#really enjoying using the word ignominy lately

[theystarsoyco]

how do u get into succmblr. im normal btw

step 1 get as weird as possible immediately. step 2 treat shame like rot and cleave it from your system. step 3 post about hole.

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 5

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter five

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she’s been thinking that maybe it should say “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck.”

Her partner’s been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

--

thank you as ever to my support team of mythical beauties, without whom this fic would not exist in its present form:  @thisonesatellite​ for her many, many rereads; @profdanglaisstuff​ for swooping in to save the day (no cape necessary); @katie-dub​ just for being there, and being awesome.

SPEAKING OF AWESOME there are not enough good things to be said about the team @captainswanbigbang​, and the amazing crew in the CSRT discord for cheers and comeraderie and so many late nights of sprinting and bad decisions.

--

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) word count:  ~4.5k  AO3  chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter summary:   Hook spends the night in jail, and Emma spends the night dealing with her shit. (It’s not a particularly pleasant way to spend the time, but what the hell--Emma Swan is not a believer.  She is, however, a thief.)

--

Emma had a parking space that was legal, had sightlines into the Mills Organization building, and was far enough back from the entrance that the bright yellow car would not be too memorable. There was even a nearby streetlight that gave enough light to see without destroying her night vision.

It was almost enough to make a person believe in magic.

No cars went by as she sat and waited; no late-night pedestrians passing by in activities either savory or unsavory.

But she sat, and waited, because Hook was right and this was her best chance of making progress. Because she believed him when he said he hadn’t stolen Gold’s “valuable object”, no matter how much it went against her better judgement.

She believed him, about that and--

Her fingers traced over the soft, pebbled leather of Henry’s book as she waited, turning open to a page at random: a cartoonish drawing of a wedding, the bride in white and the groom in plate armor complete with sword belt. It was True Love and Happily Ever After, all of it Mary Margaret down to the core.

Once Upon a Time.

Only the longer Emma stared at the illustration, the more the image began to seem like a photograph, like she could almost see their faces and the stained glass and the way the princess’s skirt fluttered not from fabric but from feathers dancing in the air.

The lights in the window flickered, pulling Emma’s focus fully back toward the building and there was a tall woman--blonde--she was dressed out of time in a voluminous brown skirt embroidered all over in roses and it looked like the curtain-clothing from The Sound of Music. She walked through the front door and vanished in a single flash of hard white light; a scream carried through the air and Emma was out of her car before the echo had faded.

That was when she saw the man in the animal coat, the one with the skin that seemed to glitter. In his hand was something small and white and he carried it as though it were both delicate and valuable.

“Hey!” Emma called out.

His expression, was she could see of it, registered surprise. The object vanished as he held his hands at right angles to each other and he giggled.

“Who are you?” Emma called, trying to walk forward and finding herself unable to do so.

“Not yet, dearie,” he said. “Not yet.”

He vanished; Emma felt a hand brush against her shoulder and jumped.

It wasn’t a hand--it was a silver hook where the prosthetic left hand of James Hook’s had been.

“Tick-tock, Swan,” he said.

The fingers of his right hand rubbed against her wrist and when Emma woke it was with her own hand wrapped around her tattoo and her head leaning against the steering wheel.

--

The thing about stakeouts was that you needed actually to stay awake in order to execute one, so Emma gave up the game and turned the Bug back home when she saw the lights in Regina’s office were out. She parked the car in the first open spot within spitting distance of the of and found herself running inside, nearly banging the door into the wall when she came through. She called out an apology to Mary Margaret before remembering that it was well after midnight and only sort-of noticed that her roommate wasn’t even home as she started pulling drawers and cabinets open, looking for the one box that she never unpacked, never once in the seven different addresses. For most of her life, its contents had been in her backpack, squished up and neglected but never left behind, leaving just enough room for a toothbrush and a change of clothes and a few pairs of socks, maybe a hat if she was living someplace cold.

The blanket was soft, the knitted wool somehow still fluffy under her fingers in spite of its ignominious storage conditions. Emma pulled it out slowly, running her fingers across the smooth purple ribbon woven through, feeling the simple running stitch across the upper corner that spelled out her name. She sat cross-legged on the floor and draped the blanket over her legs and told herself it was just for a minute.

Emma’s life was full of nightmares. Sometimes, on her worst days, her entire existence actually felt like one; a waking hell from which there was no escape except for her own determination to keep going and to keep running.

But none of those nightmares had ever felt like this, like something true and just on the edge of her consciousness, like a memory.

Milah. The crocodile.

Emma could still see his face as he died in her dream, and she wasn’t sure if she meant Graham’s or Hook’s or both, so she sat on the floor with her blanket.

Enjoy the quiet moment.

The blanket didn’t offer much in terms of real warmth when she sat on the floor, but Emma didn’t notice. She rubbed her hand across her wrist as though she could feel the motif inked there--remembered a time and a girl and a friend, her only friend, scribbling on that wrist and saying now we can both be special. Neal and how he had made her feel special; prison and the tattoo to remind herself that she was special without anyone’s help; the buttercup because once upon a time there had been a girl in a storybook that no one thought was special and she became a princess, the True Love to end all True Loves.

Henry’s book had fallen open and Emma slammed it shut almost exactly at the moment when the door banged open again, a slightly disheveled and fully distracted Mary Margaret walking in and nearly tripping over her.

“Oh!” Mary Margaret futtered around her, reaching a hand down toward the floor, apparently changing her mind, and then covering her mouth with it. “Emma! I didn’t expect you.” She paused. “On the floor, I mean.” Her hands were rubbing against each other anxiously as she played with the peridot ring on her middle finger.

“Mary Margaret,” Emma said, rubbing unshed tears from her eyes before her friend had enough focus to notice them. She really did not want a post-coital Mary Margaret going all mother-hen after the night she’d had. “Sorry. Got caught up in...a case.”

“Hmmm?” Mary Margaret said, still distracted. “Oh, that’s good.”

Emma looked at her friend, really looked at her: the woman was a wreck. Tear streaks on her face, the kind that came from ugly crying--and Sheriff Nolan had been the one to pull Hook into custody. So--

“Where have you been?”

“Out,” Mary Margaret said, dully. “Walking. By the water?”

“Is that a question?” Emma said.

“What?” And there was that famous Mary Margaret focus, looking at her as if she had just noticed the two of them were standing in their dining area in the middle of the night. “Emma, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Emma said.

“‘Nothing’ with you always means something,” Mary Margaret sighed, “because if it were nothing, you wouldn’t be sitting on our floor in the middle of the night.”

“We were talking about you,” Emma said, a little desperate.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret said. “But talking about you is easier right now. Remember how you told me to stay away from David and I didn’t?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, pushing herself upright and going for the Scotch. Mary Margaret didn’t drink that often, but they kept a bottle of it in the same cupboard where Emma had hidden her blanket. Mary Margaret bent over and picked the book up off the floor.

“Where did you find this?” she asked. “Did Henry Mills give this to you?”

“What?” Emma said, startled. “Why?” She poured herself a shot and then another one for her friend, handing it over.

“I lent it to him,” Mary Margaret said wistfully. “It used to be my favorite book, you know.”

Emma took her drink and poured another. “Fairy tales?” Emma laughed, and it was harsh--slightly hysterical, even. “Seems about right for you.” She finished the second shot and put the glass down.

“No,” Mary Margaret said, running her fingers across the gilded lettering. “It was more than that. It was hope. Like--believing in even the possibility of a happy ending.”

“Hope,” Emma repeated dubiously.

“And belief,” Mary Margaret said. “It’s a very powerful thing, you know.”

“Whatever,” Emma said, summoning a smile for her friend. She walked toward the ladder to her loft before turning back in an attempt to offer Mary Margaret some kind of reassurance, but Mary Margaret was no longer there. Or maybe she was, only her hair--long now instead of the short pixie cut she typically favored--her hair piled on her head, her waist confined in a dress with a white silk corseted bodice.

The skirt had feathers.

“Mary Margaret?” Emma said.

“Yes?” The woman in white answered her.

“Good night,” Emma said.

--

Sleep was a challenge and beginning daylight was making the sky go grey; Emma was already dressed and out the door by the time five o’clock came and went. She had gone to bed full of whiskey and frustration and fear, chasing a vision of a woman in white through the pages of the storybook she’d gone downstairs for as soon as she’d heard her roommate’s sobbing go quiet and still.

She hadn’t slept.

The fairy tales were--unexpected. To begin with, they were not in any sort of chronological order, meandering through a series of origin stories and follow-ups seemingly based on whatever interested the author most at that particular moment; an increasingly hard-to-follow series of circumlocutions as if they had been paid by the plot twist to churn out the craziest content they could think of. Snow White was a bandit; Prince Charming a shepherd; Red Riding Hood was the Big Bad Wolf and True Love’s Kiss could conquer anything.

Including The Dark Curse, product of the darkest magic and the most malign intent, unleashed upon the world by an Evil Queen manipulated by a man known as the Dark One, and then Snow White and Prince Charming had wrapped their newborn daughter in a hand-knitted blanket trimmed with purple ribbon and hoped that someday, she would find them.

All of it, he’d said, is because of Regina Mills and Robert Gold.

That was when Emma left a note for her friend, promising breakfast, and went back to The Rabbit Hole.

The rear entrance was locked but the office wasn’t, and anyway Emma had come prepared for both, the tension wrench going straight in and exactly the right amount of pressure on the pins popping the back door open in a matter of seconds. The room was exactly as they had left it, even down to Emma’s unfinished tumbler of rum sitting on the far side of Hook’s desk. This time, though, Emma sat on his side, in his chair, bending to examine the drawers.

In the third drawer down she found the locked box. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the lock on this offered more of a challenge than the back door had done, but it was still open in less than a minute, its contents spread across the desk for Emma’s examination. Emma’s hands fidgeted with the smallest treasure pulled from the trove--a ring on a chain--as she contemplated the curved, silver metal that would not have looked out of place in the collection on the wall in the main bar. The hook was nestled in with a scrap of worn leather embossed with a sigil, a foreign crest stamped atop the name ‘JONES’; what stopped Emma in her tracks was the pen-and-ink drawing of a woman and another of a boy, both with creases so sharply worn from folding and unfolding that she was almost surprised the paper--the parchment--didn’t fall apart in her hands.

The boy could almost have been a twin for Henry Mills.

But Henry didn’t have a twin--that much, at least, Emma knew for sure. She’d only given birth the once.

The ring went around her neck before Emma could ask herself why.

The parchment went into her pocket.

Everything else went back into the lockbox and then back into the drawer.

Everything you think you believe is wrong, he’d said.

But Emma Swan was not a believer.

--

Granny’s at seven in the morning was another challenge. Not just because the neighborhood’s best coffee shop and diner would naturally be bustling during the morning rush but because Emma’s head was still pounding from the Scotch. Almost before she sat down, Granny had sent Ruby over with a cup of steaming hot chocolate, whipped cream on top and a cinnamon stick instead of a spoon to stir it. Ruby pulled a face at being dragged back into her old waitressing gig, then gave Emma a wink and sat down, brandishing a bear claw.

Emma closed her eyes and tried to remember why Ruby had quit working at her grandmother’s diner instead of imagining a werewolf serving a breakfast pastry. Something about a row between Granny and Ruby that ended up with Ruby at the bus stop, threatening to leave town, and Emma finding her and mentioning that she and Graham could use the extra help.

“You look like shit,” Ruby commented, taking a bite of an apple that matched her lipstick.

“Are you sure Granny didn’t just fire your ass?” Emma retorted. “Because that is now how you speak to paying customers.”

Ruby laughed. “I’m a people person,” she said. “One that you pay to speak to your customers.”

“Good point,” Emma said, offering a small smile. “How long did you work here, anyway?”

“As long as I can remember,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “Too long, that’s for sure.”

As long as I can remember.

“I’m sorry my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the eastern seaboard,” Granny said, coming up behind them. “Eat your bear claw or I won’t save you one next time.” That last was directed at Emma, who hastened to comply.

Ruby laughed. “What’s up with you this morning, Em? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bear claw last long enough for you to put it on a plate before.”

Emma shrugged. “It was a long night,” she said, because that was easier than saying she’d stayed up too late reading fairy tales and drinking, or explaining that she’d already committed a felony and been to the office before seven. She’d sat at Graham’s desk, with his things--added another reminder to her collection when she’d pulled the laces from his work boots and tied them around her wrist to cover her tattoo. Hook’s ring bumped up against the swan pendant around her neck that might as well have been an albatross for how much it had weighed her down in the years since Neal had stolen it for her and then bequeathed it to her, a parting gift she’d received in prison as she served the sentence he’d set her up to take.

It came in the mail the same day she’d taken the pregnancy test.

Emma Swan did not get emotional about men and she carried the reasons--the reminders--why everywhere she went.

It’s always nice to leave an impression.

The ring was leaving an impression in her skin from where she’d wrapped her hand around it, Emma realized as she tried to focus on what Ruby was saying to her, and then the bell over the entrance rang and Mary Margaret came in, looking nervously around her before sliding into their booth. Emma ordered her a tea by gesturing for Ruby to go get it, which got her another fake snarl before Mary Margaret said, in a voice barely above a whisper: “I broke up with David.”

“Ah,” Emma said. She leaned in closer, wanting to offer comfort but not totally sure how to do it. She reached her hand out to her roommate’s in an unfamiliar gesture, then let it fall to the table when her eye caught the peridot ring Mary Margaret wore on her third finger.

"I’m not the jewelry type," said Snow White. "I can tell," said the prince."

“Kathryn,” Mary Margaret said, “his wife, I mean, she got into law school.” She paused. “In Boston.”

And it was then, when he saw his mother’s ring on her finger, that he knew in his heart there was no other woman he would ever love.

Emma pulled at the ring on the chain around her neck.

Consider it a reminder.

“So David is moving with her?”

Ruby laughed. “David, outside of Storybrooke? I’m not sure if he would survive.”

“No,” Mary Margaret said, on the verge of tears. “We talked about it--we agreed--to take the opportunity to start over from a real place. He was going to tell her the truth. We were going to be honest.”

Emma did not fail to notice the repeated use of the past tense.

“He didn’t tell her,” Emma said, not needing to ask. “But she found out, didn’t she?”

“While you were out last night on your case I was with David,” Mary Margaret said. “And then his wife called looking for him. She thought he was on duty at the station but he didn’t answer there so she--” Mary Margaret was wiping away tears. “He was supposed to tell her. He told me that he did.”

“That would have been the honorable thing to do,” Emma muttered.

