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frunbuns · 3 years

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Of Fathers and Grandfathers

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The whole temple seems to be in a good mood today. The force practically sings with it. Just the happiness of it all. Obi-Wan can’t remember the last time the temple felt this light and bright. The Coruscant sun shines impossibly bright today, casting everything in a warm glow. Younglings giggling as they run past him in the halls, small gifts clutched in their arms - either for their masters or their fathers.

Obi-Wan smiles at them as they pass him, small waves and a hurried, “good morning, master.” before they disappear out of his sight.

It’s on days like these that he misses Qui-Gon. The two of them had a somewhat complicated relationship at times - with Qui-Gon refusing to take Obi-Wan on at first, Obi-Wan leaving the order, Qui-Gon pushing Obi-Wan to the side to train Anakin - but he had loved him regardless. He hopes that Qui-Gon had loved him too.

Obi-Wan wonders what Qui-Gon would say if he saw him today. Forty-two standard years old, jedi master, padawan and grand-padawan under his belt. Father and grandfather too, he muses, Anakin’s voice echoing in the back of his head.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice echoes behind him.

Obi-Wan smiles as he stops walking. Slowly, he turns around and watches his former padawan come sprinting up to him. The younger jedi slows to a stop in front of him and before Obi-Wan can open his mouth and ask him what it is he wraps his arms around his neck. He chuckles dumbfounded for a moment before he wraps his arms securely around Anakin.

“Happy father’s day, Obi-Wan,” he mutters into the crook of his neck.

Obi-Wan plants his left hand in Anakin’s soft curls, enjoying the pressure of his padawan’s body so firmly against his. It’s as if nothing has changed since he was a little boy. He still fits as snugly into his embrace as he did when he was a child. Even if he’s grown to be taller than him. It’s almost hard to believe that the little boy from Tatooine - his little boy - has grown into a jedi knight. A full grown man. A father even.

Obi-Wan’s heart swells with love and pride at the thought of it. He truly has become a far better jedi than Obi-Wan could even hope to be. If Anakin notices that he holds him a bit tighter after that he doesn’t mention it. “Thank you, padawan.”

Another group of younglings run past them, the pitter patter of their shoes echoing down the corridor. They barely pay a glance at the two of them as they pass, much too busy with their own things at the moment.

“Not that I don’t enjoy hugging you, but is there a reason you sought me out?”

Anakin untangles himself from Obi-Wan’s arms and steps back, a broad smile on his face. “Oh yeah. You haven’t had breakfast yet, right?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I have not,” he says, raising a brow at the taller man.

“Good,” Anakin says then, grabbing a hold of his arm. “Come with me.”

Obi-Wan nearly stumbles over his feet as Anakin drags him down the corridor. They turn a corner so abruptly that Obi-Wan nearly slams into another knight. He hurriedly apologizes before he manages to match Anakin’s walking speed.

“What’s this about?” he asks his former padawan, his voice betraying his bewilderment at Anakin. “Surely whatever it is it’s so urgent we have to run down people in the temple to get there.”

Anakin flashes him a toothy grin, gripping his arm tighter. “It’s a surprise.”

“Your surprises never bode well,” Obi-Wan says. “Certainly not for me. Do you even remember the time you surprised me with new plants and when I got to our quarters it was filled with soil?”

“You said you were thankful!”

“I was - still am - but the mess took ages to clean up. Honestly Anakin, why did you think replanting them in our living room was a good idea?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I promise this surprise is a good one.”

“It better be. I’d rather not be left to clean up one of your messes again.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirk up into a smile. “Are you done scolding me now?”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I suppose I am.”

“Good. Because we’re here.”

They stop before the entrance to the temple gardens. The sun hangs high in the sky. Birds chirp from the treetops. Children laugh as they play. It’s truly a lovely day, something Anakin would be able to appreciate if he had the mind to slow down every now and again. Anakin stands there for a moment, scouting the area out with narrowed eyes before his face lights up with recognition and they’re walking again.

Obi-Wan is left to stumble after him, just barely able to comprehend his surroundings as Anakin drags him through the garden. Their fellow jedi casting them amused glances as they pass them, all too used to his and Anakin’s antics at this point.

They come to a sudden stop by a picnic table farther in the garden, Obi-Wan nearly crashing into Anakin’s back. When Obi-Wan sees who’s sitting at the table though, his face breaks into a smile.

“Hello.”

“Grandpa Obi-Wan!” Luke and Leia cheer in unison. Obi-Wan smiles at them, long since given up on trying to get them to call him grandpa. It was a lost cause at this point. Once the other jedi at the temple had caught on they had quickly taken to calling him that too, to tease him. Quinlan seemed especially fond of referring to him as “grandpa” or “old man” despite being about the same age as him.

It’s not that he minds the twins calling him that. There’s something gratifying with being able to call them his grandchildren. Even at only forty-two standard years old. They’re a family of sorts. With him, and Anakin, and Ahsoka, and Padmé, and the twins.

Padmé smiles up at him, adjusting her hold on Leia in her lap. “Please sit down, Obi-Wan. We’ve been waiting for you.”

The moment Obi-Wan sits down at the picnic table Luke scrambles into his lap with all the might of his four year old body. Anakin sits down next to him, ruffling the small boy’s hair. Luke giggles as he tries to wriggle away from his father’s hand, nestling into Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“We hope you’re up for breakfast,” Padmé says as she places a plate down in front of him.

“How could I say no?” Obi-Wan responds, his trademark smile on his face.

He wraps his left arm around the toddler before he leans over the table to load his plate with food. Padmé pours him some tea as Anakin helps himself to some food as well.

“I’m starving,” he says as he stuffs his mouth.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan scolds him. “Manners!”

Padmé shoots him a dirty look as Obi-Wan half-heartedly glares at him. Anakin looks down at his lap bashfully before he picks up the fork and knife and starts eating with them.

“Hello!” Rings a voice not too far away. “Sorry I’m late.” Ahsoka sits down next to Padmé and starts helping herself to food as well. “I was just giving my gift to Master Plo.”

“I’m sure he loved it,” Obi-Wan tells her.

She beams at him. “He did! He also asked me to wish you a happy father’s day.” She looks between him and Anakin. “Both of you.”

Anakin practically jumps next to him then. “Oh! Oh! Ahsoka! Do you have the gift?”

Ahsoka’s face lights up as she nods. She reaches under the table and produces a small, wrapped square and hands it to Obi-Wan over the table. Obi-Wan takes it and studies it with a smile.

“Happy father’s day, Obi-Wan!” Ahsoka exclaims. “Open it!”

Obi-Wan looks down at the box in his hand. “You really didn’t have to—”

“just open it, old man!” Anakin bellows at him.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and starts unwrapping it. Luke reaches his tiny hands and rips a few pieces of wrapping paper himself. Under the wrapping paper is a neutral, brown cardboard box. The jedi master looks at it curiously before he opens it, flipping the flap over and pulling out a white mug. He turns it over in his hand, trying to get Luke’s curious fingers away from it.

“GALAXY’S BEST DAD” in bold, black letters stares back at him. It takes a moment before it hits him. His mouth falls open in a quiet, soft, “Oh…”

Anakin and Ahsoka look at him curiously. Their force signatures buzzing with anticipation. Like small younglings, the both of them. “Do you like it?” Anakin asks.

“I…” Obi-Wan swallows thickly, finding his voice tight in his throat. He looks up at them with a soft expression on his face. “Thank you,” he whispers, looking back at the mug in his hand.

It’s such a small, silly thing. Shops on every planet probably have these stocked in plentitude. He’s seen mugs like these before. Laughed at them even. But now, holding one in his hand - that Anakin and Ahsoka bought specifically for him - it feels different.

Luke snatches the mug out of his hand, holding it in his small hands as he studies it intently. He coos at it as he turns it over.

“Careful, little one,” Obi-Wan tells him, quickly placing his hand under in case he drops it.

“Hey, Luke!” Padmé exclaims, digging around in a bag next to her on the ground. Luke, easily distracted by his mother, lets Obi-Wan pry the mug out of his hands. He places it on the table far away from small fingers and Padmé gives Luke some stuffed animal she’s fished out for him. “There you go.”

Obi-Wan mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ as he adjusts his grip on Luke who has managed to almost squirm himself off his thigh. She smiles at him before rummaging through the bag again. She hands Leia two flimsies and then places her on the ground. She whispers something in Leia’s ear and the little girl nods before she runs around the table and up to Obi-Wan, handing him the two flimsies.

Obi-Wan raises his brows and puts on a great show of curiosity. “What’s this, love?” he asks her.

Leia giggles and grips the fabric of his pants.

On the flimsies there are vaguely human-shaped doodles of what is unmistakably supposed to be him and them. The one signed Luke is bug, wobbly letters he’s they’re both holding lightsabers, both of them blue, on a green planet that reminds him of Naboo. The one signed Leia, in slightly neater writing, they’re standing in what he assumes is the temple. Something in his chest aches as he looks at them, Luke helpfully pointing out details of his drawing and explaining them. To which Obi-Wanresponds with an interested hum of approval.

By the time Anakin became his padawan he was past the age of giving drawing to people. It also didn’t help that he had grown up as a slave and just didn’t get to do a lot of normal childhood things. Instead Obi-Wan spent time picking up droid parts from their living quarters. He would occasionally find a doodle here and there, usually some droid design he had thought of and then forgotten.

With the twins around he often finds himself wishing Anakin had a better childhood, but if there was one thing he had learned it was that dwelling on the past never helps.

Their breakfast continues after this, filled with pleasant chatter and laughter. Anakin continues scarfing down the food as if he hasn’t eaten in days, with Obi-Wan halfheartedly scolding him for his lack of table manners. In reality he doesn’t really care. It’s not every day he gets to enjoy time with his family like this, all of them together. The war, even if it’s long over by this point, still requires cleanup. This is only a moment of respite before he’s undoubtedly put back on duty.

He just wished Anakin and Ahsoka’s padawan years weren’t tainted by war, but he supposes his were as well.

He won’t let Luke and Leia’s childhood be taken away by war and suffering. It’s the least he could do for them.

“Come on, let’s take a picture,” Padmé says. “All of you. You too Ahsoka.”

Padmé tutters around, barking order on where to stand. It takes some time before she is pleased, but it ends with Ahsoka in the middle, Obi-Wan and Anakin with a toddler on their hips each. At one point Ahsoka tries to tickle Leia and she shrieks so loudly Obi-Wan nearly loses his grip on her. The picture does get taken, after a while though. Padmé seems pleased at last.

She then says something about having to go to work and taking the twins with her. And then it’s just the three jedi left.

Anakin turns to Obi-Wan then. He looks down at the ground for a moment, fiddling with his hands. Obi-Wan raises an amused brow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. Ahsoka watches the two of them expectantly.

“Is there anything you wish to say, Anakin?”

Anakin glances up at him for a moment. “I know we haven’t exactly got to celebrate much these past years, or any years for that matter.”

“I assure you I really don’t mind—”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I want you to know that you do mean a lot to me,” he says, disregarding Obi-Wan’s comment entirely. “You’ve made me the person I am today and I am eternally grateful for everything you’ve sacrificed for mine - and Ahsoka’s sake. I know it’s not at all what you expected. After Qui-Gon died on Naboo I know you were having a really hard time and I appreciate it all. I’ve never really said it before so I thought it was time. I guess having kids has just made me understand you more. And the mind-healer I’ve been seeing said I should tell you too, so there’s that.”

“I’m grateful to have you as my grand-master. You’ve been an excellent teacher and father. I can’t imagine being anyone else’s grand-padawan,” Ahsoka adds.

Obi-Wan’s face softens. His eyes sting with emotion as he looks the two of them over, suddenly very aware of the tightness of his throat and the ache in his chest.

“Oh,” he says, voice breaking pitifully. “What have I done to deserve such good padawans?” he asks, fully aware of the tears soaking into his beard. He pulls them both into a hug, holding them against his body. “I’d do anything for you, you understand. I’d walk to the ends of the galaxy if it meant you would be happy and well. I’d do it all over again if I had to. All of it. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He feels Anakin nod into his shoulder. “I know,” he mumbles, muffled by the fabric of his tunic.

Something about the statement does something to him. Just the simple ‘I know’ alone. Just Anakin understanding him so - so wholly and fully. The other half to his whole, for gods know how long.

“If Qui-Gon could see you now he’d be so proud of you, I know it.”

And maybe it’s the fact that Obi-Wan always craved Qui-Gon’s validation. That he never really stopped wanting it, even after he became one with the force. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Something that’s been building up in him for a long time now. Or maybe it’s a combination of all of it, but the damn seems to break.

If it had been any other situation, with any other people, he would have been embarrassed by the noise he makes then. He closes his eyes, lashes wet with tears, and weeps, soaking Anakin’s tunic in salty tears. Pitiful sobs muffled by the soft fabric. Ahsoka seems to hug him tighter as his body wracks with sobs. It’s truly a pitiful and humiliating sight, but he feels safe in Anakin and Ahsoka’s arms. Safe and loved.

“I miss him.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

They stand there for what feels like an eternity. Just the tree of them. Holding him in their arms, like steady pillars keeping him upright. Anakin rubs a comforting hand on his back as he lets his master just unapologetically cry into his shoulder. By the time Obi-Wan’s sobs subside into sniffles and small gasps he feels lighter than he has in a long time. And even then they don’t let him go. Remaining a steadfast pillar for him to lean on.

This is what love is, he thinks. This right here. And he’s neck deep in it. Practically swimming in it.

#star wars #star wars prequels #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #sw #sw fic #sw fanfic #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #padme amidala #leia organa #luke skywalker #fics #my fics #mine #star wars tcw #idk what to tag this I'm not good at this #reblog s appreciated tho <3

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apollo-writes-random-shit · 4 years

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Id love to see “Run Boy Run” with Race and Jack please!! I love your writing

Ahhh thanks! I’m really fucking sorry that this took so long! I kept losing motivation and stuff like that whoops. I hope you enjoy even though you can probably see the parts I gave up lol. Also, I don’t know why but for some reason, I decided to research about the real lodging house and included that in here because ???? Who the FUCK knows.

TWs: Mentioned abuse and one small scene (Snyder slaps Jack( and attempted drugging (Jack tries to slip Snyder a sleeping drug so he and Race could escape). Briefly mentioned homophobia.

Also, for most of the story, Jack and Race go by ‘Francis and Tony’. In this world, some people are born with powers and because I like to torture myself, I decided to go through about fifty different names to what to call people like that instead of just saying they’re magic????

Also, I threw in some ocs, so yeah.

Francis knew his very existence was hated by people in his town. Well, at least the ones who knew what he was. A small-town mindset like the one he lived in was horrible for someone...Different. For someone who was a Cosma. Someone with powers was an outcast in his town. A monster to some. One of the only people who knew was his step-father and he held his status above his head, always threatening to out him, but he could handle it.

However, he knew the new kid wouldn't be able to handle it. One look at he knew that the boy was like him. A Cosma but he hadn't shown many signs yet. Francis knew the second Snyder caught on to the fact that Tony was a shifter and communicator, the boy's life would become a hell of abuse and experiments. The things that had happened so far were easy to explain as a trick of the light. Different eyeshade? That was the light. Slightly sharper teeth? Nah, your eyes are playing tricks on you, Sir, there's no need to worry.

Francis couldn't help but wonder which of them was more powerful. His new brother with the ability to shapeshift and control horses with his voice, or himself with the power to bring drawings to life. He placed his bets on Tony. The boy was a double after all.

Francis knew they had to get out and after a month of searching, he finally found a way. Someone had agreed to help him travel to a safer place, one where he could be himself. Where others would help him and his brother no matter what

Run boy run! This world is not made for you.

The small town had him trapped. He and his brother didn't belong there, but his contact promised him freedom. Sure, there wasn't much fresh air there like there was here in Santa Fe but New York offered freedom...A place where Tony could grow up without having to hide a major part of himself.

He was scared though. He somehow needed to sneak not only himself but Tony out of the house in the middle of the night and get across town in the middle of the night so the two could cross the town borders and escape for a better life.

It would be worth it though. If it meant Tony was safe, it would all be worth it. He'd lay his life down for his little brother and he knew that his brother wouldn't like it if he found out but it was the truth. Tony meant everything to Francis and he'd give up anything for the younger boy.

But even planning to escape was hard. Francis wasn't a moron. He knew Snyder had placed trackers in all of his clothes, though, that wasn't the most obvious thing. The most obvious tracker was the dog tags each boy wore under strict orders not to take them off at any point.

Tony may find no issue in it but Francis did. He knew it wasn't for their 'safety'. No. It was for Snyder's. Snyder knew that Francis could out him at any time. Multiple bruises and scars weren't easy to explain away when at least one of them was a brand baring Snyder's name, set on the back of his shoulder.

There was no way he could hide the truth if anyone was to ever see that so it was vital he kept tabs on the boys at all times. After all, he didn't want his image of a respected man to be ruined.

But Francis' contact already had a plan for that. Spare clothes would be brought for the boys and their own would be thrown somewhere once they left town, along with the dog tags. He was also bringing a friend who could easily disable things in case Snyder had injected them with a tracker.

Run boy run! They're trying to catch you!

Tonight was the night. Francis had everything planned and all he could do was hope that it would work. It was dangerous, but any plan that had to do with running away was and if he could ruin the man's reputation at the same time, he'd gladly do so.

He knew that the second he stepped out of his 'house', Francis Sullivan and Tony Higgins would be dead and two boys without identities would be born but he was okay with that. The two could find themselves new names and Snyder would never be able to hurt them again. He'd be okay. They both would be okay. Even if Snyder moved to New York which he had mentioned a few times, he wouldn't be able to touch them. He wouldn't be able to know who they were. e

It was surprisingly easy to slip the drugs into Snyder's beer, something that he was terrified of doing. After all, he could be caught doing it but luckily, the man was already drunk and didn't seem to notice a difference. Idly, Francis tapped his fingers on his leg, knowing that the ten minutes would be the longest ten minutes of his life but he had been assured that the man would sleep for hours, giving him and his brother time to run.

Still, he couldn't help but question everything. What if he hadn't put enough in? What if someone walked in before he and Tony could escape and realized something was up? What if they got caught on the edge of town and returned to Snyder's house? What if they got locked up? His brother wouldn't survive in jail and he knew he wouldn't survive Snyder's torture if they were sent back. He wasn't sure if both of them would survive but he knew that Tony wouldn't. As much as he loved him, Francis knew the younger boy was weak and would make for easy prey for the sadistic man who took him in.

His heartbeat raced each time he saw the man shift until he was finally sure he was asleep. Swallowing, he took a few silent steps, only to have a hand roughly grasp his thin wrist. Shit. He forgot Snyder was a master at hiding things. The asshole had never even drunk the beer. He had just pretended to drink it when he wasn't looking.

"How stupid do you think I am boy? You think I haven't caught onto your little plan?" The man stared up at the frightened teen with a blank face. "I'm the reason you're still alive Francis and you're trying to throw it in my face like an ungrateful brat?"

"I.."

"I know what you're planning. You're trying to leave aren't you?"

"N-no Sir! It's just I know you haven't been sleeping well lately so I thought I c-could help!" Francis could fill the panic building up, wondering how long Snyder had known about his plan. He couldn't help but wonder if he knew all of the plan or only that he wanted to leave and take his brother with him.

Before he could open his mouth again, he found himself laying on the ground, cheek stinging. He hadn't even registered the loud crack that came with the slap. Taking a few seconds to collect himself, he looked up, staring at the man, eyes holding hatred disguised with fear. Snyder was right. If it weren't for him Francis would be dead and so would Tony, but he didn't care. The man may have kept him alive but that didn't mean he had to stay and be grateful. He always seemed five minutes away from killing Francis so there was no way he would be thankful for that.

He was drawn out of his thoughts at a thunk, watching as his so-called 'step-father' fell to the ground. His eyes drifted to the shaking boy standing above the fallen man, thick math book clutched in his small hands.

Quickly, he snatched the shaking boy up and ran, refusing to look back. He hadn't even told Tony what was happening. All the boy knew was that Francis had been thinking about something important. "W-What's going on?"

"Don't worry kid. We're gonna be safe soon." At least, that's what he hoped. They had already been caught once but they were close to the edge of their small town and he could just see a small group of people, each holding the reins to at least one horse. He couldn't but let out a sigh of relief, dodging around small holes in the road, feeling the boy's grip tighten. Tony didn't really like strangers but if Francis trusted them...He could try.

Run boy run! Running is a victory!

"Didn't realize how many people you were bringing Rags."

"Needed someone to help bring the horses 'nd stuff. Plus, they'se the best ta help out. Specs here can disable any trackers the Spider might a put in ya, Albert will help us light fires 'nd shit. Sniper 'nd Finch can keep an eye on the surrounding area. Patches and Bink will help wit' any disguises we need." The older teen gestured to each boy, each member of the ragtag crew ranging in age with Patches and Rags being the oldest though not by many years. "They'se all 'Hattan newsies like I am. Hotshot 'nd Rai are from Brooklyn though."

Tony honestly was surprised at how young Rai was. The boy didn't look a day over eight yet somehow had been brought along for the small mission.

"I didn't want ta bring him but the kid wouldn't stop botherin' me. I guess he could be useful." Despite the words, Hotshot's face held a faint fond smile, hand ruffling the boy's hair. "He's a communicator after all."

"You're all Cosmas?"

"Yeah. That's why they're helping us, Tony. They'll get us somewhere safe. Speaking of wish, we should leave right now. Dunno how long the Spider will be out. Tried drugging him but he caught me so Tony knocked his ugly fat ass out."

Rags nodded towards one of the horses with a grin. "Hope ya know how to ride cause that's how we'se headin' ta New York."

"Not really but we'll figure it out." Francis shrugged, carefully placing his brother in the saddle before pulling himself up, reaching around the boy to grab the reins. Surely it wouldn't be that hard to ride a horse. At least, it seemed calm and with Tony there, he felt that the horse would at least listen to them. That and they had everyone else to guide them.

The two blinked, feeling a small gentle tingle flow through their body. Specs smiled at the two. "It's all disabled but we'll still dump your stuff on the way. Otherwise, the change of clothes we carried here for you guys would be a waste."

Albert smirked, gently tapping his horse's sides with his heels. "Let's ride ya morons!" With that small whoop, the boy raced off, sparks flying from his red hair. Rolling his eyes, Rags chuckled, riding off after him to make sure the reckless boy wouldn't do something stupid.

Sniper looked over at the two boys they were bringing along with them. "Don't worry. She'll follow us so just focus on ya balance and try to relax. She'll be able ta tell if you're all tense 'nd shit. 'Sides, your ass will hurt if you're stiff. Especially considering ya've never ridden before." With a soft click, the boy started the journey home, causing the brothers' horse to follow them, Specs, Finch and Hotshot riding with the two, the Manhattan boys alongside them as Hotshot brought up the rear, watching as his own baby brother raced off.

At first, he never wanted to come and help 'rescue' the two because it meant losing money, but he owed Rags a favour and the older boy had decided to cash it in. Besides, Spot had been acting like an asshole lately and he could do with some time apart from him, even if they were best friends.

Shaking his head, he freed one hand from the reins, only moving it back after adjusting his bag. He couldn't help but wonder what the boys in front of him were like. Rags had given them a short briefing but seeing the angry red mark on the older one's cheek reminded him that there really were fucked up people in the world and by coming here, he was helping to do the right thing.

