#once i get a firm grasp of each deity

[tvrningout]

also also!! i’m a lil sad that the story in my head doesn’t really have room for a ton of deity interaction bc genuinely i think they’re so dang interesting and fun to think about. i’m weeping over the potential dynamics that i may never get to write 😔

[desires-of-chain]

I need content. I need much content. I need—

*whips off sunglasses*

Time and the Fierce Deity railing their partner from either side, holding a silent (or not so silent 🤫) competition to see who can fill up one of their holes first, round after round, their cries of pleasure all but lost to their needy grunts and growls as they each work to fill their beloved up.

there may or may not be a bulge beginning to form, but hey I ain’t gonna stop them

I have a very bad case of brain rot, and Time and Fierce are my current obsession plz forgive me 😪 Or not idk

—🍀

Two fav boys comin' right up 🤤also don't judge, it's been a while since I wrote downright, leg-shaking smut.

A sharp intake of breath, lowly whispering, 'fuck.'

A thumb rubbing your cheek from one of them, you weren't sure. Mind hazy and sight blurry from the tears of overstimulation. A soft purring noise rumbled above you; something slippery and hot tapped against your cheek. A whimper escapes your lips, tongue peeking out, licking skin in a messy motion with no rhythm to mind; a hand runs through your hair, caressing your head before gathering the strands in a gentle grip.

"That's a good little lamb, be nice and swallow."

Fingers deftly scoop a fluid off your cheek, barging into your mouth with two. The same slightly salty taste overruns your tastebuds, and you feel yourself slipping again. Melting into the sweat-riddled sheets underneath your body, the drunk feeling of want was rising, heat burning your mind as you swallowed the fluid. Mouth enclosing around the fingers, sucking and licking them clean before parting with a puff of air.

The sounds of squelching reach your ears, a pleased sigh from Time and another groan leave you, and the feeling of being filled once more draws a mewl from you. Body shakes with nerves, and the head of his cock grazes that spot so sweetly; his hips roll leisurely, back and forth, plugging the mixture of his and the deity's cum within your abused hole.

"N-no more, please," you whined, wiggling weakly in the grasp that had taken place on your hips. Hands encircled your belly, rubbing the bulge gently.

"No?" Time teased, "I could've sworn you said more earlier, did you not?"

"I believe, little lamb, you don't get a say no matter what," Fierce rumbled, the grip on your hair became firm, "cause we're not done with you yet."

[jakowskis]

im SO pissed i didnt listen to believe for a fucking year bc i heard bad things about it. im never listening to anyone else's opinions again cuz THAT WAS BRILLIANT. THAT WAS EVERYTHING I WANT OUT OF TORCHWOOD i mean it was still a bit shit highkey but it was EXACTLY what i want out of this garbage show. sooo fucking season one core (aka my fav) all sorts of dark horrific connotations and unhealthy dynamics but no emotional weight or responsibility xD once again i cannot tell if the writer was even fucking AWARE of a lot of the things he was implying but what i interpreted as being implied is making me fucking tear up the floorboards im. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

that was so cynical and bitter and awful and miserable and edgy and shitty ITS EVERYTHING I WANTED. i love torchwood being goofy i do but what draws me into the show and the reason it's become one of my most, uh, aggressive hyperfixations ever (which is ridic btw) is cuz its FUCKED UP AND UNHAPPY and that? was fuuuuucked. obsessed.

cult leader jack cult leader jack cult leader jack U DONT UNDERSTAND IT MAKES ME RABID and they ran with it i. stick figure violence stick figure violence. feeling rabid. AND HIS FUCKING SPEECH AT THE END. DOES HE KNOW??? hes so fucking deluded I LOVE IT. ITS FASCINATING he thinks hes good.... he thinks hes good... hes aware n he feels responsible and yet he doesnt SEE he doesnt see he thinks hes doing his best. NOOO it had the be intentional literally "jack tell us what that was about" "later lol" "sure yeah always later" and then hes like "YOU HAVE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY" GRRR JACK. JACK. also faith n believing.... ianto's trust. ianto's trust. you believe me like a god FUCK MY LIFEEEEEEEEEEE

jack always being five steps ahead + being 10x more competent than the team always makes me fucking roll my eyes but at this point i just kind of perceive it as the way tw constantly paints him as a deity figure. he can do no wrong

GWENS CYNICISM. TORCHWOOD BREAKING HER. TORCHWOOD BREAKING HER!!!!!!!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK it's toxic... it's toxic... this job gets inside you THIS JOB GETS INSIDE YOUUU. torchwood thesis statement: this job fucking breaks you.

FINALLY some good fucking tosh x owen food. DONT GET ME WRONG THAT WAS FUCKING AWFUL but that was sooooooo much more compelling than the fucking bullshit that canon gave us. owen being a toxic abusive fucking manchild + doing smth bad enough to tosh that she FINALLY went "wow THATS the man im obsessing over" like g-d i would've killedddd for that to happen in the show i HATE that she wasted herself on him. i hate it. her disgust and anger at him was so THERAPEUTIC for me 😭 idk what it says about me that the way i was grinning when they were arguing n bitching at each other was probs the closest ive ever gotten to actually shipping them HFKJDSF theres smth wrong w me. i just think s2 tosh is too fucking sweet and good and probably naive and i think owen could so easily fuck her up, like i don't think there's a world where he wouldn't hurt her tbh, and i don't want that to happen i adore her too much. like i don't think he's irredeemable, i ship him w other characters who i think could handle him, but i don't think tosh could, and that was validation of that opinion, you know? i'd be more willing to ship them if tosh was firm with him and didn't let him walk all over her, and it sucks that she didn't do that and got herself hurt and THATS what it took to make her call him tf out and tell him how much he sucks. ig a lot of why towen bugs me sm boils down to the fact that im not comfortable shipping someone who's kind of awful with someone who idealizes them and doesn't seem to grasp the scale of how bad they are. that's a recipe for an unhealthy dynamic and if i didn't like tosh i might be intrigued by it ngl HFSKDF but thats my babygirl and the idea of putting her thru Being With Him disgusts me. she deserves better until he gets his fucking shit together. which he never does and she never gets to have something good bc she was waiting for his shitty ass lmao YAYY!!

owen was AWFUL in that btw. and i adored him in it. my fav owen is an owen who's spiraling and destructively fixated on something for selfish purposes to the point that he doesnt care who he hurts to accomplish it. he's so villain coded fhsdkfjdsk he redeems himself in the show and i love that but the audios further explore the fact that he's got such a darkness to him he SO EASILY can be pushed into destroying everything. hes constantly on the precipice of monstrosity and cruelty bc of his own hurt. it's like hes so full of rot it leaks out of him and infects others and he hates it but he cant help it. i will never get over the doctor with poison fingers oh he makes my heart ache. he's just so misguided. he's so broken.

which brings us back to jack's speech. (him talking to the cult leader lady) "They were broken, and you were the person they turned to for help. If you don’t accept their problems, then don’t offer yourself as a solution." literally im gonna think about this for months. HE DOESNT SEE!!!!!!!!!

g-d and ianto's orientation or whatever. that was Fantastic ianto insight. he's so much more interesting when he's away from jack it's almost impressive.

i am just. gdddddddddddddddddddddddd. i am so distraught. help meeee

[seelestia]

aww shucks :33 thank you dear author !! Maybe I am a writer after all, just maybe not a writer in my own standards hehehe

It's really interesting to see what you said as both a reader and a writer, it seems to me as a reader you value more characterization and how other writers would write to characters in their own perspectives based on the lore + the personalities of the character in game (I myself really like it when the writer has a firm grasp on the characterization of the character, and it's even better if they add something unconventional to them but still feels familiar and something the character would 100% do canonically)

BTW, I saw the tags and since you've asked so nicely ~

My favorite characters pretty much consist of the shorty squad; Venti, Scaramouche, and Aether

Venti is actually the reason why I got into the fandom as his character design really intrigued me (When i first saw him online I fr thought he was a girl and was like- Xiao's twin because of their color palettes being so similar awkward considering i later on start to ship xiaoven) and once I actually started doing research on his lore, I became even more interested ! He is now my favorite character lore wise :DD

Scaramouche, I'm not gonna lie the only reason I love Scara is because his design is really immaculate in my eyes (sadge that he's getting redesigned D'':) And just like Venti—I looked into his lore and became interested ! (then I heard his in game voices, for japanese and english, and boi I was whipped)

Aether is one of my favs because I find him really interesting, I really like reading other peoples headcanons for him, whether it be him using sign language to communicate because in game he doesn't talk as much, or when it's him being the more emotional twin of the two, I just love it all :D Lore wise, the fact that Aether may or may not be a deity, as well as Lumine, is really interesting— honestly tho, the entire lore surrounding the twins is really interesting, their reasonings for helping the abyss when they're the abyss twin, the way they say that the other twin should see the whole Teyvat before they can reunite once again- there's so much mystery and ANGST I love it :''D

I have a lot of other fav characters that I have just cuz I really resonate with them but these three shorties are the ones I usually gravitate to :P

Wow that was a long ramble, but since we're already here- how bout you my dear author? Any favorite characters based on lore, appearance, or personality? - Sincerely, angsty anon 👹✨

hehe, i'm proud of you, anon! i hope there will come a day where you'd deem yourself fit to be considered a writer in your standards,

mhm, each writer views characters through their own lens and that is something i find quite beautiful in a way <3 i'm not a picky reader because i've always loved all writers' interpretations even if they differ from mine — but i am picky as a writer because my works are how i share my interpretations and i really want to communicate them as best as i can ;( but i try not to push myself too hard, dw!

( spoilers about ei's second story quest and the backstory for kaeya and childe !! )

"add something unconventional to them but still feels familiar and something the character would 100% do canonically" THIS !! the exact ideology i strive for as a genshin writer 🙏 i love to write while considering how a chara's backgrounds/environments and habits could've possibly affected their reactions to certain things. it may seem like overly extensive efforts, but it's always been worth it to me! ;D (which is why i am selective when it comes to writing for unreleased characters, unless i've gathered enough info and observed them for a while like scaramouche and dainsleif.)

i love the way venti and scara attracted you with their designs first, then you searched up their lore and suddenly, it's too late to turn back fjwkkdksek and aether !! i really wish hoyoverse would give us more lore about the twins and canon traits that differentiate them instead of leaving them to seem like genderswapped versions of each other :( tho i remember during the 'we will be reunited' quest when they said each other's names regardless of the name we input as the player !!

AGREED. the fog surrounding khaenri'ah and the cataclysm is so full of mystery??? and the twin that ruled the abyss order was there to witness it while the other was asleep — but what exactly did they witness? once when going home was their only desire, what kind of horror could've happened that made them change their mind? THE LORE AND THE ANGST.

dw about rambling! i love them and i happen to be a chronic rambler myself too, hehe 🤝 oooo, my favorite characters lore-wise are kaeya, ei and childe! >:)

it's no secret that kaeya has always been a gold mine of mysteries. not just his origins stemming from the destroyed civilization of khaenri'ah and the way he was supposed to be a spy, but the fact that hoyoverse gave him a strained brotherhood with diluc added even more to his already jam-packed lore. and despite the laid-back way he carries himself, i noticed how he struggles with loneliness and reading his letters to diluc from the hidden strife event made me adore his character even more. i don't talk about my interest in kaeya often, but he is definitely my #1 favorite character lore-wise! sometimes, i wonder if he was a limited character and not a starter one, would people have viewed him differently?

ei's second story quest left a long-lasting impression on me even till this day and the loss she experienced after what happened to makoto and her friends :( i still think her first story quest should've been the second instead because it does shed some light on ei's personality (e.g. her unfamiliarity with social interactions since makoto has always been the one to handle that + the way she's behind on trends and even creations like a kamera because she's locked herself in the euthymia for so long), but it would've had a bigger impact and more depth as the epilogue instead of the introductory quest, imo!

on the other hand, childe is interesting to me because of the way he differs from his fellow harbingers, how he places such a strong belief in the tsaritsa, and how he is an oddball yet unapologetically himself. and as much as a morally grey of a character he is, ajax's love for his family makes him more realistic and that he retains a part of his old self even after falling into the abyss. one of the reasons i'm looking forward to snezhnaya is actually to see more of this stupid dumbo. (/lh)

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 4-1 : 爱德华之旅 The Journey of Edward Translation

“Life is a journey so lonely; but then, I met you.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (��▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

The lively entertainment news page was always chock full of all sorts of information.

From the divorce of the top flower maiden to the jubilant happily ever after of a popular celebrity’s long-standing relationship. The hot search was refreshed hourly.

And today, the entirety of this page was almost filled with Lin Yao’s announcement of her withdrawal from the entertainment industry,

Brother Mao: (Y/n)! Did you see? Lin Yao's leaving the entertainment industry!

I’d only just set foot into the office when Brother Mao rushed at me, shoving the screen of his phone in my face. It was streaming Lin Yao’s press conference.

❖☆———————————★❖

Lin Yao: I deeply apologize to everyone who has been supporting me, but this is my decision after having thorough thought.

Lin Yao: Starting today, I will cease acting.

She was wearing that black feather dress, and the butterflies on her cuffs fluttered their wings along with her every movement; her words setting off waves through the media.

This dress that had originally been prepared for the award ceremony had unexpectedly been used for her farewell in the end.

❖☆———————————★❖

Brother Mao: Why so sudden? Wasn't she still acting normal back when she was trying out her formal dress?

Brother Mao: Or, don't tell me her agent forced her to do it?

MC: But, don't you think she looks happier than before?

MC: A new life, a new goal. No matter which case it is, it's fine if it's her personal choice, don't you think?

I saw a flash of brilliance in her eyes, something that I’d never seen before other than back then at the café. 

It was a light so stunningly bright, even though she’d now have to face the world with her bravado, alone.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something. What did you mean when you said Bai Mu disappeared?

MC: Was he taken away by this "Blood Tribe" that you mentioned before? And even then, what's this "Blood Tribe" you spoke of?

Osborn: Why are you so very curious?

MC: It's not just curiosity… This matter already has something to do with me, regardless.

MC: I feel like it’ll always be weighing on my heart if I don’t set it straight now.

Osborn stuffed his hand into his pocket and let out a sigh.

Osborn: The Blood Tribe are a group of people with special Abilities, where bloodlines are prioritized above all. You can say that they’re... the Descendants of God.

It was a term he’d uttered after a short pause.

MC: Descendants of… God.

Osborn: That being said, I don't know whether it's true or not. It's just a legend.

I couldn’t help but look down at my fingers. Judging from what happened back then, I DID have an Ability. If so, then… Does that make me...

Osborn: And where are your thoughts running off to again? Just because you have an Ability doesn't make you one of them.

Osborn: Generally speaking, whenever someone from the Blood Tribe uses their Ability, their eyes will turn red.

There was an inkling, a vague image of something, that kept flashing past my mind, but I couldn't manage to get a firm grasp on it.

Osborn: This world is far more complicated than it seems.

Osborn: From the times of the ancients, other than the Blood Tribe and the Spirit Tribe, some humans also harbour Abilities.

Osborn: My guess is that perhaps someone up their line, like say, maybe one of their ancestors, had some form of relation to them. Or maybe it was due to some reason or another. No one really knows.

MC: The Spirit Tribe? And what is that?

Osborn: Just as the name suggests; they're the descendants of sacred beasts and deities.

MC: !

MC: So, they're not… human…?

Osborn: They're not, but they can exist in human form.

Osborn: What? Finally know what fear's really like?

I steeled myself and shook my head. Then, suddenly, a thought popped into my mind.

MC: Wait… Osborn? You're human, right…?

This question itself sounded odd. Osborn stiffened before his lips quirked up into a smile.

Osborn: Didn't you say that I'm just Osborn to you?

Osborn: And as for whether I'm part of the Blood Tribe or the Spirit Tribe… How about you guess?

Osborn: Get it wrong, and I'll have you for a snack.

He winked at me, the sly smile on his face easing some of the panic that had been in my heart.

It didn't matter what he was. I believe that he'll always be right by me, and that he'll be my guide in this strange, inexplicable, and unbelievable world.

He was someone that wouldn't hurt me.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn said that there were also some humans in the world that had Abilities. If so, then would there be people like that in my close circles?

I poked Brother Mao.

MC: Brother Mao? Do you know what Abilities are?

Brother Mao: 'Course I do.

MC: ! You-

Brother Mao: I know you want me to praise you, but you don’t have to go about it in such a roundabout way!

Brother Mao: The dress you made for Lin Yao this time turned out really good! You’re talented, young lady!

I gave an awkward smile before letting out a sigh.

Brother Mao: I heard Man'man day that today's the newbie meeting where they'll announce the mentor assignments.

Brother Mao: Your dress was so nicely done, you might actually be chosen by Director Qi himself! And when that time comes, you've gotta treat me to a round of milk tea~

MC: Oh, right! It was today!

I was so busy that I'd been up to my head in work. So much that I'd nearly forgotten about this important meeting.

Sister Zheng Lin had told me before that the mentors would choose their apprentices from each of their own individual works. So, I hope that this dress will allow me to obtain my desired result.

A glance at the time told me that it was nearly time for the meeting to commence. I did a quick and simple clean up before heading to the meeting room together with Man'man.

❖☆———————————★❖

There were already quite a number of people seated in the meeting room, with most of them in their own little groups. 

Gao Cheng, who had been sitting in a corner, smiled and waved me over upon seeing me enter.

Li Man'man: With so many newbies here, wouldn’t the competition for the mentor selection be fiercer than usual…?

Li Man'man: Please let me be assigned the mentor I want!

She clasped her hands together in nervousness, muttering the mantra under her breath over and over again.

MC: Who do you want as a mentor?

Li Man'man: Sister Zheng Lin! I love her style! What about you?

MC: I…

I leaned closer to her ear and secretly whispered the name of the person.

Li Man'man: Dear lord! You’re brave! But that’s even harder than trying to win the first prize of the annual year-end party’s lucky draw!

It was then that the door of the meeting room opened. Mya briskly strode in with wide strides.

Mya: Is everyone present? We’re short on time, so let me announce the results of your mentor assignments.

Everyone held their breaths in anticipation, nervously staring at the file she held in her hands.

Mya: Chen Xiazi. Mentor, Edward.

She was a designer from Team D. Her colleagues all wore smiles as they stood around her, congratulating her.

Mya: Jiang Lai. Mentor, Bob.

Mya: Li Man'man. Mentor, Zheng Lin.

Li Man'man: Yes!

Mya: Gao Cheng. Mentor, Mya.

Mya: Jin Shaoze. Mentor, Sariel.

MC: !

Sariel! 

I looked over to said person who got him as their mentor in envy.

Among all the names that had been listed so far, it seems like most of the mentors only selected one apprentice to take on.

Is there even any hope for a newbie like me…?

However, as the list went on and unfamiliar names sounded off one after another… I never did hear mine being called...

I kept lowering my expectations, telling myself that it wasn’t a big deal at all, but my heart continued to race as each name was ticked off. I couldn’t stop my hands, which had been placed on the table, from curling themselves into fists.

Mya: (Y/n) —

I subconsciously closed my eyes.

Mya: Mentor, Sariel.

MC: !

Li Man'man: Jesus! It really is Director Qi!

Man’man instantly made a grab for my arm in her excitement, snapping me out of my internal reveries. My mind was in a daze.

MC: It's Sariel… Thank god…

After reaching the end of the list, Mya closed the folder.

Mya: That’s all for the mentor assignments. Now, I’m going to be making another announcement.

Mya: In a month, the Design Hub will be holding a shoe design competition for all Assistant and Junior Designers.

Mya: The theme of the competition is high heels.

Mya: And the winning works will be then exhibited at the Warson Group’s big show.

Li Man'man: We have the chance to be on it!?

The meeting room broke out in a commotion almost instantly after. Mya raised her hand, rapping her knuckles on the table in a bid for silence, but there was a rare encouraging smile on her face.

Mya: I believe that all of you are aware that a big show is held once every ten years ever since Warson was established.

Mya: It is not only a summary of the past ten years as we look back at it, but it also serves as an outlook for the prospects to come. This show is a big event for both the Warson Group and the industry alike.

Mya: In the previous years, Assistant and Junior Designers were only able to participate as assistants; but this year, the board has decided to extend more opportunities.

Mya: The theme of this time’s show has been decided. It is “Spring”.

Mya: As this time’s show would also be Warson’s 120th anniversary, it will be of significant symbolic meaning to Warson as a whole.

Mya: This is an invaluable gem in the fashion industry.

Mya: As this chance is extremely rare, I do hope that all of you can seize it firmly since it might very well never happen again.

After Mya left, the people from the administration departments took over, explaining our company’s culture and systems. But it was obvious enough to anyone that everyone’s attention was no longer present.

I mused, resting my chin on my hand as I sketched an outline of a shoe in my notebook.

MC: This competition’s open to all Junior and Assistant Designers… And only one person can win…

After the initial excitement died down, I put my pencil down and contemplated the shoe I’d just sketched out.

It was an ordinary-looking shoe, made of ordinary materials and your usual out-of-the-mill patterns.

I might have made many clothes up till now, but I had a pathetically sad amount of experience when it came to making shoes, whether it be back in school or during my internship.

MC: ...I definitely need more references to work with.

MC: Oh, yes! There should be some there!

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 3-20) | Next Part: (Chapter 4-3)

[olivyh]

Into Wonderland Chapter 3: Octavinelle Part One-

Does anyone know how to do a dropdown thing? I feel bad about these posts filling up a chunk of the tag ;;;; Also sorry for the spam! I’m trying to publish what I already have done so I can finish it quickly!

They choke on sand that fills their mouth, sputtering and coughing as they gag. Seagulls screech ahead, diving into the water that crashes just a few feet short of their feet. Mc groans, rubbing their head as they look around. They seem to be at the bottom of a rocky cliff, at a beach.

About as far from the Savanah they'd been since they got there. They stand and look around frantically. Dread filling their gut as tears prick at their eyes.

"Nonono-" They mutter, pulling at the tunic they were gifted by Leona just hours ago. "Leona!" They yell, choking on their tears. This can't be happening again- They think hopelessly. "Jack!" They scream, running along the shoreline, hoping to find a way to get on top of the cliff, hopefully they'd see all the beastmen standing there and scolding them for doing something stupid again and- I'm never going to see them again. It's just like what happened in Wonderland. "Ruggie!" They choke out with a harsh sob.

"Ten years!" They yell to nobody in particular, hoping that whatever deity that keeps doing this to them will hear and start counting their days. "Ten fucking years! I was only in Wonderland for a day and a half! But ten years?!" They groan, doubling over and letting all their emotions out via screaming at seagulls, the ocean, and an unfortunate crab that might crawl by.

"Hey-" They gasp hearing a teenage boy's voice behind them. They jolt, Savanah instincts kicking in and making them accidentally bitch slap the blue haired boy.

"Oh my gosh I'm so so sorry-" They run over to the boy, who nurses his red cheek with his hand, wincing. "I'm just lost and something happened and I woke up here- Deuce?"

Laughing sounds from the top of the shore bank, and the two of them look up to see a redhead boy laughing to the point of tears and pointing at the blue haired boy. "Ace?"

That makes both of them stop in their tracks. "How do you know my name?" Right, world switching logic.

"Uhh- I knew someone back where I'm from with the same name and you look alike-" They decided to leave out the part where they both had rabbit ears.

"Right..." Deuce interjects. "Anyways. I'm Prince Deuce Spade and this is my advisor, Ace Trappola-"

"Oh my god I just slapped a prince-" They gasped, hands flying to their mouth. Ace laughs.

"Eh kinda helped me out there. You have no idea how many times I want to hit this guy but I can't-" Barking interrupts him from going on any longer. They turn their attention to a white wolf standing on the bank. Is that-

"Oh! And that's Jack!" Deuce introduces them. "Normally we're not allowed to have pets at the castle but I found him when he was a pup and took him in-"

"Thats because you don't have to clean up after him-" Ace mutters.

"Jack..." They smile, glad to at least see a form of their companion of the Savanah. Thinking of the beastmen feels like a knife to their chest and they gasp, tears trickling down their face.

"Hey! Hey!" Deuce is at their side in an instant as they apologize and wipe at their eyes with the backs of their hands. "What's the matter? Did- Did we say something?"

They shake their head. "It's not- it's not that. I just- I'm from really far away and I- I might never see my friends again, at least not for a long while," Jack walks up to them and nudges against their leg, allowing them to pet behind his fluffy ears. They laugh weakly, more tears streaming down their face at the familiarity.

"Jack reminds me a lot of one of my friends so I guess that got me-"

Ace and Deuce stare in shock, Deuce being knocked out of his trance before the former. "I-I'm so sorry-" He stammers before pausing for a moment.

"Hey, why don't you come with us on a trip?"

"What?!" Ace shouts.

"They're clearly upset about being away from their friends!" He defends the stranger. "Besides, we're going to see the neighboring islands and they might know something about where they're from-"

"But it's a stranger! They could try to kill you!" Ace groans.

"Jack trusts them-" He points to the dog, who still happily accepts Mc's head pats, bushy tail wagging behind him.

"He's a dog!" Ace groans as Deuce leads them across the beach. They walk for what feels like forever with the two bickering next to them, until they hit a dock with a giant ship floating at the end.

"This thing is huge..." They gasp in awe, almost tripping over their own two feet as they ascend on to the ship.

