#legend has it to this day- you can still see bits of glitter

[sweetsndreams]

Mr. Cubern,

Welcome to the existential crisis that is existence.

As is protocol with JSAB blogs capable of receiving asks with 2 or less existing receivers, copious amounts of glitter will now be dispensed via an aerial bomb.

Further askage will be carried out shortly.

Have a nice day.

-Brad Semaphore

Madness Advertisements and Socialities Sector

Breaking news:

Bomb covers local town in gallons of glitter, culprit still at large.

.

.

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((They'll never be able to clean up all of that glitter))

[hugsandchaos]

Dawn Of The Second Day

Summary: Danny has the closest thing to a normal breakfast he can have with nine strangers, but as luck would have it, he soon realizes he probably just ate something he shouldn’t have.

Word count: 3,717

The rest of the day, which wasn’t very long, was spent setting up camp in the ruins. It was a bit awkward for Danny since he didn’t have a tent or sleeping bag and pretty much just helped out a bit despite Hyrule insisting him to just sit with his injury. They were currently outside while dinner was cooking. Danny was seated on a log with his backpack right beside him, close enough to snatch if anyone tried anything. That night, Twilight was the one to cook something for the group, which based on what information Danny had, was usually Wild’s job.

Speaking of Wild, he had yet to say a word. Not that there was an issue with it. Besides, Danny found out the reason why when he tried asking him through sign language about what he usually likes to eat. He understood none of it, so now he was getting another set of lessons for sign language by Hyrule and Wild.

Key word now being ‘was’.

“Here you go.” Twilight said, handing him a bowl of soup. Danny accepted it with a smile, but wasn’t going to just eat it straight away.

“Thank you.” Danny said. In truth, he was pretty grateful, but with how suspicious he was of everyone, it felt like a lie. It smelled like cheese, fish, and pumpkin. An odd combination, but none of it looked or smelled anything like the stuff he taught himself to watch out for. As he glanced at Twilight hand the rest out, he risked it and lifted the spoon to his mouth to eat. Not because he was hungry, but more so to avoid suspicion.

It was surprisingly good. However, the familiar uneasiness caused by stress in Danny’s stomach urged him to eat slowly if he was going to eat anything at all that night, so that’s just what he did. By the time he was done eating, the others were too, and when he looked up, he immediately caught Warriors and Hyrule eyeing him. He glanced between them awkwardly, when really it put him on edge.

They seemed to realize how weird their staring must’ve been because their eyes widened a bit.”Oh, sorry. I was just unsure if you’d actually eat anything since you’ve seemed stressed and since arriving here.” Hyrule explained. Danny wasn’t entirely sure if he’d believe that, but he’d definitely play along.

“Yeah, it’s weird to be having a normal day and then quite literally dropped into another world. I’d be more surprised if I didn’t freak out a little.” He said half jokingly.

“So what’s your world like?” Wind asked. Danny turned his head to the right and looked at Wind sitting next to Twilight. Behind them, the clearing surrounding a pit prevented nearby trees from growing and concealing the night sky with their leaves and branches. Looking up, the young halfa was left breathless by the view. He had no idea how he hadn’t noticed it until now, but when he did, it was like everything else was forgotten.

The stars littered the sky like scattered glitter, and the moon looked to be in its crescent phase, glowing extra bright, but not bright enough to keep Danny’s attention. Neither were the stars the main characters of his attention, no. It was the galaxy. It was at an angle, mostly up and down, and looked cloudy and dusty, and yet so beautiful with its colors of white, purples, and blues. Out of all the camping trips he’s taken with his family, he couldn’t once recall a sight like this in person. It was beautiful, beyond beautiful, actually! Seeing pictures like this in textbooks were one thing, but he never imagined how much better it felt in person.

Now more than ever, he wanted to fly off planet and explore up close. Danny’s heart raced in his chest despite him still not breathing, until he felt someone nudge him and he nearly jumped out of his seat. He glanced over to see Legend had been the one to startle him out of his trance-like state.

“You okay?” He asked.

Danny recomposed himself.”Yeah, I’m alright.” He said. He glanced over at Wind, who looked a little concerned along with Twilight.”I’ll tell you one thing; In my world, you can hardly see the stars like this without driving a long distance away from the town because of the amount of lights we have on to light up the roads, and even then, I’ve never seen such a clear view of the night sky like this!” He said. He looked back up at the sky and leaned back a little bit.”If you guys get to see this every night, I’m a little jealous.” Danny said, hardly processing his own words as he was pulled back into the alluring wonders of the cosmos.

He was going to ask about different monsters, but he decided that would wait a bit. He knew something was said, but he was so focused on the unbelievable sight that it sounded muffled. His mind was elsewhere, most of it still shocked into silence and a small part of it going through everything he’s learned about outer space all at once.

~~~~~(Short Time Skip)~~~~~

After what felt like a short while and also eternity at the same time, Danny couldn’t ignore his continuous yawning any longer. He brought himself back down to the ground and turned to grab his backpack. A sharp pain flared from the cut as he turned his body and he briefly bit his lip to prevent himself from letting any sound out. As he moved to put it against the log so he could use it as a pillow, Danny looked around to see the others asleep. Most of them, at least. Time was still awake, sitting next to the fire.

He looked over at Danny.”Oh, you’re going to sleep? I was going to check on you in a few minutes if you hadn’t moved.” Time said. Danny felt a little bit embarrassed about how he’d let himself get lost in space for so long and his face felt a little hotter, and it wasn’t because of the fire.

“Yeah, it’s... it’s almost unreal.” He said, averting his gaze towards the ground. He got an idea and unzipped his backpack, reached inside, and pulled out his phone. He may not have service, but that wasn’t needed for the camera. Danny lightly pressed the on button, unlocked his phone, and pulled up the camera app, turning his phone towards the sky.

“Is that a sheika slate?” Time asked. Danny snapped a few pictures of the sky before turning his phone off and glancing over at him.

“A what? This is a phone.” Danny replied. Did they have something similar to a phone here?

Time seemed to understand and gave him a small nod.“Wild has something very similar. A bit more decorated, though.” He said.

“That’s pretty cool.” Danny said, yawning after he spoke. He briefly covered his mouth out of habit. He put his phone away in his bag and zipped it back up. He adjusted himself to lay down parallel to the log, using the backpack as a pillow, and cringing from the pain from his cut. The moment he got into a comfortable position and rested his head against the contents inside, Danny realized how tired he was. And something else. He sat back up, pausing at the flaring up pain from his cut, and began to stand up.

“Is everything okay?” Time asked.”If you heard something, I need to know.” He said. Hopefully the phone wasn’t the same thing they had that was similar.

“Uh-, no, I just... I just need to go take something off. I’m not supposed to sleep in it.” Danny said. Much to his relief, Time didn’t pry and simply nodded.

“You might want to also remove the strap on the armor, by the way. Makes sleep more comfortable.” He said. Danny nodded, grabbing his bag and walking into the ruins to do just that.

When Danny returned, he’d thrown on his jacket and zipped it up to make himself feel more comfortable (along with the Fenton taser in his pocket, which can still harm non-ectoplasmic entities). He stayed quiet as he placed the bag back down and got back into his previous position. He looked up at the sky one last time, no feeling a little better with the cosmos in his sights, before letting his eyes close.

~~~~~(In The Morning)~~~~~

The ground underneath Danny felt a little rough and a little prickly, and the partially solid backpack he was using as a pillow didn’t really help his quality of sleep. The rough texture of the backpack was far from perfect or ideal, and one of his first thoughts was that there was probably a mark on the side of his face. The contents inside offered some solidarity to keep his head off the ground at a slight angle. Now you might be wondering; How much sleep did Danny get? The answer is none.

He didn’t even have to try not to, but he did anyways. Whenever he heard something that startled him into sitting up, Time, Warriors, or Twilight would ask if he was alright. He’d nod, say he was a light sleeper, and pretend to go back to sleep. It wasn’t hard since being half dead meant he didn’t need to breathe as much, so he could mimic the slow, deep breathing of the living fast asleep without falling asleep himself. They had shifts, apparently, to keep watch from monsters.

Danny heard them waking each other up and bidding goodnight, then the camp would drift back into a quietness only interrupted by crickets, owls, the wind blowing, and the occasional monster howl in the distance. At some point, he’d been offered a blanket, but he politely refused and said that the jacket he was wearing was meant for colder weather than this, and was honestly happy when they didn’t press further than asking if he was sure. Danny took a while to notice the crickets quieting down and the owls waiting longer and longer between calls.

When he did, he mentally groaned and complained about how he hadn’t gotten any sleep, as if it wasn’t his intention. He heard pretty much everything, including when Twilight and Wild started to set up breakfast. Danny decided he’d had enough and would pretend to be an early riser. He yawned and started to sit up, but a sudden, sharp pain made him stop and inhale sharply through his teeth, almost like a hiss.

Right, the cut. How had he forgotten when it had bugged him all night?

The injury felt very sore and tingly as he waited for the initial soreness to subside. Once it died down enough, Danny moved again and lifted his arms next to him to sit up. The pain flared up again, but he held his breath and managed to push himself up with his eyes shut tight. He slowly released his breath and opened his eyes once he was sitting up.

“Good morning.” Twilight said. Danny looked over at him.”Did you sleep well?” He asked.

“Actually, I don’t think I slept at all. Thanks for asking, though.” Danny replied. He really wanted to be sarcastic, but he shouldn’t. It sounded like a genuine question, and even if it wasn’t, he could get in trouble for being rude. He didn’t fail to notice the brief look of worry on both heroes’ faces as he put a hand on the log to try to use as a backup support.

“Need help?” Twilight asked.

“No, I got it. Thank you, though.” Danny replied. He grabbed onto the one of the shoulder straps of his backpack and stood up. Thanks to his fast healing, the cut had likely healed some overnight, but it still hurt a lot. He’d take a look at it. He shifted his gaze to Twilight when he noticed him get up from his seat, but soon looked away when he started to wake up the others. While he did that, Danny threw him and Wild a brief “I’ll be right back, gotta check on my cut” before going back into the ruins.

He didn’t hear any argument, only a “Be careful” from Twilight.

The ruins were pretty dark compared to outside, but Danny’s eyes were already adjusting by the time he found his way back to the room he went into the day before. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his phone for the flashlight, something he could’ve done earlier, and shut the door behind him. He placed the backpack against the door and unzipped it. The little blob from yesterday let out something akin to a chirp.

Curious. Worry. Safe?

Danny looked inside his bag.”Yeah, but don’t come out yet. I’m going to get changed again.” He said. He reached in and grabbed the piece of leather armor, and the first aid kit. He placed the first aid kit on the ground and put the armor on top of it, then began undressing his upper body.

Worry. Hurting?

Danny didn’t look at the blob and put most of his focus on the task at hand.“Yeah, the cut still hurts.” He said. It was surprisingly comforting to have them there with him. After the struggle to put the binder back on, Danny paused to look at his cut. Placing the phone on top of his backpack, propped up against the door, he kneeled down and moved the armor off the first aid kit. He opened it and pulled out a roll of bandages. Then he began removing the bandages stained in red.

He was a little relieved to see that the stitches haven’t swelled much, something Frostbite warned him about. Danny also didn’t see any change in his usual skin tone around the site. The redness had died down from when it was fresh yesterday, so it didn’t look infected. The young halfa grabbed the roll of bandages and started putting on a fresh set. Once that was done, Danny grabbed the old set of bandages and put them in a previously empty spare pocket inside his backpack.

He then put the roll away, and the first aid kit back in his bag. He took the jacket and Fenton taser and put them both in the bag, but not before folding his jacket. Danny took a deep breath, letting his arms drop into his lap and still kneeling in front of his bag. Being surrounded strangers wasn’t fun at all, no matter how friendly they seemed, but they were his best bet at getting home. The blob sent another message, making more high pitched noises that always sounded like static, squeaks, chirps, or something one would hear from a computer experiencing errors that sounded like an expensive fix.

Worry. Comfort?

Danny only thought about it for a few seconds before closing his eyes and nodding. The blob didn’t see it, though, so he spoke.”Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you can be quick about it since we have to head back pretty soon. Just give me a moment.” He said. An agreeing squeak was his response as he started to get dressed.

Once he was done, complete with all the armor, he looked into the bag.”You can come out now.” He said. The ghost blob flew out of his bag and immediately put their plan into action.

They floated around Danny’s shoulder, went past him a little, then turned around and pressed their small body against the side of his face. Danny wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. That didn’t mean it didn’t help, though. The blob’s ghostly “body” was pleasantly cool, the kind of cool that would make you want to surround yourself with it, especially during a hot summer day. They were also a little squishy. It reminded him of a stress ball Sam once handed him in class.

It wasn’t tough, or too easily manipulated that Danny felt a slight uneasiness from it possibly moving so fluidly that he couldn’t prevent it from falling out of his hand. In fact, after he thanked her for it, Sam offered to look into getting him one the next time he came over. That was supposed to be today. Even though it wasn’t some big event, the realization only added to his list of things to be upset about. The ghost blob closed their eyes and started vibrating their core, except it wasn’t a direct message.

The emotion was something bittersweet, but much more sweet than bitter. It was soothing. There was a ghost word for this, but the best English word was probably “purring”.

Danny glanced at the blob. Their soft green glow would usually be depicted by most others as eerie and unsettling, but now he saw them as a light of safety. Like a nightlight. Danny closed his eyes and tilted his head ever so slightly towards them. Not enough to make them move, but just enough to convey the message. He took a slow, deep breath, then another.

After a short while, Danny opened his eyes and smiled a little.”Thank you.” He said. The ghost blob chirped.

Curious. Hopeful. Comfort? Good?

“Yeah, I feel much better now. We should head back.” Danny replied. The ghost blob gave him one last chirp before retreating into his bag. They snuggled into the jacket he’d neatly placed as Danny reached towards an energy drink kept in place by a strap and net inside the bag. He was slowly getting into the habit of drinking them when he got so little sleep between school and ghost fighting, and he hadn’t gotten any sleep. The hiss and pop of the opening can echoed rather loudly in the small room.

Instead of just taking a couple sips and risking it spilling in his backpack, Danny made the half-thought-out, half-impulsive decision to down the whole thing. The flavor wasn’t the best thing for early morning, but it wasn’t that bad. Once it was all gone, he placed it back inside before zipping the bag back up and grabbed his phone. He carried the backpack by one of the straps that go around his shoulders and used the flashlight from his phone as he opened the door and began leaving the ruins. In the few minutes he’d been gone, the sun had risen more, and a few birds were starting to wake up.

When he returned to the camp, he put his phone back in his bag and approached the group. It could be his imagination, but they seemed a little relieved to see him. Wind and Hyrule especially perked up. Wild was the first to walk up to him, holding out a bowl of food.”Oh, thank you.” Danny said, accepting the food. Looking around, everyone else was awake and eating. Sky looked grumpy, though. He probably wasn’t a morning person. Danny took his seat from last night and started eating.

After everyone was done eating, Sky spoke up.“Alright,” Danny paused his practice conversation with Wild, worried that it was about him, “here’s the plan for today.” Sky said. Danny decided he needed to be involved in this. He probably already was, anyways.“An hour after breakfast, Wild and I will go up to Skyloft for supplies, and obviously one last visit to Sun. Then we’ll come back down to start Danny’s training.” Sky said.

Being defenseless wasn’t an image the young halfa wanted to keep for long, so he liked this idea. His only worry was his injury. It was healing nicely, but still hurt even when he wasn’t moving and was far from good enough for sparring. He was going to bring this up, but Hyrule beat him to it.

“We need to wait for his injury to heal, though.” He said.

“Why not give him a healing potion? Or a fairy, or use any magic?” Warriors asked.

That caught Danny’s attention. He lifted his hand a little.”Hold on, magic? Probably not a good idea.” He said. Everyone paused and turned towards him. Wild’s face fell a little.

“Why not? Is your body not able to handle magic very well?” Hyrule asked. Even though Danny wasn’t entirely sure, he didn’t want to risk it, so he nodded and started delivering an explanation to back it up.

“Back in my world, magic is extremely scarce. Most people don’t even believe it actually exists, and I used to be one of those people.” He said. Hyrule and Wild looked at him really worried. They then glanced at each other, then back at him. Danny didn’t like that had one bit.

“What happens if you eat it?” Hyrule asked. The pieces fell into place so quickly, the Flash couldn’t put together a puzzle faster. Danny’s face fell a little.

“I honestly don’t know. There was magic in the food, wasn’t there?” He asked. Hyrule nodded. The camp was silent for a bit. Well, except for the birds chirping and other animals waking up. It’d be bad if it went quiet while they were in a forest. Danny probably wasn’t as worried as them, though.

“I got a little unwell a while back when there was a lot of magic in a meal, but all I got was a stomachache that lasted a couple hours.” Twilight spoke up. Not sure if that was meant to help or not.

“Hopefully, that’s all I’ll get.” Danny said. He quickly dropped the subject. He’s gone to school and fought sick before, even though it was a bad idea and experience. He could surely handle a stomachache, if it affected him at all. He suddenly remembered last night’s meal.”Wait, but what about dinner last night? Did that have any magic in it? If it did, that would actually be a relief because that would mean no side effects.” Danny asked.

“No, last night’s meal didn’t have any magic in it.” Twilight replied.

Okay, there was still a possibility of him getting sick. That was fine. He’d handle it.“Guess I’ll just wait and see what happens. So if we can’t train, could I at least get a bit of information on these things I’m going to learn to fight?” Danny asked.

“Sounds good to me!” Wind said.

(Notes: Y’all, I’m so impatient to get to the parts I really, really want to write and I’m trying to be patient about it because there are other parts I’d also like to write! I’m being impatiently-patient! I wanted to title this “Dawn Of The First Day”, but decided against it because it’s the second day. Yes, even though it hasn’t been a full 24 hours. But I enjoyed writing the bit about Danny realizing how there’s pretty much zero light pollution, which means clear view of the night sky, and he kinda just forgets about everything else! I can’t help but imagine the Links watching him get lost in space (metaphorically) and either making bets about when he’ll snap out of it or fall asleep, or just Twilight giving him a piggyback ride late at night while he stares up at the sky.)

(And incase you’re wondering who’d win the bet, no one would. If left alone, Danny would most likely stay up all night staring at the sky, which none of them bet on. He’d either pretend to be completely fine the next day because it was far from his first all-nighter, or he’d be carried against his will and get a good nap in. The bit where the ghost blob comforted him was also something I had fun writing! Also, I’m trying to do some research on binder safety because I’m using the trans Danny headcanon for this (all of the Links pretty much don’t care-- girl, boy, if you can fight, then you can fight), but if I ever make a mistake with it in future fics, please do let me know.)

[bokettochild]

He's My Son

Happy Father's Day everyone!

I had fully intended to create something sweet and fluffy, but I had no idea what to do, and Hanniko asked me for Time and legend angst for today so....

Whump time anyone?

-

“Hang in there, you’re going to be fine.” Even as he says it, it feels like a lie. There’s blood everywhere and it’s making everything harder. It’s all the worse with less fabric to grab, his hands slipping on the vet’s legs. 

Not for the first time, he wonders why Legend avoids trousers like he does. 

From his back, the hero in question wheezes what sounds like a weak laugh. When he looks back over his shoulder, there’s blood leaking between pale lips, dazzling violet eyes now hazy as they stare, dazed, into the air. There’s not much thought there, mostly only pain, but the harsh, bubbling laughter, accompanied by a new gush of warm crimson against his back, unsettles him more than that blank stare. 

“We’re almost there, Legend, just a little longer.” His own voice sounds strained to his ears. His back and arms ache, although the younger hero is far lighter than many a load he’s borne in the past. The gauntlets he wears offer some aid, but even then, it’s been a long few hours. The fact that Legend’s still alive is a miracle in and of itself, although one he can’t trust to last much longer. 

His heart stutters in his chest at the thought, throat closing on his next words, despite his desperate attempts to keep calm. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Choking behind him says otherwise. 

Not for the first time, he loosens his grip, letting Legend slide down. Booted feet would usually hit the dirt with some comment about not needing the extra care, some quip or barb dropping from a smirking face as those starlit eyes glitter, a challenge in their depths, pushing. The vet always pushes. Pushes his sanity, his resolve, his authority. The boy reminds him of himself, although from so many years ago. Now though, there’s nothing. The teen’s head lolls to one side even as he’s propped against a tree, limp and near lifeless, although there’s still that whisper of a smile, eyes hazy and unfocused even as he wipes blood away, tries clearing the air-way of his charge.  

Legend needs to keep breathing. He just needs to keep breathing a little longer. They’re almost there, almost to safety. 

It was an attack. They’d gone scouting together. It’s not usual that they pair off, but it’s been a long day and most of the others were in need of a rest. Scouting had turned into a rescue. They’d been about to head back when the vet had pointed out smoke. They'd hoped it was a fellow traveler, they’d strayed off course just a bit.  

They found a burning village. 

They were far too far to call the others for backup. Too overwhelmed within seconds to spare time to run for help, or do anything more than draw their blades and fight. What few villagers remained alive had stumbled off into the forest, the veteran’s magic shielding their escape while blades had turned their edges on the monsters that assaulted the town. 

It wasn’t enough. 

With two of them against so many, their chances were slim to start. They’d made good headway at first, the element of surprise being with them and their own skills far superior to that of the monsters’. It’d only lasted for so long though. They made their mark, took out the worst of it, but Legend’s magic was focused overmuch on shielding him, on protecting him, that the vet had failed to see as well to his own defenses. 

He shouldn’t have trusted the boy so much. 

As a hero, Legend is a capable young man. He knows how to fight; how to win. Legend has the skills to make him a veteran, but that’s only so good without someone to watch his back in the worst of it. With the vet watching out for him, he’d assumed Legend would also be minding himself, a mistake he now thoroughly regrets as he wipes blood from freckled cheeks, senseless blather falling from his lips as an assurance that he can no longer tell the intended recipient of. Is it to assure Legend? Himself? Is it simply something with which to keep his tongue busy, his mind thrumming with assurances rather than facing up to the very real concern here that they won’t make it back in time? 

Rain has washed away their footprints, water their scent. There's no way the others will track them down, and little chance the heroes will know to look this far.  

He should have said something, should have elected to turn back earlier. 

He should have been watching. 

Blood stains his hands, stains the veteran’s lips, parted in a weak smile ever as he cradles the head of the younger hero, hands so large in comparison, so rough against smooth cheeks. 

“Guess I’ll go out like you after all, Old Man.” 

“No,” the word is on his lips before he’s even thinking what the teen means. “No.” He’s not sure whether the dampness on his own face is the boy’s blood, rain, or his own tears as he brushes a thumb gently over the younger’s face, catching his breath in this moment before once more lifting the younger onto his back and make it for camp. 

In this deluge, Warriors would remind the others to stay still, to wait. Twilight will want to scout ahead and Hyrule will be flitting about camp, but the captain will hold them down. Tracking in rain is hopeless; their best bet will be to wait either until it stops or he and Legend return. Warriors will follow protocol, at least for now. If he gets too worried, he’ll split the camp, but the captain won’t leave their site abandoned, not on the off chance they make it back before someone else finds them. 

They just need to get there. It can’t be that far, right? 

“s fine,” Legend slurs, eyes falling shut, head lolling on one side, cheek pressing further against his hand, smile still ever present. “Kinda figured.” 

“You’re going to be fine.” 

Another laugh. More blood bubbling between pale lips. Time’s stomach churns, tears burning at his eyes. 

Unless something changes, Legend’s chances are near non-existent. 

He shifts, moving to stand, to pull the vet up again. Never mind carrying the boy on his back, he can’t watch to make sure he’s still alive up there, so he catches him in his arms instead, watching sodden hair fall against his breastplate with a soft hiss. 

“I’m not upset,” Legend whispers, voice nearly lost in the downpour, but each word another stab at his heart. “I kinda figured. All the heroes who came before got killed in battle, why should I be different?” 