“And I realized,” Mary Margaret said, “that what we have, it isn’t love. It’s something else, something destructive. We shouldn’t be together. It’s like we’re cursed.”

"Show me you feel the same, and we can be together forever." “They had their happy endings stolen from them,” Hook had said.

Ruby came back with the tea and sat down, looking between Emma and Mary Margaret before enveloping Mary Margaret in a hug.

“I always thought,” Mary Margaret said, “that if two people were meant to be together, they find a way. They--find each other, no matter what. I really believed that.”

“If you need anything--” ��You’ll find me?” Snow said, looking at him thoughtfully. "Always,” Charming confirmed. “I almost believe that.”

Emma shook her head, trying to wake herself up, trying not to picture the story she’d read the night before, trying not to see the woman in white and a red-cloaked werewolf where her friends were sitting. She took a sip of her cocoa and looked at the clock: 7:15.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Ruby was saying, an arm still wrapped around Mary Margaret’s shoulder as the bell over the door rang again and Sheriff David Nolan walked in.

“You made a mistake with David,” Emma said. “It happens. Hang in there. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

“Thank you,” Mary Margaret said softly, wiping under her eyes, though her mascara was already a lost cause.

So much for True Love.

But Emma still had a job to do, even if she wasn’t completely sure what it was any more. She finished her cocoa and got up, a quick “see you at the office” to Ruby and a hand on the shoulder, which seemed like the right thing to do, for Mary Margaret. She walked toward David and resisted the urge to hit him when she got in front of him and asked, “What happened with Hook last night?”

David’s head moved but he wasn’t looking at her. He was almost looking through her as he said, “I’m looking,” which didn’t seem like an answer to her question.

“What the fuck, Nolan? You really want to dick around right now?” Emma gestured impatiently at the sobbing woman behind both of them.

“I’m looking,” he repeated, and it still wasn’t an answer.

“Whatever,” Emma muttered, moving toward the way out. David Nolan looked like a man possessed.

Or cursed.

Fuck literally all of that, Emma thought as the door closed behind her, nearly walking into someone on the sidewalk. She sidestepped him at the last minute, turning behind her just to double-check, and he was staring at her. The man was tall, with messy hair and wide eyes, something frantic in his gaze. He wore a cravat and a top coat as if that was a thing people did, and turned away when she met his eyes, walking quickly in the other direction.

Emma buried her hands in her pockets, twisting her fingers in the fabric of the pocket bags, and walked to the sheriff’s station.

--

She should have been expecting to find him already gone, if Nolan was out and about getting coffee, but finding the cell empty was still something of a shock. Judging by the charge sheet David had left on his desk--without locking the door, making it easy to snoop--Hook had been bailed out by a woman named Cora Hart. David had left no other notes or thoughts, at least none that Emma could see, so she walked back to the door and came face-to-face with Regina Mills, who was walking in and looking, as usual, angry.

“Seriously?”

“I should be the one asking you that,” Regina said, apparently exasperated in addition to angry. “What game are you playing at, Miss Swan?”

“I could say the same to you,” Emma retorted. “It was you, wasn’t it, who phoned the Sheriff last night?”

Regina did not condescend to answer. “The way the two of you were making eyes at each other,” Regina said with a sneer, “constituted a crime.”

“We do not,” Emma objected, “‘make eyes’.” Emma realized her mistake only when Regina snorted--it felt like an admission, of sorts, and definitely one that Regina could not be trusted with.

“I’ve come to see to him, at any rate,” Regina said expectantly. “What have you done with him?”

Emma gestured at the empty cell with a flourish, suppressing the urge to make a mocking little bow. “He’s gone,” she said. “Bailed out this morning by Cora Hart.”

There was a beat of silence and then Regina’s face went completely white, as if all of the blood had drained from her face at once--except for her lips, which remained so red they looked bloodstained.

“Who is she, Regina?”

“It’s not possible,” Regina whispered.

“You seem to be saying that a lot lately,” Emma said. “It never seems to be true.”

Regina’s perfectly painted lips formed a moue. “She’s my mother,” Regina admitted.

“I thought your mother was dead,” Emma said.

“So did I,” Regina said.

--

Watching Henry Mills on the playground was like staring into the past.

A group of kids crowded around the swingset; another took turns using a slide; and Henry sat, resplendent in his solitude, in the tower of a play structure.

“He calls it his castle,” Mary Margaret explained when Emma had shown up at the school looking for Henry. “That’s where he spends most of his time.”

Emma had always been, at best, at the fringes of childhood socializing. More often, she found herself alone and apart, considered temporary--too aloof, too prickly, too much effort to be worth it.

“You left this in my office,” Emma said, coming up behind him and settling herself next to him. The book she left on the ground in between them.

“Oh,” Henry says, looking sheepish. “Yeah, thanks...Emma.”

“You know who I am, don’t you?” Emma said.

His expression brightened. “You read it?” he asked, excited. “You know?”

“Did I read what?” she said. “Do I know what?”

“The story about you,” Henry tapped the book. “That you’re the Savior.”

“Oh, kid,” Emma said. “You’ve got problems.” Then: “What is it, anyway?”

Henry considered her. “I’m not sure you’re ready, Emma,” he said seriously.

“I’m not ready for fairy tales?”

“They’re not fairy tales,” he said with complete sincerity. “They’re true. Every story in this book actually happened.”

Every story you’ve read, Hook had said, some version of it has actually happened.

“I’ve kind of had enough of the book crap,” Emma said, then winced. “Sorry, I guess I should watch my language or something. But, yeah, I read some of the stories in your book.”

Henry was quiet for a minute, waiting.

“What I meant,” Emma said, “was that I’m your--your birth mother.”

That was the first time she said it out loud.

“I know,” Henry said.

She had never even let herself hold him.

“It’s okay, Emma,” Henry said, his eyes as wide as saucers and his voice gentle and older than his years. “I know why you gave me away. You wanted to give me my best chance.”

“How do you know that?” Emma asked.

“Because,” he said, “it’s the same reason Snow White gave you away.”

Your parents’ entire kingdom was cursed. They sent you here to break it.

“What matters is that you’re here now,” Henry said happily. “You’re going to bring back the happy endings. It says so in the book.”

A place where all of their happy endings had been stolen.

“Did Hook tell you that?”

“Hook?” Henry repeated. “Like, Captain Hook?”

“No,” Emma said, shaking her head. “No, like Hook from The Rabbit Hole.”

Henry was nodding. “Yeah, Liam’s brother. Hook. Captain Hook, Emma. He’s in the book, too.”

“Listen to me: I’m not in any book, I’m a real person. I’m no savior,” she said. “But you’re right about one thing--I wanted you to have your best chance, and it wasn’t with me.”

“But it could be,” Henry said quietly. “You don’t know what it’s like here. With her. It’s not--it really sucks, Emma.”

Emma was surprised to hear that kind of language from a ten-year-old and she wanted to grab him, to soothe him. She didn’t know if she was allowed to, though, so she rubbed her hand against his shoulder and quickly pulled it away.

“You could be,” Hook had said.

She couldn’t do this.

She was not parent material.

How could she be a parent when she never was one? When she never had one?

“Believe me, kid,” Emma said, “I know what ‘sucking’ is. I was left on the side of a freeway--my parents didn’t even bother to drive me to a hospital. But I’m sure, in her way, your mom is trying her best.”

“Emma,” Henry said, “you’ve met her. You’ve seen her. Do you really believe that?”

She didn’t--she really didn’t. But she couldn’t say that to a ten-year-old kid who wasn’t legally hers.

“I want to, kid,” Emma said.

“You know she’s the Evil Queen,” Henry said. “She’s the one who made it so your parents had to send you away--they didn’t leave you on the side of the freeway. That’s just where you came through.”

“What?”

“When you went through the wardrobe,” Henry said, “your parents were just trying to save you from the curse--so you could find them, and break it.”

“You found me,” Snow said. “Did you ever doubt that I would?”

“Sure they were, kid,” Emma said. “So, you spend a lot of time with Hook?”

“Liam’s my friend,” he said, shrugging. “His brother is always really nice to me.”

“And you told him about your storybook? That’s why you think he’s Captain Hook?”

Henry looked shocked. “Of course not, Emma,” he said. “They don’t know they’re cursed. That’s the whole point.”

But Hook--he knew.

“And you think I’m here to break this curse? That’s why you stole Mary Margaret’s credit card to find me? Why you left the book in my office?”

“Yeah,” he said with certainty. “Because you’re the product of True Love. That’s what makes you the Savior.”

“True Love,” he’d said. “That’s the most powerful magic of all, or so they say.” He’d said that, as if magic were real and it was just that simple, and then he’d looked at her with the kind of look you get in your eyes when you’ve been left alone. The kind of look a man might have after growing up under an indenture and losing the brother who had protected him--the kind of look he might have after watching the woman he loved die while he was helpless to stop it--the kind of look that might drive a man to chase his vengeance through worlds and time and finally give himself over to a curse in the hope of finally finding his revenge.

“You really believe,” Emma said, “that everyone in this world is a fairy tale character?”

Everything you think you believe is wrong.

But Emma Swan was not a believer.

“No,” Henry said.

Emma smiled, relieved.

“Just the ones in this part of town, in Storybrooke,” he said. “Time’s been frozen, only, I think it started moving again when you got here.”

“And no one noticed that time just, like, didn’t move?”

“They don’t know,” Henry insisted. “It’s a haze to them, ask anyone anything about their pasts.”

“As long as I can remember,” Ruby said. "As long as I can remember,” Hook said. He’s older than he looks.

“So let me get this straight,” Emma said. “For decades, people have been wandering around, not aging, with screwed-up memories, stuck in a curse?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Henry said. “I knew you’d get it--that’s why we need you. You’re the only one who can stop my mom.”

“Because I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming,” Emma said.

“Yes,” Henry said. “But my mom doesn’t know that--we have the advantage.”

“The child got away,” Hook had said.

“Riiiight,” Emma said, drawing out the word. “And who--who do you think Snow White is, exactly?”

“Miss Blanchard,” Henry said. “Definitely. And I’m pretty sure that Sheriff Nolan is Prince Charming.”

“It’s like we’re cursed,” Mary Margaret had said.

“Oh, kid,” Emma said again.

“I have a name, you know,” he said. “It’s Henry.”

“Yeah,” Emma whispered.

Henry put his hand on her arm. “I know you like me, Emma. And I know the hero never believes at first. If they did, it wouldn’t be a very good story.” He held the book out to her, barely balancing it in both hands.

Emma took the book.

She was not a believer.

--

@kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @optomisticgirl​ @katie-dub​ @eirabach​ @stahlop​ @snowbellewells​ @captainsjedi​ @carpedzem​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @mariakov81​

[fencer-x]

1. Hii, do you still post Drarry fic recs? I've only recently started shipping these two and the fanfic side of HP is entirely new to me, and if I'm honest it's slightly overwhelming lol. So I was wandering if you could perhaps help me find or rec the kind of fic I'm looking for because I have trouble finding them myself in this sea of fanfics. (This is probably going to be a really long ask so apologies for that).

2. So what I'm looking for is the Hogwarts era, and not eight year or post war but before the war, the Voldemort era if you will, from the 5th year and onward when Draco and his family are still involved in being Death Eaters and stuff. If there are fics set in that time where eventually romance blooms between Draco and Harry could you rec me some please? I have no idea what kind of search criteria to apply to find them unfortunately.

3.And another thing I'm looking for is some slow burn in general where the build up and transition to romance between Harry and Draco isn't too sudden which is the case in most fics I've read. It would be good to really see their annoyance and hatred towards one another before the romantic feelings appear, cause I much prefer that kind of dynamic rather than the one where one of them is already feeling a secret attraction toward the other almost from the start or where it escalates too quickly.

4. I have nothing against some silly, dorky Draco with some really funny inner monologue but I'd also much prefer seeing his less fluffy, unapologetic and callous self, and I feel like in most fics that part of Draco's personality disappears too easly and too fast to be in character for him. :/ I hope this isn't a bother and that my requests aren't too specific, and I hope you could point me in the right direction with this. P.S. need I say the E rating is much desirable? :3

First off, WELCOME TO THE SHIP. You’ll have a fantastic time searching for recs, because given the JUGGERNAUT status of this ship, there’s absolutely something for everyone. That can understandably be overwhelming, but this ship’s been going strong for 20-plus years, so no need to rush into things! Take your time and find something that works for you.

For recs, I’ll first give you a great resource: capitu’s Masterlist. It’s great for when you’ve got some certain theme or something you’re looking for (like non-8th-year Hogwarts, for example). AO3 is easily searched using tags, but sometimes you want a list a human being put together! Capitu also has a tumblr where you can trawl through the tags to find posts advertising fics you might like.

I also cannot recommend @drarryficrecs highly enough. Here’s their carefully tended masterlist! And another from fyeahdrarry!

If you want to look on AO3 and sort by, for example, kudos or bookmarks, try using the tag ‘Hogwarts Era’ to narrow down the timeline, and then other tags as you see fit.

As for personal recs, I haven’t made a new post in a while (because I haven’t had time to read much lately, though I intend to rectify that soon), but I’ll see if I can find a few that might appeal to you based on your criteria. I love slow burns and almost only read explicit fics for these two, so that shouldn’t be a problem :) I also adore snarky, crass, rude little shit Draco, so again, NOT a problem :)

However, I confess, pre-8th year isn’t something I usually see written too much now, so 95% of what I read is 8th year or later. I have a couple of recs, but only a couple, alas. 

The If Sieve by cest_what - [An If Sieve lets you see how things would have unfolded if somebody had made a different decision at a particular time.] My thoughts: pretty much what it says on the tin! Draco gets hold of an If Sieve, and things go about how you’d expect as he dives down the rabbit hole of how his life might have changed if he’d made different choices at crucial points along the way.

Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by fencer_x (yes...me XD *shameless self plug*) - [Extensive re-telling of Deathly Hallows - ‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.] My thoughts: So, I’m not sure if this would count for you; it’s not 8th year, but they aren’t really at Hogwarts either? Not for most of the fic lol. Because like it says, it’s a retelling of Deathly Hallows. However, it’s...big. I beefed the heck out of that book in order to weave Drarry into it. At 480,000 words, it’s the slowest of burns, there is snark and hate aplenty, and oh yes there is definitely some porn. Eventually. But not gonna lie it’s gonna take a while to get there, the boys being who they are. Still, perhaps you’ll enjoy it!

