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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

Trigger Warning: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

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Chapter 5/?: Housewarming

Sasuke spars with Naruto for the better portion of the afternoon into evening, until they are both sufficiently exhausted and slightly sunburned, on the condition that he will eat anywhere but Ichiraku’s and anything but ramen for the dinner his friend is trying to goad him into after. Naruto agrees all too quickly, grinning too much for his liking, and saying a little duplicitously, “That so? Happens that I know a place!”

The blond refuses to tell him where he’s leading him after their fight finally concludes in a draw, weaving tiredly through village streets around six at night with bruised ribs. Sasuke begins to suspect it’s an elaborate ruse to lure him to his house to eat. Sure enough, eventually they turn a corner and marigold, cobalt, and fuchsia invade his line of vision.

“You’re so stupid. I’m not eating anything you’ve put your hands on.”

Naruto laughs, evidently not the slightest bit offended. “Don’t worry, Hinata-chan made me a bunch of food for the next few days! There’s more than enough to share, and I haven’t touched any of it.”

Sasuke grumbles, but his friend assures him that at least some of it’s not ramen, so he acquiesces cautiously and follows him through the threshold of his home.

It is pretty nice, as Sakura said, though he’s sure that’s because of the dobe’s wife and not him, and what he’s comparing it to - Naruto’s old apartment, littered with trash and expired food items in the fridge - doesn’t set a very high bar in the first place. The house has wood floors, and a spacious kitchen with plenty of storage, at least from what he discerns when he first walks in. He assumes he’s going to be forced on the tour shortly to view the rest of it.

There is an absolute mountain of pre-prepared food in clear containers when his friend opens the fridge. Sasuke will admit pretty much everything looks good, though he’s not sure what specifically the dobe plans on them eating. He’s not sure Naruto knows, either; he stares at the contents of the fridge for a long minute, squinting as if making a life-changing decision.

“...Does she think you can’t feed yourself or something?” Sasuke deadpans.

Naruto laughs nervously, in a way that gives Sasuke the impression that Hinata Uzumaki might not be as quiet and reserved as most people assume, at least behind closed doors. His friend almost sounds fearful, as if there may be consequences for him if he doesn’t eat what his wife has prepared for him in her absence in its entirety.

“...Or she just knows you’d eat instant ramen the whole time she was gone, otherwise.” This time it’s not a question.

Naruto has the grace to at least feign embarrassment. “Well, uh, you know what they say… Quickest way to a man’s heart is through his food, or whatever!” Sasuke wonders for a short few seconds what kind of repercussion Hinata could possibly be holding over him, but then remembers Kakashi’s warning earlier in the day, and decides abruptly that he doesn’t care to further pursue that train of thought.

Eventually they decide on vegetable and shrimp tempura with plain onigiri, all premade. Sasuke is hungry, and tempura has a high caloric intake. Naruto dumps the tempura in a mysterious device called an air fryer to warm, and while they wait, the blond shows him around.

It’s commodious, with extra bedrooms as Sakura said. Most of the furniture is rich dark wood, accented with slightly vibrant colors, inclusive of the walls, that are perhaps a little intense for his own preferences. It is obvious that Naruto helped pick the paint colors, but he assumes Hinata must like them, too. The Hyuga are an old clan, deeply rooted in tradition as the Uchiha had been; Sasuke imagines that many of the interiors at the Hyuga residences are varying shades of white, gray, or brown, also with darker wood, as many of the Uchiha households had been; a more colorful interior would have been a change for her. He supposes a proclivity for brightness makes sense, given that she’d married Naruto. Their house overall smells vaguely like jasmine blossom and nectarine, though not overbearingly so. Naruto’s apartment had never smelled like that, so it must be Hinata’s doing. Sasuke spies a candle the color of honey that might be the source, perched on a corner table.

It sits next to a framed copy of their original Team Seven group portrait. Sasuke eyes it as they pass through the living room again to the back door.

It opens up to a sizable backyard situated on the north side of the house, framed with a fence for privacy and a number of lush trees, dangling greenery swaying in the breeze. A small garden sits in the far back left corner, the area with the least tree cover; it’s been recently tilled and sowed, small sprouts beginning to poke through the soil.

“We get lots of fireflies back here in the summer. Hinata-chan loves them, so we sit back here all the time! She’s thinking of getting a birdbath, too,” Naruto mentions fondly, a bit more hushed than his usual timbre; he must have some good memories back here already.

“It’s nice.” Sasuke remarks at the end when they go back inside, because it is, and his friend grins from ear to ear, stupidly proud. Then the timer dings from the other room, and they eat.

Hinata’s cooking is good. Sasuke sorts out all of the sweet potato chunks to shove onto Naruto’s plate, but eats the rest: squash, bell peppers, eggplant, broccoli, and shrimp, coated in spiced breading that tastes slightly of rosemary, along with the onigiri, more simple but also filling.

Naruto prattles throughout as always, but chews his food before launching into each new topic; it really must be a habit by now. Sasuke doesn’t hold the scroll over his head just yet; he figures Saturday night will be enough opportunity for that. Instead, he solidifies plans for another spar, this time late Saturday morning, because through the nearly endless chatter he has learned that Naruto’s schedule includes normal weekend days off, unless assigned a mission.

The dobe asks him to go drinking with him afterwards; he declines, but thanks him for dinner. Eventually, he departs, after his best friend reminds him for the fourth time today to meet up at Ichiraku’s on Saturday night at six.

As he walks home, lone hand in his pocket, Sasuke finds himself pondering once again what Sakura’s living space will be like. She doesn’t strike him as someone who would like darker wood, for some reason. It’s an apartment, so it will be smaller than Naruto’s house for sure. He assumes it’s probably one bedroom, like his own.