The fact Specs had confirmed that trackers had been placed in their bodies just worried him even more. At least they were free now. They were safe from the house that they had been trapped in.

Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills.

Sure New York wasn't the most glamorous of places but to Rags, it was home and now, Manhattan would house two more newsies. They'd get new names later but for now, they would be nameless. He smiled to himself, looking over his shoulder at the figures riding behind him. He could tell that they would fit in with the rest of his family.

The rest of the Manhattan kids knew that he was bringing home two more kids except for once, they weren't from New York.

Tony sighed, leaning into his brother as he closed his eyes. It felt weird running away and guilt was settling in his stomach from the memory of knocking out the man who took him in. He knew Snyder was cruel but he had never laid a hand on him...Only laying hands-on Francis who couldn't fight back. He had never actually seen it but he had heard it countless times. Had seen the way his brother stumbled into their small bedroom before collapsing on his bed, hiding his face in the pillow in an attempt to hide his tears from the boy who looked up to him so much. But Tony saw them each time. Saw the way his body had shuddered and heard the muffled noises that escaped him. He knew Francis couldn't be strong 24/7, no matter how hard he tried.

But now that they had gotten out of there, maybe Francis wouldn't have to take the hits for him. Maybe now he wouldn't have to curl up in bed, trying his best to hide his shaking. He couldn't help but smile slightly as he closed his eyes, resting a hand on the mare's wither, calmly letting himself connect with her. Sliding his hand up, he gently ran his fingers through her mane, relishing in the feeling of the silky strands running through them.

At least with her, he'd feel safe on the journey that he had never expected to take. He couldn't wait to see what would happen when they reached New York. Despite only being with them for a short time, he found the boys charming in their own way, from Albert's excitement at riding off into the distance to Hotshot's firm yet protective presence behind them. He felt safe with them and that's what mattered to him right now and by the way, his brother had slowly relaxed behind him, he knew he felt the same.

With a soft nudge from his horse, he opened his eyes, taking in the appearance of the land around the group. It was something he had never seen before. Something he never expected to see. He couldn't help but grin, looking down slightly so he could watch the land race beneath her hooves. It was beautiful honestly. Much more beautiful than where he had been trapped mere hours ago.

Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you.

Leaning back, he felt Francis' arms tighten around him for a few seconds. Without even looking, he could tell the older teen was smiling as he too took everything in, awe filling his body.

The two were brought out of their thoughts as the horses slowed down, gently lit by the setting sun. Without Rags opening his mouth, Albert jumped off his horse, quickly gathering up wood, surprisingly serious considering the way he had been so hyper and willing to lead the group before. Carefully flicking his fingers at the pile he had made, the ginger grinned as flames burst up from the middle, quickly engulfing each bit of wood. "Fire's done! Who brought the grub?"

"Al ya always hungry."

"Oh shut up Snipes, I know you'se hungry as well." He grinned, dodging as his friend through his cap at his face. "I'll burn this if ya test me!"

Hotshot rolled his eyes, silently helping Tony off of the horse, setting him down as he watched Francis dismount. Well more like stumble as he slid off, almost falling on his ass. The Brooklyn boy forced himself to hold back a laugh while Albert did no such thing. He was more than happy to laugh at the poor teen despite knowing that he'd never rode a horse, let alone for hours at a time while leaving an abusive house far behind them.

Specs just sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed his pack, having been the one trusted to carry the food for the three-day trip. "Alright alright. We can 'ave dinner now. Calm ya shit DaSilva."

The two brothers looked at each other in confusion before nervously moving towards the fire to sit down with the people who came to save them. The group might be helping them but the two still didn't know how much they could trust them. Francis had been desperate, grasping onto the first offer of salvation. The first offer to drag him out of the mental river he was drowning in, being dragged further under the surface with each hit, each insult, each threat both against him and his brother.

So when a cocky boy from Manhattan had shown up to deliver something to his neighbour and pulled him aside to tell him that he couldn't hide from him. That he knew what he was, Francis, had been terrified but the skinny boy had offered him a free trip to where he'd be welcome, a seed had been planted in his brain, but at the same time, he was full of doubt. Why would this stranger offer to take them to where he lived? How had he known what he was? He had been given two weeks to think about it and by the time Rags returned with his small group of friends, the seed had grown and he had agreed the day the group arrived.

Rags sighed as he sat down, watching as Finch scaled a tree, a bird soon swooping down to join him after the boy let out a soft whistle. "So, have you thought 'bout a name yet?"

Francis shook his head. "Not yet. It's not easy honestly to think of one."

"Eh take ya time. After all, you'll be stuck wit' it." Rai hummed, idly poking the fire with a stick, ignoring the warning look his older brother gave him. "You can keep the one you have now, shorten it, change it or just give yaself a nickname and run with it. If you don't think of one, 'Hattan might just give you one."

Tony looked up at his brother startled. "Names? Are we changing our names?" Finch just grinned from his perch. "I mean, as Rai said, you don't have to but sometimes it's easier to just change it...A lot of us are running from something and it's helpful to change our name. Finch ain't my real name 'nd Specs wasn't called Specs by his birth family. That came from us newsies cause o' his glasses."

Said boy chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "I should admit that it didn't appeal to me at first but it grew on me."

Albert grinned. "Don't bullshit us. The main reason you like it is that Romeo kept calling you it."

"And you take Albie cause that Jojo boy. You're both hopeless idiots." Rai shook his head with a grin. "Manhattan's weird like that. Rai is just short for my name and you're being all gay 'nd shit and that's why you accepted your newsie names."

Tony's eyes widened, surprised that they were speaking so openly about something that Snyder said was wrong. Well, 'said' was the wrong word. The man attempted to force his own ideal into his charges' minds, not wanting them to think for themselves. It's wrong. You'll go to hell for looking at a boy the way you should be looking at a girl Tony.

But these boys didn't seem to be 'cursed' as Snyder said gays were. They seemed...The way everyone else was, just more friendly but not in a strange way. No, they were just joking around like brothers. They were people who were comfortable in their own skin while Francis and Tony weren't. They both had confided in each other that they had each secretly looked at boys the way Snyder and others in their former home condemned people for. These boys may tease each other but it was friendly, it was in an attempt to make each other flustered. That meant they'd be even safer in the Manhattan lodging house.

After a few minutes, Specs handed around the cooked meat, warning the group that it was still hot. "You'll be safe in a few days. As for now, just relax though we need to burn your clothes soon just in case ya know?" He smiled over at the two nervous teens. "Don't worry, we brought you spare clothes. One of the boys back home made them fa ya. That's why Rags asked for ya size."

"Buttons is great...Gonna need him to fix my shirt though." Albert sighed, looking at a rip in his shirt. "Don't even know when I tore it. I swear it wasn't like this when we left!"

"It's called you're a fucking clumsy moron who fell in a river because you thought getting off your horse before walking over a fallen tree was smarter than the bridge."

Tony couldn't help but laugh, knowing he had done something similar before. Sure it got him into trouble because he made a mess when he got home but he had a good time so it didn't matter.

Run boy run! They're dying to stop you! Run boy run! This race is a prophecy! Run boy run! Break out from society!

Yelling brought the small group back into the world of the woken, Tony and Francis instantly freezing. Snyder and his friends had found them and the two knew they'd stop at nothing to get their hands on the two.

"Shit. Get back on the horses. We should have dumped your clothes earlier but I didn't want to stop for a while just in case." Rags quickly jumped back on his horse, watching as his newsies rushed around to pack up their small camp before jumping on their horses. Hotshot had already boosted Rai onto his horse before getting on his own, Albert helping Francis and Tony up onto theirs. The second the red-head was on his own horse, the ground raced off, the newsies pretending that they didn't hear Tony's soft and scared sobs mixed with Francis' soft words of comfort.

They hadn't been planning to move so fast but they had to otherwise they'd all be in trouble. "Finch! Sniper!"

"On it!" The two boys quickly pulled out their slingshots, each loading small sparklers into them, firing them off in different directions in hopes of distracting their pursuers. Despite not being given orders from his leader, Albert set off small flaming balls, sending them away from himself, making sure they were small enough to avoid setting the nearby trees on fire.

Hotshot sighed, raising his voice so the two scared kids in front of him could hear. "Don't worry. The 'Hattan boys know what they're doing, even if they don't seem like it most of the times. We'll keep you safe."

"See Tones? We'll be safe. Promise." Francis tightened his arm around his brother, wondering if his words would prove to be true or if they were would become false. He just hoped that they'd get away and find their way to New York as Rags had promised.

With a single whistle from Rai, animals seemed to flood from every corner of the forest before they rushed towards the sounds of the group chasing them down.

Each second seemed like an eternity to the two brothers, their hearts both frozen still and beating erratically at the same time. While the horses were speeding up by the second, they seemed to be forcing their way through snow with Tony and Francis feeling the chill while no one else did.

Their safety...No, their lives were on the line here and each member of the small party knew it. If one person were to get caught, it'd be over for everyone. They all knew the risks that came with this mission and had accepted the idea that they may be caught but that didn't mean they weren't scared shitless as the idea swirled inside their minds, taunting them with what their future could hold. It was clear that Cosmas' weren't welcome in the town they were fleeing from but right now, they had to shove that thought away, focusing instead of escaping.

The shouts faded behind them but that didn't slow down the group, if anything, it pushed them to go faster just in case the group had decided to fall silent in hopes of catching them off guard. Granted, Francis wasn't sure if Snyder and his pals were smart enough to do that but still, you never know.

They ate lunch on the run, Specs moving to each person to hand them small sandwiches before moving back to his own spot. Sure, the plan had been to eat warm meat with the sandwiches for a snack but plans sometimes change on the fly and newsies were masters at changing things instantly. After all, there were times they had to quickly run from where they were selling to escape the clutches of the police.

The group rode through the night, their way lit by Albert's flames, only pausing for an hour or so by a river to allow their horses a break to drink, each boy quickly shoving food into their mouths, too on edge to take their time.

Specs sighed, looking up at the stars, tracing each constellation with his eyes, remembering all the stories he had been told by an older newsie. "We'll be there in two days. We'll stop by Brooklyn ta return the horses and drop Hotshot and Rai off before headin' across the bridge."

Tony nodded, curling up next to Encore, the mare nuzzling her young rider. "Is New York really as big as they say? Fat-...Snyder always said that it's big." Despite correcting himself, the fact that he had almost called Snyder his 'Father' filled his stomach with guilt and anxiety.

Albert grinned and nodded. "There's a lot of us newsies from all over New York. We'se the Kings 'nd Queens of the damn place! Sure we ain't the richest but we'se the people who help spread the news. Without us, the damn city will shut down." He chuckled under his breath. "You'll be 'Hattan boys in a few days...We'se the second most important borough in my mind. I would say the most important but that's Brooklyn. They're the real rulers in the Newsie world. They've got the toughest folks there."

Rai snorted and nodded. "Damn right we do! We'se'll soak anyone we need ta. No one messes wit' us if they have a good mind. We'll kick their asses if needed. No one messes wit' us and it's great!"

Hotshot rolled his eyes, setting his small bowl of thin stew aside so he could gently slap his brother on the back of the head, gently chuckling at the boy's mock offended cry. "Don't go boasting 'bout it ya nerd. We're not that bad. We're just tougher than most of than the New York newsies." He looked over at the two new boys, picking up his stew again. "Simply put, don't mess wit' us and we don't mess wit' you...Though that's really any place I guess. We're just respected more than everyone else in our world."

Francis nodded, filing the information away. He knew what it was like to get on someone's bad side and the idea of a whole New York borough after him was frightening to him. The bullies he had faced were one thing but the idea of having stronger people after him was terrified. Hotshot already proved that all of Brooklyn was strong, just by his arms and Francis didn't feel like the idea of throwing hands with him or any of his friends. He was pretty sure Rai could easily break his arm despite being eight.

Blink groaned, speaking up for the first time. "We get it. Ya, all tough 'nd scary now shut up. I'se wanna sleep." He adjusted his eyepatch, not bothering to look over at the group. "You all take to much."

"Aww, ya just a spoilsport Blink. First thing ya say is to tell everyone to shut up?" Albert couldn't do anything but laugh as Blink flipped him off. "Someone's just grumpy he had to leave his boyfriend behind."

"Or maybe I'm sick o' your dumbass voice." Idly, the boy pulled his eyepatch to the side, glaring at his friend with a glazed over eye. "I can fucking destroy you Albert DaSilva. Remember that."

"I'm sooooo scared."

Patches sighed, knowing that it was time he should step in, his soft voice floating above the crackling of the fire. "Both of you stop being morons. We're heading out as soon as we can in the morning. Rags and I'll take the first watch, Blink and Specs will take next than it'll be Hotshot and Al. That's all we'll need really need because it'll be light enough by the time your shift is up and we'll be able to have a quick breakfast before going again. We'll be home very soon. Two days and we'll be done and we can relax and go back to selling and stuff. We'se'll get Tony 'nd Francis set up as soon as we can. We'll probably be back during the day." Noticing Tony's subtle glances towards Blink's eyepatch, he smiled. "Don't bother askin'. He tells a different story each time so no one knows what actually happened ta his eye."

"Oh...Okay. Sorry for staring."

Blink just grinned at him. "Don't worry 'bout it. You'se starin' without hate or disgust or whatever. Ya just interested is all. But yeah. I'm up for taking watch wit' Specs. Now, all o' you zip ya mouths so I can get some shut-eye." With that, he slipped his cap over his face after tucking his eyepatch into his pocket.

Albert chuckled softly but listened, pulling his blanket up over him after gently coaxing the fire to burn a little brighter before eventually falling asleep, his teasing turning into soft breaths that were soon joined by the breathing of others, knowing that his brothers and friends were safe under the watch of his leader and said leader's second.

It took Francis awhile to be comfortable enough to fall asleep, each small noise causing him to subtly flinch, scared that they had been tracked down yet again. It took the comforting presence of his brother who was silently breathing as he held onto his shirt mixing with the fires and the soft chatter of the two boys who were going to be watching over them for a few hours.

Despite his fear, he fell into a deep sleep, only woken by the feeling of Tony gently shaking him. The second the teen was sure the elder was awake, the blond moved to help clear up camp, silently watching slight awe as Albert easily put out the coals with a single wave of his hand, making sure they wouldn't light again.

Francis hummed, feeling his new shirt slip slightly as he stretched. Soon, he would be in a place that accepted who he was, among those who were like him and his brother.

Tomorrow is another day, and you won't have to hide away

It was a new day, one that was bringing the promise of freedom ever closer. Coming out of his thoughts at the feeling of bread being shoved into his hands, a familiar cheeky grin greeting him as he looked down, chuckling at his brother's puffy cheeks. The bread role was small yet for some reason, Tony had felt the need to shove most of it into his mouth at once. Though once he looked at Albert due to the sound of choking, he realized it was most likely a dare or a challenge designed to test the hubris of the two teens, clearly set by a smirking Rai.

He could already tell that moving into the Manhattan lodging house would just increase his brother's not so concealed chaotic tendencies. He sighed, a silent chuckle escaping him as he chewed on his own small role, awkwardly standing still when Rags assured him that he didn't need to do anything to help to pack up camp.

It didn't take them long to start up their journey again, with laughter and friendly taunts filling the air instead of the fear and silent tears that had been their unwelcome comrade the last ride.

Adjusting his cap, Finch grinned and carefully shuffled back slightly before carefully raising to his feet, having slipped off his shoes over an hour ago. Calmly, he pulled out a small stone, biting his lip as he aimed for a familiar head. He couldn't help but let out a whoop as Sniper's head whipped around, the other boy glaring at his fellow shooter. "Finch I swear ta fucking God!"

"Don't swear at me."

"Albert ya ain't God!"

Hotshot just sighed, ignoring the laughter of the other boys, speeding up so he could take matters into his own hands, knowing full well the arguing newsies probably wouldn't listen to their leaders in this situation. In his mind, the Manhattan boys tended to be more chaotic and at times disobedient than the boys who lived with him. Not that it was surprising. Other than being known for being tough, Brooklyn newsies were known to be well-disciplined despite the way a new ruler could come to power by fighting the current one and they listened to each other.

"Alright, you guys. Shut ya traps before I make you." Sure, that caused the two shooters to aim for him for a few seconds but it was easy for him to dodge considering the two were ever so slightly intimidated by him, despite knowing he wouldn't actually do anything to them.

"You're no fun." Despite his annoyed words, Finch carefully moved back to the saddle, sitting down again, not wanting to test the Brooklyn boy too much.

Rags just shook his head with a smile, looking at the sky, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to avoid the sun's rays as he judged the time. He knew by now that they most likely wouldn't be tracked down anymore considering how far away from the tiny town they had come from. His new brothers were safe and that's all that mattered right now. Soon, he'd be back with the rest of his family and he'd be bringing in two new members.

He could tell already that they'd fit in almost instantly though he knew that they'd naturally come to terms with what had happened and that they were safe...That they could grow up properly.

You'll be a man, boy! But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

However, they still had a while to go before they would be racing around the streets of Lower Manhattan, selling papers to random people to pay the six cents needed to pay for a bed and batch at the lodging house. His smile widened slightly as he thought of the meals that a few extra cents would get him. Pork and beans on Monday, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Roast beef on Sunday and beef stew on Tuesdays. Corned beef and cabbage came on Wednesday and fish balls were served on Fridays. If he focused hard enough, he could not only taste the meals he often paid for but also taste the tea and bread that each meal was accompanied with. The newsie could practically smell the soup that was often served with pork and beans. Just the thought of the meals made him feel full and he couldn't wait to return for dinner again.

Sure, breakfast was also served but why pay for it when you could get food off the nuns before rushing to the gates? Though he couldn't lie. There were times he spent money on some cents on some oatmeal in the morning, savouring the small burn that came as he quickly ate it. Some of the boys may tease him for buying both food and getting free coffee from the nuns but he didn't care.

Patches grinned, looking over at his brother who rode with closed eyes, able to picture what the other was thinking about. He too loved meal times at the lodging house, even if everything just repeated with not much change. It was nice to know what to expected and if he wanted a change, he could always save up a little extra and buy something at Jacobi’s or even just ask if he could take some leftovers with him.

He knew everyone, not just the newsies that stayed in the large building looked forward to the nightly meals, shared in a large room, surrounded by friends as they joked about what sort of customers they had dealt with that day, lowering their voices whenever they felt the need to swear, knowing full well it was against the rules.

He sighed softly, looking ahead, wishing he could see the familiar outline of New York on the horizon, yet he saw nothing but the landscape he had seen on the way to pick up the two boys.

Focusing on his companions, he swallowed back a laugh as he heard Rai explaining newsie rules to Francis and Tony while Hotshot corrected him when needed. After all, the life of a newsie was far more complex than the life they had just left behind. The life was full of tricky politics between boroughs where one wrong move could incite a war which would just bring every newsie across the whole damn city involved which was never a clean thing. No war was clean really but newsies were a group of kids who handled their wars with fists while the leaders scrambled to arrange a deal. Though, from the short time he's spent with these two kids, he could tell that they would be respectful, at least of the borders. Not that they would be going anywhere near them for a while. No new kid was ever allowed to sell near the borders for a few weeks just to make sure they learnt the ropes.

Run boy run! This ride is a journey to. Run boy run! The secret inside of you

Francis internally sighed, glad to see his little brother smiling and laughing along with those who had been strangers not too long ago. It was nice to see that the boy wasn't scared of them. He didn't know what he'd do if the boy would be scared of those who they were now living with. No longer would the two have to walk on eggshells to avoid letting anyone know who they really were...What they were. No longer did they have to deal with Snyder, who seemed to always be a hair's breadth away from snapping at them, whether it be just yelling at Tony or hitting Francis across the face, shouting insults down the fallen boy who knew better than to yell back.

Sure, he himself was still a bit hesitant about being with the group but knew that it would be easier to disappear in New York than disappearing from a small town with no aid from an outside force. The smile and laughter coming from his thin brother made his worry worth it though.

He could still faintly hear his mother's final words as she lay on her death bed, finally admitting the abuse she had watched. "You'll escape one day Francis. I know you will. You'll find a way out of this hell hole. I'm sorry I didn't protect you and Tony. I'm so sorry baby."

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, he kissed his brother's head. His mother had been right. He was getting both him and Tony out of an abusive household. He felt like he could finally breathe properly for the first time since his mother had married the cursed man.

Slowly, he allowed his thoughts to be drowned out by the gentle shuffling of the leaves that the wind danced through as they raced through the trees, closer to their new destiny.

Run boy run! This race is a prophecy! Run boy run! And disappear in the trees!

Night settled around them once more, the moon and stars smiling down gently on the group of laughing boys who surrounded a crackling fire. Seeing that the two brothers were still nervous, the group took turns telling stories, ranging from safer ones to ones that had Rags and Patches lecturing their younger brothers on safety, having never heard such things come from the young teens' mouths.

Eventually, the stories died down, though the silence didn't last long, replaced with giggling and annoyed swears as Rai and Sniper attempted to roast marshmallows over Albert's flaming hair, not caring when the melted treat dripped into the red locks of the struggling boy clamped tightly in Blink's arms.

Soon after, the three were stopped, Albert wrestling the two boys as soon as he was free, laughter filling the air yet again even when the three were pulled apart.

Tony smiled as he stared up at the stars, opening his mouth to break the silence that eventually fell over the group, happy to tell them stories of the sky and stars, ones that he had learnt years ago, back when he was still oblivious to the cruelty that his older brother faced daily.

Eventually, the group settled down, knowing that they'd be back home by tomorrow night, able to relax in a proper bed, surrounded by their family once again instead of resting on the hard ground.

Tomorrow is another day, and you won't have to hide away.

The small crew grinned as they once again got settled on their horses, excitement buzzing through their veins, knowing that in a few hours that they would be home. It was as the air could sense it as well, sending a gentle breath to soothe their excitement, helping the group speed through the landscape, the horses gladly pushing themselves even more, already able to taste the treats they would rightfully get for the hard and long journey they had untaken.

Francis and Tony could both feel a small part that would miss riding through the open land, feeling the ache that came with a living creature speeding under them, carrying them where they wished, letting them feel the wind in their faces as they rode closer and closer to safety and a new life.

The newsies happily spoke of what they planned to do when they got home once again, excited to not only see their family and partners again but to invite and accept the two brothers into Manhattan. Albert grinned, already thinking up plans to annoy the Delancey brothers and their uncle at the gates, wondering if how easy it would be to draw Tony into his schemes, already knowing that the other had the sense for mischief that he had in his own soul. Sure, it might get Francis annoyed but he didn't care. He had a new brother and had to bring him into the life of chaos, so it could wrap him in its embrace, filling his mind with plans to commit with the redhead.

You'll be a man, boy! But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

Hotshot was relieved to almost be back in Brooklyn where he could just relax with his friends. Maybe take a dip in the river. Hell, he might throw Rai or Spot off the pier for shits and giggles, not caring about their reactions. They both could swim after all and it was normal for the boys to throw each other around sometimes and well, he deserved to have a little fun with his family after such a harsh journey. Sure, he hadn't been too happy to join the 'mission' in the first place but he had found himself enjoying himself. Sure, he lost money doing this but it was nice to escape the chaotic life that happened when you lived in New York while being poor.

