a garden walk once. In which she responded a simple no and stalked off. Only to find Alis, his personal maid, waiting in her quarters to march her straight back to him.  

"Of course Lord Tamlin." She replied with as much melancholy in her voice as she could get away with.  

"Please Feyre, call me Tamlin. Lord seems too formal for our... friendship." He paused before he decided on that last word.  

Yes since you buy all of your friends I'm sure friendship is exactly the type of word you would use to describe us.  

She ignored his request and simply stated. "Lunch, got it. See you then." And shut the door and locked it again before he could utter another word.

Not like locking the door would do any real good if he wanted to get in. But it made her feel safer regardless.

With a sigh she heaved herself into bed once more. Maybe she could snag some paper and a pencil from the library on her way back from lunch tomorrow and attempt to sketch those roses painted in the hall. She would need something to keep her occupied while she was locked in this room.  

Not a prisoner he said, but not free.  

[convenientalias]

For the crossover ask meme: Marco Polo and Swordspoint (because they both need more love)

A crossover ship I’d dig: Oh dear, I’d ship Richard St. Vier with so many people.

So, first of all, I think I’d probably ship him with Khutulun bc they’re both fighters and he might even be able to beat Khutulun (though I’m not sure of that). I don’t know if Khutulun would approve of his profession because I think the twisted Swordspoint rules of dueling would probably piss her off (they’re kind of shady) but she’d definitely be impressed by his skills. And I just think they might easily hook up. (And of course keep their relationship or affair secret forever.)

Then I’d also ship him with Mei Lin. Somehow they’d both get pulled into the same plot and they’d both be really frustrated with the political scheming they’d been pulled into. Then... I can picture them getting together in a variety of ways. Some rich patron who Mei Lin is currently working for (?) tells her to service St. Vier as a reward for him (which he’d probably be pretty eh about), and they end up getting together after this with mutual animosity towards her current patron, whom they may or may not end up killing. Or, Mei Lin gets sent to kill St. Vier to get him out of the way, but he ends up beating her or she ends up deciding not to kill him at the last moment, and she tells him who sent her--and again, they end up teaming against the guy she’s working for. I just see this being a ship with politics and murder ya know.

I’d also ship St. Vier with Marco Polo. Marco has finally run away from Kublai’s court! He’s now kind of a stray on the run, and somehow ends up in Riverside, an odd corner of the Khan’s empire. St. Vier ends up taking him in much like he took in Alec, though Marco is somewhat less of a wild card and at the same time somewhat more restless and likely to leave to go on the run again. Anyways they carry on with an affair for a while until Marco hears about some major political event and decides he must return to Kublai. This is probably a bad idea bc you don’t just run away from an emperor and then return with no consequences, but St. Vier isn’t a guy to stop his lover from making their own decisions, and he lets Marco return, though not without some regrets.

I would also ship St. Vier with Jingim. They meet at court (I guess in this AU, Cambulac has the same weird dueling laws as the city in Swordspoint) and Jingim respects his swordsfighting skills but has little interest in him bc they’re just not on the same social stratum. Then one day St. Vier gets hired to fight Jingim. I can’t picture him doing this of his own accord (he knows better than to challenge the Khan’s son and heir) so he’s probably been blackmailed somehow, as in the Alec getting kidnapped situation. A very fierce duel follows, and somehow both survive, but just barely. Later on... they hook up?? Idk I just want this to happen.

The pattern here is that I want all my faves to hook up with St. Vier basically lols.

More below the cut!

A crossover BroTP I’d dig: Oh dear, I used up a lot of combinations in the ship section. Well, any of the above I’d enjoy as BroTPs as well as OTPs. But also, consider: Vincent Applethorpe & Hundred Eyes.

Hundred Eyes does not consider the modern conventions of dueling as honorable-- he does not approve of the customs current in Cambulac. However, he is incredibly good at both martial arts and swordsfighting, and back in the day he was renowned among duelers. Of course, since he works for Kublai (and before that, lived off in a lonely village doing his own thing), no professional duelist has tried to learn from him. But if only they could....

So Vincent Applethorpe has heard of the legend, but he never thought he’d actually meet Hundred Eyes. Then one day, a strange young man comes to Applethorpe’s school--Marco Polo. Applethorpe doesn’t recognize him right away and begins to teach him, finding he does have the money to pay at least. It’s only weeks later that he finds out that Marco Polo is the Khan’s guest, when Hundred Eyes shows up at the school to scold Marco for coming to learn from someone other than him. Marco insists that he wasn’t learning well from Hundred Eyes, wasn’t learning fast enough--and Hundred Eyes is teaching him how to fight in self defense or in battle but not so much how to duel, and Marco is worried that someone might challenge him soon. He’s becoming rapidly involved in court politics, and he’s seen how that ends for some people.

Anyways Hundred Eyes reads Marco the riot act, but he’s actually somewhat impressed by Applethorpe. He and Applethorpe do a little sparring, and he reluctantly says that if Marco wants to learn from Applethorpe as well as Hundred Eyes that’s fine; only Hundred Eyes will sometimes come and sit in on their sessions. Applethorpe is completely over the moon at this bc again, Hundred Eyes is a fuckign LEGEND.

They become bros.

A crossover Frenemies I think would be inevitable: Ahmad and Alec.