The cadence of crickets creeps in again as he leaves the more lively area of town, buoyed into something quieter by the swishing of leaves through the trees. It’s a sound he craved on his travels often. There are similar sounds elsewhere - insects and trees are not uncommon - but something about Konoha’s particular lilt sticks out in his memories. A clement wind from the north carries an aroma tinged with flowers and loam. When he turns the corner, the breeze blows just right to shift his hair away from his left eye, and his neck heats as he thinks of Sakura’s words from this morning, not for the first time today.

Once he gets back to his apartment, he strips, then tosses his clothing directly into the washing machine, before enjoying a long, near-boiling shower; after the workout he’s had, he needs it. He thinks as he scrubs that this way he won’t need another one until after he gets back from seeing Sakura tomorrow. He contemplates whether they will eat somewhere, since he’s meeting her at the hospital at four. He’d liked the tea shop; she probably knows of other places worth trying.

He is so exhausted that he saves washing his dishes for tomorrow and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. His last thoughts are of gentle jade eyes and kind words murmured in an exam room.

Sasuke is thankful that he doesn’t have another nightmare, but his brain decides to fill the time in other demiurgic ways involving soft fingertips, and when morning comes, he does need another shower, after all; this time, a cold one.

He pinches his nose guiltily as frigid water engulfs him, until his teeth are near chattering. Once that’s done, he throws on a black shirt and pants before grabbing a book. He huddles up under his comforter to chase away the chill, drowning his thoughts in icy history ripe with distraction rather than lasciviousness.

He finishes it eventually, convinced towards the end that he needs to acquire a small lamp; he doesn't like overhead lighting in general, but he especially doesn’t like it for reading. His teeth have stopped clacking together, so he gets out of bed and spends the first portion of the day washing dishes, sharpening his chokuto, and then making lunch, seared beef with green tea noodles and miso dressing. It’s simple, but good, and filling. His throat hurts less than yesterday, but he has another cough drop after, because it helps.

He washes and dries the dishes from today, putting them away before he leaves his apartment to pick up a few more groceries to fill the time. The market he visits is sold out of loose leaf sencha tea; the one he’d visited the first day in his apartment hadn’t had any, either. He settles for a small box of single-serve packets for the time being, and has a cup upon his return to his apartment. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t taste quite as fresh. He reads more of his other book for a bit, until it’s time to leave to meet Sakura at the hospital.

He leaves a little early again, because he’s eager to see her.

Sakura greets him cheerily, lovely with a tote bag on her shoulder that is starting to become familiar. She tells him that she dropped off his paperwork earlier today, and that his bloodwork has all come back normal. He thanks her, and they spend a nice late afternoon together, roaming around while she points out areas of interest, most of it new development on the more southern part of the village. Wandering with her is much preferable to solivagant ambling on his own, he is coming to find.

He learns that Sunday and Monday are indeed her days off, unless there is an emergency; she mentions that she has a standing date with Ino every Monday morning for training and lunch, but other than that, she keeps her free time pretty open.

“Would you… like to do something on Sunday, then?” He asks carefully, hand twitching a little in his pocket and stomach churning a little in nervousness, though she has given him no reason to be. He hopes he’s not being avaricious by asking for too much of her time. She might prefer to spend some time alone on her days off.

Glittering green eyes beam up at him in response. “Of course,” she answers, and the storm brewing in his belly settles while the vines reach upwards into his chest cavity, because she says it with an inflection that implies there’s nothing she would rather do.

“I think it’s supposed to rain,” Sakura tells him as they walk further southwest; they’re nearing the edge of the village now. “So we probably don’t want to walk around too much. I usually…” Her eyes flick to him, and then away, as if self-conscious. “I usually curl up inside with a book on rainy days. Or... watch documentaries. Sometimes I play go or chess.”

A ghost of a smile overtakes him, because reading on a rainy day is very characteristic of her, but so are the other two things, which he hadn’t known.

Then she’s asking, somewhat shyly, “What do you like to do, on a rainy day?”

It’s a good question; he hasn’t been home for a rainy day in a long time. When he was traveling, he would find shelter - an inn, or the inside of a tree or a cave - and do various tasks that needed doing, like sharpening weapons or writing a letter to her. On those days, he would also often read her old correspondence to him, too, but he’d be embarrassed to admit that to her.

When he was younger, though, he would complete any neglected chores in the morning, and then spend the rest of the day reading, though he did it mainly for productivity to the point of distraction. Sasuke did not like being cooped up in his house for long periods of time, for obvious reasons. Occasionally he would venture to a training ground anyway, if the rain was more light drizzle than downpour, but most of the time he opted not to, because getting sick would delay his progress more than sitting out a day; he could advance in other ways, look into new techniques and practice taijutsu forms inside, if he really focused.

If it rained heavily for more than a day or two consecutively, though, trapping him in the house, he tended to struggle more with it. Sometimes he would stare at a kunai or shuriken left behind in Itachi’s room for too long, and end up sticking his wrist out a back window to watch the water cleanse the wound he’d carved into his skin until it coagulated. It wasn't something he did often, because he knew it was stupid and weak despite the small semblance of control it afforded. It also wasn’t something he only did when it was raining, but being entombed in that house due to inclement weather poured salt into his baser self-destructive tendencies, irritation burning until it was too much and it had to escape his skin to go somewhere. When it rained, it felt like it was an opportunity to rinse it out of him, a tiny increment of relief, rivulets reaching down to turn him over in the grave of dark wood and dull paint colors it felt like he was suffocating in.