“You’re not going to die.” His voice wavers on the words. He can’t even convince himself anymore. 

“You did,” violet turn to him, unfocused and lost. “Ganon killed you. I killed him, but what’s to say I won’t die now too?” Lashes, like ways stained with blood, fall, the teen’s face slack even as he’s jostled with every hurried step of the elder hero’s feet. “’s okay. I’m not leaving anything behind.” And there, again, is that smile. It’s genuine, although pained and weak, and he wishes he’d been able to see it in some other way than as lifeblood trickled down his front and back both from wounds he’d tried desperately to bind, but lacked the knowledge to treat as they ought to be. 

He really wishes Navi was here, to tell him what to do, how to help. He wishes she’d appear and offer a bit of fairy dust, just enough to stop the bleeding, to promise them a few minutes more to get to camp, to get to the others, to find their way. 

The earth churns under his feet, clumps of dirt clinging to his boots as he weaves through trees, his one good eye trying, fruitlessly, to locate the path they’d abandoned in favor of following the smoke. It was just this way, wasn’t it? Just a strait shot from the village well and into the woods. Legend had used the well for cover while he’d raised his shields. 

“You’re going to be fine, Link,” he’s not sure which of them he’s talking to. 

Bloodied hands tap his armor weakly. “It’s okay, Time.” 

“It’s not,” his voice breaks. Why is Legend looking at him like that? 

“I did my job. I beat Ganon. I'm not going to leave it to someone else.” And then the vet’s eyes fall closed and he breathes softly, and Time can’t help but freeze in his steps, heart skipping as he listens for the next huff. That wasn't a final breath, was it? Legend is still breathing, right? He’s got to be! 

He’s not breathing. Navi’s voice whispers- all in his head, it’s got to be in his head and- 

A soft shudder sounds from his arms and his own sigh of relief makes sodden hair tremble under its force. It’s sucked back in again though at the words that follow. 

“I’m not going to be like you.” 

There’s no fire behind it. There's no ire or anger or hurt. There's just relief, just a breath and that horrible, soft, gentle little smile that makes his own breath cease and his hands tremble. 

What does Legend mean ‘be like you’? What has Time done? 

“No, you’re nothing like me.” So much like him. So very, very like him that it makes him worry. 

Oh sure, it’s Twilight that is his own. It’s the rancher whose bloodline he can trace back to himself and Malon, but it’s Legend whose laughter and smile reflect that of a mask wearing child from thirty years past. It’s the vet whose sharp words and barbs veil a hurt he knows as intimately as his own soul, one that’d taken years and decades and a thousand long nights to soothe and soften until painful memories had become something to be cherished rather than scorned.  

Twilight might be his, but Legend bears his reflection in ways he’d never wish for his own descendant, not in a million lifetimes. A reflection that now wavers, fading between his fingers, just as blood runs thin under the rain. 

“You’re-” he hasn’t the words. He should have something to say. Legend is amazing, or Legend is great, but unlike when it’d been Twilight whose life flickered before his eyes, there isn’t anything here he can say, no heartfelt encouragements or beloved memories, promises. There’s no gentle pet-name- or really anything he can offer save arms that hold tight and cling as though that alone would hold in place the soul that wavers between life and death. 

“Zelly will cry, but it’s okay,” blood smears over bronze as a pinched face turns closer to press against him. “I’m not like you. There’s no one else.” Sharp little laughter, harsh and grating on his ears. “I don’t have kids to carry my burden. I'm not cursing anyone. I’m not like you.” 

“What?” 

“You’re not real either, are you?”  

Wait no, go back! What was that you said?  

“You’re just a dream too, aren’t you, old man.”  

Why is he smiling? What does he mean? Legend, what in Hylia’s name are you on about? Please!  

“The Hero of Time died young. Before his children were even born. You’re old,” cheeks brush his armor, rubbing gently, seeking the coolness, despite the fact that the rain pours over then in freezing sheets, “that always confused me.” 

“What children?” 

“Your daughter.” 

But he hadn’t had... he doesn’t have children? Other than Twilight? 

“Gramma says Malon had a daughter when you died.” 

No. 

“And she was Raven’s mum.” 

No! 

“And Raven says that’s why we Lons have to protect our name,” and those eyes are still so blank, so boundless, and he’s lost, he’s floundering, drowning as they turn to him, unreadable and endless. “Because you died, so we have to live and fix it. I fixed it, so maybe now it’s my turn.” 

He doesn’t know when his feet stopped, when he’d tumbled down to his knees, still clinging, still staring, breath short and eyes searching; the one grants him the vision of a flickering soul, the other- still mortal- can only show him the dazed expression on the face of the younger as smaller hands reach for his face. Legend’s mumbling something, but.... 

His daughter? He’d had a daughter? He’d died? 

It can’t be, and it shouldn’t, but... but Wind’s world has a different tale from his own. Wind’s time tells of a hero gone missing; a timeline altered from his own. What’s to say there aren’t others? He was a young thing back then. He was a hero and adventurer, but he was a young man as well. He’d had some fun and messed around in the moments he could spare. The thought that maybe, somewhere, somehow, he may have... he might... 

A daughter? 

What was her name? Did she look like Malon? Himself? 

She had a son. He was Legend’s ancestor, which means... 

He looks down to the dying boy in his arms, and somehow it becomes possible for mind, heart, and soul to scream even louder, ache even further for the teen whose life flickers like a flame under the falling rain. 

He has more than the one descendant. 

If only he’d known sooner, he’d... he’d... 

Legend’s shuddering breath is joined by the first of what will be many strangled sobs. 

[ieatsmallorphansnamedtom]

Stardew Bachelor/Bachelorette Halloween Costumes!

In celebration of the start of spooky season, I compiled a list of what I think the Stardew bachelors and bachelorettes would wear for their trick or treating! I know they have Spirit's Eve, but I'm yet to see connections to that holiday and costume wearing (if someone does have anything do hit me up).



Bachelors:

Sam

He's either going as a video game character or something classic like a clown. Either way, he looks like he's just come back from a night of killing. Tons, and I mean TONS, of fake blood everywhere. It doesn't even look authentic at that point; it just looks like he's dipped himself in a bucket of red paint. He'd have to have a second costume for when Vincent is around, hence the video game character. He's a whole cupboard full of Prairie King merchandise and costumes.



Elliott

Some infamous historical figure/legend. Think Sweeney Todd. He's always dressed like he came straight from the Victorian era in London, so you best believe he's got some cool costumes he just wears on the regular. Also, the acting is dialed up to 100%. Some townies (mostly Alex) can't even understand what he's saying because he uses a combination of Shakespearian, cockney rhyming slang, and drunken slurs.



Sebastian

Vampire, skeleton, or both. Lots of effort was put into his, so it looks really good. It's mostly made of up cycled old costumes and random merchandise he has. He went to Emily for a lot of help with actually putting it together, and it paid off! He spends most of the night trying to sneak up on Sam and scare him (which he does well). Lots of fun Sebastian times and scared Sam times.



Harvey

His costume is pretty tame. Honestly, he's just a more stereotypical doctor. He's not all too creative with these things. But when the farmer comes along, he tries stepping it up with a pilot outfit! A more historical one, of course. He does not have the money to go out and buy a whole suit for these modern uniforms. Some of the stuff is a bit old, seeing as it was mostly outfits from many years ago, but he still looks cute.



Shane

If it weren't for Jas, he's going as a bedsheet ghost. Not even holes cut out for the eyes, just crudely scribbled on magic marker ink. But Jas wants to be a princess, so he's going to be her knight in shining cardboard armor. Jas and Emily spent hours making it, and for what it's worth with its mounds of silver glitter, it looks pretty good! Shane swapped out his sword for a glorified pool noodle and is hitting whoever annoys him under the excuse 'it fits his character.'



Alex

Gridball player, but zombie. Halfway through makeup with Haley she realised he was using actual paint, not face paint. Cue them both panicking and rushing to get it off his face. A little bit of paint got on her floor and now he's doing all her chores for a week. But for the costume, he took great care not to get paint on his helmet. If he could, he'd wait days until he's certain the paint has dried and most 'damage' it. He's having the time of his life in it, living out his literally dead dream (being a zombie and all).'



Bachelorettes:

Penny

Queen of the Junimos! It's got a very floral design and is pretty light. Bell-shaped skirt and sleeveless top. Lots of green, but also little bits of oranges and yellows to fit the season she'll be wearing it. Haley went crazy when she asked for help with her makeup and spent hours and hours making sure it looked perfect. She looks like she came straight out of a fairy tale.



Leah

Some sort of mythological forest being. Probably some sort of tree person. Either her outfit is lowkey high-key very revealing, or a straight up tree with a hole for her head. That, or something very weird and mixed media. She's trying to get the feel of a personification of her sculptures.



Abigail

Dead Red Riding Hood. Blood everywhere. It looks like someone murdered her violently in her sleep. She also has one of those fake knives that can retract into itself to make it look like she stabbed someone. That, or Sebastian hid some packets of fake blood in his jacket and Abi comes swinging at it with her sword. They both got in massive trouble and nearly killed Harvey, but it was worth it.



Maru

Alien! But hers is actually based off what aliens would look like under different planets with different environments. Each year is something new, and every time she looks amazing. She's even wired some electricity in some of them to make flashing lights or to equip a voice box inside. It's super stuffy though, so she's taking it off after a few hours for a break.



Emily

Her outfit is less of a costume more of her having fun making the most extreme clothing possible. Two-and-a-half rainbows of colours only visible to shrimp. She is the easiest to spot by far, having giant accessories. Each costume is based off a different animal, but her favourite is birds because she gets to use a ton of feathers.



Haley

A ghost! She's dressed in her best clothing; all white and grey. Her makeup took the whole day to do, and it paid off! She is by far the most beautiful townie and looks absolutely ethereal. She and Emily also came up with a fun backstory for her new ghost self, and when drunk Elliott hears it, he loses it entirely (in a good way). Little bits of glitter everywhere so she shines in the moonlight.

[auxiliarydetective]

In love with The True Halfling and I must know more about her

Oooookay, let me see if I can get everything together. I can't find where I wrote down my notes or maybe I didn't write anything down at all, but let me gather together what I can scrape out from my brain. Disclaimer though, I haven't seen the movies yet, which is a crime, so I can't really go into detail on movie events. I haven't read the books either. But I have second-hand and wiki knowledge profound enough to come up with a concept that I will later go insane over once I do watch the movies :)

First of all, the True Halfling is so old that she's part Fallohide. She's from the time when the Hobbit breeds were still clearly separate things. She also has a significant amount of Teleri blood on her elven side which may or may not be the reason for her musical magic. Due to both being very old and getting stories told about her singing and instrument-playing and generally her very unique ability to fairly directly use magic, she becomes a bit of a legend. Unfortunately, she gets tired of being immortal. Yes, she can learn all of the songs in the world, learn all about the different races and cultures, witness it changing, all of that beautiful stuff that she wanted when she chose to become immortal, but she's tired of the fighting, tired of people coming to her and asking her to perform miracles. Additionally, as the years go on, her magic becomes weaker for some reason that she cannot figure out.

But then she travels to the Lonely Mountain one day, just when it is attacked by Smaug. And the True Halfling offers to sacrifice herself to protect the halls of the city, completing a ritual that lodges the Arkenstone into her body to channel her magic and puts her into a deep sleep that she will only awaken from once the dwarves return. I imagine she did something similar for the Glittering Caves before? Generally, I'm convinced that she's old but also not really because she spends multiple centuries just. Sleeping.

Either way, once Thorin and his company return, the True Halfling wakes up and unmerges with the Arkenstone but she's drowsy/weakened from the centuries of sleep (she says, but it's actually not true) and so she doesn't fight in the ensuing battle. Also, merging with the Arkenstone has left lasting cracks/scars on her body, so she is kind of very depressed about "losing her eternal beauty". After this, she disappears. She settles down in a small village as a storyteller and bard and stays laying low...

... until one Gandalf appears at her doors and asks her to help destroy the One Ring. She refuses, saying that she is done with fighting. But, the hobbit that she is, she can't let herself have Gandalf and the Fellowship leave without gaining anything. So, she invites them for a meal. And that was her big mistake because she finds herself fascinated with this mixed bag of a Fellowship, and becoming fast friends with both Legolas and Gimli, who are fascinated by her for her elven heritage and knowledge of songs and poetry and her history with Durin's Folk (especially the legend of her guarding the Lonely Mountain) respectively. Also, the hobbits love her. She knows a lot of songs, she makes amazing food, her house is a literal museum of art and music and different cultures... So, she lets herself be talked into the Fellowship. Adventures ensue. Also maybe a poly relationship with Legolas and Gimli??? I'll have to check the movies for fitting vibes.

So yeah, she doesn't have a good name yet, but it's gotta be magical, you know?

Either way, that's it. That's all that my brain could gather. Hope you like it :)

[auroragoth]

Attica RIOT - After Dragula

Hit TV show at the top of viewer ratings last season, Dragula gathered thousands of sims in front of their screen across the nation. The pitch was simple: 'One Drag SuperMonster to rule them all'. As our favourite monsters suffered through love, friendship or betrayal, we've witnessed the rise of great winner Tricia the Terrible. But behind and above all this, at the top, sits the reigning queen, the majestic, horrific, fantastic Attica Riot. She agreed to meet us for an up-close and personal interview, in which the drag legend agreed to reveal herself to her fans.

Thank you, Attica, for accepting to meet with us for this interview! It’s already been a month since Dragula’s last episode aired on mangosimoothie.tv. How did it feel to run your own show? What memories will stay with you from this experience?

A pleasure my dear, truly. Dragula was an experience unlike any other. I would love to say every moment of Dragula will live on in my mind forever, which is true, but the one I will cherish the most would be the first moment the monsters set foot in my lair. Seeing them all together, so full of hope…and fear. As for how it felt to run my own show: appropriate is the first thing that comes to mind. Attica has been gaining so much power and prominence in the queer underground of Forgotten Hollow and beyond, as well as power and prominence in my life. It was only a matter of time, really.

The Bachelorette, Dragula… Any plans for more for reality TV? Or in the entertainment industry in general?

Well, no dating shows, of course. I would love to see Dragula live on, whether through myself or another host. As for entertainment, while I’m not one to covet the spotlight- [Ryan laughing off screen] Oh, hush! As I was saying - fame and notoriety mean very little to me, but sharing my art as well as the art of others with the world was truly a gift, and I hope to continue doing that in whatever avenue comes along.

Are you still in contact with your monsters? How are they doing these days?

I do tend to check in on them from afar every now and again. I am not surprised in the slightest how well Tricia the Terrible wears the Dragula crown. I’m also happy to see that Grave- oh, it’s Gussy Glitter now- was able to turn things around so quickly. Shockubus is alive, which is wonderful. Eden continues to share their immense talent with the world, I feel Willow’s presence lurking around the Dragula Lair every so often – she seems happy, I hear Bafemmet has begun to study the arcane arts, and Pepto Dismal…well, Pepto is working with children now which to me is a shame but she looks very happy, so. Good fortune all around, I suppose.

Talking of young drag queens… Tell us, how did the legend that is Attica Riot came to be? How has it all started?

Oh my, a storied tale indeed. As I mentioned on the show, the scandalous and queer have always fascinated me for as long as I can remember. Around the 19th century - Victorian era England is where my foray into female performance formally began. It was theatre and burlesque acts in vampire clubs - vampires have always been more progressive in these areas than mortals. I found it liberating. Among the Winthorpe clan I’ve always been pegged as the Good Vampire, and vampire high society is so dreadfully stuffy. Attica, however, is rather vile and thrilling. Then came the 20th century. It’s a bit of a blur, but I spent a great majority of the 1920s in drag. It was then that Attica (and yes, that’s always been the name. “Riot” was added in the 1980s) became less of a character and more of an identity for me. I, Attica Riot, am a celebratory weapon and act of defiance in the name of all there is to love about the occult and queer.

Any advice for the young queens out there who look up to you?

Don’t. If you want to succeed you mustn’t look up at anyone. You should look straight on, eye to eye, at yourself in the mirror…or at a portrait of yourself if you don’t have a reflection.

We’ve mentioned The Bachelorette earlier… You and Ryan met on the show, and we’ve seen him make an appearance on Dragula. How are things going between you two?

O, light of my eternal life. My ambrosian canapé and I are doing better than ever. As you may know, I turned him about a year into our affair and he simply becomes more powerful by the night. I’m very proud of the progress he’s made in mastering his powers. And the Winthorpe clan just absolutely loves him…well, except for my sister but she’s not much of a fan of anyone. As we both become more powerful, so too does our love for and devotion to one another.

Has living in the public’s eye affected your relationship in any way?

It goes without saying that he is the introvert of the two of us. I had to just about beg him to be a guest host…well “beg” isn’t the right word; I demanded it, but it was still quite tiresome. I don’t think it’s caused any real strain, however. He’s very good at dissuading press and photographers, to the point where I suspect he’s on a sort of “no fly” list for such things. On the other hand, I can tell it brings him a sense of satisfaction to see ME revel in it all. Why, even now, sitting just out of frame with that enthralled, doe-eyed yet feral expression on his face…yes, I think I can speak for him and say being in the “public eye” is not all that bad when he has Attica Riot on his arm. Isn’t that right, my sweet pet?

Winter is fast approaching, do you two lovebirds have plans for the end of year holidays?

Holidays? Oh, you must mean the Winter Solstice. Well, we’ll of course be attending Vladislaus’s annual Winter gala. Other than that, after all the excitement of Ardor’s grand re-opening and of course Dragula, what we’re really hoping to do is to go off the grid to a remote, idyllic location and enjoy only each other’s company for a few months.

Do you have suggestions for the romantics who would like to woo their partners this season? Some date spots you would recommend?

Hopeless romantic that I am, I’ll admit that I just adore the cosy intimacy of Winter. Take some time to huddle up with your love without the distraction of the outside world. Gaze longingly at them by the fire. Memorize the ridges of their hands. If you’re feeding on them, do so languidly yet desperately - as though they were your last meal.

Thank you again for today, do you have any last words for our readers?

And thank you for having me. I mean that sincerely. I really do love speaking with you all about these rousing times – I wouldn’t be here did I not. I suppose that’s the message I want to leave you with; Eternal life is too long and mortal life too short to spend doing anything else than the things you absolutely love.

Attica Riot / Atticus Winthorpe & Ryan Kato by @mangosimoothie​ | Pictures by @mangosimoothie​

Q&A by @auroragoth​ and @mangosimoothie​

Where to read: The Bachelorette | Dragula

Thank you Maya for your participation ❤️

[crystal-moon-101]

Since I saw people talking about Ben's little big chill kids, I thought I'd finally do some headshots of my ones, who are also a part of my Ben 10 Next Gen. For me, I've always imagined that for young necrofriggians, they all start out looking the same (Beyond some size difference), but as they grow older, they'll start to develop their own patterns, small body traits and shades of colour, as showcased here. I'll share the little info on each sibling, and the basics of who they are as a person. When Ben first found them again, saving them from poachers and going full mum mode, they had been developing these different psychical traits, but not enough to identify each properly on their own, so while giving them names, Gwen used bandana pieces to colour code them, and each kid still wears theirs to this day, slightly modified. So here they are now, as full grown young adults. You can follow from left to right each row, or just the colours next to their names. -North (Black)- The largest and physically strongest of the kids, North acts as the leading member when Ben isn't around, doing their best to watch out for their siblings and be a middle ground to them. It's been this way since they were born, looking out for them and doing whatever they can to protect the others. This has resulted in North collecting quite a few scars and wing tears, though they wear them with pride, wanting to display how strong they are to others. They often looks up to Ben when it comes to being a hero, in how their mumdad protects others and the galaxy, and wants to be a fighter like him one day, often asking to train with their mumdad whenever he's around. Ben has suggested Plumber training for North, but they're still thinking about that. -Tundra (Red)- Tundra is a very curious one, and is known to wander off when things catch their interest. They prefer using experience to learn from, thus making them quick on their feet when something happens, and good at thinking logical. When the siblings are struggling with something, or come across some kind of problem, it's often Tundra who provides the quickest answers that should go well for them. That being said, due to their wandering, they gave gotten into trouble a few times and need to be saved by their siblings or Ben, as despite how smart they are, they can be a bit of a ditz when something catches their interest. -Grey (Silver)- Having a connection to the earth bellow, Grey often spends their time searching caves, and any hidden areas they can find. They especially love to research and find minerals of any kind, ranging from metals to gems, sometimes even studying their metal lunch for the day before eating it. Because of this, they can be carelessly dirty, and aren't the cleanest of people, but does pick up after themself when reminded. Grey is also pretty close with their sibling Storm, and surprising Gwen and Ben when first hearing the two call each other "Dweeb" and "Doofas", when first meeting them again. -Storm (Brown)- As someone who likes to spend a lot of time flying and high in the clouds, Storm is fascinated by the weather and how it behaves, and feeling the cold fresh air and challenging themself with flight training. This has provided them to have the most agility in the air, and knows the best ways to build up speeds, while also not draining themself. Whenever they aren't flying around, they're doing research on the weather, very keen to be a meteorologist one day. Whenever Ben visits, they will often ask him about the weather on other planets, and any adventures he's had in the sky. Storm is also pretty close with their sibling Grey, and surprising Gwen and Ben when first hearing the two call each other "Dweeb" and "Doofas", when first meeting them again. -Crystal (Blue)- Graceful on their feet, Crystal is a charming and gentle person, with a keenness for the art of dancing, especially when hovering in the air. This was something sparked in them when seeing how the patches in their wings, which are see through, glittered and reflected light through them, making Crystal often move around to see what they could get them to do, and the introduction of dancing was something they latched onto as a result. They are one of the hardest of the siblings to get angry, upset or rile up, and often goes with the flow and speaks in a slow and soft voice. Because of their kind nature and beautiful display of their wings, Crystal has attracted many others who are interested in them, many falling for them after meeting Crystal for a mere minute, though they tend to pretend not to notice, and turn down those who ask. -Orion (Orange)- Having an eye for art, Orion is a skilled painter and drawer, while also dabbling into other art forms to create things, their room filled with their works of art, and often creating gifts for others. From when they were little, Orion has always admired their auntie Gwen, and are always keen and eager to hang out with her when she visits, showing every new drawing and painting they have made while she was away. In fact their fondness for auntie Gwen is why they picked the orange bandana, as it reminded them of her hair. -Neva (Green)- Fashion focused and head strong, Neva is a keen one, who knows exactly what they like and isn't afraid to say it. They love designing things to wear, especially since fashion isn't that big on Kylmyys, and Ben brings them fabrics and items they request from earth whenever he comes by on a visit. Though, despite Neva's expensive tastes, they are most certainly aren't a snob, and more often than not create outfits and accessories for others that Neva knows they'd like, and wants to bring out the best beauty in them. Though admittedly, they can get a bit carried away if someone asks for fashion advice, or even brings up the idea of something related to it. Neva also a bit of a business mind too, having gotten some clients recently on their homeworld after seeing what Neva could make. -Raine (Aqua)- A very sweet young one, Raine has a keen eye for collecting things, particularly shiny or unknown stuff. From gemstones to simple earth utensil, if something interests them, Raine is known to take it with them, sometimes snatching without thinking. They don't mean any harm, and just sometimes think before acting, and will give something back if they've realized what they've done, but if it's clear they can keep it, then they aren't one to share, though do like to show off what they have with joy. They are also very well organized, knowing where everything they own is, and even when their siblings misplace something, having a photography memory and mental list of things. They may own a lot of stuff, but that doesn't mean they want to live in a pigsty. -Vale (Yellow)- Being one of the quiet ones, Vale likes to keep a lot to themself, and don't speak very often, only when they need to. They spend a lot of time outside, observing nature as it passes by them, using a little diary to note down what they see, hear, feel, smell and even taste. They like to appreciate silence and the world around them, and the beauty of nature, and collect little things to store away in their diary as memory. Whenever they visit earth, they love to visit the forests in the spring and summer, seeing the range of colours blooming from flowers, and has many flower prints because of this. -Lux (Beige)- Quite the basic of people, Lux likes to live life in a simple way, and tends to try and stare clear of any chaos, which is quite hard when you have 13 wild siblings. Because of them, they can come across as annoyed and frustrated at times, and can be blunt and honest, but they do love their siblings, and is often the one that says what's needed to be said. Lux also have massive wings compared to their body, a ratio none of the others have, and use to trip over their feet a lot growing up. Now, their massive wings are a great way to hide away when they're not in the mood to talk to read a book, or to hug a family member when seeing them down. -Micha (Pink)- Bubbly and sneaky, Micha has been dubbed the "Pink Ninja" for a reason, someone almost always able to hide away and sneak up on others. They love to jump scare people, and has found more and more crafty ways to get around without being noticed, even without their ability to go invisible. They love to pull jokes and get a laugh out of people, and Micha is known to have a snort with their own laughter. It's always their mission to catch Ben off guard when he visits, as each time it gets trickier due to him knowing it's coming, and his training and skills build up over the years, but Micha always finds a way in the end. -Zodiac (Gold)- Patient and often neutral toned, Zodiac is often seen to be pretty wise. From a young age, they've always loved stories from history, especially those about myths and legends they hear from around the galaxy, and spend a lot of their time reading and researching anything they hear about, always keen to hear a new story they may have never heard about before. It always fascinates them how much Ben has seen and done, and the stories he tells, Zodiac is practically fond of those about Alien X and Celestialsapians, and wants to meet one one day. -Alaska (White)- High on energy 99% of the time, Alaska is always zooming around and never has time to stop. They rarely sit still for long, and it takes a lot to drain them of their endless energy, always moving in a blink of an eye. Because of this, Alaska is the fastest of the crew, which has come in handy often. But they can be easily bored, and a little frustrating to deal with when they don't pay attention, but they do like to spend that energy by jumping around each sibling to spend the day with, and wants to engage in all of their activities to support them. -Arlo (Purple- The smallest of them, Arlo was born the runt of the group, but thanks to their siblings, especially North, they managed to survive childhood when most other necrofriggian runts would have died. This makes Arlo the baby of the group, and the one they all want to protect, even if it can be a little baring at much, wanting to prove they can be strong on their own. And Arlo somewhat got their wish, when reaching a certain age and Ben learning that one of his children had the spark, thus meaning Arlo is an Anodite, and is able to use magic, though they're far from being perfect at it, and their small body sometimes struggles to keep up. But each day Arlo practices, wanting to feel more than just the tiny one, but they are generally kind and great with emotions, being very supportive and just trying their hardest.