No matter how I form this crossover, I can’t really picture Alec being a native noble in Cambulac; he’s too “Latin”. So in this AU, he’s sort of a traveling scholar. He’s known to be a noble from [insert country name here] and Kublai has invited him to stay in Cambulac. “Invited” him in more or less the same way he “invited” Marco. Alec’s stuck in Cambulac and can’t leave, and he’s kind of grumpy about it, and he’s still a rude, capricious wild card. No one has any idea why Kublai keeps him around and hasn’t yet executed him for his presumption. Especially not Ahmad. (And also Jingim but I’ll get there later.)

Ahmad and Alec have a tendency to make catty comments at each other and they probably shouldn’t be left in the same room. However, they also for some reason enjoy each other’s company. They like playing games together and sharing rumors they���ve heard (though always keeping their own secrets), recognize that they are both kind of treacherous, and generally have a lot of fun. I feel like at some point they may have a threesome with Mei Lin, or just hook up. (....somehow I’ve continued to just keep on shipping things.) Also, Ahmad kind of empathizes with Alec as another of the Khan’s strays--more than he empathizes with Marco in the show, bc while Alec is whiny he’s also just really fun, and also isn’t directly getting in the way of Ahmad’s plans bc he’s not really politically involved, he’s just There.

A crossover badass duo I think would be inevitable: See the shipping section.

Lols but really, can you even picture St. Vier and Mei Lin taking down one of Mei Lin’s patrons (possibly Ahmad? or Jia Sidao?), or. Oh my God. What if. The reason St. Vier challenged Jingim is because Ahmad had kidnapped Alec--Ahmad had ample opportunity for this bc see above, he and Alec are best frenemies. Don’t ask why Ahmad wanted to get Jingim murdered; he had his reasons. Now St. Vier and Jingim must take on Ahmad together, but Ahmad isn’t such a fool as to let Alec go after the duel failed to kill either of them, so the situation is very tricky.

This is an imperfect scenario, however, bc it’s very straightforward for Ahmad. If not Ahmad, maybe the kidnapper was Kaidu? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

A crossover animosity I think would be inevitable: ALEC AND JINGIM.

Why do Alec and Jingim hate each other? Let me count the ways.

First of all, Jingim dislikes that his father keeps on getting new favorites rather than focusing on him. And what did Alec do to deserve his current status as honored guest in Cambulac? Literally nothing! I mean, maybe he’s a decent scholar, but he’s not THAT amazing. In fact, I bet he was rude to Kublai when they first met in hopes that Kublai would kill him. (Unfortunately, Kublai had already heard about Alec and knew he was suicidal, and so could see through this motivation easily, and has been refusing to kill him partly bc he doesn’t like being manipulated into these things.) Jingim just does not understand why Kublai grants Alec so much leeway and spends so much time with him when Alec is a complete bitch!

And then there’s the fact that Alec is also friends with Ahmad. Jingim has always wanted to be closer to his two brothers, but with Ahmad... it’s like there’s a wall there. Sometimes he feels like they’re close, and sometimes he feels like they’re far apart, despite being raised together. Yet even when Alec and Ahmad fight, they clearly get each other in ways that Jingim does not understand.

Why does Alec hate Jingim? Partly just bc he’s the son of the guy who’s holding prisoner (excuse me, guest) in Cambulac. Partly bc he’s kind of stiff and formal, and has been pissed at Alec’s rudeness since Day One. And partly bc St. Vier is into Jingim and Alec knows it. Idk if they’ve hooked up yet or not (I’m really unsure on the chronology of all these ships) but at the very least, St. Vier always has positive things to say about Jingim and is oddly deferential towards him, more than he tends to be towards a noble. Alec is completely certain that if Jingim took up with St. Vier, St. Vier would drop Alec in a heartbeat. Bc Jingim is better than Alec. He’s a noble who actually does his job, he’s incredibly good looking, and he doesn’t get into all the trouble that Alec does. So Alec’s kind of paranoid about that. Even if it doesn’t seem likely that Jingim WILL start an affair with St. Vier anytime soon (Jingim has his wives, and he’s only somewhat interested in St. Vier, and St. Vier is a little wary of starting an affair with the Khan’s son), it doesn’t matter. As long as Alec knows (or thinks he knows) that St. Vier would prefer to be with Jingim over Alec, he will always hate Jingim.

So. Jingim and Alec hate each other. And yet the sexual tension there is very strong.

Anyways. I didn’t think I’d have this many feelings on this crossover but I’m into it! Thanks for the ask.

[writingrage]

What Fate Had Wrought (1/4)

A Mulan Rouge (Red Warrior?) Fanfic

(Also Known As: A passionate attempt at remedying Once Upon a Time’s lack of Mulan screen time.)

Summary:  After finding Red's One True Love, Mulan returns to the village of her childhood, heartbroken twice over. However, the threat of a new beast and an army with unknown intentions looms over the village and disrupts the peace that Mulan tries to cultivate. Red visiting really doesn't help matters either.