And that’s all I have on-hand! Like I said, I don’t tend to read pre-end-of-the-war stuff too much these days, if only because most of the stuff I see written is set a little later. I can recommend everything to meet your wishlist EXCEPT that time slot! However, others might have some suggestions, in which case by all means, feel free to tack on to this admittedly short list!

[thelasthomelyurl]

it tastes better that way

This was written as a gift for the marvelous @shout-cast​ as a thank-you for donating to the fundraiser to help with the recovery after Storm Dennis. That fundraiser can be found here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/helpwalesafterstormdennis 

For the foreseeable future* of that gofundme camapign, you can message me with some sort of proof that you contributed and I’ll write you a little 500-1k word ficlet as a thank-you! (*Gofundmes don’t have a set duration. I probably won’t honor this 5 years from now.) Click here for full details! 

Anyway, shout-cast’s prompt was for “maybe a little cooking fluff, trying a new recipe?” and here we go: 

The best time to start cooking coq au vin, in Aziraphale’s opinion, is in the early 1800s in rural France right after your least favorite rooster turns two years old. The second best time to start cooking coq au vin is two days before your demonic best friend comes back from a work assignment to Norilsk.

(“Norilsk,” Crowley had said, slumped as low as he could without sliding off of Aziraphale’s sofa entirely, “ever been?”

“Never had the pleasure,” Aziraphale had said, and he’d sipped his brandy.

“Here’s your chance. It’s an easy job—just two little temptations.”

“Thank you, but no. This corporation doesn’t handle the cold well.”

Crowley had been so incensed he really had fallen off of the sofa. “That corporation?” he’d demanded. “I’m an actual snake!”)

You have to start cooking two days before, you see, because the secret to a good modern coq au vin—since rooster blood went out of fashion as a thickening agent—is a hearty stock with plenty of gelatin in it. So before you even get around to the actual stew itself, you break down the hens and use their backbones and feet and some vegetable scraps and let it all simmer for as long as you can stand and you think about how there’s only two days left until he’s back, and how every hour the stock simmers is an hour closer to things being as they should be, and what Norilsk might have been like, and how long he’s going to pretend to be put out with you because you didn’t go in his place.

That last part is optional.

Remember to take the bay leaf out when you’re done. If you’re thinking ahead (if you’re searching for things to do with your hands, if you need to fill time because it’s going so slowly and Norilsk is so far away), you can marinate the chicken overnight with a nice red wine (perhaps La Tâche, like the one you had after the crêpes that time he appeared to save you from an ignominious end at the hands of an overly enthusiastic executioner).

Then the day before you actually want to share your coq au vin with your friend—the day before he comes home, that is—it’s time to assemble the dish. Modern hens don’t need a long braise like old roosters would; just pull the chicken out of the marinade after you’ve browned the salt pork and pat it dry, being sure to reserve the marinade—

A knock on the shop door interrupted Aziraphale’s reverie.

“We’re closed,” he shouted, but the little bell rang anyway and that should not happen, there was only one being who would just open his locked door after knocking, which meant that the best time to start this coq au vin should actually have been the day before yesterday, because Crowley was home.

Crowley would almost certainly laugh if he heard that thought. “I was gone a week,” he’d likely say, and Aziraphale would have to laugh and say “Yes, it’s silly isn’t it, barely even had time to notice that you were gone,” and he would be lying.

The shop creaked as Crowley moved through it.

“Aziraphale?”

“In the kitchen,” he called, and he continued patting the chicken dry, because even though Crowley was back now and not when the coq au vin was ready, the chicken still needed browning.

(“Why d’you do it that way?” Crowley had once asked, peering dubiously at Aziraphale as the angel peeled an onion by hand.

“Which way?” Aziraphale had asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious of his peeling methods.

“Actually doing it. You could just—” he snapped his fingers demonstratively “—have the food. No need to make it.”

“It’s better when you do it the old-fashioned way,” Aziraphale said, which was both true and much easier than the other truth, which was that he enjoyed being a part of the process, enjoyed making a thing with the direct intention of Crowley enjoying it.

Crowley had snorted. “That’s not old-fashioned, angel. Old-fashioned is speaking it into existence.”)

And then Crowley was crossing the threshold of the kitchen, wrapped in an absurdly puffy jacket that made Aziraphale sweat just to look at. The demon shrugged it off; it winked out of existence just before hitting the floor.

And then there was a moment—one of the strange moments that seemed to crop up every now and again, lately with increasing frequency—when they both hesitated, like they were expecting something of themselves or each other, only they didn’t know what.

Then it passed.

“Didn’t take as long as I thought,” Crowley said.

“Lucky, that,” said Aziraphale, and he picked up the kitchen tongs and began placing chicken into the pot. It sizzled in the rendered pork fat. “You’re back too early for supper, but just in time to help.”

“What’re we making?”

Aziraphale’s mind caught on that, on “what are we making,” and on how it felt to hear that, but what he said was just: “Coq au vin. It’s...warm.”

Crowley was very still, and Aziraphale thought that perhaps this was another of those moments. Then the demon rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the sink, where he washed his hands, and they set to work.

They’d never cooked together before, Aziraphale realized as he was coaching Crowley through the browning process for the vegetables. For that matter, he wasn’t certain that Crowley had ever cooked at all. Aziraphale made food for them both plenty of times, and Crowley occasionally kept him company, but he’d never been an active participant before, never diced and stirred, never accidentally brushed against the angel while moving from one counter to the other.

When they had the chicken legs nestled into the vegetables and simmering in stock and wine and the pot in the oven to roast and braise, it seemed only appropriate to open another bottle of the Tâche and toast to Crowley’s safe return. It had been, Crowley mentioned time and again, excessively cold.

“Bitter cold,” the demon said meaningfully.

“So you mentioned,” Aziraphale said.

“Going to take me another week just to thaw.”

“Time does heal all wounds.”

“Not frostbite!” Crowley said, but the kitchen timer went off and the business of adding the chicken breasts to the pot put that conversation on hold.

The second best time to finish coq au vin is the day after you prepare the bulk of the dish: after you’ve simmered everything to perfection, you should let the temperature settle and put the whole covered pot into your fridge overnight to let the flavors deepen and mature, then bring it back up to temperature before mixing in some butter for the last bit of magic in the sauce, and serve.

But there are any number of factors which can impact a recipe—humidity, ambient temperature, ingredient quality and regionality, the list goes on. So it turns out that the best time to finish coq au vin is approximately two hours after your demonic best friend shows up in your shop after a work assignment in Norilsk. It was an exceptional dish. The way Crowley wrapped his hands around the warm bowl and preened when Aziraphale complimented his cooking was even nicer.

[valasania-the-pale]

Unforgivable

This takes place post-V6 and presumably pre-V7 in that happy little space where the party finally gets to settle down in their new locale before diving headlong into a new set of problems. Please enjoy! This can also be considered a spiritual successor to my other drabble, ‘Contemplation.’ 

Either he was getting better at noticing changes in his surroundings, or Ruby was truly exhausted, because when she slipped out of the small apartment provided to them by the Atlesian military, Oscar was aware of it. That alone surprised him – travelling with a group of huntsmen (‘Not yet’ a voice whispered back at him, not his own) was stressful. Not only did they attract terrifying monsters seemingly by chance, but they also managed to constantly surprise him.

Huntsmen were quiet. They were skilled. They needed to be to stalk their prey, and in the ‘killing Grimm’ category, his companions were particularly prodigious. Sadly, he was a mere farm boy and they often managed to sneak up on him without meaning.

‘You’re improving,’ the other voice whispered again, part in amusement, part just stating a simple truth.

Oscar scoffed, suppressing the tiny glow of pride in his chest, but the other presence noticed it anyways and flickered with amusement.

His mind returned to Ruby. It wasn’t the first time she’d slipped away from the group to be alone. According to Weiss it was extremely unusual behavior for her – Ruby tended to cleave to her friends when emotional or troubled. The heiress had been very offput when he’d confided in her about it; she’d waived him off at the time, but Oscar didn’t need help from his other half to realize that she was more troubled she hadn’t noticed it herself.

What was Ruby doing? Was she just trying to get away from everyone for a little while, find some privacy? After living with just his aunt for several years – punctuated by the frequent visits of neighbors and distant relations, especially during harvest season – Oscar could appreciate how overwhelming it could be to suddenly be surrounded by people day and night. Hell, he felt the same way when he first joined up with Qrow and RNJR for the first time, never mind the additions of Ruby’s original teammates.

‘…Go talk to her.’

“What?” Oscar muttered back. He wasn’t quite used to the mental conversation thing. It was far more comfortable to speak aloud when possible. “Maybe she just wants some privacy, I don’t want to be rude!”

Ozpin shifted – an interesting, if decidedly odd feeling, constrained by his own little partition of their shared consciousness as it was. ‘I don’t believe that is the case… at any rate, I want to speak with her.’

Oscar hesitated. “If you’re sure…?”

‘As I can be. This has been long in coming anyways. Better now than after we meet with James… Powers know what will happen after that conversation.’

“Fine.”

He grabbed his cane from the countertop he’d been fiddling with it on, the handle fitting his hand like a glove. Thankfully he’d elected to stay dressed – Solitas was, quite frankly, freezing. To an extent Oscar hadn’t felt since the bitter winters of his early childhood. The lining of his coat was particularly good at keeping out the chill.

Ruby’d been wearing her cloak, but aside from that just wore her usual attire… Thankfully her footsteps were clear in the fresh snowfall, not yet destroyed by the passerby that would undoubtedly turn the white blanket into grey slush come morning.

A few blocks down – not far enough to be worrisome, far enough to feel distant from the rest. Up some stairs, and there she was. Protected from the snow by a decorative awning, Ruby shivered on a bench, staring out over the Atlesian skyline.

Tense – and still not sure he wasn’t interrupting some sort of private moment of self-reflection or somesuch – Oscar of course tripped on the last chair, startling Ruby out of her contemplation. “Oscar!”

“Uh… hi?”

There were shadows underneath her eyes, and Oscar felt Ozpin measuring the slump of the girl’s shoulders, as well as the sag in her usually excellent posture.

If she noticed his once-over, she didn’t show it, instead putting on a concerned expression. “Is something the matter? Everyone’s alright, right?”

“Yeah!” Picking himself up, he walked over to the bench. “Yeah, nothing’s wrong, just saw you leaving and figured I’d… um.”

Oscar floundered for a moment, suddenly aware that he hadn’t followed her for any particular reason. ‘A little help?’

Ozpin chuckled, a sound Oscar only knew from Ozpin’s memories – when he took the reigns his voice was Oscar’s, if inflected differently. It was a different man’s laugh in his mind.

He felt the nudge, like a hand slipping into a glove, except the glove was his body and the hand was Ozpin’s mind slipping around Oscar’s. It was quite the feeling, and one he hadn’t realized he’d grown familiar with until Ozpin disappeared entirely for the last few days. Oscar surrendered to the loss of agency willingly, becoming just a presence in another’s mind, watching from his eyes as a passenger.

Through those eyes he saw Ruby’s silver widening in recognition as Ozpin shifted posture, both hands resting on the handle of their cane, shoulders evening out in that just-so manner that Oscar’s aunt would have cried to see.

“Oh… Professor Ozpin.”

“Miss Rose. If we’re not interrupting anything, I would like to have a chat.” Oscar could feel the distance between Ozpin and his words. The formality, the coolness bordering on warmth – it was the tone he used to greet new students at Beacon, the tone he’d used to first greet Oscar himself that fateful morning. Jovial, polite, and perfunctory… but still undeniably the voice of a stranger speaking to another stranger.

Ruby blinked, some emotion passing over her face before it shifted into something resigned. Or maybe resolved. Oscar couldn’t really tell – he was used to drawing on Ozpin’s muscle memory and tactical memories, not so much the social kind. Those were a bit more… personal.

At any rate, she didn’t say anything, just mutely nodded and sat back down. Ozpin joined her, leaning forward to put his weight on the cane, just staring out over the Atlesian skyline.

He and Oscar both could sense the tension radiating from the girl. Among the myriad emotions swirling within his other half – more than Oscar had ever felt at once from the older soul – he could feel a trickle of pity and, surprisingly, empathy. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s so much…” Ruby whispered. “So many buildings… like Vale, but so much more high-tech… This is where Weiss grew up.”

“Indeed. It’s not too hard to see how Miss Schnee could come to be the woman she was when she first arrived at Beacon when her origins lay here.”

“It’s nothing like Patch.”

Sadness, a faint memory of a childhood spent far from the city, stars overhead and forests surrounding. Oscar marveled – the images were not his… yet they were so similar to his own, save for perhaps the constellations.

“Atlas is spectacular… though I find myself longing for the days when Mantle was ascendant. Perhaps it was less prosperous, less populous, and dare I say even less beautiful, but there was a pioneer spirit to be found here. The feeling that if you just worked hard enough, for long enough the faintest of dreams were within your grasp.”

“Kind of like Beacon.”

“Yes. The best huntsmen came here because of the city’s lack of natural fortifications, Grimm were still drawn here like moths to the flame. It was slow, but progress was made, and all so suddenly the city was rising before my eyes.”

Oscar saw a flat plain, broken only by the random outcropping of grey stone. Hardly the kind of place one would put a city, with so little in the way of natural fortifications. Grimm would wash over this place like a dark tide, and yet…

Dust. Someone, somehow, managed to discover a truly incredibly vein of Dust. That justified the settlement. The mines. The mistreatment, though he could only watch on in sorrow, a mere visitor – a stranger – hoping against hope that things would change.

Change it did. The vein led to deeper tunnels, more intensive mining, new veins and even more Dust. Soon the settlement grew to a city. Alsius coming into being after the war. The military moving in, providing even more protection as more of Mantle’s population moved to the thriving boom town.

Amidst sorrow, toil, and sweat, a city rose to supplant its parent, eclipsing it in all things.

And then it rose. The mines finally ran dry, but the city would not be deterred. They were Atlas, now. Like the Vytal stadium, the best minds worked in concert and the city moved itself to a new vein – discovered underneath the old capital… too late to save it from ignominy.

Oscar gasped – was it a gasp, if it only happened in his mind? He was not used to falling into flurries of memory like that. It was always nudges or feelings, the briefest glimpses of thought from Ozpin.

‘Hiding did me little good before,’ the older soul admitted mentally, outwardly silent as he and Ruby gazed out on the skyline. ‘And though I don’t believe you’ll pry again, you also don’t deserve me shutting you out entirely… and wasn’t it just incredible, seeing the change?’

‘Yeah,’ Oscar thought. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that… it was like the crops back at home, but bigger. And faster.’