[miss-1ng]

Dimiclaude kiss prompt no. 55?

this turned out... longer than i intended lmao

also hope you're okay with a soulmate au, because this is the only idea i had for this lol! thanks for requesting <3 <3

(also a warning for spoilers about claude's backstory and maybe dimitri's a little bit but otherwise i'm pretty sure everything is spoiler-free!!)

--

His name is Khalid, is what Dimitri’s mind - wide awake from the searing sting of finally gaining his soulmark - says, barely a whisper while when Ingrid got hers, she screamed with joy the moment she found out her soulmate was Glenn.

That was a year ago, on the fourth of the Guardian Moon, precisely the day of her birth, which was celebrated with her family and friends.

It’s legend that you become of age to receive a soulmark from the day you turn twelve to the day you turn sixteen. Sylvain, two years older, had, unsurprisingly received his two years prior to Ingrid and Felix who both received theirs when they officially became of age.

Dimitri however, while not exactly a rare case, though not a complete normality, had received his a year later than which his childhood friends did, at age 13.

Her mark glistens a glittering gold on the inside of her left wrist, corresponding with Glenn’s which is on the inside of his right one. Dimitri remembers her gushing how when the first time they held hands, their marks shone when they touched.

He also remembers Felix gagging and glaring at the two lovebirds for the rest of the day, completely enraptured with one another and nothing else.

As of that day, their betrothal was made official, now that Ingrid had her mark to confirm the one Glenn owned.

That was a while back now, and today, an exact year later, is Dimitri’s birthday. The mark on his arm stings, but as his eyes really take in the word in beautiful script on his wrist, he begins to ignore the pain.

Exactly three hours later, he’s at the Felix and Glenn’s home, sitting outside on the grass with the two of them, having recently abandoned the wooden training swords. Glenn is a full four years older than all of them, except Sylvain, who is only two years older. Yet despite his age Glenn still treats them the same.

When Dimitri finally shows the two his soulmark after lots of nagging, he notices the way Felix bites his lip and averts his gaze.

But before he can question it, Felix teases “You’re going to have a boyfriend!” before bursting out into laughter.

Dimitri hadn’t even thought of that, fully focused on the fact that he has a soulmark and not on the fact that his soulmate has the name of a boy.

He… isn’t too sure what to feel about that.

“And you are too,” Glenn calls in a sing-song voice to his younger brother, only to get fiercely elbowed in the stomach. A scowl has found its way onto the bright-eyed boy’s face.

Dimitri doesn’t say a word. Felix has been oddly secretive about his soulmark ever since he got it a month after Ingrid’s, while she had been flouncing it around whenever she got the chance and wasn’t with Glenn. Though at the same time, even at thirteen, Felix has been secretive, spending more time by himself than with the group unless he was absolutely forced too.

“Shut up!” he snaps, folding his arms and pouting. “I hate you.”

“So kind, Fe,” Glenn teases with a grin, ruffling his younger brother’s hair.

Silently Dimitri wonders what it would be like if he was in Glenn’s shoes, and he had a little brother of his own.

The silence Dimitri’s indulged in gets broken with a familiar call, and Dimitri turns to see Sylvain, even taller than the last time he saw his friend, standing alongside Ingrid who immediately rushes to greet Dimitri with a hug before running over to Glenn.

“Happy birthday, Dimitri!” Sylvain hollers the second he closes the door, separating the kids from the adults indoors. He joins the group. “How does it feel to no longer be the only soulmate-less one?” He adds a wink as if the very phrase itself wasn’t terrible enough.

A collective group of groans reverberate around the circle they’ve formed.

“You’re an idiot,” Felix grumbles to the older teen, averting all eye contact and instead vouching for a heated glare at the grass. Oh, if looks could kill.

“Aww, I love you too, Fe,” Sylvain teases, still grinning merrily as if he nothing is wrong with the world.

Felix’s face flushes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Ingrid laughs. “I can say it too, if you’d like.” She clears her throat, as if beginning some long and important speech. “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”

“Now that’s left is Dimitri,” Glenn notes, looking at him.

The younger Fraldarius looks just about ready to bolt as Dimitri says “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”

Instead, he just mutters “It’s your birthday so I’ll take it. Just this once though.”

Sylvain leans close to Dimitri and whispers in a not-so-quiet voice “A little birdy told me you received your soulmark!” Bold black cursive writing stares up at him with non-existent eyes and he feels his heart start to thud.

Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

He doesn’t reply, instead peeling his sleeve a little higher above and shows Ingrid and Sylvain his soulmark.

The taller of the two squints at it, as if it’s hard to see. Ingrid’s reaction is more surprised, by the way her eyes widen, and her jaw goes a little slack. She fixes it when she sees his eyes on her with a small smile. “That’s great, Dimitri! It’s so pretty,” she gushes in a very un-Ingrid manner, but the twinkle in her eyes is all the same. “I wonder when you’ll meet your soulmate…”

“Khalid’s not a Fódlan name,” Sylvain offhandedly comments. Dimitri frowns at him, and he hastily continues. “I mean it’s not a Fódlan name I’ve heard. Who knows? You could get some hottie from Duscur or Brigid.”

“Of course, someone from Duscur or Brigid would come all the way over for our Prince,” Glenn drily says, pecking Ingrid on the cheek at her wide-eyed smile. “We’re not getting rid of him that easily.”

--

His soulmark was something Dimitri was very focused on for a while.

Then Duscur happened and everything seemed to fall apart.

His family, his friends… everything changed. The mark on Ingrid’s wrist faded to a black splotch, and the golden writing had completely disappeared.

Felix had shut himself off completely, not leaving his room unless he was training and not talking to anyone unless he was yelling at them.

Sylvain… seemed more closed off – more subdued. Dimitri saw him less and less as the months ebbed on.

And Dimitri… Dimitri couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, couldn’t even think. His dreams being haunted by the dead, his father begging for revenge, Glenn hissing in his ear, taunting him, his mother, crying at his feet.

“You should’ve saved us,” they hiss. “Kill them for us. Kill them all!”

It’s not the first time he wakes to a cold sweat, a scream hanging on the edge of his lips.

He’s sent to live, along with the Duscur boy he met, Dedue, at Rodrigue’s place, and there Dimitri finds it frequent where he gets the full brunt of Felix’s verbal abuse. He wants to talk back, to say it wasn’t his fault, but he can’t find the words, can’t even find the motivation to speak. Instead, he just nods, silent, and Dedue finds him, concern lingering in his gaze.

It’s like that for a while.

Then the rebellion happens, and Felix seems to hate him even more.

--

It’s almost a relief when he arrives to the Officers Academy.

There he meets Edelgard von Hresvelg (or reunites, perhaps, if his hunch is in fact correct), heir to the Empire, and Claude von Riegan, heir to House Riegan.

Claude is… well… Claude is a lot of things.

In their audience with Rhea, he is stiff and stoic-faced, though the second they’re released from the chamber, he introduces himself properly to Dimitri. “So, you’re the prince,” he says with a wink. “Nice to meet you.”

“It is good to meet you too,” says Dimitri in return, dipping his head. He offers a small smile.

It’s not the only time they talk. As the year ebbs on, Dimitri gets to know Claude, should it be through sparring together, or even tea times Claude has insisted on. Claude is… well, first of all he’s nice and he’s kind, and he’s also very funny. He seems to bring a smile to Dimitri’s face whenever he’s around, and not only that but he’s…

…he’s beautiful.

Maybe it’s his smile, Dimitri supposes, his genuine one, or maybe those piercing green eyes. He’s also been good looking.

Sometimes when they train, Dimitri catches himself staring, and Claude’s caught him too, offering a wink and a teasing comment without any heat.

Not only that but Dimitri’s heart flutters whenever he’s around Claude, and he has to remind himself constantly that this isn’t okay because Claude is not his soulmate. The mark on his wrist proves just that much.

“You’re staring, your Highness.”

Dimitri flinches, almost forgetting that Sylvain is opposite him, lazily twirling his lance. He smirks at his childhood friend. “Got your eyes on someone?”

It would be great if he was immune to Sylvain’s teasing, but he is only human, and heat rises to his cheeks. “No!” His voice sounds a few pitches higher than it usually is. He clears his throat, averting his gaze from Claude who turns away from Hilda who he’s sparring with (how he got her to do so remains a mystery to the school) to offer a questioning brow. “I mean, uh, no. Of course not.”

“Sure, sure.”

Sylvain doesn’t sound at all convinced. He leans closer, whispering in Dimitri’s ear, “I mean Riegan is pretty hot. I don’t think even your soulmate would blame you for checking him out.”

Dimitri splutters, “W-what?”

“I have to go,” Sylvain says. “Pick up some of the ladies- oh, hey, Fe!” He runs off towards the direction of Felix who enters the training ground, and Dimitri doesn’t stop him, staring into the distance as his cheeks turn redder and redder as the seconds pass.

--

Nevertheless, Dimitri still goes out of his way to spend his time with Claude, pointedly ignoring his soulmark whenever he does.

“Your princliness!” Claude calls, waving in greeting as he runs over to him. Dimitri tries not to blush when he yet again winks.

“Claude!” He tries his hardest not to sound too surprised. “What-what are you doing here?”

He looks amazing. Dressed in a sharp suit he’s seen many of the other students wearing, his hair tousled and falling in front of his eyes. “I think the proper question is what are you doing here? Dedue’s worried about you. Says you haven’t even showed up to the ball and-”

Dimitri’s brain seems to shut off, his mind not listening as he surges forwards, closing the distance between them with a kiss.

It lasts two seconds. Maybe three.

Because immediately after their lips touch Dimitri lets go, eyes wide. “I- that was out of line,” he rushes. “I’m sorry, Claude, I shouldn’t have done that-”

But Claude pulls him back in, and Dimitri feels the mark on his wrist burn and-

He stares down at it, watching the white handwriting shimmer to gold. “What…?”

“I have been waiting so long to do that,” Claude breathes, oblivious to Dimitri’s confusion. He raises an eyebrow, clutching his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong…?”

“Khalid,” Dimitri breathes. Claude’s eyes widen. “That’s your name?”

“I-” Claude pauses, before nodding. “Yes. It is.”

Dimitri pulls him close, arms wrapping around him. He kisses Claude – or is it Khalid? – again, and again, and again. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Mmhm.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Their night ends not in the ballroom, but outside under the moonlight, the memory of soft kisses and warm embraces never to leave Dimitri’s mind.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

jealous cassian but this time instead of competing with high lords and sons of high lords what if it's a general from another court... this general could also be a lover of romance books and sweets ;)

I had a lot of fun with this one and I may have fallen a little bit in love with my own OC 🤷‍♀️

Nesta Archeron was not a force of nature. People loved to describe strong women as forces of nature, but that wasn’t her. That was Feyre. Feyre was brash and wild and unpredictable as a tsunami or an avalanche.

Nesta Archeron was a collection of cosmic power held tight and controlled beneath iron thick magic-infused skin.

Which made her an amazing general. All of that power and her amazing control. That was what was required to lead a legion.

Contrary to popular belief, Cassian was not a wild thing. He was not a good general because he was wild and elemental. He was a good general because he was in control. Because he woke up every morning and he didn’t flash his siphons around and try to beat anyone into submission. He trained. He fought. He lead by example. He flew at the head of his legions. He showed them the he was the best.

Mates were equals. It should have surprised no one that Nesta wanted to raise an army.

And she did. Oh she did. Nesta Archeron went to every court in Prythian and she picked up women who wanted to fight. She went down into the Court of Nightmares and took any women who wanted to fight with her. Freed them. Liberated them. Nesta planned on a small unit of females. By the time she was done she commanded thousands. It was the second largest military force in Prythian. Right after the Illyrians. Which was a nightly topic of debate. When she would surpass him. Cassian would be pissed if it happened sooner than a century.

Nesta was determined to make it happen by the end of the decade. Which was why she had set up this meeting with the new general of Spring.

“General,” the tall, pale man inclined his head, light brown hair falling over his brow as he did. “General,” he said it again, inclining his head in Cassian’s direction now. Lips tipping up in an amused smile and pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you both here?”

Nesta adjusted the knife strap around her thigh and moved into the room ahead of both males. “Cassian has decided to high-jack my meeting because he is intimidated by my success. His official reason, however, is that you are new and he comes to speak on behalf of the Night Court. To ensure that your goals are aligned.”

“Hmm, and you?” The general pulled out a chair at the head of the table and gestured for Nesta to take it. His breath tickled her neck as he leaned in to push the chair in after she sat. “What are your interests, Nesta Archeron.”

“Romance novels and chocolate cake, mostly.” Cassian laughed.

“Good taste,” the general smiled. “Hadley Minn?” a well-know romance novelist from Dawn. Sweet stories of proper young ladies falling in love and having missionary sex.

Nesta smiled just a little. “Sellyn Drake.”

He whistled low under his breath. “I like your style, Archeron.”

Cassian’s eyebrows drew together as he watched this male look over Nesta with a new type of appreciation.

“My name is Malakai.” The general reached his hand out first to Nesta, holding on a little too long and then to Cassian. Who squeezed his hand harder than necessary. The general just smiled broadly. “Call me Kai.”

“Well Kai,” Cassian leaned back in his chair, wings spreading out behind him. “What can you tell me about the Spring Court’s forces now that your court has got its army together enough to have a general?”

Kai just kept smiling. Kind and open. “And what would you tell me about your forces, if asked?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Cassian admitted.

“So no disrespect general, but…”

“I told him this was pointless,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “I, on the other hand, have something of actual use to discuss with you.”

“Happy to be of service,” the Spring general winked.

Cassian tensed up in his chair. arms crossing over each other and face going stone hard.

“Excellent. Now, I know your High Lord is a chauvinist, but I’d like to start by asking if you are too, because that will determine how I approach this conversation.”

The air tensed for a second. Cassian prepared to jump in between his mate and this male. Insulting someone’s High Lord… he’d be surprised if the male managed to just kick her out and not attack like a feral animal.

“Is she always this direct?” Kai’s smile never faltered. Not for a second.

“Talking to him instead of me answers that question,” Nesta muttered. “So, here’s what you’re going to-”

“I did not mean to offend you, General. I assure you it is my sincerest belief that females are just as militarily capable as males.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “So you plan to train females along with males in your new army?”

“Of course I do,” Kai shrugged. “Who would be stupid enough to give up half their military power because of their sex?”

“Spring is a small court,” Cassian said. “You only have one army. It gets more complicated when there are several. In the larger territories.”

“I see.”

“What he means to say is that significant parts of the Autumn, Night, Day, and Winter courts do not train their females to fight. Their main armies might, but different territories in the courts run that way. And actually Night and Autumn even their main armies don’t train females.” Nesta glared at her mate.

“They do now.” Cassian sighed, not needing to be reminded how long it took to reach this point.

“Ah,” Kai nodded, “you’re here to see if I planned to train the females and to take them with you in your liberation march if I said no.”

“I run an army that trains those other courts reject.”

“So I have heard, an extraordinary feat from an extraordinary woman.” His teeth glittered as he smiled, eyes entirely focused on Nesta. “I know you have your reasons for distrusting my High Lord, but he is trying. Trying to return this court to what it once was. I’m a part of that. Our army will train anyone who wants to fight. And it will protect the human/Fae border.”

Nesta blinked. That was…

“I fought in the war,” Kai nodded to Cassian. “I always admired how you fought at the front of your legions, General. You are the legend everyone claims you to be, but I have to admit…” He turned to face Nesta. “I accepted this meeting so that I could meet you.”

Cassian growled low in his throat. “How does this keep happening?” He muttered under his breath, low enough for Nesta to hear but not Kai. Cassian loved Nesta with his entire being. Heart, body, and soul. The problem was that, apparently, so did every other male in Prythian.

Nesta smirked, subtly reaching her foot out under the table to kick him in the shin for being a possessive brute.

“I met with Eris Vanserra last week. He commands Autumn’s armies.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Cassian said that one loud enough for Nesta and Kai to hear.

“I mentioned I was meeting with you. I knew about your army, of course. But I asked him what to expect meeting you. And instead of answering he told me what you said in the High Lord’s meeting. About humans. I’m pretty sure his point was that I should prepare myself if I was trying to go up against a female who paused seven High Lords in their tracks, but… it is rare to meet a Fae who cares about humans. Truly cares.”

“Well I was one.” Nesta stared forward, unsure where this conversation was going.

“I know. Cauldron born. Phenomenal cosmic powers. Ability to bring us all to our knees if you wanted to. But instead you choose to defend humans and make an army of Fae the courts have cast off.”

“Nes knows how amazing she is,” Cassian cut in. Two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you get to the point please?”

“I want to work with you.” Kai said, point blank, staring at Nesta.

“I bet you do,” Cassian muttered.

“I have my own army, general. I’m not interested in working for anyone else.”

“Not for. With. I want… my forces are beaten down. Their morale is weak. Faith is low. I… you brought the High Lords to heel and you started an army from nothing. I’d like your advice.”

Nesta swallowed. She’d accomplished amazing things. So many amazing things, but still… no one had ever asked her for advice. Help. Expertise. She was the novice. She… he wanted her help.

“My army is from all over Prythian,” Nesta said. “We train in the Night Court because the territory is massive and that’s my home, but… Spring doesn’t have the manpower to protect that border. Convince Tamlin to let me bring in some of my warriors to protect the human border and I’ll help you with whatever you want.”

“Deal,” Kai smiled, reaching out his hand.

Nesta shook it.

Later, after they took off and she was wrapped up in Cassian’s arms as they flew back to Velaris, her mate was stone faced once again.

“I swear to the mother, Nes, if he proposes to you I’m going to make what Feyre did to the Spring Court look like a Sunday walk along the fucking Sidra.”

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Sit by the fire until... Chapter 2

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870150/chapters/81650737

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you when you get magically transformed into a bunny rabbit against your will by the corrupted darkness of the Sacred Realm: somethings, unfortunately, tend to stick.  

Now, Legend isn’t saying that he’s hiding a cotton tail under his tunic or that his soul secretly aches to frolic in meadows or spend his time sleeping in holes or whatever else it is that rabbits do when they're not busy being very confused and scared twelve year old Hylians.

No.

But that doesn't mean he was left unscathed by having his entire anatomy re-written in less than an instant.

Because of course he wouldn’t. Goddess forbid he ever catch a break for once in his life.

He was still pretty young when it happened, so Legend can’t remember if his teeth had been quite so bucked before the incident. Regardless if they were or not, they sure as Hylia are prominent now. Then there's also the fact that he never really grew into his ears, the damn things always just a shade longer than they should be for a regular Hylian.

Before he joined this wild cucco chase masquerading as an adventure, Legend would sometimes catch himself looking at Ravio wondering, Is that how I would have looked? Besides the hair and eyes, the merchant was supposed to be his mirror image after all. Zelda and Hilda were, so it stood to reason that he and Ravio should be the same.

In which case, the bucktooth thing was going to be a problem regardless.

The ears, on the other hand, are a completely different story. From the quick glances Legend has managed to steal of Ravio’s side profile, the merchant has relatively short ears himself, which just make the Veteran’s own look comically long when the two stand side by side.

And ugh, and that wasn't even touching on his… less physical changes.

 Namely, his cravings.

Noshing on some leafy greens while home alone doing some chores? A-Okay.

Getting caught by Warriors and Twilight absentmindedly chewing on the hay he was supposed to be feeding the horses? Ehhh, not so much.  

Goddesses, his ego still hasn’t recovered from the amount of jokes the Pretty Boy had made at his expense. And that’s not even mentioning the veritable mountain of carrots he found in his bedroll, no doubt courtesy of that flea bitten farmhand.

Regardless of the less than natural way he got these… attributes, Legend couldn’t say they were all bad. ‘Cuz sure, his ears were a bit longer than average, but he could also hear better than most of his companions, able to catch the sound of crunching leaves above even their loud bickering. Like wise, his eyes were sharper than others in the low light of dawn and dusk, allowing him to see things others would miss.

Frankly, both skills had helped keep him alive during his quests. He was thankful for them in a weird huh, guess that works kinda way, but thankful all the same.

But sometimes Legend wanted to wring the goddesses necks because really? Being turned into a rabbit couldn’t have fixed this particular problem?

This particular problem being his absolutely horrible pollen allergies.

“ A-A-A!”

Each rapid, involuntary inhale feels like a simultaneous punch to the gut and a gasp for breath, the air yanked into his body and then stoppered up. It leaves the veteran in a state of limbo as a paralyzing calm falls over him; lungs full of air, shoulders hiked up, muscles tensed.

For a second, everything feels lodged in place, frozen, like the Champion had used his stasis rune on him.

And–

Legend clamps his mouth shut and tucks his face into his elbow just as tension snaps and–

“- acheew! ”

Nothing but a soft, cut off sneeze slips past his lips, yet, the force of holding it back  still sends Legend bowing over. He stays there, hunched over for a breath as his body recovers, before he straightens back up, sniffing irritably as he tries to ignore the itch prickling at his eyes and the congested pressure throbbing behind his sinuses.