Set a few months after the events of 5x18 "Ruby Slippers"

AO3 / Fanfiction.net

CHAPTER 1 - Selfishness

The first thing Hua Mulan noticed upon riding into Guifei village on Coursing River was the scent of fear that lingered in the air. Such a thing was palpable, especially in such a small settlement like Guifei, which was only a hundred strong during a fruitful season. Its denizens shuffled hurriedly through their daily tasks, kept idle chatter to a minimum, or simply didn't leave their homes. It was only when Mulan rode into its usually bustling market square that she caught sight of people, but their presence was light and fleeting. Whatever had these people so worried definitely warranted Mulan's presence.

Mulan did not venture into Guifei often. While she swore to protect its people since leaving the emperor's army after the war, she refused to mingle with the people, if only to give herself room to breathe. She didn't do well in crowds. Her previous engagements in Misthaven only strengthened these reclusive traits.

However, that morning, Mulan had been visited by Ho Jian, one of the boys from the village, bearing a message from the Chief Yao Peizhi of Guifei. They had requested an audience with her concerning urgent matters. Before Mulan could further interrogate her visitor, the boy had run back to the village, his small braid swinging with the frantic beat of his sandaled feet. Mulan could see now that his actions were not so uncommon.

It was only when Mulan reached the Chief Yao's chamber and was greeted by him that she was finally given an explanation.

"Another Yaoguai?" Mulan asked with a frown.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Chief Yao. The sweltering heat of the summer morning had him perspiring excessively, leading him to dab at his pudgy, pink face every couple of minutes. "There have been multiple sightings of it outside our village."

Which was impossible, given the fact that the last time the Yaoguai disrupted the village it was really a bewitched prince. As far as Mulan was concerned, Prince Phillip and Princess Aurora were happily married and expecting.

As a way of distracting herself from this train of thought, Mulan probed. "What did this beast look like? Did your sources give descriptions?"

"They claim that it is a black creature with glowing blue eyes and big teeth," replied the chief. He dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief and added, "It hasn't hurt anyone yet, but it's causing quite the stir. Trade simply cannot go on with a beast patrolling the walls and scaring off merchants."

Trade was of utmost importance to Guifei, what with it being near the main artery of the trade route that slithered from the empire to the Enchanted Forest. Without the help of travelling merchants both from the mainland and from Misthaven, Guifei's economy would surely stagnate and collapse. The last time Prince Phillip was here, trade was put on hold for several weeks. The shortage of certain goods was only balanced out by the Yaoguai's penchant for shaving off a good portion of the population. It was a good time for no one except the foreign merchants who were trapped in the village and saw the tragedy as a good time to inflate their prices.

"I'm guessing you want me to investigate?" asked Mulan.

"You slayed the last Yaoguai, did you not?" asked Chief Yao. His thick white eyebrows rose on a heavily wrinkled forehead in bemusement. "I regret to ask for your assistance again, but the situation is proving dire."

"It was not by my hand," Mulan corrected, "but I'll do my best to find this beast."

This seemed to satisfy the Chief Yao who thanked her before giving her the names of the sources so that she could question them herself. More than anything, Mulan wished to get started on this new mission. Since she had parted ways with Red and Dorothy and returned to Guifei, she had made a point of keeping busy with the most mundane of tasks. Guifei was a very profitable village and made enough surplus to provide Mulan with required necessities such as rice, millet, wheat, and even eggs and radish if they were feeling especially generous. This left Mulan to do nothing more than cook, eat, and sleep, with disconcerting gaps of free time in between. She took to whittling wood into various images to pass the time; it was brain-deadening work, something that she felt she needed lest she relapsed into the misery that came with the peace of self-imposed isolation.

This new task would finally give Mulan something new to do. Outside of the Yaoguai issue a few years ago, Guifei was a relatively safe settlement. After all, the presence of a war-rugged soldier made it so.

For most of the day, Mulan started tracking this great black beast. Not surprisingly, it was much harder to find than the original Yaoguai which was several feet tall and often left ashes and open flames in its wake. However, Mulan could at least work on the accounts of the villagers; the Yaoguai made a point of eating or severely maiming his witnesses, so Mulan tackled the previous objective a little more blindly.

With this newest mark, Mulan relied on information given to her: the beast only dwelled at night and it made a point of circling the village border, but never entering. It was only a matter of time, the fearful witnesses said, before it would attack, as most wild predators do.

Mulan promised to find the beast.

Going on their accounts, she found that, indeed, there were several breaks in the natural pattern all around the village. Kicked up pebbles, broken twigs, jagged claw marks on the trees. The most striking clue was the absolute silence. In the thick of Guifei's greenery, one was awash in the sounds of chittering birds, skittering woodland creatures, and mournful shrieks of cicadas. When Mulan explored the forest, she could hear nothing but the whisper of windblown leaves and the scratching of branches overhead. In the far distance, there was the cry of a lone raven, but nothing more. Clearly, this was an apex predator to have scared off most of the wildlife away from their habitats.

When night fell, Mulan stood by the gates of Guifei and waited. She had her sword by her hip and her bow strapped to her back. She wore her chainmail helmet and the black reinforced leather armor, shoulders squared and eyes trained on a point in the distance as she listened for any potential disturbances in the quiet that often befell the night.

She waited for two hours. By this time, the people of Guifei had turned in for the night. This thought made Mulan breathe easy; now, it was just her and the beast.