No matter how hard and chaotic his life was, he found himself enjoying it. After all, it was better than working in a factory or at the pier, hauling stuff around or sailing on a boat, unsure if he'd ever return.

Yes, he hadn't been happy to come on this trip, nor was he happy for his baby brother to join him but to hear Rai laughing along with Tony as animals joined the ride for a short time before they pulled away, it was worth it. If he could get the young boy out of Brooklyn for a few days so he could get some fresh air and a change of pace, well...He'd do it a million times over. He wished he could take all the littles out for journies like this but alas, he couldn't. He had no reason to leave New York, let alone had the money to do so. Still, being able to take one of them out was an amazing feeling, one he wouldn't forget. Rai had lost too much at a young age yet always kept a grin. He deserved to be able to spend time, free in the land with wild animals rushing by him.

It's what the small child deserved.

Tomorrow is another day, and when the night fades away

Breaking for lunch just made all of them antsy, wanting to hurry up and get back home. Even Specs, a normally calm boy was bouncing on his toes, not bothering to hide his excitement at the idea of seeing everyone he cared about. He quickly scoffed down his sandwich, not caring about taking his time. He was going to be home soon and could take his time savouring all the tastes that came with a homecooked meal while surrounded by those he missed.

While the break only lasted thirty minutes, it felt like a lifetime to the small group. Their hearts started to beat faster with each step their tired horses took towards home.

Time travelled slowly, the stars starting to peak out again when New York's outline started to rise in the distance, an excited whoop escaping Albert as he urged his horse to go even faster, unwilling to wait any longer. He wanted...No needed to be back in that city. He loved fresh air but still, he craved the smog of New York. Couldn't wait for it to fill his lungs as he walked around feeling like a king despite people viewing him as nothing more than a street rat.

With the city in the distance, it was as if someone had pressed fast forward, landing the group at Sheepshead racetrack before they knew it. Hotshot couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of a short boy waiting near the empty stables. "Why am I not surprised you showed up Spot?"

"Wanted ta see the new 'Hattan boys fa myself." In all honestly, Spot had just wanted to see his brothers' safe returns was he wasn't going to say that in public. Besides, he couldn't help but be somewhat curious about the two new boys who would be joining the team just across the bridge. To him, it was easy to get a glimpse of what the boys had lived through. He hadn't been told much about them but judging by the bruise on the older boy's cheek, it was clear that they hadn't come from a nice place. Not that many of the newsies had come from a good place that is.

Considering Hotshot had said they were going to a small town, he could tell that it was a small town that hated people being born with powers, whether that hatred was born from jealously and fear or just out of pure stupidity, the Brooklyn native didn't know and he wasn't sure if he even cared to know.

Right now, he did his best to ignore where they had come from, instead, turning to Rai to talk about his trip, already knowing that the rules and boundaries had been explained. Even if they hadn't, the two looked smart, especially the blond who had decided to ignore everyone so he could focus on thanking his horse. God, were all Manhattan boys dorks? Shaking his head with a sigh, he clapped his hands. "Right. Curfew's comin' up in a bit so you'se best start gettin' back over the bridge."

"Giving orders now are we Conlon?"

"Blue's handlin' stuff in Queens so it's my job ta kick your bum asses out of Brooklyn. Now fuck off."

Rags rolled his eyes but still spat in his hand and held it out to the younger boy, nodding as he returned the gesture. "We'se'll get outta ya hair Conlon. Gotta get these two set up and Al looks ready to die."

"Oh fuck off I do not!" Despite his words, Albert was rocking ever so slightly, having not slept much the night before due to excitement. "Let's just clear out already. I don't wanna miss out on the food!"

Shaking his head, Rags laughed watching as Blink started shoving Albert around. "Yeah yeah. Tell Blue I said hi." He smiled at the two Brooklyn boys who had come along with his small crew. "Thanks you two. We'll be off now." With a single wave, the lanky teen ushered the others out of the racetrack grounds, chuckling internally at the way the two new brothers stuck together, looking around in both awe and suspicious hesitation.

Idly, his eyes scanned the crowd, easily able to notice who was a normal person and who was a newsie who were lurking around after selling, watching them silently to make sure they didn't break any rules, wanting the small group out of their turf, yet also silently relieved that they had returned safely as that meant their own had been returned as well.

Feet gently joined the countless others walking on the bridge, their voices mingling with those of people hurrying to and from Brooklyn. Before they knew it, they were back on their own side. Sensing their neves, Specs smiled over at his new brothers. "Don't worry. You'll get used to this all before you know it. I will warn you though...The lodging house can be loud and a bit overwhelming at times. You'll fit right in though. I already know it."

Francis just nodded before turning back to Patches, mumbling something under his breath, relaxing as the other smiled and nodded, allowing the group to lead him and his younger brother around.

You'll be a man, boy!

It didn't take long for them to find themselves walking down Duane Street, watching a few kids eagerly look up, some running towards them as others rushed off towards a building, no doubt to let them know of the groups return. Subconsciously, Francis took a closer to Tony, watching as Specs, Blink and Albert were almost tackled, each by a different boy, all dressed in the same ratty attire as the group.

Shaking his head, Rags nodded for the two brothers to follow him, leaving the six boys to reunite with their boyfriends. "They'll come along eventually so don't worry about the nerds. Let's just get you set up for now. Everyone's been dyin' ta meet you two, not just us newsies."

Grinning, he threw open the door to the lodging house, chuckling as he was greeted by cheers from a wide variety of kids. Silencing them with a single hand in the air, he grinned at the two new boys, remembering the few words Francis had muttered to him.

"Everyone! I'd like ta introduce you to Jack Kelly 'nd his little brother, Racetrack Higgins!"

But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

#Newsies #Jack Kelly #Racetrack Higgins #Albert Dasilva #Finch (newsies)#Specs (newsies)#Kid Blink #Blink (newsies)#Anonymous

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thranduilland · 4 years

Text

I’ve tripped back into the Barduil fandom, so...

(Whoops, I did a thing.)

Bard isn’t human, least not fully. He’s not fully anything. He’s not mortal either. There had been a time, in his youth, where his parents thought that perhaps he would be mortal in the way that his mother and grandfather weren’t, but he reached his majority and didn’t grow a single day older and they knew.

When his beard had started to grow in, he’d been surprised, had assumed that he wouldn’t grow one, like his grandfather. But he’d been pleased when it had grown, without it he looked too young, too other-worldly and he didn’t want that. Especially not after learning the reason for the Master’s hatred of him. He does wish his mother could have let Grandfather murder the idiot, but alas, that was too much to ask for.

He’s twenty when his father dies, illness had caught him in the winter and he never recovered. He watched his mother wither away in the months that followed and begged her to stay, but he already knew that she would be leaving him. At twenty, he loses his mother and father and begins working as the bargeman for the Woodland Realm.

At twenty-five he meets Florrie; he knows within moments of meeting her that she is like him. Stuck halfway between belonging anywhere and, therefore, belonging nowhere. They spend the majority of their courting days chasing each other through the trees at the edge of the wood at night, giggling like little children and pretending that they are elves of the wood and the moon and the stars. All the while, they know that when morning comes, they’ll be forced to return to their lives among mortal men, where they do not fit in. They know already that they do not fit in under the trees, either, but it’s fun to pretend.

His grandmother dies suddenly when he is thirty-three and he already knows without his grandfather needing to say a word, that he will lose him, too. The morning after his grandfather passes, he clutches Florrie close to him and they promise each other that they will not fade, no matter what happens, because one of them must always be there for the life that grows in Florrie’s womb even then.

His wife dies when he is forty-one, sickness and age could not claim her, but the birthing bed did. She leaves him three beautiful children and he promises that he will raise his children right, that he will love them always and ensure they know their mother and where she came from.

He is fifty when a dragon burns his town to ashes. Fifty when he does what countless others have failed to do. Fifty when he slays a dragon and becomes a king.

He is seventy-five when he has to sit his lover down and point out the fact that they’ve known each other for fifty-five years and he hasn’t aged a day. This is when he realizes that time truly means nothing for his grandfather’s people.

Ever since Bard abdicated his throne to Bain, citing old age, and disappeared into the Woodland Realm to be with his lover, he notices the way his lover has changed. Where once his lover made as much time as possible to be with him, now he pulls away, avoids him, and does what he can to be elsewhere, which is made easier by the fact they’re still sneaking about like they did in those early days. For all the affection they used to show in public, their relationship is one that has never been out in the open and now it seems to be slipping away. If Bard didn’t know better, he’d assume he’s made a mistake, that what he thought was love between them was only affection, but knows he isn’t wrong.

He has more patience than most, but even his patience is not infinite.

“Why are you avoiding me?” his voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he cannot ignore this situation any longer. If he had wanted to engage in a charade, he would have stayed in Dale. His lover is silent, looking at him from across the room, his lover’s eyes flickering to the doorway that Bard is now blocking. “Thranduil, answer the question.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” Thranduil finally answers, sighing and crossing the room to pour himself a glass of wine, as ever.

“I haven’t seen you in a week.” Bard points out, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes tracking Thranduil’s every movement.

“I have responsibilities and-“

“Don’t.” Bard says, cutting him off and shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll accept whatever you have to say, as long as it’s the truth. You’ve never purposely lied to me before, don’t start now.” Thranduil is silent and still, a goblet of wine clutched tight in his hand as he looks down into the liquid depths. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it and I will leave, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Thranduil says, the words leaving him in a rush.

“What?”

“That you’ll leave and I’ll never see you again.” The elf answers, slowly putting the glass of wine down and looking across to Bard, his eyes shining with tears Bard has never seen him shed. “I thought I knew what I was doing when I let myself love you, Bard. But you’re mortal and I’m not and I can’t-“ Thranduil chokes on his words, swallowing thickly and looking away. Bard stares at him in stunned disbelief, before he let’s out an amused laugh, that he just can’t hold in.

“I’m not mortal, I never have been.” Bard says, watching as Thranduil’s eyes snap back to him.

“What?”

“My mother was half-elven, so was my grandfather.” Bard answers, cocking his head to the side and frowning at his lover. “I thought you would have figured it out by now, love.”

“How?” Thranduil exclaims, even as something like hope lights in his eyes.

“Love. We’ve known each other for fifty-five years! Do I look any older than I did the day we met? When you decided you just had to meet your new bargeman and decide his worth for yourself?” Bard demands, looking intently at Thranduil’s face, watching the confusion and disbelief that forms there.

“It can’t have been that long, surely.” Thranduil denies, but Bard can see him doing the maths in his head.

“Love, it’s been fifty-five years, trust me.” Bard promises, sees the moment Thranduil has counted the years in his head and realized the truth.

“I’m so stupid.” Thranduil whispers, burying his head in his hands and groaning. “I’ve been breaking both our hearts for nothing.”

“Yes.” Bard answers, laughing softly and shaking his head. “Honestly, Thran, I thought you’d figured it out!”

“Who?” Thranduil asks, looking at him suddenly, Bard just frowns and shakes his head in confusion. “Your elven ancestor?”

“Oh. Well that’s kind of hard to say, most of them were half-elves.” Bard explains, then he hums. “I guess Lindis but… look, I’ll just draw the family tree.” He mutters, crossing to the writing desk and sinking down into the chair, pulling blank parchment from the drawer, and starting to write. From a young age, his grandfather had ensured he could recite his family tree without prompting or hesitation.

“You are born of noble blood, Bard. No matter where life takes you, you must never forget the blood that runs through your veins is the blood of kings.”

His grandfather had just laughed and ruffled his hair when Bard had pointed out that Girion had only been Lord of Dale, not a King.

He starts the tree from the bottom, the way he had learned it in the first place. So lost in his writing is he, that he doesn’t notice when Thranduil appears at his shoulder, he doesn’t notice when Thranduil grips the back of the chair to steady himself, and he doesn’t notice the hard look that has formed on Thranduil’s face.

He draws the link between his great, great, great grandfather and great, great, great, great grandfather, marking them as brothers and the family is complete. He carefully puts the quill in its stand and blows across the parchment, drying the ink.

“There we are. The family tree of one King Bard of Dale.” He announces, leaning back and looking up at Thranduil, he frowns when he sees the far away look in Thranduil’s eyes, notes the way his lover’s hands are gripped so tightly to the back of the chair, his skin has gone white. “Love?”

“It always comes back to Doriath.” Thranduil whispers, his voice shaking as tears slip from his eyes.

“Thranduil?” Bard asks, nervously biting his lip. Thranduil gives a quiet little laugh and leans down to pick up the quill, dipping it in the ink pot and beginning to amend the family tree.

Bard watches in surprise at the names Thranduil adds, they’re not new on the family tree, they’re just alternate names. Names that Bard knows, names that everyone knows, if they know anything of Doriath, as Bard’s grandfather and great-uncle taught him.

“That’s not possible.” Bard whispers, but he remembers his grandfather’s words, remembers the argument his grandfather and his great-uncle had when they all learned he wasn’t mortal.

“He will not be recognized! They will not accept him!” Uncle Elurin grumbles, glaring at Bard from across the room, Bard doesn’t know what he’s done to upset his great-uncle, who has always enjoyed telling him stories and teaching him of his grandfather’s culture. “He is too different.”

“He is the heir.” Grandfather answers, his voice brooking no argument. “If the day comes that he must step into his own, he will claim his birth right and they will accept him. They have no right to do otherwise!” his grandfather snaps, then the brother’s devolve into a heated argument at a volume so quiet not even Bard can hear what they are saying. So, instead of trying to hear more, he turns away and gets ready to start his shift.

He’d assumed they were arguing over Dale, though why they thought he’d want to claim a ruin had been beyond him at the time. Now, he understands and he doesn’t want to.

When he looks up at his lover, he finds Thranduil watching his face intently, searching for something, his lover doesn’t speak, just keeps looking at him. Bard sighs and looks away.

“My grandfather always told me I was born of kings, that I was born to be a king.” He admits, rubbing his eyes, feeling suddenly like crying. “I always just assumed they were talking about Dale. He was talking about Doriath.”

“No.” Thranduil answers, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. “No, he wasn’t, Bard. Elu Thingol wasn’t just the King of Doriath. He was considered to be the King of All Sindar.”

“Fuck, no.” Bard exclaims, shaking his head. “No, no, nope, no. Dale is… was more than enough for me!” there’s a moment, of silence before Bard remembers what his great-uncle had said and he laughs, the sound quickly turning to sobs. “Fuck, that’s what Uncle Elurin was talking about.” He says, through hitched breaths.

“Bard.” He looks to Thranduil, even though his chest aches and he can’t seem to bring enough air into his lungs. “Bard, listen to me. There is no need for you to do anything, now or in the future regarding this. Alright?” Thranduil says, his voice pitched low and so soothing it seems to reach right into Bard’s mind and quiet all his fears. “No one is going to expect anything from you unless you want to give it, I promise. If the day comes, where we need another High King, there are others who it could be.”

“I know.” Bard says, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he gets control of himself. “Like… like Elrond… and my cousins.” He whispers, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

“Cousins?” Thranduil asks, looking back at the family tree. Bard sniffs and reaches for the quill, to add them in. Three cousins that he has never met but has heard stories of from his uncle.

“Oh. Hmm, that’s quite interesting.” Thranduil mutters, reading the names with a little laugh. “I wonder if they know.”

“I don’t … I don’t think so.” Bard answers, resting the quill back in its stand.

“You ready for another surprise?” Thranduil asks, an amused glint in his eyes, Bard breathes deeply and scowls at him.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No. But it’s a good surprise, I think.” Thranduil answers, leaning over to pick up the quill, but he hesitates before putting quill to parchment. “This… changes nothing between us. I love you.”

“I still love you, too.” Bard replies, brow furrowing as he watches as Thranduil starts writing.

His breath catches in his throat and slowly he lifts his eyes from the parchment to stare at his lover, who also, apparently, is a cousin. “Did you elves ever figure out that inbreeding is really bad?”

“Don’t judge us! The First and Second ages were wild times. There was a lot happening.” Thranduil argues, though there is laughter in his voice. “But if you must know, yes, we did figure that out, thank you.”

“Clearly not, if we’re an indication.” Bard replies, looking down at the family tree once more. “Do you want another surprise?” Bard asks, smirking at Thranduil who groans.

“What now? Isn’t this enough of a revelation for a single evening? For both of us?”

“Hmm.” Is Bard’s only reply as he reaches for the quill, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

“It’s always bloody Doriath!” Thranduil grumbles, Bard just laughs and then sighs.

��So, Daeron is from Doriath, too?”

“Yes! He was Thingol’s bloody scribe! We thought him long dead! But we thought the same of Elured and Elurin as well.” Thranduil rubs at his eyes and groans. “You don’t have to claim anything, there’s nothing really to claim at this point, but… we should tell people. I’m sure Celeborn would be happy to learn he has more relatives still living, and Elrond, at least, would probably like to know that he has cousins. Valar, he probably would like to know that he has a living uncle.”

“I don’t know if he is still living.” Bard points out, frowning at the tree. “I haven’t seen him since my grandfather passed, long before Smaug came.”

“Well, either way, I think this is something that should be shared, Bard. Finally learning what happened to Elurin and Elured is… incredible.” Here Thranduil pauses and looks at Bard who stares back and simply raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been wanting to ask since I found you after the Battle of Five Armies, but you were mortal and I...” Thranduil pauses, shaking his head as he breathes in deep and lets it out slowly. “Will you marry me?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re already married in the elvish custom, but… if it’ll make you stop hiding me in the shadows, yes, I’ll marry you.” Bard agrees, sees the smile that lights up Thranduil’s face, only to dim a few moments later, Bard frowns.

“I didn’t… I never meant for you to feel like something I was hiding or that I was ashamed of, I just… I didn’t think I’d be able to keep you so, I wanted everything that we had to be just… ours and no one else’s.” Thranduil admits, sighing. “I was foolish.”

“It’s alright. We both… we made assumptions and those assumptions were wrong. We’ll do better in future.”

“Yes, we will.” Thranduil agrees, gently pulling Bard up from the chair. “Let’s go to bed, tomorrow we can scandalize my kingdom with the news of our affair.”

“Technically, we’re already married.”

“Yes, but also technically, we are each still married to our wives, so we’re having an affair...” Thranduil points out, Bard laughs, a full belly laugh, leaning into Thranduil for support, unable to stop laughing as he lets Thranduil all but drag him to bed.

Bard is seventy-five when he learns he is the heir of Elu Thingol.

It changes nothing, but it also changes everything, as is the way of such secrets when they come to light.

He was always the heir of Elu Thingol, even if he never knew it.

He was always the heir of Girion, even if he never wanted it.

He was born of kings and a King he became, just as his Grandfather foretold.

#the family tree took forever #and I made several spelling mistakes that I refused to fix #because ugh #Barduil #Thranduil #Bard #Lord of the Rings #the Hobbit #is this fandom dead yet?#I did a thing #fic writing #Elured #Elurin #Tumblr keeps making the family tree all blurry #why tumblr #why

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years

Text

Birthday Gifts

Main Characters: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Set in the What He Wants AU, it’s Bucky’s birthday and he receives a very surprising gift from our main character, and also gets himself exactly what he wants for his birthday :)

Warnings/ Content: Tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2,173

Author’s Note: We’re back in the WHW AU, my lovelies!! Our boy has been carrying around that ring of yours for a while now and it’s starting to get prettttty heavy in his pocket. I had the idea for this all the way back when I was originally writing WHW and I really looked forward to sharing it with you all one day. Well, the day is today! For anyone not familiar with What He Wants and the one shots from the same series please check out the master list HERE

XOXO - Ash

Birthday Gifts

Bucky takes to carrying the little black box with your engagement ring in his pocket every day. It starts out because he’s afraid to leave it around the apartment where you could potentially find it, but then it becomes a comforting habit. Some days when he’s overwhelmed by his love for you he wonders if that’s the moment. Something as simple as the way your eyes light up when you’re pelting him with snowballs after you’ve shoveled out your walkway make him wonder if he should just drop to one knee and do it. But he waits, biding his time. Bucky wants it to be special and memorable when he finally proposes to you. He mulls over what he’ll say some nights when he’s having trouble sleeping and thinks he has some pretty good ideas.

The winter drags on and it’s a brutal one, you spend a lot of time cooped up together in your little apartment when you get snowed in. Bucky feels like you’ve been together for a lifetime with all the time you’ve spent together and he almost takes advantage of Valentine’s Day to propose but decides last minute that it’s too cliche.

March rolls around and you start planning Bucky’s birthday party and his gift. You know exactly what to get him and have the plans set into motion. Bucky grumbles at all the attention, not particularly fond of it or of his birthday in general. You ask him often what he wants, just to be sure you’re not missing something else to get him. Bucky starts just answering with a long, drawn out sigh after the third time you ask. He knows exactly what he wants, and he’s going to get it. Birthdays are for gift giving and Bucky decides that his gift to himself is going to be you as his wife.

The closer it comes to his birthday the more anxious he is, the ring sitting heavily in his pocket. He’s set in his decision to ask you but worries all the same. March 10th falls on a Wednesday so you make simple plans to take him to dinner in town and then go up to the Avengers Compound for the weekend to have a party with his friends. Pepper has been extremely helpful setting things up and letting you throw the party there. She’s a wonderful friend and you talk with her several times a week, glad to have a close female friend in your life again.

When the day finally arrives Bucky is a giant ball of nerves and you worry slightly that he’s going to wear himself out. The team at the center keeps things low key out of respect for him, bringing in a small cake and a single joint gift for him. He’s moved by their kindness and genuinely appreciates their efforts. He thanks each person quietly later, blushing under all the attention.

Dinner at his favorite Italian place is an equally subdued affair, just the two of you in a back corner booth away from the rest of the patrons. Bucky wants to relax and enjoy the perfect night with you but he’s so close to proposing that it’s all he can think of and wants the night to last as long as possible. When the tiramisu arrives he nibbles at it slowly, drawing out things just a little bit longer. He notices you getting impatient, “Getting a little restless?” He asks lightly.

You try to hide your frown, worrying about his present back at the apartment. “It’s fine. I just... I didn’t think dinner would take quite this long. We still have to get home so I can give you your gift.”

“Does it have an expiration date or something?” He jokes.

“Or something.”

Bucky shrugs, he knows he can't drag things on forever despite his nerves. He plans on proposing as soon as he gets his gift and can’t wait to see your face when you see your ring for the first time. You hurry through paying for your meal and drive as far over the speed limit as your dare on the way back, much to Bucky’s amusement.

Bucky might not have his full super soldier senses anymore but he hears a faint tapping sound as soon as you enter the apartment. He’s lost trying to place it as you lead him into the living room and have him sit on the sofa. Setting up your phone to record and placing it on the TV stand to capture the moment, you head back to the bathroom to collect his gift. Bucky is completely unprepared for what you return with.

The tiny brown and white King Charles Spaniel puppy is wriggling in your arms, the blue bow barely staying on its head as it tries to lick your hand. Bucky’s jaw drops open, stunned, as you bring the puppy over to him. “Happy birthday.” You say in a sing-song voice as you hand him the puppy.

“You got me a puppy?!” Bucky’s whole face lights up as soon as the puppy is in his arms and he’s holding it close to his face, letting himself be drowned by puppy kisses. The moment is filled with pure joy and you’re glad you remembered to set up the video on your phone to capture it. “Does he have a name?” Bucky asks, settling the pup on his lap to pet him and ruffle his ears.

“Not yet. He’s your gift, I figured you should get the honors.” You tell him.