Sasuke would go get groceries most of the time, before it got to that point, even if he didn't need them, just to get out of the house for a bit and away from the temptation. He’d come back soaked, tracking water everywhere before curling up in his bed to try to chase away the chill with more distraction, books or scrolls or trying to watch something. Eventually he’d warm up on the outside, but his insides still felt icy for a long time, most days.

He's in an apartment now, though, a long way from what used to be the Uchiha District. He takes a grounding breath that he hopes is subtle, trying to emerge from the glaucous recollection and subsequent smothering feeling lining his lungs. “...I do any chores that need doing, and then I like to read, too,” he finally answers. It's the truth, now. Keen but soft eyes hold his for a moment, and he worries maybe he didn’t fully succeed at the subtlety, but she doesn’t press. He’s thankful for it; he doesn’t want to think about that when he’s with her.

They make plans to have lunch and spend the afternoon reading their respective books at her apartment. He might finish his other book by Sunday’s end; maybe she would go to the library with him again Monday afternoon, if she’s not too busy. He wouldn’t mind playing go or chess, either, if she asks him. It would be a challenge; he hasn’t played either in years. He’ll save it for Sunday, though.

“I can cook,” she offers, looking very pleased, which makes his heart flutter in his chest. “Maybe soup and something to go with it, if it’s chillier? I have a slow cooker I can start it in, the morning of.”

He agrees immediately; he likes soup, and it’s been a while since he’s had a good bowl. Most of the soup he made on the road was limited to whatever ingredients were readily available, with simple water as stock. The result was usually something bland, warming but not hearty by even the barest standards; soup made in a kitchen is much better. He’ll eat any kind, really, especially if it’s cold out. He wonders what Sakura’s cooking is like; she excels at most everything she does, so he imagines it must be good.

By just after five, they’ve ended up at a fairly new and distinctive quadrant of training grounds a little beyond the southwest edge of the village, sharp quartz rock jutting up from uneven ground in several spots and a small creek running down its center. Parts of it sit at a raised elevation, offering a unique vantage point of Konoha. Sasuke realizes as he eyes the surroundings that he would like to train here sometime; the craggy terrain could prove an interesting element to contend with, an exercise of both the mind and body. He’s glad she showed him; he wouldn’t have ventured to this side of town for a long time, on his own.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, thinking he could buy her dinner if she knows any places nearby. It’ll be busier now that it’s dinner time, once they get back into the village, but he doesn’t mind.

Sakura doesn’t answer at first, and instead starts to fiddle inside her bag. His brows knit in confusion, but then she pulls out two bottles of water, two bento boxes, and two pairs of chopsticks.

They’re in reusable containers, not takeout ones, which means she must have made them herself. Sasuke stares at the one she gives him, dumbfounded; it’s filled to the brim with cooked rice topped with black sesame seeds, tonkatsu with sauce, shredded cabbage, green beans goma-ae, and a large number of tomato wedges. Her own has less tomato; a few grapes round it out instead. He also notices the tonkatsu sauce is already poured over hers, but his is in a small sealed container, so he can eat the pork plain if he decides he doesn’t care for the tangy but also slightly sweet dressing.

“I thought we could eat these here... if you want. We could avoid the dinner rush that way. I made the sauce a little less sweet than usual, but I still wasn’t sure, so I thought I’d let you decide,” Sakura offers, soft and kind. He’s too stunned to say anything right away, so she adds somewhat sheepishly, “If... you’d rather get something else, though, that’d be fine, too.”

He thanks her very quietly, then, a little dazed and throat closing up, because he would not rather get something else; he hasn’t had a bento in a long time, let alone one that was prepared specifically for him. The training ground is empty, so they hop up one of the small cliffs and eat it there as she suggests, in view of Hokage Rock framed by trees. It is very good, clearly made with fresh ingredients; the pork is juicy on the inside and texturally crunchy on the outside. The sauce is good, too; not too sweet. He makes sure to eat all of it, as well as to tell her he enjoyed it at the end. She flushes at the compliment; she is very pretty, pink hair and pink cheeks to match.

"How long do you think it'll be before Naruto's up there?" She asks him after they’ve been sitting there for the better part of an hour, food long finished and eerily echoing his thoughts from a few nights ago.

Sasuke regards the mountain, empty space next to Kakashi's likeness. He recalls dinner yesterday at his friend’s home, Naruto sharing food with him made by his wife, and Ichiraku’s the day before that, how he no longer talks with his mouth full, and how he has not pressured him to share about Sakura. Sasuke is sure his rare tact won't last forever, and that he'll be hounded about his relationship with her eventually, but he has appreciated the space gifted to him. For all of their teammate’s fatuousness, he really has grown. If he can get an increment better at deciphering scrolls...

"Not long," he responds eventually. "Five years. Maybe six, with the sculpting."

Sakura nods in agreement, an evocative smile playing at her lips; she must suppose the same.

He speculates, then, tearing his gaze away from her mouth, who else they will see on the mountain in their lifetimes, in the empty space extending to the right. He thinks Naruto is the type to live to be pretty old, especially if Hinata is coercing him into eating balanced nutritional meals now; he might make it to a point where he actually retires from being Hokage, like Tsunade, or Kakashi, eventually.

The next Hokage could be in the village already, maybe in the Academy still, or a Genin. Sasuke remembers a scrawny kid with atrocious camouflage techniques who used to follow Naruto around and challenge him to battles over the position; it may have been the Third's grandson. He hadn’t seemed particularly talented at the time, but then again, neither was Naruto at that age. It’s possible that the kid has progressed since then. It’s also possible, though, that the next Hokage has not even been born yet.