Mulan was seated now with a block of wood and a dagger in hand. She attempted to carve out a semblance of a bird in flight, though it came out sort of clunky looking. She cut with the grain, just as her father would tell her shortly before she went off to war at the age of fourteen. Regardless of the more effortless glide of knife over wood, her carving did not come out quite like she pictured in her head.

This was when Coursing River reared up on his hind legs and whinnied in agitation. Mulan startled and, within a breath, she was on her feet with her hand tensed on the handle of her half-unsheathed jian sword. Her gaze wandered before it fell on a pair of blue eyes gleaming from among the clusters of trees just a few metres away.

Coursing River snorted and, though he shook violently and shuffled so much that he kicked up dirt, he did not flee. As expected of a war horse.

There was a showdown. Mulan stood stiffly, not even daring to breathe too harshly lest she provoked the beast. Minutes passed before the thing approached on quiet feet. Shards of moonlight suggested a hulking figure with black fur. It was majestic in its beastly appearance.

Mulan took in a deep breath when the animal finally moved into the open. She was struck by the sheer size of it as well as the size of its bared fangs. It was clearly on the defensive. If it decided to attack, Mulan would not stand a chance against it.

Which was why she prayed that her next actions wouldn't get her killed.

"Red?" she said. "Is that you?"

The beast's demeanour very suddenly shifted; it went from snarling at her to closing its mouth and straightening its posture. Its eyes were searching. Mulan stayed still. Finally, the beast hesitantly put a paw forward, as if in suggestion. Mulan nodded slowly and the beast took one step forward. Then another. Mulan watched until it was just a few feet away. It sniffed the ground at Mulan's feet. Mulan knew this to be judgment and she waited patiently for the beast to come up with a verdict. Coursing River whinnied louder, spooked now by the beast's proximity, but Mulan shushed him as she held on to his reins. Surprisingly, the beast barely faltered at Coursing River's antics as it continued to assess Mulan.

Apparently, Mulan passed. The animal shifted into a sitting position and docilely bowed its head. That was when it underwent a change. It was swift and had Mulan blinked she would have missed it, but she watched as the animal went from being a massive, black creature to a beautiful young woman.

Mulan smiled. "You certainly make an entrance."

"Did you expect any less?" asked Red with a radiant smile of her own. Apologetically, she smiled at Coursing River and said, "Sorry for scaring your horse."

"He doesn't mind," said Mulan.

Red rose to her feet and closed the distance between her and Mulan with a hug. Mulan stiffened in Red's hold, but Red pulled away with that same smile. If she noticed Mulan's hesitance, she didn't speak of it. Instead, she fingered the mesh of Mulan's helmet and laughed, "Nice helmet."

"It protects against enemy fire," Mulan huffed. "Every imperial soldier has one."

"Yeah," Red muttered as she moved to remove the helmet, "but then no one gets to see your pretty face."

Mulan's throat constricted at this description and so choked on whatever she was going to say next. She was thus powerless when Red slid off her helmet to observe it with clinical curiosity. It only lasted a moment because she handed it back to Mulan who grabbed it from her without hesitation.

"So. This is Guifei?" said Red as she looked past Mulan.

It took a moment for Mulan to realize that Red was speaking of the settlement behind the gates. She said, "Yes. I'm currently protecting this village from you, as a matter of fact."

At this, Red's pink cheeks darkened to a shade just one off from her cloak. Speaking of which, its absence was quite glaring at the moment.

"Where is your cloak, Red?" asked Mulan.

Sheepishly, Red said, "In the woods. I know I should keep it on, but I was just going on a run. I swear I'll put it back on, if it makes you feel better."

"It would," Mulan said with a raised eyebrow. "It would probably scare the villagers less, too."

"Sorry about that," Red muttered as she ventured back into the copse of trees. Mulan mounted Coursing River and followed. "It's just...my senses are at their peak when I'm the wolf. I figured that I could smell you out in wolf form. I knew you were in the village, but when I got here last night I couldn't quite catch your scent. I circled the village hoping I'd get it, but then I heard people yelling, so I ran off."

"You really gave people here a scare," Mulan chastised, but her heart wasn't in it. She was too distracted by the fact that Red actually sought her out at all.

Mulan was always reclusive and made sure to set herself apart from others. It came with masquerading as a man for twelve years in the army, she supposed, but she knew that, even before that, she much preferred isolation. Such an attitude did not attract many friends.

Princess Aurora was closest to being Mulan's friend, but Mulan had since cut off all communication with her. She made it impossible for Aurora to find her. Not that she would, what with Prince Phillip and her newborn taking up her attention.

Mulan had only known Red for a month or so and yet she came all the way here to find her. It left Mulan with an extraordinary feeling.

"Maybe I like scaring people," Red said with a smirk. At Mulan's disapproving frown, she laughed and added, "Take it easy. It was a joke."

"I suggest working on your sense of humour," Mulan groused.

It took a couple more minutes, but Red finally got her cloak from between a pair of trees with branches that interlocked overhead. While Mulan wouldn't say it out loud, it made her breathe easier to see Red in her trademark cloak again. She motioned for Red to follow suit and said, "Get on. I'll show you where I live."

"You don't live in the village?" Red asked as she easily hopped on and sidled in comfortably behind Mulan.

"No," Mulan replied. She squeezed Coursing River's haunches with her legs and he went at a steady pace through the trees. As an afterthought, Mulan said, "I prefer to live alone."

