Fandom: PMMD Pairing: Madoka (Mathilda) x Homura (Hope) WC: 751
“Mathilda!”
Hope's hands plunge into the freezing water to grab her – and not a moment too soon. Mathilda is pulled with a gasp from the river, coughing violently and white as a sheet, but alive. Her hapless bonnet races away from her on the swift current and vanishes around the bend.
The girls collapse on the riverbank to catch their breath, fingers laced together for comfort. The summer sun beats down on them from on high, baking the cracked earth into red dust. Hope's anxious heart is still thundering as swift as a horse's hooves. There have been so many close calls on this harsh journey west. Crossing the ford is a risk every pioneer in the wagon train must take if they wish to proceed, but the thought of losing Mathilda now, after all these months of survival...
Hope could not bear such cruelty. Everything she's done thus far, she's done for Mathilda.
Hope sits up and begins stubbornly wringing water out of her sodden petticoats. Her ears are ringing with the lowing of reluctant oxen, the creak of protesting wagon wheels, the shouts of families, the braying of mules – it's so noisy. The line of covered wagons still waiting to take the plunge stretches as far down the trail as she can make out.
Hope tries not to linger on the splintered wreckage of the wagons that didn't make it, piled up like spars of driftwood along the banks, but it's impossible to ignore the ugly reality. The odds are stacked against them.
As she watches, a pure white crow alights atop a ruined axle with the wheel still attached. The carrion bird cocks its head to regard her with one glittering red eye, then bobs its head, croaking a raspy note of amusement.
Hope shudders.
“What do you reckon it'll be like in Oregon?” Mathilda asks, gently breaking her from her reverie. “Tell me about the house again. Please.”
Hope smiles as Mathilda lays her head on Hope's lap. “We're going to build a little house, just for us,” she murmurs. Her fingers stroke a soothing, repetitive pattern through Mathilda's damp hair. “The government promised us a homestead no matter who we are. We'll keep chickens in the yard, and farm the land. I'll hunt for you, and you'll sew for me. Maybe we'll buy a little cart, and have a nice old mule to pull it into town, for when we stock up on flour, and sugar, and salt.”
“Just for us,” Mathilda sighs happily, closing her eyes. “No families pressuring us to marry. No one who knows we broke off our engagements back home.”
“The West will be our new home,” Hope agrees firmly. “No more tears and sadness. No more dwelling on what we had to leave behind. Look instead to the future I'm going to build with you.”
Mathilda sits up, healthy color returning to her cheeks. “I should very much like to kiss you right now,” she giggles, mischief bright in her rose-tinted eyes. “Pity we're in full view of the entirety of the Oregon Trail.”
Hope calmly unlaces the ties of her modest cap and slips it off, letting her long hair unfurl down her back. She holds the hat up as a shield to obscure both of their faces, and with a sly smile, leans in bold as brass to peck Mathilda right on the cheek.
Mathilda's face is scarlet as a sunburn when Hope refastens the laces beneath her chin, smug in her triumph.
The dream always starts with her waking in the same bed. It's like no doctor's place she's ever seen, everything pristine and white, gleaming metal instruments and moving screens around her, but instinct tells her it's heart medicine that she ends up taking with her. She's short of breath in the labyrinthine halls of the bafflingly large schoolhouse, and it's a struggle just to make her way up the stairs, let alone carry her books at the same time. Her body is so much frailer than she remembers it being.
Introducing herself in front of the class makes her so anxious she just wants to curl up in a corner and weep. Even the name she gives is wrong. Instead of Hope, here she is Homura.
Then everything just... stops. The other voices fall away until only one remains, one bastion of safety in the sea of unfamiliar things. Mathilda – no, Madoka – is here.
FILL: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Pairing: Madoka (Mathilda) x Homura (Hope)
WC: 751
“Mathilda!”
Hope's hands plunge into the freezing water to grab her – and not a moment too soon. Mathilda is pulled with a gasp from the river, coughing violently and white as a sheet, but alive. Her hapless bonnet races away from her on the swift current and vanishes around the bend.
The girls collapse on the riverbank to catch their breath, fingers laced together for comfort. The summer sun beats down on them from on high, baking the cracked earth into red dust. Hope's anxious heart is still thundering as swift as a horse's hooves. There have been so many close calls on this harsh journey west. Crossing the ford is a risk every pioneer in the wagon train must take if they wish to proceed, but the thought of losing Mathilda now, after all these months of survival...
Hope could not bear such cruelty. Everything she's done thus far, she's done for Mathilda.
Hope sits up and begins stubbornly wringing water out of her sodden petticoats. Her ears are ringing with the lowing of reluctant oxen, the creak of protesting wagon wheels, the shouts of families, the braying of mules – it's so noisy. The line of covered wagons still waiting to take the plunge stretches as far down the trail as she can make out.
Hope tries not to linger on the splintered wreckage of the wagons that didn't make it, piled up like spars of driftwood along the banks, but it's impossible to ignore the ugly reality. The odds are stacked against them.
As she watches, a pure white crow alights atop a ruined axle with the wheel still attached. The carrion bird cocks its head to regard her with one glittering red eye, then bobs its head, croaking a raspy note of amusement.
Hope shudders.
“What do you reckon it'll be like in Oregon?” Mathilda asks, gently breaking her from her reverie. “Tell me about the house again. Please.”
Hope smiles as Mathilda lays her head on Hope's lap. “We're going to build a little house, just for us,” she murmurs. Her fingers stroke a soothing, repetitive pattern through Mathilda's damp hair. “The government promised us a homestead no matter who we are. We'll keep chickens in the yard, and farm the land. I'll hunt for you, and you'll sew for me. Maybe we'll buy a little cart, and have a nice old mule to pull it into town, for when we stock up on flour, and sugar, and salt.”
“Just for us,” Mathilda sighs happily, closing her eyes. “No families pressuring us to marry. No one who knows we broke off our engagements back home.”
“The West will be our new home,” Hope agrees firmly. “No more tears and sadness. No more dwelling on what we had to leave behind. Look instead to the future I'm going to build with you.”
Mathilda sits up, healthy color returning to her cheeks. “I should very much like to kiss you right now,” she giggles, mischief bright in her rose-tinted eyes. “Pity we're in full view of the entirety of the Oregon Trail.”
Hope calmly unlaces the ties of her modest cap and slips it off, letting her long hair unfurl down her back. She holds the hat up as a shield to obscure both of their faces, and with a sly smile, leans in bold as brass to peck Mathilda right on the cheek.
Mathilda's face is scarlet as a sunburn when Hope refastens the laces beneath her chin, smug in her triumph.
The dream always starts with her waking in the same bed. It's like no doctor's place she's ever seen, everything pristine and white, gleaming metal instruments and moving screens around her, but instinct tells her it's heart medicine that she ends up taking with her. She's short of breath in the labyrinthine halls of the bafflingly large schoolhouse, and it's a struggle just to make her way up the stairs, let alone carry her books at the same time. Her body is so much frailer than she remembers it being.
Introducing herself in front of the class makes her so anxious she just wants to curl up in a corner and weep. Even the name she gives is wrong. Instead of Hope, here she is Homura.
Then everything just... stops. The other voices fall away until only one remains, one bastion of safety in the sea of unfamiliar things. Mathilda – no, Madoka – is here.
That means everything is going to be alright.