"Of course. It's a royal vessel-" Jack runs ahead of them. They talk for a bit, finally setting sail and going on their long awaited journey.

What happens if I do find them? Mc asks themselves, doubting their own hope. I hope they're okay, I mean- Leona almost died! They go on with their worried about their friends, replaying those last moments over and over in their head until it spins.

Until they hear a wet smack and a pained groan from the side of the ship.

"Ow!" A boys voice yelps from the side. Mc rushes over, leaning over the railing and making eye contact with the redheaded boy who clings to the side of the ship, his sea green tail flopping uselessly against the harsh winds of the ocean.

"You're-" They gape.

He lets out another yelp, slowly turning. His worried sky blue eyes crinkle as he offers a nervous smile. "I'm- I'm sorry! I shouldn't be here y'know maybe I shouldn't be talking at all I should be gone by now-" He rambles until Mc cuts him off, sitting with their back to him.

"Don't worry I won't rat you out-" They try to joke. "I'm just curious."

"Oh! I'm curious too!" As the boy says that his eyes trail over to the navy haired boy, who laughs and dances with the other teens on board. Jack sits across the deck, ever watchful eyes keeping track of anyone who might look suspicious.

"Of... Deuce?"

"Is that his name?" The boy sighs. Mc nods, looking between the two. "Name... Oh! I'm Rielle!" The boy extends a cold hand towards Mc, who hesitantly shakes it, careful of the soft webbing between each finger.

"Mc." They nod, looking at the boy.

"Hey uh.. quick question-" Mc starts. The boy turns his attention to them once more, tiktong his head. "Are there... eel... uhh..."

"Eel mers?" Rielle finishes.

They nod vigorously. "Yes!"

"Well... there's mers of every kind I guess. It's hard to find a strictly eel mer... or a mer of just one species for one!"

"What do you mean?"

"Most mer, like myself, are mixed so much that our tails rarely match up with one species of fish. Though, if you live in an area with a lot of sharkmer you'll probably find a pureblooded sharkmer, a place with a lot of cecaelia you'll find a lot of octomer-" The boy pauses, beaming. "I'm glad I remembered all that from those boring lessons-"

"Oh-" Mc starts, unsure of what to do with all the information they just received.

"Why do you ask?"

"J-just curious-" If they could avoid it, they'd like to stay out of the way of the twins they'd met back in Wonderland.

"Oh okay!" The boy chirps, going back to watching the humans dance on the wooden deck. "Can I ask you a question?" He whispers, voice soft.

"Yeah?"

"What's it like to dance? Or to walk or to-" The boy stammers a bit before sighing.

"Well it's-" They're cut off by a sharp jolt of the ship. On instinct they reach down and hold on to Rielle's forearm, the little bit of slime and small scales making it hard to grasp.

"I'll be fine!" He yells up after the ship screams and threatens to crack. Thunder booms overhead as it rocks and Mc slams against the railing, falling with the mer into the icy water. They let out a scream at the shock of the cold, choking on the water. Rielle grabs their arm and pulls them to a piece of driftwood. They can see the ship on fire out of the corner of their eyes, hazy with smoke and probably the concussion they had from hitting the water at that height. They can hear Deuce yelling, followed by Jack's pained yelps from the burning ship.

The last thing they see before they black out is Deuce throwing Jack off the ship into a lifeboat before plummeting to the sea, to where Rielle's fiery red hair waited just under the surface.

They wake up to a claw poking their cheek. "Hey-!" The claw pokes harder. "Ne- Jade- I think they croaked-"

"Nonsense. They're alive. Look, their tail is moving."

"Hey!" They get a firm smack to the forehead. They gasp and jolt awake, their forehead smacking the one hovering over theirs. The boy yelps and swims back. "Hey! What did ya do that for?!"

"I'm sorr-" They rub their own forehead and look over to see the same pairs of mismatched eyes that haunted their dreams of Wonderland. Really, universe?

"Oh, I'm glad to see your awake-" The softer twin steps forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Good I think-" The go to swing their legs over the ledge of the rock they were laying on, only to find it difficult to separate them. A tail swishes to the side where their legs should be and look down in horror to see that it had replaced them.

"What?!" They shriek, patting at the tail with their hands. Their hands also look discolored, now set with claws and thin webs between their fingers. They gasp and feel water rush in from the sides of their neck.

The twins watch in amusement, with Floyd laughing hysterically and Jade grinning behind his hand. "I hope you don't mind but we took the liberty of testing out a new potion on you. It's rare to get a human specimen around here. I do hope you understand-"

"I- a- po- Specimen!?" They yelp, hitting their head against the roof of the cave as they try to swim with their new tail. They try to stand upright but end up smacking both twins, making them both laugh again.

The human- well, used to be human- hides their face in the hands, humiliation kicking in. "Please stop-"

"Nope~!" Floyd laughs, circling Mc until his tail was tightly wrapped around theirs. His arms wrap around their throat, covering their gills. They try to shimmy out of his grip but end up making him squeeze them tighter instead.

"Can't-" They choke out. "Breathe-"

"Floyd." Jade warns. The other boy pouts but lets them go, not before giving them another rib crushing hug.

"I can't help it! They're so squishy in their new form! They look like a little minnow ready for me to sink my teeth into-" He lets out a high pitched giggle and chills run down their spine.

"We won't eat you, right, Floyd?" The calmer twin swims towards Mc, who still struggles to swim upright to look him in the eyes.

The other twin lets out a long, pained groan and rolls his eyes dramatically. "Riiiight-" He grunts as he flops into a bed of seaweed. "'Zul's orders-"

"Zul?" Mc asks.

"Azul Ashengrotto. The man who made your potion and now, your new boss."

"Boss?!" They yelp. "I never agreed to anything of that sort!"

"Hm? I thought it was fair." Jade hums, grabbing their arms and making them stand upright, moving their tail manually until they can swim straight.

"I mean, ya get to live after that shipwreck, and you get a free potion too-" Floyd begins.

"So it's only fair that you work with us." Jade finishes his twins sentence. Mc sputters and follows them as they leave the cave, swimming haphazardly through the open waters and ducking between large rocks and fish. Floyd practically crushes Mc with how tightly he holds them so they won't run off or swim into something else.

"B-but Rielle was going to save me! He told me to-"

"Rielle?" Floyd interrupts them, making them grumble and wriggle a bit in the eels hold. "Hey, Jade, why does that sound familiar?"

The other twin merely chuckles. "Thats the boy Azul was helping earlier-"

"Helping?" Mc asks. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"Oh he's just great~!" Floyd giggles. "Came into 'Zul's office all lovey dovey and traded his tail and voice for legs!"

"Oh..." Mc sighs. "He did ask me before what it was like to dance-"

"Before?" Jade asks. "This is interesting."

"Mhm!" Floyd laughs as they approach the shoreline. The surface of the water is clearly visible now, and they can see something floating above them. They can see other fish twirling around the boat as if dancing, and soft humming coming from the boat above.

"Floyd." Jade instructs.

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 5 - With Firm Faith

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: It was three steps. Three steps and a world away.

A hundred questions rose in your throat. Did he speak to them? What did he say? Could they see him? Would you be comforted if that version of The Ren was the last thing you saw? What did the team moving behind and around him actually do? What happened to these people after they died?

A/N: Y’all aren’t new. This is adult content. Potentially triggering. Tread carefully.

Word Count: 2.7k

"Hail Leia, full of grace and blessed among women," you grimaced through the prayer, twisting in the sheets, all composure lost.

After the row at the Demarcation, and the nights after, he took you to his bed.

He no longer chased you down in the hallways for his kisses. He saved them. Every day, he scooped you up from wherever you were in the keep, herded you into his bed, and plied you with hungry kisses until you squirmed with senseless desire.

He didn’t immediately leave, either. After that bourbon butterscotch flavor rolled over your tongue, he would capture your gaze, mesmerizing you with the way his irises never quite picked a single hue. Like this, every time, he spun you into spellbound sleep.

Sometimes, he stayed with you. You would wake up groggy and entangled in his sculpted limbs. He told you it was because your nightmares drove you to somnolent sobbing, the sounds of which echoed annoyingly.

You remembered them all. Dreams of your family, their deaths, your journey here, and its purpose.

Any moment you had his attention, you tried to ask about the bargain you’d struck, but he would brush the words away from your lips, rubbing at them absently. In exchange, he would answer another question.

Sort of.

You learned that there truly had been countless others to sacrifice themselves for his favors, and you were right about the altar being stained with blood over time, but he wouldn’t tell you how many he’d actually granted. He confirmed that he tracked the passage of time, but his answer confused you. Nothing here was linear, he said. He simply liked the sound of the clock moving ever forward.

Last night, you asked how many he’d brought back here, kept as a pet, but his eyes darkened with irritation. Then, because foolish was your genetic code, you asked what made you not ready to make good on your end of the deal. On the heels of your stupid curiosity, you’d slept alone.

Besides waking up disoriented next to a deity, he kept you in a constant state of arousal. With kisses that would melt marble, nips to your earlobe that raised goosebumps, and the barest brush of knuckles against your flushing skin. He was relentless, ensuring that it was, in fact, only a matter of time before you begged him to fuck you.

It was this sweaty, weighty, vulgar need that sent your hands roaming, mapping the curves and valleys of your body. You pressed your face into his pillow to inhale the sickly sweet aroma that lingered. You groaned and twisted, feeling light-headed and too full of raw energy for your limbs.

Try as you might to endure his delicious torture chastely, you could only handle so much before the screaming in your cunt demanded you take action.

Digging your fingernails in roughly, you scratched angry red tracks into your inner thighs and the outer, meaty labia in an attempt to subvert the craving, but it only loosed a shudder that lifted your shoulders off the bed. 

It would be fine, you coached yourself. He was never here. Just a bit, just a touch would be fine.

Letting your knees fall apart wide, you surged into a painful arch as your fingers connected with your long neglected clit. You skipped everything else; there was no need for foreplay or build up. You hit that wet hot target and worked it desperately, hurriedly.

“Is this what you do when I’m not here?”

You shrieked as his voice broke through the commotion in your brain.  You rolled away to hide what you were doing, burning with shame and bristling with unsatisfied lust, but he caught your ankle and pulled you down the bed. Your shirt, his that you’d been wearing since he caught you in it, hitched up around your ribs, baring the evidence of your hunger.

He crawled onto the bed’s corner, inching nearer, and you couldn’t make yourself breathe.

He skimmed your inner thighs, tickling through the stickiness, and tutted at what he found there. Easing down to lie beside you, he turned your face to his and pressed his now tart fingers to your mouth.

“Harlot.”

It was a low rumble, nearly a purr; and in response, your pussy clenched hard around nothing. Dipping his head down slightly, he caught your gaze and held it, the entrancing array of changing color and depth beckoning you in.

You couldn’t have looked away for anything in the Galaxy. It was murky and hypnotic. And when he slipped his fingertips past your lips, you were gone.

“Look at you,” he said, peering into your very soul. “I quite like you like this. Mindless, panting, begging to be filled.”

Slipping wide fingers beneath your jagged collar, he held you to the bed, a physical counterpart to his mental bondage. His free hand wandered, squeezing your breasts, barely grazing through your dewy sex. Emptying you of everything but this all-encompassing yearning.

“Concentrate, little lamb.” He nipped at your lower lip to draw your fluttering eyelids back open and your eyes to focus upon him. “What shall I say to bring you back here? Hm?”

Your insides pooled to lava, painting your thighs and perfuming the air. Your lips wobbled, the feeling building and threatening to tip you over. You were little more than insatiable, feral need made human; and from somewhere, your gray matter produced only supplication.

“...please.”

Please put your hands, your mouth, your dick in me, on me, somewhere, anywhere. Please let me cum for you. Please please please please.

His lips tugged up into a smirk. His eyes flashed with a devilish spark. He leaned down to line his mouth up with the lobe of your ear, his cool breath eliciting a delectable shiver. He was ice to your fire, and you wanted nothing more than to die of hypothermia.

“All right, girl.” His fingers lazily pet your pussy, just a hint of pressure. “I’ll say it.  I’ll say please; and when I do, you’ll feel exactly this way — swollen with want, throbbing and feverish, your cunt aching to be stretched and used.”

Absent his narcotic stare, your eyes slammed tight shut on an obscene moan. Sluggishly, your mind worked its way around to functioning, and you clutched at his sleeves with all your might. The thinking part of your brain knew this was manipulation, that he was conditioning you to behave the way he wanted.

The rest of you couldn't care less.

Nearly there, you dug your toes into the soft covers and tipped your hips in just that right way. If he stayed right there for another moment… If you could just hang onto the way you were feeling right now…

As though he could hear the pitiful pleas inside your mind, he pushed his thumb into your mouth to smear that candied drug across your tongue, and your brain exploded. Your body bowed painfully as electricity sizzled up your spine and into your cranium. It was so tight and so sudden of an orgasm you left your body on a sharp cry.

You felt unstable, combustible, and you could do nothing but writhe and shout as the satisfied seizure rolled through you. He spoke through it all, his voice raspy and barely controlled, but whatever he said was lost, each word a victim of the inferno.

At the other side, where you were wrung dry and buzzing from head to toe, guilty tears stung your eyes.

You shouldn’t feel this good. You shouldn’t feel good at all until your purpose here was fulfilled. The purpose he kept you from. And the reward he withheld. Sniffling, you pushed at his shoulder and tried to wiggle from beneath his hands.

Whatever sort of intimate moment this was passed quickly, and the man who’d coaxed you to the sort of orgasm you’d never had before shifted into stoic silence. His features hardened, and his eyes grew cold. Grasping your upper arm, he slid from the bed with you in tow. 

You didn't understand what you’d done; but finally, you knew better than to speak.

You jogged next to him, trying in vain to not dawdle, but his legs were so ridiculously long that you struggled to keep up. The dismal, narrow hallway opened up into an immense room so breathtaking you stalled. The walls stretched up forever and disappeared into a sparkling night sky. Sconces twinkled about the room, firelight dancing inside demure, perfectly spherical glass bulbs. You stared at the oddity of it so long you crashed directly into your captor, who had stopped to open a chest at the foot of what you decided was the largest throne you’d ever see.

Too intrigued to let it go, you tugged yourself free so you could investigate the lights. You stood on your toes, trying to get a better look. On a gasp, it registered for you just as he spoke your name.

Stars. The sconces held stars.

You marveled at how, daily, you found something to remind you that you were in The Ren’s clutches. He didn’t just create flowers; he made luscious killers. It wasn’t just a bath; it was magic water. They weren’t just lights; it was trapped starlight.

That cosmic snap cracked to draw your attention, punctuating the vast difference between you as a human and him as decidedly not.  

Once you were within his grasp, he stole your shirt in seconds and tossed it over his shoulder as a cadre of men walked into the room. You covered your breasts and squeezed your thighs together, shooting him an angry stare, but he only slapped your hands away and wrapped something long, flowing, and midnight blue around you.

“As much as I enjoyed you in my shirt, lamb, it’s time for something different.”

It resembled a cloak, but with sleeves and a hood, and the flowing bottom portion barely covered you. All he had to do was move one fold aside, and you would be on lewd display. He buttoned the thing around you, tucking the sides in about your breasts, lingering to skim a knuckle over one until it tightened for him.

You didn’t know if you should say thank you. Everything he did was for himself, for his pleasure; so, you didn’t think this was a gift just for you. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you watched him for any hint as to what you should do next.

In the very center of the room was a massive, free-standing obsidian wall, toward which you were hastily led. Bewildered, you frowned at the dull shine of the thing, at the subtle ripple radiating out from the center, at the way you could almost hear voices the closer you got.

What came next, though, set you to anxiously fidgeting.

The Ren stood to one side, and the unit of men who’d appeared from nowhere took up flank. You faced that wall, trapped by the wraiths hulking between you and what you now considered safety. Stealing your focus, the god to your left tipped your face up and searched it for what felt like an agonizingly long time. Etched into his beautiful features was uncertainty, doubt, but what was he looking for? What was he deciding?

“Close your eyes.”

His tone was gentler than you expected, and his fingers didn’t gouge into your skin the way they had when he was angry. With his heavy arm about your shoulder, he tucked you in tight against his body.

It was three steps. Three steps and a world away.

When his hold loosened, you lifted your head and peered out from beneath his shroud.  You stood onto your toes and looked over his shoulder, piecing it all together. What you thought was a wall was more like a window, a portal to anywhere, it seemed. On that side was the keep you knew, the familiar corridors and rooms you’d started to figure out.

On this side was a whistling, wicked wind, prophetic gray clouds, and a raging battle. The Ren, too, had transformed. He towered above you, a looming destiny. The cozy shroud you just enjoyed came alive, whipping and billowing around its Master. Worse, a terrible black helmet and mask hid his face. The visor was an onyx void, not reflecting even the smallest shard of light.

This was The Ren you expected that first day.

Subconsciously, you took a step away, but a hard glove latched onto your biceps, and the hammer of your heartbeat intensified.

“Stay here.” The voice that came from inside the helmet was crisp, almost hollow, and you shied away from it. “You touch nothing. You speak to no one. You stay here.”

Dumbstruck, you nodded, ready to prove that you could be more than an idiot girl. They left you at the top of a knoll in the very center of a haunted, stormy sky. Mere steps away, The Ren’s red death saber blazed into existence.

The weight of what you saw dropped you to the ground. The stories were true. He was a ghastly specter, and he reaped in a carmine haze.

The vastness of the universe shrank to this hill, this battlefield.  It was all you could process. Gunshots rang out. Blaster fire shot sparks high into the air. Muffled shouts and curses mingled with wailing, with horror and hurt. The boom of a bomb in the distance infused your very marrow with terror, even if you weren’t sure you could die here.

Swallowing down your fear, you tracked the only thing you knew.

Through the fray, The Ren’s path was measured, purposeful. He whirled from fighter to fighter, spinning agilely to miss those who weren't ready for him, but it wasn’t clear if he ever spoke. Each time he paused, still as stone, interminable seconds would pass; and then, they would fall, lifeless.

A hundred questions rose in your throat. Did he speak to them? What did he say? Could they see him? Would you be comforted if that version of The Ren was the last thing you saw? What did the team moving behind and around him actually do? What happened to these people after they died?

A warbled sound interrupted your fascination, and you hunted for its origin. Your breath caught at the sight of a young man at the bottom of your hill. Attempting to crawl away from the battle, he hiccuped and sobbed on each painful inch gained.

In a flash, you succumbed to stupid and threw yourself down the hill. Scrambling near to him, you cursed this day, these people because he was just a boy, barely old enough to hold a weapon. There was no way to know if he had been sold to war or was trying to defend his home; but either way, he was too young to be here.

Conscious of at least some of your instructions, you didn’t touch him, but doing nothing to relieve this boy’s suffering was out of the question. His distressed howls cracked apart your heart.

You knew that pain.

Lips trembling, you lay down beside him and pressed your face to the grass near his wounded head. You had no idea if he could see or hear you, but you had to try; and at the first sound of your voice, his panic lessened. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying, listening intently, and you strove to make your voice as kind and warm as your Nona’s always was.

We believe in the Balance, Grandfather Sky Walker, and the makers of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.

We believe in our Fathers, the rightful heirs of the Galaxy, born before all others and all ages.

We believe they made the Balance for our salvation. For our sake, the Fathers hold creation and death in their hands, and we believe them to be just, steadfast, and eternal.

We believe in one true way and the promise of peace in the Balance. We strive to live it, day by day, that we will be fairly judged at the hour of our death.

With firm faith, we make this proclamation and pray it reaches the ears of our Fathers, for theirs is the way, the life, and the Balance.

At the end of your litany, your young warrior was calm. His fingers loosely held his chest, splayed over his heart. He had joined you in prayer; and though you weren’t certain he could see you, he was looking directly at you with such gratitude, such grace and love.

It was a long moment before you realized the boy’s wasn’t the only gaze on you.

[mementofloreo-archived]

@tomestobetold || parenting prompts || not currently accepting this is OLDDDD

The overwhelming wave of emotion he feels hearing Ophilia say those words leaves Ewan with tears poking at his eyes and his throat tightening almost painfully.

Because it's his wife saying that. Because when Ophilia says it, her voice is soft, weighed down into quiet by her love. As a mother, and as a wife. And Ewan is reminded that this is his family. (She chose him, she chose him, she chose him)

Derek is already ten months old. Ewan feels like he's growing leaps and bounds every day. Like he was born only yesterday- and other times, he can't imagine his life before fatherhood at all.

He's just arrived home after a few days away in the Woodlands near S'warkii, helping H'aanit with some preparations for the approach of winter(Zaanta is healthy, but he is older now, and not always able to do some of the things he once could).

He had hardly kicked the snow off of his boots just inside the front door of the parsonage and his wife had appeared, shuffling quickly down the stairs with their baby held snug against her shoulder, already saying she'd seen him from the nursery window.

Now Ewan is holding Derek- the moment he had seen Ewan, his tiny hands had left the fabric of Ophilia's sweater and reached for his father, grasping frantically, babbling urgently.

That was rather heartwarming all on its own. Derek is already quiet and content again, one hand curled tightly against the index of Ewan's free hand. He's a very quiet baby, really, even when upset or fussy. He makes plenty of noise then, but even from the start he hasn't been loud in the way most would expect an infant to be.

His hair has come in more now, and what was initially just a bit of fuzz is now little wisps of a pinkish orange, contrasting the rich blue eyes he's inherited from his father.

Ophilia stands on her toes at his side, tugs his face down and presses a long, firm kiss on his jaw, following by nosing against the prickly stubble there.

“I missed you terribly,” she murmurs. Ewan frees his finger from Derek's grasp without much effort and turns so he can gather his wife close to his chest.

“I wasn't even gone a week,” He replies, though he understands. He always misses her when they have to spend time apart. Trying to sleep at night without her in his arms feels uncanny and wrong now. She's as much a part of him as an arm or leg.

“And it was still too long.” Ophilia's voice is muffled by the way she buries her face against his shoulder. She inhales deeply, probably taking in his scent(lumber and leather, faint hints of aftershave and coffee).

“But,” she adds, “Derek's eyes are just like yours now...they made it easier. Sort of like a reassurance, I suppose. Part of you is here with me always now, in him.”

“You,” he says, and leans down to kiss her firmly on the mouth, “Mrs. Hiller, are incurably sentimental.”

“Remind me again who it was that cried when we were at the altar?” She retorts lightly. And he retaliates by bending down and hoisting her up to carry her at his hip. Derek burbles at the movement.

“I believe it was both of us in tears by the end, madam,” He says, “Now then, I can smell the stew simmering, and we can't let it sit too long, can we?”

Ophilia hums in assent. Ewan places her on the floor again to straighten his boots on the doormat and remove his coat and scarf(switching between arms to manage Derek).

The mid-autumn evening is getting dark, sunset nearly passed. Flamesgrace's street lamps are blinking to life, and the taverns are probably in the midst of welcoming evening diners and pub regulars. His mother is probably lightly scolding over his niece and nephew tramping snow across the front room's floor as they scamper into the townhouse she, their mother and the children share. (He hadn't yet stopped by to see them, but they would expect him to make a beeline for Ophilia by now anyway.)

Palaces and etiquette lessons are a far off dream now. And fire and ware and pain and loss still leave an aching scar on him, and on his wife. But they have built between them a warm hearth, the comfort of fingers entwined and breaths matched, pulses pattering around each other in a silent little song, one they can hear like the chime of little bells when they look at each other.

One that rises like the swell of a tide when they look at their son.

Ewan doesn't know where his life would have taken him, had Hornburg never fallen. If the war had never happened.

There are all manner of things that could have gone differently in his life at so many junctures, and it can be melancholy, thinking about the 'could-bes' of the past, but when he looks at the present, he knows he's exactly where he wants to be. Where he feels he belongs.

He prays often, silent little pleas. To Aelfric, and to his own patron deity Balogar, to all the gods, really.

Let me find her, he begs them, No matter the world. Let me always find her somehow, let me be blessed enough to be loved by her. In every life.

[machi-kun]

offerings

In the North, Antonio learns, the rules are as follows: Vikings offer gifts to the powerful Gods, and the less powerful offer gifts to the Vikings.

Antonio is now one such gift.

This is a fill for the 2020 Stony Bingo, Round 2. Square O-1: furs

Read it on AO3 | Viking AU, Arranged Marriage, Implied Sexual Content | Rated M

****

The wedding is a rambunctious thing.

There is drinking and dancing to no end. The Clan is boisterous and loud, in a way the Court was never allowed to be, back home – even in weddings. They are lively in a way the Court never is, never has been, not since Antonio could remember. Their music thumps directly into his chest, drums and flutes played with vigor and strength, and it should be disturbing, maybe even scary, but it’s… not.

He’s not scared. Of this land, of their music, or their strange traditions.

He’s also not scared, despite his initial concerns, of his husband.

The Captain, the only name Antonio knows him for, is a frankly impressive man. He is tall where Antonio already is considered somewhat small, his hair is the color of sand and his eyes are a startling blue. A rare color in the South, but far more common here, from what Antonio can see in his husband’s company. His stature is imposing, but not as much as his width, shoulders so large that the fur laid on them does nothing to disguise how broad they are, just as his hands are big, from that Antonio could see, when they first met – when the Captain guarded his weapon of choice, a shield, such an unexpected thing –, and from what he could feel, when during the ceremony, they held hands so the Clan’s priestess could wrap a rope around them, effectively tying them together in the eyes of their Gods.