Red hummed as if she understood, though they both knew she didn't. After all, Red had traversed realms just to find others of her kind. Mulan was more likely to traverse realms to get away from other people.

The hut was a mile away, so it took about ten minutes arrive at the quaint wooden house that stood in a small clearing. This had originally belonged to a general from years ago who sometimes escaped to the countryside to ponder the verses of Xu Wei. After his death, the hut was left to rot until Mulan was given permission to take it when she first arrived to Guifei. She had since refurbished it, but it still held a deathly aura, especially in the night when it was surrounded by dark arcades of trees that blocked almost all moonlight from filtering through.

"So, this is where you live?" Red asked as Mulan tethered Coursing River to a post outside the shed. She opened the door and walked inside.

"Yes," Mulan said as she walked over to the end of the hut in two steps where she bowed down and lit the candles there so that the fire would stave off the night cold and shed light on the small hut. Mulan never much cared to tend to the hut and now that she had a visitor, she was suddenly mindful of the messy cot in the corner, the pile of books cluttered next to it, the squat table that held a stack of papers, a pot of ink, and her many wood carvings. They held an air of malice in the dim, flickering candle light.

"I wasn't expecting visitors," Mulan added with a note of apology. Red, however, didn't seem to mind as she wandered inside. Mulan closed the door behind them.

"It's so...you," Red said as her eyes wandered over to the wood carvings, something that Mulan had silently hoped she wouldn't notice so soon. She bent over and inspected them closer before she said, "I didn't know you carved!"

"As a pastime," Mulan replied as she stood by, paralyzed in her helplessness.

"They're beautiful," Red mumbled as she delicately picked up the one depicting a wolf. "I don't think I ever told you this, but I used to make jewellery."

"Did you?" Mulan asked as she finally moved closer.

"Not here," Red added hastily. Her thumb glided over the snout of the wolf with something akin to reverence. "In the other realm. I stopped after the first curse broke."

"Why is that?" Mulan asked. Red's eyes dulled slightly and her smile faded. Thinking she said the wrong thing, Mulan opened her mouth to tell Red that she didn't have to answer when Red spoke.

"Do you...do you remember when I told you that I ate my only boyfriend?" Red asked. She set down the wolf statuette between the small figurine of a long-haired woman in a shawl and that of a hooded woman painted red. She turned to face Mulan who could only nod dumbly. "Well, the first curse erased all memories of that past. So, when the curse broke and I got those memories back, I had to...relive that trauma. Sort of. I used to make all these wolf trinkets—necklaces, rings, key chains— and I used to see it as this thing I liked doing, but when I remembered where all that came from, I just couldn't continue with it."

"I'm sorry," Mulan said. She could think of nothing else to say to that and, really, what was there to say? Thankfully, this seemed to be enough for Red who cracked a strained smile and shook her head.

"It's fine," Red said though, to Mulan, it didn't sound all that fine. "Anyway, your statues just reminded me of that. Making jewellery, I mean, not eating my ex."

"It's never too late to return to it," Mulan said.

"It wouldn't be the same," Red said with a sad smile. "Trust me."

After this, they tumbled into a thick silence. Mulan quickly busied herself with putting away her weapons as Red continued to scan her environment in quiet consideration. It was a couple of minutes before Mulan broke the silence.

"I'm sorry I'm not the best host," Mulan sighed. "I'm still trying to get used to having a visitor. I haven't had company in over a decade."

"What?" Red all but yelled as her eyes widened comically. "Why?"

"I keep to myself," Mulan said. She cleared her throat and decided to change the topic. "How are you and Dorothy?"

Red seemed to notice the deflection judging by the twitch in her brow, but her expression softened a bit at the mention of her partner.

"We're good," she sighed wistfully as she plopped down on the bench where her cloak was folded. "It's still new to us. We've never really had a true love before."

"It must be nice," Mulan said. She tried to sound encouraging, but to her own ears she sounded bitter. Red gave her a strange look and Mulan busied herself with taking off her armour so that Red wouldn't get the chance to analyze her.

Apparently, Red quickly gave up, because she continued, "I never really understood true love until I met Dorothy. I mean, I saw Snow and Charming together, but you don't know true love until you've experienced it. It really is magic."

Mulan didn't dare reply to that, instead focusing on removing her cape and carelessly tossing it to the ground. More silence until Red added, "Her dog annoys the hell out of me though."

This, Mulan felt safe to respond to with a sympathetic laugh.

"It's like having a kid, only it never grows up," Red said with a small pout.

"We all make sacrifices for the ones we love," Mulan said. The last of her armour was off and she quickly slipped on a pair of trousers before she fumbled to put on a knee-length wool tunic.

"I know," Red replied. When Mulan turned to look at her, she found herself subject to scrutiny as Red openly looked at her. A beat passed, then Red said, "It's all worth it."

Mulan turned away.

"It is," she agreed. She hoped she didn't sound as hollow as she felt.

Dressed in her common clothes, Mulan went out back where she prepared a basic meal of stewed rice with boiled radish over an open fire. When presented with the food, Red balked at it for a split second before she hesitantly thanked Mulan. Only a moment later did she spit the food out and claim that she wasn't that hungry anyway. Mulan couldn't blame her; the food was rather plain and uninspired, but these were foods that she lived on while she was in the emperor's army. Food was a luxury not always easy to come by.