“Hmm. What about Poe?”

“That’s unique. I really loved Poe’s work when I was younger too. Annabel Lee was one of my favorites.”

“Uh. Yeah. Me too.” Bucky looks sheepish and his cheeks are tinged red by more than just puppy kisses.

“You didn’t mean the author, did you?”

“I loved his character in The Force Awakens and then he just gets even better in the next two movies!”

“You are such a nerd!”

“Come on! Poe is brave and loyal, what better name for a dog?”

“I just didn’t realize what a giant nerd you were. Out of all the movies you’ve watched and all the books you’ve read getting caught up on the 20th century, and somehow Star Wars became your default?”

“It’s an epic love story! And then it becomes so much more than that too. You watched them with me, so if I’m a nerd you’re one too.”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe and it’s freaking out Poe who’s wiggling his little butt trying to go check on you. You hold up your hands in defeat and stifle your giggles. “Fine, fine. At least we’ll be nerds together.”

Bucky is still fawning over his new pet and you wonder if the poor little guy will ever be put down around him. “He’s perfect, mouse. How did you pull this off?”

“Well, you kinda fell down a rabbit hole of looking at puppies online last month after you saw that SPCA ad. You kept showing me pictures of this breed, remember?”

“They just have the cutest faces. And these floppy ears!” Bucky all but smooshes his face against Poe’s and you can’t help but gawk over what a big softie he is around the pup.

“I know... I know... So I called around the local shelters until I found this little guy who had been brought in as a newborn. He was technically ready for adoption on Monday but they agreed to hold him for me until today. Martha ran out to get him while we were at dinner. I knew the motorcycle was going to be a tough gift to top but I think this worked out.”

“This is better than the motorcycle, he’s so perfect. You always know just what to get me.”

“Happy birthday, babe.” You move closer to Bucky so you can give him a kiss and Poe does his best to hop up and join in. You both laugh and give him all your attention again.

“So, remember I told you I was going to get myself a gift this year?” Bucky asks. His tone is off, suddenly low and hesitant.

You nod, “Yeah. I told you, you should get it, whatever it was. It’s good you want to do something for yourself.”

“I didn’t get it yet. I need your help actually.”

“Okay, whatever you need.”

Bucky hands you Poe and slides down onto the floor in front of you. His hands are shaking when he pulls the small black box from his pocket and you swear your brain short circuits when you realize what he’s doing.

“After HYDRA took me in ‘44 I stopped thinkin’ about my future. Didn’t see the point of it, even after Steve got me out. There wasn’t a chance to do more than get through one battle, then the next, and then even after that it was missions with Steve and gettin’ through one day at a time. After Steve... well, you know what happened. But then came you. And you pushed me and challenged me to stop and think about the future. You have been so patient, and kind, and unbelievably strong while I figure things out and now I can’t stop thinking about the future. Our future. So now it’s my turn to ask you somethin’. Y/N, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” Bucky flips the box open revealing the ring and your breath catches in your throat.

Inside the box is the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. You know it’s custom made because its pattern and metals are identical to Bucky's arm. The sizable diamond in the middle is a light grey-blue that’s reminiscent of his eyes and you wonder who made this perfect creation that is Bucky in ring form. You realize you still haven’t answered and jump, startling all three of you. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes.” You say in a rush.

Bucky lets out a relieved, happy sigh and pulls himself up on the sofa to take you in his arms. Poe wiggles away before he’s squished and is bouncing up and down next to you as Bucky pulls you onto his lap and slides the ring on your finger. It feels surprisingly delicate and the way it catches in the light makes tears well in your eyes all over again. You’re both crying and kissing and you realize your video is still going. Laughing, you show the ring to the camera and then shut it off.

“Now we have both moments on video.” You tell Bucky who is still grinning ear to ear. Settling back on the sofa so you can cuddle in with him and Poe you finally ask him, “So, who made this? It’s perfectly you.”

Bucky nods in agreement, “It better look like me, it’s from me. Well, the arm technically. Shuri was able to get the metal from a few different places on my arm and made the ring from that. You literally have a piece of me now. And the stone is from the royal vault, Shuri insisted we use it.”

“I need to thank her next time we talk, it’s amazing. I love it. I love you.” You lean into kiss him again and Poe yips. “Yes, I love you too Poe. I can’t forget, we’re a family of three now.”

“God, I love the way that sounds.”

“Me too. So does everyone know you were planning this or do we have announcements to make?”

“Announcements are needed, I want to show off this little guy to the gang anyway. Shuri, T’Challa, and their mother know about the ring but not that I planned on giving it to you today.”

“Why don’t we make a quick video and send it to your group chat? Then everyone can find out about Poe and the engagement all at once. We need to call Pepper and make sure she’s okay with us bringing him up this weekend though.”

Bucky grabs his phone and you make a quick thirty second video showing off your ring and Poe, and send it off to the group. A minute later both of your phones are exploding with messages from your friends congratulating you both. Pepper actually demands you bring Poe along for the weekend so that’s settled, and you get a video call from Shuri who needs more details and to ensure you love her creation.

Bucky settles into bed that night with you curled up against his chest and Poe resting behind his bent knees. It hits him that he’s surrounded by love, by his family. He’s amazed by how quickly his life took a different turn after Steve died. It’s been six months and he’s gone from existing out of habit to really living and having a family to call his own. Bucky can’t imagine what the next six months will bring but he’s looking forward to finding out with you and Poe by his side.

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99

#Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #james buchanan barnes #Winter Soldier #marvel #Marvel Avengers #marvel fanfic #Marvel fangirl #MARVEL FANDOM #what he wants

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serenlyss · 5 years

Note

hiya lyssa! could you please do #83 with ritsu and reigen?

This one was a lot of fun to write, thanks for the prompt hehehe!

---

It starts out innocently enough, but these things usually do.

Ritsu ends up at Reigen’s office, somehow, but that occurrence is becoming less and less surprising as the summer wanes on. Sometimes it’s Shou who drags him there, sometimes it’s Shigeo, and sometimes Reigen calls all on his own, on days when Shigeo and Teru aren’t around to help out and Serizawa’s out of the office.

This time around, it had been Shou, but without any real work for them to do, they’d ended up on the office floor with a pack of Uno cards scavenged from the dark recesses of Reigen’s office cabinets scattered between them. Shou had roped Tome into the game as well, even though she’d technically been there to work, but thus far Reigen had made no move to intervene.

“Bam! I win again, suckers!” Tome exclaims, slapping her final card onto the top of the pile with the biggest, most shit-eating grin Ritsu’s ever seen.

“What? No way, you didn’t even say Uno!” Shou argues, staring at Tome’s empty hands in shock while Ritsu sets down his cards in defeat. “There’s no way you didn’t cheat, where are you hiding them?”

Tome just cackles, turning out the pockets of her uniform skirt as if to prove she hasn’t been methodically tucking away her cards. “You losers were so busy trying to sabotage each other that you didn’t even notice,” she teases with a self-satisfied smirk. “Always keep your eyes open, Suzuki! You can’t win if you’re not even paying attention!”

Ritsu sighs, flopping backward onto the office’s tile floor. “Face it, Shou, she got us good,” he laments, and maybe he’s being a little dramatic, but it’s all in good fun, anyway. He catches Reigen’s eye from across the office, who’s watching them with an amused half-grin on his face.

Shou groans, long and pained, and starts gathering up the cards he’d dropped in the moment of his defeat. “Dammit, we can’t go out like this, Ritsu. One more round,” he insists, pointing a finger in Tome’s direction.

Tome just laughs, pushing herself to her feet. “Sorry, no can do. Dad’s making dinner tonight, so I have to be home by five-thirty,” she says, smoothing out the pleats of her skirt. “You’ll have to wait another day to take on the master.”

“You can’t call yourself the master if you’ve never beaten me,” Reigen pipes up from across the office, fixing Tome with an unimpressed glance underlaid with amusement. “Or have you forgotten already?”

“You’ve beaten Tome?” Ritsu echoes, pushing himself up off the floor enough to properly address Reigen again. There’s suspicion in his gaze as he does, clearly disbelieving of his claim.

At the same time, Shou exclaims, “Shit, is it that late?” He scrambles to his feet, hastily scooping up his school bag. “I promised Mom I’d come home early tonight, I gotta run too. Ritsu, you coming?”

Normally, Ritsu would walk with Shou up to the corner where their routes move in opposite directions, but today he’s tempted to hang back. “No, don’t wait up for me, I’ll head home in a bit,” he replies, taking over Shou’s clean-up attempts as he shuffles the Uno cards into an organized pile.

“If you say so, dude,” Shou says over his shoulder. “See ya tomorrow, then.” That said, he follows Tome out of the office, tugging the door closed behind him.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home soon too?” Reigen asks, glancing down at his watch. “You shouldn’t be late.”

Rather than directly answering Reigen’s question, Ritsu walks over to the desk with a purpose and slips into the chair usually reserved for clients. “One round,” he states, sliding the deck into the empty space between them.

Reigen glances down at the deck, then back at Ritsu. “Kid, it’s almost closing time--”

“I thought you were the master,” Ritsu interrupts, not bothering to hold back the challenge in his voice. “You have time for one game. You have no clients right now, and I know you’re not going to do anything once you lock up for the night.”

“Hey, I detest that.” Reigen shoots Ritsu a pointed look, but his words have the intended effect. Reigen pulls the cards the rest of the way across the desk and starts to shuffle them, his movements deft and obviously well-practiced. Ritsu watches, partly curious and partly impressed (though he’d never show it) as Reigen executes a perfect bridge and starts dealing out their hands. “One round,” he relents, raising a brow at Ritsu, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

There’s a teasing edge to his voice, a sense that he’s putting on a bit of an act for Ritsu’s benefit, and Ritsu rolls his eyes in response. “Whatever, old man, you can brag if you can beat me,” he shoots right back, glancing down to examine his cards.

For the first couple of minutes, the game is mostly quiet, neither Ritsu not Reigen communicating anything aside from occasional thoughtful glances or challenging looks. Ritsu throws himself deep into the game in a way he hadn’t done when he’d gone up against Shou and Tome, doing his best to think ahead and play strategically with the goal of usurping Reigen’s alleged throne.

“Lose a turn,” Ritsu declares, dropping a red “skip” card to the top of the pile. he and Reigen are getting down to the ends of their hands, and Ritsu’s prepared to pull out all the stops if it means he can beat Reigen at his own game.

“What? You can’t do that in a two-person game!” Reigen argues. “It’s in the rules.”

Ritsu leans forward in his seat. “Prove it,” he challenges, knowing full well that Reigen’s can’t. He lays another card on top of the pile to continue the game, giving Reigen the smuggest look he can muster as he holds up his single card. “Uno.”

Reigen holds his stare for a moment, practically glaring, then leans back in his seat almost casually. “Fine, you want to play dirty? I can play dirty,” he says with a grin, plucking a card from his hand. “Skip, skip, draw four.”

Ritsu’s train of thought stalls as Reigen empties his hand all in one go, leaving the cursed wild card staring back at him, mockingly. “W-Wait, that can’t be it,” he sputters, desperately staring down at his single remaining card. “How did you…?”

Reigen’s expression is the picture of smugness, and he leans back in his chair as though to bask in his victory over his thirteen-year-old opponent. “Tome isn’t kidding when she calls me the master,” he brags, and Ritsu can’t even snark at him for it because he’d been cocky enough to bet on Reigen’s failure. “You satisfied now, kid?” Reigen adds, pushing himself to his feet. “Because it’s past five now, and I haven’t had a bite to eat since lunch.”

Ritsu sighs, knowing he’ll have to accept his defeat, even if it pains him to do so. “Yeah, I should probably go home before it gets dark out,” he sighs, scooping up his bag and hefting it over his shoulder as he heads for the door.

Reigen pauses as he’s retrieving his keys and suit jacket, looking thoughtful for a moment before his expression turns more conspiratorial. “You could do that, or you could let me treat you to ramen on the way home,” he offers, fishing a ring of keys out of his pocket and searching for the one to his office.

Ritsu turns to face him, unimpressed. “Hmm, I wonder what I should pick, a home-cooked meal with my family or cheap street ramen,” he deadpans, not tempted by the suggestion in the slightest.

“I’ll teach you how to beat me at Uno.”

This catches Ritsu’s attention and appeals to his competitive side, the side of him that’s a very sore loser, and he hesitates for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll text my mom and let her know not to wait up.”

Reigen chuckles and reaches out to ruffle his hair the way he knows Ritsu hates, taking his indignant squawk in stride as he follows him out of the office and locks the door behind them.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #kageyama ritsu #reigen arataka #suzuki shou #kurata tome #serendipitousfics #i love writing Shenanigans its so fun #and cathartic haha #creativeoutlook #lyssa's asks

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insomnia-productions · 5 years

Text

Flora - a mat/rand drabble

Summary:

His mother gave him an odd look. “Pretty flower. Did a girl give that to you?”

Mat touched the starblaze and smiled. “No, just Rand.”

Her eyebrows went up. She exchanged an amused look with his father.

“What?” Mat demanded. “What’s that about?”

But his parents only laughed.

“Ask again in a few years,” his father said, ruffling his hair, careful not to dislodge the bloom. “Maybe, by then, you’ll already know.”

Tags: The Dragon Reborn, Missing Scenes, Reflection, Memories, Hopeful Ending, Flower Language

Word: 1.5k

Read on AO3

The floors of the hall are white marble, set with gold in the shape of leaves and lions. The pillars are similarly adorned, as are the walls, the arches, the ceiling. All of it glitters in the midday sun. Mat almost regrets the dirt dropping from his boots, the smudges left by his fingertips as he steals between pillars. Somehow, though, he can’t seem to summon nearly as much regret for this palace as he felt the last time he tracked mud into Bran al'Vere’s common room. The thought almost makes him laugh: who would have thought that one year could be the difference between sneaking around the local inn and breaking into a palace?

The sound of approaching footsteps halts his musings. Pulling back into the shadows, Mat quickly rounds a corner and darts through an archway, back into the garden, just as two guards stroll by. He crouches behind a stout birdbath as they pass, excruciatingly slowly, down the hall. One is speaking animatedly about a falling-out with his sister; the other hums along noncommittally. As their voices finally begin to drift away, Mat straightens and glances down at his reflection in the still water. One hand lifts on its own; his fingers brush the scarlet bloom tucked behind his ear. The starblaze from the garden. He considers it for a moment, and, suddenly, the face in the water seems to shift. It becomes softer, younger. There is still a red flower in his hair, but it is withering at the edges, its petals slightly torn—a wildflower, not of any queen’s royal backyard. Gazing down at himself, at this younger version of himself, he thinks he knows just why he picked this flower.

Light, no, Mat thinks desperately. A guard could appear at any moment, yet he cannot lift his eyes from the water. Not this. Not him. Not now.

It’s a fruitless thought. The memory returns, unbidden.

The second week of spring, some six or seven years ago. It was reaching midday and the flowers in the forest had all bloomed. There were hundreds of them. That winter had been particularly long, and then, seemingly overnight, the snow had melted away and the woods had been flooded with a sea of vibrant reds, yellows, pinks, and blues. Mat and Rand stood side by side, looking at them. Perrin should have been here by now, but he was often late to their little gatherings; with every passing year, he grew more attached to his apprenticeship with Master Lunhan. Mat was beginning to think that, by the time they were old enough to wed, Perrin would be ready to settle down with a pretty hammer and anvil. His thoughts drifted away from Perrin and towards Rand; his friend had moved. He was crouching close to the ground, cradling a yellow flower in one hand.

Softly, Rand said, “I remember… when I was very young, my mother used to pick flowers for the kitchen, and she would tell me what they all meant.” He stood, and the flower swayed as his hand left it. “I don’t remember much, but I think that one means jealousy.”

“Does it?” Mat murmured, only half-listening. He had noticed a damp patch near a fallen log and was wondering whether he might find a mushroom colony there. That was always exciting, no matter how old you got.

Rand continued, moving between the trees, pointing out the different flowers. “That one means hope, and that one is pride.” As he spoke, Mat wandered over to the log and knelt beside it. He couldn’t see any mushrooms, but, surely, he just needed to look a little closer.

“You’d like this one, Mat. It means freedom and lightheartedness. And this one…”

Mat felt cool fingers in his hair and he startled, turning to Rand. He was awfully close and the tips of his ears were pink. Mat could see himself reflected in Rand’s eyes; squinting unabashedly into them, he took note of the scarlet flower tucked behind his ear, and wrinkled his nose.

“What’d you do that for?”

Rand shrugged. “Suits you.”

“Oh, really?” Mat grinned. “What is it?”

“It’s a starblaze. They’re rare, here, I think. They prefer warmer weather.”

“What does it mean?”

“Oh… well… I…”

“Rand!” Whatever Rand had been about to say was cut off and Perrin stumbled into the clearing. “Mat! Sorry I’m late. I was in the workshop, and—”

“We know,” Mat laughed. “I tell you, Perrin, you should marry your hammers, because any wife you have will surely think you’re having an affair with them anyway, the amount of time you spend in there.”

“Shut up, Mat,” Perrin grumbled, and Rand laughed, and that was that.

They passed the day picking out increasingly dangerous paths across the stones rising out of the forest creek, and, even as his clothes grew soaked, Mat managed to keep his flower dry. He was still wearing it when he returned home that evening.

His mother gave him an odd look. “Pretty flower. Did a girl give that to you?”

Mat touched the starblaze and smiled. “No, just Rand.”

Her eyebrows went up. She exchanged an amused look with his father.

“What?” Mat demanded. “What’s that about?”

But his parents only laughed.

“Ask again in a few years,” his father said, ruffling his hair, careful not to dislodge the bloom. “Maybe, by then, you’ll already know.”

The memory fades. Mat shakes it off; he doesn’t have time for foolish reminiscences, now when he’s currently trespassing in the Queen of Andor’s house. He marches down the corridor, finds a guard willing to accept his story. When Tallanvor tells him, face stern, to get rid of his flower, Mat does so—he stuffs it into his coat pocket, and resolves to put it from his mind. And he does.

He does, until approximately fifteen hours later, as he sits on a boat bound for Tear and realizes that, no matter how much he tells himself to focus on the girls, he cannot put the Light-damned flower from his mind. Digging into his coat pocket, he draws out the bloom. It’s a little torn, now, a little crumpled at the edges, a little wilted after a day in his pocket—but no less beautiful for all that.

Thom, sitting beside him, look curiously at it. “Did you steal that from Morgase?”

Mat answers with a question of his own. “Thom, do you know what this flower means?”

Thom looks at him through the corner of his eyes, eyebrows raised like snowy mountains. “Red starblaze? I haven’t been in the practice of courting with flowers for a good decade, lad, but if memory serves… I’d say it’s a promise.”

“A promise? A promise of what?”

Thom shrugs. “What else, lad? Love.”

“Oh,” Mat whispers.

Thom is studying him, his expression somewhere between a frown and a smile. “Why do you ask?”

Mat shoves the flower back into his coat. “Never you mind,” he mutters, and Thom sighs. No more is said on the matter. In the distance, Tear looms.

The day passes in a blur. Mat discovers the rules of his luck, then he blows up the Stone of Tear, receiving no thanks from Nynaeve, Egwene, and Elayne, although, really, what else had he expected from them, and then, to top it all off, he wanders outside to see Rand striding down the road, Callandor in hand, followed by a mass of Westlanders and Aiel, all weeping and screaming about the Dragon.

It’s all overwhelming, and Mat prays for it to end, until it does, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to be caught up in the action again, if it will grant him only a moment’s reprieve from all the thoughts swirling around in his head. No respite comes, however, and, as the sun sets, he finds himself standing outside Rand’s room—because the blasted man has a personal room in the Stone of Tear, now. A room guarded by a cloud of Far Dareis Mai, no less, all of whom give Mat narrow-eyed looks as he stands, fidgeting, outside the door. He feels a vague sense of resentment under their suspicious gazes: he’s known Rand longer than anyone else here, burn them.

As soon as the thought comes, a darker, more chilling one replaces it: does he know Rand? The man on the other side of the door is Rand, yes, but, at the same time, he is not Rand. He is not the Rand of Mat’s childhood, of his memories, of his adolescent dreams. The man on the other side of the door is Rand al’Thor, and he is the Dragon Reborn, and Mat does not know which of the two he is more afraid to face.

Part of him wants to leave. He shouldn’t be here; Moiraine, of all people, had insisted that they all give him space, while he takes in his new role. Callandor’s blue glow seeps out from under the door, a reminder of all that this new role entails. Mat shivers. Yet he knows, for him, leaving is not, can never truly be, an option.

His hand dips into his coat. Somehow, the flower has survived the day’s activities with only a few torn petals. Some unknown instinct compels him to tuck the scarlet bloom behind his ear. The Maidens watch him, faces inscrutable. Mat pushes them from his mind. There is only one person who matters, now.

Light, the bloody Dragon Reborn.

He opens the door.

#wot #wheel of time #the wheel of time #wot fic #cauthor #rat #rand x mat #mat x rand #rand al'thor #mat cauthon #the dragon reborn #wot tdr

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hakuoki-dreams · 5 years

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Hello, how are you? I think your blog is amazing and the dedication you put in each ask is lovely. Could I ask baka trio headcanons when their crush flirt with them in joke? I hope you've a nice day!

Oh wow thank you!! I’m great, how are you anon? This prompt is so adorable omg 😭 I’m getting back into writing fics after a long hiatus and honestly having requests to answer is very helpful because I need a lot of practice writing the Hakuouki crew. So thank you for sending this!

With these I’m assuming it’s a reciprocated crush, or that there’s at least some level of interest on both sides. (These also turned into another set of f/m headcanons–I’ll try to keep things more inclusive in the future!) Get ready for a text wall let’s gooooo

Shinpachi

You would totally knock him off his game!

Shin is definitely no stranger to women thanks to the red-light district. In front of you he always insists that he just goes to have a few drinks and let off some steam after a long day, but he’s also spent a good amount of time flirting with and being flirted at by geisha and oiran. It’s the sort of female attention he’s comfortable with, because there’s this mutual understanding on both sides that it’s all a pleasant business interaction.

But you’re a different story. Flirting coming from you just feels…weird. You’re his friend.

Well…

If he’s honest with himself, he’s started having some feelings for you that go deeper than friendship. But that’s not a reality he’s not remotely ready to confront, because he’s not sure you feel the same way about him.

Because shit, what if you’re not even trying to flirt with him at all? As far as he knows you haven’t had a really serious relationship before. Maybe you don’t realize what you’re doing. Maybe you don’t know how a guy takes it when a girl teases him for showing off his (albeit very nice) muscles, or accidentally brushes arms with him too often, or laughs at even his dumbest jokes. Maybe it’s all just your way of kidding around with a guy you only see as a friend. It sends his mind traveling around in circles. Shin has trouble thinking straight with you.

In the beginning it all started as good fun between two friends. From day one Shinpachi was someone you just felt comfortable around. He was honest, he spoke his mind, and he didn’t really have a filter with you. It was refreshing; the other men seemed to watch what they said around you a bit because you were a girl. Not Shin.

This did cause some awkward moments at first. You’d notice him double-taking at a pretty face walking past, then he’d realize you caught him and feel compelled to apologize to you for some reason, and you couldn’t help laughing at the sheepish way he scrubbed at his hair when he got embarrassed.