A chortling huff sounds next to him and when Legend glances down he can see Wolfie– or should he say, Twilight– peering up at him, mouth open and tongue lolling in a doggy grin, but icy blue eyes too pointed, too teasing, to be anything but human.

Legend's nose twitches tellingly as it begins to tickle again and the wolf gives another stuttering huff. A laugh. Legend can practically hear Twilight’s twangy, Awww. You sneeze like a bunny.

The bastard.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, dog boy,” Legend grumbles, wiping harshly at his face in an attempt to stave off another sneezing fit. “Don't you have trees to piss on or something?”

That earns him peeled back lips and a growl, but Legend just sends the other a responding sneer as strides past the grumpy wolf and out into the rolling field of tulips that stands in front of them.

Another huff, this one more annoyed than amused, sounds behind the veteran before the wolf streaks past him, loping through the flowers with his nose down and tail high.

Legend rolls his eyes.

Twilight loves to show his teeth, but the farmhand is quite literally all bark and no bite.

And besides, they both have better things to do than needle one another. If Legend is going to be miserable, he may as well take steps to make that misery as short as possible.

Afterall, they aren't out here swanning through a meadow of flowers for pleasure.

The last Dark Portal they had all walked through had, once again, separated them. Legend and Twilight were lucky enough to find one another quickly, though, now that Legend thinks about it, it probably had less to do with luck and more to do with Twilight’s nose.

After regrouping, they had tried to search for the others more that day, but a storm had them holed up in a cave overnight to wait out the deluge. They had gotten up early to start their search again today, but so far they had no such luck in finding any of the others in the forest.

Which just left the inexplicable meadow of tulips surrounding the wood.

Legend had been hoping that the rain would keep some of the pollen at bay, but nooo that would be too merciful, wouldn’t it?

If anything, the rain just made this whole experience more aggravating. Now, along with stinging eyes, a running nose, and a throbbing head, Legend also had the delightful honor of feeling the tulip stalks and leaves and petals sliding wetly across his skin, the annoying slap of his tunic smacking his thighs as it got more sodden by the second, and the disgusting squish of water between his toes with every step he took through this Wind Fish damned field.

And sure, maybe it was worth it to reunite with the other heroes, but really, would it kill the goddesses to make his life just a little bit easier.

A bark pulls Legend from his miserable musings. Twilight's dark tail stands out among the ocean of pastel pinks and yellows and oranges, wagging frantically twenty meters away. It disappears after a second, replaced by a muzzle and expectant eyes.

Twilight barks at him again.

He must have found something.

Finally, Legend thinks as he begins to make his way over toward the other, hopefully a reason to get out of this floral hell hole.

“What is it, boy?” Legend asks, voice going high and mocking as he takes delicate care stepping on as many flowers as possible, “Little Time-y fall down the well again?”

Instead of a growl for his effort, Legend gets a flurry of black flecks falling upward, like pieces of reverse snow, in his peripheral vision.

“You know,” Twilight says as he straightens to his full height, eyes half-lidded. Unamused, “You’re really not as funny as you seem to think you are.”

And before Legend can interrupt that– No, actually, you just have a dog shit sense of humor. Literally– Twilight continues, “I can smell the smithy all over this thing.” He nods down at a small tree stump breaking through the tide of flowers. “The scent is a bit old, probably from sometime before last evening, but still traceable. I should be able to find him from here.”

Legend eyes the stump for a moment, peering into the cracked hole in the top of the wood. Inside, he can see the round, red caps of several toadstools sprouting.

He can also sense magic. Close to that of the fairies– natural and glittering and smelling of moss– but not quite the same.

The Smithy’s doing?

Or a natural occurrence?

Regardless…

“Welp,” Legend says, straightening up, “Let's go find him. Couldn’t have gotten far on those little legs of his.”

“Again,” Twilight huffs, the black fractals already consuming him once more as he transforms, “You’re not as funny as you think...”

His voice distorts and fades into nothing as the magic swallows him whole, leaving Legend once again having a conversation with a very unimpressed looking wolf.

“I like you better when you can’t talk,” Legend tells Twilight as the other sets off, snuffling at the ground.

The other pauses to give Legend a look that would be more at home on a disapproving mother’s face, before continuing his tracking.

He also whaps Legend in the leg with his tail.

Hard.

The prick.

They continue on their trek together like that for a while, Twilight occasionally pausing to shove his nose into the dirt some more as he decides which direction to follow as Legend trails behind, keeping his eyes peeled for a quadripartite tunic and a head of straight, gold hair.

It isn't long before the farmhand turned canine breaks off into a light trot and then a jog, and then a full on sprint.

And stops just as suddenly.

Legend is out of breath by the time he slides to a stop behind the farmhand, but from a cursory glance around, there doesn’t seem to be a short, mouthy smithy anywhere in the vicinity.

“What happened?” Legend asks, still searching, turning circles as he cranes his neck, “Did you lose the trail?”

Twilight gives a light whine, grabbing Legend’s attention.

Then he does two full spins and sits primly, looking up at Legend.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Legend crinkles his nose at the canine. “Use your words.”

Wolfie rolls his eyes in a way that Legend didn’t think was possible for dogs and then stands.

The canine stares at him intently, as though making sure Legend’s eyes are locked with his own. And then he flicks his eyes over the yellow tulip he is sitting next to meaningfully. Then back to Legend. Back and forth back and forth, his eyes go for a full minute before he stops and stares at Legend once more.

Legend feels as his face wrinkles in confusion.

It's just a regular tulip, just like the thousands currently around them. Pretty enough, he supposes. The bulb seems to be a little wilted, like it's been weighed down by rain water perhaps, but other than that, nothing to sneeze at.

Or everything to sneeze at, if you’re Legend.

Legend gives the flower one more skeptical glance before turning to look at Twilight once more, brow raised.

“Pretty,” he assures the other. “Not sure how it helps us find Four.”

Twilight heaves another too human sigh.

And then he reaches up,  takes the sleeve of Legend’s tunic between his teeth, and yanks.

“Hey!” Legend yelps as he’s dragged down into the dirt, “Watch the teeth! The embroidery on this thing took forever to do and even longer to enchant!”

Twilight pays him no mind, pulling him down and forward, closer to his chosen tulip.

Legend tries his best to keep his face away from the damn thing.

“I swear on The Three, if your slobber stains–”

Legend’s words crumple up and die in his throat.

There’s something in the tulip.

At first glance, Legend would identify it as the Smithy's earring. The small feathered one that he takes special care of. The one that Four refuses to tell Legend the origin of, besides his cryptic, “From a friend.”

Legend would say that it was just the earring, but… but it isn’t.

Rather than being completely red with a white tip, Legend can see that this little feather is only mostly red. Right before the tip, a darker red plumage takes over, followed by purple and blue and green.

Also, rather than being attached to the small, golden chain and stud Four uses to fasten the jewelry to his earlobe, it’s attached to a body.

A very, very small body.

By now, Twilight has let go of his sleeve, but Legend both doesn’t notice and doesnt care, all of his attention fixed on the little creature before his eyes.

From what he can tell, the little creature is asleep, curled up in the bulb of the flower, his feather tail tucked up near his nose for warmth. Looking past the plumage, Legend can see that the little guy has a very rat-like face, complete with a small, twitching pink nose, long whiskers and–because the creature is shivering– long, chattering rodent incisors. Oval shaped ears stick out from the creature's head, a mix between mouse-like and Hylian.

And framing those ears is shoulder length, soaking wet blonde hair.

Blonde hair held out of the little guy's face by a green headband.

And…

And he’s wearing the smithy’s tunic?

“... Four?” Legend whispers in amazement.

And just saying the other’s name out loud is like a spell because suddenly Legend can see all signs. The little guy has Four’s bag over his shoulder and the Four Sword at his hip. That same magic that was by the stump– the not-fairy, fairy magic– completely surrounds him, dusting him in the same way he is currently dusted in yellow pollen.

“Is that you, Smithy?” Legend asks a little louder.

But rather than startle awake, the small creature– Four, Legend reminds himself– simply hunkers down more fully into the flower, curling up more fully as his shivers increase.

“He must have transformed in order to speak with the Minish around here.”

Twilight’s voice, even though it is a whisper, gives Legend a start. He hadn’t realized the other had transformed, nor had he seen the farmhand crouch down by his side.

The other isn’t looking at him as he speaks, cool blue eyes instead locked on the fitfully sleeping smithy, face concerned.

“He once told me that the Minish are insatiable gossips. He must have transformed to try and find us.”

The concern on the farhand’s face darkens the longer he stares.

“He must have been caught out in the storm,” Twilight says grimly.

Legend tries to imagine what that would be like. To be the size of a mouse and out in a storm. Tries to imagine what it would feel like for gale force winds to pull at drag at him, crushing him into the dirt one moment and yanking off his feet the next. Tries to imagine dodging back and forth between tulips, avoiding the head sized, stone cold rain drops pelting down from the sky

It's not a pretty pictograph, he’ll admit.

And ugh, Legend really isn't a fan of what it's making him consider.

He spares another glance at Four.

And fuck, the little guy shivers and shivers and shivers until the fower he is sleeping in is shaking with it.

And then, he sneezes, the sound coming out tiny and squeaky and weak.

Son of a bitch.

With a sigh that is as weary and reluctant and annoyed as he can possibly force it to be even though the vetran is feeling none of those things, Legend takes hold of the flower near its stem. As gently as possible, he digs his nails into the soft green there, cutting the flower from the ground while keeping it intact.

He hands it to Twilight, who takes it from him with gentle, if slightly confused hands.

With one hand, Legend flips open his shoulder bag. With the other, he rips his hat from his head with a motion probably a tad more violent than is really called for. He arranges the hat inside the bag, making sure to cover his items with the soft fabric while also shaping a soft bed.

Without looking up from his work, Legend extends a hand out to Twilight.

Makes a grabbing motion when what he wants isn't immediately in his hand.

After a second, Twilight slowly places the stem of the flower back in Legend’s hand and the Veteran gently lowers it in the small nest he had created, making sure the bulb sits in a place both shielded from the sun and extra comfortable thanks to the extra fabric padding beneath it.

In one smooth motion, Legend takes a hold of the strap of his bag, pulls it carefully off of his shoulder, and places it on the other side of Twilight’s neck.

And then, he reaches down and touches the dark stone hanging from the necklace around the farmhand’s throat, letting the darkness flock around and consume him.  

When Legend blinks open his eyes, Twilight is looking down at him smugly.

He is looking down farther than usual.

Also looking smugger than usual.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, shaking out his fur before hopping on all fours to get closer to the bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” Twilight replies, not bothing to wipe the smug look off his stupid face even as he lowers the bag to the ground for easier access.

“Yeah you did,” Legend hisses quietly as he clambers carefully into the satchel, settling down the nest of leather and items and hat.

He pulls the flower closer to his side where it is warm.

Inside, he can feel as Four’s shivers begin to lessen.

"Cute," Twilight laughs from above them.

"Fuck you," Legend whisper spits, though he makes no move to push Four's flower away. If anything, he pulls it closer when he hears the smaller hero start to make small, chittering snores, surprised the smithy could sleep through such a racket.

Twilight, thankfully, doesn't comment, instead pulling the top of the bag loosely closed to give them some shade. Then, Legend feels as he gently lifts the satchel back up, slings it slowly over his shoulder as to not disturb the contents inside, and begins walking, hopefully back in the direction of the forest.

Legend can still hear the farmhand laughing to himself from within the bag, but without the others' eyes on him, he finds he doesn't care.

The pollen still itches at his eyes and nose and Legend can still feel the pound of his sinuses even now.  But something about the shade and warmth and soft rocking of the bag makes it hard for him to mind.

Four gives a harty twitch, kicking a petal directly into Legend’s face.

And even that doesn't dissuade the veteran from his task.

Instead, Legend sighs and pulls Four even closer, relaxing despite the discomfort.

He’s got dirt on both Twilight and now Four, the two heroes with sticks most firmly inserted into their asses. He can get out of whatever chores and lectures they try to pin him with.

Yep, he thinks , distantly. That's why he did this.

For the blackmail.

And no other reason.

[ynainna]

The Grave of Cecilias

synopsis: Despite it having been several hundred years since the end of the Archon War, Venti’s heart is still heavy with the grief of those he’s lost.

word count: 1,800

pairing: venti x f. reader

genre: angst

warnings: some spoilers from the recent last archon quest (aka the ver 1.1 story update), bad writing lol, angst (but not really I think?)

notes: look, originally my first fic was going to be a Diluc fic so it would be a perfect catalyst for my dumbass self but Venti is just perfect for some angsting time. Sorry in advance for my writing lmfao. I also think some of these facts are inaccurate but I’m a bit stupid and didn’t completely connect some dots from the wiki that I should’ve and due to the fact, ya know, p l o t. Feedback is also welcome but pls be nice about it. This is also extremely bad and  I high key think this is horrible lmao. It’s so bad.

In the days of the Archons, years before the eruption of the Archon War, Gods roamed. Each God was responsible and represented different things, often symbolizing what their powers were. In which there was the God of Dust and the God of Blizzards. Gods had been abundant that it isn’t a surprise that there was once a Goddess of Flora. 

It is no secret that gods gained their power from the worship of others. Due to the Goddess of Flora often being pushed aside to give way to the stronger gods, she had very little following from the people of Teyvat, making her one of the weaker gods. Instead of growing bitter at both her situation and her people, she had embraced her lower status. She was often heard saying, “It is better to be loved by a few who love you for yourself than to be loved by the whole for greed,” in response to them asking about it.

In her small following, there was a civilization that had worshipped her the most. The small civilization had been the ones responsible for the creation of the Cecilia Garden, their gift to the ancient god who had favored the common white flowers, Cecilias, as her favorite.

Cecilias, in the age of the Archon War, wasn’t a rarity and was often the cause of the white sea. The only traces left of the said white sea in the records were from the Cecilia Garden where it was said that it was such a common flower that it was written as “the sea of white flowers”. 

The legends tell very few stories about the fate of the Sea of White, often only found in the debris and faded writings in the ruins of old. Cecilias of this day and age are often only found to grow in the high cliffs, specifically numerous on the infamous Starsnatch cliff. 

Not many know the history of Starsnatch Cliff. Long before it was Starsnatch Cliff or the place where the last of the Cecilias grow, it was simply the plains. 

Cecilias were abundant in the age of the Archons, never far from your sight at every turn. It is a wonder to a few on how a flower had only grown exclusive to one area. 

While not many know the history of Starsnatch, the most one would have to know is it was where the end of a love story between two gods, torn apart by war, was.

Venti’s favorite flower is Cecilias. It’s not his favorite flower due to its simple beauty or even its rarity but due to its history. Prior to the Cecilias, his favorite had been the Dandelions, which was no surprise to others. He had only started to favor the Cecilias near the beginning of the Archon War and even then that was only due to you.

Starsnatch Cliff is many things but to Venti it had only been a reminder of his grief. 

To Venti, it’s your grave.

Venti has lived for more than a thousand years so it’s a given that he would have a few missing memories of the past and a hesitance to recollect any memories from the age of the Archons. Despite it, there are a few he remembers very vividly.

He remembers your smile. It was a soft curve accompanied by cheeks tinged with a faint glow of pink. He remembers your eyes, twinkling, crinkling in the corners in your glee. 

And while he remembers very few things now, he has always remembered every part and memory he has of you, good or not.

The last he has of you was near the beginning of the Archon War.

The first he has of you were at the end of Decarabian’s reign and the death of his dear friend.

He remembers, mourning his death, readying his burial when you appeared with your gentle hands and kind understanding smile. In your hands had been Cecilias, freshly picked.

With your hands you guided him to a place and helped him bury his friend, silence was the only thing between you. You were kind enough to ignore the tears and the sniffles. You finished at sunset. The only trace of you that was left was the picked Cecilias he had first seen you with. Despite his grief, Venti felt the corner of his lips tug up to a small smile.

He doesn’t ask until later on in your friendship about why you had given his friend the Cecilias. You only answer with a small smile at his question. To this day, he still doesn’t know why but he has a feeling.

He treasures the memories of him loving you and mourns the memories he retains of everything of the love lost between you.

The Archon War had not been kind to anyone, even to you and to him. 

It is common knowledge that the Archon War had killed off a lot of gods, many of whom are buried under the grounds and some being sealed off. It was a time of turmoil, you don’t expect or hope to come out of it alive, you only fight and hope it is enough to survive another day.

You were the Goddess of Flora, responsible for the growth of the world’s vegetation. Due to such low status, your responsibilities were very little. The growth of vegetation, the worry for the changing of seasons, and your people had been the only things that were your responsibilities. 

You had no desire for power nor anything more. You had only wished to care for your people to the utmost best of your abilities and to continue living the way you had lived.

But war does not discriminate.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t have the desire to fight others. You fight or you die. You, a god once often seen at the sidelines or invisible, was pushed into the fighting ring built by greed and arrogance.

While you may have not wanted to fight in the war, you had to, if not for you, for your people. In your death, your only thought had been about your people and Barbatos. It had only ever been them.

It’s raining. Venti thinks the world is laughing at them or maybe the God of Storms or Rain is mocking them for being weak, for falling in love at a time like this where it is a sign of weakness.

His hands are bloody and shaking as he holds you closer to his body. His sight is blurred by his tears that are blending in with the rain. Grief is clogging his throat and he can’t breathe. There’s not enough time for anyone to save you.

The previous battle had taken a toll on both of you and Venti. While Venti’s were only fatigue and mild injuries, yours were fatal. You had taken a wound to your gut and while it isn’t often a major injury to gods, your powers had been drained and the fatigue you feel is what makes it fatal. There’s nothing that can fix it.

You know it.

He knows it.

But despite this, logic can’t seem to get through Venti’s panic. His mind is going rampant and he can’t seem to know where to put his hands or what to fix. 

You look at him with your heavy eyelids, lips quivering as you strain your body to move. With great difficulty, you bring your bloody and mangled hands towards Venti’s cheeks, landing heavily. Venti freezes, his eyes wide at the contact.

With a heavy heart, he turns his head towards you to meet your eyes. His hand slowly creeps up to the hand on his cheek. He feels his grief to come back up, scratching and clawing at his heart. When your eyes meet, you smile. Strained and quivering, but a smile nonetheless.

He feels his breath hitch at your smile. You smile like the sunset, the gradual end. The tears come up again, you had only ever smiled like the sunrise and to see it grow smaller, to see it fade is another type of pain.

“Love, no,” he whispers, throat dry as he looks at your eyes. “Don’t leave me. Hang on, please. You’ll be okay. Please. Please. Please...” Venti pleads, voice growing hoarse as the grief creeps back up with ravenous hunger. 

“Barbatos...” you wheeze out, eyes slowly fluttering as you try to hold on for him, just for a few seconds, “I...I... I love...you. T-Thank you...for... for-for lo...ving me.”

“No love, stop. Stop trying to say goodbye, please, no. No. I love you. I love you so much so please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you,” Venti heaves out with a raspy voice, clutching your hand with a harsh grip in hope of keeping you here, with him.

“Don’t leave me” he cries out.

Even with your injuries and numbness, the sight of his tears and grief caused a pang of pain to erupt. 

“Love,” you rasp out, tears pouring out of your eyes, that were once glittering and now dull, “you have... to let me go.”

“NO!” he denies your pleas. 

“Please... just give me more time with you... anything for you. Please.”

You cough, blood coming up and the cold hands of death creeping closer to you.

“I love you... so much. L-Live on for me... please.”

You don’t hear anything after that, not your lovers sobbing and pleading for you to come back, to hold on.

Not long after, you fade into a million different golden dust. No body left to bury.

In your death, the Cecilias slowly disappear from the world despite your followers trying their utmost best to keep it from dying away. But without their god and with no protection, even they eventually fell. With their fall, the Sea of White was no more.

In memory of you, the world created a grave for you. 

Due to his love and memory of you, Venti caused the winds to only carry the Cecilias seeds to only fly around your grave and causing your grave to be the only place where Cecilias grew. Despite it having been several hundred years since the end of the Archon War, Venti’s heart is still heavy with the grief of those he’s lost.

History doesn’t write of the Goddess of Flora, there isn’t a lot of text written about her in fact. No hints about a possible connection with the Anemo God. And no one needs to know.

All who does is Venti. It’s all he has left of you that’s his and his alone.

In your death, the winds had howled and grew rough and sharp. 

Long before Starsnatch Cliff was anything, it was your grave.

It was the Grave of Cecilias.

[systlinsideblog]

Part 7

The fall of the great walled city of Turia came on a day shimmering with heat, but with storm clouds building on the horizion, looming heavy as they built into great mounds over the prairies. The air smelled of the promise of rain; that was good, Systlin thought. A good heavy rain later would wash the blood off the streets.

Turia’s towers glittered white in the sun. The walls were high and proud and in excellent repair; the warriors manning the top of it were said to be skilled. Everyone she’d spoken to had told her the same; Turia was home to a million and a half people. Turia was the jewel of the prairies, the Ar of the South. Turia was home to marvelous markets and one could find any luxury one wished there. The people of Turia were grand and wealthy and proud, and though they loved luxury their fighting men were excellent.

Its walls were high and thick. Its wells were deep and never ran dry. There were food stores to outlast the greatest of sieges. The nine gates were thick and strong and guarded zealously; while attackers died at the walls, the people of Turia would relax in their bath houses and dine on delicacies and laugh.

Turia was splendid. Turia was rich. Turia had been sieged many times, but never once had Turia fallen.

Systlin rolled her neck and shoulders, cracking any tension out.

She remembered Myr. Turia reminded her strongly of it. Myr too had been rich, and strong, and undefeated. Myr as well had thought itself safe behind tall, thick walls and strong gates, guarded by skilled fighters. Myr as well had laughed at the army camped on the plains before it. The walls of Myr had famously been bound in Power, power laid so deeply and thickly by generation after generation of Myrish earth witches that there had been more power than stone to the walls. Breakers before her, born to the desert, had tested those walls. Breakers before her had exhausted themselves against them and failed and died.

She had tried herself against them anyway. She had not failed. There was a hundred foot gap in the walls of Myr now, named for her. “The Mitraka’s Gate,” they called it. The legend of how she’d brought down the famously unbreakable walls of Myr had spread north to the Skyfire reaches and south to Sielauk before she’d even left the deserts.

Turia’s walls were not as high or thick as Myr’s, and they were not spelled for protection. Against a Breaker of the least power they’d be useless, and Systlin was the strongest Breaker ever to live. She eyed the warriors on top of them, still out of bowshot, and for a moment felt a flash of pity for them.

It was gone quickly. She wondered how many of those proud men had women chained to their beds. A million and a half people, but that number did not, she knew, count slaves. Counting slaves, it was said that the number was at least twice that, and likely higher.

Foicatch was watching her. He had not been at Myr when it fell, but he had been there since. He’d ridden through the Mitraka’s Gate. He knew, of course, that she was remembering.

“Been a bit,” He said at last, as they waited for Myr to send out its famous tharlarion cavalry, and honestly though she found herself growing fond of the kaiila the Wagon Peoples rode and could admit that the vicious reptilian tharlarion were impressive, she wished she had a good, normal horse. “Since we had a real battle before us.”

“Hmmm.” She agreed. The last time, indeed, they’d been fighting a mad god and his creatures. She’d killed a god, in that battle. Killed one god and threatened another. “Do try not to die. I’d hate to have to find a new royal consort.”

A snort. “I’ve no intention of dying today. I want to see you on the throne of that city.” A pause. “I’ve always had rather a fantasy, actually, of you on the throne of freshly conquered city, and me on my knees…”

Oh. Well. That did sound interesting. She gave him an appraising look. “Have you? You could have said something.”

“Well. It’s always been so busy when we’re breaching a stronghold, and things were all happening so fast at the time. You were so intent; I wasn’t sure you’d take it well.” A shrug. “Early days of us and all. By the time I knew better, you had the North in line again, and when we fought the Fallen One there weren’t many strongholds to breach or thrones to make use of.”