They retired for the night in Mulan's cot. It was crowded, seeing as the cot was really made for one person and not two, but they made do with it. Red was good about sharing the space and seemed comfortable to be in such close proximity with another person in slumber. On the other hand, it took Mulan several hours of tossing and turning to finally fall asleep. It was her bad luck that Red was an early-morning riser and didn't like for anyone to sleep in.

"Where do you wash?" Red asked as she stretched, catlike, in the centre of the hut. Mulan watched her groggily, her eyes slightly unfocused with sleep. The golden sunlight burst through the trees and flooded the hut and everything appeared bright and naked and skinned raw. The statues on the other end of the shed stood stoically among the dancing dust. Red's face glowed. The curves of her body highlighted by slivers of light. Mulan's desires and regrets, laid bare and festering like meat under an open sun.

Mulan clenched her jaw and mumbled something about a lake west of here and for Red to use one of the little balls of soap she had in a jar by the candles. Red was gone after a few minutes of shuffling and Mulan soon returned to sleep.

Mulan eventually woke up to see Red muttering to herself as she untangled her wet hair. She was already dressed in her tunic, vest, and crimson skirt. Her cloak laid on the bench, neatly folded.

"Rise and shine!" Red said gleefully when Mulan rose to her feet. "Sleep well?"

"Despite your snoring keeping me up half the night, I slept wonderfully," Mulan jested. Red scowled and threw one of her gloves at Mulan's face in retaliation.

After Mulan had bathed and put on her armour once more, she told Red that she was to report back to the chief in Guifei about the beast.

"What are you gonna tell him?" asked Red as they rode on Coursing River towards to the village. Despite Mulan telling her to stay behind, she insisted on joining Mulan, if only so that she could see Guifei without looking like an "awkward tourist".

"I'll tell him that I killed the beast," Mulan said. At Red's silence, she added, "It's safest to tell him that. I don't want the villagers to take it upon themselves to slay something that doesn't even exist and get themselves in trouble."

"Yeah," Red sighed. "I'm really sorry, Mulan."

"It's not your fault," Mulan said, though her voice betrayed the mild frustration bubbling in her chest. She was not so frustrated with Red as much as she was inconvenienced by the situation. Whatever the case, she was happy to wrap everything up and return to her hut, only to be bothered again by some other pale-faced courier boy in the next several months.

So, it came as quite the surprise to see several unfamiliar men and horses at the gate entrance to Guifei. It was not uncommon for Guifei to receive its share of merchants and bureaucrats, but these men certainly did not look like the commercial or political type. They wore thick, leather armour and carried broad dao blades on their hips. Eyes behind iron helmets gravitated to Mulan and Red as the two approached.

"What brings you here?" asked one man on horseback.

"I should ask you the same," Mulan said, her tone clipped.

"We are the men of General Zhang Jianhong," he replied as he puffed his chest. "I am An Jie. We heard that a demon was seen here last night."

"It's been slain," Mulan said as she rode on. Over her shoulder, she added, "Be sure to spread the word that the imperial soldier posted here killed it last night."

"What was that about?" asked Red when they were out of earshot.

"Fools with numbers to bolster their confidence," Mulan said with no shortage of resentment. "Most likely bandits trying to pass off as bounty hunters. I shouldn't have let you come out here with me."

"You do remember who I am, right?" Red replied with a tinkle of laughter. "I'm not exactly harmless."

"Neither are they," Mulan relented. "Keep sharp."

When they arrived at the chief's place, Mulan saw that a black horse with white mane was already tethered to the building. When Mulan and Red approached, it whinnied in agitation and shuffled as far away from them as it could. Mulan made sure to stop on the opposite end of the building and tie Coursing River to a nearby post before turning to Red.

"Stay out here," Mulan said. "If anything looks wrong or out of place, I want you to call for me."

"God, you sound like Granny," Red said, though it was more gentle than annoyed. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Mulan nodded curtly before she entered the building with her hand poised over her sword. Inside was the Chief Yao, back erect and expression strained to remain polite. Across from them was a man dressed in thick leather armour. An iron helmet similar to those of the men posted outside sat by his side. He and Chief Yao turned to watch Mulan walk in.

"Pardon my intrusion," Mulan said with a formal bow. "I come bearing news on the beast."

"Do you?" asked Chief Yao as he dabbed at his forehead. He looked especially sweaty this morning, despite the chill in the air. "What a coincidence. This young man came straight here as soon as he heard of the beast. Mulan, this is General Zhang Jianhong. General Zhang, this is General Hua Mulan."

"It is an honour to meet the renowned General Hua," Zhang said as he deeply nodded in acknowledgement. He was indeed young; he looked no older than thirty years old. His long, angular face was pulled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. Mulan took note of the silk that held his hair in a top knot; it was the same material which underlined his black cape. He spoke again, breaking Mulan's train of thought. "Sorry to impose, but I was sent by Commander Song Gen to oversee the area surrounding my garrison. Considering there was talk of another Yaoguai, I came straight here."

Song Gen. Mulan knew that name. She filed that away for later.

"Where is your garrison?" asked Mulan.