Ozpin chuckled in his mind, almost but not quite hiding the shift Oscar got from him. He was steeling himself for something.

Beside them, Ruby shifted uncomfortably. She was so tense he couldn’t detect her shivering any more, but Oscar could tell her mind wasn’t on the sights any more.

Ozpin broke the stalemate.

“I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, Miss Rose, for deceiving you.” Ruby flinched, otherwise frozen, but remained silent. Ozpin carried on. “I’ve had a fair amount of time to reflect on the last few months, and on my behavior since the fall of Beacon. I haven’t been fair to you, or your teams. I expected too much from you, and didn’t correct you when you made your own assumptions.”

“Professor—”

“No, I don’t want there to be—”

“Professor.”

Ozpin fell silent, halted by the ragged note in Ruby’s voice. The smallness, like he hadn’t ever heard from the girl. She clenched her fists, refusing to meet his eyes, her gaze fixed on the city like it was her prey. “Professor, what we did…” Ruby shook her head, brow furrowing. “What I did was wrong. It wasn’t my business to ask Jinn that question… I shouldn’t have pried.”

Oscar blinked – no, that was Ozpin, Oscar could only feel the slightest edge of bewilderment and sorrow from his other half. Ruby was shaking. His own gold-flecked-hazel orbs tried meeting hers, tried to lock with her gaze to convey… something, Oscar couldn’t tell what Ozpin wanted to do. But they wouldn’t turn.

“I was impulsive,” her voice cracked. “I was cruel… I was a bully.”

Oscar recoiled as the tears began to flow. “I wasn’t thinking about what would happen when I asked, I was just thinking about needing to know… I didn’t want to trust you. I didn’t trust you to not lie again – to hide whatever it was from us behind something else… I’m sorry.”

Their hand rose, hesitantly hanging in the air as the girl buried her face in her hands, cutting herself off from them entirely. Should they comfort her, should they say something? Oscar had no reference, and Ozpin was hesitant to push… worried that too much would break the fragile soul beside him, a feeling he knew too well.

They let the silence hold for a few seconds. Oscar could feel him ruminating in the back of their mind, feel the faintest swell of emotion, of empathy.

‘The harshest criticism comes from within,’ the older soul whispered sadly, a sliver of sympathetic ice spearing their heart. As it had only days before.

Their hand fell, and Oscar watched from the back of their mind as Ruby had her cry. They were a silent presence beside her – had the adrenaline just run out? Was it just the day, the fight, the horror and shock as their plan fell apart around their ears? Or perhaps it was an older wound than that – is this what she did, each time she vanished out on her own?

‘This must be really hard on her too,’ Oscar remembered sadly, images from their shared memories, neither one nor the other’s alone. Ruby knew what to say to make him feel better, at least that one time. He felt helpless now.

‘It is hard on us all – she isn’t ready for this,’ Ozpin frowned. ‘None of you are. In many respects.’

‘No kidding.’

Several minutes passed before Ruby pulled herself together. Minutes that Oscar spent in his own partition, blocking everything else out and seeking some of that peace his aunt tried to teach him in the garden pulling weeds. Away from it all.

“It seems we’ve both made our mistakes.” Ozpin commented after Ruby wiped her eyes.

“Yeah.” Ruby sniffled, looking for once utterly pathetic.

“I’m sad to say, as your teacher, that they only tend to pile up as the years pass by.”

Ruby gave a watery laugh. “I don’t think they have to be this bad.”

That drew a smile from their lips. “We live in interesting times… it used to be said that those were the sort of times you cursed being born into. It’s still a saying in Mistral, if I’m not mistaken.”

Ruby wasn’t distracted by the old man’s intentional rambling – Oscar could only watch from the background as the professor tried guiding her back out of the hole she’d dug for herself.

“I really am sorry, Professor,” Ruby said again, finally turning to look them in the eyes. Pain shone in those silver orbs – as well as guilt, and sadness, and exhaustion.

‘She really needs a good sleep,’ Oscar observed.

‘I wouldn’t say no to that, myself.’ Something felt lighter in his other half. His emotions were a swirling mess – more chaotic than Oscar was used to feeling from the controlled, reserved soul. But it was a good chaos – there was no hiding, no shying, not even from himself.

“I forgive you.”

Eh?

He said it so simply. Like it was nothing, and yet…

“What I did was unforgivable!”

“Well, I forgive you anyways.” There was a note of humor in their voice, entirely Ozpin. He… meant it. Why?

‘Hm.’

He wetted their lips, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe it was unforgivable… It certainly hurt, more than I believe you can even comprehend… but…” Ozpin paused, his mind casting very far back, farther than Oscar had ever felt before. “…I learned long ago that forgiveness is the surest path to peace… I have committed many sins… ‘More than any man, woman or child on this planet,’ I believe I told you… Yet I have met many hundreds of people willing to forgive me, trust me, to be my friends and confidents… Those are the people I have treasured most in my, very, long memory.”

Naked emotion shone in Ruby’s silver eyes, as well as the faintest glint of tears. “I don’t deserve it.”

“’Deserve?’” Their lips quirked. “No… you don’t. But it is my choice. You didn’t mean to hurt me, though you did. Your actions were not born of malice, though their results struck truer than many a mortal enemy I’ve faced… and you clearly feel remorse.” Ozpin hummed, eyes distant on the horizon, peering far back into that ancient memory Oscar couldn’t quite view. “Maybe I shouldn’t forgive you… maybe I should hold onto my anger, lest you tempt me to lower my guard again… but I won’t. I don’t want to. I won’t let her win.”

“Professor…”

“Ozpin. I may still be your teacher, but while we journey together, I believe it wouldn’t be too out of line for your to call me by my given name.”

‘Such confusion!’ Ozpin chuckled.

‘Ozpin?’ Yes, he was confused, and would like an explanation please?

‘I don’t like grudges, Oscar. Perhaps you may feel differently – and I will not urge you to choose anything not to your desires – but I will not torment Miss Rose further when she clearly loathes herself for what she did more than I ever could. Better to bury the hatchet and move on.’

Not parley to their mental exchange, Ruby stared in bewilderment at them. “Does that mean we’re… friends?”

Ozpin mentally blinked – he was too outwardly controlled to let such a tell go unchecked. It was another distinctly odd sensation to feel from a mind. ‘Not the question I would have asked.’

‘Ruby is Ruby.’

“If you would like to call it that, yes.”

That seemed to break her out of her shell a little, because she smiled. It was weak – tentative – but it was something. “Well, my friends call me Ruby.”

Ozpin smiled wryly. “Ruby it is then.”

“Yang is still mad at you.”

Their eyebrow quirked.

“Indeed, and I don’t believe I’ve forgiven her for the ‘bastard’ remark – my mother was a wonderful woman, and happily married.”

“Uncle Qrow’s drinking’s been getting worse.”

“Neither I nor Oscar have forgiven him that right cross… and shan’t until he pulls himself out of his despair enough that he apologizes himself. Oscar can speak for himself on the matter.”

“I still don’t trust you entirely, even though I want to.”

“I don’t believe I shall ever forget what you made me go through, at least not for a long while… but hindsight truly is crystal clear.”

Ruby let out a laugh, hugging herself. “Dust… I’ve made so many mistakes…”

“The Leviathan was a particularly impressive fuckup, if you’ll pardon my language.”

Her arms tightened. “I was only thinking about getting to Atlas…”

“Tunnel vision,” Ozpin remarked clinically. Oscar marveled – he was so… casual about it. About all of these terrible things. The lightness in his spirit refused to be dampened. “It’s a trap even the best fall into. Huntress you are, you were trained to work with goals in mind. If things had been different, Glynda would be working you to the bone even as we speak on repercussions, law, and the more mundane skills to learn. Like critical thinking.”

Ruby groaned, burying her head in her hands.

“Now now, Ruby. You managed to clean up after yourself, and only a few people were hurt.”

“The gryphon pack grounded three of the Argussian airships and thirteen people were injured,” she muttered.

“And a steeple,” Ozpin threw in flippantly. “Never forget infrastructure damage – Glynda was always on me about the migraine of paperwork involved in that.” He folded their hands. “Indeed, your failure endangered countless lives and might have had grievous repercussions… but such is the life you have chosen to lead. Entrusted with the lives of Remnant, your mistakes will cost many more as the years go on. The trick of it all is to reduce the mistakes, and ensure that those that are, for the most part, preventable, do not occur.”

“How can you be so… casual! About this?!” The bewilderment was back.

But Ozpin had an answer for her – one that drew on some of the darker clouds in the morass of his soul. They had just the slightest hint of sharpness, self-loathing. Some irony. “Because I vividly remember a time not so long ago that my lack of foresight and passivity cost me my home, my school, and thousands of people their lives. Even after thousands of years the simplest mistakes to make are made, and there is little to do about it save to pick yourself up, do your best to ensure it never happens again, and move on. Such is life.”

Ruby laughed into her hands, a sound suspiciously close to a sob, and Ozpin patted her gently on the shoulder. Thankfully, she didn’t dissolve back into tears and her moment passed.

“Will you come back after this?”

“I will to meet with James… I don’t believe that Qrow is up to the challenge of countering James’ ego… nor his paranoia.”

“But what about… us? The group?”

“I…” Ozpin paused, eyes flickering down. “In time. A few days isn’t very long. It speaks to your character that you are willing to forgive so quickly… I am not so… inclined.”

‘What happened to the ‘no grudges’ thing?’ Oscar asked.

‘You’ll find that there’s a difference when the other party actually feels remorse for their misdeeds. I don’t like grudges… but I am not a saint.’

Ruby straightened up. In spite of the exhaustion clinging to her frame, she looked more like her normal self than she had all day. “I’ll talk to them,” she said resolutely. “Yang is angry… she’ll be angry for a long time. So will Jaune… Blake will listen, I think. So will Ren. They can help me with the others.”

Curiosity.

“And Miss Schnee?”

“I don’t know about Weiss…” a shadow passed across her face. “Being in Atlas is hard for her, she’s scared her dad will come after her when he hears about her being here. I don’t want to push again…”

‘Ah.’ Ozpin hummed. “Give it time. Impatience got you into this mess, patience will, hopefully, be the cure. I appreciate your effort all the same.” To both his and Oscar’s surprise, he meant it.

“Thank you, Ozpin.”

“Thank you, Ruby.”

[rex101111]

Under the Light of the Fireworks

Summary:  Baiken is tricked into humoring Anji by going along with his plan to join a festival that happens to fall on her birthday. As the day goes on, and Anji pulls her through more and more of the festival, she actually starts to enjoy herself. The day is long, but full of joy. More than she could have imagined. More then she thought she deserved.

A/N: aw HELL WOULD YOU BELIEVE THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE IN MARCH??? Like this is a super late birthday fic for Baiken that was supposed to be another chapter of "swipes", meaning short and sweet, but somehow ended up...over 11k words long oh God. I blame @sevi007 and @broken-clover on here and on AO3, Sevi for infecting me with whatever demon possessed her to write two super long one shots one after the other, and clover for posting a bunch of really cool B-day headcannons for Baiken that I simply had to include here. 

Okay, super long, super corny, super fluffy.

ENJOY!

Anji had a way of moving when he was happy that more like floating than any kind of walking. His feet barely touch the ground as he flies from place to place as his attention changes focus.

Finding himself in the middle of a festival always seemed to magnify that trait, Anji practically soared in the midst of the throng of people standing around near food stalls and playing simple games.

Baiken would have thought it endearing, if she wasn't the one being dragged by the arm as he did so. The only reason she wasn't yanking her forearm out of his grip and finding the nearest bar before he dislocated her shoulder in his exuberance was because he somehow managed to get her to promise to play along with him until nightfall.

Baiken would have rather let her birthday pass with a minimum of fuss, march 5th was just another day, just another sunrise, but leave it to Anji to want to celebrate.

She should have known what he was planning when they first reached the town two days ago, the signs of people setting up some sort of party evident on every street corner and store front. People milling about smiling as children ran between their legs in uncontained excitement.

Somehow he managed to keep the façade that they were just stopping for a much needed rest after a grueling few weeks of travel and job (and head) hunting going until they reached their inn room.

Just as she was about to lay her head down for a short nap he sprang his trap, "Baiken, you know your birthday is coming up, right?" His faced stretched into a fond grin, "or did you forget again?"

"What if I did?" She groused irritably, her head a few measly inches away from sweet, downy relief. "It's just another day in the year Anji, let it go." She glanced at him to see his arms crossed over his chest while he leveled an unimpressed look at her. "Oh knock it off." She waved her hand in his direction, not in the mood for his pouting. "If you want to make a thing of it just let me sleep and we'll go to a bar tomorrow evening."

"We did that last year Baiken."

"I know, and what a wonderful time we had."

"Be serious." He admonishes, sitting himself on his side of the futon. "It's not just any day Baiken, its one day in the year that's all about you." Anji smiled and spread his arms as he spoke a bit more passionately, "a day to be happy and indulge! We can go bar hopping, see the sights in the town, maybe even…join the festival?"

Baiken was nodding absentmindedly as he went on, long used to his tendency to go on tangents but stopped and whirled her gaze to him when he mentioned a festival. "…Anji."

"Yes?"

"Where did you hear about there being a festival in town?"

Anji was silent for a long minute, clearing his throat before he gave out an utterly unconvincing smile. "I…heard some of the inn staff talking about it!"

"No you didn't."

"A few children were raving about it on our way here!"

"Try again."

"…there was a sign?"

"Anji."

"A few weeks back," he relents with sagging shoulders, smile sheepish. "I heard a few locals talk about it after we finished up that job," he gestured vaguely with his hand, attempting to remember the exact one. "You know…the one with the smuggled rhinos?"

Baiken was still having trouble trying to parse how in the hell that lunatic managed to stuff those animals into a storage locker without anyone catching wise, but she nodded absentmindedly.

"Right, well, I asked about it while on the way back from getting our payment squared away, and imagine my surprise when the date happened to line up with your special day!" He grinned with all his teeth at her with this announcement. "What are the odds?"

"Not low enough for my taste that's what."

Anji scoffed affectionately at her. "Come on Baiken, it's serendipity!"

Baiken turned away from him, pulling out her pipe and lighting it as she glared at the wall. "It's a pain my ass."

There was silence, for a moment, Anji apparently taking a moment to choose his words for the first time that night. After a minute or so of this, the samurai heard soft foot falls coming towards her, before she felt the weight of Anji's back on her own as he sat down and leaned on her.

"Would it be so bad?" He muttered quietly. "Having fun on your birthday?"