After a couple repetitions of this he finally started loosening up–it even became a type of I-Spy game you’d play together during walks through the city.

‘Ooh…cute maiko coming up on the right…’ You tip him off. Watching the sly way he glanced the girl over was like witnessing a master practice his finest craft. He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Eh, bit thin.’

The first time you responded in kind about a handsome young samurai, you’d think you shattered his entire world to pieces. ‘What? What’s with the face? Girls notice too, you know.’

He’s still staring at the man warily, as if he was a sudden threat. ‘I guess.’

‘Though he is a bit thin…’ You repeat his words without thinking. For a second you both catch each other’s eye, then break away in awkward laughter, the mood between you suddenly shy.

Day by day something shifts in the way he acts around you. Where at first he had no qualms giving back a brash retort when you teased him about his taste in women, now he seems especially chagrined by it. There’s something so gratifying about seeing him ruffle at your playful prodding, this big lug of a guy who used to share all kinds of details about his preferences for everything from women’s hair color to their shoe size.

It’s a little bit…no, it’s very adorable. You find yourself drawn to him more and more because of those moments, and for some unknown reason it makes you want to find small excuses to touch him. You prod him with an elbow, or give him little knocks with your shoulder, trying to let him know that it’s all in good fun.

Eventually Shinpachi will reach a breaking point with you. He’ll realize his fear of misunderstanding your relationship has been eclipsed by the need to know just what the hell is going on between you two, and why you keep picking on him in a way he doesn’t feel equipped to deal with anymore.

‘Come on, Shin…you can tell me! Who’s your type, anyway? I know you how much you love Kyoto women, but there’s so many kinds to choose from. Is it short girls? Tall girls? Blonde girls? What type do you really–’

He wheels around on you. ‘You, okay?!’

You blink up at him, suddenly feeling very small faced with his broad frame. ‘…Me what?’

‘My type is someone like you, all right? It’s you. You’re my type.’

There’s a tinge of pink across his cheeks, but he’s looking down at you with a pure and serious determination that makes your insides feel very warm.

‘Oh…’

Sanosuke:

To be honest Sano never thought he could have a thing for such a spirited woman. He tends to go for the sweet type, so realizing he has feelings for a woman who acts so playful around him would be kind of a new experience.

The truth is he’s very direct and open about his emotions. If he’s crushing on you, you’re going to know, and he’s not going to feel an ounce of embarrassment about something so natural as caring for someone. The fact that you’re actually flirting back without hesitation will be unexpected, even if for you it’s a bit of a smokescreen. It flips the script on him.

Inside? He makes you very nervous. Maybe even terrified. He’s just so full of confidence all the time, about everything. He says and does things that knock the wind straight out of you–like telling you that you look pretty when you laugh, or reaching over to calmly brush a stray leaf out of your hair with that warm smile. You realize you can either melt into an incoherent puddle every time he’s around, or you can find a defense mechanism, fast.

So you start evading the intensity of his attention with humor. It’s supposed to lighten things up between you, maybe keep him at a bit of a distance, but it soon becomes clear your plan is rapidly backfiring on both of you.

When you deflect his serious attempts to get to know you better with a coy joke, instead of putting distance between you, it only seems to draw him closer. His tawny eyes linger on your face, seeking to read your true feelings there.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ He’s looking down at you with that expression of kind concern, you can hear it in his voice, but you know better than to meet his eye.

‘Oh of course, Captain Harada! You know me–’ You make a big production of shifting the stacks of papers in your arms, trying to distract from the loud thump of your heartbeat. What if he’s close enough to hear it too… ‘The chief’s busy applying for new headquarters, and I’m his right-hand girl, so I can’t take it easy can I? But how sweet of you to worry.’ You cast him your brightest, most impish smile, still not quite looking him in the eye.

‘Hmm.’ His response is thoroughly unconvinced. ‘I do worry. You can’t keep working so hard all the time, you know? You’re going to get sick if you overwork yourself.’ And before you can do anything to stop it, he’s placed his cool palm against the skin of your forehead.

‘Ah, thought so. You’re warm. Probably got a fever…your face is all pink.’

‘N-no!’ It comes out more of a yelp than you intended. ‘No, I’m sure it’s just the weather–Kyoto summers are much hotter than I’m used to–’ You manage to twist away from his contact. ‘Besides, you shouldn’t go around putting your hands all over a girl’s face. You’ll give her the wrong idea.’

He’s thoroughly amused by you. ‘Oh? Like what?’

‘Come on, you know what I mean…’ Somehow you manage a breezy laugh. And then you high-tail it away from him with a string of excuses about your work, feeling his gaze on your back all the way, clinging to your crumbling facade until you’re at least out of his sight.

His persistence only makes it harder to keep putting him off. You can’t help being attracted by everything you learn about him; from his kindness toward women and children, to his bravery as a captain, to the look on his face when he’s listening to you talk about your day. It makes a sharp ache rise in your chest. You’re starting to panic.

Because you’re not supposed to fall for this guy–he’s a soldier, a man who stakes his life every day on his honor and his duty to his chief and the shogunate. Falling for someone like him could be disastrous. You have to stay aloof. And whatever you do, he cannot know that you’re starting to fall for him in spite of yourself.

But Sano is Sano, and he’s rapidly figuring out what’s going on here. It’s a strange kind of summer weather indeed that only seems to affect your face when you’re near him…

Very gently at first, he starts to test the waters. In a way he can’t help being impressed with your dedication. Even in moments when he turns up the charm in an attempt to catch you off-guard, to levels that have won over many women in his past, you somehow manage to respond with your own slew of defenses. It becomes a kind of sparring match between you two; each one equally determined to emerge from the fray on top. He’s only more attracted to you because of it.

And you–you start to realize that you never stood a chance against him in the first place, not under the full weight of the Harada charisma. He’s rapidly disarming you.

‘Hey, did you hear what I said?’ His voice calls you out of your daze. With a jolt, you realize you’d been staring at his mouth as his words went in one ear and out the other.

‘Oh! I’m sorry, Harada. I think I must be…tired or something.’ Had he been standing this close to you the whole time? He’s so tall that you have to angle your head back to meet his eyes. Something in his face is very serious tonight; it makes you feel like you’re rooted to the floor in front of him.

He feels it, too. His body bends slightly in your direction. ‘Listen. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while…but I’d like to know it’s something you want, too.’

Oh? Oh. Oh no. A string of disconnected retorts pass through your brain, none of them gaining traction. You can feel the warmth from his body as he leans dangerously closer.

There’s a pause, like a question hanging between you both. His eyes are soft as they read your expression. Unbidden, you feel your chin tip upward toward him. He meets you in the middle…and then his lips are on yours and his arms draw you in to press against his chest and you find your hands seeking his shoulders.

It all only lasts for a moment. He’s first to break away, and you could swear now that his eyes are laughing at you. ‘No comeback?’

‘Give me a minute.’ You’re already rising on tip-toe, ready to wipe away that smile. ‘I’ll think of something…’

Heisuke:

You are laughing at him and honestly he is offended!

Not really, truly offended. You two have been friends since day one, because after all, this is Heisuke we’re talking about. The guy could make friends with a houseplant.

He’s offended in the way he gets pissed at Nagakura and Harada for their good-natured teasing–lots of ‘hey, quit!’s and rambunctious play-fighting–only now it’s with you, this young woman his age who still teases and openly pokes fun at him. He’s never met a girl like you before. He doesn’t know how he’s allowed to respond. It’s alarming, quite frankly.

For a long time he’s torn back and forth between annoyance and attraction toward you. You do little things that get under his skin, especially ragging on him about his size. Heisuke’s taller than you, but not by much; a fact that you’ve innocently brought to his attention more than once. He reminds you at one point that he could still beat you up with both hands behind his back, a remark that’s unfortunately overheard by Nagakura and earns him a slap to the back of the head for being such a ‘fucking idiot talking that way to a lady.’ You only laugh a little bit.

But it’s not always a catfight between you two. He almost wishes it was; that would make this all much easier to figure out. It only makes him more confused when your mood suddenly turns softer or sweeter toward him. There are moments when he catches you watching him at dinner, though you quickly look down when he catches your eye, your expression almost shy. You can be surprisingly easy to talk to, on the nights when it’s just the two of you sitting out on the porch in the breeze.

Heisuke finds himself looking forward to those moments with you, particularly after the memorable night when you dozed off against his shoulder. You’d grown very quiet beside him, when out of nowhere he felt a light pressure and looked down to find your head pressed on his arm, your lashes two dark crescents across your cheeks, breathing through slightly parted lips. He sat frozen still until long after the feeling left his legs.

Pretty soon Heisuke’s frustration about it all will boil over and he’ll need to pay a visit to Harada-Sensei for lady advice. Harada will listen in bemused silence as Heisuke rambles out his thoughts, pacing circles around the floor.

‘…and sometimes she’s just…she’s so cute, it’s stupid! How do I tell her that when she treats me like her brother? Maybe I should just give up, I don’t think she even sees me as a man sometimes. And she always knows just what to say to make me embarrassed! Damn it–’

‘Sit down,’ Harada will sigh, ‘You’ve got this all wrong…’

Dejected, Heisuke will slump down in a sad pile of boy and wait for Harada’s words of wisdom.

‘Didn’t you ever throw rocks at a girl when you were little, because you thought she was pretty and you didn’t know how to tell her? She’s doing the same thing to you, kid.’

‘What are you saying? You mean she…likes me? But you guys see how she always makes fun of me–plus she calls me short all the time and you said–!”

‘So what? She’s short too, dummy! How about that! Why don’t you stop whining and grow a pair and go get her if you like her so much?’

Heisuke will leave thoroughly chastised, but full of new energy at this startling idea that maybe…maybe he’s been a gigantic blind idiot this whole time…maybe all those moments he thought you were making fun of him, you were just as stiff and clueless as he felt inside. He finds you out in the courtyard, thankfully alone. Best if no one else is here to see this.

His expression catches you by surprise. ‘Heisuke, what’s wro–’ Two hands come down on both your shoulders, gripping you firmly in place. He’s stronger than he looks!

‘Look.’ His eyes are clear and determined. ‘I like you, okay? And I think you like me too, because you keep throwing rocks at me and stuff–’

‘Rocks? What are you–’ So much is happening at once; your chest is pounding.

‘Forget it, doesn’t matter now, just listen. I think I figured out why you give me so much crap and tease me all the time. You don’t have to say it out loud if you’re not ready, but I still want to tell you all the same. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, and I think you’re cute even when you’re being annoying and trying to pick fights with me, and I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time actually. Oh!’ he remembers something. ‘And you’re really short.’

‘You–!’ Your protest is cut short by his lips on yours, an awkward and sudden kiss that somehow leaves you short of breath all the same. When he pulls away, he’s glowing with a pure happiness that you just don’t have the heart to resist. You melt closer into him. ‘I think…I think you’re cute too, Heisuke.’

His beaming face falls a bit. ‘You shouldn’t really call a guy cu–’

‘Oh shut up, I like you back, just kiss me again–’

#hakuoki-dreams #baka trio #nagakura shinpachi #harada sanosuke #toudou heisuke #hakuouki #asks #bruh these are getting too long #is this a scenario at this point idk

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writing-in-verse · 5 years

Text

The Bird and The Bees (and The Blackthorns) Part Three

Part three of my collaboration with @ti-bae-rius! you can read Part One and Part Two here! Click here for Lauryn’s Headcanon list! The master-list should be linked here too once everything is up.

Enjoy!

Kit was hiding. At least, that was the unofficial reason he was in the library and not in his room or wandering the halls of the Institute where he could be found by Julian or Emma. It had been a few days since Magnus and Alec’s wedding on the beach in front of the Institute, an event which had caused murmuring among the Blackthorns about Julian and Emma’s late-night display of affection. These murmurs and mutters had prompted Julian to hesitantly propose that his younger siblings should learn ‘the facts of life’, something Kit was not keen to hear about from Julian Blackthorn of all people.

He was first ambushed by Emma the day after the wedding in the armoury when he was with Dru, teaching her how to effectively pickpocket. Kit was wearing a jacket adorned with bells secured by safety pins and Dru was repeatedly putting her hand in the side pocket, trying to get the Herondale ring that was placed inside without disturbing any of the bells. A slight cough from behind them had Kit and Dru both jumping, the coat’s chime echoing off the walls.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” Emma remarked with a devilish smirk that indicated she’d been watching for more than a few minutes.

“Training,” Kit replied, his composure brought under control and honed into a confident swagger as fast as it was ruffled. His knack for this was a Herondale trait, or so he’d been told. He turned to Dru. “For all your Shadowhunter talk about style and grace, you really struggle to pick pockets.”

“Really, Christopher?” Dru glared at him while using his full name, a privilege she’d claimed for herself. Kit just shrugged back and gave her a wink.

In fact, Dru had been pretty successful in picking up this skill like she did any other Kit had taught her; managing to look inconspicuous without a glamour, following a target in a busy crowd (that had been an interesting day out), and the ever-popular class of ‘how to lie convincingly’. Her being a Shadowhunter had made many of these skills second-nature for Dru, but it was clear she trained in fighting demons, not dealing with people.

“Well,” Emma said, suddenly a lot more uncomfortable than she was five seconds prior. Body language, that was another important lesson, something more politically experienced Shadowhunters picked up. But demons didn’t really have complex body language, just different levels of murder. “Seen as you’re in the educational mood, Julian wants to start teaching you all about…getting older.”

“Are you going to tell us that we’re definitely going to stop growing, because I have only just gotten comfortable with the idea and do not want anyone to put that much personal therapy in turmoil,” Dru said, hiding her confusion behind humour.

“Oh no.” Kit had gone white, then started to go red and began to slowly make his away to the door. “I should get going, this sounds like a family thing…and I’m sure Dru doesn’t…I’ll just see myself out.”

“Not so fast, Herondale. I think it might be best if you were here for this.” Emma gave him a knowing smile, and Kit wondered if he should tell her it was another Blackthorn sibling he was pining after.

He started to laugh and gave Dru a look that told her everything she needed to know about what Emma thought. It was this aspect of having a close friend, communicating through expression and looks alone, that still delighted Kit and he thought he was putting it to fantastic use. Before Dru could succinctly tell Emma just how hilariously off-base she was, Emma continued.

“Look, you’re growing up Dru, and it’s normal for boys to start giving you some extra attention. Even more so when your body starts to…change.” Emma was trying to be as tactful as she could and waited for any reaction from Dru. She wasn’t expecting the one she got.

No amount of training in composure could have stopped Dru from bursting out laughing, vaguely gesturing to her chest and continuing to laugh for a solid minute. Eventually, she regained her composure and headed towards the door, Kit on her heels, taking the opportunity to make his own escape.

“Oh, by the way,” Dru said, turning to Emma before leaving the training room. “Kit’s a pretty good-looking guy - I mean he’s a Herondale; it’s practically cheating - but he is really not my type. No offence, Kit.”

“None taken,” Kit replied, smirking at her. He thought a lot of Dru, knew she would make someone very happy one day, but he had eyes for only one black-haired boy and, even if he hadn’t told her about Ty, he had a feeling she knew and that when he was ready to tell her she’d support him wholeheartedly.

That was about half a day ago, give or take; Kit hadn’t brought his phone to the library with him and he’d practically lived here since Emma had attempted to teach him about his friend’s anatomy. Dru knew where he was, and he’d asked her to tell Ty in case the other boy needed him. She knew her brother had spent almost every night in Kit’s room, that it had become his routine, so she understood Kit’s request. Well, she understood an aspect of it; she didn’t understand that Kit wanted to see Ty more than anyone but so far, he hadn’t come looking.

Kit was using the time to do some research, learning as much about practical Shadowhunter skills as he could, which he’d started by learning runes. Scanning the contents page of an old bound green book, he suddenly noticed there was a note on the inside page warning to only study one rune at a time that seemed quite serious. He decided to start working on the rune for fire. This was partly because Kit was fifteen and setting fire to things sounded fun, but also because he’d heard of fire messages and wanted to learn how to send them to people – Ty being at the top of that list.

He’d just gotten comfortable drawing the rune with some confidence and was about to send something to Dru (he both found the idea of sending her a message like this funny and wanted to show her he was learning her life as much as she was his) when he heard the door opening. He dived down a space between two shelves and crouched low, hoping no one would bother to look too hard.

“Dru?”

“Livvy?” Kit walked out of his hiding spot. “Dru isn’t here, I haven’t seen her since early today when we were ambushed by Emma.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to her one-on-one, but I’ve barely seen her.” Livvy looked disheartened, and Kit wondered what the matter was but didn’t want to push. “What are you doing in here? Is that the Gray Book?”

“It is, in fact, a green book. I didn’t think it had much particular significance, although it does suggest to not read too many runes at once,” Kit shrugged.

“The Book of Gramarye is a book where all the runes are stored for Shadowhunters to learn. You should only read one rune at a time because the mind is pretty fragile, so reading too many runes causes headaches or worse, depending on how many you read.”

“So, not a book to read casually then?”

“That’s probably not wise.” She peered over his shoulder at his notes curiously. “Is that that the fire rune? What would you be learning that rune for?” She looked at him with brows raised.

“I heard you could send messages to people. I thought if I learnt I could send them to you, or Ty, or Dru,” Kit replied in a rare moment of level-headed tenderness. He’d gotten used to the Blackthorns and had allowed himself to trust them in a way he hadn’t trusted anyone else.

“So, you’re hiding from Julian and Emma to learn how to send secret messages to your boyfriend? That’s pretty cute, Kit; didn’t think you had it in you,” Livvy smiled, enjoying the slight jab. “If we were to judge your romantic creativity by our first kiss, I’d say you’re really outdoing yourself.”

“You’re forgetting that you asked to be kissed, and Ty…is Ty my boyfriend? Are we making it that official? It’s not that I don’t like Ty: I do, it just feels like our first kiss wasn’t long ago. It’s also weird to be calling it ‘our first kiss’ don’t you think?” Kit attempted to smirk as he went and sat in his seat, closing the Gray Book, but Livvy could see his shoulders were tense and the humour didn’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah, that is weird. I don’t think I’d want to kiss you again. No offense.”

Kit laughed. “You know, you’re the second Blackthorn girl to tell me that today. It’s starting to wound my pride. You’re right though; I’ve always liked girls, but then Ty comes into my life and I start questioning everything. I want to hide behind jokes and, apparently, library books because I don’t know how to feel.”

“Before you came crashing into our lives, or Ty came crashing into your basement, we didn’t know anyone outside of the Institute. I was always with Ty trying to help him make sense of things that I still didn’t understand myself. You’re fifteen Kit, you have time to work it out, and until then just do what feels right.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” Livvy nodded, sitting down beside him in the little alcove they were tucked in. “What is it?”

“I…I always thought I was straight until I met Ty. When I kissed you, I liked it, but it wasn’t like when I kiss Ty. When Ty and I are together, I feel more complete. Ty is like…an anchor, when I feel overwhelmed. When he started sleeping on my floor I actually slept more soundly than when he wasn’t there, and then the first night he slept in my bed I never felt safer.” Kit was just staring at the floor without really looking at it, instead seeing things only he could. “I remember the first time we kissed,” he continued after a moment. “For the first time, I wasn’t thinking about any of this, I was just thinking of Ty and how much I wanted to be there and nowhere else. Then I began to…register what I was feeling and how it felt…right, but it was so different to anything I felt before. At first, I was terrified I’d made some mistake and I’d hurt Ty trying to explain, then I was scared he was just experimenting on someone safe and it wouldn’t happen again, but it did. I wanted that, I still do, but I don’t know what that makes me. Am I gay? Am I straight? Does it matter? I really like Ty, but what if I hurt him trying to work that out?”

Livvy thought over what Kit had told her and wondered how to respond. Kit and Ty’s relationship was so new that neither were ready for any next steps, and yet Livvy herself had so little experience in how to handle a romantic relationship, she had no idea how to advise someone else’s.

“I guess, you take it all one day at a time. I don’t know what that looks like or how hard it will be, but I’m always here for you Kit for as long as that takes. Also, don’t worry about trying to label yourself, just focus on being happy,” she smiled and got up, glancing once more down at the Gray Book. “I think it’s cute what you’re trying to do, but you need to be more patient when drawing the rune, there’s a certain grace that comes from using a Stele.”

“I’ve seen you guys draw these runes in seconds. I don’t want to ask the demon if he can wait around because I failed art class.”

“You need to slow down. It needs to be accurate to work.” She gestured abstractly with her hands and Kit smirked. “Where did you get the stele from anyway? I didn’t think anyone had the time to give you one let alone teach you how to use it.”

“Julian gave me one, and then Ty replaced it with one of his old ones.”

“Oh,” Livvy replied, eyebrows raised. “Ty never gives his possessions away. He really likes you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kit said, looking suddenly serious. “I just hope I don’t let him down.”

“You never could. He doesn’t just go and sleep in anyone else’s room apart from mine, and you’re the first person from outside the family to properly understand him.” She levelled her eyes and held Kit’s stare. “When you’re ready to tell the others about you and Ty, the whole family will support you. Julian’s overbearing at times and Helen will always want to protect us, but you’re a part of the family now and everyone can see how happy you make Ty.”

“Thank you, Livvy,” Kit gave her a warm and affectionate smile.

“It’s cool,” she shrugged. “Now, I’m going to track down Dru. Good luck hiding from the rest of the family. I hear Julian is calling in Magnus and Alec for some queer sex education and let me assure you, Magnus will not let you miss a single lesson if only for his own enjoyment. I also think it might be good for you, if you’re willing.”

“Thanks, Livvy, but I’ll take my chances for now. Good luck finding Dru; I wish I could help but I’ve just been so busy all day.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you, Kit.”

Livvy turned and left the library, musing over the discussion she’d just had with her brother’s...partner? Boyfriend? This was early days, she told herself, there didn’t need to be labels for any of it. She hoped both of them could work out their insecurities, but the conversation only made her realise her own lack of experience. It was strange; Ty was seemingly growing faster than her, and she felt like life was leaving her behind. With a final sigh Livvy set off to find her sister, hoping they’d be able to work through all this together.

#livvy blackthorn #ty blackthorn #kit herondale #julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #dru blackthorn #tavvy blackthorn #tsc #tda

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vino-and-doggos · 5 years

Text

Duality, chapter 4

Read on AO3

Chapter Length: 4,557 (full length total so far: 15,959)

Rated: E

Status: Incomplete (4/?)

Summary: Roy Mustang is a young man, dealing with his burgeoning sexuality, a difficulty alchemy teacher and his hard-set daughter, and a good-looking cadet that also likes quiche.

All beta thanks go to @flourchildwrites, who is not only the best beta, but an amazing friend.

This chapter was inspired by Janieshi’s Espionage. If you haven’t read this classic yet, please check it out!

Chapter 4: Soldiers and Second Chances

A year passed faster than Roy ever thought a year could pass. The oppressing warmth of summer made way for falling leaves and crisp air. Soon, crisp air became downright cold with a side of precipitation, which didn’t stop as the weather got warmer, but it was more bearable knowing that green buds were sprouting, dotting the stark landscape. Before he knew it, it was July again, and the heat had returned in full force. He had been with the Hawkeyes for a full year. And he was finally beginning to perform basic transmutations. The apprentice had never been so happy to see a piece of chalk.