That was fair. “I’m going to hold you to that.” She said thoughtfully, even as the great gates ground slowly open and ranks of fighting men on those two-legged sharp-toothed reptilian beasts began to file out. She eyed the gleaming lances they carried disapprovingly; those were, of course, going to be the first thing she did away with once things got going.

Using her power in pitched battles was risky; she did not like doing it to kill. Not more than needed. But shattering some lances was no issue at all.

He grinned, that familiar and beloved flash of white teeth against that dark beard. “Oh, excellent.” He shot the enemy cavalry a look, and then looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded once. He leaned over, and she leaned to meet him; they exchanged a kiss, brief but sweet, and he peeled his kaiila away and headed to take command of the left flank.

She looked back over the prairie. There were several thousand riders now, forming ranks. A few men wearing particularly gleaming armor with extra gold leaf seemed to be conferring in a huddle; she waited.

“Ubara?” Dina said softly, from her side. “Ubara, should we…” There was nervousness in her voice.

“Not yet.” Systlin was the veteran of many battles of this scale; Myr was much larger than Turia, and that had been only the first city she’d taken. Dina was not. Even in a seasoned warrior, nerves before battle were normal, but Dina had taken up a spear only a year and a half past. She’d fought and killed, but the other tribes and towns and cities they’d taken were nothing on the scale of Turia. “They’ll send someone to talk, like all the others have. I’ll either kill him or send him back, like all the other times. I’ll break their lances; that will be the signal to charge.”

She looked to her side. Dina’s face was drawn tight. Systlin remembered that Dina, before slave chains, had once been a free woman, and had been born in Turia.

“You have a father, don’t you?” Systlin said, more softly.

“I do.” She whispered. “He never took a slave. He loved my mother, a Free Companion, and never took a slave; he has mourned her since her death. He is of the baker’s caste, as was my mother. He makes sweet rolls and gives them to children, and the best bread and pastries. I do not brag; he was famous in the city, and rich women and men came to buy from us. He and my brothers and I worked hard and were proud of our work.” She paused a moment. “I do not know if my brothers have taken slaves. And if they have…” Another, longer pause, and she looked away. “If they have, I will not beg mercy for them, but I will mourn what they might have been had their minds not been poisoned.”

Systlin thought of her own brother, dead so young. Of laughing and competing and playing with him, of the friendly fighting between close siblings. Of his smile and his laugh, and his sharp wit. She wondered, if her place and Dina’s had been switched, if she could have watched him killed for slaving and rape.

She probably could have. She knew it in the deepest place in her heart, where she worried sometimes at her own coldness. She probably would have done it with her own hands, at that. She’d executed her uncle and aunt with her own hands, in that battle to bring the warring lords tearing the North to bloody scraps to heel. But she was a famously hard and coldhearted bitch when it came to matters of justice, as any noble in the North of Ellinon would tell. “The Iron Bitch”, she knew they called her behind her back. “The Iron Bitch with the frozen heart.”

She’d have done it, yes. But she’d have mourned intensely after, for what might have been.

Dina was loyal and dear to her, a good friend. But if her brothers were rapists and slavers, Systlin knew that even if Dina begged, she would not grant mercy unless the offended girls asked it. It ran counter to everything in her to do so.

Goddess of Justice. The Lady’s voice whispered in her head.

Fuck off, she thought in return. I’ve shit to do.

“We can hope,” she said. “That they take after your father. And we’re not here to loot; if your father is in his shop and not with the fighting men, he’s quite safe.”

That seemed to ease Dina slightly. The woman was still used to the Gorean idea of war, where taking a city meant sacking it utterly, looting and burning and slaving. No army under Systlin’s command would ever fight so, though. She’d kill the soldiers responsible with her bare hands.

“Baker’s caste,” Dina said. “Do not fight, not unless they must. They will not be on the walls. Those on the walls and on the field here are warrior caste.”

Systlin would have to investigate this caste system more thoroughly. She did not like the idea on principle, but it seemed a force of social stability that most Goreans were very attached to. From what she’d gathered there were provisions for moving through castes if one wished. However, she’d heard that some, such as weavers and spinners, were considered ‘low caste’.

Systlin had attempted such tasks before; her mother was fond of spinning and weaving, though she was Queen Mother and needed never touch a spindle if she didn’t wish. After fifteen minutes spent at it, Systlin had come to the conclusion that the work that went into cloth was absurdly complicated and skilled, and had never touched a spindle since. She did, however, have a reputation for never haggling when it came to buying cloth or paying her seamstresses.

Low caste her arse. The idea of any of the most essential tasks…potters, farmers, fishermen, herders…being lower than any others raised her hackles. Perhaps the idea of low or high caste could go…

Across the grassland, a small party of men, led by one of the men in gleaming gold-chased armor began to ride towards them. Systlin put aside other concerns and nodded once to Dina, who nodded back and went to lead the right flank.

Her kaiila could sense that battle was coming, and shifted under her, tossing her head in eagerness. Systlin held her steady, and waited.

They headed, of course, for Foicatch. Systlin sighed and rolled her eyes, and nudged her kaiila forward. The creature sprang forward in that long, loping predator stride, and she headed them off in moments. They glared at her, all hostile intent. She regarded them in what was probably a dismissive manner, but so far as she was concerned these men were already dead. They were nothing that she had not seen on this world already, in the smaller towns that lay outside Turia. She’d killed a thousand like them since coming here.

“You know full well that I lead this army.” She said bluntly. “You’ve heard the stories.” She sighed. “It makes me curious…”

“Stories of trickery and nonsense about sorcery.” The man with the glittering armor said loftily. “A few villages might fall to some unnatural woman, but this is Turia. We will not be afraid of a tribe of women who think themselves the equals of men.”

“…As I was saying,” Systlin raised her voice slightly. “It makes me curious as to the full degree which you, meaning men on this world, are capable of deluding yourselves. I’ve been halfway through conquering towns and tribes and the men would still be telling me that I couldn’t hope to carry through, because I was but a woman.” She shook her head. “Almost sad, really. I’ve an army of  twenty five thousand camped before your gates. I know you have heard the stories of how I’ve conquered cities across the prairies and brought all the tribes of the Wagon People under my rule. I am Ubara-Sana of the plains, by my own hand, and I’ve crushed every force sent against me. And yet here you are, still claiming the same old tired thing.”

She looked him in the eyes. “This is the part where, if you are smart, you will confer with your people and you will open the gates, lay down your arms, and have a chance to survive this.”

He scoffed. Entirely predictably. “This is Turia, woman. The plainsfolk may not have been able to humble you, but Turia will. We’ve ten thousand cavalry, and that is not counting the fighting men on foot. You and your slave girls with swords can batter yourselves to ribbons against us, and we’ll put collars on those of you not killed.” A slow, lewd smile, because apparently he felt he hadn’t dug his own grave deep enough. “Maybe I’ll put mine on you, woman, and teach you to obey a master’s word.”

“Well.” Systlin shrugged. “I did give you a chance.”

She’d learned knife throwing from Stellead, but the Arms Master of the Bloodguard had been dubious of its effectiveness and the instruction had only been basic. It was at the Iron Mountain, under the tutelage of the master assassins of the Master of Knives, that she’d learned how to properly throw a knife.

She’d killed the Master of Knives, of course. He’d taken the contract on her father, and sent out one of his Shadow Hands to kill a king. She’d killed the Brother of Shadow who’d wielded the knife, as well, and many others besides. The Iron Mountain stood empty now, the bones of those she’d killed gathering dust in the halls.

Her knife took the golden-armored warrior through the eye. He looked quite shocked as he slid from the saddle and fell. His men started in rage, and went for their lances.

Systlin smiled at them. Her power rose, a cold sweep through her bones, tingling under her skin. She raised her hand, and flicked her fingers negligently at them, mostly for show.

Their lances shattered into splinters. So did at least five thousand other lances of the leading ranks of the famed thalarion cavalry of Turia.

A great confused sound went up, and thalarion shied at the strange scent of Power in the air, sharp as ozone. And as fighting men scrambled for their secondary weapons, Systlin’s forces charged.

Ice took the first man before her just under the chin. She didn’t quite behead him as her coal-black kaiila shot past, but slashed the big artery on his neck open. Blood pumped, and the sound he made as he fell was a terrible gurgle.

She wheeled her mount and ducked the frantic sweep of a sword. The riders were startled, off balance, and that was death when facing a warrior of her caliber. Her kaiila darted in and took the throat of one of the slower High Thalarions, tearing it open. The beast went down, and its rider with it. Systlin kneed the sides of her kaiila and it leapt; the final warrior managed to parry her first blow, a slicing cut at his neck.

She twisted her wrist, reversed the grip on Ice’s hilt with a little twist and clever movement of her fingers that Stellead had made her practice ten thousand times, and drove it into his chest under his ribs. Drew it back with a sharp jerk as she wheeled her kaiila again, and flipped it back around in her hand. She did not have to think about the motion; she had not missed the catch on the twist since she had been a child training under Arms Master Stellead.

Then her kaiila was running, and she pushed it hard for a few paces until she regained her place leading the center. Lances glittered to either side of her, and she felt a fierce pride in the women she’d trained.

She eyed the gates of Turia, behind the regrouping lines of thalarion cavalry. Arrows arched from behind, as her mounted archers began picking off the front ranks of the Turian forces as they came into range.

Arrows returned, from on top of the walls, and one bounced off of her wraithen-scale armor. She lashed out with her power, still simmering under her skin, and five hundred bows shattered. Cries of dismay went up a second time.

She eyed the great gates of Turia, even as her kaiila gathered itself to leap and the first of her lance-fighters neared the front lines of the Turian cavalry. She eyed them for a half a second before she hit the front lines of the Turians, and she Broke them.

The great gates of Turia, and fifty feet of the wall to either side, crumbled into splinters and sand. There was a great cry of horror and dismay from the city, and cries of “UBARA! UBARA!” from her own warriors, delighted.

And then her front line was smashing into the Turian cavalry, and there was no more time for thought.

The Turians were skilled, but they were off balance, had lost the advantage of their long lances, and had not truly been expecting a proper fight. Systlin and her best lancers hit them like a hammer, and pierced deep into the ranks before the Turians quite knew it was happening. The Turians were down to swords now, and only a few of the rear ranks still had lances. Systlin’s riders had long lances with reach, and their kaiila were faster and more nimble than the high thalarion the Turians rode.

And, of course, they had her.

Systlin was no stranger to mounted combat. She’d ridden with the tribes of the desert at Sura’s side for years, and was as deft a hand at mounted combat as any Rider. She’d never have been accepted, otherwise.

It felt, she had to admit, as she turned a sword aside with Ice and flicked the sword around, down, and up, taking off the man’s sword hand at the wrist, very good to be at it again. The man screamed, but she was past him. A lance glanced off of her armor, and she wheeled her kaiila. The beast snapped, catching a leg, and tore the man off of his mount. His thalarion turned and went for her mount, but her kaiila shook its head and was leaping away before it could do any damage.

Systlin fought with all the skill and speed and cunning she had. She fought viciously, the whole time willing that her army would not fail now, would not quail because this battle was larger and closer-fought than any before. She willed it, imagining that she could throw wide her arms and take under her shadow all of her proud free mounted warriors, and through sheer will alone keep them fighting.

And she did what she had always done, in battle. She led on the front line, and fought like nothing the Turians had ever seen before. Men rose before her and men fell; she was past Power now, and killed with pure hard-won skill and naked steel. She cut faces, necks, torsos, limbs. Ice’s blue-tinged blade was purple with blood, and blood spattered her all over. She killed, and killed, with all the skill of those long hours of training and decades more of fighting for her life. She fought, and killed, her blood sang with it.

You were never made for peace. The Lady’s words. It was true; she knew it was true. She loved battle, though she knew it spoke of her basically coldhearted and vicious nature that she did. She was a warrior born and trained and blooded, and she was at home on the killing field.

She’d fought three wars, leading from the front. She’d won each, and the sight of her at the forefront of her warriors, in her element, bloody and screaming and bringing death with her, was absolute horror to the men of Gor.

The sight that horrified the men of Turia stiffened the spines of her warriors, and to the endless horror of the men of Turia, the former slave girls, now screaming warriors with lances and swords, cut into them with a fury they’d never seen.

With her at their front, her mounted warriors smashed the Turian lines apart, just as the left flank led by Foicatch drove hard at the gap left at the rear, pushing the cavalry of Turia away from the broken gates and cutting them off from retreat into the city. Foicatch himself set himself in the middle of the smashed gate, and Systlin caught glimpses of him engaged in fierce close fighting now and then as foot soldiers pressed forward from the city to try and relieve the cavalry she was driving like a herd of sheep across the prairies before Turia.

But the fighting men of Turia were skilled, and proud, and they began to regroup. Men were shouting orders, and the remaining lances managed to form up defensive lines. The fighting grew vicious, even after Systlin Broke more lances, and their advance ground to a crawl. Their armies were nearly matched; Systlin’s warrior women had better armor and better reach, but the Turian fighting men had more experience, and it began to show as they got their feet under them. Systlin’s troops fought like mad wildcats, and she was so proud; they were still winning forward, inch by inch, but she was not about to spend more lives than she had to.

The Turians began to press back, and her advance ground to a halt. Systlin smiled, because she heard the galloping of the kaiila, and knew.

Dina’s mounted archers swept past, and the women turned on their kaiilas with those short but powerful recurve bows of wood and bosk horn. Strings slid from thumb rings, and three thousand arrows hammered home through that light leather armor that the men of this world favored. The kaiilas wheeled, and the women turned again, as they’d practiced a thousand times, sitting backwards on their mounts. Strings sang again, and arrows flew as thick as rain.

Turians died. Systlin yelled and plunged forward again, and to shouts of “UBARA! UBARA! WHIP-BURNER! CHAIN-STRIKER!” her warriors followed.

The Turians had nowhere to retreat from Dina’s archers, except back onto the lances of Systlin’s mounted spear-women. No rescue came from Turia; Foicatch was stacking the bodies of fighting men four deep in the ruin of the shattered gates.

The fighting outside the city drug out a big longer; it took time to slaughter ten thousand cavalry and their mounts. But caught between Dina’s wheeling mounted archers and their storm of arrows and the lances of Systlin’s cavalry and Systlin’s own sword, they were cut to bits.

It was then that Systlin regrouped her lancers and led them to the shattered gates, where the foot soldiers of Turia were approaching more cautiously than before. The shattered gates themselves were a charnel house; fighting men and women both lay dead alongside wounded and dead and shrieking kaiila, and blood was red over the stones of the road and the rubble of the gates and walls. Foicatch and his warriors held, and the fighting men of Turia seemed reluctant to approach within reach of Foicatch’s sword.

They parted to let Systlin through, and her lancers flowed around to guard the sides of the ranks of warriors.

Systlin joined Foicatch at the front lines. She must look a terrible sight; she was head to toe blood and mud, the colors of her wraithen armor dulled under the coating. Foicatch’s own set of wraithen scale armor was similarly filthy. There was a cut high on his temple, a glancing blow that was not serious but bleeding freely. Even as she joined him she felt a trickle of Power as he flicked droplets of blood away from his eyes.

A lull in the fighting; the soldiers of Turia drew back, appalled at the sight. Foicatch eyed her, gaze flicking head to toe to check her for injuries. She gave him a slight reassuring shake of her head, doing the same to him. The cut on his temple seemed to be the worst of it. She turned to eye the soldiers before them.

“Your cavalry,” Systlin informed the fighting men before them. “Are dead. My throat slitters are making short work of any survivors this very moment. You did not hear the offer I made before, I think, so I will make it one more time. Lay your weapons down now, and you may find mercy. I will not give you another chance.”

Not one fighting man moved, save for the one who yelled in defiance, pulled a knife from his boot, and hurled it at her head.

It was a good throw, she thought, as she twisted her head to the side even as his hand swept up with the blade. It was a good throw. Had she not been taught by Stellead and the Shadow Hands of the Iron Mountain, it might have struck home. As it was, it simply scraped her cheekbone in passing; a shallow cut that would heal quickly and cleanly.

Answer enough, she supposed. Foicatch was already moving, and fell on the knife-thrower with a single-minded viciousness that was poetry to see. Systlin was moving almost as quickly, and that was where the battle in the city began.

It was nasty work. Street by street, driving the fighting men before them. Many of the freed slaves in Systlin’s forces had been from Turia, and as planned they now took the lead. As Systlin had suspected, their knowledge of the city was invaluable; meeting places and baths where warriors gathered were found out. Attacks from small alleys were anticipated. Cobbles went slick with blood. A nasty dagger opened a long cut into Systlin’s left forearm, and some of the slick blood under their boots and the kaiila’s paws was her own. She bound it with a strip torn from her own shirt, cinching the knot tight with her teeth, and pressed on.

Turia was a city of millions; it took hours to work their way through, even with the size of her army. It was late afternoon when at last she realized that any warriors found out were fleeing rather than fighting, and being quickly ridden down by archers. Systlin stopped, at last, sitting high on her kaiila, and knew that she was Ubara of Turia, and by extension all of the plains in truth, by right of conquest.

Dina was staying close now, guiding them through the streets. She saw the same realization dawn on Dina’s face; Foicatch was already smiling that grim satisfied smile she remembered well.

“Take me to the throne of Turia.” Systlin said, and Dina did.

The first drops of the storm hit the bloody dust and thunder growled low when the reached the great palace of Turia. It was in a vast central building, half law chambers and half a throne hall. It was all in the same white stone that the city seemed to favor, with a great dome over the hall where the Thrones of Turia sat. They were very fine; there was, Systlin was sure, wood somewhere under the silver and inlaid semiprecious stones, but it was difficult to make out. She left footprints of blood and mud across the spotless tiled floors.

She’d made instructions clear before the first spear was lifted; her warriors knew what to do. One part of being a leader, her father had said long ago. Is finding competent people that you trust, and then trusting them to do their jobs without your having to hang over their shoulder.

He’d been right. Her people were competent, and she did trust them. So while she waited for her warriors to ferret out the various guild and caste leaders and other important persons, Systlin ascended the nine steps to the dais…it was gorgeously carpeted, and inlaid with ivory and gold…and sat herself down in the larger throne, the throne of the Ubar of Turia.

Foicatch eyed her. There was an answering warm pulse that went down her spine and pooled insistently between her legs; there was nothing like battle to get the blood up. But…She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Not yet.” She said, somewhat reluctantly, and motioned with her chin at the smaller throne, the throne where traditionally the Ubara sat. “Not quite yet. It’s not properly conquered until I explain things to the important people, is it?”

“I suppose not.” But his eyes were lingering on her lips, and slid down over the length of her legs and the curve of her hip even so. She could feel the heat of it, and dearly wished to answer it.

But it was about at that point that people…some of them bedraggled, some begging and pleading, some silent and apparently numbly shocked into silence, all led by her fierce and triumphant warrior women, began to file into the great throne chamber. All were drenched; Systlin could hear rain rattling against the roof now, and thunder rumbling quite often.

They stared. Systlin knew what she must look like. She sat, and waited. Her shoulder ached; she’d been slammed into a wall at one point, and probably had a spectacular bruise. Her arm where she’d been cut stung. Her muscles burned from exertion; she’d been fighting on and off for hours. The cut on her cheek had scabbed, and pulled when she moved or spoke.

None of it mattered. Victory was pounding in her veins along the adrenaline. Even now, she knew, her warriors were removing chains from slaves; she could taste it on the air, and it was as sweet as honeyed wine.  

Goddess of justice and war.

She ignored the voice of the Lady whispering.

Dina was conferring with the other women native to Turia. They looked fearsome; all were armored and armed and bloody. Most of the blood, to Systlin’s immense pride, was not their own. They had wounds, true, but most were not serious, and every warrior will earn scars. They were standing and moving and speaking with a new edge of confidence that had not been there even this morning, and Systlin knew why.

Stories would be told of this, she knew. Stories would be told, and the warriors who’d fought with her to take Turia would be legend in their own right. And they knew it as well; had proved something to themselves that could never be taken away.

Yes, these warrior women would say, years from now. Yes, of course I know of the Fall of Turia. I was there. I fought at the Ubara’s side. There would be looks then, as awed as any Systlin herself had ever received, and she knew in her bones how the legends would be told in decades to come.

Dina of Turia, who led the Ubara’s archers and broke the Turian cavalry with the Ubara.

Sabra of Turia, the first of all who had her chains struck off, who rode with her lance at the Ubara’s side, in her honor guard, and who fought so fiercely that none could stand before her. Never in the battle for the city did she leave the Ubara’s side, and she walked through blood ankle-deep that day.

Hula of Turia, Doreen of Turia, Hireena of the Tuchuks. Tamra of Ar…

The list went on and on, and pride was a bright warmth in her chest.

Dina said something to Sabra, who nodded and turned to cross the hall and climb the steps. Systlin remembered that first day; Sabra clutching, terrified, at her sleeve. There was little trace of the frightened and beaten slave girl now; Sabra was one of her best with a spear, and she wore thick bosk-hide armor sewn with metal plates. Her arms and shoulders were strong, and her blonde hair braided tightly back. There was blood and mud crusted in it, and a vicious bruise showing around one eye. Her nose had been broken at some point, and hastily reset,. The dried blood from it was still on her chin. She was smiling a smile of victory.

“Ubara sana.” She said. “The guild leaders, councilors, and other important leaders of the city are assembled.”

“Thank you, Sabra.” Systlin smiled back, just as fierce. “And well fought. Fierce as a she-panther.”

The grin widened. “Thank you, Ubara-sana!”

“I told you,” Systlin said, still smiling. “You doubted me, but here you stand. When I secure the treasury, you are to take as much as you can carry, as a mark of my esteem. I name you now to my personal guard, for as long as you desire the post, but you must promise to tell me if you ever wish to leave. You were the first to have her chains thrown off, and I’ve no wish to ever bind you with others.”

Sabra blinked rapidly, and Systlin realized that she was blinking back tears. “I will, Ubara sana.” She said. “But I do not think that day will come.”

“Well. If it does, let me know. And I’ve another duty for you; you were the first to take up weapons, even before Dina. If you will, once things settle more in a few days, go among the women of Turia and tell them your story. And if any of them wish it, bring them to me, and help me train them as warriors, as you trained yourself.”

A light like fever lit in Sabra’s eyes. “Ubara sana,” she whispered. “You honor me, and I will do this.”

“You won your honor yourself, with your own hands and by your own actions.” Systlin said. “I merely handed you the tools to do so. Bring them all forward, then.”

Foicatch, she realized, was staring at her with an intensity that was scorching.

“You will never have any idea,” he breathed, very quietly, as her warriors herded the frightened rich and powerful of the city to the base of the raised dais the thrones sat upon, “the effect you have on people. What it’s like to see, from the outside.”

“Hush.” She murmured back, just as softly. “You’re biased.”

“I am. But I’m also right. Every woman in your forces would have followed you to the death this morning, but after this they’d follow you past it as well.”

“Hmm.” She allowed, but it was a pleased sound. “I try only to be what they deserve.”

“Yes.” He said. “Yes, and that’s why.”

She eyed the small crowd at the foot of the dais. They were frightened and soaked from the storm, bedraggled and sullen.

“Foicatch, darling.” She said. “Our guests appear to be soaked. Could you give them a hand?”

He made an agreeable sound and lifted a hand. She tasted Power on the back of her tounge, ozone and burnt cinnamon.

There were gasps and screams as the water streamed and spiraled off of the huddled leaders of Turia. Foicatch pulled it into a hovering globe above his hand, and then rather negligently flicked it aside. It splashed to the tiles, leaving the people in the crowd quite dry.

Dina clicked her tounge against her teeth. “Are you all sorcerers, on your world?” A year and a half of following Systlin, one of the strongest fire witches and the strongest Breaker ever to live, had rubbed the novelty off of seeing Power worked.