Baiken sighed. "Anji, I am not going to drag myself around that many noisy, drunk, rowdy assholes stuffing themselves with cheap food just to have fun." She pushed that last word between her teeth with another puff of smoke. "If you want to go, be my guest, but there's no way you can get me to join in on all that bull-"

"You owe me."

Baiken stopped short, something in his tone…awfully familiar. She turned her head to look at the back of his, eye narrow with suspicion, "what did you just say?"  

"That job from a while back, with the rhinos." He turned his head so she could see the sneaky little smirk that snaked its way onto his face when she wasn't looking. "You owe me."

She knew that damnable smirk, that smirk he gave to people he conned and needled for information. The smirk he had when he was opposite someone he was about to metaphorically lift by the ankles and shake until what he wanted from them shook loose.

A smirk he had when the smug bastard knew he was getting exactly what he was looking for.

She had been on the receiving end of that smirk on more than a handful of occasions, none of them pleasant, none of them she managed to escape. Still, she gritted her teeth, determined not to go down without a fight. "Anji-"

"If I hadn't pushed you out of the way of that rampaging beast," He effected dramatically, the smirk unmoving as he went on. "You would be one lung short, on top of everything else."

"I swear Anji don't you-"

"What an ignominious fate that would have been for the lone samurai, done in by an animal so blinded by tranquilizers and dehydration it couldn't tell the difference between a tree and a wall."

"You can't be serious-"

"Good thing I was there and acted as quickly as I did." He turned to her fully, smirk growing into a toothy, shark-like grin. "In fact, such bravery and quick thinking deserves a reward, methinks."

Baiken frowned and scowled for all she was worth in the face of the overwhelming presence of that grin, but she knew she was beaten when he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers and his gaze sunk into hers.

She sighed with sagging shoulders, "fine." She glared full force at him, the display having a minimal effect on the suddenly giddy dancer. "But only until sundown, then I'm finding the closest bar and drinking myself fully blind."

"Deal!"

So here she was, getting dragged from stall to stall, a heavy bag of greasy food in her hand, a piece of overly sugary candy held between her teeth, and a headache growing behind her nose.

"It's too bad no one is selling any paper fans." Anji lamented as he munched on one of his own snacks. "Used to love running around with those as a kid."

"Three hours to sundown Anji." Baiken muttered, eyebrow twitching as a few screaming kids ran past her throwing freshly fallen leaves as they went. A few yellow leaves stuck themselves in her hair, Baiken taking a deep breath through her nose. "Three hours, don't waste them by being an ass."

Anji tutted and laughed as he pulled the leaves from her hair, "that's no look for a birthday girl." The scowl she sent him bounced right off his cheery grin. "Come on now, we still have a lot to see!"

Baiken groaned as he moved on and she followed. "It better not be another damn food stall, I have enough oily shit in this bag to grease a truck engine."  She bit through the hard candy she held in her teeth with a loud crunch that scattered a few rowdy kids that got a bit too close. "No candy either, I can feel my teeth rotting out of my skull."

"Got you covered." He took the bag from her and used his free hand to hold it and guide her through the crowd, waving hello to people that passed them. A few older couples, hand in hand as they were, gave them encouraging smiles and waves that Baiken ignored on principle along with the heat in her cheeks. "I got just the thing to get you to enjoy yourself."

Baiken scoffed but said nothing, merely following Anji as he leads her by the hand. Her eyes wondered as she did so, taking in the sight of people with colorful masks and families sharing food with each other. Game stall owners laughing as the various guests failed the simple tasks but gave them small prizes for trying.

It almost made a tiny smile pull on her lips. Almost.

As soon as she turned her gaze back to Anji he stopped with a smile and looked to the side, "there!" She followed his line of sight to see another game stall, the one where you were tasked with knocking over a stack of bottles with purchased balls. "Just what I was looking for!"

There was currently a pair of very young children, a boy and a girl no older than 10, possibly siblings, giving it their all to hit the bottles. Baiken and Anji stood by quietly and waited their turn, the samurai unamused by the dancer's idea. "Seriously Anji?" She whispered so the children and the stall owner wouldn't hear. "You know these games are always rigged."

"Probably." Anji agreed with a whisper of his own. "Doesn't mean we can't give it a try…besides." His tricky smirk came back. "If it is rigged, the owner probably didn't have people like us in mind when he fixed it."

Baiken blinked at him, a bit taken aback, before chuckling. "Yeah, could be good stress relief."

"Among other things." Anji laughed lowly, watching the girl line up her last shot more carefully than before, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she squinted at her target, and tossing her ball as hard as she could. "Good one." Anji muttered approvingly as the ball hit the stack of bottles dead center…and failed to make them fall.

"Sand in the bottles." Baiken whispered lowly, so as not to be heard over the loud despairing of the children and the smug condolence of the man behind the table. "Just enough to weigh them down from being knocked over, but still enough to make them move slightly so nobody says he glued the bottoms."

"That is no way to run a game." Anji scolded reproachfully, walking closer to the stall with a paper thin smile on his face, "a lesson is in order, methinks."

Baiken followed closely at his heels, already smirking in anticipation

"C'mon mister!" The boy pleaded with the owner, "just one more ball?"

"Forget it!" The man waved off the children as they looked up at him with shining eyes. "If you want another go, you pay up like good little brats." He scowled at them like they were trash stuck on the heel of his boot. "Otherwise, scram!"

"But we won't have enough money for food!" The girl argued, a hopeless scowl on her face. "We already spent so much money here!"

"Not my problem." The owner sneered at her, fish eyes squinting, before lifting his gaze to see Anji and Baiken, his face morphing in a blink to a welcoming tone. "Welcome folks! Give me just a moment and I'll be at your service!" He leaned down to bare his teeth at the children, as if the two other adults couldn't see him. "Now scram I said! You're bothering costumers!"

"But-!"

"Kids." Anji said calmly, putting a gentle hand on the girl's head, smiling serenely. "Let us have a turn while you think about what to do with your money." He looked back at the stall owner, his smile sharpening with every word. "I promise we won't be long."

The children looked at each other confusedly before nodding and taking a few steps back for the dancer and samurai to stand in front of the stall.

"Hello and welcome to my game!" The owner said jovially, as if nothing happened. "Simply knock the bottles over and win a prize!" He pointed to the various shelves and stands and hooks carrying all sorts of rewards, from dolls to keychains and even a wooden practice sword. "The less balls it takes the bigger the prize!"

"Sounds delightful!" Anji grinned easily, eyes sparkling with excitement. "How much for a shot then?"

"Its three world dollars for 5 tries!" The owner provided a small bowl with the tiny plastic balls, setting it on the counter in front of him. "Get it in one shot for the grand prize!"

"Marvelous." Anji produced the needed money from his pocket, and grabbed one of the balls, aiming for the stack, a sharp gleam in his eye. "Here goes…"

First try missed by a wide margin.

Second got a bit closer.

Third and fourth just barely missed, the owner smiled encouragingly.

Anji moved his last shot between his fingers for a moment, as if considering, before shrugging and flicking the ball forward, hitting the bottle stack straight on with some measure of force.

The bottles wobbled for a short moment before settling, remaining upright.

"Darn." Anji snapped his fingers in exaggerated frustration, "thought I had that one."

"No worries sir!" The owner assured with a crocked smile, "you can always try again!" He turned his gaze towards the samurai, his smile stretching across his face in what he must have thought was a show of kindness but reminded Baiken of a rat looking to steal a block of cheese. "Or maybe our beautiful lady here would like to have a go?"

Baiken rubbed her chin, making a show of deliberating by scratching her chin and humming low in her throat, before shrugging, "why not? Might be fun."

Anji slid close to the owner, cupping a hand over his mouth as he whispered loud enough for Baiken to hear, "you know," he started conspicuously with a wide smile. "It just so happens that it's her birthday today!"

The owner's eyebrow's climbed over his hairline, "that right?"

"I know! What are the odds!" Anji very pointedly ignored Baiken's scoff. "So, there any chance for a small kindness?"

The owner narrowed his eyes at the dancer, "you don't expect me to just give a prize away do you?" He gestured towards his selection again, nose pointing at the ceiling. "I still need to make money tonight you know."

"Oh I'm sure you've made plenty."

"Sorry miss, what did you-"

"What she said!" Anji interjected quickly and a bit too loudly. "Is that she's sure we can reach a compromise." Anji snapped his fingers. "Oh! Okay here's an idea for you!" He pointed at the bottle stack. "You said if I managed to knock that stack over on the first shot, I'd win the grand prize, right?"

"Yeah?"

"So here's my suggestion," he pointed at Baiken. "If she can manage it in one shot, you give her…" He held up a hand and moved it in the air for a moment as he thought. "Two? Yes, two." He held up two fingers with a guileful grin. "Two prizes if she can knock that stack over in one shot, sound fair dear sir?"

Than the owner looked at her. Really looked. His eyes going from her clothes, to her sword (Anji couldn't convince her to part with it), to her eye (and eyepatch), to the stump of her arm, and back to her clothes (lingering on her chest as if the missing eye made her blind, she made a note to punch him on her way to the bar), before looking back up.

He had the look of someone who thought he was going to get away with something, Baiken had to make a very concerned effort not to smirk. "That it does." The grin that climbed up his face made the smirk harder to hide. "In fact, how about we make it three?" Anji raised an eyebrow at him. "It is her birthday, as you said, so why not?"

Anji laughed, "oh sir, you are far too kind!"

"Though you'll pay double." The owner continued with the same grin and pleasant voice. "Still running a business here, you see."

"How about I pay triple," Baiken offered as she stepped forward with a sharp little smile of her own. "And you give me four?"

You could practically see the dollar signs light up in his eyes. "It's a deal!" He produced another bowl with gusto and moved aside to present Baiken with her target. "Feel free to buy as many as you want miss! Though the price will remain the same, of course." He chuckled lightly. "Now go on! Give it your best-!"

A rush of air passed him, making his clothes billow violently around him, followed by a crash glass and wood.

"-shot?" He looked behind him to see a horrifying sight, the bottles utterly destroyed along with the wooden table they were set on. The only remains being a few scant shards of glass…and several tiny piles of sand.  

There was a small, circular hole in the back wall of the stall. Someone further back in the city complained of a broken window.

"H-how in the-"

"Got a good throwing arm." Baiken said blithely, face the very picture of content, smug innocence. "So, that was, what? Fifteen?" She reached into her kimono and retrieved two ten dollar bills. "Keep the change."

"You- Y-you-!"

"We had a deal I believe." Anji interjected, ignoring how the look of shock on the owner's face gave way to anger. "Four prizes right?" He lowered his head so he was nose to nose with the man, grinning as his face went so red it glowed. "Don't you try to weasel out~"

"Like hell!" The man flinched away from the grinning dancer, clenching his teeth. "Y-you two cheated!" He pointed a finger at Baiken, who was horribly unimpressed with his attempt to be intimidating, voice cracking in outrage. "That throw wasn't normal! You must have used some trick to do that! I'm not giving you shit!"

"Ever heard of throwing stones?" Anji said lowly, his grinning face stone like as he straightened and looked down the bridge of his nose at the suddenly sheepish stall owner. "Before you start accusing people of cheating…I suggest you check your house isn't made of glass." His grin turned razor sharp. "Or, rather, full of sand."

The man's face turned purple, eyes finally darting to the piles of sand littering his stall. "That's-! I don't know-!"

"Don't lie to me." Anji muttered, his grin lowering into an indulgent reproach. "Or I might be tempted to call a security guard over to check this place out." He turned away and made a show of looking through the passing crowd of people for the telltale shine of a badge. "I wonder what they would have to say about all this?"

"Fine!" The owner hissed, eyes darting left and right to look for any guards nearby before sighing in defeat, "fine. You win, just take your damn prizes."

"What was that grand prize you were going on about?" Baiken asked, clearing her throat to stop from chuckling at how thoroughly Anji and her tore this scam apart. "That'll be the first."

The owner seethed with contempt as he went to the back wall, glaring at the hole Baiken left as he passed it, before retrieving the wooden sword. He practically shoved it in her face as he returned. "Here."

Baiken took the sword with a scoff, opening her mouth to complain about this so called grand prize when she took a closer look. Not just any wooden sword, but a bokken. Tachi sized and smoothed to a near mirror shine, the wood flawless and well crafted.

She hadn't seen one in decades.

"Where did you get this?"

"Some colony escapee traded it to me for a place to stay a few years back." The owner grumbled as he crossed his arms. "Said it was worth more than gold, forgot to mention selling Japanese goods outside the colony was illegal at the time." He shook his head. "Still, works as an eye catcher doesn't it?"

Baiken glared at him as she placed the sword in her obi with care, it's weight felt right next to her katana. "it was wasted on you."

"Whatever." The owner waved her off and glared at Anji. "Three more prizes, hurry up."

"Alright," Anji made a pacifying gesture with a chuckle, and a wink in Baiken's direction, before he leaned in and looked through the selection before he grinning and pointed at a small, rabbit eared keychain. "That one, if you would please."

Baiken had to choke down a laugh at the scandalized face the owner made. "A keychain?" His face turned a shade of puce. "You put me through all that for a damn keychain?"

Anji waved him off pleasantly. "It was the principle of the matter." He raised an eyebrow at him, "besides, where do you get off, getting insulted?" Anji motioned towards the two bills Baiken deposited on the counter which the owner had yet to touch. "You are getting payed, after all."

The man starred at the money as if it burned his house down and pissed on what remained. "For God's sake…" He grabbed the money and glared back at the two. "Just pick the rest of your prizes," he said the word like it was trying to melt his tongue, "and get the hell away from me!"

He took the keychain and flung it at Anji's face. The dancer caught it without flinching.

Anji shrugged with a gentle smile, pocketing his keychain before looking at the samurai, "take the rest, birthday girl, I'll settle with what I have."

The owner choked on thin air but chose to say nothing.

Baiken looked over the selection again, eye nearly glazing over at how utterly cheap this entire thing was; plush animals of various sizes, kitschy keychains, it was tacky enough to make her want to puke.

No wonder those kids were so keen on this place, only children would-

"…Huh." Baiken scratched her chin, ignoring the odd looks the owner and Anji were shooting her, before looking around until her gaze fell on the two kids from before, their eyes shining with admiration. They must have been standing there this entire time, watching and waiting patiently for another go.

Baiken figured that was worth a small reward.

"Hey kids." She called out, the two children snapping to attention, the awe from her throw finally leaving them. Baiken pointed at the prize shelves with a casual stab of her thumb. "Take your pick."