That afternoon, as Roy sat in the front room to practice drawing the arrays that Master Hawkeye assigned him, he heard a soft knock on the door. Looking hesitantly toward the closed study, Roy knew that there was no way his master was going to let Miss Riza’s lesson be interrupted just to answer the door. He sidled over, thinking how strange it was that this was the first time someone had come calling in the entire year he had been there. Roy opened the door a crack and saw a man dressed in Amestrian Blue.

“Oh, good afternoon, young man,” the soldier lilted. His Eastern accent was prevalent, almost disarmingly so. Roy cast him a wary look. He was a year older than when he arrived, and damn it, he had actually grown a few inches. In all reality, at sixteen, Roy only had a few more months before he could enlist himself. Well, with his Aunt Chris’s permission of course. A question from the soldier broke Roy from his thoughts. “Is Master Hawkeye home?”

“He is,” Roy affirmed; he didn’t want this young man to think he was home alone. “However, Master Hawkeye is preoccupied with something important.”

“I figured as much,” the soldier chuckled sheepishly, using his hand to ruffle the back of his close-cropped hair. “I just came to see if he had changed his mind. He never does, but that doesn’t mean the military is going to stop asking.”

“Change his mind about what?” Roy asked curiously as he opened the door further.

The soldier stuck out his hand. “The name is Barnes, kid. Jimmy Barnes.”

“Roy Mustang,” he said curtly. Still, the eager student returned the polite gesture and grasped the soldier’s - Barnes’s - hand. Roy was conflicted; on the one hand, Barnes didn’t seem like he was there on a malicious mission, and honestly he wanted to know a bit more about his master from someone who didn’t live in the same house as he currently resided in. But on the other hand, Roy felt like he should shut the door and return to his studies, protecting Hawkeye’s privacy.

Making a decision, Roy stepped outside onto the front stoop and closed the door behind him. “What exactly does the military want with Master Hawkeye?”

“I can’t believe you’re his apprentice and you don’t know!” Barnes chuckled. “Berthold Hawkeye is the only known alchemist who practices flame alchemy.”

“Flame alchemy?” Roy responded, hesitantly, but also somewhat eagerly. He watched the young cadet’s eyes light up.

“Yes! His transmutation circle can take a tiny spark and turn it into a towering inferno of flame! I’m not an alchemist myself, but I’ve heard rumors from people who have seen it in action,” Barnes sighed wistfully.

“And the military scientists and alchemists can’t figure it out?” Roy questioned.

Barnes shook his head. “They’ve been trying for the better part of the past decade. But they can’t seem to get the transmutation circle right, and even when they get close, well... From what I understand, they’ve blown up a few laboratory workspaces that way.”

Roy made a strangled sound between a laugh and a groan. The soldier chuckled in return.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “with the tensions in Ishval rising, flame alchemy would be an asset to the Amestrian military. Hawkeye doesn’t even have to become a state alchemist if he didn’t want to. I’m sure the alchemists would settle for having him on as an independent contractor.”

After a key phrase, everything else the soldier said had an overtone of radio static. “Tensions in Ishval?” Roy echoed. This was the first he had heard about it.

Barnes nodded in the affirmative, but threw a furtive glance over his shoulder in retrospect. “Not a whole lot of news has reached any of the papers yet. So it seems like the military’s trying to keep a lid on the conflict, but it’s going to boil over soon. The Ishvalans aren’t happy with being rounded up and put in one spot. The locals aren’t comfortable with the Ishvalan religious practices. If you ask me, everything is a little bit strained.”

Roy took in this information. Ishval wasn’t that far from East City. Any sort of conflict could quickly spread to where he was. Would his alchemy training cease if a war broke out? His face must have demonstrated some kind of discomfort because Barnes’s demeanor suddenly changed. Roy carefully smoothed his features again.

“But I’m sure the military can handle it! Many upstanding men, like yourself, have joined up. Have you given it any thought, Roy?”

Roy shook his head and said out loud, “No, I haven’t.” Inwardly, he was floundering. What the hell kind of questioning was this? Master Hawkeye would be proud of his student’s placid facial features.

When Roy thought about joining the military and taking up arms, he remembered the military men who frequented his aunt’s notorious bar. Sure, there were some nice ones. The old man that Madam Christmas always saw privately in her own room once or twice a year seemed nice enough, though Roy had never had a conversation with him. But the old man had to be for the Madam to trust him like that, right?

The other soldiers that came to Christmas’ bar, however… They left something to be desired. The dirty men often came in with sunken eyes and haggard souls, but with the application of a bit of alcohol, they became raucous and rude to the girls, sometimes to the point of having to be forcefully removed from the premises. They entered in packs and would get sloppy drunk. They left horrid messes in the men’s room that I had to clean up, thought Roy haughtily. From what he knew, there was nothing appealing about military men.

Well. Except maybe the dress blues.

Barnes seemed okay from what Roy could tell. But it was hard to base someone’s entire personality off of an interaction that, so far, had only lasted a few minutes.

The soldier seemed to notice the younger man in front of him was deep in thought. He waited a few moments before saying, “If you haven’t really thought of it before, now might be the time. You seem like a good kid, and if anything does happen in Ishval, we could use soldiers and alchemists alike. We’re not that bad,” he said, flashing a winning smile at Roy, who got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he had given this speech to a local youth.

“I suppose I’ll think about it,” Roy conceded. Just thinking about it wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? “Why did you join? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Barnes looked thoughtful while answering. “I guess I just thought I should protect my family. I’m the oldest and the only boy, and I’ve always felt like I needed to watch out for my little sisters. What better way than to step up and defend the nation as a part of the military?”

Roy nodded solemnly. That did make sense. He, too, was the only boy in a group of sisters - the fact that Roy-Boy was the youngest didn’t weigh on him too much, though. The parallels were enough.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “could you please just pass along the message to Mr. Hawkeye that, if he’s interested, to contact General Grumman?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Roy nodded sharply.

Barnes turned crisply and proceeded down the walkway. Roy let the chilly air wash over him as he entered the house, thankful once again for the cross-breeze that cooled the house down every night. Master Hawkeye and Miss Riza were still shut away in the study.

Heaving a sigh, Roy got back to tracing arrays onto pieces of scrap paper.

The following morning, Roy entered Master Hawkeye’s study as he had every day for the past year. Today started differently, though, when Roy was the one to begin their discussion. If there really was a war on the horizon, it would be best to broach the subject earlier rather than later, right?

“Master Hawkeye, there was something that I was supposed to bring to your attention.”

“Oh?” his superior questioned, curiosity obviously piqued.

“A soldier was here yesterday, asking for you,” Roy started. He faltered almost immediately when he saw the dark look set into Hawkeye’s face. Gathering his courage, Roy continued. Just because the master didn’t look happy didn’t mean that the message was going to remain undelivered in its entirety.

“He wanted you to consider joining the military as a state alchemist, or at least become a contracted researcher to teach the enlisted alchemists flame alchemy.” Even Roy was surprised at how steady his own voice held.

Hawkeye scoffed caustically. “I’m sure he did. And I’m sure he told you how much money I would make, and how much prestige the position would bring, and how it would be good for the citizens of Amestris!”

“Not quite, sir…” Roy started. This was the most he had heard Master Hawkeye speak, outside of reading excerpts from textbooks and asking the corresponding questions. Shocked at his master’s reaction, but ever the academic, the student couldn’t help himself. “What exactly is flame alchemy?”

“Precisely what it sounds like - a bad idea!” snapped Hawkeye.

“But it sounds like prestigious research! Sir, you have a general in the Amestrian Military asking for your research! It couldn’t be that bad!”

“You know nothing, boy,” Hawkeye spat. “This research is dangerous. Flames consume, and they consume quickly and without regard for anything else. In the wrong hands, a person, a family, an entire village could go up in flames with the snap of a finger!”

“But sir, it could also help people! Can you imagine how much easier controlled burns for farmlands would be with an alchemist who could manipulate fire? Or utilizing an alchemist to keep heat on a steam engine? The positive uses for flame alchemy are endless. Surely the good outweighs the bad!” Roy protested.

Hawkeye suddenly got quiet and turned away from Roy, walking towards the dark, sooty fireplace. “Have you ever been burned, Mustang?”

“Burned, sir?”

“Yes, boy, burned. Be it from the stove, or spilling a hot mug of tea on yourself, or…” the master paused, looking at the embers left from the chilly spring nights months ago, “touching a fire.”

“Yes, sir, I have,” the apprentice confirmed.

“It’s not a pleasant sensation, is it?” Hawkeye paused, looking at Roy. “Long after the initial injury, the pain remains. It aches; it throbs. It might even blister or disfigure. Fire is not forgiving.”

“Still, sir,” Roy started quietly, trying a different tactic, “wouldn’t the money be helpful? You can’t tell me that an income, a salary, wouldn’t make a difference for you? And for Miss Hawkeye, too? That way she wouldn’t have to hunt for food -”

“That’s enough.” The words were spoken calmly but were by no means warm. The fiery rage in his master’s eyes had been replaced with forbidding glaciers. Wrong tactic.

“You are my student. You have been graciously accepted into my home, into my life, and into my daughter’s life. Have you ever gone to sleep hungry, young Mister Mustang? Have you wanted for anything that I did not provide for you during your time here?”

Roy swallowed thickly, and his poorly-masked ambition slid slowly down his throat. It settled in the pit of his stomach, now fully morphed into regret. This was it. One conversation. One damn conversation and his apprenticeship was gone. Out the window, flying west, back towards Central. He must have stayed silent for a beat too long because the next words out of Hawkeye’s mouth felt like a nail in a coffin.

“Get out of my office.”

“Sir,” Roy attempted to protest, but it came out weak. His throat was tight, and the threat of tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“GO!” Hawkeye commanded.

Roy promptly spun on his heel and flung open the pocket door to the study. Pushing past a startled Miss Hawkeye on the stairs, the apprentice - or was he? - retreated to his room. He closed the door behind him and slid down the door frame, drawing his knees to his chest. Quivering breaths racked Roy’s chest as his head rested on crossed arms.

Great job, Mustang, you really fucked this one up, didn’t you? he thought bitterly.

He was furious with himself, enraged at Master Hawkeye, and pissed off at Barnes. Why bring this up every year if this was the reaction? Was the soldier usually on the receiving end of this outburst? Or was Roy just unlucky enough to have been the person to answer the door?

Raising up, eyes still closed, Roy rested the crown of his head against the door and slowly opened his eyes to look toward the ceiling. Drawing a few shuddering breaths, he calmed himself and started to think of a plan.

The sun was high in the sky before Roy moved from his spot against the door. He began gathering his things with a solemn finality. There was no way that Master Hawkeye would let him continue his training. He questioned his master. Such disrespect would not be tolerated. His teacher was many things; forgiving was not one of them. It didn’t matter that Roy was not the true instigator of the conversation - the soldier had no bearing on Berthold Hawkeye, and Mustang knew it. If the guillotine was coming down on someone, it was going to be the apprentice.

He had one chance, one last-ditch effort to convince Master Hawkeye to let him stay and finish learning all that he could about alchemy. On the off chance that didn’t work, however, he didn’t want to waste time attempting to gather his things.

Roy’s beaten suitcase was loaded with clothes, and the smart leather satchel that Madam Christmas sent him for the winter holiday of her namesake last year was stuffed with notes and Roy’s books. He was prepared to make a clean break if need be.

Taking one last fortifying breath, Roy opened the door and silently made his way down the stairs.

As he approached the study, he heard hushed voices speaking frantically. The yong alchemist paused and shrank back against the wall, not unlike his eavesdropping sisters. Curiously, he inched his ear to the edge of the doorframe and listened intently. It was the most words he had ever heard pass between father and daughter in a single conversation.

“He blatantly disrespected me, what else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Father. How about you tell him about your research?” Roy heard Miss Hawkeye incredulously answer; he was shocked that she seemed to be advocating for him.

“That isn’t possible, and you know it. You’ve seen how dangerous that research is, Riza! Out of everyone, you should be the one most vehemently against me telling that boy anything!” Hawkeye hissed.

“He deserves to know,” she responded, voice deadly.

“I wasn’t aware you were so fond of the boy,” Master Hawkeye said, an almost sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“I - I am not!” Miss Hawkeye defended. “He’s just here to study alchemy - all kinds of alchemy. That should include the specialty of his own master.”

“But it’s -”

“Say dangerous one more time,” the girl said so quietly that Roy had to strain to hear. “All alchemy is dangerous. Flame alchemy is no exception. It all lies in what the person practicing it decides to do with it. It all lies with you deciding to trust him. Mama trusted you. And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving?”

Roy chose this moment to make himself known. Slowly crossing the threshold, he saw his master and Miss Hawkeye standing in the middle of the room, staring each other down, their postures stiff and unyielding. Hawkeye’s imposing stature was back in full force, making the slight frame of his daughter seem even smaller than what she was. The boy countered the tense situation with a very small smirk that ventured nowhere near his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Roy said smoothly - coolly. He drew himself up to match his superior’s rigid posture from across the room.

“Riza, leave us,” Berthold directed her with a point.

The look on Riza’s face betrayed her sharp nod and acquiescence to the directive. Roy’s eyes wanted to follow the movement as she walked out the door, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. As soon as he heard the tell-tale snick of wood against wood, indicating that the pocket door was closed, Roy launched into the speech he had been ruminating on for the past hour.

“Sir, I understand that I was in the wrong in questioning your motives. I sincerely apologize. But, it doesn’t matter how curious I am about your research. My curiosity isn’t important. And it also wasn’t my place to question your decisions. What is important, however, is that I feel I haven’t learned everything I came to learn. And what is your decision is whether or not I am allowed to stay and further my training.

“A year’s worth of tutoring in alchemy just barely got me to drawing transmutation circles. I sat down and I read the books. I learned the theory; I learned the compositions. I memorized, recited, questioned, and answered. I could go somewhere else and learn more with the foundation you’ve given me. I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to continue with the master that I started with. I want to stay here. But if you are asking me to leave, I will do so without turning back.”

Roy paused, just short of panting, feeling breathless. His mind flashed to his packed belongings on the bed in his room - the room - upstairs.

“Are you quite finished?” Hawkeye said quietly.

The boy felt heat start to redden his cheeks and did his best to halt the color in its tracks. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the master continued, “because I have no intention of forcing you out. You are free to go at any time - you’ve known this from the beginning. But I don’t believe that I’ve bled you dry of your potential yet.

“You’re smart. Sometimes too smart for your own good. I’ve already given you all the tools to piece together the basics of flame alchemy. Handing my research over to you would be... unsafe.” Hawkeye paused. “In ways you cannot yet comprehend,” he ended, bitterly.

Roy felt properly chastised. In the few hours of contemplation before this confrontation, the boy really perceived this to be a “don’t shoot the messenger” situation. He was only doing what was asked of him!

In retrospect, though, Roy realized that he did come off a touch ungrateful for the provisions of the Hawkeye family. And, just maybe, he questioned the methods of the master a bit too deeply. He was, after all and throughout everything, a guest.

But more than anything, the young alchemist sensed a foreign emotion emanating from his master, something completely different from the intellectual confidence he usually excluded: fear.

On a basic level, Roy understood. Like Miss Hawkeye said, all alchemy could be dangerous depending on the wielder. But flame could spread quickly, out of control before it ever had the chance of being tamed. On a more complex level, though… How was one supposed to perfect what one’s own master appeared to fear?

All in the same breath, Roy felt relieved. He wasn’t out of an apprenticeship. He didn’t have to return to Central. Most importantly, however, he didn’t have to find another alchemy master to teach him. The thought of staying, of continuing with Master Hawkeye, filled Roy to the brim with giddiness.

A genuine, yet cautious, smile broke Roy’s face. He was staying.

His thoughts turned to his packed bags upstairs. Bashfulness, apprehension, and dread flooded Roy’s system. Yet again he had acted hastily and let his emotions take control.

“Thank you, sir. For the second chance.”

Berthold’s face also donned a small smile. “Thank you for being up front with me. It’s been a while since someone was so frank. It’s good to know that I can rely on you to keep me steadfast.”

As Roy nodded, his master crossed the room to clap a hand onto Roy’s shoulder, reminiscent of the first day that the apprentice had arrived. “No lesson today.”

Before the student could breathe a sigh of relief, however, Hawkeye proceeded. “Continue drawing those transmutation circles I assigned you yesterday. Read the next chapter of The Analysis of ‘Exposition of the Hieroglyphical Figures’ and be prepared to discuss the importance of mercury and the sun.”

Instead of deflating like he normally would, Roy nodded and simply said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Dismissed.”

Roy spun on his heel and, gently this time, slid the pocket door open and made his way up to his room. All things considered, he believed he got off easy. But that didn’t alleviate the slightly uncomfortable, sheepishness he felt as he climbed the steps to his room (his room). The book that Master Hawkeye wanted him to read from was packed and ready to go - like the rest of his things.

Knowing that he was able to stay, though? That gave Roy all the confidence he needed to unpack and return to life as it was, so to speak.

With a spring in his step, the young man opened the door to his room, and went to grab the suitcase and the satchel off the bed to unpack… only to discover that neither were there. Curiously, he opened the top drawer of the dresser and found his clothes within. He quickly flung open another drawer, then another. Someone had unpacked his suitcase.

Traveling over to the small desk the apprentice had installed in his room approximately three months after moving in, he realized that his satchel, too, had been unpacked. The contents of it adorned the desk - notes in a neat, organized pile, books stacked smartly according to size. Just as his mind started to process what he was seeing, Roy heard a noise behind him. Whipping around, he saw Miss Hawkeye leaning casually against the doorframe to his bedroom.

Quickly, he said, “Thank you for unpacking my things. But you didn’t have to do that. It would have been terrible to pack them up again if your father had kicked me to the curb.”

Miss Hawkeye scoffed, “Like he would have done that to his favorite apprentice.” With a roll of her eyes, she pushed herself off of the trim work and into the room proper. “I don’t know why you pulled a stunt like that anyway,” she said, a disapproving tone in her voice.

“How was I supposed to know he’d react like that? It’s not something I was expecting at all!” Roy responded defensively.

“I’m sure the soldier told you that they ask him every year. What did you think, he turned them all away politely after inviting them in for tea?” she intoned.

“Well, no, but -” Roy started. Miss Hawkeye cut him off.

“No buts. You still have too much to learn. He still has too much to teach you. Neither of you are allowed to throw in the towel just yet.”

The wheels in Roy’s head started turning, the cogs fitting together. Between this statement and the bits of the conversation he had eavesdropped on before, he realized his hunch might be correct.

“Why, Miss Hawkeye, do I dare say that you are in favor of keeping me here? Might you actually like me?” His disarming smile was turned up to eleven, charm oozing from every pore. To his utter delight, the cheekbones of the young woman in front of him turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Absolutely not,” she vehemently denied. “You’re just the most promising alchemy apprentice to cross the threshold of this house. I would hate for Father to have to start all over again with someone half as talented as you.”

“So now I’m talented?” Roy teased as the flush on the girl’s face grew darker.

Through gritted teeth, Miss Hawkeye growled, “Good night,” and spun on her heel, shoulders hunched up to her ears and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Right before she closed the door with a bit more force than Roy thought was necessary, he could have sworn he heard her mutter “conceited boy” to herself.

Chuckling, the apprentice shook his head. But then thought seriously about the character witness that he apparently had in Miss Hawkeye. She noticed how hard he was working, how much he was trying...and how smart he was. She noticed that he was giving his all to this alchemy training. And she thought it was unfair that her father was not reciprocating the same level of trust and knowledge in this apprenticeship.

Just as he thought he had her at least somewhat figured out, Miss Hawkeye went and scattered every piece of paper in his mental file about her, the one still titled “Master Hawkeye’s Daughter.”

In that moment, Roy realized that the girl wasn’t protecting him, not really. It was most likely - almost guaranteed, in fact - that she was looking out for her father, and her father alone. Though it appeared that Miss Hawkeye was siding with the apprentice instead of his master, Roy thought back to the last thing she’d seethingly said to her father.

And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving before he’s learned?

Miss Hawkeye was, in a way, taking steps to ensure that her father would continue thriving. By cutting out a place in the shape of Roy’s silhouette, she was attempting to entice him to finish training one - one - apprentice completely. In doing so, this could give Master Hawkeye a sense of fulfillment that could, once again, turn him into a proper alchemist, instead of a recluse locked away in a mansion-sized house.

Sinking into the chair at the desk, Roy sighed. Even though the sun still hung high in the sky, Roy felt spent and more than ready to retire. Nevertheless, he opened his textbook, taking out paper and a pen to jot down notes. From that moment on, Roy resolved to raise his personal bar and study longer hours, reviewing even more than what he was currently.

In that moment, Roy made a vow to himself. He would gain Master Hawkeye’s trust. He might unlock the secrets to flame alchemy along the way. Most importantly, though, he would give his master a reason to possibly prosper once more.

#duality #duality chapter 4 #vino writes fanfiction #fma fanfiction #fullmetal alchemist fanfiction #precanon #precanon fanfiction

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readiceprincess · 6 years

Text

Chapter Eight

Westley passed out on after dinner in the green room so Sibyl and Josephine sat around and attempted conversation. It wasn’t going so well.

“So how long have you been in this whole Order business?” Assuming it’s even a real thing and you aren’t all psychotic.

“My whole life. Most don’t start training until they’re 16 but Reeve and I have special circumstances,” Josephine answered.

Sibyl just nodded, not making eye contact. “And you’re actually from Texas?”

“Born in Alabama but yeah, raised in Texas for the most part.”

“Cool. Cool.”

“And you?”

“Montana my whole life.”

“That’s nice.”

“I hate it.”

Silence followed. Sibyl fidgeted with her hands. There had to be something the two had in common. Based on the fact that Josephine was in a pretty dress and heels like she walked out of a high end fashion blog whereas Sibyl looked like a vintage hipster it seemed unlikely.

“Do you like music? I like music. Let’s listen to music.” Sibyl jumped to her feet and walked to the iHome to play some smooth jazz. “I don’t know about you but I like good old jazz.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t really keep up with pop culture and new music anyway,” Josephine replied, her feet moving to the Glenn Miller’s In The Mood. “Reeve’s better about that.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes we go to remote places. If we're lucky we get assignments in populated areas, but those tend to go to older members,” Josephine explained. “We can't risk people noticing a bunch of teenagers running around. In smaller more remote areas people don't care.” She stopped. “What is this?”

“Glenn Miller. I’m a total music hipster. If it’s not classic jazz it’s not worth my time,” Sibyl replied as she came to Josephine’s side on the carpet and sat pretzel style. Josephine gave her a blank stare. “You don't know Glenn Miller? Haven't you ever seen the Jimmy Stewart movie? Or heard Moonlight Serenade? You've heard him, I'm sure of it. This song’s familiar right?”

Again she received a blank stare. “Jimmy Stewart?”

Sibyl gasped as if she told her she murdered her family, hand on her chest. Josephine chortled. “Jimmy Stewart is a legend. How do you not know Jimmy Stewart?”

She made a face. “The price I pay for being in the Grimm Order.”

Sibyl wagged a finger. “Excuses. We're gonna have a movie marathon and you're gonna watch The Glenn Miller Story. Please tell me you've seen The Goonies.” Josie's eyebrows drew together. “Alright, The Glenn Miller Story and The Goonies. And since we can't talk about pop culture, tell me where you've been.” Though she was tempted to ask where Josephine shopped if she traveled so much and all. How did she keep up with fashion?