“Not all of us.” Systlin lifted a shoulder. “But a good many.”

“My mother’s a stronger water witch than me,” Foicatch said absently. “I’ve only half her gift.”

“Wait until you see him really angry,” Systlin said. “And see him tear the water from a man’s blood.”

“I have.” That was Hireena, herding the Turians forward. Her voice was low, and she looked at Foicatch with deep respect. “At the gates, as we fought.”

“Did you?” She said, with interest. Systlin had seen it done before. It had been….compelling. Hmmmm.

Later. Later. More important things first.

“Turia.” She said, her voice clear. “I greet you.”

Furious, frightened faces looked up at her. Mutters went around. Systlin remembered well what she’d been told.

“I greet you,” she said. “As Ubara Sana of the plains, won by my own hand. But of course, you are Turian, and the power in Turia lies with the merchants.”

“It is so.” One veiled woman said. She was looking up curiously; her robes were of exquisitely fine silks, and embroidered with gold. Pearls hung from the edges of her sleeves, and crystal beads glittered across her gown.

“That,” said Systlin. “May change. I understand, of course, that you’ve already well established trade routes, and I’ve no wish to interfere with them. But I am Ubara Sana now, and the old laws will change. You may have heard that, on the plains, slave chains have been outlawed, and all slaves freed. It is true, and as of this moment by my decree every slave in Turia is freed.”

There was a roar of arguments and shouting and disapproving noises.

“…cannot simply…”

“…My business is slaves! How am I to…”

“…an outrage!...”

Systlin waited them out, patient. As she did, another of the Turian women jogged in through the great door; the rain had washed away most of the mud and blood, but she was limping, a strip of cloth bound around one thigh. She murmured something to Dina, who nodded once and took the nine steps up to the dais two at a time.

“There is a problem.” Dina said. “Saphrar, a wealthy merchant, one of the leaders of the Merchant’s Caste in the city. He’s a fortified compound, and has walled himself up with his mercenary forces.”

“Tell everyone to pull back.” Systlin said at once. “Keep an eye on the compound; let no one escape. After I finish here, I’ll come and tend to his gates myself.”

Dina smiled thinly, and went back down, murmured this to the other woman. The other woman grinned like a wolf, and hurried out, swift despite her wounded leg.

“Have you all finished?” Systlin raised her voice above the crowd.

“I will contract with the Guild of Assassins for this!” A man with thick dark hair and wearing gold and white robes said furiously. He had a hand raised and was shaking a finger at the sky. “I’ll have your head in my vault. I swear it on the Priest-Kings! “

“I take it that you deal in slaves,” Systlin said dryly.

“I do! It is an honorable trade, and I have been dealing in slave meat for…”

Systlin nodded at Dina, who moved quickly. Her knife gleamed, and the man’s throat opened ear to ear. A gurgle, and a red rush of blood, and utter shocked silence.

“Slavery,” Systlin said mildly. “Is one of the greatest crimes, and slavers are condemned to death. Those who procure and deal in slaves for their own wealth are doubly damned. Throw his body to the kaiila; they must be hungry after the fight. What was his name?”

Silence.

“I asked,” Systlin said, voice going cold. “For his name. I expect an answer.”

Another moment of silence dragged out, and then…“Kazrak.” The veiled woman who’d spoken before said. “Kazrak of the Merchant Caste. His mansion is next to mine, and his warehouse is in the low streets, near the slave market.”

“Did he have a Free Companion, any children?”

“Both.”

“Then half of his estate shall go to them, and they shall maintain their home. The other half of his assets are forfeit, and will be redistributed between his slaves, who are now free.” Systlin raised an eyebrow. “Might I have your name?”

“Aphris.” Said the woman. “Of the Merchant Caste. I deal in silks and wine, not people.” She shot a somewhat vicious look at the dead Kazrak, as he was dragged off, leaving a smear of red on the tiles. “And he was cruel, and it does my heart good to see justice done him. I take it then that we, the free women of Turia, are not to be put in slave chains?”

“Bloody pits, no.” Systlin said, repulsed.

“I did not think so.” Aphris said, cool and collected, a point of calm in the angry and terrified crowd. “But many freewomen feared the worst. It is, after all, how war has been done on Gor for a very long time. You can understand the worry.”

It was a reasonable worry, Systlin supposed. “Of course. But have no fear, no hand will be raised against you. You are free, and will remain free. Aside from that, by my laws it will be punishable by death if anyone, from anywhere, ever attempted to enslave you, and I would hunt that man down and kill him for daring to put chains on one of my subjects.”

There were many free women in the crowd, and at the words there was sort of a sigh that ran through them, and a sense of some great tension lifted. The men looked startled. Systlin gestured, taking in the concealing robes all of the free women wore.

“It is no longer required,” she continued. “That you wear full Robes of Concealment in public. A free woman may dress as she likes and go where she likes. If you feel more comfortable in your robes, of course, then you are welcome to wear them, but it is not required. If you choose to set them aside and experience difficulty from anyone, you may make a formal complaint and the matter will be dealt with. I will make people and resources available to deal with such matters.”

A murmur. More looks of outrage from the men.

“Many,” Aphris said. “Will welcome this. But for myself, Ubara, I think I will choose to wear the robes, at least for some time longer.”

“Of course.” Systlin inclined her head. “And I am afraid, of course, that Turia will be judged.”

“Judged?” One man snapped. “Like you judged Kazrak?”

“Yes. Precisely how I judged Kazrak.” Systlin smiled unpleasantly. “There are three great crimes; the murder of an innocent who has done no harm, the rape of another, and enslaving another. The penalty for all three is death.”

Silence. Dead, horrified silence. And then,

“You cannot mean,” another man said, carefully. “That every man who held a slave will be killed.”

“No.” Systlin shook her head. Sighs of relief, but she continued. “Because some slaves, for whatever reason, beg mercy for those who held them. It will be up to any slaves you hold what your fate is. But,” and she grinned again, more horribly. “If a single slave you’ve held and raped chooses death for you, I will put a knife in her hand and hold you down myself for the sentence.”

“What.”

“You cannot mean…”

“Not all…”

“All.” Systlin said, merciless. “Every man in Turia. If a freewoman held male slaves…I’m told it happens…then her life is forfeit as well. I will not abide it. Have no fear; I will establish many courts to see to it. It will take us months to work through the city, but it will be done. And those of you who are guilty, I will hang your bones from the white walls as a warning.”

“You,” Said one man, who had until then been silent, staring angry daggers at her from the front of the crowd. His robes, she noted, were the finest in the room, and edged in purple. “Are mad.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” Systlin said easily. She looked him over, matching up features with descriptions. “Phanius Turmus, I presume?”

“Ubar of Turia.” He confirmed, chin high. “You are defiling my throne, woman.”

“You were.” She shook her head. “But you lost. You’re simply Phanius now, and you’ll be judged with the rest.”

“I think that perhaps I shall contract with the Assassin’s Caste for your head.” He didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “Your head would look well in my vaults, I agree with Kazrak.”

“Oh, please do. I ought to make their acquaintance. It’s been some time since I trained with the assassins of my own world, and tore their master’s throat out with my knife. So yes please, do. It would be an exciting challenge.”

Foicatch sighed resignedly. “Really, love?”

Phanius was giving her a stare of pure and utter horror. “What are you?” He almost whispered. “What terrible hell did you crawl from, to plague us? Have you no respect for those of high caste?”

“My mother would be terribly offended by calling her a ‘terrible hell’.” She made steady eye contact with each person in her horrified and enraptured audience. “The terrible hell is her sister, who taught me to fight. And no. Every caste. From low to high. All will be judged the same. If any have offended in these ways, I will see justice done upon them. No one is exempt.”

“You’ll kill thousands!” One man cried. “Tens of thousands!”

“Oh,” Systlin said, cold as steel in winter. “Hundreds of thousands, I expect.”

“You cannot…”

“Poor choice of words.” Foicatch sighed again. “I could have warned you; there’s no better way to get her to do something than to tell her, earnestly, that she can’t.”

Systlin stood, and let Power rise. Not the terrible cold of Breaking, but her other gift, hot and furious and wild. Fire bloomed around her for a moment, and was gone too quickly to set fire to her clothes. But it had the desired effect. Silence fell. Horrified silence.

“I am not bargaining with you.” She said softly. “I am not suggesting. I am not your old Ubar. I stand here by right of conquest. I breached your walls and killed my way to this throne, and I am going to kill a great deal many more before I am through. The merchants and caste-masters are not ruling Turia any longer; I am.”

She moved a step down, drawing closer to them. “To put this in terms you understand, which I gathered from women you had kidnapped from a world not yours and forced into slavery; you had best get used to this new way, or you will die. I am telling you how things now are. You can flee the city, if you wish, but I will not stop here and I will find you. Be it when I take Ar, or Ko-Ro-Ba, or any other city, I will come. I am going to end slavery on this world, and I fully expect to do it at the point of a sword. I am Ubara Sana of the plains. I rule this city now. These are the great crimes that will be punished, and how they will be punished. This matter is not open for negotiation. If you dislike these words, you are free to take them up with any of the twenty thousand of my soldiers in your city. They’ll be thrilled to discuss them, I am sure.” She descended another step. “Until the courts are established and judging begins, no one is to leave the city. I control the entirety of the plains and other bands of my warriors have seized trade routes. I have the wealth of Turia at my disposal; you will not go hungry. And now, you are free to return to your homes; I have things yet to do tonight. One of you has decided to fight tooth and nail; I’m off to crack him out of his nutshell. Dismissed.”

She swept past, not looking back, and felt their eyes on her back as she went.

[bokettochild]

🦊hm..i have really been craving Warriors-centric hurt/comfort with Legend there to cheer him up lately so maybe something like that if its alright? (i live for their friendship its so cute akskdj) perhaps with lots of cuddles,,

Okay! so, Tumblr's been giving me a bit of pain about posting this, but, here it is!

Legend and warriors having a soft moment of comfort to cope with issues!

Happy Birthday, Fox! I hope you enjoy!

<3

The world has become too loud. 

It happens, from time to time. The world will be fine at one moment and then something happens to make it too much. Usually, he can handle it. Usually, he can push through it with a charming smile and the right words to the right people, but today that isn’t an option. 

He can’t charm his brothers, or even those he sees less as brothers and more in another light. 

So rather than try to charm his way out, he excuses himself, wandering out to the woods and hoping no one suspects anything. 

He should have known better though. 

“What’s the matter?” 

The voice makes him spin around, and when Warriors sees who it is he’s not sure if he’s disappointed to see the veteran, or relived. “Pardon?” 

The vet’s holding the same face as usual, dull, blank, unreadable if not for the way his ears prick forwards slightly and one brow cocks in a question. Thin arms are crossed before him and one hip jutting out in a pose that says he can’t make the other back down. Well, he could, but he doesn’t exactly have the energy for it right now. 

“Somethings the matter.” Legend says, almost stern. “You’ve been worrying at your scarf for hours and the only time you go off alone is to take a piss.” The pink brow arches higher still. “Something’s bothering you, and while you may be able to trick Time what with him being your kid and all, you’re not fooling me with your little ‘scouting’ act. Only Twilight can pull that off, and even he doesn’t do it well.” 

Shoot, had he been that obvious? 

“What’s going on.” 

The vet’s voice is stern, sterner than his mind wants to handle, and while he’d usually respond with a quip or barb, right now it only makes the captain wince back a bit, and it’s all he can do to not clap his hands to his ears. 

The world is too much, and Legend is not helping. 

Something must click despite his silence, because Legend’s face softens the slightest bit, and his eyes glitter like they do when he speaks with Wild or Time on a bad day. “Warriors?” 

“Please-” It’s slipping out against his will, but he doesn’t know if he has it in him to not make the request and just let the other continue. “Please, lower your voice.” 

Understanding seems to wash over the other, and Legend’s stance loosens immediately, the other taking a single silent step closer to him. He’s never sure if Legend just walks like that all the time, or if he’s trying not to give himself away, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard the vet’s feet make any noise save the cracking when he breaks something’s bones.  

“Are you alright?” The vet’s tone is softer now too, huskier, although still high enough he doesn’t trust it not to crack like it randomly does, still, he appreciates the effort. 

“I-” 

A glare. 

“No.” It feels as if a weight is released from his chest when he admits it, and his shoulder sag somewhat as he drops back down onto log he’d been sitting on before. “No, I’m not.” 

Legend is silent as he moves to join him, and when the other’s hand reaches towards him, he finds himself watching in surprise as the other hesitates a moment.  

Legend’s hand drops to rest on the log between them. 

It’s an odd action from the other, he’s used to Legend always acting with confidence, it’s strange to see him hesitate, but when he looks up to ask why, he finds himself fixed under an intense stare in violet eyes that seems to bore down into his very soul. 

Warriors stares back, unable to look away. 

“Sometimes...” The vet cocks his head, much like Twilight does when thinking, and his ears twitch curiously. “The world feels too very big, is that what you’re dealing with, captain?” 

He winces a bit. Knowing about the other's aversion to knights, the vet’s use of ‘captain’ always feels cold and almost hurtful. 

“No, it’s-” He lets his head fall back, looks up at the tree branches twitching overhead. They're rustling in a way he can’t shut out, and despite their presence, birds and forest animals still gather nearby, chittering and singing and squawking at each other in a way that sends bolts of pain through his head. The sun is dim beneath the trees though, so he supposes that’s something of a relief. “It’s too much.” 

When he glances down again, Legend’s brows have furrowed in thought, maybe confusion, his long ears twitching about as if to catch whatever it is that is the matter. 

It’s kind of cute. 

“Too much?” The pink-haired hero’s eyes fix on him, considering. “Sometimes, after a long journey, I feel as if nothing is enough.” 

Sweet Hylia, is Legend actually opening up about something to him? Something personal? 

The vet’s eyes turn down to his hands, which fiddle a bit with his rings as they sit in his lap. “I feel like I’m drifting and I have to be grounded again. Ravio usually helps me with that.” Violet eyes turn back his way, staring through loose hair that looks an absolute mess. “Do you usually have someone or something that can help ground you?” 

“Ah-” He does, he has, but... It’s not something he’d planned to ever tell the others about. It’s quite personal after all, and even Time and Wind, his boys, never knew. They knew he gets overwhelmed at times, but they haven’t a clue what the cure is. After all, it’s more than just personal, it’s... well, it’s something only his closest family members even know about. His mother and father, less so, since they didn’t often get involved, but his siters and grandfather are the ones who helped him learn to cope with it, and he’s never actually ever had to tell someone about this. 

Still, when he looks down at the vet (because Legend is short and even if he can’t say it right now it makes him feel a bit better to laugh about it in his head, no matter how concerning the reasons) he finds something in that dusky gaze that assures him he can trust the other. 

He loves his brothers, and his not-exactly-brothers, very much. But there’s always something there that prevents his trust to them from extending beyond turning his back to them and not watching when they handle his food. It’s one thing to trust his body and safety to one of them, it’s something else entirely to trust them with his mind. 

And the reason for that is because of who he is to them. Years may have passes, decades even, for Time, but that’s still the kid he used to tuck in at night during the war, and the same goes for wind. He loves them, but he refuses to let them bear his burdens; they've suffered enough and they deserve what peace he can lend them.  

The same goes for Wild and Hyrule, the both of them are just kids still, young knights and talented warriors, but they’re just boys who are facing the world too early and deserve what little peace life can grant them after all the harsh realities and horrors they’ve had to face.  

Sky is too distant, dear to his heart as his brother and fellow knight, but already burdened with things none of them will ever fully know, a man who has no clue of the pedestal he’s held on by many of them, and it’s not something the captain feels right to trouble him with.  

In a similar strain, Twilight also bears weights none of them can know, and they hang heavy off his shoulders as he tends to his mentor and protégé both. Warriors has no desire to add to that burden. 

Four is four, an anomaly and enigma, and while he’d trust the other with his life, their relationship is one not of words but of silent actions and stares. They do not speak of their weaknesses to one another, Four does not speak to anyone of such things, he is reserved and polite and mostly quiet; to speak of such things with him would be to ask too much of the uncertain alliance between them. 

And then there’s Legend. And while he’d like to say that Legend is in that class too, Legend feels safe for whatever reason. Sure, the vet may have his baggage, but his gaze is not pained but solemn when he meets it, he is patient and firm where he must be. He is a guiding presence and aid, and while it’s an odd thing to think, the other has an almost nurturing quality to him when he works with the rest of them, guiding here and setting matters right there. 

It feels oddly natural to let down his guard with the other, even despite their verbal sparring and insults.  

“I do,” he answers, looking back at the other a moment before fiddling with the end of his scarf again. It’s a near thing, the habit, but he’d learned it to be better than messing with the hilt of his sword, as that would often make people wary. “Usually, when the world came to be too much, my grandfather or sisters could help ground me.” 

Legend nods, passive yet an obvious yet silent urge for him to continue.  

“I- um-” His hands fist in the fabric. He wants to say it but he also doesn’t. It’s rather weird outside of the family and he doesn’t know how it would do him any good if Legend agrees with that thought. 

“When the world feels lacking, Ravio plays with my hair.” Legend admits, and the other boy flushes just the slightest bit as he looks up at him, gaze still dark and patient. “Having physical contact can help assure safety, as well as grounding one in reality.” 

It sounds like a suggestion, so he nods. “That helps me too.” Clever Legend, giving him an opening to explain himself, he needs to thank the other for that when his find isn’t one the fritz. “My family would play with my hair as well; I’d sit with them and we’d just be quiet until everything stopped being so loud.” 

Legend’s hand raises again, hovering between them a moment. 

The vet has long fingers, thin and gnarled at the knuckles, but they’re delicate despite, and he wonders what they’d feel like in his hair. His eldest sister’s hands are somewhat similar and she’s always been the best at calming him, after grandfather anyway. 

The hand stalls again, Legend pulling back once more but not setting it down just yet, eyes still fixed on him, thoughtful, pensive, considering. “Would you feel comfortable with one of us helping you in a similar way?” 

He starts. 

“It’s understandable if you say no.” Legend assures, no judgement in his tone or face, but brows furrowing slightly. “But letting this lie won’t help anyone and you shouldn’t punish yourself by pushing through.” 

The idea makes him flinch internally. He doesn’t like to be weak to others. He’s a hero, he’s meant to be strong, unbreakable, untouchable, resilient to all. 

The hand settles on his own a moment, the gaze shot his way laden. “Warriors, we’re a team. helping and asking for help is normal in a team.” 

“And you would know this how?” It’s meant as a distraction, a little jab to shift the vet’s focus, but the other only cocks his brow again. 

“I’ve been on plenty of teams, captain, and while we were hardly all of us equals or even heroes, we still understood that it was alright to ask for aid when we needed it.” 

He wonders how many teams it’s been for Legend to know this so certainly, and what sort of people they must have been. He’s been in the army his whole adult life and he’s never known anything like that. “We may be a team-” His hands clench again, only to relax when Legend squeezes slightly. The vet was right he finds, focusing on the touch rather than the screech of a bird nearby. “-but we’re not all of us safe for such things.” 

He expects Legend to protest like four does, but the vet nods. “All people take different places in a group, and not all of them are places that can act as an ear or shoulder when you need one, but,” the gaze firms again, piercing and enough he can’t meet it without wincing, “it takes trust to reach out, and while that may set you ill at ease, it will be better for you to trust the others than to hold them at a distance.” 

“What are you, Time?” 

The stare he receives is deadpan.  

Warriors deflates. “I don’t feel I could ask this of them, all of them have enough to handle as it is.” 

“Them?” The vet’s ears twitch again, the only indicator that he’s curious and not just asking for clarification. “Not ‘all of you’. Did you forget me again or is this excluding myself?” 

Oh, for pities sakes! It was one time! “I’m not forgetting you.” 

“Then, why am I different?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Because Legend may carry the weight of his whole world, but he does so with a sturdiness that gives support to his name. Maybe it’s cruel of him to see Legend as unbroken and unbreakable as the people in his own realm do with him, to thrust on him yet even more weight and expectations than the other seems to already carry, but in the same stroke, it’s nice to have a person he hasn’t seen hit their weakest yet, or show their flaws. It’s nice not to have to cover Legend’s back anywhere besides the field of battel and before enemies.  

He loves his brothers, but it’s nice not to have to support some people when you’re already carrying so many others.  

Legend frowns, each tilting again, ears twitching again, hand lifting from his and making his heart flutter in protest at the lack of the grounding presence.  

“Would you like- no-” The vet frowns deeply at the ground before looking up at his expectantly. “Would you be alright with my helping you then?” 

“Yes.” 

It’s immediate and he doesn’t even have to think, and maybe it shocks him just the slightest bit to realize that, but Legend just nods as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’d ask me to tell you what you want, but considering how hard we had to work to get this far, I don’t expect that will help much.” The vet’s voice is still soft, not quite whisper, but enough it doesn’t hurt. “Would you be alright with my touching you?” 

Something inside sings, both at the promise of contact and at the request first. People touching is never pleasant if he can’t control it or has no warning, and he appreciates the other asking first. “Yes.” 

Legend nods.  

The hand raises again, slowly and the vet watching him carefully for any reaction. The position the other sits in leaves him vulnerable to attack, one arm raised over his head to brush a strand of hair away from Warriors’ face and the other still resting at his side. The captain could knock him off their log in an instant if he so chose, but while Legend seems to know that as well as he does, the vet still doesn’t shift to guards himself. 

The openness and trust there let’s him relax, and when the vet’s hand brushes through his hair the first time, while it makes him start a bit, he relaxes into the sensation moments later.  

He doesn’t know when his eyes flutter shut, or when he slumps forwards a bit, or even notice that he’s begin leaning into Legend’s space until there’s a hand resting on his shoulder, supporting him and he blinks back to the present. 

“Maybe you should be lying down or propped against something.” Legend suggests. 

He flushes a bit and pulls away, but Legend isn’t staring at him in reprimand and remains cool and nearly...gentle. His eyes are hinting dusky and softer than usual, and there’s not a trace of threatening indigo to be seen. 

“Yeah, I- I usually lay down when I’m overwhelmed, it helps decrease the direction that everything can come from.” 

A nod. “Is it only auditory input that causes the problem, or-” 

“Mostly.” His ears aren’t even that good, danggit, he doesn’t have any of the ability that the vet and Wild have to hear things a mile away, or the oddly long ears of half of them or even the ability to move his as well as they do. By comparison, he knows he must be nearly deaf, but sound still bothers him. “The light can hurt too.” 

Yet another nod. Legend’s hand falls, and he stiffens a bit at the loss of the grounding contact until the vet’s fingers are grasping his own and tugging gently. 

He follows obediently. 

The vet doesn’t lead him far, only slides off the log and pulls him down besides, not releasing him for a moment even as he adjusts his ridiculous skirts. 

“You know, you wouldn’t have to smooth them if you wore pants.” 

A twitch of the lips, Legend’s smile’s never feel real, but the fact that he doesn’t try to make them so makes that a bit better. Legend's smiles are never lies; they are only appeasements that make no effort to hide themselves. “Not happening, captain.” 

He hates that nickname so much. 

Is he nothing beyond a warrior captain who fought a war? 

“Here.” Legend settles beside him, hand still holding his. “Now you have two options, both of which are acceptable, so don’t question if it’s alright. Do you want to be held, as best as I can, or do you want to sit with the two of us next to each other?” 

He blinks in surprise. “How on earth would you even hold me? Vet, I am nearly two heads taller than you.” 

“But your head isn’t bigger than my lap or fatter than my shoulders are wide. I’ll manage. Now, which would help you feel better?”  

Lying down is always better, lying with his head on someone else’s lap or chest was always the best. When he was small, he’d curl on top of Grandfather while they lay before ethe fire and tangle himself in the man’s beard. A steady heartbeat and a rolling sea-shanty being sung out into the air would always drown out other noises, while the familiar scent of the old man’s tobacco would block out other scents. 