The kid's eyes shone like a firework.

The owner looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

Anji's smile threatened to split his face in half.

(-----)

An hour later, they were both still laughing. Anji's keychain dangling off his finger as he gesticulated with unbidden glee. Baiken's hand rested on her newly acquired bokken, fingers brushing the fine, polished wood of the pommel as she snickered at her partner.

"And his face!" Anji put his forehead in his hands as he nearly giggled at the memory. "Goodness his face! I thought he was going to leap over the counter and try and strangle the both of us!" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and sighed, "oh I'm never forgetting today, that was priceless."

"You're making a scene Anji." She nudged him with her elbow reproachfully, though she was holding in her own laughter. "Calm down, you're acting like we took down a mega death Gear."

"Hardly." Anji waved her off with another chuckle, "that one didn't have half the brain to be Gear." His smile grew as a snort escaped her before she could stop it, which earned him a harder elbow nudge. "Don't act like you weren't enjoying yourself either," he raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk. "You think I missed that little ki boost you did for that throw?"

She sniffed imperiously, pointing her nose up as she answered blithely, "why kill when you can overkill?"

"Hah!" He shook his head. "Honestly that's your answer for everything."

Baiken had a very clever comeback on how that answer tended to be the right one on the tip of her tongue, but a touch to her shoulder clogged her throat. Reflex kicked in a half second, grabbing the hand while she spun on her heel, sending the person who snuck up on her crashing to the ground back first, before drawing her blade and putting the sharp edge to the neck of the…mailman?

"Miss Baiken, I presume?" The mailman groaned up at her, his face straining to display a servile smile through what could only be a haze of pain. "I have a delivery for you…ow." The young man slowly picked himself out of the small crater Baiken threw him into, squeezing his eyes shut in strain before opening it to see an apologetic Anji offering a hand. "Oh, uh, thank you, sir."

"That'll teach you to sneak up on people." He said with an indulgent shake of his head as he helped the man up. "Especially people that could kill you in their sleep, eh?" The delivery boy nodded in a sudden panic, looking behind Anji to see Baiken looking decidedly unapologetic. "Now, you said something about a delivery?"

"Oh! Right!" He reached into a bag hanging off his shoulder, bulging with various parcels and packages, before pulling out a package, covered in colorful wrapping, along with a bright blue ribbon tied in a bow, and just about big enough to require both hands to hold.

It had a small tag attached to the ribbon, reading "happy birthday" written in English cursive.

"The hell-"

The Mailman cleared his throat before he started to recite what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech. "The Illyria delivery service, Asian branch, is proud to present Miss Baiken with a birthday parcel!" He started with what Baiken would guess to be his 'costumer service' voice, cloying and cheerful with an undercurrent of being completely done with his lot in life. "This precious gift was sent by one Sir. Bridget, who wishes to tell you he looks forward to your next meeting!"

"Bridget?" Baiken mumbled, a bit taken aback at the mailman's display, she looked at Anji with a questioning eyebrow, "isn't he in Europe or something? How the hell did he find us in some no name town in west China?"

Anji was making a point of fiddling with his rabbit keychain, moving his fingers over the plush pink and white fur.

"…Anji?" Baiken asked, an edge of suspicion resting on her tongue. "How did Bridget know where to send this package?"

Anji was quiet for a moment more, making a few vague hand gestures as he deliberated his answer. "Well…he's rich isn't he?" He asked with an uneasy smile, still not looking at her. "I'm sure he could have pulled a few strings to find out where we were headed."

"…we only decided on this course a few weeks back." She pointed out calmly, the edge growing sharper. "A course we haven't told anyone about…right, Anji?"

"Well," Anji started again, slowly turning his head to look back at the samurai with a nervous grin. "I…might…have sent him a letter a short while after we decided to come here…a letter which," he swallowed a lump in his throat when Baiken started to glare at him. "Which…may have had included a few fleeting details of destination." An awkward second past as he cleared his throat again and looked away. "Might have. Possibly. Maybe."

"Anji-"

"Excuse me?" The delivery man spoke up nervously, looking between the two of them before clearing his throat. "Are you going to accept this parcel? I kinda have, uh, other deliveries to make so…"

"Give it here." Baiken grumbled, taking the package from the young man, rolling her eye as he produced a form and pen for her to sign it. She put the gift under her arm before she made a quick squiggle and no sooner had she returned the pen to him he was off like a shot. No doubt wanting to keep as great a distance as he could from the crazy lady with a sword. "Wimp."

"Can't blame him dear, you tend to leave a certain…" He trailed off as she glared at him again from the corner of her eye. "…Impression." He sighed, "I was careful about that message Baiken, you know how I do things." He put his hands in his sleeves. "Besides, why shouldn't he be able to tell you happy birthday? I happen to remember you took a bit of a shine to him!"

"It wasn't a shine." Baiken groused irritably, though with significantly less heat as she recalled they boy's gentle and carefree smile. "I was just impressed he could handle himself in that situation while wearing a damn nun habit and using a yo-yo as a weapon." She made a quiet hum in the back of her throat as she looked over the ribbon and cheerful tag tied to it. "…he's a tough kid."

"Whatever it was, he sure took a liking to you." He nudged her gently with an elbow. "I know for a fact he would have felt terrible if he found out he missed your birthday."

Baiken was quiet for a second, moving the parcel around in her grip for a moment, considering every crease of wrapping paper and flutter of the ribbon as the late day wind blew it about.

She sighed, and started walking towards a bunch, the sounds of Anji following behind her with light, most certainly dance like, steps accompanying her.

She sat on the far end of the bench, Anji placing himself opposite, and put the package between them on the bench.

She spent a few minutes more looking at it, before Anji cleared his throat.

"…you know it's not going to jump up and bite you, right?"

"I know that." She bit back, eyes still locked on her present. "I just hope the kid didn't send me anything…weird."

"Why would he do that?"

"Nun habit and Yo-yo Anji." She emphasized emphatically, raising her gaze for a moment to meet his before going back to the present. "Plus, he's a rich white kid." She poked the package a few times. "Buddha only knows what goes on in his head."

"If you're not opening it," he grabbed the box himself and took hold of one end of the ribbon, "then I am." He swiftly undid the ribbon, and began working on the wrapping paper, Baiken looking over his shoulder as he slowly revealed the, rather ornate, box under it all. "…Well, his choice of gift box is unique enough."

Unique was one word for it, the lid had an elaborately designed inlay that was colored gold, the rest of the box was a vibrant cerulean shade so bright it hurt the eyes to look at. Baiken had a sneaking suspicion that this little box was probably worth more than she could make in half a year…provided she turned in a bounty every single day for that duration.

"Fucking hell Bridget…" Baiken muttered with a shake of her head, the corner of her mouth twitching up again. "The kid's sweet, but he doesn't have a lick of sense in that head of his."    

"Aww you do care!"

She punched him on the shoulder, "shut up, and give it here." She snatched the box from his grip and put it on her lap, carefully working the lid open, putting it aside before she looked inside. Baiken had honestly no idea what to expect from it, her normally sharp mind drawing a blank.

Murderous intent was easy to pick up, attacks she could see coming from any direction.

Kindness though? How could anyone predict what kindness would look like? From where it would come from and when? And why? Not her, that's for sure.

(All those years with Anji barely made a dent, she realizes, then dismisses the thought before it could weigh on her mind.)

So when she reached in and found her fingers touching paper, she could only pull it out in confusion, "letters?" She asked, taken aback, moving the three pages in her grip back and forth as if to discern a hidden meaning, "he sent me letters?"

"That's it?" Anji gaped at the paper, before snatching the box and looking inside, "that boy has more money than sand on a beach! He must have-" He stopped himself as he looked inside, laughing quietly, "ah! There we are!"

He pulled out a small item; a tiny, bright red silk bag tied shut with black string, holding something within that was barely visible from the outside, with something on the front embroidered in golden silk.

(Baiken recognized it as the Chinese character for hope.)

"A bokjumeoni!" Anji cried out in delight, facing Baiken with a bright grin as he held the bag up to her. "A Korean good luck charm! Haven't seen one of these in ages!" He looked it over, running his fingers over the fin material that made it up with an appreciative hum, "looks hand sewn too…"

"Korean?" Baiken mumbled, still taken aback at the gift and all the work that must have been involved in making it, "that means-the tuner? When did she-" She held her tongue and looked around, seeing a few people fliting this way and that in front of their bench without really taking notice of them, but deciding not to take a risk. "He find the time to make this?"

"Things have been calmer lately, maybe Kum had found time?"

"Can't be…" Baiken mumbled, looking over the latters in her hand, leafing through them until something caught her eye, the family crest of the Kum family. "Well I'll be damned, since when did Bridget have contacts in Korea?"

"Why don't you read the letter and find out?"

Baiken looked between the letter (written in what was clearly rather stiff and unpracticed, but still understandable, Japanese), and her partner holding the small lucky bag between his fingers as he smiled at her encouragingly. "…sure, why the hell not?"

She put the other two pages down and focused on the one with the Kum crest and started reading:

Dear Miss Baiken, I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and good health-

"Fucking hell, keigo sounds even stiffer coming from a foreigner-"

"Baiken."

"Fucking fine hold on!"

-and without undue stress. I myself am fine, and would like to first offer my apologies for being unable to offer my congratulations in person to you, things in my family are…complicated at the moment, and require I remain in Korea for the time being.

However, when Sir Bridget sent this missive, I knew I must do something for the grand occasion.

"Grand occasion? I got older by a year and he's making it sound like missing a coronation…"

-Though the gift is small, it is hand made with the finest silk I could acquire. It is partly a gift for your birthday, and as a mark of thanks for keeping my life during the information flare incident. Without you I would surely be dead and my family ravaged beyond repair, I could never thank you enough.

Baiken stopped reading for a moment, rereading the thank you over and over, as if it would start to make sense, before scoffing, "saves my whole civilization from being turned into living weapons and thinks I should be thanked…" She looked aside at Anji, who was wearing a gentle smile. "Oh shut it."

Inside is medicine and a few pieces of candy, very precious candy I assure you, picked from my personal collection, I hope it is to your taste. The mark on the front is my wish that you never lose hope, in your goals or your future. The Japanese people have a long and storied history of raising from the ashes of death ever stronger.

I know in my heart that you must be the same.

Happy Birthday,

Kum Haehyun.

Baiken was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed to the name at the bottom, Kum's actual name, and all the risks she took in putting it there rattling in her head. All for the sake of an honest happy birthday.

Anji offered her the red silk bag to her on an open palm, smile genuine and calm, and she took it, looking closely at the 'hope' on the front, how carefully it was stitched, every part precise as an ink stroke, a tiny smile on her features as she tucked it into an inner pocket of her kimono.

She cleared her throat before she faced Anji again, "anything else in the box?"

"Just this." He held up a small book, about the size for fitting in a pocket, leather bound with the words "enjoy the meal!" scrawled in English on the cover with shaky strokes. Anji opened it and leafed through the pages, another grin (she was starting to lose count of how many he's had today) spreading on his face as he did. "It’s a recipe book!"

"What?" Baiken muttered incredulously, grabbing the book from him and going through it, seeing the connection between the meals as she did. Namely, two connections in particular; one, they were all things easily made on the road with provisions one could find on the move.

And two, they were all Chinese dishes.

"No way…" Baiken huffed in mixed annoyance and amusement as she looked at one of the two remaining letters and saw, to very little surprise, that it was written in simplified Chinese, along with a small "chibi" cartoon sketch of Jam Kuradoberi herself on the bottom edge of the page. "Huh, been a while…"

"We should have stopped at Hong Kong to see her." Anji said in lighthearted melancholy, taking the recipe book back from Baiken to leaf through the pages again, "just looking at all of these is making my mouth water."

Baiken shrugged her shoulders, she and the restaurateur hadn't had the best interactions in the past, but Anji seemed to really take a shine to her, always insisting on stopping by her place to eat whenever they could. She and her had managed a pretty good rapport on those occasions, even having a few friendly spars…but not nearly friendly enough for Baiken to expect something like this.

"So," Anji started mildly, absently flipping pages in the pocket book, "are you going to read her letter, or is your Chinese still needing work?"

"I'm fine." She grumbled with a shake of her head, not enjoying the remainder of the headache it was to learn to read Chinese, speaking it was hard enough without confusing Cantonese and Mandarin, and grabbed Jam's letter to start reading, "let's see…"

Greetings Baiken! Happy birthday! I can't believe you didn't tell me about it! I had to find out from Bridget just a week ago! You wouldn't believe how big of a fright it was to see an English butler in my restaurant while I was about to close! HE DIDN'T EVEN ORDER ANYTHING!

"Fucking hell even reading this is giving me a headache…"

"Be nice."      

"Say that to me about someone who hasn’t broken one of my ribs by 'accident.'"

Anyway, I'm sure you and Anji are busy having a good time by the time you get this letter, so I'll be short about it: I figured going from town to town doing mercenary work means not having much of a chance to sit down and eat good food (not as good as mine anyway), so I looked through my old family dishes to whip up a good list for you two! And no excuses about 'not having time' to cook them!

I've timed myself and each dish should take, at most, half an hour to get ready if you have everything you need, so eat properly, or else I'll beat some sense into you! And don't think I won't! I know exactly how to deal with a pecky costumer!

"It’s a wonder her place hasn't burned down." She stopped when Anji gave her a look, "…again, I mean."

One more thing, I would like to wish you a peaceful year, the both of you, and for things to not weigh down your soul. I know how you are Baiken, I know how brightly and fiercely and recklessly you can burn. Please, just don't burn yourself out, alright? You know how I worry don't you? You don't want that on your conscience do you?

"This chick is less than half my age and acts like she's my damn grandma."

"You are smiling though!"

"Shut it!"

Right, enough out of me! You just take care of yourself! And have fun!

Wishing you the best (and a pleasant meal!),

Kuradoberi Jam.

P.S.: YOU STILL HAVEN'T TOLD ME HOW TO BAG A HOTTIE LIKE ANJI! I KNOW YOU HAVE A TRICK BECAUSE ANJI CAN'T STOP LOOKING AT YOU-

Baiken quickly crumpled the letter in her hand, face glowing red, "what is she, a teenager!? Where does she get off being this boy crazy!?" She slammed the balled up letter on the bench with no small amount of force, scaring off a few early bird drunks that were walking near. She looked aside at Anji, face still burning, only to see him with an unbelievably smug smirk on his face.

"A hottie am I?"