Josephine considered this for a moment. She ran her hand through her dark hair. “Fiji was beautiful. We were there for a few weeks. We had to move a gate. Gates are where they are for a reason. We ended up destroying it.” Her finger traced her lower lip. “It was a beautiful painting.”

Sibyl laid back. “Are they all paintings?”

“The majority of the time, but they've become photographs. Because of emerging technology each of us has to be trained in photography. Luther's pretty good at it,” she replied. “You should see his collection. He's photographed everywhere he's been, the people he's seen, and plenty of Fae. In photographs, film not digital mind you, you can see a Fae's true form.”

“Mmmhmm.” Her eyes were heavy, half because it was late and this was about as stimulating as the conversation got with Josephine so far.

“Tired?”

“No,” Sibyl lied.

“Get some rest. We're leaving in two hours,” she whispered, standing. Josephine turned out the lights. Before she could protest, the weight of sleep crushed down on Sibyl.

****

“Where's Josephine?” Sibyl yawned as she stretched. She should have been freezing, but wasn't. It helped that Reeve radiated heat. They met outside the Aislin’s home for some test or something. She was too tired to remember the details, but the point was that she was standing outside in the middle of the night. Westley slept on the Aislin’s couch.

“She's talking to Luther. I think she's checking to see if he has anything for you,” Reeve replied. They stood on the street in front of the Aislin's home.

“Can she hurry? I'm so tired,” she said with another yawn. “What time is it?”

He checked his phone. “Eleven fifty.”

“Why are we doing this so late?”

Reeve cleared his throat. “It's the best time we could get a hold of a council member and schedule a meeting. Time is different in Faerie.”

“Different how?” she asked with an arched brow. Reeve opened his mouth but was interrupted.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said behind them. They turned to see an Asian girl approach. Long jet black hair covered half her face. She was tall and slim, dressed in all black, what little street lights they had illuminating her. “Sibyl Bix, the new Key Master.” Her hands were on her hips. “Where's the prince?”

“He's safe. We'd send him back but he's refusing,” Reeve replied. Sibyl looked between the two.

“You two know each other?”

“This is Akari, a Sweeper and part of the Order,” Reeve introduced. “Akari, this is Sibyl.”

“Everyone's been talking about her.” Akari looked her up and down. “I wonder what she's capable of.”

“Right here people. My ears work fine thank you very much.” Sibyl pointed to herself. “And what do you mean everyone's been talking about me?”

When she turned to Reeve she caught him glaring at Akari.

“Don't worry about it,” he assured through clenched teeth. Which did the opposite. His gaze didn't leave Akari. “Where's Josephine? We have to leave soon.”

“Way to avoid the subject,” Sibyl grumbled.

Akari chuckled and it was irritating how enchanting it was. “Have you met Reeve?”

So this girl was in on this thing too. Which could mean that there was some truth to the Order. Where did she even come from? Sibyl eyed her as she crossed her arms and checked her phone. The little screen illuminated her tan face, and she thought she caught a glimpse of her other eye but Akari peered up at her, making Sibyl look away.

“It’s rude to stare,” Akari commented.

“Sorry,” Sibyl mumbled, biting her lip and hoping her cheeks weren’t red. Reeve bit down a smile. Akari pocketed her cell phone. “I hope you aren’t like this in Faerie. The hair doesn’t help.”

She touched her red hair, her brows furrowed. “What?”

The front door opened, Luther and Josephine emerging. Josephine glanced at Sibyl and smiled. Ushering her forward, Luther ruffled her hair.

“Sorry I took so long.” She gave them a small smile after swatting away Luther’s hand. “Let's get moving. Oh hi Akari. It's nice to see you. How are things in the fire clan?”

Akari shrugged. “Not so bad.”

“Glad to hear it. Where's Maika?”

Akari pursed her lips. “Maika get over here.”

Out from the shadows came a girl with a large grin. Up close she looked just like Akari, but her hair covered the opposite side of her face and she was dressed in all pink. She even wore a mini skirt and tall boots, not at all minding that it was freezing outside. None of them seemed to care. Sibyl didn’t either, but she still wore a jacket.

“Don’t mind her,” Akari commented, again returning to her phone. “She’s just shy.” Something caught her attention. She stared at the trees.

Maika, on the other hand, skipped to Sibyl. “Hi, I'm Maika. Akari's twin.”

“Shy eh?” Sibyl raised her eyebrows at Akari but she wasn't paying attention. Following her gaze, she was staring at an unkindness of ravens. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Akari snapped. Her attention turned to Maika. “Quit scaring the girl. Did you find the gate?”

“Gate?”

“I'm a Key Master like you,” Maika clarified. “You can't go through the gate in the attic. That'd be silly.”

“The gate, Maika.” Akari rubbed her eye. But there was a slight smile on her face.

“Right, to the Nevernever. Follow me.” She turned and skipped down the street, whistling. They followed, Sibyl giving Josie a questioning look but she just shrugged. “Gates linger where there is the most imagination. Imagination is powerful magic.”

Imagination is magic. And the Nevernever was Faerie? Alright. She made a mental note to put that in her notes. They walked into the backyard of a house, Maika putting a finger to her lips and winking. They tip toed to the back, stepping through the snow. In the darkness Sibyl couldn't make out who's house it was. They stopped at a small play house.

“There? That's a gate? I thought paintings and pictures were gates,” Sibyl said, gawking. It was covered in snow and falling a part, having seen better years.

“Look closer. Do you see something on the door?” Maika countered.

Sibyl stepped forward, squinting. There was a drawing on the door. It must have been laminated. Maika giggled. “Any form of art can be a gate. You can have imagination without creativity but you can't have creativity without imagination.” Maika stepped forward and walked to the small door. “We're lucky it's a door. We can walk through.” She touched the picture. It lit up, blinding them. Sibyl turned away. Not surprising, it was just as bright as when she touched the painting.

The light faded and Maika opened the door. She smiled and beckoned them to follow. Then she walked through the small door. Akari followed, Josephine behind her.

“Come on,” Reeve whispered as he lingered behind her. “You're about to see the world your mom loved.”

But if she loved it so much, why did she leave?

****

They arrived in a busy hallway. Sibyl looked back at the door, Montana's frigid landscape waiting for her. Reeve closed it and ushered her forward.

Faerie. She was in Faerie.

It wasn't what she expected. If anything she thought it’d be medieval, but it was a tall long hallway with paintings of various Fae everywhere. Now it wasn’t modern but it wasn’t a stone castle fortress or anything like that. The hallway was long and sleek, tapestries, paintings, and lanterns lighting the way.

And there were people. Or not people. Some had wings, some were talking to animals, and others had strange things like razor sharp teeth or bark for skin. But what caught her attention was what they wore. They were all in Victorian fashion. It was simpler, colorful, or maybe even color coordinated. Westley said something about clan colors right?

Worst of all, though, everyone was staring at her. Gawking.

When she turned to Reeve she gasped. “You're in a tux.”

Gone was his simple flannel, scarf, jeans, and boots. Instead he was in a full on Victorian tail coat tuxedo. He scratched the back of his neck and gave an embarrassed smile. There was a small crest on the breast pocket, the colors of the tux in purple, red, and white.

Josephine was next to him in a hoop skirt and dress, grinning from ear to ear. White, red, and purple roses decorated her dress and hair. The dresses were simpler in detail, but stunning nonetheless.

“Jo you too?” Sibyl asked. Maika was by her side in a similar dress, but with orchids and roses decorating her red and purple dress. “Everyone?”

“You kind of stick out,” he chuckled.

Sibyl looked down at herself. She was still in her yellow mod dress, purple jacket, and cowboy boots. “Why aren't I in a dress?”

“I guess it’s cause you’re not in the Order,” Maika said with a shrug, staring at her boots. “Lucky too. I bet you don’t have to suffer through a corset.”

“Maika’s right. You're not a member of the Order so no special corset for you,” Reeve explained, putting his hand on the small of her back. A small smile crossed his face. “I'm sure you'll make an entrance.”

“It's my tights, isn't it? They'll love seeing my legs,” she replied, striking a dramatic pose. Maika giggle. But there was something about Faerie. She couldn't put her finger on it.

“Well if they don't I will,” Reeve offered, earning him a slap on the arm from Sibyl. He chuckled. Maika couldn’t contain her laughter, making them both smile.

“When you’re done flirting we should go,” Josephine interrupted, giving Reeve a pointed look. His smile dropped. “It's not good to keep Xavier waiting.”

With that she turned to leave, so natural in the dress. Sibyl turned to Reeve. Why did she give him that look? It wasn’t like they were flirting. It was all harmless joking. But he didn’t meet her gaze, instead turning to Maika.

“Thanks for your help. Tell Akari we said thanks as well. And she’s lame for ditching so soon,” Reeve said with a wave.

Maika played with her hair. Though her hair was in an up-do, half of her face was still covered. “You know her, always on the move.”

“Well have a great day. You’re now my favorite.” Maika winked and made a gun with his fingers before turning to leave. With that Reeve gave Sibyl a little push and they followed his twin.

“What's with the colors?” she whispered.

“They represent whichever clan we belong to,” he replied.

“Didn't you say something about belonging to a Rose Clan?” If she could remember right. Didn't Westley ask them that?

“Yeah. Josephine and I are knights of the Rose Clan. Someone's been listening,” Reeve explained with a crooked smile.

“And is Faerie full of twins? Do I have a secret twin?” That was a strange thought. What if she had a secret evil twin who somehow hurt Celia out of revenge for not taking her to Earth and raising Sibyl instead?

Reeve laughed. “No. No secret twins for you. Ironic, too.”

“How so?”

He shrugged, his smile dropping. “Twins are just so common.”

They turned a corner. A few more people in Victorian attire passed. All eyes were on her. At one corner a satyr walked by. Sibyl almost screamed when Reeve covered her mouth and rushed her ahead before they could notice.

“Don't freak out,” he hissed into her ear. “Do you want to offend people?”

“That wasn’t a person that was a satyr. A satyr. Those things are real?” she whisper hissed back, pushing him away.

“Yeah they're Fae. Don't act so alarmed. You already stick out like a sore thumb.”

“It's the boots, isn't it?”

“That and I'm sure some of these Fae haven't seen long lean legs in net stockings in years,” Reeve retorted. He chortled. A small smile crossed her face and she elbowed him.

“Shut up. And by shut up I mean keep the compliments rolling.”

He laughed. They went down a set of stairs, Josie casting glances over her shoulder at them. They passed a girl with blue scaly skin and blond hair with blue streaks.

“Hi Reeve.” She waved a webbed hand.

“Hi Coral,” Reeve bowed to her. “Sorry, I have an appointment.”

“Until next time.” She nodded her head and hurried up the stairs. Sibyl elbowed him.

“Hey!”

“Who was that?”

“Coral. Didn’t you hear me say her name? Pay attention Sibyl.”

“Why is she blue?” Sibyl kept close as she passed a man with a human torso and head with a snake body. She'd have to research the different types of Fae. More notes to make!

“Oh my gosh Sibyl you can't just ask why people are blue,” Reeve replied. She gave him a sideways glance, all humor gone. “Alright fine. That's how she looks without Glamor. Unless she's in the water and has a tail.”

Sibyl gasped, beaming. “She's a mermaid?”

“What? No. She's a water nymph. Way different. Trust me. Be happy she's a nymph.” Again, she had a lot of research ahead of her. Were these the kinds of creatures her mom knew and dealt with? What if Celia was a nymph? Did that mean she was a nymph too?

Questions were swimming in her mind as she followed them through the winding halls of who-knew-where in Faerie. They opened a large door. It was a hall that went around in a circle. The doors were each the same, pointed at the end like a Gothic cathedral. The symbol on the door they stopped at was a snowy owl with white marigolds, calla lilies, and vines around it.

“Is there an Owl Clan?”

“Shhh,” Josephine hushed as she knocked.

A woman with pointed ears opened. “Do you have a meeting today?” Her eyes turned to Sibyl and she furrowed her brows, looking her up and down. It took everything in Sibyl not to sigh. At least the Fae were beautiful and checking her out. There was a compliment in there somewhere.

“I'm Josephine Aislin of the Rose Clan and this is my brother Reeve,” Josephine answered. The woman opened the doors, her eyes never leaving Sibyl.

“And who is this?”

“I'm Sibyl Bix, the daughter of Celia Bix,” Sibyl answered.

To her surprise, the woman screamed.

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geekprincess26 · 7 years

Text

Four Weddings and a Blizzard: Chapter 2

Written for Day 3 of the Jonsa 2017 Summer Challenge hosted by @jonsa-creatives. I chose the “Fixations” theme.

“I never did get that girl’s fixation with flannel,” groused Jon Snow.

Sansa Stark grinned. “Come on, Jon,” she teased. “You’re from Wisconsin. Surely you understand the whole state’s fixated on flannel?”

Jon Snow rolled his eyes at her, and Sansa caught his lips turning upward for a fraction of a second before they reverted to their customary frown.

“Right,” he replied, “but she’s a lot more fixated than 99.9 percent of the state.” He gestured in the general direction of the lake for emphasis, as if the water itself would turn to flannel on cue.

Sansa grinned again. Her sister Arya had married Gendry Waters that afternoon on a plot of wooded land they owned in the forests of northern Wisconsin. It was the last day of August, and a hint of autumn had colored the breeze that had ruffled the bride’s hair into her groom’s face as they had spoken their vows under a white wicker arch in front of the lake. Gendry had outfitted his groomsmen, including Jon, in blue jeans and gray plaid flannel shirts at the behest of the bride, who had in turn chosen gray flannel shirtdresses for Sansa and the other bridesmaids. Arya herself had worn an enormous gray-and-blue plaid flannel sash over her plain linen wedding gown and tied a matching strip around her bouquet. The bridesmaids’ bouquets had been tied with strips of blue flannel, and the entire bridal party had spent the hours before the ceremony draping flannel cloths over the tables inside the white vinyl reception tent and tying pieces of flannel around Mason jars full of sunflowers.

If Sansa had still been in high school, or even college, she would have spent the day with her nose planted in the air and her classiest black heels fused to her feet. But she was years past high school, college, and a failed attempt at graduate school, and more than years past cringing at the sight of sunflowers paired with witch hazel or gray shirtdresses paired with brown hiking boots. For one thing, the black pumps would not have gotten her anywhere near the site of the family photo shoot on the mucky ground next to the lake, let alone through the entire photo session; and she could never have gotten this far away from the reception tent without her boots. Sansa, who had spent her first two and a half years after dropping out of the Master of Fine Arts program at the Rhode Island School of Design at a succession of temp jobs, was by no means ungrateful to have landed a secretarial position in the English department of the University of Pittsburgh six months ago. However, after four hours she had had her fill of hearing remarks, both innocent and snide, about what a shame it was for such a brilliant and talented girl as Sansa Stark to have to stoop to working as a secretary. Besides, she had not seen Jon Snow for some time, and she had promised Arya she would ensure that he did not spend the entire weekend apart from the ceremony holed away in his hotel room. Not that she would have blamed him entirely for holing himself away. For one thing, Ygritte, Jon’s girlfriend, had unceremoniously dumped him the day before they were due to leave New York for the wedding. For another, Theon Greyjoy, who was Robb’s and Arya’s most annoying friend and quite possibly the world’s least deserving groomsman, had made matters worse by greeting Jon straight off the plane by asking him if that meant they could go out chasing girls together all weekend.

But Sansa had spent two years holed away from the world at large after dropping out of graduate school, and she regretted it now; so when she had noticed Jon’s chair at the head table sitting empty, she had made her excuses to Arya, left the tent, and tramped a half-mile or so along the lakeshore. She had found Jon leaning against a rock, taking pictures of the setting sun with the ancient analog camera he’d carried with him for the entire weekend.

“Well,” she said now, “Arya is Arya. If she likes something, it just sort of becomes a fixation.”

Jon’s lips turned up much more decidedly. “Aye,” he agreed. “Remember when you were all helping me move to New York from Philly, and she was practicing her martial arts maneuvers on Gendry?”

Sansa, who could never in a million years have forgotten the experience or the expression on Gendry’s face as her sister had knocked him flat on his back for the hundredth time, bent over with laughter.

“Oh, I remember,” she said at last. “Or how about when you and she were helping Robb move me to Pittsburgh from Providence, and she spent the whole trip playing those God-awful tapes half the night because she wanted to learn Russian?”

Jon’s smile widened. “Right, with Gendry in the front seat the whole time,” he recalled.

“Poor Gendry,” they said in unison, and this time Jon actually grinned.

“Well, he’s stuck with her now,” he said fondly, and Sansa returned his grin.

“I heard she’s bribed the editor of the New York Times to use the word ‘FLANNEL’ as the answer to one of its crossword clues in tomorrow’s edition,” she answered, and Jon let out a bark of laughter.

“‘Arya Stark’s favorite wedding decoration,’” he said, curling the front two fingers of each hand in imaginary quotation marks, and Sansa giggled. Three years ago, when Sansa had left Providence with her tail between her legs, Jon had helped Robb and Jeyne move her to Pittsburgh, and on that trip they had discovered how much they enjoyed both the Times’s crossword puzzle and beating Robb at Trivial Pursuit. Ever since then, in between road trips – Jon and Sansa had driven with Robb and Jeyne from Pennsylvania to California when Robb had gotten his public relations job in San Diego, and Robb and Sansa had returned the favor when Jon had moved in with Ygritte – they had enjoyed trading puzzle hints and texting each other random odd facts, which had turned into longer chats about their everyday lives and favorite books and everything in between.

After a few moments, Jon’s smile faded, but just then a red beam from the setting sun snuck out around a layer of glimmering clouds behind the lake, and his eyes widened silver against the golden light. He positioned his camera carefully and began snapping away. Sansa smiled and fished her tablet out of her shoulder bag. She scrolled through the app screens until she found the program she wanted, then opened it and began swiping her fingers in myriad patterns across the screen. After several minutes she felt Jon’s eyes on her and looked upward. He flushed and gestured toward the tablet.

“I didn’t know you drew – on that, I mean,” he said. “Sorry.” His flush deepened; he had always avoided bringing up Sansa’s stint at the Rhode Island School of Design, and so had Sansa, who for a long time after its end had not so much as touched a piece of clay or chalk. Now, she only shook her head.

“No, it’s all right,” she said. “I haven’t been doing it for long. But I read about this program online, and it looked like it would be interesting to try. That, and my therapist encouraged me to try it.” She shrugged. “Plus, it’s not sculpture. Drawing was never one of my niches back in the day.”

Jon nodded intently; but his gaze was one of empathy, not pity, and Sansa’s chest, which had tightened as she spoke, began to relax. Not even Arya knew she had begun doing anything related to art again.

“Do you like it?” Jon spoke so softly that Sansa barely heard him. She looked up from her tablet and raised one eyebrow at him.

“The therapy or the art?” she asked. Jon’s face reddened as he gazed out over the lake, although Sansa could not be sure how much of that was due to the rays of the setting sun beaming scarlet through the clouds.

“Both,” he said. “I – well, if you feel like saying anything about it, and – I figured after all of this settles down – I’m thinking of moving out of New York, and it can’t hurt to talk to somebody impartial with different ideas.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, but she said nothing for some time. Eventually Jon turned his gaze off of the lake and onto her. He must have thought he had offended Sansa, for he looked crestfallen. She hastily strode to his side and put a gentle hand on his arm.

“I think it’s a terrific idea,” she reassured him, “and I’m not just saying that either. If it weren’t for my therapist, I don’t know if I’d have made it through this weekend. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy as hell for Arya and Gendry. But I hate that this all makes me think of Joffrey, and I hate that I got so used to being with that scum that I fell apart so badly I couldn’t handle grad school without him, and I really, really – ” her voice caught an edge, and she cleared her throat – “really hate being Sansa the spinster secretary when my man-hating sister is starting her happily ever after, you know?” She shrugged and thumbed a tear away from each eye. “It wasn’t really supposed to happen like this.”

Jon nodded, and his jaw twitched. It took him a few minutes to reply.

“No,” he said at length. “It isn’t. Not that I get it exactly the way you do, but I do get it.” He sighed, and his voice grew a bitter edge. “You’re not supposed to be looking at engagement rings one day and get told you’re too boring to build a life with the next.” He leaned down, retrieved a rock from the ground, and tossed it vehemently into the lake. The ripples had not yet disappeared when Sansa realized that her hand was still on his other arm.

“You’re right,” she said, and Jon, who had just bent to pick up another rock, jerked around to face her. His mouth was set in a tight line; but Sansa had felt the pain of both Joffrey Baratheon’s presence and his absence in her life too acutely not to recognize it on another’s face, or to miss the layers of moisture glinting on the surface of Jon’s eyes in the last rays of the sunset.

“You’re right,” she repeated. “Sometimes you get a shitty ending instead of a happy one, and you end up being happy you’re a secretary instead of being horrified because you wanted to be a famous artist.” She shrugged. “Or a shitty middle. Or a shitty…something in between.” She squeezed Jon’s arm gently, and his whole body trembled when he exhaled. He took a step toward her, and she thought he might say something when the loud twang of “Cotton-Eyed Joe” echoed across the grounds from the direction of the tent. Sansa released Jon’s arm at once and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Oh, brother,” she said when she could speak again. “She’s more fixated on that stupid song than she is on flannel, and – oh, shit!” She whirled to retrieve her tablet and throw her bag back over her shoulder. “That’s their first dance! And the next one’s supposed to be us, and – ”

Jon stared at her, bewildered. “Us?”

Sansa gestured at him to hurry. “The bridal party – next song – we’ll have to run!”

Jon’s eyes widened, but he retrieved his camera at once and turned to follow her. They raced back the way they had come, and burst into the tent not a minute after the song had ended.

“Oh, there you are, Sansa,” Arya said, and turned toward the head table. “Right. Bridal party – out!”

Chairs scraped, bridesmaids giggled, groomsmen took hasty sips of beer as they stood, and Theon Greyjoy gave Jon a very amused look.

“So, Snow,” he said, “I see it didn’t take you long to find a girl.”

Jon flinched at that, and Sansa swept to his side, raised her arm, and smacked Theon straight across the back of the head.

“You heard her,” she said and jerked her head toward the dance floor as Theon cursed and clutched his own. “Bridal party – out.”

She whirled around and marched to the middle of the dance floor, where the bridal party members were still shuffling to get into place – except for Gendry, who grinned and gave Sansa a high-five.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all weekend,” he muttered. “Guy’s a pain in the ass.”

Sansa found herself grinning back at him. When she turned around, she saw Jon standing next to her, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You hit a guy for me,” he said at last. Sansa did not know whether he was horrified or amused until one corner of his mouth quirked upward.

Sansa shrugged. “You hit a guy for me once at a wedding,” she replied. “I still owe you for that.”

Jon shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said gruffly. “Besides, that was Jory’s doing too.”

Sansa nodded. She had not thought of Joffrey’s attack on her at Robb’s wedding for some time; and when her memory had visited that night before, she had often struggled not to panic, let alone been able to bring it up to anyone aside from her therapist. But Sansa did not panic now, and Jon was not just anyone, and she took a deep breath. Then she smiled at him and nodded toward Jory, who was sitting next to Sansa’s parents with his wife Beth.

“Tell you what,” she said. “If we can both get through this dance without tripping over Arya’s sash, I’ll get all three of us a drink. Deal?”