“If you don’t choose, I’m going to have to.” Legend tells him, it’s not impatient, but it is a warning.  

“Would-” Can he really ask that? Won’t it be weird? Legend only watches him patiently though, letting him sort himself out. “Shoulder.” He decides. He’s really rather be laying down, but he doesn’t want to make Legend uncomfortable. 

The vet nods, sitting back against their log and shifting until he’s comfortable and the- 

“What are you doing?” 

“Holding my arms out. It’s a signal to come over here and relax, and it doubles as making sure my arm doesn’t get crushed by your big shoulders and chest, pretty boy.” 

He doesn’t know if that nickname is worse or better. It’s not said in a harsh way, but he hates it anyway. 

The vet doesn’t know that though. 

Warriors shifts to rest against the other’s side, curling against him a bit and resting his head on Legend’s shoulder. He almost immediately regrets it, because Legend is quite boney, but he’s not about to complain when the vet’s hand immediately sinks into his hair and the other reaches up to cover his eyes. 

Oddly enough, he doesn’t feel endangered by having his vision taken away. 

Legend many be a boney little thing, but he doesn’t need to use his hands to kill a monster within minutes, and with one arm wrapped around his shoulders to rest on his head, and the other hand moving to pull his scarf to hang loosely over his eyes, he’s surprised to find that he feels safe. 

Okay, Legend’s smaller than him, but he’s got a very big presence, and it wraps around the overwhelmed hero like a warm blanket as he sinks into the smaller figure beside him. 

“Better at all?” Legend hums softly. His voice is oddly melodic when it isn’t being stern, and it only serves to make the other man relax further. 

“Yes.” 

The hand cards through his hair again. It feels ice, gentle and soothing and grounding in ways he hasn’t had since last Linkle was in camp with the soldiers.  

“Legend?” He’s going to regret this, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “When I was a kid, my gramps would hum ol’ rollin’ sea shanties. D’you know any?” 

The hand stills a moment, and then, “I know a couple.” 

He shifts closer, curling a bit, head shifting to rest most over the vet’s chest. The heartbeat within is steady and light. Quicker than most other people he knows, but not in an irregular way, but more like how a birds or rabbits is in comparison to an adult human. “Can you sing them?” 

“The sound won’t bother?” He can’t see the vet’s face, but his voice is still soft, his hand still gentle as it brushes his hair back. 

“It helps.”  

The vet shifts slightly, and while it makes Warriors stiffen a moment, the other relaxes right after, breathing deeply and then- 

A soft voice, melodic to the point of being enchanting, hardly human by any means and more like how he’s heard a siren’s is, dances over the forest. Rather than simply drowning out the sounds about them, it seems to make them still instead, lilting and dancing softly. It seems to croon, the words lost to the melody but none the less soothing as he presses close and listens as the sound vibrates through Legend’s chest. 

The world, and his mind with it, quiets at last, settling on the hands on his shoulder and in his hair, the crisp scent of apples and grass, and a voice that sings near as sweet as an angel’s beside him. 

[wanderinginksplot]

Wrecker x Homesick Reader (Part Two!)

A continuation of this ex-one-shot, but you can probably pick up everything you need to know from context.

Wrecker x f!reader: hint of romance toward the end

Word Count: 2,300 ish

Warnings: none

---

You stood outside of the infamous Havoc Marauder, staring up at the ship with nerves tingling in your stomach.

Okay, coming here had seemed like a fine idea when Wrecker suggested it. Last night, it had even seemed like it might be fun. Added to Wrecker's promise that Tech would amp up the power and reach of your comlink? You had agreed to be here without a second thought.

Now, this finally seemed like a bad idea. The Marauder was looking rough after Clone Force 99's latest crash-landing, you had no idea if Wrecker had spoken to Tech on your behalf, and you hadn't even seen Wrecker that day. Plus, stupid as it sounded even in your own thoughts, you had never actually walked up to a ship without being expected. Were you supposed to knock? Shout? Should you just wait and hope they saw you?

As you stood, undecided, you thought seriously about going back to your quarters. If you were having second thoughts about this, Wrecker probably was, too. It would probably be best for everyone if you just left…

But then hydraulics hissed and the doors opened and the stairs attached to the ship dropped down. Tech appeared in the doorway, peering at you.

"You are the one Wrecker invited here, correct?"

"Uh. Correct?" you answered doubtfully. "He told me you might be able to help me with my comlink."

"Of course I can help you," Tech replied, his casual confidence making you quirk an eyebrow. He lifted his head to glance at the sky for a moment. "You'll have to come onboard the ship, however. The light conditions out here are too intense for such detailed work."

"Yeah, sure," you agreed, following him inside.

The Havoc Marauder was a smaller ship than the ones you had gotten used to at your time at Spearpoint Outpost. Of course, that may have been because a sheet hanging from the ceiling separated the entrance and cockpit from the rest of the living area, but you understood and respected the need for privacy. Four men living in such close quarters probably tried to keep things as separated as possible.

With that in mind, you resisted the urge to peek behind the truly giant sheet to see the Bad Batch's bunk space. Instead, you followed Tech up to the front of the Marauder. To your surprise, Sergeant Hunter was also in the small area. Remembering his keen senses and reluctance to be too close to other people, you stopped immediately.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" you offered. "I don't mind."

"Nah, come on in," Hunter invited. "I'm just doing some maintenance checks. Go ahead and sit down, though. I don't want to risk us clashing heads if either of us moves the wrong way."

You watched the sergeant for a moment to see if he was joking. The two of you weren’t even close to the same height, so several things would need to go wrong before you worried about bumping heads. You thought you saw an amused glitter in his dark eyes, but you had already begun turning toward the co-pilot's seat.

Tech sat down in the other seat. "Don't panic," he said bracingly, and he had ripped the cover off of your comlink before you had time to ask what he meant. Despite the warning, you still flinched at the noise of your comlink being broken.

You watched him in silence for a few long minutes, engrossed in the minute details of his work.

"Wrecker mentioned that you need this range increase to speak with your friends," Tech said, his quiet voice making you jump in the silence of the ship.

"My family, actually," you corrected.

You realized that the quiet sounds of Hunter working in the cabin behind you had stopped. You glanced back in his direction and he began fiddling with some exposed wires again.

"Where are you from?" Tech asked. "I'm certain Wrecker mentioned it before, but I cannot remember a place."

Wrecker talked about you? Feeling unreasonably warmed by that, you answered, "Bespin. Cloud City."

"Supposed to be beautiful there," Hunter said behind you.

"It is," you agreed readily. "Especially the sunrises. Or the sunsets, really. There are always clouds, so on a good day, the sun reflects off the water until the air is filled with more rainbows than there are stars in the sky."

"Impossible," Tech started, but Hunter cut him off.

"You must miss it. Sounds like you left a lot behind to be here."

You shrugged. "Not as much as some. Still, this was the right thing to do. I don't regret my choices."

Tech worked in silence for a while after that, doing something complex to the electrical components of the comlink.

Eventually, he said, "I've heard Bespin has odd customs. Parents often let their children form romantic relationships at early ages and people are encouraged to remain with those partners."

You didn't answer that and Tech glanced up at you questioningly. His fingers didn't stop manipulating the micro-spanner. The comlink sparked loudly and you grimaced. You hadn't even known a comlink could do that.

"Don't you need to… you know, concentrate?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice polite. You couldn't really afford a new comlink right now, and even when you could, a new communicator would take forever to arrive somewhere as remote as Spearpoint.

Rather than look back at the comlink, Tech's eyes slid over to where Hunter stood behind you, silent once more. Before you could turn as well, Tech’s gaze was back on the small device.

Sudden realization flashed through your mind. Tech's questions, Hunter's halting work on the Marauder… They were testing you. This was an interview to see if you were good enough for Wrecker.

You had always been excellent at interviews.

You sat straighter in the chair, dropping the tension from your shoulders as you fixed Tech with a sincere smile.

"You're thinking of Bespin as it was a thousand years ago," you told Tech, satisfied when he looked up at you with surprise half-hidden behind his goggles. "Those traditions were from before we had stable hover-lifts to keep cities at even elevation levels. It would be too difficult to re-identify a city that had dropped, risen, or otherwise changed locations. Young adults were encouraged to find someone they considered a potential romantic partner and share a dwelling before they lost each other forever."

"I…" Tech blinked. "I was unaware."

"We have a lot of legends about it," you said kindly. "Some of them are very widespread, so it isn't surprising you would have found one. I can recommend a good holotext about how we got to a more uniform elevation level and the shift to a more standard form of courtship. If you're interested, of course."

"I am extremely interested," Tech assured. "Have courtship rituals on Bespin changed, then?"

You shrugged. "Probably as much as those of any society that has been inhabited as long as Bespin. I wouldn't know a lot, personally. My first relationship wasn't until I had gone to college on Alderaan, and it certainly wasn’t with anyone from Bespin.”

Tech hummed quietly at that, refocusing his attention on your comlink. You waited to see what his next question would be, but the only noise in the cockpit was the sound of approaching footsteps.

You turned to find Crosshair stepping through the doorway. You managed a smile - not that it was appreciated or returned by the scowling trooper - but started to get anxious again. Where is Wrecker? Surely he hadn’t decided that you were more trouble than you were worth. If he had, why would his brothers be interrogating you?

Tech cleared his throat. “Did you stay on Alderaan long-?”

“You’re the one who spends so much time with Wrecker,” Crosshair said, staring at you. You nodded rather than risk displaying your nervousness in your voice. Crosshair grimaced. “Why?”

“Why… what?” you asked, utterly confused by his question.

“Well, most people find him irritating,” Crosshair pointed out, folding his arms across his lean chest. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” you replied instantly, your voice a bit too passionate for such a small space. “Wrecker is sweet and funny and cares more about others than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s amazing. If some people think he’s irritating, that’s their loss.”

Crosshair inclined his head at you before turning back toward the large sheet separating the living quarters from the cockpit. “There you go; an honest opinion.”

You blushed scarlet as the sheet dropped to reveal Wrecker. Apparently, the biggest Bad Batcher had been holding it in place pressed against the ceiling. You were marveling at that for a few precious seconds, but Wrecker had already moved on.

Beaming at you, Crosshair, and anyone else who bothered to look in your direction, Wrecker cheered, “Great!”

“Subtle, Crosshair,” Hunter said lowly.

Crosshair shrugged. “He wanted to know, and you and Tech were taking too long.”

“So,” Wrecker started, rubbing at the back of his neck as he moved to stand in front of you. Well, he was standing behind the copilot seat, really. The cockpit was crowded with you and every member of Clone Force 99 sharing the space. “I was thinking, maybe-”

“I am finished,” Tech announced, pushing past Wrecker to claim your full attention. He presented you with your comlink and, ignoring Wrecker’s huff of annoyance, proceeded to explain exactly what he had done to the device and how it should work.

You did your best to pay attention, but it was tricky with the other members of the Bad Batch standing in the background. Wrecker, understandably, looked frustrated. Crosshair was far too amused as someone watching one of his brothers accidentally torment another one. Hunter was the one really keeping an eye on the situation. When Tech had finally started to repeat an earlier point, Hunter interrupted.

“Tech, I need your help with one of the sensors in the rear deflector shield,” Hunter said, drawing Tech away slightly. “I’ve fixed the problem and reset the sensor, but it’s still registering as a bug in the system-”

As Hunter and Tech moved further away, Crosshair gave a sardonic salute and slouched off as well. You and Wrecker were alone for the first time, and he moved to sit down in the other pilot’s chair.

Sitting down, Wrecker seemed much less physically imposing. He was an undeniably large man, but at least you were almost the same height sitting down. Well, sort of the same height. Okay, not really the same height at all, but closer than when you were both standing.

Wrecker sat extremely upright in his chair as he started to speak. “Okay, now that they’re finally gone, I wanted to ask: would you maybe think about having dinner with me tonight? Here? I’ll get rid of the guys and we can have anything you want and I already cleaned just in case you said yes, but if you say yes, I’ll clean again just to make sure it’s really clean-”

“Wrecker!” you said laughingly, holding up your hands as if to stifle the stream of words. “I would be glad to have dinner with you. Thank you for asking me. It already looks clean in here, so please don’t feel like you need to go to any trouble.”

“That’s great!” Wrecker enthused after he had sat staring at you for a solid 20 seconds. He opened his arms. “Hug?”

“I’d love one, thanks,” you accepted gratefully, sliding forward until you left your chair.

Wrecker didn’t even give you a chance to stand all the way before he had wrapped you in another warm, squeezing embrace. You returned it as well as you could, but he pulled back sooner than he had the night before. You raised a curious eyebrow at him, but Wrecker gently disentangled himself from you and settled you back on your own seat.

“Actually, I have something else I need to say, and you need to be over there so you can be comfortable.” You raised both eyebrows at that, as well as at the sincere expression on Wrecker’s scarred face.

He avoided your eyes, but said it anyway: “I want to be more than friends. I… like you, but more than that. You know? Maybe you don’t. But I just wanted to make sure you knew that I would be happy to be your friend. If all you want is to be my friend, I think that’s great and I’m excited to be part of your new family here. Ugh, I’m messing this all up…”

You moved closer again, grabbing Wrecker’s hand as you did. “Wrecker, I’m glad you like me as more than a friend. It’s- That’s how I feel about you, too.”

“Really?” Wrecker breathed, definitely the quietest tone you had ever heard him use.

His eyes were lit up with hope and you smiled as you confirmed, “Really. But I haven’t dated a lot of people and I get the feeling it might be the same for you? So maybe we should take things slow.”

“That sounds amazing,” Wrecker agreed. “So should we reschedule dinner for another time?”

You smiled softly, hoping it didn’t come off condescending. “We don’t need to move that slowly, not if you’re comfortable with us having dinner together. I would like for us to be friends, too.”

“So it’s okay if I do this?” Wrecker asked, pulling your linked hands up to brush a kiss on the back of your hand.

It was such a simple, innocent gesture, but you had to fight a blush as you nodded. “It’s definitely okay if you do that.”

The pair of you grinned at each other like fools for an embarrassingly long time before you remembered a line you should draw. “Just please don’t leave me alone with your brothers again. They’re terrifying when they’re trying to look out for you.”

“I promise,” Wrecker said sincerely. “Though they like you, if that helps.”

“Thank goodness for that,” you murmured, glancing through the Marauder’s viewport to find Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair watching the two of you with knowing smirks.

---

A/N - All of the stuff about Bespin was invented by me. I know it's not correct, but it was fun to write and I have no regrets! Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out other works on my masterlist or make a request!

[the-sympathetic-villain]

A Life For A Life - Chapter 5

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Prompt by @local-space-case:  Prince Roman and his two loyal friends, Patton and Logan, are on the  hunt for a dragon. Meanwhile, Dragonshifter!Janus  is just trying to  find the right herbs to cure a sick/injured  Dragonshifter!Virgil. Bonus  points for Anxciet and/or Protective Remus.

Word Count: 3053

Chapter Warnings: Minor violence/threats, Sexual Innuendo, Blood, Injury, Effects of Poisoning, Mentions of Death, Kidnapping (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

---

    “Now, I can get behind a little self-flagellation but this is just pathetic.”

    Roman blinked in shock as the sudden echo of an unfamiliar voice filled his ears.

    His aim had held true as the arrow wavered through the stale, cave air and the dragon had stilled in just the right moment. He'd been prepared to let out a breath of relief. Yet, he found himself staring dumbfounded at the arrow that had stopped short of its target mere inches from the dragon’s face.

     A shadowy silhouette gripped the arrows shaft, having apparently stopped it in midair. Chills crept down Roman’s spine as the figure turned toward him with a toothy, white grin.

     “Come now. It's just rude to murder in someone else’s home.” The figure chuckled as he twirled the arrow in its unnaturally long fingers. “Unless, of course—You're the host.”

     Roman flinched as the figure's hand twisted, sending his own are headed back for Roman’s chest.

    “Roman, no!”

    “Lo!”

     Logan and Patton’s voices were muffled as a sudden wave of blue light shot illuminated the cave walls. A minor shockwave sent Roman stumbling back as the arrow headed for his chest shattered into a dozen pieces and clattered harmlessly to the ground.

    “Oh, our pathetic prince has friends. Does he?”

    The pallid figure traipsed toward him with a dangerous sway in his step. Dark circles accented the creature’s dangerous sneer, sending Roman stumbling back to clumsily land on the ground.

    He would nearly have mistaken the figure for a man, if not for the black pulsing veins etched into his white skin. Its eyes were white and without pupils and long black feathers seemed to hang from behind his ears like talismans.

    “Come now,” The beast purred.

    His sudden movements sent a fresh wave of fear across Roman's body as he started to scramble away. The movement was cut short as a hand caught his ankle, pulling him back until he turned to stare up at unnerving creature.

    “I love me a good meet and greet. Call your friends out, princey boy .”

    Roman bit his lip. “Logan—”

    “Don't make me drag them out by their toes.” The man cooed in a lilting tone that immediately  shut down any thoughts of rebellion in Roman’s mind. “I'd hate to have to hurt them.”

     Roman scowled at the creature’s smirk. “Logan, come out please.”

    The man's eye glimmered as he wagged a patronizing finger at Roman. “Don't forget the cute one. I wouldn’t want to leave anyone out of the fun I’m about to have with you.”

    “You bastard. Leave Patton out if th—"

    The man cocked his head with a condescending smirk, flourishing his hand. Roman’s hands shot to his throat as the muscles suddenly constricted. He heaved in a breath, unable to speak as the man leaned forward, head resting in his hands as he watched Roman suffocate with a infuriating grin.

     “Don’t hurt him, please.”

    Logan’s calm voice resonated against the walls, approaching slowly as Roman craned his neck toward him.

    “We're coming out like you asked.”

    Roman felt his heart pound in his chest at the seriousness in Logan’s tone. He could see Logan’s arm tucked protectively around Patton, eyeing the scene with caution as they stepped into the faint light.

    “Oh, goody-goody gumdrops.”

    The man jumped to his feet as breath flooded Roman’s lungs. His hands reached to the ceiling as he took a step towards Logan.

    “So glad you can join us.”

    “Stay back.” Logan's hand glowed with a faint blue light as he growled a warning at the creature. “I will not ask twice.”

    Tension seeped into their bodies as a brief moment of silence hung between them. The orange glow of the embers reflected in Logan’s eyes as the blue glow of his palms lit his face from below.

    His ferocity sent a shiver across Roman’s skin as he stared at the man he loved. He knew Logan cared for few things more than he cared for Patton, but to see the fury in full force was a staggering sight even for Roman.

   “Funny. You've got that nerdy look about you. I really thought you'd be the smart one.” The creature chuckled as pupils returned to his eyes, glittering  green as his eyes narrowed in Logan. “Are you really prepared to face a god with that cocky attitude?”

    “A god?”

    Roman’s heart sunk as Logan’s confidence faltered. He could see Logan hesitate as the creature approached, leaning into his face with a snarky smile.

    “You look like the type of nerd who'd know all about these things. Come on, don’t tell me you skipped studying the stories of these hills?” The man’s smirk grew unnaturally wide as he peered over Logan’s shoulder at Patton. “The gods buried themselves in the earth to give rise to the great creatures of the earth. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. Yada, yada, boring mumbo jumbo.”

     “I'm aware of the stories.” Logan’s lips pursed slightly. “Forgive for my ignorance. Which story is it that you supposedly from?”

    “A non-believer. Huh?” The man's lip curled into a dangerous smirk. “You’d best start believing in legends, Mr. Tense and Broody. You’re living one."

    Roman watched as Logan  pulled Patton closer to him, trying not to show how much Remus’ responses had unnerved him. “You didn't answer my question.”

     The man smiled, almost as if he was impressed by Logan’s bravado, before giving a dramatic bow towards Logan. “Remus, God of all creatures of the Dilonn Forest, scaled and slimy alike. At your service.”

    Logan’s expression fell as his eyes darted to the amber-scaled dragon whose stoic eyes were now watching their every movement.

    “We didn’t mean to—”

    “You didn’t mean to follow an injured beast as it fled from your grasp?”

     Logan swallowed the lump in his throat as he clenched his jaw. “That's not—”

    “All while carrying deadly weapons intended to kill said beast?”

    “I—”

    “Wait” Roman interrupted Logan's wavering protests, raising his hands in surrender as he leapt nimbly to his feet. “Logan never intended to do anyone harm. Only I intended to hunt the creature—"

    “Oh, I'll get to you in a minute.” The man waved off Roman’s   protests with a brusque gesture before turning to face to glowing amber eyes of the golden-scaled dragon. “But first, I’d like to hear from the one who spurned my creations most.”

    Roman stared in shock as the dragon raised its head in apparent indignation at the man's remark.

    “One bad day and you’re suddenly willing to throw away the gifts I’ve given you?”

    A wave of heat rushed over Roman’s arms as the beast let out a huff, all but rolling its eyes as he curled tighter around the man in its nest.

     “Bullshit. That punk would never want death for you. Even if he was gone, he'd roll over in his grave seeing the way you—Hey!”

    The man jumped back as a ring of flames burst forth from the dragon’s nostrils. Heat singed the air of the cave until the beast turned his head to rest his jaw on the unconscious man in his grip, ignoring the supposed god addressing him.

    “I'm not done with you—"

    The man continued to chastise the fearsome beast as though it were no more than a naughty child, allowing Roman to catch his breath. For the first time, Roman was able to take a long glance at the dragon’s hostage.

    He was young, at least a few years younger than Roman himself. His clothes were tattered and worn, barely held together by an amateur selection of purple and blue patchwork. Dark and disheveled hair covering shades of purple on his face. At first Roman worried they may be bruises, but leaning closer, Roman felt dread sink in his stomach as the recognition finally clicked in his mind.

    Purple scales.

    “You know what? Fine.”

    Roman’s eyes shot up as the man who claimed to be a god stepped forward to the body of the injured man in the dragon’s grip.  The beast’s golden eyes were devoid of hostility as the man approached. It seemed almost reluctant to move, clinging to the man in its nest like he was the most important thing in this creature’s life.

    “You win.” The man who called himself Remus stepped forward, voice full of melancholy as he stared down at the limp body of the man with purple scales. “I hate to see a good life cut short like this."

    The man's hand raised in a flourish and the air cracked like thunder as the unconscious man jolted upright with sudden breath. His eyes were wide as his head spun side to side taking in the scene surrounding him. Roman could see him suck in another breath, on the verge of hyperventilating when the dragon’s head curled back to him.

    “Jan, what's going on—?”

    Roman’s grip tightened on his bow. Despite all he'd seen, he still didn’t trust the wild beast not to turn on the kid on a whim. He prepared to lunge forward to protect the stranger, but the action was cut short as a raspy laughter filled the air. The man’s face broke out into a smile as he started to speak in a language Roman had never heard.

    No fear showed in the man's eyes as he threw his arms around the beast's head. Though the beast's head alone was nearly half the size of him, the man didn’t hesitate to close his eyes and press his forehead to the beast's temple. To Roman’s surprise, the beast responded with a series of grunts that seemed to match the man’s foreign tongue.

    “Are you speaking to it?”

    The words stalled in his mouth as the man tensed with fear at his voice, looking almost like a feral cat as he bared his teeth at Roman.

    “Him.”

    Roman’s brow furrowed. From the way he'd been speaking, Roman had half expected the man not to understand the Common tongue, but the single word the man had uttered only served to confuse him more.

    “What?”

    “I'm speaking to him.”

     The man’s snarl curled aggressively on his lips as his eyes narrowed on Roman's bow. He spoke in a heavy accent, spitting out the words with a distinct hiss.

    “Relax,” Roman tucked the bow on his shoulder and held up his hands, taken aback by the man's haste to angry words. “I'm not here to hurt you.”