Sasuke walks Sakura home a couple of hours later, dark violet light of dusk cast on her through diamonds on her doorstep. Her expression is the same as the other night, eyes sparking with gold affection, so he kisses her again, hesitantly hoping it’s okay, because he really wants to. Apparently it is, because she rests her hands on his shoulders and kisses him back without an ounce of uncertainty. His hand is free this time, so he rests it on her waist carefully, and enjoys a sweet breath of spring.

XXX

Sasuke arrives at Ichiraku’s at six on the dot to find both of his teammates already there, with an empty seat left between them and three glasses of water on familiar currant red counters. He is unsurprised to see that Kakashi’s not here yet. There’s an empty seat to Naruto’s left that is clearly being saved for their old sensei using one of Naruto’s sandals, off his foot; it’s pretty busy, being a Saturday night. He also notes Sakura’s tote bag situated beneath the counter, underneath the stool she’s sitting on; perhaps her afternoon with Ino went longer than anticipated, and she hasn’t had time to go home yet.

Both of them turn their heads as he approaches, brightening and greeting him in unison beneath fluorescent lighting.

“Teme!”

“Hey, Sasuke-kun.”

It is terribly nostalgic. He takes the place between them, responding, “Sakura. Dobe.” The streets themselves are busy, but within the actual enclosure of Ichiraku’s, it’s not as loud.

“We haven’t ordered yet,” Sakura tells him good-naturedly, smiling and pushing him a menu. His gaze lingers on her for a second before looking down at it. She’s pretty beneath fluorescent lighting, too.

“We’re not fucking waiting for Kakashi-sensei, though. I’m hungry , and who knows when he’ll turn up? He’s probably reading one of his stupid books and lost track of time again,” Naruto grumbles, peckish, from his other side. His friend’s stomach growls, as if on cue.

Sakura laughs, then sighs from his right. “He’s probably lost in a pile of paperwork. At least this time it might be true.”

“...He might be trying to finish breaking the cipher on that scroll you can’t seem to solve,” Sasuke quips smugly towards his left, eyeing the menu, though he doesn’t really need to; he knows his order already.

He is way too satisfied by Naruto’s huff. “Ugh, I’m fucking sick of staring at that thing. It makes me feel like my brain is melting. I wish he’d just give me a mission. I want to fight something.”

“I’m sure you’ll both get one eventually,” Sakura remarks with confidence. “Try to enjoy the peacetime a little. It’s a good thing. Besides, if you really want to, you can just go battle it out at the training grounds...” She eyes them both with a critical and calculating scrutiny now, a single pink brow arched and something in her tone shifting. “...Though by the bruising, I’m sure that’s already happened.”

There is a fist shaped smear of violet he knows is on his forearm, clearly visible from her vantage point. At least his ribs are hidden; there are nasty bruises on three of them from the first spar, and another two developing from this morning. Naruto looks a little scared, when he glances over at him; despite the fact that the blond is laughing nervously, his hand is held awkwardly, obviously trying to shield the bruise he has on his chin, turning purplish-blue by now.

It was another draw. Sasuke expects he’ll be able to beat him, next time. He’s found he’s a bit rusty, not having too many excuses to use his more advanced techniques in a long while.

Sakura rolls her eyes after a tense moment, and the spell is broken. “If either of you break anything, just don’t be stupid; come to the hospital or my place so I can fix it.”

“Sure, sure, anything you say, Sakura-chan!” The dobe responds next to him, hesitant laughter still tinged a little with fear. Sasuke nods, then thinks for about the fifth time today that he’s going to see her apartment tonight.

Once Sasuke slides the menu back, Naruto catches Teuchi’s attention; the blond orders garlic tonkotsu, Sasuke orders hakata tonkotsu, and Sakura orders shoyu ramen. It’s the same as what they used to get when they were kids.

It’s a nice evening for this, he thinks.

“So what’s new at the hospital, Sakura-chan?” Naruto asks conversationally. “Anything exciting?”

Sasuke shifts his gaze to his right, where Sakura looks as if she’s giving it a lot of thought, lips shifted to the side; he forces his eyes upward. “Eh, nothing too exciting, yet. Just appointments and research, for the most part. I’ve got some long-term projects I’m working on, but I’m just kind of waiting to see how the data pans out at this point while I monitor. It’ll be another month or so yet for anything concrete there, I think.” She cocks her head to the side a little. “I’ve got a transplant patient we’re waiting on an organ for, so we’ve been trying to prep her so she’s ready; different medicinal cocktails, testing, and such.” She pauses. “Tsunade-shishou sent over some things that arrived this morning, though, and one of them was a sample of a new poison found in a few Shinobi in Wind. I guess that’s… interesting. She’s going to work on it, too, so hopefully we get an antidote quickly, but I started some tests on it today.”

Sasuke’s lips turn downwards. That doesn’t sound good.

“Ehhh, between you and Granny Tsunade, I’m sure you’ll find an antidote soon!” Naruto chirps positively from his left. Then he quiets, in a manner that suggests he’s cogitative. “How bad?”

“Well, it’s slow enough progression-wise that they’ll live if we find an antidote in time; they’ve got at least a month, we think. Maybe more, if Tsunade-shishou keeps siphoning it out via the Delicate Illness Extraction Technique. It’s not... pleasant for the patient, obviously, but it works. She’s already run most of the preliminary tests; calcium chloride, pyridoxine, sodium bicarbonate, so we at least have some stuff ruled out.,, There might be others eventually, though, so it would be best to nip it in the bud and have an antidote readily available, really.”

“...What do you know about it so far?” Sasuke asks. “In terms of the type of toxin.” Having been dosed numerous times with poisons to build up resistance, he knows he is essentially immune to many of them, but a new one popping up is never something one should disregard in their line of work.