Perhaps he shouldn’t stare; But he’s a long way from home, and this is home now, so the Court customs do not matter – Antonio has always been daring, and he will do as he pleases, even if it’s scandalous.

He is married to a Viking now.

Scandal is the last thing he is worried about.

Both Antonio and his husband are masterfully decorated in intricate ways, which now Antonio has come to learn are the typical appearance of a wedding in this Clan. His hair is not long enough to braid, not like his husband’s, much less such a magnificent design – so he has been decorated with amazingly delicate items, gold strings and flowers and pretty shells, a crown of sorts, to match the opulence his husband seems to carry on his person by pure nature. His clothes, kindly provided by the Clan he now must call his own, are not at all like the garments he would wear if he were marrying closer to home – as he should have been. Not at all. There is no velvet or beads, no corsets or flowers, or waistcoats and lace and all sorts of delicate things. No. The North is rough. It’s demanding and strong, like his husband, sharp and deadly, but Antonio feels no cold.

The warmth of the rich wine offered to him has settled so deep into his bones he feels like he could be protected from the blizzards and snow forever, the heat of the pyre pleasant from where they sit, and his husband—

His husband’s mere presence more than enough to make Antonio feel much warmer than he should.

The festivities do not stop when the Captain offers him his hand, and no one halts their drinking or dancing when the man beside them, the man Antonio assumes is the Captain’s right hand, yells to the crowd to announce their leave. The Clan cheers back, raising their cups and stomping loudly on the soil, rattling metal and leather, thunderous joy shaking Antonio to his core. The song becomes louder and their singing is no different from a war cry, but it inspires no dread – only the most vivid delight. Antonio did not think they would be so jubilant at the prospect of a foreigner marrying one of their most valuable fighters, but something in this union seems to please them. Is this what all their weddings look like? No wonder the people in the South thought them savages; Imagine, expressing genuine emotion and happiness in the Court? As if.

Dare he say it – this is fun. It puts a smile on his face, no matter how small, because he’s just not used to smiling wide anymore, it seems. Perhaps his new people can teach him how.

Maybe they can teach him to be loud, to be joyous, to be a fighter.

If the South will give him away, Antonio will embrace the North, if the North will have him.

And from the grip of the Captain’s hand on his as he is lead to his tent, it seems like it will.

Once inside, the Captain lays him down on his bed; Opulent, luscious furs, warm and silken, strewn on the cold floor, surrounded by the gifts and offerings presented to them as wishes of good fortune in their union. Gold and jewels, weapons and fruit, and rare items Antonio has only ever dreamed of seeing in his lifetime – He is placed among them, flanked by treasures, and at last he is where he was intended, with the Captain’s spoils, the most valuable gift his Kingdom could offer.

Perhaps he should feel slighted. At first, he did.

But where the North is cold, the furs and his husband’s skin are warm.

He has been gentle, he has been kind. They do not understand each other, not yet – they don’t speak each other’s languages, but the Captain’s voice is always low and unthreatening, and Antonio finds himself oddly transfixed when he talks. He did not scream, and he did not growl, as rumors he had heard so often in the South said; This man is no beast. Not in the sense he had been made to believe, at least.

He is strong, that is true. Strong and tall, and powerful, and uses a defensive item to attack, a contradiction that only serves to confuse and fascinate Antonio to no end. Full of contradictions, his husband. The patience and caution, too, when the Captain undresses, his cape and coverings falling from his absurdly large shoulders to join the furs beneath them with no care, no concern if they will end up soiled in any way in their wedding night. His movements are slow, as if Antonio is a particularly spooked deer, who might run at the sight of the barest threat.

A fair assumption, if unexpected.

And completely unnecessary.

His husband is big, but he is not threatening – he is… a source of protection. He is intimidating, but in an oddly transfixing way, as powerful men often are. Antonio’s fingers twist on the pelt beneath him, the thick, soft hairs pleasant and satisfying to grasp, the perfect brace as his breath escapes in a fleeting gasp at the rush of want that crashes in his body suddenly, by the sight of the Captain kneeling before him on the furs, coming closer, but he is not deterred – he removes his furs too, adding them to the pile where they lay, as eager to get undressed as his husband. Perhaps he shouldn’t. It’s desperate, unbecoming, even.

But he is curious, and he is warm, and he’s free, and he is, it seems, desired.

The Captain raises his eyes, that shine with the color of the ocean, and he growls the word Antonio has come to learn means, in his language, a name he would have never expected to receive for himself.

Beloved.

Antonio’s cheeks burn with heat, and he opens his knees and spreads his legs, sliding his feet apart and taking shameful enjoyment in the feel of the furs between his toes, the warmth in his body, and the sheer desire that blooms in his husband’s face. It’s so deeply entrancing. The Captain, stalking forward like a lion, crawls over Antonio in a graceful move, and places himself between Antonio’s thighs, a place that now belongs to him, and him alone.

The touch of his lips tastes like mead. It’s soft, and hot, and a little demanding, and Antonio knows that this, this, is his husband at his core.

His Captain.

Tony wishes he knew his name. He’ll have to learn. He wants to. He wants to learn how it’ll taste in his mouth much like the Captain is licking into his mouth to learn his taste, he wants to know how it’ll sound in his voice, with his accent, if it’ll be as endearing to his husband as his low sighs are to his own ears. Antonio wishes for more warmth too, more skin – and this wish he can be granted, and so, he pulls on his husband’s robes, his too tough leather and metals, demanding to touch what’s beneath.

His husband lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and he says something Antonio cannot understand.

Antonio wants. He wants, and wants, and he did not imagine he would want it this much.

There is no time to think, only to feel. Feel, as his husband removes own his garments and brings Antonio’s hands to his chest, firm and sculpted like the most expensive marble, so tempting under the ethereal candlelight. It is customary, Antonio has heard, that the wedding night should be witnessed by at least five other people in the Clan, but they are alone, and he is grateful for it – he is shocked by how pleased he is at the idea that this body, this man now belongs to him too, and no one else can have him.

Blessed be the Gods, Antonio thinks, despite never before having praised a deity, too trapped in the questions of men to give much care to the demands of spirits, For this gift.

This offering, he remembers, as the Captain’s lips descend upon his’ once more, and he opens his mouth, inviting him in without a second thought. Freely given.

In exchange for my devotion, he moans, into his husband’s mouth, as his own clothes are pushed away, and skin presses against skin, and suddenly, that is not enough.

I accept it, as he wraps his arms around his husband’s shoulders, and his legs around his waist, and lets himself be washed away by sensation, by the craving—

Willing, he gasps, wet and panting, when he’s turned around and pressed into the softness of the furs beneath, rubbing against them in sensual, quivering contentment when his husband leans over him and pulls his hips up, towards his own—

And ready, as his eyes roll back in pleasure, as he’s breached.

To serve your temple for the rest of my days.

Antonio does not know the last part of this hymn. He did not have time to learn.

All he knows is worship tastes good on his tongue.

[rideboldlyride]

A much delayed Chapter 4 - Celestial

Seal My Heart and Break My Pride <--- AO3 link

“The shipment of Jasmine is delayed again.”

Across from him, in the seeming anonymity of stainless silver and terra cotta, his uncle moved around the industrial kitchen with the grace of experience. At that moment, they could have been in any kitchen anywhere in the world. Since the morning crowd had long dispersed, and the lunch crowd still working, they were the only two staffing the shop, with just a spattering of customers in the dining area. The illusion remained fully in place, and Zuko could almost imagine walking into the dining area, only to see a Fire Nation cityscape in it’s windows.

At his proclamation about the jasmine, his Uncle Iroh had his stolid demeanor broken.

“How can we call ourselves the Jasmine Dragon, when we have no Jasmine ??” If Zuko didn’t know any better, he may have thought that his uncle sounded emotional.

A sigh escaped him. “I told you, Uncle. Our supplier is citing droughts in the region, stating that all of their customers are suffering shortages.”

As the older man turned, he produced a steaming pot, and two cups, clean and prepared, and set them down on the steel top between them. Before Zuko, papers were scattered in an organized chaos. He had a grasp on keeping books, but there were times that his focus was a beast incapable of being reigned in. His growing headache hadn’t helped. And then there was the cause of the headache- that borderline nausea, characteristic of a mild hangover. Absent-mindedly, he scratched at the spot on his inner forearm where ink had sat overnight. He had been mortified to find it smeared beyond recognition upon waking up. One of the many downsides, he found, of sleeping hot, included the fact that it was rare to wake up without a sheen of sweat. Between the normal motions of sleep, the sheen of sweat, and the gel qualities of the pen she had used, it was rendered illegible. He had been beyond frustrated. It didn’t, however, keep her off of his mind.

“I would offer some from my stores, but I’m completely out.”

Katara. She kept trying to swim before his open eyes. There was so much that intrigued him, and he was like a thirsty man in a desert, with just the hint of water in the air. If he just could taste, get a little bit on his tongue…

“I understand, Nephew. We will have to press on, even in this time of trial.”

Zuko nodded, barely noting his uncle’s words. This was not missed.

“Usually, my fiery tempered nephew would protest about my melodramatics at this point.” With a raised brow, the older man poured the tea, offering the steaming cup to the younger, who seemed engrossed in one particular line on a singular page among the throngs scattered in front of him. Unseeingly, Zuko retrieved the cup, and instantly brought it to his lips. Far too hot, it scolded, and he jumped, brow furrowing in frustration. Jarred from his reverie, he drew his lips into a thin line, the remaining parts of the sip jumping away at the motion, and splattering upon the paper. In irritation, he snagged the page, using his pant leg to dab at the liquid, in an attempt to salvage the ink.

“You seem very distracted, Nephew.”

A glower set over his brow. “I just spilled scalding tea on an important notice. Can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Uncle.”

His own tea resting in his fingers, Iroh studied Zuko intently, seeing more clearly than he cared for. Finally, he broke the silence.

“How did your evening go?”

Now flustered, the younger man shuffled the pages anxiously, attempting to herd them like polar cats. His uncle’s question stilled him instantly, and he brought his gaze round to bare,

“It was… good.”

“Eventful?”

“Surprisingly,... yes.”

A hum escaped Iroh’s lips, and he sat back, knowing that when Zuko was ready to speak, he would, if at all. Instead, he watched his nephew once more return to his attempt at organization, this time moving more steadily and slowly. In a moment of startling clarity, Zuko could hear her laugh. A hot sigh escaped his lips, frustration and irritation at the lost number returning to his mind. Then he heard it again.

“Oh!” Zuko was startled when his uncle jumped with sudden vigour. “It seems one of my favorite customers is here.”

As he passed, Iroh stuck a gentle elbow into his nephew’s ribs.

“This is the one I’ve been talking to you about.”

Rolling his eyes, he watched Iroh exit out of the kitchen through a traditional curtain. Instead of following, he peeped out of the pass through at the young woman Iroh spoke of. This mysterious woman, her back turned to the counter, was unheeding of his gaze. Half pulled back, a cascade of dark brown tresses fell to her waist line. Headphones crested over her head, and evidently currently active, since she seemed unaware of his uncle’s appearance behind the counter. Zuko’s breath caught in his throat when he heard the voice behind the curtain of hair.

How could he cross paths with her two days in a row?

“... Sokka. I haven’t heard from him.” Pause. “You, of all people, should know how this works. Isn’t there some kind of stupid rule about how long you’re supposed to wait?”

She was evidently on the phone. His uncle paused before interrupting her, letting her continue her conversation.

“Listen, I’m going to see you in just a few minutes… No! Of course I don’t want to talk about it with Dad around! I just…” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll see you. Did you want me to order you anything?... Alright, I’ll see you then.”

Zuko slipped a little further back into the kitchen, trying to keep hidden but still being able to keep an eye on her. It was surprising how daylight made one a coward about what one

was comfortable at night. But as his uncle gently tapped her shoulder, he held his breath. She turned with a bright smile on her face, and he couldn’t stop the matching smile pulling at his lips.

With a single motion, she evidently ended the call, and removed the headphones from her ears.

“Good morning, Iroh!”

“Miss Katara! I must say that your definition of morning seems very fluid.”

Her laugh comes easy, and Zuko soaks in the sound.

“I am a complete night cat-owl. You know that!”

“Yes, my dear. But it brings me great humor to see you emerge at the break of dawn one morning, and then scuttle in here just shy of midday the next.”

“I had a long night. My friends all wanted to go out. I think we all forgot we’re near our thirties.”

“An eventful night?”

Her smile stayed planted, but her eyes seemed to be looking far away. She hummed an affirmative. His uncle only laughed.

“Nearing your thirties, but still starry eyed, my dear?”

That mischievous glint- that damn mischievous streak - in her eyes, struck again, and it took all of his willpower not to round the corner. Instead, he started to plot.

***

“What can I say, Iroh? I’m a closet romantic.”

“There are worse traits.” A warm smile peered up at her. “Is there something I can start for you?”

“Yes!” She was broken free of her reverie, and she perked up. “I meant to ask, do you still brew lapsang souchong?”

A brilliant smile lit up his face.

“Only for my special guests. And you, my dear Katara, are a special guest.” He turned to the passthrough window, but he spotted the younger man already in motion, his back to the customers, preparing the tea. She watched the older man as he took a small glance back and forth between them. “Are you expecting anyone, my dear?”

“Actually, yes. My brother and my Dad.” She knew where this was already going. It wasn't the first time he had brought it up.

“It’s a shame- My nephew is here and you are here. You know how often I have spoken about him to you…”

She raised a brow. “And told me nothing about him.”

Blue eyes met his amber ones, mirth reflecting between each other. “Touche.”

In between their banter, a steaming mug was placed on the pass-through unseen.

Iroh was the first one to break away, spotting the mug. As he turned back to her, tea in hand, a brow rose to her contemplative look. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the charm at her throat. A devious smile pulled at her lips.

“I have a proposition for you, Iroh.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be working on a study in the lower ring, since our work is in the Serpent’s Pass. From what I hear, you have two more shops, now.”

“Yes, one is--”

A hand rose to stop him. “No, don’t tell me. We’re going to let fate play the stars, alright? Tutega is known for her capricious ways.”

Known to be well-versed in the lore of many nationalities, she was not surprised that Iroh showed no confusion over the name of the spirit. Tutega, the mercurial spirit woman was known to move the stars and thereby the fates, according to her desires. While growing up religious, Katara held a certain respect for the deities, even though she was not as devoted to the rites as she might once have been. Either way, she was more than willing to blame the spirits if this idea of hers went south.

“So here’s the deal. Your nephew runs those shops, right?”

A nod, along with a growing suspicion in his eyes, but he kept silent.

“What if, in exchange for this perpetual discussion, we make a deal that if I find one of the shops, I’ll go in to talk with him?”

“I would propose a caveat: you go on a date together.”

Hesitation paused the young woman. “I don’t know....”

“Unless there is another?”

“Well, no, I mean… I guess not really.”

“Then this: if you are free at that point, then go.”

The hesitation in her eyes dissolved, and she smiled again. “Then I’m going to need more than just silence, Iroh.”

“Free tea?”

Her laugh sounded out again. “Deal!”

***

When Sokka arrived, it was a raucous event, (‘Home’ Katara?! That’s the text you send??; What was I supposed to say?; How about ‘the guy wasn’t another Jet, I’m safe and he’s gone’?; What if he wasn’t gone?; He wasn’t?!) but it quickly settled, before a third individual arrived- this one seemingly an aged up Sokka, with the same striking features as the siblings. Katara was quick to her feet, enveloping him into a firm hug.

“Welcome home, Katara. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Dad.”

When they pulled away, the three of them fell into a comfortable banter, rapidly falling into the normal ebb and flow, being chased by warm tea. Finally, after a bout of pleasant ribbing of her older brother, Hakoda turned his attention to his daughter.

“Did you get that notice I sent you?”

A sigh escaped her. “Dad, I already told you, I’m not going to apply for an ambassador role with NOAA.”

“Why?”

“It’s politics. It’s making friends with people I can’t stand, be friendly with the assholes who are screwing up all of our oceans.”

“How do you think that they get their funding?”

“So you’re saying that I should be willing to ‘work’ with these pricks- pricks like O Corp-" she spits out the name with venom, "just to get funding?”

“No, I’m saying you should be willing to work with them to protect the oceans from them.” He leaned in, his blue eyes bright and eager, dropping his voice to inject calmness into the conversation. “You could be the saving grace-- the conscience people need.”

“These people that don’t see how important the sea is to life- without it, the world would fall apart! What you do to the ocean will always be visited back on you. It's what feeds us, lets us breathe. And those fools who see profit over living beings sicken me. I take from the sea, yes. But I also give back.”

A smile lit up his face. “And that’s why you should be an ambassador. Your passion, Katara, it can be such a force for good!”

His vigor set her back for a moment, and she took in his words. Slowly, she leaned in and placed a hand upon her father’s.

“I’ll… consider it.”

“And that’s all I ask.”

She smiled as she leaned back as the moment passed. “I have to say, Dad, most fathers don’t ask about ambassadorial opportunities…”

“Oh? Then what do they talk about?”

“‘Anybody I need to know about, Katara?’” Her voice dropped to imitate the older man. “‘When are you going to give me grandkids?’ You know, stuff like that.”

The look in his eye made her instantly regret her words. “So, then, Katara, is there anybody?”

“Ugh, Dad!”

Sokka interrupted, a mischievous look in his eye. “Maybe after last night, there was…”

A pink tongue darted through her lips at her brother, her nose crinkling. Before she got out a word, her phone went off. It was Toph.

Hey sugar queen. The text was obviously transcribed, but solidly in Toph’s typical direct manner. Zuko says something happened to your number. He refuses to get it from me. Says he’ll surprise you. He just didn’t want you thinking he ghosted you.

She couldn’t hold back the smile on her lips.

***

Outside, Zuko paced beside the truck.

“Thanks Toph.”

“You got this, Sparky?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ugh- don’t ever call me that again.”

“What? Ma’am?”

A disgusted sound echoed in his ears, and he smiled.

“You got it, Toph. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do.”

***

With all of his willpower, he maintained his work schedule over the next few days. He refused to alter his schedule, truly leaving it to the stars, as Katara had mentioned. But when he walked in on the Tuesday after the fateful weekend, he was hopeful. The morning passed rapidly, as the breakfast crowd of the Lower Ring lasted much later into the day than his uncle’s shop. However, as the lunch crowd slipped in, he stepped back, allowing the shop’s employees to take up the slack. Instead, he mingled, confirming his customer’s comfort. Falling into his rhythms, he seemed to force his preoccupying thoughts away. A new group entered, and he greeted them with his customary small smile. It wasn’t until one of the members of the group stopped directly in front of the door, staring up, that it caught his attention.

It was only the beginning of autumn, but she was draped in a sky blue hoodie, oversized, and the hood pulled up. Dark tresses fell out from the side of the hood, and her dark chin jutted out from behind the hood’s cowl as she stared up, frozen still. With a shake of her head, she dropped her head. In that moment, he recognized her before she recognized him. With as much dignity and nonchalance as he could manage he made his way towards the kitchen to wait.

***

Of all the tea shops, in all of Ba Sing Se, she thought… The sign above her colleague’s lunch choice was emblazoned with a white lotus, the name proudly alight: The Jasmine Dragon.

Upon entering, she broke away from the group to move straight towards the counter. Better just to get this over with. A young woman met her there with a pleasant smile.

“Welcome to The Jasmine Dragon! Are there any teas you’re curious about?”

“Yes, but that’ll wait. Quick question:” Katara laid her hands flat upon the countertop, leaning on them. “Is your district manager in?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s usually here on Tuesdays.”

“Of course he is.” A bitter chuckle pulled at her lips, followed by a sigh. She dropped her voice a little. “Listen, I’m going to ask something weird, but I’ll explain once you answer, okay?”

The young woman’s eyes grew wary, but she nodded.

“Is he… Ya know,” she gave a vague gesture, “I don’t know… not fifty?”

The girl laughed. “No! No, he’s in his thirties.”

“Oh good.” The words escaped Katara like a sigh. “Iroh’s been after me to meet him, but you know how that can go sometimes…”

Her response was a knowing laugh. “Would you like me to go get him?”

“Yes, please.”

“Ok, hold on--” she stopped in her tracks as the dark haired man stepped out from behind the curtain blocking off the kitchen, a puckish grin on his face. The young employee gestured pleasantly. “There he is.”

“Zuko?”

***

@zutaraweek

[mewmewmemint]

NejiTen Month 2020 - Belated Day 3 (Part II)

Legends/Myths

I decided to divide this prompt up because it was just too much for one post. You can find part one through the #The Fated Swords of the King below. So here is part two of Chapter 1:

The Fated Sword of the King

Rated T for Violence

Chapter One - Part II

She awoke to the same darkness surrounding her. Was it the same day or the next night? She didn’t know. 

Tenten pushed through her aches and rolled to her side. Lee slept close beside her, his face stained with tears and dirt. She felt a chill settle through her body for the first time. The frost on the ground reminded her they couldn't stop here. She shook her companion gently. Her body too weary to put much force into it. After a few seconds, dark lashes fluttered open. Tenten fought a sob back. Her eyes too dry to release any more tears. 

“Lee,” She whispered. His eyes looked around in a panic. He sat up fast. Tenten’s hands steadied his shoulders until his eyes met her. His dark ones were wide. She could only offer him a light squeeze to the shoulder, all other reassurance void from her body.  But his eyes soon drooped low. His body slumped into a nearby tree. 

“Lee,” She repeated. She pulled him back up. “We can’t stay here. I don’t know how long we were asleep. We need to keep going, or they will find us.”

Lee’s face scrunched up in sorrow. Yet he still nodded in agreement. 

“Right,” He croaked out finally.

Tenten forced her legs up, and she pushed passed the pain. Lee soon joined her. 

Slowly the pair began walking. Tenten rubbed her hands together. Hoping she could find some kind of warmth still left in them. At her movements, Lee stopped beside her. 

“Lee?” She questioned. But his only answer was to crouch down again to the ground. The bag from their home placed on the ground. He opened it, careful not to drop her coin purse out. He dug to the bottom and pulled out two thick cloaks. 

“That’s all I could grab, along with your money and some blankets,” Lee said apologetically. One cloak held out in an outstretched hand towards her. 

But that was more than enough to warm a little part of her heart. 

Her cold fingers held Lee’s and the cloak tight. She paused to catch his eyes. 

“Thank you, Lee,” She said. Her thanks for more than just the cloak. 

After the moment, Tenten was quick to wrap her body up in the cloak. The fur lining felt divine over her bare arms and neck. The wool trapped the growing heat from her body. She basked in the warmth. 

“We should keep going,” Lee reminded. And she set their pace once again. 

They headed the only direction they could, straight away from their home. 

After a few hours of walking, the sky began to lighten. The pairs’ steps continued steadily through the frosted leaves and brush. Both listen intently to their surroundings. They searched for any sign of anything that wasn’t a bird or small creatures. 

Then Tenten heard it. A sound that stuck out. 

She stopped and silently grabbed her friend’s arm. She pointed to the direction of the sound. 

The sound of fast horse feet clopping through leaves met the pair. Tenten searched around for a place to hide. She knew they couldn’t outrun a horse. 

Nearby she spotted a low hanging spruce. Its branches weight down to the ground by the crystallized frost along its needles. Tenten pulled Lee underneath. She was thankful for the late coming snow this winter. They laid on their stomachs close to the ground. Both hoped their brown cloaks would provide them with some semblance of camouflage. 

The horse grew louder as they waited. Tenten’s heart sped up to match the pace of its hooves. Her breath quickened. She knew she shouldn’t, but Tenten found herself squeezing her eyes shut tight. She prayed to her deities for protection. 

Lee’s hand reached for hers. His anxiety shown through his firm grip. 

There was only one horse and, most likely, only one rider. The sound of the horse closed in on them. Tenten forced herself to hold her breath. 

And then the horse whinnied as its rider halted his gallop into a stop. Tenten tightened her lips tight. She refused to make a single sound. Then those damned boots hit the ground. The rider dismounted his horse. 

Tenten opened her eyes. She looked up to see a shadow through the evergreen. Her grip on Lee’s hand hurt. Her face reddenee with effort. The pressure breathe building.

The shadow walked past their tree. He paused. His shadowed body twisted back and forth, searching. Then the shadow made its way back to his horse. Another pause, This one was longer than the last. Tenten head began to feel light headed.

Tenten was first to sit up. 

The sound of the rider remounting a saddle met their ears. The horse entered a slow trot before going into a full gallop. The sound of the horse’s clomps disappeared with its rider.

Tenten released a loud gush of hair from her mouth. But pair laid there motionless. Too afraid to move too soon. Too fearful of somehow drawing back the horse and its rider. Their hands relaxed, leaving behind a sore ached and clammy sweat. 

“Lee-” Her words were interrupted by a quick hand from behind. A scream tried to escape as she was pulled back into a hard chest. Lee’s eyes widened at her sudden capture, but he sat up frozen. She squirmed against the firm grip. A second arm wrapped quickly around her struggling arms and torso. 

“Be quiet,” A whispered command entered her ear. The breath hot on her. She began to kick violently. But Lee was quick to stop her legs from thrashing much to her horror. But as she stilled with shock, she heard several more horses pounding close. At her stillness, the man’s grip loosed, but he kept his grip firm over her mouth. 