"Don't let it get to your head." She groused, looking away and scratching the back of her head, peaking at the crumpled up letter out of the corner of her eye as Anji picked it up and straightened it, "that girl's got noodles for brains, least when it comes to finding a date."

He chuckled as he looked over the letter, "maybe so!" He smiled softly as he reached a certain paragraph, "she's got a good eye for metaphor though," he looked at Baiken with an appreciative glance that made her chest feel tight and warm. "Brightly burning…suits you."

Baiken held his gaze for a long while, the heat in her cheeks refusing to subside, a need to dismiss the notion trying to rise in her throat but failing to go anywhere. Instead she looked back down at the box that started all this, grabbing it to take another peak inside, finding nothing. "So…that's it from this thing?"

"Looks like it," he held up the book and motioned to where she stowed the lucky bag on her person. "All that's left is one last letter, which I'm guessing is from the young, rich sir himself." He looked at her lap, where the last letter sat unassumingly, as if it was there since this morning, catching a few cursive letters in English before she took it in her hand. "Well then? What does our young friend have to say?"

Baiken rolled her eye at him, feeling her blush subside as she looked down at the letter and began reading:

Hello miss Baiken! It's been a really long time since we spoke hasn't it? Even before the Valentine incidents right? That was rough on everyone, but especially on the Japanese. I've sent a bit of help after the fact, but I'm still feeling a bit guilty that I wasn't there to help myself.

And help you of course! I heard from Kum you were a real hero there! Good job!

Baiken's mouth twisted, unsure whether to drop or lift in reaction, before she sighed and kept going.

When I got the message from Anji about where you were headed (please don't be mad at him for that by the way? We just want you to be happy today!), I REALLY wanted to come over myself, maybe bring along May and Jam and a few others, so we could all party together!

Then Jam said she was too busy with her restaurant, and May was too far away, and getting to China from England is more trouble than you would figure…moreover, I remembered how you were, back then, and I guessed a big party wouldn't be you…cup of tea so to speak. So! I came up with this!

Kum's charm and Jam's book are pretty nifty huh? Those two are REALLY good at gifts!

Baiken's lip curled upward without her even noticing, she cleared her throat to get rid of the half smile, some odd feeling raising in her chest.

Mine is pretty cool too though! It's a magic box! Well, more like a ki box, actually. See, its' lid is made of a certain kind of clay from Tibet that reacts to ki. If you infuse it with a bit of ki, it'll shut the box tighter than any lock! And only you can open it! You could put stuff you want to keep safe in there, like money or stuff, since you can't exactly carry around a safe with you.

Everyone deserves to feel safer about their stuff, right?

Baiken watched Anji pick up the box and putting the lid back on, before infusing it with his ki. He tugged at the lid for a moment, and it didn't budge an inch. He sent an impressed thumb up at Baiken, who chuckled before continuing to read.

Next time you feel like traveling, come visit! You'll always be welcome at the estate, both of you. I really did miss you Baiken, you helped me out more than you think. It doesn't have to be any special occasion either, come by anytime you feel like. I just (a few words got crossed out, Bridget having trouble finding the words he wanted to use) want to make sure you're okay, you know?

Anyway, I've been rambling on long enough, right? I'll let you off to enjoy your birthday! Make sure Anji spoils you! But don't eat too much cake! (you'll have stomach ache for WEEKS)

Baiken let out a full bodied snort at that little remark, Anji grinning wide enough to hear.

Wishing you the best birthday, with lots of gifts and fun,

Bridget.

Baiken looked down at the letter for a long while, head rattling with thoughts and feelings but unable to put them in an order that made sense. She looked at the other two letters, one wishing for her to have hope, the other to be kind to herself, and finally at the last still in her hand, who wished for her to be happy.

A lump formed in Baiken's throat, making her feel ridiculous, only more so when she felt a slight wetness in her eyes which she rubbed away fiercely. She heaved a long sigh and leaned back on the bench, starring ahead at the setting sun, focusing on the blurring reds and yellows that began to slowly give way to purple and blue as late afternoon walked towards nightfall.

"Baiken?"

She looked back at Anji, seeing him gaze at her with some degree of concern, his body visibly letting go of stress, as if he was forcing it to relax so as not to scare her off. This only made the lump in her throat jam itself more firmly, refusing to be ignored. Fuck it, she'll bite the bullet.

"When…" She started, mouth twitching in uncertainty, not looking at Anji as she felt heat crawl up her neck. "When did so many people…start giving a shit about me?"

(She doesn't care if someone judges her, never did, but at this moment, for this question, she only wanted someone who would take her at face value. Someone who would be honest with her, straight to the point when she demands it.

Who better than Anji?)

Quiet stretched between them, the noises of the festival and the people around them fading into the background as she found herself holding her breath for his answer. Was she wrong? Was she seeing things where there was nothing?

Did these letters mean…nothing? They had too, or at least have the wrong idea, none of this makes sense, why would they care if she ate or if she was happy? Why would any of them care?

Anji hummed of a sudden, effectively pulling her out of the mire before she sunk too deep, making a point of scratching his chin in thought, "if I had to guess…" He started lowly, considering. "I would have to say…around the same time you started giving a shit about them."

Baiken blinked at him for a short while, taking him in. She searched every inch of his expression for jest, for humor, any hint that he wasn't serious, that he has been just telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.

She looked for that smug air he had as he conned the game stall owner, that feeling he was pulling at strings and pushing her buttons.

Every bit of him was clear as crystal, his eyes unclouded and face straight and serious.

He had no lie for her…at least not now.

She said nothing yet, gathering the letters in her hands and moving her fingers over the edges.

(Bridget clinging to her for a good hour, talking her ear off, begging her to show him how to be tough like her. He looked at her as if she had an answer for everything that plagued him.)

She put the letters on her lap for a moment, grabbing hold of the box and prying open the box lid.

(Jam giving the both of them a discount, seeing the ragged state of their clothes and her mentioning off hand they haven't slept in a week. She looked besides herself with worry born outrage.)

She folded the letters neatly, putting them inside.

(Kum exiting from her "disguise" after putting everything back as it should have been. Standing before her and then kneeling in the dirty, blood drenched grass. She put her head to the ground, not caring for the state of her fine clothes, and croaked out a tired "thank you" before passing out.)

She put the lid back, letting out a pulse of ki to lock it securely, before putting the box in another pocket on the inside of her kimono, right next to the lucky bag.

(The kids from before, eyes shining with gratitude as they held their two prizes, bowing to her with wide smiles and genuine joy as they rushed off, yelling for their parents to see what the "pretty samurai" won for them.)

Leaning back on the bench again, she once more gazed at the sunset, the colors less blurry then before, coming closer and closer to a unified splash of dark blue. The lump in her throat went down, some sense of peace, of acceptance (however minor), passing through her lungs as she took a deep, cleansing breath.

She closed her eye, feeling the early evening breeze pass through her hair. "Maybe." She allows, after a moment. "It makes sense…I suppose."

"Glad to be of help." He joined her in leaning on the bench and taking in the breeze.

Neither of them said anything, enjoying the moment of peace as families started to filter out of the area and towards a hill a bit further ahead, if Baiken had to guess either to see the sunset, or some last event for the day she didn't care to hear about before.

Now that she thought of it, she was surprised Anji hadn't dragged her there yet. It occurred to her that he might actually keep his end of the bargain and end this nonsense at sunset, leaving her free to depart from this place and find herself a bar.

So long as she didn't say anything stupid…right.

"Almost sundown." She muttered, eye still closed. "If you have anything you would like to do here, better be quick about it."

Anji hummed quietly, "well, yes…but, see that event comes a fair while after sundown." He chuckled lightly, unbothered by missing whatever he had planned last, "a deal is a deal though, and I am a man of my word." He picked himself off from the bench with a groan, rolling his neck. "So, I think I'll leave the rest of the evening to the birthday girl."

She opened her eye, looked at his back as he stretched and looked onwards, towards the grassy hill were it seemed the whole damn city decided to go to. She waited for him to turn to her, smile carefree and inviting.

"…for the sake of argument," she began, wearily, "what was the last thing you had planned for today?"

His smile nearly split his face, his eyes seeming to glow in the dying daylight as he answered with one word, "fireworks!"

Baiken let out a scoff, shaking her head in dismay as she chuckled at him, "seriously? Fireworks to end off my birthday?"

"Why not?" He asked, grin still plastered on his face. "What kind of festival would it be if it didn't end on fireworks?"

She eyed him with doubt, the want to wash her hands of this and get drunk growing by the moment. The day had been long, even barring the letters, her feet were sore, her stomach ached from some of the food, and her head was beginning to pound slightly in protest.

"…or we could call it a day?" Anji started, eyeing her worriedly, somehow sensing her reservations. "No need to drag yourself on my account Baiken," she glared at him, he laughed. "Any more than you already did that is!"  

She watched him, watched as his grin shrunk and turned kind and patient, waiting for her.

She sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead.

"Sure, I could go for fireworks."

So much for not saying anything stupid.

His eyes widened and his grin returned tenfold, he grabbed her hand and started power walking towards the hill, Baiken regretting her ill-chosen kindness more and more with every step.

(----)  

Where Anji was keeping a blanket to sit on, she didn't know. But she was glad for it, the grass seemed wetter than it should have, so she sat gratefully on the blanket where Anji spread it out, claiming a 'spot' for them on the hill as families and young friends gathered around them, all holding their breath in anticipation for the coming display.

Baiken hadn't seen fireworks for a good long while, the closest she came to that was when she was out looking for gunpowder for her weapons. Sitting on hill with Anji, she actually found herself looking forward to it, for if there was one thing the Chinese had to be proud of, it was their fireworks.

"If I didn't know any better," Anji teased as he sat himself next to her, "I would think that you were excited."

She contemplated jabbing him with her elbow again to get him to be quiet, but the day had exhausted her more than she thought, so she settled for touching her shoulder with his, before leaning on him fully with her head against his. One could hear his teeth clacking against each other as he snapped his mouth shut.

So they sat, quietly watching the moon rise and the lights of the festival dim. Anji had wrapped an arm around her, Baiken adjusting herself to have him hold her more securely. Soon the crowd around them silenced as well, friends calming down their drunk fellows and parents shushing excited children.

An elderly man stood on a stage a distance away from them, shouting into a megaphone to be heard by the gathered crowds. From what Baiken remembered of Cantonese he was saying something about welcoming spring and departing from the last dregs of winter, but she was just tired enough to find it too much trouble parsing words from noise, so she let most of his speech flow right past her to the people behind and around, content to wait.

Soon he was done, and signaled to a few men behind him who stood next to various rockets and as one they began to light fuses.

The night shattered and exploded, shards of color and light falling and scattering among the stars. A flower garden of fireworks bloomed above her, in a thousand shapes and shades, for a moment it seemed to fill the entire world.

Back then, years ago, there was only red and blue violent light tearing through all she knew and all she held dear. The light from back then was a dead thing, a display of death utterly passionless and void of meaning beyond destruction.

Not this, not this work of dedication, surrounded by the whoops of joy and excitement from children and adults alike.

She lost herself in the display, for a moment all she lost was simply waiting for her elsewhere, for a moment, shorter than a heartbeat, she was…no, not whole, not even happy.

She was, for the first time in a while, for less than a heartbeat, at peace.

Soon, the moment ended, the light continued to burst above her, but she was back on the ground. She was sitting on a ratty old blanket her partner found who knows where on some grassy hill, watching a fireworks display being put on by some no name town she will probably forget in a week or two.

Still, it was damn good fireworks.

"Worth missing happy hour?"

"Only barely." She answered automatically, making herself more comfortable on his shoulder before letting out a content breath. "We are still finding something to drink though." She lifted her head from his to turn to him with a smirk. "And you're paying for…for…"

Her train of thought sped off ahead of her, leaving her lacking in words as she stared at him, or, rather, what he was holding in his hand. The darkness of the early evening, only briefly illuminated by multicolored splashes from the sky, made it hard to see, but from she did see, it looked like he was offering her a small Sakura branch.

"Happy birthday Baiken." He whispered, only barely audible over the fireworks, as he handed her the branch, cold metal kissing her palm as she took it. She moved it around her fingers, stopping when a shred of blue light caught a pointed tip. "Not bad eh? Couldn't have those three upstage me, now could I?"

"I…" She found her tongue sluggish and unwilling to respond for a moment before she let out a scoff that sounded like a laugh. "I thought all this," she motioned towards the crowd and the fireworks, "was my present."

"Nonsense." He waved her off easily, almost insulted. "Today was your party, which was a result of divine coincidence." He purposefully ignored her clicking her tongue at him. "What you have there, I had been planning to give you for a long while now."

She fought a losing battle with a smile as she looked his gift over, slowly realizing what it was, "but…a hairpin?"

"Not just any hairpin!" He announced with glee, pointing to the thing metal end, "but a stiletto knife disguised as a Sakura hairpin!" He spread his arms out in pride, "if you ever find yourself needing to surrender your sword, you'll always have a backup!" He grinned in satisfaction. "And in the meantime, you have something lovely that compliments your hair perfectly."

"Anji…"

"Practical and fashionable!" He went on, pulling out a familiar looking metal hand fan, "just like this little number you got me this year!"

Baiken stilled as she saw the fan, her face heating up at the remainder that he was still carrying around her silly little gift. She doesn't think she saw him use that thing in a fight even once so far, depending on Zessen, but still he refused to part with it, walking everywhere with it to show it off.

She looked back down on her gift, moving the sharp tip between her fingers, and even pricking her thumb to check how sharp it was. (Very, it would seem, freshly sharpened even.) She laughed, not sure about what to do with all this noise that decided to flock around in her chest, before looking at him again, "when…when was the last time I ever used a damn hairpin?"

"Never, if I remember correctly." Anji answered cheerily, scaring another laugh out of her, "but…never too late to try something new, right?"

He was looking at her with a hopeful little smile, eyes shining and cautious.    

She brought the pin up to eye level, taking in every minute detail. What she thought were Sakura petals were actually made of metal themselves, and shone with the fireworks. They were heavily detailed, tiny patterns etched into them everywhere she looked. The knife seemed to emerge from the petals like a root, naturally growing out until it thinned at its razor sharp point.

Must have cost him a pretty penny, and it made her head throb for a moment, before she laughed despite herself, holding the pin close to her heart as she looked at him again with an amused smirk. "Well…help me put it in then?"

Anji grinned even wider. "I'd love to."

He gently plucked the pin from her, removing the tie holding her pony tail, letting her hair fall all around her face, before he gathered it into a loose bun at the crown of her head, and slowly putting in the pin to hold it together.