Jade shifts to him. “We suspect it might be a mixture of several venoms, plus a heavy neurotoxin. Epinephrine doesn’t work at all, though; that’s why we’re leaning towards it being a combo. Something has to be continuing the effects while that cycles through the system.”

Neurotoxins are troublesome; a mixture with it is nothing to scoff at. “It causes paralysis?” He questions.

Sakura inclines her head in a nod. “Immediately after Tsunade-shishou uses the Extraction Technique, though, they gain some movement back, so if we can find an antidote, it won’t be permanent.”

There is a contemplative silence.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re gonna kill a lot of rats,” Naruto finally jokes from his left, gauche as ever and clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“They’re mice, not rats,” Sakura responds, rolling her eyes. “But yes. We probably will. Necessary sacrifice, I suppose.”

There is a substantial length of time that feels heavy, even with the distant background noise of people going about their evening.

Sakura is the one to break it. “What about you, Naruto? Anything new? Hinata’s on a mission, I heard. What have you been doing to fill the time?”

Sasuke glances back to his left, where Naruto is grinning suspiciously.

“You mean other than kicking the shit out of teme?”

Sasuke narrows his eyes. “As I recall, both spars were draws, dead last .”

Naruto laughs, unbothered and waving his hand jokingly. “Eh, really I dunno. Mostly just helping Kakashi-sensei at the office. He’s torturing me with homework , since Hinata-chan’s gone.”

Suddenly their food is being placed in front of them. His smells good, charred pork belly swimming in spring onion, nori, mushrooms, noodles, and ginger. Sakura says thank you to Teuchi, and then he hears her break her chopsticks. She doesn’t miss a beat. “Hypothetical mission assemblages again?”

Naruto groans as he snaps his own chopsticks. “Yeah, it’s a nightmare. I know most of the people our age fine enough, but you basically have to memorize everyone’s abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, or you spend hours doing it because you have to refer to The Binder.” The way the dobe articulates The Binder makes it sound ominous.

“Huh. Now that I know it’s a nightmare, I’ll make sure to give you even more of it,” a familiar voice lilts behind them.

The three of them turn, and Kakashi is behind them, clad in simple Jonin dress instead of Hokage robes, for all appearances completely unbothered by the fact that he’s nearly twenty minutes late.

All three of them give him a withering look, slightly tinged with nostalgia, and say nothing.

“Sorry. Got lost in a pile of paperwork.”

Their old sensei removes Naruto’s shoe from his saved seat, and places it directly on the blond’s head. It promptly falls off and nearly lands in the idiot’s bowl of ramen as he splutters to catch it. Kakashi orders hakata tonkotsu without even glancing at the menu, same as Sasuke.

“So. Isn’t this nice,” The Hokage drawls. “How are we all? Enjoying the springtime?”

“It’s good! Hinata-chan planted a garden! We’re gonna have broccoli, and sweet potatoes, and maybe even pumpkin!” Naruto responds as he shoves his shoe unceremoniously back onto his foot before reaching for his chopsticks again.

“The weather has been nice," Sakura pipes up from behind him, though her tone of voice makes it sound as though more than that has been nice. Something in him twists pleasantly.

“...It’s good,” Sasuke comments last, before taking another bite of his food. It’s an understatement.

Kakashi looks content, head nodding in agreement. “Everything’s really greening up. I think it’s going to be a good year. No wars on the horizon, either, at least that I know of; that’s always preferable. Gets one into a reflective headspace.”

“About what, having time to read porn in your office?” Naruto quips sarcastically in between inhaling bites of bean sprouts and noodles, though Kakashi doesn’t seem at all fazed. Sasuke hasn’t seen any orange books in the times he’s visited the Hokage’s office so far, but he’d been sure they were stowed somewhere within easy access.

“Can’t a Hokage take a break to enjoy fine literature once in a while?” Their old sensei asks good-naturedly, but Naruto rolls his eyes as Sasuke, and he assumes Sakura, continue to eat their food at a normal pace.

“Fine literature? As if ! You forget I’ve read all those books. They’re full of good ideas, sure, but they’re still fucking porn ! And anyways, no, you can’t take a break. Not when you’re piling homework on me like I’m in the Academy still. I know , by the way.”

Now Kakashi’s smile turns a little nervous. To most people, the change would be imperceptible, but it’s there for those that know him well. “Know what, exactly?”

The blond’s eyes narrow accusingly. “That you’re actually using my homework to put together squads for real fucking missions! I shouldn’t have to find out from Shikamaru. In the Academy, they expel kids for that shit.”

Judging by the caught expression on Kakashi’s face, there is at least some element of truth to this, which means Naruto must be doing an okay job, at the very least. Interesting .

“So a sensei isn’t allowed to appreciate and value the advice of a cherished student?”

“Whatever. Just keep giving me days off when Hinata-chan’s home and maybe I won’t tattle to the other kages.”

Kakashi smiles. “I can do that.”

There is a beat where everyone besides their sensei is quiet, taking a few bites of their food. Sasuke’s is good; he’s hungry. Going near all out against Naruto has given him a little more of an appetite, the past few days. He’s been trying to eat more, as Sakura suggested.

“Sakura, I received an interesting letter from Tsunade today.” their old sensei drawls after a bit. Sasuke shifts slightly. She’s swallowing a bite, and looking curious.

“About the poison?”

Sasuke glances back to his left in time to see Kakashi nod. “The poison, and also other worthwhile projects. Let me know if you need any funding for such things, and I’ll find a way to take care of it.”

Sasuke wonders what kinds of projects, but assumes it might be rather confidential when Sakura blinks, then nods, answering simply, “Thank you, Kakashi-sensei; it’s greatly appreciated.” Perhaps it has to do with her research.