The set of horses thankfully didn’t stop. They charged ahead, passing their hiding spot under the tree. The trio let another moment pass. The hand on her mouth grew hot with its prolonged contact.

“Ow!” The man hissed when she sunk her teeth hard into his fingers. His surprise gave her the chance to escape her capture’s grasp. She raced out from under the tree, followed by Lee. The second man came a moment after nursing his hand. “Shit! What the hell are you? Some kind of rabid dog!”

“Stay away from us!” Tenten shouted. She was quick to grab a shape broken branch. The sharp point potentially created but one of the many passing horses. She held it up towards the man. Her body placed between him and her friend. She was backing them up to create some distance and the armed man.

“Tenten, wait-” Lee began from behind her. But his words were interrupted by the other male figure. 

He was quick to draw his blade. 

“Are you threatening me?” The man asked. Pale lavender eyes glared at her. The man was handsome behind his glare. His jaw was a strong square with dark hair framing his pale features. The lines in his scowl accentuated by the shadows his hair created along the sides of his face. He lifted his swords towards her and her stick. 

“Tenten, wait!” Lee called. His dark eyes ignored the newcomer for her brown ones. “I don’t think this man is a threat. He saved us.” 

Tenten swallowed hard. She readied herself. The tip of his sword met the point of her stick. Within an short moment, he was able to knock the tip of her stick to the ground. The sharp point cut off by steel. On instinct alone, Tenten raised his stick again. This time readied to strike.

But before she could land a blow with the awkwardly shaped branch in her grasp, the man blocked and parried her next attack. She found herself trying to steady herself with a wide stance. She prepared for another strike, only for her stick to be stopped once again. But this time by a firm hand. Lee stood in between the pair. Her stick in his one hand and his arm raised to catch the sword's strike. The stranger halted his sword a few inches from Lee’s raised forearm. 

“Lee, move!” Tenten yelled. But he shook his head no. 

“Tenten, stop. Look at him. He is not one of those soldiers.” Lee said. 

“Who are you?” She asked. She eyed his sword still held in a taut position. 

Tenten’s eyes narrowed to the stranger. His cloak was different from the soldier’s red ones draped over armor. His was a dark rich purple. His clothes beneath were pale and void of armor.

She met the stranger’s eyes. The grip on her make-shift weapon loosened. Lee took the opportunity to pull it out of her hands. She ignored the warm blood that, for the second time that night, coated her hands. 

“My name doesn’t matter.” He answered much to Tenten’s frustration. 

Lee sighed at the pairs’ stubbornness. He turned, fully facing the other man. He ignored the sword’s point at front of his chest. 

“I would like to apologize on behalf of my friend’s behavior. It was rude of us to question another man running away through the woods.” Lee proclaimed. Tenten removed her glare from the stranger and moved it to her friend. 

The sword slowly lowered, and the man returned it to its sheath.

“I would also like to thank you for your help,” Lee said into a bow. His head stayed low, “If you hadn’t stopped us from leaving our cover, we would have been caught for sure.”

“You’re tracks are too obvious. I was able to follow them all the way from Konoha town.” The man criticized. 

Tenten shared a concerned look with Lee. She looked back towards the direction they had come from. Several piles of leaves trailed their path.

“The only reason you’ve made it this far was probably because of the dark. But if you continue on this way during daylight hours, you are sure to get caught.” He continued. 

Tenten looked to her feet. Her laced boots half-buried in dried leaves, and her long skirt trailed to the ground. A movement caught her attention when the man reached under the tree. He pulled out an unfamiliar sac, most likely his own. He turned away from them. He made his path west; his feet light on the leaves. With each step, he lifted his feet high enough to avoid dragging the leaves into along the way. 

“Wait!”

Tenten didn’t expect it. The word left her lips before she could stop them. The man half-turned to her. Only one pale eye visible on the side of his head. 

“Please, let us go with you,” she said hesitantly. The softness in her voice angered herself. She rushed on to elaborate. “I mean just for a little while. Just until we can learn to cover our path like you.”

While she waited for an answer, she counted his breath. Each one evenly spaced. With the fourth exhale, he slowly closed his eyes. The stranger turned away and continued walking. 

Tenten stared dumbfounded. 

“Well, he didn’t refuse,” Lee said, giving her a shrug and small smile. He was the first to follow. Lee adjusted his gait and mimicked the other man's movements. And soon after, Tenten followed suit. 

[aniimvs]

fifty kisses // selectively accepting ➟

                                                   @graysistance : :                                       ❝ a small, fleeting kiss that is immediately followed                                                              by a passionate, hungry kiss. ❞

word count 1503 avg. read time 6 min warnings bodily harm, injury, reylo music inspo. the calico sequence - juno

            the smell of corroded skin and acid-drenched clothing chased them as rey and ben solo struggled through the misty copse of rocks that disguised their retreat. ghoulish wails echoed through the forest above, over the sound of pounding water as the wounded warriors leaned each other into the cave behind the thunderous cascade.

            the waterfall's roar drowned their senses. ben's ears rang with the force of it till they slipped past the mouth and into the shadowy embrace. it was there in the spray that ben's legs finally gave out. he relinquished his grip on rey and toppled into the wall. his broad back ground into a blue-grey wall, taking bits of loose stone with him, as he slid to the bottom. rey refused to let go and followed him, her battered knees quivered as she crouched beside him.

            rey reached out, her fingers caught up in the stygian locks matted with blood and earth. pearls of sweat beaded on the very tips of the midnight strands. his ivory skin, milky and cold even in the best of lights, was drained to a corpse-ish glow.

            ❝ oh, ben, ❞ rey's voice was a tremble at the top of her throat as her fingers fell from his hair to rest at the top of his cheek. he winced as the young woman's calloused fingers glanced off one of the many glossy welts that littered his skin and clothes.

            ❝ i'm fine, ❞ his voice rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest. for all the redemption he committed these past few years, the young man was still very much a sith in practice. the globlets of monstrous acid that were eating away at his flesh became a source of power. he cycled the pain through his bloodstream, threaded it into the force, and anchored himself. the very agony that attempted to topple him was now the only reason he was standing.

            but that wasn't enough for rey. she tugged at his clothing, demanding to see how deep the damage went. ❝ only you would get hit with a face full of krayt acid and have the gall to say you're fine. ❞

            an exaggeration. it was she who was about to be bathed in malignant stomach juices but ben planted himself between her and the ochrous spray. he protected them both with a force-shield combined with a spate of stasis and a sudden repulsion. but enough of the disgusting solution broke past his defenses and ben chose to take the brunt of it all.

            his act was enough of a distraction for rey to spring into action and sink her golden saber deep into the beasts' softer regions with savage repetition. the beast was dead, finally, after hours of battling it across the ancient forest. trees that pierced the sky, their trunks as wide as the falcon, fell in the pattern of their destruction.

            turning a krayt dragon into sithspawn. the eternal tested the limits of their alchemy all in the name of killing a single girl. and as his hazel eyes tracked the wounds on her body that marked the journey of their fight, ben knew they almost succeeded.

            rey continued to pull at his shirt even after ben pushed himself away. the young woman tried again, her hands a please as ben struggled against her concern. ❝ let me help you, ❞ her voice was weighted by worry, dragged down to the depths to be drowned in quiet desperation, ❝ please. ❞

            ben was just as stalwart against her attempts. ❝ i can handle myself, ❞ he growled, tearing away from both her and the wall to limply saunter towards the crystalline curtain, ❝ worry about your own. ❞

            he could feel her eyes clinging to his back, hoping he'd relent but ben pressed forward till the waterfall swallowed him whole. water battered the top of his skull as he peeled what was left of his shirt and coat from the ruins of his skin. chunks of his flesh had melted away, oozing ichor and tainted blood. the festering muscle was a blackened purple, glistening with both water and gore. nothing ben couldn't handle on his own, though it would take more time to heal than he was willing to give.

            with only a lapse of sound, ben waded into the pool of water fed at the base of the falls. a cold sharpness greeted him and he welcomed its numb embrace. between the shifting streams, the blanket of mist, and suppressing his signature, the man hoped it was enough to buy them relief from any straggling sith that survived the fight.

            at first, ben splashed himself to cleanse the stomach rot with icy beads. but as he replayed every moment of the battle against the krayt in his head. he focused mercilessly on all the moments the two warriors nearly lost it all. when a red lightsaber nearly caught rey in the back or when ben found himself caught by his coat between the krayt's teeth. and that climatic end where the dyad was nearly dissolved, rey would've died if he wasn't there.

            he was there and she still almost died.

            he wasn't enough.

            ben didn't know how long he stood there, catatonic ─── his eyes fixated on the endless ripples born from the rivulets that slid off the tips of his hair when he found himself trapped between rey's rough-skinned palms. he found her searching his eyes, felt her reach through the bond, and tap knowingly at the door of his fears. ben tried to escape but she held him steady, with her hands and with the firm grip of the force.

            ❝ ben, ❞ her voice was steady. too steady, while he warbled over the many doubts that now bubbled up around him. rey had healed herself, he noted, leaving only the streaks of blood as a reminisce of torn flesh, ❝ you've been standing waist-deep in freezing water for twenty minutes. ❞

            he shrugged, ❝ i like the cold. ❞

            she sighed. something hinged between sadness and exasperation. the scavenger refused to let him go ─── even her eyes locked onto his ─── banishing any attempt to avoid her gaze.

            that's when he felt warm lips ─── skin hard and chapped from the cold and dehydration ─── press into his own. his muscles tensed, startled by the tender lock. he settled into it, caught off guard but needy all at once. rey pulled away and looked for his face still imprisoned in her grasp. that's when he brought her back, ice-cold fingers circled her muscle-hewn forearms and cleaved the space between them into nothing as he found her lips again.

            her arms fell from his face and surged into a ribbon around his neck while his own gathered her closer and rested at the small of her back. gentle snowflakes drifted down, melting into petals of water as they landed on the pool and the warriors' tepid skin.

            rey's breath caught as ben's hands traversed her spine and seized her closer. he traced her scars ─── old and painfully new ─── memorizing each one.

            a clash of warm and cold, rey's trill of surprise gave way to a need just as urgent. she met him with the force of war that nearly sent them both into the crystal pond. ben was forced to one knee. he did his best to keep them both their heads above the surface as the mutual onslaught continued. finally, ben's precarious perch gave way beneath rey's ferality and they collapsed into the freezing depths.

            the scavenger was all giggles as ben shook his drenched mane. he snarled at her and swiped a flail of water like an ornery tooka. rey held her palms out to catch the droplets that sploshed her already soaked arms. she returned the favor, her joy dancing amongst the waterdrops and snowflakes the reflect the light shining in her eyes.

            only two so used to staring down death could find such levity in the ebb of adrenaline.

            ❝ i'm leaving, ❞ ben announced with routine sullen spite, ❝ i'm starting to feel that waist-deep cold. ❞

            rey cackled, tailing after him. calmly, though, she halted his retreat with a simple touch. ❝ we're going to be alright, ben. i promise, we'll get stronger. they won't win. they can throw a thousand krayts at us and we'll still find a way. ❞

            he scowled, ❝ i can only tolerate so much optimism, scavenger. ❞

            it was true. stronger was the only option. together, rey and ben were an unstoppable force but even they could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. during his time with the order, he killed a zillo beast without so much as a thought. like his grandfather before him, he threw himself at deities rich with blood and power, left them gutless piles in his wake.

            but there was no telling what the sith eternal was willing to do.

            the redeemed voice of ben solo, teacher and companion, swore that the answer was somewhere in galaxy, that they only need to be patient. but the crackle of kylo ren hissed that there was no denying the obvious ───

            mortis.

[atinytokki]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 5: Infiltration 

(Warnings: Blood and gore, possession)

One moment the world was spinning, the next it was rolling over itself.

Hongjoong registered a body slamming into his just seconds before the ground exploded.

Their momentum was aided by the blast wave radiating out, and by the time Hongjoong opened his eyes, they were on the other side of the hill, away from the battle and the rest of the crew.

He struggled out from underneath his saviour before getting a good look at him.

“Mingi!”

Mingi rolled onto his back with a low groan and cracked open an eye. It was out of focus. “Mingi, are you alri—”

 “Look out!”

Suddenly, Mingi’s eyes grew wide and he grasped Hongjoong’s arms in a death grip. Trusting blindly, Hongjoong scooped up the taller boy and dragged him toward the nearest trees, just as a broken cannon landed where they had been laying.

The explosion must have broken Babylon’s control over the freak cyclone, sending all objects caught up in it hurtling towards the ground.

When he’d calmed his own breathing, Hongjoong propped the unmoving Mingi against a tree and inspected him for damage.

“Mingi, can you hear me?”

“Yessir...”

“Your ears are bleeding.”

Hongjoong touched the running red liquid in concern before wiping away the rest with his sleeve.

“But your arm... and your side...”

Mingi slurred before letting out a cough. “You need medical attention...”

“Mingi!” Hongjoong didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The sound that came out was most likely a mixture of both. “Look at yourself, you’ve been burned by the blast. I’m getting you out of here.”

Fire was catching to all the trees on either side of them, but Hongjoong did his best to haul Mingi over his shoulders and dodge the flames.

He could see Yeosang up ahead, curled up on the ground with his hands protecting his head as bodies and pieces of artillery continued to rain down.

Instinctively, Hongjoong checked the faces of the dead that he passed. None of them were his men, but none of them were Babylon either.

“Captain!” Yeosang spotted them and uncurled himself slightly to accommodate Mingi as he was set down next to him. “Yes, we’re alright,” Hongjoong was already giving instructions and passing his quartermaster off. “I need you to look after him for a moment while I go look for Jongho and Yun—”

“We’re here!”

Jongho appeared from the other side of the cannon line, having sprinted across the battlefield that the clearing had become.

Hongjoong stood and grasped his arm in relief, then looked past him. “But where’s Yunho?”

Confused, Jongho whipped around.

“He was right behind me...?”

As they looked on, Yunho reappeared from the direction of the beach. “He got away,” he panted, jogging up to them and clutching his side. “Babylon. He transformed into a seagull and got away.”

Hongjoong could see scores of Navy soldiers fleeing for the longboats, retreating back to Babylon’s ship where the anchor was already being lifted. To his consolation, he saw his own crew heading back for the ATEEZ as well. Yunho was still talking. “He looked badly singed before he shapeshifted, and his entire ear was sliced off...”

Hongjoong opened his mouth as if to say something and then snapped it shut again, lips pressed into a firm line.

“Later. We need to find the other three first.”

Yeosang looked up from where he was helping a woozy Mingi to his feet and chimed in. “They went that way, through the brush.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but was halted by a cough ripping out of his lungs. The air was becoming dense with smoke, and the heat that was building couldn’t be ignored for much longer.

Hongjoong had to think fast.

“Alright, Jongho,” he turned to the youngest and, it seemed, the least injured. “I need you to take Yunho and Mingi back to the ship, and anyone else you can find. Prepare to leave and keep your eyes on Babylon. I want to know where he’s headed.”

Jongho nodded obediently and moved to sling Mingi over his back, supporting him with one arm and offering the other to Yunho.

“Yeosang, you’re with me.”

Yeosang managed a look of complete surprise.

“Me?”

Hongjoong was already walking past him and towards the path Wooyoung had taken. “Yes. I need you to tell me what happened, why they left.”

Yeosang swallowed and followed tentatively.

“I’m not sure at what point San and Seonghwa disappeared, but Wooyoung noticed they were missing and went after them. It was only a few minutes ago, they shouldn’t be far.”

Hongjoong nodded and picked up the pace, avoiding falling debris and burning branches.

They had better all be alive.

 ...

San’s eyes flickered as he staggered to his feet and pulled Seonghwa up after him.

The movements were almost stuttering as somewhere in San’s body, he was struggling with the demon.

Wooyoung allowed himself a seed of hope as the red in San’s eyes wavered almost enough to let his real eyes shine through.

“San, you have to fight it—”

 “I’m not San!”

The creature screeched with a thousand voices behind him and repositioned the blade at Seonghwa’s neck.

Wooyoung risked a glance. Seonghwa was beginning to fade, the trail of blood growing and his eyes falling shut.

Wooyoung didn’t know what to do.

This demon-possessed San was clearly volatile and Wooyoung knew if he stepped any closer, Seonghwa’s throat would be sliced through entirely.

The longer he kept still, the more San seemed to calm. “That’s it,” Wooyoung coaxed him like a caged animal. “Come on San, I know you’re fighting...”

“Wooyoung!”

Hongjoong’s voice from behind startled all three, Seonghwa opening his eyes again and Wooyoung turning to see the captain jog up from the battlefield.

“What’s this? You called for help?” The demon took control again, growled and removed the knife for a moment, gesturing to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong didn’t give Wooyoung a chance to answer. “Whoever you are, you have no business with San. Leave him be!”

Again, a chilling grin painted San’s once familiar face. “Sorry to disobey, Captain, but we need Seonghwa here for the sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” Hongjoong whispered in confusion, but the demon continued speaking anyway.

“Island creatures and common folk simply won’t do. It must be a member of—”

San suddenly toppled to the ground, a tranquilliser sticking out of the back his neck.

Everyone looked behind him, open-mouthed, to see who had shot it.

Yeosang relaxed and holstered his smoking gun. “What? You never know when you’ll need one of those.”

As Hongjoong and Yeosang separated San and Seonghwa, Wooyoung stumbled forward to check San, hoping to any deity that would listen for the black in his friend’s veins to vanish.

“Hey, stay awake.”

Seonghwa realised he was on the ground and forced his eyes open. He could only make out a blur of red hair, but he recognised the voice and the hands pressing onto his throat.

He tried to stay awake, but he didn’t really want to.

“Stay awake, that’s an order!”

The world was hazy, and Seonghwa wasn’t sure if it was the smoke-filled air or his waning consciousness.

“Careful, you’ll crush his windpipe!”

That was Yeosang’s voice.

Everything mixed together in a circus of sounds and colours but Seonghwa was trying, oh so hard...

“I have to hold his vein together or he’ll bleed out!”

“Just ease up, he’ll choke to death if you keep pressing so hard...”

Admittedly, Seonghwa couldn’t feel much of anything anymore. Someone had drawn him into their arms and now they were moving, rushing back through the burning forest and across the beach.

The chaos around him was beginning to wane. Crashing waves, crackling fire, and shouting men. Seonghwa drifted into sleep.

When he next awoke, he was laying on a table and something was pricking his neck. He could see Yeosang to his left, rubbing an ointment of some kind onto a sleeping Mingi’s back to treat what looked like burns.

So they were in the sickbay.

Seonghwa tried to turn his head to see who was on his other side when a cough came from that direction, but was stopped by a hand and a gentle shushing voice.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Hongjoong’s blood-covered hands patiently stitching something.

His eyes lingered on the captain’s concentrated face and he finally realised Hongjoong was stitching him.

Some vein must have been severed when San had grabbed him...

The details were fuzzy, but when he tried to make a noise to ask what happened, he was again quieted.

“It’s alright,” Hongjoong didn’t look up. “You can sleep now.”

He didn’t have to tell him twice.

When the wound was closed and the blood had been washed away, Hongjoong finally stepped out of the stuffy room and went to the quarterdeck.

The entire island was on fire.

Long had Hongjoong imagined this accursed place consumed in a fiery blaze. Like Babylon, it was a demon from the past. And Hongjoong intended for Babylon to meet the same fate.

He watched trees collapse and smoke plume into the now nighttime air and decided he needed a drink.

In the past thirty minutes, they had followed Babylon’s ship south at a safe distance, imprisoned San’s still twitching body in the brig, and convened in the infirmary to patch each other up.

Hongjoong emptied the last drops of rum into his mouth and slumped into his chair. Half of his men had been taken out, almost killed. And Babylon had gotten away with little more than surface wounds, despite their best efforts.

It lit his blood on fire as he thought about how close some of them had been to death. Yunho coughing up blood yet silently gripping his broken rib, lethargic Mingi’s blistering red skin, holding Seonghwa’s throat together with his own hands as he bled out...

Hongjoong hurled the empty bottle at the closest wall and watched it shatter.

They were no closer to killing off this menace and now his crew was suffering for it.

A timid knock came from the door and he called for them to enter. It was Yeosang.

“They’re all stable.” Yeosang’s eyes were on the broken glass as he spoke. “Mingi’s awake now, too.”

Hongjoong came out from behind the desk and followed his navigator back to the infirmary.

Mingi was sitting up with his own glass of rum, probably for the pain.

Hongjoong waited for Yeosang to go back over to Seonghwa before taking a seat and clearing his throat.

“I never thanked you properly.”

Mingi smiled lopsidedly.

“What for?”

“Yunho and Jongho tell me you ran into an explosion to rescue me,” Hongjoong couldn’t help but return the smile as he teased, “You wouldn’t do something as crazy as that, would you?”

“We both know you’ve done crazier. But for the record, it was an exploding tornado, actually.”

Classic Mingi.

Before he could respond, Hongjoong was cut off by Wooyoung entering breathlessly.

“It’s San. He’s awake.”

...

Jongho interrupted his stare off through the cell bars with San to greet the entering Captain, Yeosang, and Wooyoung.

“He’s...?”

“Still possessed,” Jongho explained, sparing Yeosang from fumbling through the question. “But now it seems he has nothing to say.”

“Nothing to say?” Hongjoong crouched in front of the bars and tilted his head. “He had so much to tell us earlier about the sacrifice and all.”

“Aye, what was that about?” Wooyoung crossed his arms, infinitely uncomfortable with the fact that it appeared to be San they were interrogating.

The demon in question remained against the far wall, staring back unblinking from his blood red eyes. At the sound of Wooyoung’s voice, he turned his head slightly to face him. But it wasn’t enough.

“Why did you need Seonghwa?” Yeosang pitched in. “You said it couldn’t be an animal or a commoner. Why?”

Finally, San blinked. But again he said nothing.

Jongho sighed and slammed his fist against the bars, trying and failing to intimidate the creature. “You had better leave San! Or we’ll find a way to drag you out screaming.”

Seeing that this was going nowhere, Hongjoong rose and beckoned for the others to follow. “He’s not getting out of there anytime soon, and the rest of us need to talk.”

They took their conversation to the forecastle, where they could keep their eyes on the dark and distant hull of Babylon’s ship in the distance as well as speak openly.

“We’re it,” Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The others need to stay and recover. But Babylon has to be stopped, and I don’t want to risk a shootout, which means—”

“Land ho!”

It was Yeosang, with his spyglass trained on the mountainous blob that Babylon was headed for.

“—we go to him,” Hongjoong finished his sentence and squinted through his own spyglass.

All four gathered their wits and inspected the island before them. Wooyoung borrowed Yeosang’s spyglass and peered at it himself.

“His home?”

“More like his lair, the villainous snake,” Jongho sneered, and then shrugged when Wooyoung balked at his harsh sarcasm. “What? Never have I wanted to eviscerate someone as badly as I do him.”

Wooyoung shook his head and tuned in as Hongjoong laid out the plan.

“Yeosang and Jongho— I need you in stealth gear at the longboats in five. Wooyoung, I’m trusting you to stay here and keep an eye on everyone.”

Wooyoung couldn’t stop a childish whine from escaping.

“But I could be of use to you out there, why do I have to stay and—”

“San seems to respond to you,” Hongjoong cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to keep trying with him, and look after the others.”

It felt like being sidelined, and Wooyoung didn’t like that. But he dropped his head and mumbled in agreement.

Five minutes later, Hongjoong was saddled up with as many weapons as he could fit under his blackest clothing and pushing a longboat out over the water.

Having said their goodbyes, Jongho and Yeosang joined him and got in, helping to lower the boat. Jongho began to row without prompt but Yeosang turned and kept his eyes on the ATEEZ. “The others won’t be happy that you left without explaining anything,” Yeosang muttered.

Hongjoong shook his head. “This ends tonight. One way or another.” And that was the end of it.

 ...

To Yeosang’s relief, he was stationed to keep a lookout once the three reached the island. There was a single building on top of the northern facing cliff and Jongho and Hongjoong were making their way up to it.

Somehow in the chaos following the battle, Yeosang’s nerves had calmed. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the most plausible answer was that having seen what he had in the past 24 hours, how much worse could it get?

He loaded his gun and wondered if Wooyoung was having any luck with San.

...

“I knew you’d be back.”

Wooyoung almost jumped in surprise.

San had finally spoken from his cell, just as he entered the brig.

His voice was still dark and unfamiliar, but at least he was talking.

“How could you be sure?”

Wooyoung settled across from him, sitting in a non-threatening way against the opposing wall.

San tilted his head in what seemed to be a gesture of curiosity. The corners of his lips raised, and fear settled in Wooyoung’s stomach.

“San trusts you immensely.”

To hear him speaking in third person was off-putting, but what he said intrigued Wooyoung even more.

“He let you in on the truth— on his weakness to resist me— before anyone else.”

It was smug of the demon to say, but not entirely incorrect.

“And you kept his secret.”

Wooyoung frowned. This wasn’t about his blunders, it was about the demon and what he was after.

“So? You think I’ll be a cooperative host candidate for your demon friends?”

San laughed a disquieting laugh. “No. Were you listening at all? We don’t need the blood of a commoner. We need the blood of a king.”