Both corners of Jon’s mouth tilted upward this time.

“Deal,” he replied.

#jonsas7summer #jonxsansaff #jonsansaff #jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #game of thrones #my writing #multi-chapter fics #modern au #weddings #drama #angst #hurt-comfort

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dearmadalice · 7 years

Text

@norageonlypancakes @dai-rokuten-maou I didn’t really feel much like drawing so I wrote a drabble instead. I think Shigezane has a few pretty defining moments that shaped him as a man, but I chose this one. Eventually I’ll write the others. Just a note, which I think you can figure out but his childhood name was Togoro, and he’s about 15 at the time of this. Bontenmaru is 14 and Kagetsuna is . . . old.

Togoro wasn’t an idiot. He was a child, but he had ears and eyes and he could hear the whispers in the Date household. “How could Lord Terumune allow such a boy into the house? What was he thinking?” “I thought Young Master Bontenmaru was difficult enough but this boy-“ “Shh. He may hear you. It is best to stay as far away from him as you can. I am sure Lord Terumune will come up with a better solution.” He liked to act like it didn’t hurt his feelings. He had thought that this change would be for the best. He did care a great deal for his Uncle. He remembered the first day he had arrived. Togoro had barely been able to lift his hands and his fists had been perpetually clenched at his sides. But his Uncle had smiled at him warmly. He still remembered what he had said. “I’m happy to see you; are you hungry?” He feared that after all, his uncle was planning on sending him away. He had always loved the main estate. He had always gotten along swimmingly with Bontenmaru and Kagetsuna. Well, Kagetsuna was really like their babysitter but it had always been fun seeing how much trouble they could get into before Tsuna threw a fit and resorted to physically restraining them. He was strong too; the sort of young man Togoro hoped to become; someone certain and confident. He couldn’t face them now. He had been back at the main estate for nearly a month and Togoro had done all he could to avoid them. If the three of them were ever in the same room, Togoro just stared down at his feet and didn’t speak a word. He didn’t deserve to have friends. He didn’t deserve a family. He didn’t deserve Lord Terumune’s forgiveness, warmth, and hospitality. He was just waiting for the day when an ogre would come to collect him, like in the stories. Bad children got dragged off to hell. He was spending that morning on the veranda, his gangly legs tucked up against his chest and his chin resting on his knees. The garden was warm and sunny, and he felt like he would doze off a little. Togoro looked off after the Sparrows hopping around in the yard and sighed. He wished that his mother could have been with him. She could have held him close and stroked his hair like when he had been younger. She would have made up stories about the little birds. “Togoro, enjoying the garden?” He hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching and jumped, collapsing into a defensive position on all fours before he looked up to see Date Terumune’s soft, yellow eyes looking down at him. Terumune still looked young and handsome. Togoro stuttered a little and quickly bowed his head. Terumune clicked his tongue, urging Togoro to his feet before ruffling the boy’s hair. “Did I frighten you? I’m so sorry, Togoro.” Togoro quickly shook his head. Well, he had been frightened, but it was such a silly thing to admit. He started wringing his hands, examining the dirty state of his fingernails and knuckles. “I’m glad I ran into you. I thought I would enjoy the garden a little in between my duties. Have you been getting along alright?” Terumune placed his hand against Togoro’s shoulder, and when the youth dared to look up he found the Date Lord smiling down at him gently. Terumune looked genuinely worried, and Togoro felt all the more guilty for it. “I haven’t seen you and Bontenmaru together,” he continued. “I know he was excited to know you were going to come live with us. I have heard from Master Katakura as well, that you haven’t been practicing with his son.” Terumune pressed his palm against Togoro’s forehead and hummed. “You don’t feel warm. I was worried you might have fallen ill.” Togoro shook his head again. He was physically fine. He was in much better sorts than he had been in years, except for the exhaustion that had taken hold of him. He could barely sleep, plagued with nightmares and anxiety. “Is something bothering you?” Terumune put his hands on Togoro’s shoulders. “My son has Kagetsuna; is there someone like that you can confide in? Togoro, if there is anything I can do for you I will do the best that I can.” Togoro started to whimped. It was unmanly to shed tears, especially in front of his Uncle, but he could not help it. This warmth, kindness, and concern was nothing he deserved. “Please don’t send me away,” he pleaded. When he glanced up, meekly through his bangs Terumune’s eyes had widened. “I-I do want to live here. Please don’t send me away I-“ “Why would I send you away?” “I-I killed your brother.” Togoro started to weep earnestly. “I am sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened. I killed him. I am so sorry Uncle I-“ There had been a reason. His father had caused his mother’s death. When she was gone, there was no one left to protect him. He had lived the past three years with bruised lips, broken ribs, and eyes so swollen he was blind. He hadn’t been able to take it anymore. One blow had been too many, and Togoro had taken a knife and stabbed his father until all the blood had run out of him and the blade was broken. The violence had been blind and hateful, and Togoro still woke up screaming night after night. Terumune pulled Togoro into his arms. “I did not realize what he was doing to you,” he said. “If only I had noticed sooner, maybe all this would not have happened. I hope that you can forgive me.” Terumune’s lips tightened. “This is not your fault, Togoro. I take full responsibility for what happened. Do you understand?” Togoro nodded his head, brushing his arm against his eyes and nose. His lips quivered. “Lord Terumune. . .” “You will not be sent away,” Terumune reassured. “You have a home here until you are old enough to inherit your estate, and when you are old enough I will give you your adult name. Until then, I hope that you will practice the sword with Kagetsuna, and Bontenmaru. Your cousin needs you.” Terumune started to smile. “I am sure you will grow up to be a fine man. If these things worry you, you may always speak to me.” Terumune gave Togoro another rub of the head. “I have to return to my duties. Now, go find your cousin.” Togoro quickly nodded his head. He could not refuse an order from his Uncle and Lord. His heart felt a little lighter. It ached that Terumune would take the blame for everything, but at least his Uncle didn’t hate him. He would have to grow up and be a fine man, to prove to Lord Terumune that taking him in and giving him a chance to redeem himself was not wasted. Togoro ran down the veranda, to find Bontenmaru. He found him in the courtyard, laughing wildly as he had picked up as many training swords as he could hold and was brandishing them at a chagrined Kagetsuna. “Ya-ha! What are you gonna do, Tsuna?! You think you can beat me if I have six swords?” “Having more swords doesn’t make you stronger,” Kagetsuna snapped back. “It makes you a bigger idiot!” Togoro rocketing into the yard. “Bon! Give me one! Two idiots can take down one jackass!” “Oh?” Bontenmaru tossed one of the extra swords to his cousin, laughing. “Finally decided we’re talking again? You better not mess this up. If we lose, Kagetsuna is making us scrubs all the floors.” Of course, Kagetsuna wiped the floor with them.

#oc: Shigezane

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kirukirice · 7 years

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Among the Crows: Chapter 51 - First Blood

I’m thinking that if chapters are going to be longer it would be better not to post the whole thing here since ‘keep reading’ doesn’t work on mobile. What do yall think?

Anyways, enjoy the chapter uvu

–> Full text here on Ao3!

Dinner at Ukai’s was always scrumptious and plentiful.

Blending together the nuances of Kara and human cuisine, his dishes often resulted in pleasing combinations of flavours that suited everyone’s palate. Today, the table was spread with a heaping serving of twelve-herb grilled pork, a huge bowl of fresh greens from the market, a pot of savoury potato and vegetable soup, and a tall bottle of aged apple cider.

Ukai liked to start off his meals with soup. He loudly slurped down the creamy broth and the softened tubers altogether, draining his bowl cleanly to the last drop. Afterwards, he carved out a thick cut of meat from the bone and sliced it effortlessly into large chunks to chew on. Finally, he washed it all down with a mouthful of cider.

Hinata and Kageyama scarfed down their food with gusto like ravenous hyenas – it didn’t matter what it was they put in their mouths, for it was all delicious – and burned their tongues on the piping hot soup. They never did learn to slow down and cool off their food.

Daichi ate modestly and alternated eating meat with vegetables, sometimes taking a swig of soup in between when he needed more flavour. He often reminded the kids to eat their greens and helped them cut up their steaks when it got too tough to chew.

Oikawa behaved like a proper gentleman as he ate. He made no uncouth clinks or clangs with his cutlery, carefully portioned his food into bite-sized mouthfuls, and chewed with his mouth closed. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin to banish any stray droplets from his flawless appearance, and finished his plate of whatever food he had taken.

Iwa-chan sat on the floor beside Oikawa in beast form, decimating a whole pork leg with his crushing jaws and making a whole lot of cracking noises in the process. He gobbled the leg up in a matter of minutes, and cleanly licked his paws and fur clean of grease when he was done.

“Oh, right. Is Suga not eating?” asked Oikawa when he noticed the Kara’s absence.

“No, he’s on a strictly fluid diet.” Ukai replied while chewing.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” he sighed regretfully, ignoring Daichi’s dagger-like glares. “I wanted to chat a little more with him.”

“Is the food to your liking? Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.” The Kara asked.

“Certainly. Your cooking is exquisite - nothing like the food you get in this town.”

“Ah, I’m an alright cook. We get the ingredients fresh, that’s why.”

Hinata forked a piece of meat and quietly hovered it below the table. Iwa-chan noticed, and snatched it up in one well-aimed bite.

“You humble yourself. Most restaurateurs here can’t hold a candle to you.”

Tickled, the boy lowered down another piece.

“I’ll set up my own diner when I get sick of birds, then,” Ukai laughed, “It’ll be much more profitable, for sure.”

And another.

“So, how did you become a doctor?” Oikawa asked.

And another.

“Long story. My folks were doctors, so I carried on the family trade.”

And another, until Kageyama ratted them out.

“Daichi, Hinata’s feeding the dog his food,” he complained.

Daichi looked over at Iwa-chan, whose canine expression was remorseless.

“Hinata, finish your share before you give it away, okay?” he said, then cut another chunk of meat and placed it on the boy’s plate.

“Okay. He likes it, though.” Hinata grinned happily and swung his legs. Oikawa ruffled the pup’s head and chided, “Let the growing kid have his food, Iwa-chan. You’ll get fat at this rate.”

“Oikawa, what is Iwa-chan, anyway?” Ukai asked the man.

“He’s a kind of werewolf.” Oikawa said, and then winked at Hinata.

Skeptical, the man took a few extra bites on his food. “Werewolf? Huh. I’ve never seen one, but the books don’t draw them like that.”

The mage shrugged and continued scratching Iwa-chan’s chin lazily. The hound obliged to his master’s whim, giving in to his sweet spot. “He’s a rare kind. Not every member of a race is the same, after all. Just like a grey Kara, yes?”

“Of course.” Ukai shrugged back. Except that he didn’t recall werewolves having black, leathery wings. “Do all mages have familiars like you do?”

“No, only beast tamers do. There are many kinds of mages, you see, not only those who command familiars.”

Hinata then asked, “Like what? Can they shoot lightning out of their hands?”

Oikawa laughed gaily and smoothed back his fringe. “No, silly! In theory we could, but that level of magic is too powerful for mortals to control.”

“So they’d fry themselves if they tried?” The child giggled at the thought, and the man grinned and booped his nose.

“Even the Grand Invoker himself couldn’t, you know. And he could do almost anything! You’d have to be a god, for sure.”

“Hey, we know someone who can.” Kageyama said, and Oikawa looked at him with interest. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to this crow yet.

“Oh? And who is that?” he asked.

“He’s called Nishinoya.”

“Yeah, he’s a really short deity.” Hinata added.

Suddenly, a booming roll of thunder roared off in the distance, and everyone stared out the window at once.

“Is that him?” asked the mage, amused.

“Must be. I’m only telling the truth, so don’t get mad!” Hinata yelled upwards, and Daichi covered the boy’s mouth with a sigh. “Don’t say that, or we’re gonna have to pay him a visit again.” He wondered if he had to re-explain the word ‘blasphemy’ to him.

And of course, Ukai hadn’t been briefed about their encounter with the short Tengu, so they had to tell the both of them the whole tale. Hinata and Kageyama were rather enthusiastic to do most of the talking, so Daichi let them and occasionally stepped in to clarify. They started right from when Daichi fell down the cliff, and acted out their utter surprise when they first met the deity. But right when they were getting to the interesting bits, a faint chime of a bell came from the bedroom, and Daichi excused himself from the table to answer it.

“He’s better trained than you.” Oikawa remarked snarkily to Iwa-chan, who rolled his eyes.

Entering through the curtains, Daichi looked at Suga with a smile and said, “You called?”

The Kara seemed more tired than usual, but it couldn't be helped. Having to drink honeyed tea alone for the past few days didn't give him a lot of energy to work with.

"Sorry," Suga spoke quietly, "You haven't finished your dinner, right?"

"It's alright." Daichi replied. He noticed the empty glass, and took it. "I'll get you some more water. Anything else?"

He shook his head.

Returning with a full glass, Daichi set it back down and asked for Suga's wrist. His skin felt cold, but his pulse was normal. His forehead felt fine, too, but it looked like he was shivering a little every now and then.

“Do feel uncomfortable? Are you cold?” he asked.

“A little,” replied Suga.

“I’ll see if there are more blankets.” Daichi said and closed the windows, shutting out the draft. The sky was almost pitch black by now as the rumbling clouds clustered together in a island of grey. They weren’t a by-product of Nishinoya’s wrath, to be sure - just nature’s.

Alas, though towels were in abundant supply, there weren’t any more blankets to be found. Fortunately, Ukai had a much better solution. From the crowded shed he picked up a small round ball of black feathers from a pile of similar-looking ones. The creature retained its fuzzy, globular shape as he held it, and it fit snugly in his palm like a lump of coal.

“This little buddy here’s a coalbird. It’s obvious why they’re called that – c’mon, just look at it – and also because they’re naturally very warm.” he explained to Daichi and Suga.

Nudging the top of its head with his finger, Ukai woke the bird. It gave the tiniest of sneezes upon being disturbed, and then chirped angrily at him and tried to fly off—but the man held it fast between his cupped hands.

“Hey, hey, sorry to wake you, bud. I just need a quick favour.” said Ukai to the bird.

It tweeted once in a questioning tone and calmed down.

“Could you sleep here with this man for a while?”

The coalbird looked at Suga, blinking rapidly and cocking its head this way and that. It then chirruped something lengthy back at Ukai which sounded like a very unthreatening interrogation. Every single time Daichi observed Ukai conversing with a bird, it was like watching him talk to himself like a madman.

“Yes, yes, you don’t have to worry. All you have to do is sit under that nice, comfy blanket, and be yourself. Just get your friend to replace you when you’re done.”

As if in agreement it wiggled its short tail, then hopped out of his hands and walked slowly up to Suga’s chest.

Suga watched it intently and a small rush of delight came over him. “It’s so tiny,” he whispered, and the bird tried saying something to Suga. When he didn’t respond, the bird repeated its chirp twice, then looked confusedly up at Ukai. The doctor shrugged at the coalbird and translated its words for him.

“She’s asking you if you’ve cleaned your feathers already. She’s very particular about hygiene.”

Suga nodded and replied to the coalbird, “Yes, Daichi helped me earlier.”

Satisfied with his answer, it nestled on top of his chest and poked its walnut-sized head out from under the blanket. It closed its beady yellow eyes and rested its head on him, a movement so insignificant that he barely felt it. Its little body radiated warmth like a portable heater, and soon it felt all cozy and warm underneath the sheets. Suga dared not touch it - though he very much yearned to as he found it immeasurably adorable. It was so small, soft, and light that it seemed like the slightest nudge would bruise it, much like a strawberry.

“You can’t understand what it’s saying? I thought all Karas could.” Daichi asked and Suga shook his head, his gaze transfixed on the bird.

“It’s just like any other language. You have to learn it.” Ukai said. “I think they’ll get along fine anyway, even if they don’t understand each other.”

Smiling, Suga closed his eyes alongside the bird and sighed peacefully, “She’s so warm.”

“See?” the blonde grinned and gestured at the heart-warming scene, “No problem.”

And having one less thing to worry about was important, for tonight it seemed like trouble would stir at a moment’s notice. The brewing storm hit the house shortly after dinner, and the rain began pouring down heavily in droves. Thunder crackled across the sky, and lightning split the heavens into brilliant white fissures. Soon, Oikawa foretold, the Carcamas would take advantage of the confusion and darkness of this wretched night and strike. Iwa-chan had already sensed a large gathering of beings within Kabeki Forest, but that was the only point of certainty.

Lying in wait in the cold and wet, Daichi, Oikawa, and Iwa-chan hid themselves behind the barricaded fence that was erected a few metres away from the house. The rest took shelter inside and turned out all the lights except for the oil lamps hanging from the front porch, making the entrance look like a shining lighthouse in the middle of a sea of black.

Just what the mage wanted.

“You really don’t have to do anything, Daichi. We’ll take care of it.” Oikawa yelled over while taking cover from the rain underneath Iwa-chan. The hound was wholly focused on detecting the enemy, his ears swivelling about as he sat unperturbed by the rain pelting his coat.

“I’m not going to sit around and do nothing when I can defend this place.” Daichi replied and docked his arrow. The hood pulled over his brows kept the water out and his sight clear.

“With that thing? In this weather?” Oikawa scoffed.

Level-headed, Daichi cricked his neck and loosened his shoulders. “Don’t worry about me.”

The mage snorted, unconvinced, and took out his whip. “Suit yourself. Just don’t get in my way.”

“Silence.” Iwa-chan commanded with his deep voice and got off his hind legs. “They’re making a move.”

The two humans tensed up at once and peered out from cover. They could barely see or hear anything through the blasted torrent.

“How many of them are there?” Oikawa asked and squinted his eyes.

“I’m not sure. Twenty, maybe thirty,” he replied. Daichi gulped and clutched his bow tightly. That number was far above their estimates.

Then, Iwa-chan’s ears pointed at attention and his eyes glowed red. “Something’s coming.”

Far off in the fields, he heard the swift thumping of a heart that drew closer and closer.

“One.” he murmured, and took a step forward.

“Only one?” The hunter said, and stood up to draw his bow.

Oikawa frowned and stood as well. “Stand down. Iwa-chan’s got this.”

“Why don’t we save the best for last?” Daichi replied calmly and took aim. The mage couldn’t argue with that. He clicked his tongue and sulked on top of the fence, and Iwa-chan took that as confirmation to yield. A job was still a job, however, and he would assist where Daichi was lacking.

“It’s halfway through the field and straight ahead. When will you shoot?” the hound asked.

“A hundred metres.” Daichi said, accepting his help. He could almost make out a moving object in the blurring rain, and he adjusted his arm.

“Understood. At this speed, about fifteen seconds until it arrives.”

Daichi breathed out and closed his eyes briefly.

He couldn’t kill the lynx back then in the forest, but this time would be different.

“Ten seconds.”

A wide open field was child’s play to someone like him. All the times he skipped school really paid off.

“Five.”

What was a little rain and wind but distractions in the hunt?

“Four.”

He even had someone telling him where the target was.

“Three.”

All he had to do was pull back the string—

“Two.”

Take a good, hard look at the cat’s eyes—

“One.”

And let his arrow fly.

The spear sliced through the air with a short whistle, and after a few seconds of suspense, the strangled cry of a Carcama sounded off in the distance.

“It’s dead.” Iwa-chan reported after a moment, no longer hearing the beating of its heart. Yet another soul bound for the underworld, he thought.

“Are there more?” asked Daichi, already ready for the next one. But Iwa-chan shook his head and jogged off beyond the fence. Dragging the heavy carcass into the compound between his jaws, he dropped it off between the two men with a muddy splash and spat out the foul-tasting blood. There, they saw the Carcama’s ghastly face which was locked in eternal surprise, undoubtedly at the arrow that drove itself right between its eyes. The arrowhead emerged from the base of its skull, and whatever brain matter that had burst from the hole had long been washed away.

“Well, well, that was a clean kill.” Oikawa remarked, seemingly unimpressed.

“They’re retreating,” Iwa-chan said with a flick of his tail, “I can’t detect them anymore.”

Pulling out the arrow with a hard tug, Daichi frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Carcamas don’t attack one by one, and they won’t just leave their friend here.”

“But that was the case last night, and so were the attacks from before. This strange behaviour must have an explanation.” Oikawa said and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, toying with an idea in his mind. “Let’s discuss that indoors, shall we? My socks are getting all soggy.”

No one argued with that.

Once inside, Ukai had many towels but no clues to give.

“I don’t know what to say. They should have destroyed this place a long time ago, but they haven’t. They’ve just come and gone in different places, picking people at random to maul.”

“But is it really, as you say, random?” Oikawa suggested while drying off his wet hair. With just his undershirt and long pants on, the mage’s appearance was a departure from his usually prim and proper self; but still no fault could be found in his enduring charisma.

Hinata took joy in chasing Iwa-chan around with a dry towel, and Kageyama had turned in for the day. The fireplace smouldered with a fresh log that was just beginning to catch the continuing flame.

“What do you mean?” the Kara asked and lit up a cigarette. He looked like he needed three of those.

“Well, what if all they’re doing is in preparation for something bigger?”

Daichi raised an eyebrow. “You mean, they’re planning for a huge attack?”

“They’re not that smart,” Ukai frowned, brushing off the idea.

Oikawa pointed a tentative finger upwards and leaned onto the dining table. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, gentlemen. They have, despite their odd behaviour, been moving in a definite direction. If we were to plot out their attacks and apply logic to the situation—“ he took out a rolled-up map of the town from inside his coat, “—we can see what they’re trying to do.”

Ukai spread the parchment out onto the table and took a closer look at the crosses marked onto it. Then, he realized what Oikawa was trying to say. Every single attack had happened on the outskirts of town, and the crosses were forming what resembled a ring around the entire settlement. The only spot where a glaring space was left was the clinic, right on the other side of town where the first kill occurred.

“Are you saying… they’re testing us?” Ukai concluded.

“Either that, or they’re just playing with you. Cats, am I right?” Oikawa replied jokingly, then waltzed around the table as he spoke. “Every assault so far has been simple. One or two Carcamas sneak into a house in the middle of the night – they did it once during the day, actually – then kill a few people, and leave without the villagers putting up much of a fight.”

Ukai looked up grimly, his palms flat on the map. “Yes. We haven’t managed to take down a single Carcama, and they always run away after making a kill. They don’t eat the bodies.”

Oikawa continued, “It makes sense to say that they’ve been poking around to see where town’s defences are at. They could have come all at once, but they decided to cover their bases and gauge the strength of their enemies. But, even if we don’t know what their real strategy is, we can be sure that they’re not here for food or for fun. So, it can only be—“

“For territory.” Daichi finished his sentence.

“Bingo.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re smarter than you look.”

The doctor combed through his hair and puffed out a long breath of smoke. He left his unruly fringe hanging over his face, and then stubbed out his cigarette on the table. “Fine. Let’s say they are here to take over. Then, what’s causing them to do so? A human settlement isn’t a home for Carcamas.” he murmured.

“You’re asking the right questions, doctor.” Oikawa smiled and tapped his fingers on the table. “That brings us back to their unnaturally organized behaviour.”

Oikawa then caught Hinata in his tracks and pinched his cheeks, stopping the assault on his poor puppy.

“Someone - or something - is leading them,” declared the mage.

“And now that they know there’s someone capable of stopping them, they won’t sit idly by.”

But who could lead a battalion of bloodthirsty cats?

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