He leaned back to look at her, eyes widening before growing soft, the light of the fireworks washing his face in shades of bright blue and green.

"How…how does it look?"

He smiled wide at her, eyes shining both with affection and the exploding lights above them, "beautiful." He muttered, reaching out with one hand to cup her cheek, slowly leaning towards her. "You're beautiful."

This is the part where she would say something sharp, something rusty and bloody to disengage. Where she would dismiss him utterly and thank him coldly and get up and find herself something to drink and try with all her might to forget this gentle flame licking at her heart. This is the part where she would go to sleep so drunk the first she would do in the morning is throw up, and never speak of tonight ever again.

He would let her, she knew, would let her lean away and end it before it began. He would smile in the morning if she did that, he would play along, he would join in her in pretending tonight never happened. Pretending that she always had that Sakura hairpin.

She didn't do that.

Instead, she closed her eye, and met him half way.

It was hardly their first kiss, but she couldn't remember the last time their kisses were this…quiet, this gentle. She was used to the kisses that came with sex, hungry and angry and demanding, leaving her breathless and gasping and fired up.

This was a simple press of lips, gentle and unhurried. The world could wait, the world didn't matter, the coward and his monsters didn't matter. There was only them, at this moment, on the hill, kissing under the bloom of the fireworks.

By the time they finished, the fireworks had died down, and people had begun to grab their things to leave, but she couldn't find it in her to join them. She leaned her forehead against Anji, to content, to calm to move away.

"Can we stay here?" She asked quietly, her gaze peering into his, the moon shining in his eyes. "For a while longer?"

"For as long as you want." He whispered, adoring, in devotion, utterly at her mercy. "We'll stay here till morning if you wish."

That broke the spell a bit, and she laughed at him. She leaned back to share another quick kiss, feeling him lean into her. "Don't push yourself." She said, a bit breathless, pecking him again with a smile. "Not going to sleep on a grassy hill tonight, got a perfectly good inn room remember?"

He laughed at himself for a moment, leaning away to wrap his hand around her and bury his face in her hair. "Of course." He took a deep breath of her, letting out in a content sigh as he held her a bit tighter. "Of course…"

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting herself indulge a bit in the embrace. "Thank you…for today." She leaned more heavily against him with a sigh of her own, "I know I didn't act like it…but it was actually pretty fun, so…thank you, really."

He was quiet for a long time, tightening his grip on her, as if to make sure she was actually there, in his arms with him under the stars. Finally, he placed a kiss in her hair, "anytime."

She tried to find more words to say, to thank him, tell him how much today meant. How much she needed those letters, how light her heart felt all day with him, but she could find nothing that was enough.

Instead she sighed, placed her forehead on his collarbone, "planning a birthday for you next year is gonna be a headache."

Again, he was quiet, before he chuckled softly, "let me ask you something, a little less than a year from now, when I wake up on the morning of my birthday, will you be the first thing I see?"

Her throat clogged up, but she refused to sound chocked so she cleared her throat before she answered. "Probably."

"Then don't worry about it."

This time, with her face burning to her ears, she allowed the silence to cover them both, letting her birthday end on a quiet note.

The moon shone fully and brightly above them, and for just a moment, for less than a heartbeat, she needed nothing more.

[kuriquinn]

Samsara [Epilogue]

General Disclaimer

AN: Due to popular demand (and because I haven’t been able to finish the upcoming chapter of An Inch of Gold), here is the epilogue to Samsara. I hope it resolves a lot of the questions you guys have been asking me. I decided to tack it on to the end after all, because it’s so short. Enjoy!

結語

Indra comes back to himself too late.

The flames have marred his wife’s body beyond recognition, and even though he stops before the black tongues can reduce her to ashes, the damage is done.

It’s not the first time he has killed one who professed to love him – one who, against all odds, he found his heart reaching for in return – but this death shakes him. As he turns away, his stomach rebels and he finds himself on his knees, vomiting in reaction to the violence of it all.

This is the first death that he has instantly regretted.

And yet even she was a traitor in the end, the voice in the shadows reminds him; speaking the same horrible truths he has been plagued with his entire life. It’s a change from previous entreaties to wait, soothing and cajoling.

Indra glances back at the skeletal husk of the woman who stood by his side for so many years, bore his children and professed her love for him until her final moments. Blackened arms still wrap protectively around her middle, and Indra’s eyes narrow.

The child that was the cause of all of this, and for all her protestations, proof of her betrayal.

He pushes himself to his feet, prepared to walk away and leave all evidence of his only weakness to desiccate in ignominy. He has to return to his children – their children – and tell them what has happened. Not his own hand in it – her last request is one he will honour if only out of respect for the years they had together – but they will need to know.

He knows they will grieve all over again, having believed her dead for so long, but perhaps it will make them stronger. Perhaps it will cause one of them to awaken the Sharingan, and then they can all pay Asura back for the damage he has done to them –

Behind him, there is a flare of chakra. Indra freezes.

It’s not possible. She can’t…

He turns around, half-expecting to watch her pull herself to her feet despite all odds. A ridiculous fantasy of her stumbling forward to him, her eyes sad but determined, reaching out to him –

Instead, her charred form remains utterly still, reproaching him by its lack of movement.

His gut heaves again, and he clenches his fist. Sentiment is causing him to imagine things.

Until the chakra flares again.

Fleeting and flickering, like a candle fighting a downpour, and coming from her body.

No, not her body.

The child!

She told him, didn’t she? She promised him –

He crosses the distance within a blink, wasting no time in kneeling by the swollen stomach of the corpse. He can’t think of it as her anymore, because if he does he might hesitate in what he is about to do.

Kunai in hand, he makes careful incisions, the way he has seen the healer woman use for breech births. He can’t breathe – the scent of charred flesh and the dreadful anticipation constricts his lungs – as he moves skin and muscle out of the way, ignoring the blood on his hands as the chakra signature continues to flicker recedingly.

His fingers brush against something solid and thin – a leg, a foot – and he carefully twists about within the bloody tissue until he gets a safe hold on the tiny body. Gently, he removes the infant completely from it’s mothers’ womb, all the while in disbelief.  

It should be dead. There is no way that it should have survived. Indra knows the strength of Amaterasu. Its heat should have boiled Shachi from the inside out, and yet somehow…

Somehow, the child is alive.

He stares in awe down at the infant – a boy, he notes dimly – listening to feeble, mewling cries. Its little body is small, only a little larger than the hand that cradles it, with skin as thin as parchment. Indra can easily make out the veins beneath it, can see the little lungs that struggle to gasp air for the first time - can see how ardently the child clings to life.

“Only a child born of our union could survive such a thing.”

Shachi’s words ring in his ears, both a benediction and a reproof.

It’s not the only one, either; even in it’s barely developed state, the child resembles him in a way none of his others ever have.

With trembling hands, Indra carefully cuts the chord attaching the baby to his mother, then wraps him in the folds of his cloak. He is painfully aware of the utterly fragile being in his possession, and of the reason for its infirmity. He lays two fingers softly against the baby’s heart, allowing an infinitesimal flare of his own chakra to seep into his son’s body.

Instantly, the baby’s chakra signature becomes less distressed; his heartbeat becomes more regular and his lungs are no longer working quite so hard. Indra knows in that moment with absolute certainty that this child will live.

Just as he knows with that same certainty that he killed the only woman he has ever had it in him to love.

Tears fall then, as they haven’t since he was a child, and he grits his teeth, because he can’t clench his fists; not with the baby beneath his hands, utterly dependant on him for survival.

She was faithful.

She never betrayed him – the only person in his entire life who never did, and he killed her. She who had never given him any true reason not to trust her, who had stood beside him all these years even knowing exactly who he was and who even in her death, sought to please him, to protect what he held most dear – his child.

He is unsure how long he crouches there, sobbing in tandem with his infant son.

Long enough for his grief to turn to rage.

This is Asura’s fault, the voice in his head reminds him.

Shachi spent her final months with his brother and father, robbing Indra of her presence, forcing him to adjust to the idea that she had died in an attack by their enemies. Indra razed an entire island, killed every living creature there in retribution, and it only made the hollow inside him worse. The closest he came to filling it was today, when for the first time in months, he felt her presence.

When he had her in his arms again in a way that has haunted his dreams since he thought her dead.

And now she is gone. For good this time, and by his hand.

Forgive me, he wants to say, but the words won’t come to his trembling lips.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Indra accepts that he will live with that truth for the rest of his life – it’s a punishment he will endure silently, and alone. But one day, he will make Asura pay for what he has caused, for everything he has taken from him.

But not now.

He has to raise his son. And miraculous survival aside, the child is weak, born too early. Indra can’t leave the infant now to hunt down his accursed brother and kill him. This child will need him more than the others did, bereft as he is of his mother.

This child is the one she loved enough to die for, and in recompense Indra will protect him above all the others. He will ensure that their other children understand their younger brother’s importance as well, that they too intend to protect his future legacy.

The baby has quieted now, having sobbed himself to sleep. With a trembling finger, Indra traces the miniature fluttering eyelashes.

“‘Fan the flames’,” he murmurs softly, the slightest hope entering his heart as the infant presses into the warmth of his home. “Uchiwa.”

終わり

I swear I’m done this time. This really is the end, there are no more chapters forthcoming. Anything else about Shachi and Indra will be explored when I start writing my original novel. Again, thank you all for your amazing support throughout this story, now I have to get back to my other ongoing fics!

クリ

[latestnews2018-blog]

Nicki Minaj vs baby Stormi: A feud begins

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/nicki-minaj-vs-baby-stormi-a-feud-begins/

Nicki Minaj vs baby Stormi: A feud begins

Lately, the rapper’s diatribes are coming so fast and furious that not even Kylie Jenner’s baby daughter can escape the heat

Nicki Minaj has never been one to shrink from the spotlight, but in recent weeks the rapper has taken things to a new level, as though physically dragging the spotlight around in a little red wagon wherever she goes.

The blunt rapper doesn’t mince words and now, in the wake of the belaboured release of her fourth album, Queen, Minaj is more confrontational than ever.

Maybe too confrontational, though?

Queen was originally scheduled for release in June, then rescheduled to August 10, then pushed back to August 17 due to a rights issue, before landing on its actual August 10 premiere date. The new music dropped just after the debut of the rapper’s Beats 1 radio show Queen Radio, which went on air the day prior.

Since then, Queen, Queen Radio and, of course, good old social media have all been platforms that Minaj has been using to both promote her projects and register complaints about music, the world in general, and sometimes babies.

But things have gotten extreme lately. Even for Minaj.

Barbie Dreams, the third single off of Queen, started a firestorm after its August 14 release, due in part, to the rapper sounding off on a laundry list of fellow artists including Drake, Meek Mill, Eminem, DJ Khaled and 50 Cent.

That day, Minaj also managed to get into a lengthy Twitter spat with ex-boyfriend Safaree Samuels, whom she accused of stealing her credit cards. In turn, Samuels accused Minaj of stabbing him. Also, the Starships singer supposedly paid to fix Samuels’ hairline. It was a whole thing.

Now, fighting with an ex is pretty commonplace, especially on Twitter. But things really started going off the rails for Minaj a few days later.

When Travis Scott’s Astroworld debuted at No. 1 ahead of Queen last Sunday, Minaj was less than impressed. She shared her (extensive) thoughts on Twitter.

Yes, this is when her beef with a baby begins.

For the uninitiated, Scott is currently involved — and has a six-month-old daughter, Stormi — with reality TV star and entrepreneur Kylie Jenner. Minaj brashly accused Scott of exploiting Jenner and the baby for commercial gain.

“I put my blood sweat and tears in writing a dope album only for Travis Scott to have Kylie Jenner post a tour pass telling ppl to come see her and Stormi,” Minaj tweeted. “Lol. I’m actually laughing.”

Oh no, Nicki. Not baby Stormi. Leave the baby out of this.

The rapper went on to attribute Scott’s success to selling album bundles with merchandise and stated that she had spoken with him and “he knows he doesn’t have the #1 album in America!”

Oof.

Queen, for the record, debuted at No. 2 in the US, according to the Billboard 200 album chart.

The next day, Scott, Jenner and Minaj all awkwardly avoided one another at the MTV Video Music Awards, where both artists performed and Minaj won best hip-hop video for Chun-Li.

But wait, there’s more!

Minaj was back Tuesday on Queen Radio joking (probably) that her real feud was with Stormi.

“Me against baby Stormi,” Minaj said. “We have this rivalry now.”

(It was a good and funny joke that based on Minaj’s recent erratic behaviour didn’t at all seem like it could be a fact. She was still heated about Scott, though.)

Those concerned about ongoing Minaj/Jenner relationships can rest easy knowing that the former clarified her feelings about the latter on Thursday.

“We’re not gonna start a [expletive] cat fight,” Minaj said on her radio show. “This is strictly about music. She has nothing to do with this. She supported her man as she should. My fans and I aren’t feeding into this. We love Kylie.”

Jenner has yet to weigh in on this ongoing catastrophe.

Later in the day, the rapper announced that her North American tour had been postponed — not cancelled — as she “decided to re-evaluate elements of production on the ‘NickiHndrxx Tour.’”

After urging her fans to excoriate a Billboard writer who wrote a piece saying the tour was cancelled, Minaj went on to clarify that she was merely reversing the order of her tour, to do the European leg first. Because she wanted to rehearse more. Because the album was delayed. Or something.

Also, the New York Post had reported that ticket sales for the NickiHndrxx Tour were in the crapper, but that was definitely not a factor in Minaj’s decision.

But still, the rapper persisted in the face of adversity. On Friday’s Queen Radio, the artist gave Scott’s co-manager Irving Azoff an ignominious title and accused him of attempting to sabotage her.

“Allegedly, he tried to put out a smear campaign against my tour,” Minaj said, “and contacted people in the media to spread negative things about my tour.”

OK, as of this posting, that’s it. That’s Minaj’s last — give or take — two weeks.

What is happening there? Minaj is a proud, powerful rapper with the ability to spit rhymes with the best of them, but lately her diatribes are coming so fast and furiously that I’m left legitimately concerned.

Did something precipitate this Kanye West/Charlie Sheen-style episode? Has Minaj started subsisting exclusively on tiger blood? Did someone make her responsible for a water bottle?

Maybe she should unplug for a little bit. Take a vacay. Catch her breath before launching right into a tour. Enjoy the victory of a new album. Because all this is a lot.

Still, whatever sparked it, there’s a good lesson to be learnt from whatever Minaj is experiencing right now:

Never pick a fight with a baby. Some wars are unwinnable.