Wooyoung’s flesh began to crawl as things started to fall in place. “Seonghwa.”

“Yes. Inhabiting you or anyone else is a waste of time. Seonghwa is the sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice for what?” Wooyoung knew it was dangerous to be so transparent about his questions with the demon, but this one was at the root of everything and he needed it answered.

San scoffed and shifted where he sat. “You know nothing of demons, do you?”

Wooyoung didn’t dignify that with a response. Eventually, San continued.

“We can inhabit whomever we wish, but the more powerful and influential the individual, the further our influence will reach.”

“What, like an... invasion?”

“Of sorts. With the help of a master sorcerer, an army of demons could inhabit every human on the face of the earth. No such sorcerer exists, not even Babylon, though he tried. The other way is through the sacrifice.”

He looked at Wooyoung like it was obvious.

“Seonghwa is currently second in line to the throne. All I needed was to make him my new host.”

Suddenly, Wooyoung stood up. San’s eyes followed him, suspicious.

As the demon’s plan unfolded before him, Wooyoung realised none of them were truly safe in his presence. He began to back towards the door, and San leapt to his feet and gripped the bars. Fangs shot from his mouth as Wooyoung picked up the pace.

“There are more of us lying in wait! No one is safe, we’ll get to the sacrifice eventually—”

Wooyoung slammed the door shut and made for the infirmary. All three patients were asleep, but it wasn’t them that he needed. He tore through San’s desk, searching every crevice for the spellbook pages, or any information on dark magic.

Finally, curled up in a ball in the bottom drawer, he found them and began to read.

It all made sense.

Possessing Seonghwa was an easy avenue to power by killing the king and crown prince and assuming the throne.

And this demon had almost done it.

The secret lay in a line at the end of the page. There were two steps. First; spill his blood. Second; look him in the eyes. The eyes are windows to the soul.

Wooyoung lowered his shaking hand and dropped the pages back on the desk.

Seonghwa’s blood had been spilled, but his eyes had fallen shut.

Wooyoung’s stalling back on the island had prevented the demon from completing the process. And now he was stuck inside San, until someone came to him with blood and open eyes.

As an extra measure, Wooyoung rifled through the bandage collection and selected some strips of cloth, tying them as blindfolds around the heads of the three patients.

San would have to hold on a little longer.

...

Jongho slammed the metal pick into the slab of rock above him and continued to haul himself up.

He had a pick in each hand, and a rope tied to a makeshift harness around his waist, that Hongjoong was attached to.

They were halfway up the cliff and, judging by Yeosang’s thumbs up from below, they had still gone unnoticed.

His muscles were aching, but he knew he could cross the distance with only a few more pulls so he latched the pick in his right hand into the rock next to the other one and heaved.

Hongjoong was thankfully light and his weight was distributed evenly as he swung underneath, kicking off the cliff-face when he got too close to it.

There was one last ridge to get over before they made it to the surface, and Jongho strained with all his might to pull himself and Hongjoong over it.

Hongjoong patted the youngest’s back gratefully as they waved down at Yeosang. “Good work, it should be easier on the way down.”

The two of them clung to the shadows, keeping their footsteps light and blending into the night. “Masks up,” Hongjoong ordered. Soon they reached a mansion.

“That window is open,” Jongho pointed out, already swinging the grappling rope. On Hongjoong’s nod, he sent it up, waiting for the telltale clink of the weight finding its mark.

Both paused and listened for noise, preparing to disappear should anyone have been roused, but all remained silent.

Again Hongjoong nodded, and Jongho began to scale the rope.

He was adept enough at rigging to clamber up quickly and once he crossed the ledge and signalled down to Hongjoong, the captain made his way up just as fast.

Jongho helped him in and then retrieved the rope, coiling it while Hongjoong moved about what appeared to be a bedroom.

“Babylon’s?” Jongho whispered. Hongjoong looked up from the papers scattered across the desk and nodded. The two moved out into a hallway. “Finish checking the upstairs level,” Hongjoong’s voice was low as he began to descend the staircase. “I’ll look around down here.”

Jongho nodded and turned to the nearest door, knife in hand.

He took a deep breath and cracked it open.

Downstairs, the place was eerily quiet. Hongjoong moved soundlessly from room to room, wondering how the place was maintained without servants.

Probably with magic, he realised.

In his haste to get back to Jongho, he almost missed a door.

It was marked with the word “Infirmary.”

Of course!

Babylon had been injured in the explosion just hours earlier, it made sense that he’d be staying in the infirmary to recuperate.

His hand found the handle and he slowly began to turn it before an almost imperceptible noise sounded from back down the hallway.

Hongjoong froze.

After a moment, he released the handle and began to sneak toward the sound. It was like muffled footsteps, the owner of them trying to mask the sound and move about unnoticed.

He reached the entryway, half afraid it was his imagination playing tricks or Babylon’s magic toying with their minds, until he saw it.

It was a person, stealthily creeping towards him until both stopped in their tracks at the sight of each other.

Hongjoong lowered his mask in shock.

“Eden?”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @yunhopuff @celestial-yunho @theinvisablessed @yeosangry

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger hehe but you should be used to this by now. Plus I gave you a long chapter, however tense it was :P Reminder that voting for the next spinoff ends Wednesday night, so get in your opinions now!  Ask box and freetalk are always open and as usual you can yell at me on twitter @/tiny_tokki and don’t forget to comment! (The more comments, the more motivated I am to write so.....)

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[rueitae]

Forget Me Not

My fic for the @plance-spring-zine now that it’s shipped out!

In a world where humanity is confined to the treetops to survive, Lance finds himself stranded deep in the forest away from home as winter (and certain death) approaches swiftly. He finds a last glimpse of hope in a fading point of light. What he finds on the other side of the light not only saves his life, but saves his heart as well.

It's a winter he never wants to forget.

Rating: Teen

Length: 9.850 words

Pairing: Plance

Tags: Major Character Death (though the story continues in the afterlife). Angst and fluff with a happy ending. sick fic. emotional hurt/comfort. domesticity. goddess pidge. mortal lance.

Read on Ao3

~~~~~

Lance needs to be home before the earthquakes start.

But he isn’t leaving without Keith. 

“Keith! Keith where are you? Say something!” Lance yells breathlessly in between sprints. He hates being the responsible adult, especially since it means searching for an angry preteen deep in the woods.

A gangly root hidden by dense undergrowth catches his ankle. He slips forward, heart jumping to his throat as the ground slams into his face. Mud splatters his bare arms and soaks into his pants.

The Great Forest predates even the Disasters. And with large, winding roots that criss-cross narrow paths, Lance should be more careful. 

He pushes himself up and ignores the mud staining his clothes and the scrapes and bruises that might mar his skin. His health and hygiene won’t matter if he can’t find Keith and get them both home in time. He curses the kid’s recklessness. The chase took him into territory unfamiliar even to the cartographers. Lance isn’t sure he can find home at this point.

“Keith!” he screams again at the top of his lungs, desperate. Thunder steals the rest of his words and lightning flashes overhead. The perpetually overcast sky seems darker now as if it were night instead of the middle of the day, and a single drop of rain lands on his cheek.

It won’t be long now. The mystical force that protects the Great Forest from the outside elements wanes as it does every fall, only to return with the first signs of spring.

The forest, high in the trees, is the only safe place left on Earth.

It’s where Lance - and Keith and Hunk - should be. 

“Say anything!” Lance yells. “Just let me know you’re okay!” The rolling thunder increases in frequency and his breaths speed to match it. “Come on, Keith! Do you really think Shiro would want you risking your life for him like this?”

Not that Shiro has time to feel guilty over it, Lance thinks. The doctors are convinced this is Shiro’s last winter - if he even makes it to spring. Refusing to accept the diagnosis, Keith ran off in search of the forest goddess, to ask her if she would save Shiro like she saved him as a baby.

He refused to let anyone tell him the forest goddess had no control over human diseases - if she even exists.

Only the sound of rain falling onto the leaves of the trees and down on him answers. Lance falls to his hands and knees in exhaustion, working to catch his breath and slumping with a heavy heart. He’s not going to find Keith in time at this rate. 

A crisp autumn breeze shoots through the air and the rain picks up in intensity. Lance sits up and shivers, holding his arms close to himself. He prays that the legend of the forest goddess is true and that she led Hunk and Keith to each other at least, and home.

He can only afford to do the same for himself after he finds shelter. Then he can worry about surviving the Disasters until spring.

In the near distance, a grove of trees seems brighter than the rest of the forest, as if it’s summer’s last bastion.

It will have to do, whatever it is.

Lance sprints, stretching his body to its limit for this glimmer of hope. The ground softens as the rain continues to fall, mud sucking at his feet and hampering his speed.

The trees’ shadows blend into the murky dark as the light from the grove fades. Gusts steady and the air chills as the rain intensifies, sapping the heat from his arms and heart. 

He will die for certain if he doesn’t make it to safety. This light is all he has to grasp onto.

Lance isn’t sure what possesses him to yell, “Wait for me!” Keith and Hunk won’t be able to help, and no one lives out here.

As if in response to his cries, the light steadies. Lance breaks through the treeline and is stunned into stopping.

Any other day he'd be in awe at the ruins before him, looking older than most pre-Disaster structures that survived. Moss and vines coat the finely carved columns arranged in a circle, mirroring the treeline, but all but one lay broken as large pieces of stone.

At the center shines the source of the light.

Lance walks towards it. With no shelter in sight, he knows he should be panicking, but this place holds a sense of peace that even the howling winds can’t disturb.

The light emanates from an orb atop a chest-high pedestal and shines on his face like a torch amid the deepening darkness surrounding him. Swirls of spring greens and yellows dance in the orb, illuminated only by the very last flicker of light.

His heart twists in fear when can’t see the ruins any longer, much less the treeline he passed to get to them. He swallows a sob in his throat and cries. Soon he'll be locked in complete darkness, awaiting death by starvation - if the Disasters don’t reach him first.

"I'm so sorry, Mama," he whispers. He has his voice to keep him company at least, though it’s a poor distraction from his fear.

Unintelligible whispers reach his ears, quickly overcome by running water far calmer than the raging floods he’s used to. 

His jaw drops. The sounds seem to be coming from the glass orb, the light now only a dot.

He reaches out and touches it.

Instantly roaring water rushes over him. It threatens to overtake and wash him away, but he pushes back, unwilling to be swept away to his death so easily. He tries to hold tight to the orb, but his fingers pass through. Yet… he stands firm as the current washes over him. 

When Lance dares to open his eyes, he is no longer among the ruins. Streaks of blues and whites stream across a black void with no distinguishable landmarks. A circle of solid blue pools beneath his feet.

He doesn’t know where he is or what is pushing him, but stubbornness and fear alone freeze him in place.

"Lance!"

Surprised to hear a voice besides his own, he searches for the owner. An indistinct figure waves to him from a puddle of green. Pools of purple, red, and yellow complete the circle, each in the exact place where the columns stood.

"Lance, let go!"

He can’t tell who the voice is, but it tingles with familiarity. The tone promises far better than the alternative that awaits him here or outside.

So he lets go.

~~~~~

Lance wakes to the sound of chirping birds and the sweet aroma of flowers. He rests on something soft, with a light weight on top of him.

It’s warm, like the first day of spring. He moans in contentment. He imagines lying on a bed of grass surrounded by his friends and family celebrating the end of winter; a far cry from the cold and darkness he's just come from.

Wait. The warmth on his shoulders feels so real. How can it be when the sun hides behind the clouds through the winter?

He opens his eyes and sits up too quickly, his head spinning with vertigo. He nearly falls back down, but once the dizziness fades, he isn’t sure he believes what he sees.

His bed is really more of a lounge chair, plush and upholstered with purple fabric, and the same soft down in the pillows packs the blanket.

He’s back in the ruins, but they’re no longer ruined. Five intact columns in a circle reach for the cloudless blue sky, surrounded themselves by dense forest. A different color - purple, red, blue, green, and yellow - coats each of them. Between them, thick grass and clusters of wildflowers grow around neat stone sidewalk that lead to the where he lies in bed...and where the orb sits on a pedestal in the exact center.

It looks like the home of a god - the forest goddess, he supposes as he sucks in a terrified breath. What else explains the void and how the autumn tempest became peaceful springtime? Was he rescued or kidnapped?

"You woke up sooner than I thought."

The voice from behind startles him, and Lance falls off the makeshift bed onto soft grass, his legs entangled with the blanket. 

He stands clumsily, peering over the back of the bed-chair, recognizing the last voice he’d heard.

Time to meet the forest goddess.

Lance keeps his head low (that was proper procedure for meeting a deity, right?). His gaze slowly rises starting from her sandals. Pale green robes drape her figure and golden jewelry shines in the sunlight. Her necklace holds a green gem with swirls of similar hues twisting about inside. Her auburn hair is untamed and cut short to her chin and her glasses...

Her glasses?

Finally, he looks upon her face...

And remembers everything.

Fourteen years old and lost in the forest. She holds his hand and walks him to the edge of the village, scolding him for not listening to his parents.

Sixteen and she teaches him the calls of birds and where the animals live. She jumps into piles of leaves with him in the early fall. 

Eighteen and they explore the forest together. The ruins are her temple and home. 

Twenty when he realizes how lonely she is and how much his friendship means to her. He kissed her forehead, promising to never forget her -

Told her how she’d affected his heart.

Not a forest goddess. Pidge hates that term, prefers “spirit”.

Love wasn’t strong enough. He'd forgotten her. Again.

"Oh quiznak," he moans. His arms drape over the back of the bed-chair as he falls forward. "Pidge, I - I’m so sorry."

She shrugs and gives him a sympathetic smile. "It's not your fault, Lance. You're mortal. You're going to forget me every time we part."

Anticipation drains from his body, at ease in her presence. The fond memories of their time together overwhelm him with joy, and he can think of only one way to release it. 

Pidge blinks in surprise as he approaches, such a human response that always makes him forget she isn’t. “Lance? What are you — “ 

He wraps his arms around her. “I hate missing you when I don’t know I’m missing you,” he says. “You left so suddenly. I thought I’d never see you again!”

She stiffens and protests, “Lance! We talked about this. You’re getting older and I don’t age - “

“You’re still my friend first,” he interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear her completely rational and valid explanation. He knows he’s being selfish, but he doesn’t care. He won’t remember or miss her. Pidge will watch him live without her in blissful ignorance and happiness before watching him die…

“I love you,” he confesses, echoing their last meeting. “I’m okay with whatever you want us to be. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore than you already are.” His heart breaks at his willingness to accept no for an answer.

Reluctantly she relaxes and reciprocates the hug, and the longer he holds her, the tighter she grips him. “Thank you,” she whispers. He takes small comfort in her regretful tone, at least knowing the rejection doesn’t come from a lack of feelings. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she says after a long pause, dropping her arms from his back. “Mortals aren’t supposed to be able to enter this place.” Her brows furrow in thought. “I think. It’s never happened before.”

“But you saved me,” Lance says as he backs away. The pain of rejection is easily put aside by her attention to the problem at hand while a sense of foreboding bubbles in his gut. “Is that why you called out in that void place?”

“It is,” she admits. She paces for several steps, twisting fistfuls of fabric from her sleeves. “But you got there on your own, Lance. I don’t understand why or how but,” she sighs and offers a weak, but soft smile, “at least you’re safe.”

Safe. The word triggers panic. “Hunk and Keith. Are they okay?” he squeaks. “Did—”

“They’re fine,” Pidge interrupts. She pivots to the glass orb and beckons him to follow. Lance stands behind her, wary that the orb may once again whisk him away without warning. 

She waves a hand over it. The greenish hues transform into Hunk’s porch. There, his family ushers him and Keith inside, and a giant wave crashes against the door as soon as they slam the door shut. The water blends into swirling teals as the scene fades, the orb returning to its base greens.

Lance clutches his chest at the close call. It seems the floods are the first Disaster this winter, but at least Keith will be in good hands with Hunk’s family.

“I had to make sure they got back to the village,” Pidge says, trembling. Tears prick at her eyes when they meet his. “I knew you were out there,” she growls in frustration. “I just don’t understand how you’re here. You should be dead.”

Lance forces himself to smile for her sake; there’s no sense in adding any unneeded angst to her immortal life. Pidge has always been more human than she lets on, her love of human progress and joy in tinkering a testament to that. She needs comforting just like he does. 

“Well, I’m here.” He shrugs, putting on an air of confidence. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. You can just send me home, right? We can figure it out in the spring.”

Pidge doesn’t respond right away. Every second that passes causes his smile to deepen into a frown, worry churning in his gut. 

His heart twists at his conclusion. “You can’t,” he says. The memories of his time with Pidge play on fast forward in his mind, none during the dead of fall and winter. “And you can’t leave until spring either.”

Pidge nods. “I’m sorry, Lance. I know how close you are to your family.” She lifts her arms and green balls of light flicker at her fingertips. “I’m not even sure if I can once my powers return if I don’t find out how you managed to get here in the first place.”

An entire winter apart from his family? And they’d think him dead? In a strange immortal realm where he isn’t supposed to be? 

His heart drops into his stomach. 

But he’s with Pidge, and that emboldens him. “Ha. Are you kidding? Of course you’ll be able to get me home,” he boasts instead. “Pidge, I have seen you do amazing things.” He pivots on his left foot, gesturing wildly at the world around them. “You’ve saved more people over the centuries than I can count, and everyone remembers when you brought us Keith.” He snorts and puts a hand on his hip. “Hard to forget a walking tree.” 

Instead of glowing, Pidge clenches her fists. “I couldn’t save his father,” she confesses. 

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically in an attempt to match her mood before trying to lift it. “You saved Keith though. You did what literally anyone would do.”

Pidge closes her eyes. “I just… when I first realized what I was, I thought I could save everyone. People still drown, still burn, still get hit by debris. I can’t control the elements, only bolster the forest.” 

She takes a deep, trembling breath. “I’m so sick of not knowing why me,” she yells upwards. “I’ve tried to fix things, but it’s never enough! Maybe if the other elements were regulated like I do with the forest, but,” she drops to the knees and pounds her fists into the ground, “I have waited so long, and no one has come to take charge of them.”

Anger fills him at the implication that there should be others like Pidge to control the elements that keep humanity confined, that make the earth before the Disasters more legend than history with every generation...and that she’s so alone. 

He’s by her side in an instant, hand on her back to let her know he is here. “I don’t understand. Are the others lazy? Don’t they care about how bonkers the world is?”

“I don’t think they exist yet,” Pidge spits in disgust. Lance helps her to stand, struck by the dark bags under her eyes contrasting with paler skin than he remembers. Can immortals get tired?  She walks to the green column and places her hand on a single decorative marking. “The green pillar is the only one that glows.” She sighs, more reflective than angry now. “It’s been like that ever since I was brought here.”

“Wait, brought? You didn’t come here on your own?” Something clicks in his mind as her strange phrasing comes together. “Didn’t you always know what you were?”

Her face twists in uncertainty, transitioning to defeat. She drops her hand from the pillar and turns to face him, shoulders slumped. 

“It hurts to think about sometimes,” she begins. “That’s why I never said anything to you before. I used to be human.”

“Wait, what?” Lance shrieks in shock. 

Pidge nods, giving him a perturbed glance before explaining. “I remember Earth the way it used to be, before the Galra came and incited the constant natural disasters. My family escaped to the forest, but it was wild too, just like the elements. They founded the village you live in.”

“The Galra are real,” Lance echoes disbelievingly, “and you used to be human.” Lance laughs. “Next you’ll be saying I’m a guardian spirit too.” There seem to be a few job openings, and he’d be better than no one.

Pidge scowls and clenches her fists. “I’m telling the truth! I — “ she pauses, her entire demeanor changing. She stares at him, eyes wide and body rigid. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance blurts out of shame. This did explain a lot, such as her mannerisms and attachment to the village. She had a family. “How - how long have you been alone?”

Pidge doesn’t respond. She doesn’t look angry at him any longer either, but she looks scared - for him.

The moment breaks as she coughs. Lance winces at the deepness and how wet it sounds. Do spirits get sick? He steps forward and opens his mouth - 

“I’m fine!” she squeaks before he can ask. “I - I’m just not used to hosting anyone here. I’m glad it’s you, it’s just… weird.”

Lance sighs, shoulders slumping. She lets him take her hand and lead her to the bed. “Well, now you’ve got a roommate for the winter,” he jokes as he encourages her to sit, which she does heavily. “Ha. Do we have to share a bed too?”

The words come out of his mouth before he can think, but with it comes the revelation that he wouldn’t mind sharing with Pidge. But he won’t. Not until she says so, and he won’t push the issue. He can’t risk never seeing her again.

Pidge covers another cough with her arm before saying, “You can have it. I don’t need sleep. Not like you do.”

Why have a bed if she doesn’t need sleep?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks instead. “That cough sounds bad.” 

Her gaze pierces his soul as if to judge him. In the moment he understands the untold amount of power his friend truly has. 

But an instant later she slumps her shoulders and her eyes soften, looking as human as he. 

“Since you’re staying I should probably tell you everything,” she concedes. She pats the spot next to her, bidding him to sit. She rests her head on his shoulder, looking more like a tired child than a goddess. 

“I don’t just lose my powers during the winter,” she explains more to the ground than him. “I also get sick. My life is never in danger, but I get sore and drained of all my energy.” She flashes him an apologetic smile. “I won’t be very good company; you’ll have to plan most of our Monsters and Mana story.”

Sympathy washes over him. Smiling, he takes her hand in his. “It would be my honor,” he says. “I’ll keep you company and make sure you’re comfy cozy - warm soups, blankets, massages - you name it! It’ll be the best winter you’ve ever had!”

Pidge stares at him, her mouth agape, before it wobbles and her eyes well up with tears. “My own family couldn’t even see me after I died. I don’t know how or why you can, but I treasure every second you spend with me.”

Warmth surges in his chest as she jerks up and wraps her arms around his neck. He aches for his family, but they have each other and Lance has no choice. He will just have to surprise them all in the spring by being alive. Pidge needs him more right now.

“You’ve been alone too long,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll make sure you’re never lonely again.”

“You can’t keep that promise,” she says, shivering. “You’re mortal, and I’m the only thing between your village and destruction. I need to focus. I’ve already spent too much time fantasizing about this to - “

“Fantasizing, huh?” Lance chuckles. His lips are right there, and it takes zero effort to kiss her cheeks. It’s quick and friendly, emboldened by their years of friendship and the flame of longing that still burns in his chest (though he wonders if he imagines the chill on her skin). “That’s not fair, Pidge. I can only think about you when I see you.”

Pidge breaks the hug and wipes away snot with the sleeve of the beautiful dress that Lance will never see the likes of outside books. “You barely know me,” she says sternly, punching him dispassionately in the arm. “I only see you for half a year, and you forget. That’s asking a lot of you to even be my friend.”

“You’re not asking, I’m giving,” he says immediately, hope surging that she may reconsider the nature of their relationship. “Even if I do forget, I remember everything as soon as I see you. You love the early spring snowball fights, peanut butter cookies, and games.” He laughs. “Remember when I first brought my Monsters and Mana pieces into the forest? I had so much fun, I almost didn’t make it home before dark for a few weeks.”

Her mouth twitches, fighting to hold back a smile and losing. She’s more beautiful than a summer sunset. His heart swells, wanting nothing more than to just lean in and show her… but Pidge hardly looks to be in the romantic mood. “I guess,” she responds. “It’d be even better with more than two people, though. You’re a great friend, Lance, you’re just my only friend.”

He takes her hand, pouring his sincerity into the touch. He’d go insane if only one person could see him, he can’t imagine how it is for her. “We’ll just have to make the best of it until others can see you! I like spending time with you, Pidge. We can expand our game as much as we want, and you can show me around the forest before you get too sick and tell me about your family. I want to know everything about Pidge, not just the springtime Pidge.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, locking eyes with him. “We’d never be a normal couple.”

“It’s the best feeling in the world when I remember all our times together. I don’t mind. Are… you okay with that?”

Pidge steels her gaze. “I think I’d rather spend what time I have with you to the fullest than wonder what could have been. I want…” her eyes soften, “I want to see what happens.”

“Me too.” Lance smiles, cheeks warming. He kisses her knuckles, earning a red glow from Pidge’s face. “Maybe it was the power of love that brought me here?” he teases.

Pidge considers him carefully, biting at her lower lip. “I have a different theory about why,” she says, “but I don’t have enough evidence. I think -“

She heaves forward, rolling into his side in a coughing fit. Lance puts a hand on her back and rubs, like his mother would do for him. 

He hopes he can help her, ease her pain in any way. 

“I’m fine,” she rasps once finished, rubbing her tearful eyes with the palm of her hand. “It’s like this every year.”

Lance takes her into a gentle hug, careful to give her space to cough and wipe her eyes. 