     “The arrow you put through my gut says otherwise, wyrmkiller.”

     The man moved as if to approach Roman but the beast's tail curled tighter around him as if holding him back.

    “Let me go, Jan.”

    A deep growl resonated in the dragon’s throat. The sound was soft and almost sad as the beast’s jaw came to rest in the man's lap.

     The vitriol in the man's words dropped to a guilty whisper as he turned gaze to meet the beast's eyes. “I'm fine. I promise.”

     Roman's jaw dropped open as the amber scales started to shift. A subtle shimmer trailed up the dragon’s thick skin, muscles changing with grace until what say before him was not a beast, but a man, holding the other in a gentle embrace.

     Much like the man with the purple scale, this one's face glittered with a golden color, trailing up the man's face to slitted eyes. As the shift slowed, Roman could only stare in shock as tears fell from the eyes of the man with the golden scales and his arms curled tighter around the man in his arms.

    Stifled sobs filled the air as Roman’s eyes dipped to the waist of the injured man, finally noting the dark stain and tear on the front of the man's clothing.

     “The arrow—” Roman’s throat suddenly felt dry as realization sunk in his stomach. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you weren’t—"

    “Keep your empty words.”

    “But—"

    The man in purple’s growl drowned out Roman's pleas, letting loose a string of foreign words that Roman could only guess were swears. “Don’t lie to me. You’re only sorry because now I look like you.”

     “No!” Roman held up his hand. Hesitantly, he cast a guilty glance at the pair of men clutching each other as they stared up at him in abject fear. “I—Maybe, but I didn’t know you were intelligent—"

    “You piece of sh—”

    “Hey, I just put that body back together.” Remus chided as the man curled forward, voice stalling as he held his stomach. “Don’t go fucking up my blessing already.”

    The man glared up Remus. He was angry, yet his rough movements reluctantly slowed as he reacted to the creature’s concern. His purple gaze dropped to the ground as he rose to his feet with his partner’s help. With a weary glance at Remus, he pulled his hand away from his abdomen, staring blankly at the speckles of blood on his hand.

    “Fine. Can we leave?”

    “Not yet, my fair-skinned fiend. You know how this works. I just pulled you back from the brink of death.” The shadows around Remus’ eyes grew dark with a sudden rush of power. “You’re not out of hot water yet, Virgil.”

   Roman shivered as a growl resonated deep in the throat of the amber-scaled man, Janus. He crouched defensively as if intending to lunge at the smirking god, but to Roman’s surprise, Virgil raised a hand to stop him.

    “What do you want, my lord?”

    “Oh, so formal! You really  know how to get a man all hot and bothered—”

     Remus' reached towards Virgil in a flirtatious gesture that was cut short as Janus snapped his teeth at the forest god's hand, snarling like a wild animal.

    “Careful, Jan. You don’t know where those fingers have been.”

    “Would you like to find out?” Remus cooed, leaning into Janus’ face as the man snarled at him, letting loose a string of what Roman assumed were more foreign swears.

    Roman flinched as Janus’ statement ended with a deep growl and his golden eyes darted up to Roman.

    “Of course, I'm not letting the prince off the hook. He owes me a pretty piece for striking down one of my beautiful creatures.”

    Remus chuckled as he raised a hand in the air, flourishing a hand toward Roman. The moment elicited a gasp from his lungs as Roman felt himself pulled forward against his will.

    “In fact, our dear prince is going to be the one to set things right for you, lover boy.”

   Roman gulped as he found himself face to face with the angry, slitted eyes of Janus as the dragonshifter loomed over him. A snarl curled on the man's lips, exposing a row of sharp teeth that sent a shiver across Roman’s skin.

    “Personally, I'd love to get little more creative with your punishment,” Remus' lip curled into a dangerous smile. “but seeing as Virgie's living on borrowed time, I'm willing to cut you a break. You catch my drift?”

    “What?”

    “Well, seeing as the lot of you are prepared to slit each others throats, I'd like to propose a new game." Remus purred reaching an arm around Roman's neck. “Work together or pay the price. A life for a life—”

    Roman’s heart sunk as Remus spun him around to face Logan. His eyes were wide, arm tucked around Patton as he stared helplessly at Roman.

    The man's hand snapped behind Roman's ears and he blinked. In an instant, Patton vanished before his eyes and Logan spun on his heels, desperately looking for his brother.

    “Pat—What did you do to my brother?”

     Logan lunged at Remus, but the god sidestepped him with an unnerving amount of speed, chuckling as he smiled cruelly at Logan. Seeing the dangerous glimmer in the man's eyes, Roman lunged forward to catch Logan’s waist, stopping him before Remus could do anything worse.

    “Lo, stop!”

    “He has Patton—”

    “I know.” Roman whispered, pulling Logan into his arms as he let out a pained gasp. “I know.”

    “Do you really think I didn't figure out who made the poison who brought down Virgil?” Remus cocked his head with and indifferent look in his eyes. “As far as I'm concerned, you’re as guilty as our prince.

     “Patton did nothing. If you hurt him—”

     “Cutie's safe and he'll stay that way if you follow my instructions.”

    A loud groan interrupted Remus' rambling. Roman’s head spun around just as Virgil’s knees gave out, collapsing in Janus' arm. His scales were dark against his pallid skin as his partner whispered to him.

    “See, Virgie's not out of the woods yet and I can’t take him where he needs to go. ” Remus’ voice dropped, sincere as he approached the young dragonshifter. “If he doesn’t reach the silver spring in Doragon Valley in three days time, my magic will fail him and your poison will take his life.”

   Roman blinked, feeling Logan still in his grip as Remus raised a hand to the dragonshifter’s cheek. His breathing was unsteady as he leaned his head back into his partner’s shoulder.

   “But Doragon Valley is in the center of the city.” Roman breathed, chilled by the implication of Remus’ words. “The spring is sacred ground.”

    “Exactly, I may be a god but my reach only extends to the edge of the forest.” Remus whispered, turning his hand from Virgil to extend it to Roman. “So, here’s the deal. Take Virgil where he needs to go and save the life you sought to steal or I keep the kid forever.”

    Logan dropped his gaze, going limp in Roman’s grip. Roman could feel his partner’s nails dig into his arm, his chest heaving with grief over his missing brother.

    “Roman, please—”

    “Deal.” Roman interrupted Logan’s breathless plea. “Whatever it takes, we're bringing Patton home.”

    “Thank you.” Logan whispered, taking a small breath and allowing his head to sink into Roman’s shoulder.

    “Good.” Remus smiled, casting a glance at Virgil. “You'd best get moving then. You don’t have much time to spare.”

     With a snap, Remus was gone. An uneasy silence followed  as they stared at their reluctant new allies, lives of those they loved most hanging in the balance as they started their journey.

---

A/N: Alright, that’s the end of my spree writing on this so there won’t be an update immediately after this one, but hopefully I’ll cycle back soon. I can’t wait to write these poor boys having to actually try to work together ~~

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck @shadowyplaidpurseegg

A Life For A Life:

@arodynamic-enby @pixelated-pineapple @simplestoryteller @bloodymari-0666

[psalloacappella]

Red (oneshot)

Title: Red  Pairing: SasuSaku legit i don’t write anything else  Word Count: 3400~ Rating: E, for like explicit, not for everyone. NSFW. Ya get it. Tags/What you’ll see: Sakura getting the office and oral she deserves 

Summary: An old dress, a new office — Uchiha Sasuke offers regards to both.

Ao3 | FFN |  ↓

(I have to preface when I post this that my top-tier amazing friend convinced me to do so and reminded me not to delete it this morning in the cold sober dawn lol. I consider this absolutely self-indulgent)

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“Ah, Sakura?”

Jade eyes alight and ringed with red, her subordinate regrets interrupting what seems to be a bout of sickness or sadness; she’s been busy lately. They all are.

Spine bent in bass clef camber, in exhaustion, she straightens at his words into a ramrod illustration of diligence. Over scrolls and haphazard paperwork, empty mugs sitting in their own fossilized dregs, she snatches up a fountain pen to preserve her dignity and reputation. At her age she’s been handed enormous tasks that she only imagined in her wildest dreams, and most of those, in the past, were of love and marriage and not the nightmares and duties which replaced them.

Extreme stress manifests in mysterious and chaotic ways; she intuitively knows this, especially today, as she basks in the quiet glances, the way their eyes follow her long, long legs leading into ankles in heels that feel like cages. Her choice of a dress underneath her white coat today feels like a wanton beacon, but her battle reputation precedes her, legendary and terrifying; no one will dare blithely approach legs like those or earn the ire of her dangerous hands, so delicate until they’re crushing mountains and throats.

Electricity, a buzzing in the marrow of her bones; she taps the pen on the desk in a stilted rhythm.

She regards the young medic with a hazy gaze for a moment, then waves a hand. “Sorry, I’m just—”

He steps over the threshold; Sakura raises her chin, lips taut.

“No no, I’m sorry,” he insists. Under her bright eyes he feels the beginnings of idiocy and bumbling; his boss makes him tongue-tied, stupid. Younger than him, in a league of her own as she stands at shoulders with new legends; lethal, inured to all the stories about herself.  

He notices the ochre on her lips like an invitation.

“I wouldn’t come too close today,” she says. Grants him a demure smile, the type that doesn’t quite fool her friends but still works with fools like him. “I’m not feeling the best. It could be contagious, and that wouldn’t be helpful to our operations right now.”

“Yes, of course.” Agreeing, nodding fervently with the obedience of a particularly compliant breed of dog. “If I may — you work so much. Too young to be feeling so tired.”

A laugh, it bubbles — starts from her chest as a giggle and drips from her lips as honey. Makes her quake, mottled red seeping through the skin of her chest as a sieve, collarbones sharp.

She looks feverish; she looks like a dream.

In turn she struggles to keep the waver out of her voice, knowing she’s lit up as fulgent as rouge festival lanterns and there's no way to kill the current.

I’ll never live this down — have to get him out of here

The cough she musters up is weak and if this was Ino, or gods forbid, her teacher, they’d call it pathetic. For a young man trapped in her sphere of admiring attraction, it does nothing but induce sympathy. But her legs are shaking, the situation is dire, and she’s loath to have another round of torrid rumor on the flapping lips of civilians and staff.

“Ah!”

At her cry, she lets her temple fall into her hand and her subordinate rushes forward. Gasping, she raises her other one, trembling.

“No, please. That sounded worse than it was. Just a headache coming on. In fact,” she rasps, “if you can let Shizune know I’ll be taking the next hour to recoup? A nap, maybe that’ll help.”

“I don’t know if I can leave you like this.” His tentative step earns her sharp gaze again, pursed lips that start his mind wandering in a way that makes him blush. Physically shaking his head to clear it, he nods slowly, finally, backing out of the doorway.

The hollow sound of Sakura’s kneecap hitting the underside of the desk rings in the space. Her gullible underling starts forward again, but the foreboding slap of her hand on the desk stops him cold. Acute, like it’s one to the face.

Sakura brings her knees together, swift, crushing his damn near regal bone structure and the handsome high bridge of his nose between the muscle of her thighs. A warning.

She glances down at him, he’s slicked with sweat — the glimpse of his glittering black eye and swirling purple one bring her too close to a wave she can’t indulge; she’s still this unwanted visitor’s boss until he closes the fucking door.

“Just me being clumsy! Do as I’ve asked and let her know, and,” here her breath hitches, hand leaving the desk, fingers burying themselves in dark messy hair, “th-thank you for worrying. I appreciate it.”

She’ll pay for the smile she gives this man, a sparkle of hope, like he’ll ever earn his boss’s favor in that way, as if he’ll measure up in any lifetime to the man that has her heart, the man on his knees under her desk.

“Sure. I mean,” horrified at his own too-familiar tone, “of course, right away, ma’am. Miss. I—”

“Oh go now. ” It stutters out in jete musical meter, resembling pain — or other things. “Please.”

She doesn’t have to tell him to close the door, though she’s surprised he didn’t find another excuse to stay with her. Oh, he has it bad. But there’s no time to think —

Sinking into her chair, her hands grip the armrests with an intensity that forces music from them, cracking underneath her fingers. And now all the words of the last few minutes tumble from her lips, an unintelligible medley of curses and pleas cradling the half-formed shell of his name.

Without warning, she yanks him back by the hair and almost comes right there:  His eyes scalding her, the mess on his stupid and incredibly fuckable face, a talented and dangerous mouth settling into a smirk as he thumbs an errant bit of her off his lip.

“That was close. Ah, so are you.”

He says it with such smugness and vanity. Quivering in her office chair under nothing but his stare, still in the grips of the unrelenting buzz and hum he’s enticed, and he absolutely notices.

“One of these days, we’ll be caught!” Tries to sound stern even as he rolls his neck and shoulders with a pithy nonchalance. “Stop that. So arrogant, preening like that—”

“Me? That’s rich.” He lazily trails a finger from her swollen, hot clit to her opening, lingering and lush to force all the heat and sounds he’s craving — her fingernails dig into her thigh while the pallor of her skin and dress seep and marry, reflections of one another. “Why did you wear this, Sakura?” Nudges the fabric with his nose, and she mumbles something hazy under his resumed touch; lost in orbit, in a void, in a place unearthly.

He starts the routine again, pressing his mouth to the inside of her thigh. Frowns at the irritating strip of fabric that constitutes clothing; it’s been twisted and pushed aside anyway. Her skin burning against his face, a lean cord of muscle taut underneath her pale skin. Vaguely threatening, but she’s yet to crush him to death and he’s on the second round of bringing her there and back again, and close calls such as those seem to stoke something smoldering. Some days, it feels like the only thing worth pulling himself out of bed for.

He fucks like he fights:  Relentless, consuming. But that essential difference for the former is he never gives an inch; here, he pours it all in, something like an endless apology. Maybe she knows and that’s why she wears the red dress he won’t admit he prefers and paints her lips and runs the entirety of this village hospital system with grace and her own brand of gentle ascendancy — why he’s desperate for just the ragged edge of danger.

One of her legs shudders, the frenzied tap-tap-tap of her heel stammering against the floor in a cadence fit for instruments. “Sasuke-kun.”

Between the presses of his lips leading a hot, agonizing march back to her core, an arrogant noise in his throat escapes, rich and amused. “So this — is your new office?”

“Mmm,” she confirms, still clinging to the chair. The only support she has; the room’s spinning and every cell is vibrating, pink eyebrows knitted as she fights to remain upright and solid and somewhat human because the door’s not locked and she knows he knows, knows he doesn’t care and frankly neither, really, does she. Melting like basalt in unending, stifling heat.

Calloused fingers walk up the soft skin of her calf, catching and searing, sundering the delicate layer where they brush to release the pent-up steam underneath.

He’s fire; she is earth.

Always, all of him ablaze —  possessive in its own discipline but a thing begging for taming. He builds the pyre here, as he has been for the last hour or so, to focus himself, patiently coaxing it into something chaotic but fruitful. Lately all he’s felt is the joyless, sober embodiment of a tool to be used though perhaps this is the same, a compulsion by any other name.

But it can’t be, not with her looking like this. Striding down her hallways with purpose while bending the horrors and ills of the world to her indomitable will. Certainly this dress is no accident, as it never is, not with him coming off a mission full of blood and necessary evil.

Dragging the thin, sorry excuse for fabric down the burning skin of her leg, Sasuke’s tongue finds her clit with terrifying precision and rips a moan from her throat, pulling a jerk of her hips against his mouth. The shockwave shared, vibrating as wires intertwined, a forcible current.

Leans back, takes her in:  Her trembling, knuckles white from the fatal grip on the arms of the chair, knees sinking inward toward one another. The sight of this rich red dress against the stark, starched white of her coat blending with the mottled pinks and crimsons painting her cheeks and chest. Unraveling before him, extraordinary, even while this space belongs to her.

This, sometimes, feels like undeserved forgiveness.

Because she is always, always in living color.

Adjusts his own knees, shifts, a catch of air in his throat as he accommodates the hard length of his own caged cock. They’re no stranger to claiming desks and other surfaces as their own, but she has strings on him and there's authority in here now, where she holds men at the door with a flicker of her gentle jade eyes borne of the grueling process which created her.

Sliding the useless fabric into his pocket, raises his chin to her. Stares as she bites her lip and struggles for composure, though it’s difficult under the gaze of a man like this.

He waits, and the only sounds are ragged breathing from both.

“Please,” she whispers. Quivering, even at the ask. “Before someone comes back.”

“You worry so much,” he says. “Relax.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“What did I tell you,” he hisses, “about apologies?”

She blinks, startled, and her lips part. A sparkle, a brilliance emerging in her eyes as she clenches and unclenches her fingers. Still, they shake a bit, the anticipation and remnants of the rise and current before still lingering, lying in wait. Predatory. A wetness floods to her lips and she swallows it down, leveling her eyes to his glittering, savage gaze.

With a deep inhale, she spreads herself before him, knees apart. Blushing invisible, lost in the red that’s already dappled every inch of her, she exhales the rest of her timidity with an edged, sharp expression and hopes she’s being clear—

Sakura just barely glimpses the fierce red in his gaze before he answers with his tongue, deft, ardent, and divine.

Breaking the chair arms beneath her delicate hands again, scrabbling to stay on the beautiful planet before it turns her loose. Sinking, again, the boundaries of atoms dissolving — they are nowhere but bliss.

Like before, the careful building of a fire, the agonizing escalation:  He drops a kiss here, employs a firm tongue there, skirting the easy option in favor of the tease as he peels her back, layer by layer. Running it the length of her slit, heart skipping a bit at the dangerous quake of her thigh muscle; how long it's taken to differentiate between pleasure and impending crush. Again, the sensation of crawling into the den of something prized and feral. He feels it, her writhing and the pace and canter of her breathing and she’s liquid gold, fucking melting —

Her hips jerk, hard, when his tongue swirls around her clit, the cry coming from her jagged as broken glass and trembling like music, all things that make his own situation difficult to manage but he will, because these sounds entrench him firmly in reality. Alive. Knees screaming on the hardwood floor, unyielding as his cock cradled only by fabric and not as he wishes, by her hands or her red, red lips like the kind she’s wearing now.

Instead he slows her down again, pendulum swings between teasing and a furious rhythm that coaxes the full spectrum of human sounds from her beautiful throat. Rewarded for it with a whiny gasp as if breaking the surface of water, mingling with his own as he catches his breath. The end of it careens into words, something rough, he’s not even quite sure what he’s saying but he imagines, neither does she.

This—fucking dress—!

Nice, isn’t it?

Gets you attention

But only from you, S-Sasuke-kun

And her hand lands on his head again, thin fingers yanking his hair and guiding him as he splays her open, lays her bare. His name never quite fully leaves her lips, dancing with fragments of alternating pleas and curses. Just for that, for something he’d never thought he’d ever hear in his life, he grimly knows he’d write a fucking sonnet just to hear her like this — and with his tongue, he does, or at least approximates. The tremors of her shift deeper now, approaching release; she’s so slick it feels vile, indulgence in sin. All of which is smeared on his lips, his face, tasting of tang and salt; how many times has he been told he’s selfish? Guilty. Greedy, too, as he pauses to breathe—

looking up at her, he has an idea but can’t possibly know the extent of this, how she’s absolutely wrung out and beyond this dimension, hell, this galaxy, every inch of her humming in tune with the universe and brimming with absolute, inescapable heat, muscles taut and and begging for climax. Though the soft edges of her green eyes that see through him and everything else, rolling back, mouth open and lips parted in mimeo of an oracle, sunken in the weight of divinity, might give him some clue.

Don’t stop, please—!

— he’s there, with his fingers buried and soaked and deep, playing that just-right rhythm with a thumb on her clit that’s been worked to the edge and back again over the span of her busy afternoon. Hairs part from his scalp without remorse; her nails scrabbling and fingers clinging as she prays and sighs and curses occasionally, quietly, into the limp back of her hand. As if she’s really still trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism in the throes of being launched into orbit.

So very close. He knows by the slightly erratic rhythm, the pulsating of muscles inside and out and around him, tight and he steals a quick breath to endure and ease his fingers out to redouble effort with his mouth because the way she’s sounding, that sharp icy note on the ragged edge of pleasure and pain, tends to be the signal, the tipping point. The tremor her free hand sends through the bones of the chair. Knees apart as far as she can manage and desperately meeting him at the hilt —

Steady through until the end.

Release comes as glass shattering, atoms splitting. Unintelligible words trapped in amber, in a moment, in desire. With a mouth full of fire, he rides it with her through every wave, persisting through her slow and ebbing tumble back down to earth. To him.

He leans back at last, groaning at the pain in his knees. Watches her tremble and twitch, wringing out the very last dregs of her orgasm, displacing everything coherent left in her head.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and he gets to his feet as she languishes in a pool of pleasure, steeping as scalding tea.

At some point her hand rises to her own lips, limp and wavering, to clean her own unabashed drippings with an expression of dizzy surprise. The white dissipates from her vision and she finds his eyes on her again, one still richly red in its sole mission of memorizing the glowing after.

“Oh.” That’s all she says, breathless.

Sasuke brings fingers across his own mouth, rolls his jaw side to side, and something about his expression of smug satisfaction resonates, strings of a plucked instrument, a pull again of desire that threatens to ruin the sanctity of this brand new office and the role that comes with it.

For a moment she leverages the chair to rise, then loses strength — she lowers herself back in it, arms still quaking.

She reaches for him, plucking at his shirt. Hair flyaway, askew from her frenzied fingers, still in his mission gear.

Yanking him down by the collar, she crashes her mouth against his, red and hot, the tang and taste of herself immiscible with his own. Whatever sound he makes, this growl or rumble or ache, splits them open.

What pulls them apart is the grating sound of their former sensei’s voice:  “I heard from a bird that someone in here was sick?”

Sasuke feels them in the room now and pulls away. Half-turns, finds himself leaning on her desk in a way that’s almost too casual, but necessary — his knees are shot through. Sakura smiles too widely, masking a secret; after all, both still feel the pinpricks of liquids drying in the new air.

“From your darling subordinate,” Kakashi twinkles, grinning underneath his mask.

“That one who follows you around like a puppy,” Naruto supplies, pouting.

Kakashi tilts his head toward him, both still lingering over the threshold. “Terrible, hm?”

Naruto misses the jibe and instead turns his wide ocean eyes on her new space. Whistles. “Man, Sakura-chan, this office is niiice. I’m jealous.”

“You’ll be in your new one soon enough,” she says, and there she is, her usual self. “I have faith. Anyway, this office comes with responsibility.”

“Well if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“He was under the impression you were sick. Looking at you now, though,” and here Kakashi pauses in a manner all too deliberate, eyes sweeping over Sasuke’s cloak and belongings in a chair, and ends it with looking right at him, “you seem all right. Exhausted, I imagine.”

Her flush threatens to undo them both.

“He’s . . . sweet. To care.”

“He’s a fool,” Sasuke mutters.

“Perfect, you’re dressed nice,” Naruto crows. “How did you know we’d come make you celebrate? You didn’t eat, I bet you didn’t!” He eyes Sasuke up and down, at his unusually ruffled appearance, and clicks his tongue. “You didn’t even go home first, did you? Shitty boyfriend.”

The damage he committed on his recent mission pales in comparison to the crimes Sasuke wants to indulge now.

“Anyway, we’ll wait out here. After all,” Kakashi says, inclining his head, “this is your space now.”

Sakura exhales long and slow as they step out into the hallway. Covering her face with her hands, she groans. “No matter my job, I’ll never escape embarrassment, huh?”

Standing at last, she readjusts her clothes and kisses the underside of Sasuke’s chin. She reaches for his pocket and he moves easily out of her grasp.

“Sasuke-kun!”

“Pointless now. I’ll keep it.”

No matter what time, season, dimension, he regards all of her — the dress, the lips that held their color, the new flush simmering on her neck and chest — and craves, endeavors, to always love her red.