Naruto finishes off his first bowl, and orders another. Now that he’s not inhaling food, he begins chattering again.

“So anyways, when are you gonna send us all on a mission together again?! I feel like I’ve been trapped in that office with you like an old croney for eighty-four years.”

Suddenly Kakashi appears very tired, eyes narrowing in exhaustion. “If you feel trapped now, I’d hate to see how you feel in five years or so.” He pauses, as Naruto narrows his eyes at him and crosses his arms. “I have a lost cat mission you could complete, I suppose. Or would you rather clean up the river? It’s good weather for it. Water’s warming up.”

Naruto looks at him indignantly. “As if. I want a real mission!! One that suits our strengths.”

The way Kakashi considers Naruto then is fond. Sasuke vaguely recollects a time where Naruto begged the Third for a ‘real’ mission a long time ago; that must be what he’s remembering.

“Well, the problem with that is that Sakura formally outranks you,” he finally retorts. His food shows up a second after he finishes talking.

Naruto groans. “This shit again?” Sasuke assumes this must be a running thing Kakashi likes to hold over his friend’s head. Technically it’s correct; Sakura had told him she’d made Jonin at the exams in Earth Country a while back, in one of her earlier letters. He’s sure she could have made Jonin sooner, but she’d been occupied with things at the hospital, he thinks. Naruto and himself, meanwhile, had never taken the exams, though it hadn’t affected their ability to take A and S-rank missions, given their role in ending the war; they held honorary Jonin positioning in all but the actual title itself, and weren’t held back from missions because of it in any way, but still, Sakura is the only one of their team that has taken them officially and passed. Naruto had told him that Tsunade didn’t want to promote Sakura like that, despite her contribution in ending the war, too; he’d assumed it was because the Fifth didn’t care for Sakura’s promotion to be in any way weighed down by assumptions of nepotism, especially with her taking over the hospital. Kakashi hadn't, either; he'd assumed for the same reason. Naruto and Sasuke getting special treatment regarding what missions they can accept is fine, because currently they hold no official titles, but with Sakura heading the hospital, it’s a different matter.

“How many times are you gonna hold that over my head?! Quit fucking around already. It’s not my fault Granny Tsunade wanted to show Sakura-chan off to all five nations, and besides, I was literally there, so it’s not like I don’t know.”

Sasuke blinks in sudden interest, as Kakashi quips, “If you were there, why didn’t you take the exams yourself? I seem to remember someone getting banned from the Kage’s seating area. That looks great for a future Hokage candidate, by the way, and was fun to try to de-escalate with the elders of Earth Country. Maybe you could have set a better example if you had also been taking the exams… Though I suppose it would have been embarrassing for you when Sakura beat you in three seconds flat.”

Sakura laughs a little to his right as if she is amused as Naruto complains some more, while Sasuke considers that he has never been given a detailed account of her performance at those exams, though he’s sure it was excellent. He’ll have to ask her or Naruto about it.

Naruto’s still whining. “Come ooooon. Just ONE teensy little mission. No bullshit. We’re all back; you basically have to, it’d be illegal NOT to. It can even be a B-rank.”

Kakashi doesn’t miss a beat. “I have a nice C-rank you two could probably handle.” Sasuke twitches a little, because he knows that’s directed at him, too, now. “Simple escort to Sand. Don’t want to take a prestigious Jonin away from her important work at the hospital, though, for such a measly thing.”

Sakura’s laugh twinkles. “Send Shikamaru. I’m sure he’d love to go.”

Kakashi grins, as if he is in on a joke. “Yes, Naruto, Sasuke, and Shikamaru. That would be an interesting team, to say the least, though perhaps a little overpowered. I’ll think it over… If nothing comes up that we desperately need Shikamaru for, that is.”

Naruto grumbles and turns to finish emptying his second bowl of ramen as Sasuke surmises inwardly, finishing off his own, that it would be an interesting team, even if it was just an escort. From what he knows, Nara is a capable leader and excellent strategist. He’s sure Shikamaru doesn’t like him very much, which is more than fair, but watching Naruto annoy someone else for a change would make the heated trek to Sand bearable. He wonders what Sakura’s comment was about, though. Maybe it was sarcasm, regarding most peoples’ general disdain for the sweltering weather there.

Sasuke notices, as he pushes his bowl forward, now empty, that Kakashi still hasn’t touched his food. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on that. When he glances to his right, he sees that Sakura has finished hers, too.

The restaurant is starting to clear out a little, it being closer to seven now. Naruto finally stops mumbling insults towards Kakashi, and instead peers at him as if he’s waiting for something. Maybe he wants to go home; his friend might have plans after this, though he’s not sure what they would be, given his wife is away.

“...Sorry to disappoint you, Sasuke, but we’ve been less than honest about dinner tonight,” Kakashi begins after meeting Naruto’s gaze. Sasuke’s brow furrows in puzzlement, and the dobe starts grinning smugly. When he glances the other way towards Sakura, she smiles, too, and looks a little guilty.

“It is also… a housewarming party.” The Hokage grins. “Though we thought we’d just have it here, and you could take your gifts home with you tonight.”

Sasuke frowns. “You didn’t need to-”

Naruto butts in, indignant and cutting him off accusingly with a pointed finger, “And don’t even TRY to say no, because I got you the best gift.” Sasuke has a brief premonition of his sparse kitchen cabinets suddenly filled with a month’s supply of instant ramen, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes. The dobe motions to Teuchi, gesturing towards the inner portion of the ramen stand, just below the counter. Sasuke then recalls the bag beneath Sakura’s chair, and frowns deeper, turning to her; though he’s sure the shoe box was free, she’s already given him the drying rack, which he’s sure was not. She didn’t need to get him anything else.