“Not this year,” he says. “This year you’ve got me.”

~~~~~

Lance kneels in the tall grass alongside the creek, drawing water with a tightly woven basket. He stands and wipes sweat from his brow. Though his home sits in the depths of winter, this world is forever entrenched in spring.

A smaller basket filled with an assortment of plants sits on the bank. He’s gathering herbs and fresh water at Pidge’s request in anticipation for the worst of her illness this winter. He left while she napped, hoping to use their time while she’s awake to its maximum potential.

“There you are!”

He's not expecting to hear her voice so suddenly as he climbs the embankment.

Lance yelps and slips backwards. The basket of water flies out of his hands and his back stings when it hits the surface of the stream.

“Lance!” Pidge yells in worry. 

Lance doesn’t panic, even when the water invades his nostrils. He’s used to the forest here and needs only to sit his bum on the sandy, weed-choked riverbed to push his upper body above water. He spits out what’s entered his mouth and slicks back his hair, wiping his face with wet hands

“Seriously, Pidge? I thought you were sleeping,” he complains. 

“I was!” she says as she slides down the bank to the edge of the stream. “Then I woke up and you were gone,” she pauses to cough, deeper and more rapidly than the day before. 

Lance winces. How much worse will she get? It’s only been a few weeks. 

“I thought you’d gotten sent back someho —“ She stares, mouth open wide. 

Lance furrows his brow and follows her gaze. It’s on him, specifically his chest, which if he looks down… is easily visible now that his thin cotton shirt is soaking wet. 

She’s… ogling him? 

Worry for Pidge’s worsening condition temporarily forgotten, Lance knows an opportunity when he sees one. A mischievous grin overtakes his face as he teases, . “Enjoying the view, my goddess?”

Her face turns bright red. “Lance!” She sputters indignantly, coughing and putting a clutching hand over her chest. “I was seriously worried about you...and I’m a spirit, not a goddess!”

She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, giving him pause; she really is giving him the lookover. His cheeks burn despite the cool water that drips off his body. He knows it’s just Pidge, but that almost makes it worse than an honest to goodness - correct term or not - goddess appreciating his sex appeal. 

He clears his throat and pulls at his shirt, attempting to make it less form-fitting. “Enough to go looking for me?” he asks instead. “I figured I could get the pain relief supplies while you slept. You need it, Pidge.”

“Sleep isn’t going to help me get better. This is a magical illness. I won’t get better until spring.” She coughs, once, and not deep. 

Lance crosses his arms, a crazy idea popping into his head. “Well, if you’re not going to sleep…” he reaches out and grabs her arm, “then you can join me for a cool bath!” And he yanks her into the stream with him. 

Pidge screams in surprise as she crashes into the water next to him, spitting it out of her mouth a moment later when she sits next to him. 

Lance is pleased with himself as she attempts to dry, until his eyes fall a bit too far. The water drenching her makes her loose dress heavy, the neckline low enough to reveal more cleavage than he’s prepared to see. Fresh from the revelation of Pidge’s thoughts, it feels as if the water boils around him as he looks for literally anything else to observe. 

Her hair slicks back even better than his and he’s shocked to discover her glasses are only frames as she takes them off to wipe her face. He’s never seen her without them. It softens her features, and Lance falls in love all over again. 

“You don’t need glasses?” he asks. “Why do you wear them if you don’t need them?”

Pidge is somber as she puts them back on. “They belonged to my brother. I had been...teasing him before I died, and was wearing them. Somehow, out of everything I was wearing, they passed over.”

“Oh,” Lance says lamely. He focuses on a school of minnows that nibble his toes. “I’m sorry, Pidge.”

“At least I have something to remember my family by,” she sighs. “It’s weird. I have all these powers and all these books I saved, but,” she smiles and looks to the sky, “thinking of my family and seeing what they and their descendants accomplished are what really keeps me sane.”

Lance perks up. “That’s right. You said your family founded the village.” He laughs and pokes her arm. “Who are you related to?”

Pidge rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop smiling. “Chip Gunderson is the closest living relative I have. There hasn’t been a Holt in a long time.”

Now that she tells him, Lance can easily see the same goofy grin and round race, that same thirst for knowledge and knack for machinery.

His thoughts wander and he frowns. “You said you died young. Did you...were you ever...married?” Lance doesn’t know many courting details from before the Disasters, but there were so many more people in the world. Pidge is so smart and beautiful and funny; surely she had plenty of suitors. 

Pidge stares at him for a few long moments, and he does not expect her to burst into laughter. 

“What? What’s so funny?” he asks, as confused as when he first arrived in this place. 

She hugs her sides, calming. “Things were a little different before the Disasters,” she explains. “No, I wasn’t dating anyone and I was never married.”

Lance finds relief in her admission. Even if she loved before, it wouldn’t change how he feels for her. All the same, it’s liberating, despite having never thought on it before now.

“Hey,” she bumps his arm with hers. “Romance was the last thing on my mind when I was alive, but…” Her cheeks turn a rosey pink. “I’m glad it's happening now, with you.”

All sheepishness from earlier fades with her admission, and his heart melts. He leans comfortably against her as she does on him. It doesn’t matter that they’re half submerged in a stream. Lance decides that anywhere with Pidge is the perfect place to be. 

“I’d marry you,” he blurts, “in a heartbeat if it meant we could be like this forever.”

Pidge looks up, staring into his soul with the eyes of the guardian spirit she was. “I can’t stop you from forgetting me and falling in love with someone else.”

Her statement cuts Lance deep. It’s true. He won’t remember her in between their meetings. The guilt would cut away at him forever. “I won’t,” he promises. “I’m going to wait for you. You’re my soulmate, Pidge. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re...beautiful…” Her face drifts closer “I - I know it’s a weird situation and - “ I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

She gives him a sad smile, cutting him off by placing a finger to his lips. “I want you to be happy, Lance. That starts with being with your family. Trust me on this one. Let’s make sure we can get you home first.”

He’s tried to push back his homesickness after the first week and succeeded too well. He misses his mom, dad, siblings, and friends. Lance sighs, but smiles sadly as he rests his forehead on hers. This is why he is hers; their love of family is strong. “Thank you, Pidge. I like it when you’re right.”

Pidge pecks his forehead. “Of course I’m right. I also like to keep score.”

Keep score? What kind of phrase was that?

Before Lance can ask, Pidge has already gathered up water in the cup of her hand. Her arm speeds across the water and splashes it in his face.

“Serves you right for dragging me into the water,” Pidge snarks. “I may have power over plants, but I’m not one of them.”

“Oh,” Lance says ominously once he shakes his head dry. Delighted by the spontaneous game, he stands and cups both hands in the water. “I see how it is.”

Pidge stands and leans forward, ready to pounce. “You’re not winning this one.”

Lance is drawn to her upper chest, cowl of her dress still sagging. He can’t help but wonder, as they’re about to get into a water fight, that perhaps they’re both winners so long as they each get good and wet. 

“We’ll see about that!” He strikes first, throwing as much water as he’s able in Pidge’s direction. She laughs in delight, sending a half-hearted splash his way in retaliation before turning her face away from his attack. 

It’s as if a wave washed over Pidge rather than the small splash he expected...

He dismisses it as Pidge launches her counterattack, wearing a cocky grin. This is a weird magical realm where anything can happen. 

He twists to keep the barrage away from his face, heart racing with the thrill of the game. He turns to launch his next attack and stops in his tracks. Pidge has fallen to her knees, leaning over in a coughing fit.

“Pidge!” he cries, heart thumping with renewed panic. He splashes over to her as fast as he can against the resistance of the water.

She falls into his arms as he reaches her. She shivers as the coughing abates. “I’m s-sorry,” she says weakly. “I’m so tired all of a sud--”

“Don’t talk,” he says gently as he cradles her in the water. It seems their idyllic free time is at an end, and he mourns the loss of it. “Just rest. I’ve got you, I promise. Leave everything to me.”

This is one promise he can keep.

~~~~~

Lance sets his offering down and kneels before her, the same as he does every day. “I got the usual. Ready?” 

“Please,” Pidge gasps. She lies on the bed, all blankets banished to the floor, her breathing labored. She’s barely better off than the day before, but now she has enough energy to speak. Surely she’s seen the worst of the illness and spring will soon arrive outside this realm. 

He tears some leaves and drops them into a basket of water. “I think tomorrow I’m going to go for a swim. I think I saw some Silvertails at the bottom of the lake yesterday.” He picks up a cluster of flowers and uses them to stir the mixture, squeezing them to filter out excess water. 

“They aren’t medicinal,” Pidge says. “Don’t bother.” 

With care, he pushes her bangs out of the way and lets the damp flowers rest on her forehead. “I thought you said they were pretty,” he teases. “I was going to make you a bouquet. A gift would perk you up.”

Pidge relaxes, all the tension melting away, leaving a goofy smile. “You don’t have to get me anything. I feel better already.”

“Good. It’s working faster every day.” He waggles a wet leaf above her head. The plant reacts to an overabundance of water - Pidge explained when she first instructed him - and it eases the pain in her throat. 

She opens her mouth, and he drops the leaf on her tongue. She rolls over, back to him, groaning in misery. 

Lance makes himself comfortable on the nest of discarded blankets, using the bed as a backrest. He grabs a half-finished basket from the floor next to him and begins to weave, one of many hobbies he’s picked up in his time in this realm. 

(He’s going to try underwater basket weaving one of these days, just to see an expression other than agony or relief on Pidge’s face.)

“What do you want to do next?” he airs. “Up for Monsters and Mana? Checkers?”

“You know,” she rasps. 

Lance rolls his eyes and sets the project in his lap. “Pidge, I don’t even know what half of it is saying. You’re a forest spirit; why do you have technical manuals?”

Pidge coughs, her throat too sore to say more.

He already knows: because they’re interesting (for her). Lance reaches for the pile of books at the end of the bed, grabbing the first his fingers touch. 

“SONAR: A Study of Sound,” he reads aloud. His nose wrinkles, and he sets it aside, twisting around to browse the other titles. “‘Study of Color: Extreme Quilting’? No. ‘The Cry of the Tapeworm’? What?.” He stacks them on the floor as he rules them out.  “Ah! Here we go! ‘The Colony’ - looks pretty interesting.” The cover features a flying ship. Hopeful it contains a story about space or a fantasy world in the sky, he opens it to the table of contents.

His jaw drops. “It’s an instruction manual to build a colony on Mars?” He groans and plants his face on the bed in frustration. “Pidge, do you have any actual stories?”

Pidge rolls over to face him, clutching at her pillow and smiling weakly. “Your Monsters and Mana adventures are better than any story I could read in a book.”

Lance twists to face her, heart pumping in excitement - and warmth in his cheeks from the compliment. “Your voice isn’t scratchy anymore! Feeling better?”

“I’ve been worse.” She flops an arm on his shoulder. “Help me up. I need to check outside.”

He does, allowing her to hang on his shoulder as they walk the few steps to the orb. If Pidge feels better, then his time with her is coming to an end. It’s a fact he both loves and hates.

Winter was long. He failed to take in how bored he’d be with Pidge bedridden - he didn’t know she’d get that sick. Lance misses his family too, the prospect of seeing their tearful, happy faces come spring keeping his spirits high. 

Sympathy for Pidge makes him smile. She’s been here a long time, suffering alone every winter, companionless besides him each spring. He doesn’t want that for her. It isn’t fair. 

Pidge lazily moves her hand over the orb. It changes colors, dark greens shifting to a scene of the village standing strong like every year. An orange glow at the bottom shows a raging fire burning well below the treehouses. 

“So far so good,” Lance offers. He frowns as he notices the common house as the only area with lighting inside. “Everyone’s together. I wonder what’s going on.”

Pidge clears her throat but doesn’t respond. She thrusts her fingers onto the orb and the scene changes until they look in as if through a window. 

Lance sees everyone: his parents, siblings, niece, nephew, his neighbors, Hunk and his family, and Keith… sobbing uncontrollably. Everyone has an aggrieved demeanor. 

“Shiro,” he gasps. “Pidge, can you get us closer? Can we hear what they’re saying?”

He isn’t going to get to say goodbye. 

The thought is almost too distressing, to not say a final goodbye in a village where even the elders tease him for kissing a mouse instead of Jenny, where he attends every wedding - even for the schoolmates whose cups he and Hunk slipped tadpoles into for picking on Ina - where he knows everyone’s name. The loss of anyone hurts them all, and to lose a young man… Lance swallows. Shiro isn’t that much older than he is. 

And he’s a good friend. His declining health hit them all hard, especially Keith, hopeful - or stubborn - enough to hope for a solution. 

Which put Lance in the forest at the end of fall in the first place. 

Pidge applies more pressure to the orb. The scene jumps to Shiro, his face pale as he struggles to breathe. Dr. Iverson and his family surround him. No one does much but hold his hand, lips moving in presumed words of comfort while tears stain their eyes red. 

Salt touches the edge of his mouth, but he can’t find the energy to wipe his tears. Is this how his family grieved for him?

“I’m sorry,” Pidge mutters, leaning her head into his chest. “I wish I could have helped.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assures her swiftly.

Shiro takes no last gasp of air; he simply stops breathing. The doctor covers his face with a thin blanket.

Lance bows his head to pay his respects. His heart thumps, heavy with sadness. 

A burst of violet light disrupts the somber moment. Pidge gasps and Lance squints against the piercing light. 

The purple column shines bright, pulsing. Brightest of all is a symbol varying slightly from the one on the green column but clearly of similar origin.

Lance’s mouth, agape in wonder, snaps shut. “Do-does this mean there’s a new Guardian?”

“I… guess so,” Pidge responds, voice full of longing. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

Lance squeezes her shoulder. “What do you want to do?”

Pidge straightens,  standing with her own strength for the first time in months. 

She takes a deep breath. “I need to say hello and help him understand what’s going on.”

“How do you know it’s a…” But it all lines up:  how she told him how scared and confused she was to wake up after death, learning her role by accident and necessity to save her family. 

Lance knows who they’ll be seeing.

He holds her hand as she reaches out to the column and presses her palm against the pulsing emblem. 

The spring world shatters like glass. An invisible barrier separates Lance from Pidge despite holding her hand moments before. Back in the void, he sees her clearly this time, standing across from him with a solid green circle beneath her feet. It’s the same as when he first touched the orb, only now purple tinges the darkness and red and blue stars dot the sky. 

Lance braces himself as an unseen force pushes him backwards, struggling to hold his ground against the waves. 

Shiro stands within a purple circle, breathing and clothed in silky robes of pitch black speckled with the stars themselves. A barely visible vortex swirls where his diseased right arm once was. 

“What - what’s going on?” Shiro asks frantically. He beholds his new arm as his other shakes, eyes wide and body rigid. “Where am I? Who are - Lance? Is this the afterlife?”

“Kind of,” Pidge admits. “I’m Pidge, and Lance is still technically alive. You - “

The force of the invisible wave wins over his will and Lance falls backward. He winces, anticipating solid ground.

His back meets soft cushions instead, his ears filled with the familiar birdsong of spring. He opens his eyes to Pidge’s realm.

Hours pass without Pidge. Never has he felt such restlessness. He knows Shiro needs her guidance, but the sounds of animals do little to alleviate the wrongness of not having Pidge there, accentuating the otherworldliness of the realm. 

He paces the temple area, pausing to examine the columns. The purple column now glows steadily. He wonders if it will take a long time for the other three to arrive. The thought makes him queasy, realizing that the right person has to die to protect humanity. What would he do with such a burden? 

He plops down by the bed. 

He fiddles with strings of bark left from his basket weaving, twisting it absentmindedly around his ring finger. Red overlaps the brown in a crude outline of a leaf. He ties it into a ring. Despite his earlier offer to bring her flowers, he wonders if Pidge would appreciate such a rustic gift when she adorns herself with gold jewelry. She hardly needs anything to remember him, but he’s a romantic, and a warm fuzzy feeling fills his chest at the thought of adhering to pre-Disaster ways of courtship. 

He falls back onto the grass with a silly grin. His thoughts circle to bending a knee to Pidge and offering up his latest craft, reciting flowery words from a book or daring to concoct his own. 

He doesn’t know how long he daydreams, but he doesn’t mind. He can do so all day. 

He misses her so powerfully his chest aches. A wave of understanding hits him; he won’t be able to stand being apart from her in the winter, not after all the fun times they had, nor does he want her to suffer alone in sickness. He doesn’t want to forget - but if he can’t be here, it’s a blessing in disguise to not know what he’s missing. 

A violet glow pulses once. Lance scrambles to stand, but it’s Pidge who runs towards him. 

She plants her face in his chest. “I was scared you might have been sent back to the forest.”

He holds her like a lifeline. “I ended up right back here. Is Shiro okay?”

Pidge inhales deeply as she backs away. “As well as he can be. Once he understood what he can do, he set to work pushing back the storms.” She smirks. “The forest will be a lot less windy from now on.” She takes his hand in hers. “Are you okay?” 

“It’s… a lot to take in,” he says truthfully. “This is what happened to you, isn’t it? And it’ll happen to the other three too, right?” The void flashes in his memory, of the blue spot that seems to be reserved just for him. “It’s terrifying actually, to think that one day that’ll be - “ He can’t say it aloud. Maybe he’s wrong.

Does he want to be right?

Pidge squeezes his hand. “I’m so sorry, Lance. I figured it out a while ago. I wanted you to live without the burden.”

His hand shakes, but he smirks to hide the burgeoning fear. Pidge has been through much, and the knowledge her fate will be his threatens to tear his mind apart. So he chooses to shrug it off. “What is there to it? I’ve always wanted to be a hero.” He laughs. “Just didn’t expect to die first.”

Pidge inhales sharply. “Yeah. You will.”

His face falls. That wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for. “Pidge - “

“I can send you home now,” she blurts, averting her eyes. “Thanks to Shiro, I’m strong enough to bolster the forest earlier this year.”

The words chill his bones despite the perpetual warmth of this realm’s sun. Pidge was so sick not that long ago, but now she’s the picture of health, no longer sweaty and gasping for breath. She stands tall, robes clean, and breathes effortlessly. Her hair is longer, draping loosely over her shoulders.

She looks strong - and just like spring. 

He wasn’t expecting to leave her so suddenly. Although he’s scared, he says, “I don’t want to forget this.”

“The only way you can remember is to see me or stay here, neither of which you should do. It’d be better,” she says hesitantly, “if you don’t see me again until you die.”

Die. Her last word grips his throat. 

“No, oh no no no. I don’t want to play that game.” A new fear beats back the one for his fate. “Pidge, I’ll know I’m missing something if I never see you again. Please.”

Pidge narrows her eyes. “You can’t stay here, Lance.”

Dread weighs down his heart, and he swallows hard. “Not in the spring, but I can return every winter,” he pleads. “You just say the word and I’ll be there.”

“No!” Pidge says. “I - I mean, spend the time with your family. You’ll miss them when you arrive here for good.”

He does miss them already, very much. But he’s just seen Pidge at her worst, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone to suffer again. How can he? His mother raised him better than that. 

“I’m not alone anymore, Lance. There’s another Guardian now. Shiro’s a good person. I’m sure he’ll help me.”

But it won’t be me, Lance thinks. It’s the only rebuttal he has because Pidge is right. Shiro will look after her and Lance wants to be with his family while he can. 

A sob worms its way up his throat. He forces it back with a deep breath. 

“I promise I won’t forget you this time,” he says as tears cloud his vision. “I looked at your face as much as I could this winter. I’ll remember.” 

Her face is hard, but her eyes betray that she’s hurting with this farewell as much as he is. “You don’t have a choice, Lance. I don’t expect you to remember.”

“Then find me every spring.” He grabs her arms. “Please. You promised. Remember what you said when we agreed to try this?”

She hesitates before taking hold of his shirt, mouthing the words before saying them aloud. “To use this time we have to the fullest and see what happens.” She leans in closer, her eyes searching for an answer. “What do we have?”

Pidge draws Lance in like a moth to flame. He cups the side of her face and kisses her, to answer the question, to convey how much he wants to remember her. 

She presses into his abdomen, pushing him backward, and leans in, responding in kind. 

His hot face, her soft lips, their breath mingling as they part only for an instant...it’s all worth the hardships that await them.

Her lips find his again as his back hits the bed, his legs dangling off the side. Pidge straddles him with a fistful of his shirt. 

He breaks away to breathe, heart pounding in anticipation. “Don’t I need to like, cleanse myself in a sacred spring or something?” He kisses her neck. “Before we do this?” 

“I love you, Lance.” Her fingers run through his hair, nails scraping his scalp and lips pressing onto his forehead. “I want you exactly as you are.”

His ears - and other body parts - burn. “You really should meet my mother first.” But Lance fingers her hair rather than making a move to get up. “I love you, Pidge,” he says, basking in her warm hazel eyes and playful smile. “Don’t wait until I’m dead to see me again.”

A kiss that tastes of fresh strawberries lingers at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure I can stay away from you if I wanted.” Her weight rests on him, her head in the crook of his neck. “Thank you, for not wanting to forget.”

Her body is warm, and though he wants to be sated, he’s content to just hold her. He plants a kiss on her collarbone and quips, “Is this the part where we have a half-mortal kid who grows up to beat the bad guys?” 

She laughs, but it’s less mirthful than usual. “If so, there’s no one I’d rather be the father.” 

He drinks in her next kiss, and his lips struggle to hang on as she rises. He sits up, brow furrowed while she backs away from the bed. 

Why is she crying? 

Vines wrap around her arm, a soft green glow around her body. 

“Pidge, no, please,” he begs. “Promise me I’ll see you soon.”

She raises a hand and a green orb or energy forms on her palm. “Live a good long life for me, Lance.”

The green light overwhelms his senses and he futilely raises an arm to shield his gaze.

The light dims a beat later and Lance opens his eyes. 

Snow melts and vibrant flowers bloom before his eyes. He sits among a cluster of Forget-Me-Nots, a grove of trees in the near distance sprouting leaves, hiding its interior from view... 

How did he get so deep into the forest so soon after the beginning of spring?

He can’t even remember if Hunk and Keith are okay. Had he gone looking for their remains? A pit opens in his stomach. To lose his friends would be too much. 