"Quixen Prefecture," he replied. "Just a mere twenty miles from this humble village."

"As you are so close by, I'm sure you heard that there was an imperial soldier here?" Mulan continued without a beat. "One that has already slayed a Yaoguai before?"

"Yet another legend to add to your name, yes," General Zhang said with a polite smile. "I have heard it all. I was just passing through to see if you needed any help."

General Hua Mulan narrowed her eyes a touch, but she quickly smoothed her brow.

"I assure you, I have it handled," Mulan said coldly before turning to Chief Yao who was shifting uncomfortably. "The beast is dead. I killed it last night."

"Oh, that is great news," said Chief Yao. "We did not expect any less from you, Mulan!"

"Ah, yes, good news," echoed Zhang, but there was an unnatural pull to his stiff smile. "You slayed it on your own?"

"Yes," Mulan said curtly. "Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you'd brought its fur back," said Zhang. "Most hunters bring back proof of their hunt. I thought, especially concerning such a beast, this situation would be no different."

"I am inclined to believe Mulan," said Chief Yao hastily. He seemed to sense the beginnings of a conflict and was smart enough to want to diffuse it before it boiled over. "She is a veteran of war. If she says that it is dead, then it is dead."

"I suppose that did come off as accusatory," said Zhang. "My apologies."

"Why are you really here, General Zhang?" Mulan asked, to Chief Yao's horror. She hardly cared if she sounded rude anymore because Zhang had this look on his face that grated on all her nerves.

"So direct," General Zhang chastised, though he didn't sound nearly insulted enough. "What makes you think I have ulterior motives? I came here to investigate a potential threat. One that you say you deposed of. This was all an unfortunate misunderstanding."

"No merchant could have travelled twenty miles and gotten the news to you for you to arrive here with just that in mind," Mulan pointed out. "In fact, Chief Yao, is it true that the only travelling merchant to come here was bearing south, not north?"

"The—er—the merchants don't usually tell me such things, but that is what I heard, yes," Chief Yao stumbled, his face growing red as sweat collected on his neck and chest. He aggressively dabbed at the building moisture.

"From what I remember," Mulan went on, "Quixen is up north. Now why are you here?"

General Zhang's smile faltered for the first time since Mulan walked in on his meeting with the chief. He scanned Mulan just as Mulan tried to dissect him and his motives until he said, slowly, "This sort of behaviour is very unladylike."

Mulan did not dignify that with a response. General Zhang continued.

"Commander Song has asked that I protect this village," said General Zhang. "Hence why I brought my men with me. I was going to privately discuss the plans with the chief until you interrupted."

"I'm already posted here," Mulan protested.

"You are one soldier in the face of a brewing threat," said Zhang. He turned to the chief and continued with, "Aside from the beast, there have been bandits running wildly in the woods. Many of my men have gone missing while out on patrol. I would be loath to have innocent villagers be preyed upon by uncivilized thieves."

"That does sound worrisome," mumbled Chief Yao.

"Commander Song is invested in the safety of all those who fall under his jurisdiction," Zhang continued. "As he is in charge of the western half of the mainland, you automatically fall under his protection. I would be more than happy to leave my soldiers in your hands."

"Just like that?" Mulan asked. "Free of charge?"

"Commander Song is wealthy enough and powerful enough to cover such costs," said Zhang, his eyes never leaving the chief. "What do you say?"

"Bandits are very much a problem," said Chief Yao as he brought his handkerchief to his collarbone to pat away the sweat.

"I can handle that alone, as I always have," Mulan said, but she knew the moment the words left her lips that they were hollow of promise. Zhang cast her a sidelong glance with a quirk of his lip before focusing back on the chief.

"I am more than aware of your abilities, Mulan," said Chief Yao. "But I also know that one soldier is never enough. If General Zhang is truly offering his services for free..."

"Completely free," insisted Zhang.

"I think this is the best decision for Guifei," said Chief Yao as he looked over at Mulan with a determined gaze. Mulan opened her mouth to protest, but Zhang beat her to the punch.

"It's good that you see reason," said Zhang as he began to rise. "I will have an outpost established beyond the gate. Don't worry, Chief Yao; your people will be in the most capable of hands. With Mulan working alongside them, I imagine you will be thoroughly protected."

"I would like to think so," Chief Yao muttered. General Zhang nodded firmly before picking up his helmet and bowing to the chief.

"I must take my leave and return to my garrison," said General Zhang as he straightened up. "If any problems arise, don't hesitate to notify me however you can."

"Yes, of course," said Chief Yao. Mulan watched as General Zhang swept out of the chamber and towards his anchored horse. His eyes locked on Mulan's for a brief moment before he mounted his stead and headed off at a steady trot. Mulan could feel Red's stare boring into her, but she was too busy watching Zhang leave.

Unfortunately, he rode too close to Red and his own stead reared its front legs and whinnied so loudly that all activity in the village square was halted in favour of watching Zhang and his belligerent horse. Red, to her credit, barely reacted as Zhang swore and tried to calm his horse. It eventually relaxed its posture, but it shook in distress even as it carried Zhang out of the village square. He cast Red a look that gave Mulan a thrill of childish glee. It was made all the better when Red turned to look at Mulan and shrugged with a close-mouthed smile that spelled innocence. Mulan almost felt proud of her for having such a deceitful front.