She just grins at him, eyes flashing with mirth as if she finds this amusing. He’s about to say something - he’s not sure what - when Naruto taps him on the shoulder. He turns, and the most poorly wrapped gift he has ever seen in his life comes into focus, a long thin mess of too much tape and intensely colorful paper, scrunched together haphazardly as if put together by a child with little motor control, and shoved directly into his face.

“...Why did you wrap it?”

His best friend rolls his eyes. “Because it’s a PRESENT, jackass. Besides, you guys wrapped yours too, right?!”

When Naruto looks from their old sensei to their teammate, Kakashi wears a jovial smile that tells him he didn’t, and Sakura doesn’t say anything behind him, but Naruto narrows his eyes, and that’s enough to tell him that she didn’t, either. “What the fuck, you guys are the worst! This is supposed to be a party!!”

Naruto sets the gift down on the counter in front of him, and Sasuke frowns at it stubbornly for a short while. The three of them are staring at him expectantly, though, so he sighs and reluctantly starts to peel the shoddy wrapping job away, curious as to where the idiot got instant ramen that comes in a long skinny box. He’s careful as he peels, so the paper doesn’t fly away in little chunks and litter the restaurant or the ground around them.

His brow creases as he peels away the final bit of paper and tape, because it’s not ramen, after all. Naruto’s gift is a paring board of a unique design, new from the store in an unopened box. The picture shows a maple wood finish, but with small skewers jutting vertically from it on the bottom center, on which one can spear vegetables or fruit to help hold it in place while slicing. It also has a corner guard on the upper left with an edge sealer to help keep other things one wants to slice, like bread or sushi, secure. In addition, it says it has silicone feet, so it doesn’t move around when you use it.

He didn’t know anything like this even existed. It is a surprisingly thoughtful and helpful gift, one that he’s sure comes from a deep understanding of the challenges that come with living with one arm, though Naruto has had the prosthetic, now, for a while.

Sasuke studies it for a long moment, genuinely touched. “...It’s nice. Thank you.” Truth be told, it’s more than nice, and will be incredibly useful. He won’t have to summon a clone anymore to cut things.

Naruto laughs and slaps him on the back, prompting Sasuke to glare at him. “Beat that, losers!” Kakashi smiles and casts his eye towards Sakura behind him, so Sasuke turns, brows furrowed again. She’s pulling a white container out of her bag, now in her lap, and then sliding it on the countertop next to Naruto’s gift.

He can see now that it’s a first aid kit. He looks back to her, meeting green eyes and slightly tinged cheeks. “I thought there might be some things you didn’t have, after traveling for so long.”

This is odd, because all ninja travel with a rudimentary first aid kit at the bare minimum, and Sakura of all people knows this; it’s an occupational hazard and frankly foolish not to. He stares at it as if it is a riddle, trying to figure out what could possibly be inside. Perhaps medicine or painkillers? Even those come in standard first aid kits for ninja, though. A hefty stock of food pills? He supposes he could take those on missions with him, if needed.

He’s sure both Kakashi and Naruto are thinking the same thing, but they don’t comment on it.

Finally, he responds, meeting her eyes, “Thank you.” He’ll open it later, when he’s alone, to see what’s actually in it. She really didn’t need to get him anything.

Her smile grows wider, and her eyes catch the light, gilded fervor that he thinks he could drown in. “You’re welcome.” After a beat, she glances at Kakashi, so Sasuke tears his irises away from flashing jade iridescent with metallic lambency and turns, too. When he does, he sees that Kakashi’s bowl is now empty. He tries to resist an annoyed twitch; he doesn’t know how he keeps pulling this off, after so many years.

Then his old sensei reaches into his vest and pulls out what appears to be a frame; it must have been tucked there this whole time, for safekeeping, out of sight.

When he reaches past Naruto to gift it to him, Sasuke realizes it’s their original Team Seven picture, in the frame he saw sitting on Kakashi’s desk the other day.

His eyes sting as it’s pressed into his hand, thoughts of mask hypervigilance forgotten in an instant in favor of an overwhelming sense of plenary peace and belonging. There is a small inner voice emanating from a house lined with dark wood and darker penchants, gnawing and protesting that he is deeply undeserving, but he extinguishes it for now, just for tonight; the world is not going to end because Kakashi gave him a picture rife with memories. Fighting to remain detached is what got him into trouble in the first place.

Sasuke blinks a few times, and a paper-thin layer of sediment peels away, messy and getting everywhere, like the wrapping paper he tried to collect earlier to avoid a similar problem. Then he utters, “Thank you,” quietly, but loud enough for all three of them to hear.

“No problem. I can get another copy developed from the village archives for my desk,” Kakashi replies, smiling. “It’s good to have you back.”

Time passes somehow both quickly and slowly. The four of them sit there for well over another hour, visiting casually about topics that aren’t as heavy as perplexing poisons. Sasuke moreso listens than genuinely communicates, but he comments every now and then.

Naruto chatters about an elaborate date he’s going to take Hinata on when she gets back to the village, involving feeding ducks at her favorite pond. Sakura mentions that he should bring cinnamon rolls, because that is Hinata’s favorite treat, and Naruto exclaims that he knows, but he also asks Teuchi for a pen to write a reminder on his hand, so he doesn’t forget to pick them up the day after tomorrow when she’s supposed to get back.

Kakashi mentions how he’s supposed to be getting some new mission requests in on Monday morning, so he might have something for Sasuke by then; the dobe is indignant when it doesn’t also include him, and launches into another five minute whining session.