Lance supposes he’d better go home and find out. He’ll worry about the mysterious wooden scrap that fits snugly on his ring finger later.

~~~~~

It’s hard to breathe these days. 

It only grows worse with each friend or family member who goes before him, his parents, siblings, Hunk, even Keith. 

His great nieces and nephews sit by his bedside, their mouths moving, but Lance hears no words. He hasn’t for a while. He recognizes a few by reading their lips: love you, get better, forest spirit - (their favorite story). 

That falls on Nadia now, to pass on to her children and grandchildren. 

The forest spirit kept them safe through the Disasters as they whittled away. The storms stopped and eventually so did the earthquakes and fires. Only the floods still come. 

Lance always wanted to see the world beyond the Great Forest, but he’s tired now. Perhaps the young ones will outlive the floods. He’s satisfied to leave that dream to them.

With no children of his own, his niece holds his hand, tears in her eyes. Lance is grateful because he hasn’t the strength to grip hers. 

He smiles, chest filled with warmth at the sight of his family just as big as when it was him and his siblings. The baby growing in Sylvio’s daughter will replace him in number. 

He wishes he'd be able to meet the kid. He loves kids. 

Instead, his vision blurs, and he whispers, “- love y - “

Lance gasps, not remembering the last time he inhaled this much air. Shouldn’t dying have the opposite effect?

“It’s about time, Lance! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Lance faces the voice and opens his eyes. “Hunk?” he exclaims, his breath hitching at seeing his oldest and best friend standing in a pool of golden yellow among a dark void. He looked forward to seeing him again. “You look like you just finished school!” he laughs.

Hunk grins. “I missed you, man.” Young again he may be, but he’s overdressed for a graduation ceremony. Robes of pure gold drape Hunk’s body, his muscular arms exposed and crossed - imposing to strangers, welcoming and huggable to friends. “Same to you.”

Lance yelps when he realizes he’s standing too. Gone are his sweat-drenched cotton pajamas; a silky robe dyed a blue deeper than the sky in summer adorns him as if he’s a king of old. He nearly stumbles over the hem in surprise, but an ethereal blue current from a pool of the same color caresses and holds him upright. It flows up his arms and through his fingertips. It's strange but comforting; the not-exactly-water overwhelms him but it’s not like the raging floods he’s used to.

Lance examines his hands, twisting them in front of his face. They’re smooth, wrinkle-free as if he’s twenty again.

“Welcome, Lance. Or should I say, welcome back?”

Shiro smiles at him from across the way. 

Lance is floored; he never got a chance to say goodbye all those years ago. “Shiro, I’m so sorry I wasn't there. I can’t remember what happened to me that winter.”

Shiro isn’t upset, but his grin turns mischievous. “You were right where you needed to be, Lance.”

“Hopefully now you’ll finally stop picking on me for getting you lost in the forest.” Keith wears robes of bright red that flicker like flame. Rather than an awkward kid, he’s the same physical age as him and standing in a pool of red, radiating confidence and smirking - as if he knows something Lance doesn’t.

“Is this it?” Somehow Lance expected… not this. Not the swirling black, blue, and white void. Not this group of friends. “Shouldn’t there be...more people in the afterlife?” Where are his parents, his siblings?

“Seriously, that’s the first question you all ask?” 

The very familiar voice comes from the fifth and final green circle. “Come on, Lance. You’ve been prepping for this.”

Before he can see her face, the world dissolves. 

He stands on a cliff overlooking the sea, a sunset reflecting off the water against the darkening blue - and clear - skies. It’s awe-inspiring to see such a vast amount of water not raging to kill him. He’s never seen so few trees before! With him on the cliff are five columns with laid stone between them, glowing in the colors of the circles from the other world. A bed with purple linens sits at the tip of the cliff, and at the center between the columns stands a pedestal with a glass orb that glows in blue hues. 

It all tickles with familiarity, but Lance can’t place it. 

“Maybe this will jog your memory?”

He turns towards the speaker, the girl wearing green robes and golden jewelry. A heartfelt and soft smile graces her face, tears behind the frames on her eyes. 

Pidge. 

It all comes back, from the first time she rescued him to his final and eightieth spring that she stayed by his side in the gardens making him flower crowns while he rested his aging body. 

To that winter that changed it all, the reason they waited for each other. 

He runs to her, legs as spry as when he was a teenager. 

“We made it!” he says as he hugs her as tight as he can. “Thank you for giving me time.”

Her embrace anchors him, and her curled lips warm his chest. “I would never take time from your family, Lance. I know what it means.”

“I’m all yours now,” he says, relief pouring from his soul. His fingers graze over a familiar object, the ring that he made for her so long ago. His chest is heavy and he wants to cry of happiness. He takes off the ring and kneels before her. 

Pidge gapes, but she’s soon as teary eyed as he. “My brother proposed to his fiancée like this. I thought the tradition was forgotten.” 

“I wanted to do this the way you remember. It’s the least I can do after what you’ve given up. Let me do this for you,”  he says. “I’ll be at your temple every winter and whenever else you want. Through sickness and in health, right?” 

Pidge gently places a hand behind his head and pulls him up, locking their lips together. The kiss thrills him, just the same as their first every spring. “I do,” she sobs as they part, “and you can finally keep your promise.”

Lance smiles so wide it ought to hurt and swears for the last time, “I’ll never forget you again.”

[darkdevasofdestruction]

White Lies : France/2P!France - Francis/Francois Bonnefoy

((I had this plot in mind with the idea of creating 2 alternate endings, one in which you end up with Francis, and in the other, with Francois~. ))

Life was never easy, especially when you move in a new country all of a sudden due to job opportunities...But I can't really complain now, can I? After all, I'm doing what I've been dreaming, which is being a Vet. Saving animals has always been my career-dream and now that I've achieved it, I only have 2 more. To travel the world and have fun...And to find my significant other.

Walking down the Champs-Elysee, passing idly the passing markets, I listen to music and look up at the evening sky, painted with various gorgeous shades of orange, pink and purple, feeling at ease. My walk from work to home isn't too long, just about 30 minutes on foot, which makes me able to relax and enjoy the tranquil atmosphere of this enchanting country.

This walk...Made me feel nostalgic for years ago when I first came here with a University program, 7 years ago, to spend the whole Summer holiday working for an animal shelter and learning the language, which was probably the easiest way that I could manage to work abroad with no problem, get easy money and have some expenses paid by the University.

My new Summer home in Paris is a little but very chic apartment, in a neighbourhood full of flowers everywhere, very close to the center of the city, so the whole first day was filled with unpacking and arranging everything in its right place, making me exhausted and to sleep immediately.

The next day, however, I woke up energised and ready to explore the city and start a new Parisian lifestyle, which will be a bit weird to adapt to, but nothing impossible. Leaving for the first time without my parents is going to be a real challenge, but if my dreams are going to come true this way, it's gonna be worth it~.

I go first to a little cafe next to my block and get a warm hot chocolate, a croissant and bread with butter & jam, a really nice breakfast and now I'm ready to explore!

I went to see the easiest route from home to work, which was almost a straight line, thankfully, and from home to the center there were a few turns, but nothing too difficult to remember. A smile was plastered on my face the whole time as I walked up and down each and every street and alley, got a very good ice cream and some pastries from the boulangerie, took tons of pics and selfies everywhere and tried to make the best out of this whole experience.

I am only 20 years old, I have the whole life ahead of me and there's nothing stopping me, not even the night!

Okay, never mind, scratch that, maybe it will defeat me, a tiny bit, because I kinda got lost in the center, my phone is dead and I have no idea how to get home...Great! What a new adventure!

Thankfully, I spotted a small, vintage, very coquette and intimate cafe so I shrugged and went inside, thanking every deity that it's empty and my shyness won't get the best of me, and I looked around, admiring the tons of sweets on display, feeling my mouth watering.

I was snapped back to reality by a friendly baritone voice, which made me squeak in surprise and turn around with wide fawn eyes. The man in front of me, who I could only guess either worked here or was the owner, was pretty tall, with long blond hair and his sapphire blue eyes held a very comforting and calming warmth.

"Bonsoir, ma belle mademoiselle. Que fais-tu seul a cette heure?"

the man asked, concerned.

"Uhmm...I got lost...Oh, wait, wrong language...Uhmm. Je suis...Perdu? Je me suis perdu? Mon francais est...Tres...Terrible, je suis tres desole!"

I stammered, trying to remember all the words I've been learning for the past 8 years in school and highschool...

But it failed.

"That was tres adorable, mademoiselle! Don't worry, I know English as well, but I appreciate you trying your best to speak my language."

he laughed warmly.

"M-Merci...So, uhm...I just moved here and it's kinda my first time abroad, all alone, nonetheless and I explored the city all day long. I got distracted by the pretty lights so much that I didn't realise my phone's battery died while taking pictures and now I can't seem to remember the way home. I know, it's very silly."

I explained, scratching the back of my neck sheepishly and embarrassed.

"What an adventure indeed, dear. And how did you find your way here? Not all that many people come by."

he guided me to a table next to the glass wall so I could see the lights better.

"I was looking for a familiar street, when I saw your cafe here with lights still on. I'm...I'm pretty shy, so when I saw that nobody else was there, I thought I'd drop by and get something to eat. When I saw how incredible everything here looked...Well, I kinda lost my thinking."

I chuckled, making the man laugh gleefully.

"Que magnique! May I recommend you my favourite?"

he asked, getting up, a spark of excitement in his eyes.

"Yes, please! You did all of them? Alone?"

I asked, shocked.

"Mais, biensur~! Excuses-moi un moment, I will come right up!"

he went in another room for a bit, making me look down at my hands, grasping them together anxiously, then looked outside, admiring the beautiful lights from the Eiffle Tower, before the door opened once again, revealing the Frenchman with a white plate painted with pink flowers full of different cakes and other little sweets which made my jaw drop in shock.

"H-Hey, isn't that too much? I-I mean - !"

I stuttered, feeling my face heat up with a powerful blush, which only made him laugh.

"Nonsense! It's not every day a beautiful young lady comes into my humble cafe, especially not one from another country. It's from the house, so don't worry."

he winked, making me hide my blushing face with my hands.

"You're too kind with me, and I didn't even have the manners to ask for your name...I'm Y/N, it's really nice to meet you."

I managed to say after some time, trying to calm down my blush.

"Francis. Francis Bonnefoy, at your service, my dear."

he nodded, sitting down in front of me, putting a white rose in the vase.

"Francis...What a beautiful name."

I smiled softly.

"You can't let me eat everything by myself, okay? I accept no refuses!"

I said in a firm voice, making him chuckle.

"Very well, very well, a lady's wish is my command." 

he obliged, getting another little fork for himself.

We chatted about my new job, about life here, about literally everything and anything that came into our minds, all that for about two more hours before we realised it was very late and he escorted me home with ease, because thankfully, I was smart enough to write my address on a slip of paper and put it in my wallet before I left my new home and from then on, since we exchanged phone numbers, we'd meet up as frequent as possible.

These 3 months of Summer have been the most beautiful I have ever experienced and it's all thanks to Francis and his never-ending kindness. The best part of it is that he surprised me with a trip to Disneyland just before I was to leave for home and I kid you not, I never cried of happiness so much in my life.

We took an infinite amount of pics of literally everything and went to all the rides there, making it a truly day to remember. I was so depressed that I had to leave, but he promised we'll stay in contact until I am able to come again next, which thankfully, I managed to make it every Summer, for the whole 6 years of Vet Medicine.

He was even there for my graduation, which I never expected, but yet again, made me cry in happiness.

Since by now I could speak French fluently and I've already worked there before for many months, I managed to score a job at one of the best Animal Hospitals in Paris, which made me and Francis become even better best friends.

Very often, we'd even sleep at each other, watching movies together, eating dinner and honestly, I'm so happy I got to meet someone as amazing as him.

Now I'm 27 and things haven't changed between I and Francis one bit, except for the fact that he told me that he's a country, France, of course, and all that came along with it, such as other countries, the 2P's, responsibilities and so on, which of course, were a bit confusing, but nothing I couldn't handle and give my eternal support for.

That is, until our first fight.

It wasn't really a fight, more like him telling me something concerning another World Meeting and me getting overly worried about him, so much that we argued about what he should do, without realising that he's been doing this for hundreds of years and he clearly knew what had to be done.

I never really argue with anyone, but when I do, I feel incredibly dark and sarcastic, so I stopped talking and took a deep breath before saying anything else.

"Look, Francis, I love you a lot, okay? You know this very well. I will go take a walk to calm down before I say something I will regret later that I don't even mean, anyways. I just...I want you safe, okay? Don't forget that." I muttered before leaving his home to walk around the park nearby.

Unfortunately, that walk wasn't a long one for before I realised, a hand covered my mouth so I wouldn't scream. I was threatened with knives and guns by some men dressed in black looking extremely threatening.

"We have seen you with the man who calls himself 'Francis Bonnefoy'. We want to know everything you know about him." the one in front of me asked in a raspy voice. "Wh-What? What's with Francis? What do you have with him?" I tried to ramble, not knowing what to do. "Tell us everything you know and we won't hurt you." said the one holding me before tugging on my hair, making me yelp a bit at the sudden pain. "I-I don't really know what you want me to say! He's just a man who owns a little cafe and he's very sweet, what else is there to say? He's very sweet with me and always texts back very fast and-" before I could continue my rant, I felt myself getting above the ground, as the one in front of me started strangling me in the air. "Who do you think you're talking to, wench?! We are the Russian Mafia and that man has important information." he screamed in my face, as I tried to breathe. "I...Don't know anything weird about him...Believe me..." I managed to choke out, before another voice rung out. "She speaks the truth. I never told her anything that might endanger her." were the words spoken that made the assailant drop me to the floor. "Francis...? What are you doing here?! Run! They want to hurt you!" I yelled at him, but he only shook his head and helped me back on my feet. "No, dear, I won't run. They have been targeting me for a while. I tried to make sure you were safe, but I didn't expect something like this. I'm sorry for putting you in danger and getting you harmed." he sighed, apologetic. "But...But Francis...I can't let you go with them...! They will hurt you...I couldn't possibly...I can't let you go..." my tears started welling up in my eyes as I threw my arms around his torso, afraid to let go of him. "Don't worry, ma belle fleur, I will return to you no matter what. I'm a country, remember? I can't die." he winked, trying to reassure me. "But you can feel pain! That's not okay no matter how you look at it!" I tried to protest, but he only pushed me towards his home lightly. "Don't worry, Raven. After all...All my life I've been in pain. A bit more won't change anything. Be careful while I'm gone, please." he said with a sad smile before he got taken away by those creepy men, as I screamed after him until my lungs gave out.

No...Screaming and crying won't solve anything, I have to do something about it, I can't just sit idly!

I ran back inside and to my surprise, Francis' phone was on the bed.

He knew something like this would happen...

Damn it.

Looking through his contacts, I see various country names and I stopped when I saw "England".  Despite everything, Francis always spoke very nicely of England and the rest of the countries so...Hopefully, this will work.

"Hello? Is this England?" I ask meekly and unsure of what to say. "This better not be some stupid prank of that frog or-" he replied in a very annoyed voice. "N-No, nothing of the sort! Mr. England, France has been kidnapped by the Russian Mafia and I don't know what to do to save him! Will you please help me out?!" my voice dripping with desperation. "So what? It happens sometimes." he answered in such a nonchalant voice that it cut off my words. "B-But...! H-He's my fiance! Please, Mr. England, I don't know what I should do! Those men were really terrible and I don't want France to get harmed!" I cried in the phone, but I only earned a sigh. "Listen, miss, I understand that you are concerned, but that fro-...France is a country, and this sometimes happens to all of us. It's not the first time for him and it won't be the last time either. I suggest you wait for him with some wine, some baguettes and he'll get over it." he tried to suggest, but by this time I was boiling with anger. "You...How can you be so ...So cruel...Francis only spoke nice words of all the countries and especially of you, England. I can understand now why he always felt so lonely there...Because all of you are nothing more than a bunch of selfish jerks! I hope you sleep well tonight knowing that a man who cares about you like a brother and would do anything in his power to save you is being tortured! Good bye." I said in an extremely passive-aggressive tone, not letting him protest, before I hung up.

That was frustrating...Stupid England...

Taking a deep breath, I look through his contacts again and see someone called "Francois" with the French flag emoji next to it. This must be his 2P... He spoke so nicely of him, saying how fragile and emotional he really is, despite his rough exterior...He's just like Francis...But with different ways of coping with pain.

I call him and wait anxiously for him to answer, and when he did, I was greeted with a gruff voice that intimidated be, but I had to stay strong for Francis.

"Oui?" he answered. "H-Hello, are you Francois? France?" I managed to breathe out, cursing my shyness. "I'm his 2P. Why do you have France's phone?" he asked annoyed. "Y-You're still France, even if you're his 2P, right? And...Francis got kidnapped by the Russian Mafia." I said, this time with more confidence. "And...? What do you want me to do?" he asked, once again, very bored. "What the HELL is with you, people?! One of your own is kidnapped and tortured for information and who care so little?! Why are you all so pathetic and cowardly that you won't even help someone who holds you in such high esteem?! What, afraid to get a nail broken?!" I scream at him, forgetting myself with anger. "And who are you that you care so much for a country that's gonna outlive you in the blink of an eye?" he groaned, most likely rolling his eyes. "I am his fiancee, damn it! I am at his home and he intentionally let his phone on the bed, in hopes that one of you, his FRIENDS, is going to help get him out of there!" I reply sternly...

But he hung up without another word.

What...The hell?!

I tried ringing 3 more times, but I got rejected.

Fucking fantastic...So much for reliable peop-...Countries.

The next one I call is Canada, but he was very far away with business and couldn't come to our aid any time soon.

I gripped the phone tight in my grasp, cursing, before I get startled by the door opening, making me squeal in fright and surprise, as a tall, blond man looking very much like Francis, but rather disheveled, entered.

"F-Francois...?" I asked, to make sure. "No, it's freaking Papa Noel, Joyeux Noel!" he rolled his eyes before plopping down on the couch. "U-Uhm...A-Are you here to help me save Francis...?" I inquired, unsure of what he was doing. "Depends on you, toots. What's in it for me?" he lit up a cigarette. "Uh...You saved your other self? You did a good deed? I don't know, doesn't it matter to you at all that he's in trouble?!" I looked at him shocked as he just shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. So, what are you willing to do to save him?" he asked, getting up, closer to me. "We've been together for 7 years. Anything that's possible for me to do, I will do it, if it means he gets out of there unharmed." I said, looking determined. "Then...How about we fuck?" he muttered with a smirk. "Wh-What?! What the hell are you asking?!" I cringed, stepping back. "You said you'd do anything, right? Would you do this? I look almost just like him, in the dark, you wouldn't even realise the difference, so what's the problem? He won't have to know." he got very close to my face, whispering in my ear. "LEAVE ME ALONE!!" I screamed, slapping his face hard. "D-Don't EVER do that again! Not to me, or to anyone else! EVER!! I don't get why you came here if you weren't willing to save Francis, but if you just got here to mess with me, then kindly GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HERE!" I yelled, trying not to let the tears in my eyes fall, before I went to Francis' bedroom and locked the door, sliding down, hugging my knees and choking on sobs.

I tried to repeat to myself "Not again" again and again, until I got back to my senses and calmed my breathing and remembered that I must continue calling all the countries available.

China refused. Japan said "I will see what I can do" which is a very subtle denial. Italy cowarded. Spain has to take care of Romano. Prussia and Germany are dead drunk. The Nordics were busy with official meetings and businesses. The Baltics declined, the Balkans declined....The whole Europe declined...America declined...Asia declined... Everyone declined. But Russia's answer scared me the most.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I don't control the Mafia, so I can't do anything about it. And at the same time, I can't  harm my own people either. But I will tell you, they won't leave France any time soon, for sure." 

And...That was it. All countries declined helping one of their own and I was at the verge of despair. The only one who wanted to help was Francois...And with such terms...And what a scary approach... B-But...As long as it saves him...Does it even matter anymore...?

I slowly unlock the door, gathering courage to get out and swallow my pride, and to my surprise, Francois was still on the couch, smoking.

"You're still here." I mumbled, looking away. "Oui. And I heard everything. What are you gonna do, mignonette?" he asked, tilting his head a bit. "I...Uh...W-Well...I-If I do it...W-Will you promise he gets home safe?" looking anywhere but at him, I grip the phone tightly, trying to fight my anxiety. "Ohh~? So you will do it, after all? To save your amour, you'll let another taint you, touch you, corrupt you~?" he asked, tauntingly. "Oh, shut up, you jerk! I just want to save my fiance, while you're here like some mercenary, seeking favours!" I bite my lip, trying not to outright scream at him again. "Tsk, tsk, I'm just doing what's best for me. You can't blame me, we're all selfish." he shrugged, getting up. "No...Not all of us...Francis isn't. Francis would have tried his best to save any country. ANY. Country." I glared at him. "You've known him for 7 years, not for 700. I think I know him better than you do." he smirked, challenging me. "You may know him, France, the country, but I know Francis, the heart inside him. I know the real him. You just know the facade he's putting. Now stop arguing with me and let's go save him already!" I stomped on the ground frustrated, only making him chuckle. "Do you even know where we have to go?" he asked, lighting up another cigarette. "Of course not, who do you take me for? Nostradamus? All I know is that Russia said he isn't in control of his people and that they didn't leave this place and are probably in some hideout here, in Paris." I told him, looking away, pondering. "You're lucky I know all the sketchy places around here..." he nodded, signing me to follow him to his car, a nice black Cadillac.

On the way to the first hideout, it was silent, with the exception of Francois puffing his cigarette from time to time.

"So, mignonette, how did someone like you meet someone like him." he asked, trying to make conversation. "You're saying it in a very weird way,  y'know? But...7 years ago I was able, for the first time, to leave the country. I came here, to Paris, to work at an Animal shelter for the whole Summer, sent with a University program. After unpacking everything, I started exploring the city, but soon I realised that my phone died, it was night, and I had no idea how to return home. I found Francis' cafe...And he was so sweet with me...We kept in touch all the time, even when I had to leave back home and we wouldn't see each other for the rest of the year...He has always been so kind and patient with me..." sighing, I look out of the window. "Huh...Tres drole." he muttered, throwing the cigarette butt out of the window. "What is funny?" I asked, rising a brow. "You." he snorted. "What? Why?"  I looked at him, confused and slightly shocked. "When did you first fuck?" he teased, looking at me. "Wh-What the hell, Francois! That's an intimate question and I refuse to answer!" I huff, looking away. "Oh, come on, I won't tell anyone. Is he any good? Do I need to teach him-" he continued, but I stopped him quickly. "Shut up!! We didn't, okay?! Now stop asking! I don't know if he's...G-Good or whatever the hell you want to know, so drop it!" I exclaimed, extremely embarrassed. "You mean to tell me you've been together 7 years and didn't fuck? No long and sensual "I missed you" fuck? No quick and rough "Don't leave me" fuck? No very kinky "This is better than porn" fuck?" he chuckled, seeing how flustered it made me. "Enough!! Th-That's enough! Stop it already! No, we did nothing of the sort, now please, DROP IT! I don't want to know or talk about it or anything similar!" I tell him firmly, hoping he'd stop already. "You're no fun...Come on, toots, you're an adult, these things are normal and fun, not tabboo, so chill. Maybe you really need a good fuck." he muttered, trying to make me calm down, but I only gripped my hands tighter and glued myself to the door, as farther away from him as possible. "You don't know everything, nor everyone, so don't speak for them." I answer barely above a whisper, which only earned me a sigh. "You're either only best friends, he sucks in bed...Or you've been really hurt in the past. So, which is it, mignonette?" he asked, solemnly. "...Who hurt you, Francois...?" I feel myself asking without realising. "Huh?" he breathes out, looking at me shocked, but before I could say anything else, he stopped the car abruptly, saying "We're here."

We get out of the car without another word and search the whole shelter from top to bottom, but find nothing but dust and blood.

"So...Not here. How many other places are there?" I asked, biting my lip. "Many. Too many. Are you sure they were Russian?" he asked again, looking at me. "Yes. They said so when they attacked me. And their accent was very thick as well...I could recognise a few words myself when they were whispering between themselves before Francis came." I nod, sure of my information. "Very well. That means there are only 2 more places to check. They are pretty far away from each other, but should work. Also, I need to get some fuel." he sighed, getting back to the car. "Okay. I pay. It's the least I can do..." I tell him, looking ahead at the new road. "I won't complain." he chuckled, lighting up the 100th cigarette.

We spent about half an hour in silence before I got the courage to ask him again...

"Who hurt you so much, Francois? You're constantly using this vices and facades to cover up that you're in pain..." I stammered, not really sure where I was getting at. "Shut the hell up." he ordered with the most deadpan expression so far. "I-I don't want to insult, offend or hurt you, Francois. I just want to understand you. You're not a bad person, I can sense that. You just have a different coping mechanism-" I continue, trying to let him know I'm not attacking him, but he got angrier. "I SAID, SHUT IT! What the hell is so difficult for your stupid brain to get?! STOP talking about it!" he yelled, gripping the stirring wheel and glaring ahead. "I'm sorry! Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you...I just...I just...Wanted to thank you for being literally the only person to want to save Francis and..." I scratch a bit at my arm, closing my eyes, hating the sudden change in tone. "I'm not doing it for him, I'm doing it to fuck you!" he sneered, shifting his glare at me now. "That's fine...Doesn't matter, as long as he's safe...Any help is appreciated..." I whispered, hanging my head. "Oh, really? Then if a group of hobos offered to to save him, if they gangbanged you, would you do it? Or if some fetishist were to ensure he got out the next second, but he got you as his sex slave?" he shouted more and more, making me shed tears and choke on sobs. "I-I just want my Francis to come back to me unharmed...I don't want to see him in pain ever again...I just want him to be okay...He's been through so much and he still smiles...He's saved me all these years, and now I owe him at least this...I just...I just want him safe and sound..." I sob, biting my lip and gripping my arms, trying to stop myself from crying, but to no avail. "...Get out." Francois muttered barely audible. "Wh....What....?" my eyes widened as I managed to move my gaze to look at him. "Get the fuck out of my car. Now." he wasn't looking at me anymore, but outside, as he put a very sudden and brusque break, making me squeak in surprise at the impact. "B-But...Why? Didn't you promise you'd help me save him? You are his last hope, Francois, you can't abandon him like this! We're so close to-" I tried to argue, but I suddenly find myself with the barrel of a gun at my forehead. "Fuck if I care anymore. You're annoying, you piss me off with your lies. That's all that you are, a selfish liar! I don't believe a word you're saying! I don't know why I agreed to this bullshit, he'll get out of there anyways! You're not even hot enough to bother going through all this just to fuck you! Go find him on your own, now get the fuck out of my car!" he growled, cocking the gun.

He was looking at me with his dark purple eyes, right into my e/c ones, glistering with tears and betrayal...But deep inside his own eyes, shock, mixed with a glint of hurt and skepticism were swimming. "I may be a liar...But at least I'm not lying to myself and to my own heart about my feelings. Goodbye, Francois. Drive safe home." I sighed, looking at him with betrayal and resignation as I stepped out of the car and started walking ahead.