After Zhang's departure, the meeting with the chief was short. Mulan tried to convince the chief of General Zhang's ulterior motives, but the chief refused to pursue the issue.

"We need more than one woman to defend us, Mulan," he said. And, though it pained her to hear such a thing, she knew that this did not come from a place of malice, but one of fear and desperation. The Yaoguai had done nothing but kill off men, women, and children. It devoured the chief's wife and he had never quite been the same again since her funeral. Zhang had promised protection and what kind of chief would he be if he denied such a thing?

So, Mulan distanced herself and consented to the new standard. A soldier knew when to fight and when to desist. This was a good example of the latter.

That didn't stop her from complaining to Red about it on their way out the village, however.

"I didn't know one run could cause so much excitement," said Red. She sounded delighted which, really, wasn't much of a surprise to Mulan at all.

"Like I said, this has little to do with you," Mulan said. "General Zhang and his men are up to something. I'm going to keep an eye on them and see if they behave."

"I hope they do," Red said. "Though I still can't help but feel like I'm the cause of all this."

"You aren't," Mulan reassured. She hesitated before, against her better judgment, she took one hand off the reins and reached back for Red's knee and squeezed. It was a strange and awkward gesture, but it was one that came to her naturally. Thankfully, Red took her hand and held it firmly.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," said Red. "If this Commander Song guy is such a big shot, what would he want with a village? Maybe he really just wants to look after this place."

There was a pensive pause after that. Perhaps Red noticed that Mulan was tense because she began to draw circles in the palm of Mulan's gloved hand and said, "And besides. They have you, right? They're in pretty good hands."

"I suppose," Mulan said, her mind focused on the path being marked on her palm and little else. She sounded terser than she intended, so she added, gently, "I just don't want to see these people hurt."

"Can I ask you something personal?" Red asked.

"Okay." Mulan didn't feel okay about this at all, as a matter of fact, but she didn't want to appear contrary.

"Why are you so invested in Guifei?" Red probed. "You never have anyone over. You don't even live with the people there. You spent years in the Enchanted Forest and only came back after I broke the curse on Dorothy. It just seems odd that you'd want to protect them now all of a sudden."

Mulan's grip tightened on the reins of her horse as she pondered Red's question. To be honest, Mulan really wasn't all that interested in Guifei. She was here for the same reasons she joined the Merry Men and for the same reasons she joined Red on her quest to find other werewolves. For the same reasons why she left it all behind to return to isolation in the forest.

"My father asked that I stay and guard this place," Mulan said instead. "He lived and died in Guifei. I was only fourteen when I had to leave to fight the war. By time I returned, I was...different. While the village had stayed the same."

Mulan avoided talking about how the nightmares woke her up in bouts of cold sweat. How she always, always slept with a knife under her pillow. How she came back to Guifei and could not recognize anyone anymore. How she heard that her father died in his sleep while she was serving.

"Going to Misthaven was a foolish pursuit," Mulan added. She felt Red's hand slip away from hers, but she pressed on. "I was trying to run away from my promise and find what I thought I lacked after the war was over. I know now that it's best if I stay here and fulfill my duty."

"Mulan," Red said, her voice full of reproach. Mulan could practically feel the waves of disapproval against the back of her head. "Without you, Merida would have never become queen of Dun Broch. If you didn't see that I was human while I was a wolf, I would have still been the pet of that evil witch. I would have never found Dorothy. You coming to Misthaven was the best thing that happened for us. I—"

Red stopped herself there and, no matter how much Mulan waited, she would not finish the sentence.

"What?" Mulan asked when she finally ran out of patience.

"Never mind," Red muttered.

"I didn't mean for it to come out that way," Mulan apologized. "I don't regret meeting you or Merida. I don't even regret having a broken heart. It was all a learning experience."

Red was quiet for a few moments. Then, "You never told me who broke your heart."

Mulan laughed, though it was devoid of humour. "No matter how much you ask, I would still prefer not to tell you. I haven't told them, so I won't tell anyone else."

"I'll wear you down eventually," Red said. "Just so I could help you move on. As far as I'm concerned, you're still wallowing in self-pity."

"I do not—do you want to walk back to the shed?" Mulan snapped playfully. Red laughed and Mulan found it to be contagious because she soon joined her. And, just like that, the tension was broken, even as they rode in silence.

That night, Mulan cooked again, but this time Red offered to help with preparing the food. It still came out rather plain, but there were more components to the dish, thanks to some of Red's suggestions. Red did mention that she used to work at a diner and deemed herself a food expert, at least in comparison to Mulan.

Red told her that she would be leaving the next morning.

"Dorothy is probably waiting on me to get back," Red said. Mulan nodded her understanding. Red went on, "It's weird, but it...hurts to be away from her for too long. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't apologize," Mulan said as she laid a hand atop Red's. She squeezed it lightly, with conviction that she lacked. Mulan looked Red in the eye and said, "You should be with the one you love, Red. Go back to her. I'll be fine."

A smile graced Red's full lips and, though it was small, Mulan saw heaven and earth within it. Despite herself, Mulan smiled back and dropped Red's hand before she quietly returned to her bowl of rice, pan-fried radishes, and boiled egg. It was the best meal she'd had in years.