I didn't realise how cold it was before, but now...It's really not very nice. And the fact that it's so dark and scary isn't helping either. I turned on my phone's torch, trying to see where the hell I was, but all I could see were trees every where I looked.  At this point, I don't know if I should be scared that there's no passing car...Or if there WOULD be one.

I literally had no idea what to do, and Francois just went ahead with a terrible speed...Hope he won't have an accident or something. The pain in his eyes as he spoke to me...Those were the voice and look of a desperate man, wanting to take away the pain somehow. I can't blame him in any way...For I understand him more than I wish I did. If it wasn't for Francis... Well... I just think Francois should allow himself to feel happiness and not be afraid to grasp hope, no matter how thin that thread may be.

I was so deep in thought that I didn't realise the car that was coming from behind me until it was too late and the lights were already on me.  Next to me, a black Ford started very slowly driving next to me, as the driver pulled down his window and whistled me.

"Hey, babe, want a ride?" he asked in a slurred voice. "N-No thanks..." I mutter, trying to walk faster, but to no avail. "Aww, come on, sweet tits! Let me get ya home! I can't let a babe like you walking alone at night, can I?" he purred in that disgustingly drunk voice of his. "I'm very close to my boyfriend's home, so please, leave me alone." I tried to reason, clearly scared, but he only laughed. "There ain't no house in the next 5 kms, missy, so don't try to lie to me!" he said in a low voice as he stopped the car.

By this point, I started running as fast as I could, cursing myself for not doing anything to maintain my physical endurance because my lungs were burning and my legs were aching like all hell, and before I knew it, I was on the ground, the remaining air in my lungs knocked out from the weight on top of me.

I tried to struggle, but I could only jump back to my feet when the bastard rolled over to get a better grip on me, but I couldn't run... He held my arm so tight that I was afraid it might break, making me turn around to try and scratch him, but that only annoyed him and made him rip open my f/c shirt, exposing my almost naked top.

By this point, I kept screaming and struggling like a wild animal trapped in a cage, but he was much too strong for me to do anything. Memories of the past kept flooding my brain as he put his hand on my neck, while the other was roaming my body.

I thought that was the end of me, until I heard a very loud car accelerating in our direction, then two deafening gun shots...And then silence.

As soon as those shots were dealt and I could no longer feel that forsaken grip on me, I sprinted into the woods, not caring about anything else in this world, not hearing, nor seeing anything.

That is...Until again, someone took a hold of my wrist and spun me around in his arms, making me scream, beat and struggle whoever that was, way too scared to rationalise anything anymore.

"Mignonette! It's me, Francois! Calm down, damn it, I'm not gonna hurt you! I killed that fucktard, nobody will hurt you, chill already." he tried to calm me down, but all I could do, as all strength left my body and my legs were shaking, was to fall in his arms and sob in his chest almost falling to the ground, were it not for him.

It might have taken a good 5 to 10 minutes of sobbing before I managed to calm down enough to be able to speak coherently, while Francois tried his best to soothe and calm me down.

"How the hell do you always get in trouble, Mignonette?" he tried to joke light-hearted. "I don't know, but I'm so done with this! I hate this, I hate this, I hate this! Why is it always me?! What did I do so wrong in this world that I attract such...Such...Monsters?! Why does everyone want to hurt me like this?! Is this it, Francois?! Is this the pain you're feeling?! Because if it is, then FUCK IT, I don't want to feel anything anymore! Take out my heart, I don't need it! I don't want to hurt anymore! MAKE IT STOP ALREADY!! Why me?! Why again?! Why like this?! I just want to be happy for once, is that too much to fucking ask in this world?! IS IT?!" I screamed and cried and pulled at my hair in desperation, not caring about any self-esteem anymore and just letting all the raw emotions plaguing my heart, soul and brain out. "So I was right...You have been hurt before." he muttered to himself, almost as if he hated himself for being right. "Yes, fucking hell, yes, I have, damn it! Three fucking times! Each time, it hurt so bad, and in different ways! But the first one...Oh, the first one....I was barely 17, damn it...It was my first relationship...So why did he have to do such things to me?! I didn't know any better, I was naive, innocent and learning...I thought it was normal...And...And...And I stayed almost 2 years like that...And I didn't tell anyone what happened...I was scared, I didn't want to admit it, I was weak...And powerless...And I still am...Because no matter what I do, a drunk, horny man will always get his way because of his fucking physical strength! CURSE YOU! Monsters, all of them! Wretches! Burn in hell, all of you!" I confessed to everything that's happened in the past, not even sure why or how did I manage to finally say everything that was darkening my heart, but I did. "Je suis desole, Mignonette. I truly am. I shouldn't have let you alone in these places. It's my fault, I admit. I was pissed off that you said the truth and I couldn't stand it. I went to search the 2nd place, but there was nothing. That means Francis is definitely in the 3rd and last place." he stated, slowly helping me get up. "Hope so..." I mutter, feeling drained of all life and hope.

We walked back to the car, him holding me close to his chest, and as the car's light came in our sights, he realised my wardrobe malfunction and took off his shirt, handing it to me, as he remained shirtless, not even flinching at the cold, all the scars on his body now visible.

"Don't you hate it?" I muttered, looking away as I buttoned his shirt and rolled up the sleeves since it was way too big on me. "Hate what?" he asked, getting in the driver's seat. "Dunno... The World. People. Life. Yourself." I mention, shrugging. "I do. Why?" he furrowed his brows, not quite getting where I was going at. "And how do you cope with it?" I asked, still glaring in front of me. "Not very well, as you've seen so far. Drinking, Smoking, Whoring. Not very healthy." he explained, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "I hate alcohol. I couldn't get drunk, even if I wanted to. Makes me sick. Smoking makes me sick too...And...The other one...Even if I wanted to...I...I..." I trailed off, biting my lip in annoyance. "You hate yourself too much, but also, distrust everyone else around you, hm?" he tried to reason. "Sorta, yeah, I guess. I'm scared, I'm afraid, I'm anxious and ashamed...I just want to run away and hide somewhere nobody could ever find me even when I think of it. I start shaking and...And I can't. It leads to panic attacks. So I'd rather...Not. And I'm so tired of everyone telling me I'm broken or whatever just because I don't care about anything of the sort." I sighed, leaning my head on the door window. "Does he know?" Francois asked, but I only shook my head. "Last times I told someone...My boyfriends...Things got very bad. It's like a stupidly annoying Pavlovian instinct. I know things won't be bad if I tell him...But I'm also afraid." I mutter, looking out, and before he could say anything else, I ask him "We've arrived, right?" which earned me a solemn nod.

Getting out of the car, we went in silence to the shelter, this time smaller than the first one, and noticed light emanating from inside. Upon further inspection, Francois confirmed that Francis was inside, so he got out the rifle from his car and climbed a tree, easily taking out the 2 bulky men who kept Francis captive, allowing me to easily run inside and use the knife given to me to cut off the restraint that bound him to the chair.

I was so mirthful that Francis was okay and somehow, there was no scratch, bruise or wound on him, so I threw myself in his arms, hugging him as tight as I could, considering the event of this night. However, things weren't always easy to deal with, especially when it comes to the Mafia, but before anything could happen, I hear a rustle from the other room, which somehow, the other two omitted, allowing me to quickly snatch the pistol from one of the deceased's grasps and point it to the door, revealing a scared Mafia mobster.

"Hello, fuckass." I said venomously. "You don't even know how to use that and yet you dare threaten me?!" he shouted, ready to take his own gun, until the sound of me cocking mine echoed in the whole room. "Will you take the bet? What's faster...Me pulling the trigger, or you taking the gun and killing me? What say you? The brain or the heart, which would you prefer?" I asked, taunting him. "You little bitch...! Who do you think you are, opposing the Mafia?! Mr. Russia will wage war on this stupid country!" he shouted in anger, visibly shaken up. "Hahahaha...I've been called worse in a day, is that all you can do? How weak. No wonder the others didn't let you do anything to help them. Oh, and, by the way...Mr. Russia has no control over the Mafia, so he won't take any action against you...Or to help you. Trust me, I called him a few hours ago. So before talking...I'd rather check if all I knew were lies. Just a sound advice for the future...Which you'll never have, at this rate." I grinned mockingly at him, but just before I could say "Goodbye" and shoot him, a gentle hand grasped my shoulder, as the other went to the pistol, setting the trajectory away from the villain, who fell to his knees in fright. "Y-You're insane, woman..." he muttered, shocked. "Francois, what's the meaning of this?! What if he attacked us?! He messed with Francis, he messed with me, he messed with you! We can't let him escape!" I raised my voice at him, but he only shook his head. "You've been through enough today, and it's mostly my fault. Go stay with your paramour...I won't let your hands be bloodied. You don't deserve such a fate to haunt you for life." he explained, gingerly taking the gun away from me. "I have enough things to haunt me for more than this lifetime, one more, what could matter?" I tsked in annoyance, looking away. "It always matters. I hope you won't get to experience more misfortune." he muttered, pushing me towards Francis, as he took the enemy away, to kill him in the woods.

Taking a deep breath to calm my annoyance, I jump in Francis' arms once more, burying my face in his chest, just happy to have him safe and sound, back in my life. With tears in his eyes, he kissed the top of my head and thanked me over and over, but not for saving him necessarily, but for being here for him at all times. He never expected anyone to bother to save him, which I noticed myself, unfortunately.

I told him part of our story, clearly only the not-so-dark parts of it, and by the time I was about mid-story, Francois came back.

#####

 Francis/France Ending 

"Okay, love birds, are you done reuniting? We should get out of here before their little group of boy scouts return to give us more trouble." he rolled his eyes seeing us hugged and sappy. "Oui, mon ami, tu as raison. Ma cherie, let's go home. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that trouble just for me. I'm a country, I won't die, and yet you still came after me, despite the dangers." he said in a soft voice, clearly touched. "Silly...Country or not, you still feel pain, and that is the last thing I want you to feel. I love you so much, Francis, you don't even realise. You brought light into my life, into my heart...And I wanted to be able to save you, just like you saved me all these years we've known each other. Je t'aime trop, et tu es mon coeur. I will stay by your side until you get tired of me." I confessed, cupping his face and looking at him with endless love and admiration.

Poor Francis was left speechless, so much that he just started kissing me passionately, then hugging me tight to his chest, earning a groan of annoyance from his friend.

"Take that to the car, idiots! Hurry up!" he clapped to hurry us up back to the car, which we did, and now we were on our way back home, Francois driving us, as we stayed in the backseat, cuddled to each as if tomorrow was the last day alive.

Back home, we plopped down on the couch, finally able to breathe, knowing we were safe, but after about 5 minutes, Francois got up to leave...Which didn't happen, for I stopped him with a hug.

"Thank you for helping me save him. I owe you the world." I whispered, thanking him with a smile on my face. "Oh, shut up. You pissed me off enough for a day. Just go stay with him and leave me alone."  he groaned, trying to pry me off me. "There's no chance you're gonna get rid of us after today! There's no escape for ya!" I laughed, finally letting him go, before the door was slammed open, revealing a blond man with short hair, green eyes and abnormal eyebrows. "Ahem. I see that bloody frog is alright. Was that a prank or-" he asked, seemingly irritated. "You...Are you England?" I asked, my eyes wide. "Yes, of course, who else? Wait-...Was it you I spoke with on the pho-" but I didn't let him finish because I slapped him with all my might, before starting to shake him roughly. "YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU DARE COME HERE NOW, HOURS AFTER I CALLED, WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WAS PRANKING YOU, IMMA KILL YOU, YOU-" but I was stopped by a hug from behind and a chuckle. "Ne t'inquiete pas, mon amour, it's just how Angleterre is, please forgive him." he shook his head with a chuckle, making me gasp. "But...! But! But Francis! It's not fair at all! You would give your life on a plate to save others, especially this tea-jerk, but he just calls you a frog! It's not okay!"  I pout, clearly upset at the his mean friend's behaviour. "It's better to forgive and forget than to stay with hate in your heart. It will only hurt you, not them." he said with a wink before kissing my forehead. "Fine, whatever...But you're still not off the hook! And you're still a jerk! And if you call Francis a 'Frog' again, I'll make sure to stash a hundred frogs down your throat!" I threaten him, which made him nod, awkwardly. "Uh...Yes, France, I'm glad you're find. I will take my leave now, farewell." he nodded again before leaving. "You see? He came here because he was worried, in his own way." he smiled softly, before guiding me back to the couch to calm me down. "Mon Dieu, you sure are loud, all of you...Bonne nuit. Don't call me again." Francois shrugged, exiting the room, leaving only me and Francis there.

We went to change in our PJs and cuddled in bed, both of us afraid to let the other go after such a night.

"I was so happy to see you that I forgot to even ask if you were okay, desole, ma fleur." Francis said, caressing my face. "I'm okay, don't worry about me, honey. Francois made sure nothing happened to me." I smiled softly, kissing his hand and leaning my face on his palm. "I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. How did you convince him to help you?" he asked, making me chuckle awkwardly. "It's...A long story, but it really wasn't easy to persuade him. But you were right about him, he's like you in many ways, despite hiding it. My shirt's buttons got ruined and I couldn't cover up and he instantly gave me his shirt. And he made sure nothing bad happened to me. Without him knowing where you could be, I wouldn't have been able to find you." I breathe softly, as if afraid he'll be taken away again. "I am grateful that I have such an angel in my life. Thank you for everything, my darling. Je t'aime trop...Je t'aime plus que tout au mond. And I can't wait until I marry you and I'll see you as the most beautiful bride in this world." he confessed, kissing me tenderly, making me giggle. "And I can't wait until I finally get to call you my beautiful husband and we'll be so happy...And Francois' face as the Man of Honour...It will be priceless!" I laughed sofly, making him grin. "It will be hilarious indeed." he snorted, hugging me tight to his chest, ready to sleep. "I love you so much, Francis...Never ever ever forget that. I will stay by your side for as long as you'll have me." I whisper, returning the embrace, drowning in his warmth. "An eternity by your side sounds like the best gift anyone could receive." he replied, closing his eyes, letting the dream world take over him.

#####

Francois/2P!France Ending

"Okay, toots, get your fiance outta here and let's get home before more of these fuckers get here." Francois tapped his food impatiently on the ground, ready to go. "Fian-..." Francis tried to ask, but I shushed him quickly. "I'll explain when we get home, now come on." I hurried him back to the car, where the other Frenchman drove us home, where we could finally breathe. "Thank you so much for saving me, dearest. You really shouldn't have put your life in danger. I'm immortal. They couldn't kill me no matter how much they'd tried." he tried to reason, but I only shook my head. "Francis, no offense, but I really don't care. Francois...I lied to you. Not much, only this part at the beginning, but I still did, so I really have to apologise from my whole heart for misleading you. Francis, I'm sorry to you too. I claimed to be your fiance and called everyone in your contact list in hopes that they'll help me save you. Francois was the only one who wanted to help."  I told them the truth with a sigh. "Why would you say that, cherie?" Francis asked, confused. "Come on, Francis, think a bit! What managed to get to people's hearts more? 'Please, help, my best friend has been kidnapped!' or 'Please, my fiance is in danger, help me save him!'? I was desperate, I had to do something, right? You're the only person who ever cared about me and you've always been so sweet and kind with me, I couldn't let you in harm's way, so I did anything I could to save you, even if it wasn't much. I really hope you don't hate me after this, but even if you do, I'm just happy you're safe now. I never lied when I said I loved you, but this is no romantic love, but one very pure and caring, like that of siblings." I smile at him softly. "I could never be upset with you, ma belle fleur, for I feel the same. I am forever grateful of what you did and I'm really sorry that you had to go through all this just for me. I owe you the world." Francis replied, hugging me. "No, you don't. You've already given me the world being being present in my life." I chuckled, holding him tightly. "So...Everything else you said was true or a lie?" Francois asked, raising his eyebrow. "I didn't lie to you with anything, except this little detail." I smiled at him, guilty. "Then what about at the beginning. When you accepted my terms." he furrowed his brows a bit. "I didn't lie. I said I'd do anything for Francis." I declared with a side-smile. "What do you-" Francis tried to ask, but Francois cut him off. "My flat is upstairs, I want to have a little chat with Mignonette here." he muttered before taking off. "Okay. Francis, I'll see you in a bit." I wave at him, smiling, before following Francois out of the room, into his flat.

It was darker and it smelled like cigarettes, but it was pretty nonetheless. I didn't take more than 5 steps inside and I felt myself get pinned to the wall, Francois holding both of my wrists above my head with one hand, while the other was on my neck.

"You say you'll do it, but look at you, you tremble like a leaf." he got close to my face, saying in a low voice. "I said I would, I promised, now stop doing this, please, and just get it over with." I managed to whisper, looking away from him. "Is this what he'd do too? Is this why you won't ever bother trying to get away?" he asked, in a softer voice than before. "Y-Yes...I told you I didn't lie about anything else, why keep bringing it up? And I said I'd keep my promise. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't fight you off, so why try...?" I bit my, trying to stop myself from getting my eyes welled up with tears once again. "And I promise you, it's not that bad. I know you've been through a lot before and feelings are more powerful than ration...And allowing yourself to feel vulnerable once in a while isn't always damaging." he confessed, caressing my cheek. "You shouldn't be one to talk, when you don't do it yourself. You don't let your guard then while at it, instead, you let all your hate, anger and frustration get out, but...You never let happiness and love in, do you? We're the same, we just do things differently." I explained, but he only tsked in annoyance and threw me on the bed, him towering over me again, his face very close to mine. "And what the hell would you know about it?!" he growled, glaring at me. "Nothing...But maybe...Maybe I'd like to find out." I mutter, intertwining my fingers with his. "I really don't know anything. I'm 27 and all I've been doing is hate the world and everything around me, including myself, for my own misfortune and choices. I was weak, I couldn't control anything around me, when it came to my love life, because everything else was in my grasp. I'm a smart girl, I won't deny that, and I'm also fairly lucky. But not in this department." I let out a shaky breath, slowly raising my gaze to meet his. "What the hell are you on about?!" he sneered at me, his deep, violet eyes filled with despair and hurt, which made me raise up a bit and kiss his lips as soft as I could, shocking him. "Maybe...Maybe I want to see if the world is better with the right people...Not THE World...Just...MY World." he was so shocked at the gentleness with which he was being treated, that a soft blush covered his cheeks. "What was that for...? Why would someone fragile like you, who should find someone kind and gentle like Francis, want to be me, who forgot how to smile and how to live?" he asked, with an expression that showed anger at himself. "Because, maybe, we both need help from someone who understands and goes through the same...Or well, at least similar pain, don't you think?" I inquired with a hopeful smile. "And what do you propose, then, Mignonette?" he muttered, getting closer to my face. "Hello, Francois, my name is Y/N. Would you want to get to know each other better?" I extended my hand for him to shake. "Bonjour, ma cherie, Y/N, je m'appelle Francois Bonnefoy, ca va?" instead of shaking my hand, he kissed it softly and said those words in a very suave and confident voice, that gorgeous and melodic accent resonating in my ears with each vowel and consonant. "Tres charmant, Francois. That was very nice..." I muttered, using my other hand to hide my blush, but he took it in his and kissed my wrist, and teasing smirk on his face. "Did you like that, dear? Do you want me to say more?" dropping his voice by an octave, he got so close to my face, that I could feel his breath. "Your accent...Is very...Ho-...Uh, nice. Yes, nice. Uh...French. Wait, no, ignore what I've been saying-" I ranted, looking anywhere but at him, flustered at what I was saying without realising, but instead of saying anything, Francois leaned in and kissed me tenderly, making me feel more flustered, but at the same time, calmer as well. "You were saying...?"  he asked, the ghost of a smile evident on his face. "Hot." I breathed out barely above a whisper, making him chuckle. "That's what I like to hear, ma cherie~." he confessed, taking out the hair from his ponytail and helping me lean on the bed post, as he put his arms around me, holding me to his chest and kissing the top of my head. "What do you think? Is this what Francis would do?" he asked, playing with my hair. "Is it what Francois would do?" I asked, looking up at him. "...If it's you, then it is." he muttered, resting his chin on my head. "Then we're doing very well." I answered with a smiled, cuddling closer to him, feeling at peace, after such a long time.

[konohagakurekakashi]

[ Writing prompt: First interaction between Kakashi and Minato

It was exactly two weeks, four days and five hours since Hatake Kakashi graduated from the Konohagakure Shinobi Academy, having been enrolled for barely a year. It was exactly two weeks, four days, five hours and fifteen seconds since Hatake Kakashi received his shinobi registration number (009720- his mind snipped helpfully) yet somehow Kakashi felt even less like a Ninja than he did throwing wooden shuriken at crooked, straw dummies. In Kakashi’s ‘life plan’ he thought he would have already completed a bunch of D-ranked missions by now, slowly (But not too slowly! Kakashi could already do the Bunshin no Jutsu with his eyes closed, after all) working his way towards the more important B and C-ranked roster (he would be amazing at those, just like the Sannin and his Tou-san, he just knew it). Unfortunately Kakashi’s plans and childlike desires proved too ambitious, as the boy hasn’t received any additional training since graduating--none of the village Jōnin flocking to take on the responsibility of a five year old (prodigy or no). Without a Jōnin-sensei or senior officer to take accountability on Kakashi’s behalf, the boy found that he couldn’t even walk passed the mission request desk without having to duck from a bunch of Chakra-enhanced, paper airplanes; which left the Genin all but dead in the water.

With a bored huff; calloused fingers adjusted and readjusted his hitae-ate; while his sandals swayed and kicked at the wall beneath his feet. Still he refused to be deterred, pushing all the familiar remarks of Kodai-sensei and the other villagers to the back of his mind. He wasn’t too young! Being a loyal cog in the machine had nothing to do with age. Kakashi passed the graduation test (and then some) fair and square and he was used to staying at home by himself more often than not, so there really was no reason why Kakashi couldn’t be called away on missions of his own. He was ready, he really was! A firm nod of approval was given to his own inner-ramblings, before he shifted, fingers moving away from his forehead protector to wind around the carton of juice his father made him take that morning along with a banana. (Kakashi really didn’t like bananas, since they were difficult to sneak behind his mask, but every time he tried to chug it in a bin or underneath a pillow/bush/potted plant; he could almost hear the low, disapproving growl of his father's summons)

Taking a few measured sips of his juice, Kakashi continued to stare-down the clusters of Chūnin spread about Training Ground Three; the groups too focussed on each other and their respective training regimes to pay the child any mind, still the Genin continued to observe them, his eager mind trying to memorize each precise movement to later practice on his own. Kakashi was half-way through his drink when his vision was obscured by a towering, yellow dandelion, the suddenness of it all causing Kakashi to choke and splutter. A flustered ‘half-chuckle, half-apology’ followed in a mantra; with the dandelion trying and failing to pat Kakashi on his shoulders and back. Kakashi glowered at the contact, arms wind-milling to ward off any and all of the imposing garden weeds’ further advances. Eventually his attacker relented, choosing instead to sink down next to the Genin when it became apparent that he wasn’t about to just up and die courtesy of Asphyxia. With sun-spots no longer obscuring Kakashi’s vision, he noted that his assailant wasn’t a dandelion, but a Jōnin, which made the boy feel a little better about not sensing the man’s presence at all.

A silence settled over them then, with Kakashi subtly eyeing the blonde whenever he thought the other wasn’t looking. It was rare to actually see a high-ranking ninja, as they were almost always away on missions outside the village walls. Kakashi could quite literally count all of the Jōnin he’s ever interacted with on his fingertips and he has lived in a Shinobi village his entire life--which begged the question what said Jōnin was doing in Kakashi’s spot, sitting close enough that the five year old wanted to scowl and scoot away. Kakashi didn’t move however, even though his muscles strained with the need to. Shifting just seemed like something a kid would do and Kakashi was done with childish things after all. As an alternative he elected to burn a hole through the Jōnin’s spikey head with a glower, satisfied after a few breaths that it was the appropriate cause of action. The shinobi kept his gaze on the training Chūnin however, only the upturned edges of his mouth hinting at his expression.

It wasn’t until the mid-morning sun started to warm Kakashi’s back and redden the tips of his ears did the Jōnin start to speak, his voice a calm, calculated timbre whilst he started to point out the different kihon kata stances the Chūnin were using and how they could improve on their general execution. The testiness bled from the Genin’s visible features until only a slight frown remained; afore Kakashi was finally overcome with enough curiosity to peer back at the training field all together. The blonde continued to make small observations without missing a beat, Kakashi managing an assertive hum here and there and sometimes even slipped in a timid question or two. What surprised Kakashi the most was how the man would backtrack whenever Kakashi didn’t grasp a concept or understand the Jōnin’s reasoning. It made the Hatake very suspicious, seeing as not even his Academy teachers proved this patient and insightful. They sat like that until the balmy breeze brought with it the scents of Karashi and Tantanmen; the sharp spices doing a swell job of luring the Chūnin off of the training grounds and into the general direction of the market district, as if summoned by an oden soup deity.

To Kakashi’s (mild) disappointment, the Jōnin also straightened from his perch, but Kakashi didn’t get to dwell on the new, unexpected emotion for long as the man quickly held out a palm for Kakashi to take, a broad smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and an easy promise that he knew of a place that sold the best Taiyaki that Ryō could buy. Kakashi blinked at the man’s outstretched fingers, before his lip swelled into a pout he only felt comfortable making seeing as his mask hid the pout from view. “I’m not allowed to accept food from strangers…it could be poisoned…” His Tou-san said so once, so did Kodai-sensei. For a Jōnin the blonde didn’t seem to know a lot about everyday dangers...only Katas. The elder shinobi cocked his head to the side, eyebrows rising the more Kakashi pinned him with a look. Eventually assessing that the five year old was being serious, the man settled on a half-shrug, ever patient. “Ano…I could do that, but don’t you think if I wanted to poison you I could have already poisoned that banana over there? Plus I’m not a stranger Kakashi-kun, I’m Minato, your Jōnin-sensei. I thought that much was obvious seeing as you’ve already had your first lesson.”

Kakashi’s accusing stare turned into one of confusion, his facial muscles working double time around the blonde-haired man. Kakashi didn’t have a Jōnin-sensei; that was the dilemma he’s been facing for the past two weeks, four days and five hours! It was the reason why he was still stuck in the village and why he only learned new things by going to the library or shadowing other, less impressive shinobi. The Jōnin didn’t seem like he was lying however; his head still patiently angled to the side with his hand held out to help Kakashi from the wall and onto his feet, should he need it. Pondering his options with all the severity a new graduate could muster; Kakashi firmly exhaled and squared his shoulders. “I don’t like bananas, I was never going to eat it, your mission would have failed…Do you like dogs?” To his uttermost credit, the Jōnin, now known as Minato-sensei, recovered quickly, his bright grin waning into a perplexed, albeit equally indulgent smile (not at all like a grimace). “Well…sure?” Again the man didn’t seem to be lying so Kakashi nodded before concluding their awkward encounter by completely disregarding the Jōnin’s outstretched palm in favour of wriggling off of the wall on his own. “Okay... demo I don’t want Taiyaki, Sensei. Sweets are for children. Can we please have miso instead?”