Sakura tells a story about Sai and a misunderstanding involving an order of art supplies that she heard from Ino that morning; apparently, Ino works at the hospital on occasion, both to do some part-time medic duties and to help Sakura, which Sasuke was unaware of. Naruto shudders when Sakura brings up Sai, Ino, and art supplies; Sasuke gets the distinct impression that there is a story there, but doesn’t ask.

It is a little after eight when Kakashi mentions quite astutely that everyone is probably tired and should get going. Naruto laughs mischievously, then, meeting Sasuke’s eyes.

“Teme, what do ya say to all of us going out for a drink or two after this? There’s a fun place just down the road from here.”

Sasuke blinks, because that sounds objectively terrible on any night, let alone a Saturday, and it is not the first time since his return to the village that Naruto has mentioned going to drink; he really wants to get him drunk for some reason. Even though Kakashi has just said they should wrap it up, he looks at Sasuke as if waiting for a response anyways, as though he would actually go with them if they all chose to.

“Can’t. I have plans.”

Naruto huffs and grumbles under his breath about the plans probably involving training or reading or watching his laundry air dry. “Alright, alright. But you can’t escape it forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept.”

Sasuke smirks, then. “If you can beat me in a spar, I’ll go. Dobe.”

A fire has been lit in blue eyes. “You’re ON.”

Kakashi then sets enough money on the counter for all four of them, at which point they all begin to stand. Sasuke and Sakura both say thank you, but Naruto begins protesting that if he knew he was buying, he would have eaten more. Kakashi smiles cryptically. “Which is why I didn’t tell you. The Hokage position pays lucratively, but I know from experience you’ll eat me out of house and home.”

Naruto and Kakashi wave goodbye and set out to the west, in the general direction of their respective residences. Sasuke and Sakura both watch them go with something like amusement; he can hear Naruto complaining until he’s halfway down the street, which is a feat, because this area of town is still quite busy.

He turns to the gifts and stacks them carefully in preparation to leave, finally; they are all flat, so they’ll be easy enough to carry. They really didn’t need to get him anything... but he is appreciative, gaze lingering on them for a little longer than an instant.

Sakura is smiling at him when he turns to her, weight shifted to the side casually. “Do you want to drop those off first, or bring them with you?”

Sasuke thinks of the time; he still doesn’t know when she usually goes to sleep. “...I can bring them with.”

Her lips quirk upwards more, and she nods. They start walking east, him gripping the gifts carefully.

The moon has risen a bit higher in the sky by now; the streets appear much like a desaturated dreamscape, cloaking everything in a layer of alleviation. They pass under street lights casting flaxen ambiance, as well as other smaller hints of glow from various lit-up signage, tinctorial flashes washing over them both occasionally, only to be rinsed clean as they pass into astronomical dusk again. Sakura’s hair is surprisingly reflectant, brief notes of neons catching atop pale pink: electric blue, candy red, apple green.

“Naruto’s going to hold you to that bet, you know,” Sakura pipes up to his right once they’ve made it a block away, tilting her head upwards, expression soaked with mirth.

“Tch. Don’t remind me.” She laughs a little in response. It’s a lovely sound, dulcet in his ears.

They’re coming up on a bar that appears to be pretty crowded, people spilling out onto the street outside. Wordlessly, they both change course to cross to the other side of the street, avoiding the gathering of people, for which he is appreciative; he’s still not much one for crowds. They’re almost to the main stretch of road where they’ll turn south to go to Sakura’s; just two more blocks and the people should disperse a bit.

As they cross, Sakura informs him, “I’m pretty sure that’s the one he was talking about, by the way.”

“...Great,” He murmurs, frowning. He really doesn’t drink often. A place like that wouldn’t do much to encourage him to.

“It’s not so bad, if you go on a weeknight. Less people.”

He considers, then questions, “...Have you gone drinking with him?”

She averts her eyes, as if she’s a little embarrassed. “A few times... Usually it’s for celebrations, though, not just us. Birthdays, that sort of thing. I’ve gone with Ino more.” She ponders for a bit longer, as if shuffling through memories. “I guess I’ve gone with him and Kakashi-sensei a couple of times, though we don’t always go to that one. Once we went with Tsunade-shishou to that casino.”

Sasuke is pretty sure he knows the answer to his next question, but he asks it anyway. “...Is he any good at gambling?”

A short but rich giggle blooms from her throat that makes his lip twitch upwards. “No. His betting history is just as bad as shishou. He’s worse at baccarat than she is, actually, which is quite an accomplishment. She hadn’t won in a long time, before she beat him.”

It stands to reason that Naruto would be bad at table games, but the fact that he’s bad at arguably one of the easiest ones to learn amuses him more than it should. “...Will probably be awhile before I get dragged with him, then.”

“Probably,” Sakura agrees.

They turn south towards her apartment, and sure enough, the people milling about in the streets begin to thin. Being a Saturday night, there are more lights on than usual around this time, but they’ve arrived into an area of town that doesn’t really cater to a night crowd like bars do; the lit windows here are mostly residential.

Plants are continuing to unfurl everywhere in Konoha, though the rain tomorrow will probably be good for them. It stands to reason that it will get even more lush, after; perennials are starting to bud back to life, soon to join the annuals already adorning most buildings’ exteriors and windowsills. There’s a breeze picking up tonight, too, slightly shuffling leaves and the fabric of awnings attached to the buildings they walk past, a quiescent whispering that seemingly drowns out the usual sound of crickets. It might be cold enough for soup tomorrow; he’s looking forward to it.

Sakura notices, too. “Kakashi was right; everything is greening up. The rain will do some good tomorrow; we haven’t had some in a bit.”

“...Probably,” he echoes her words from earlier. Her hair is fluttering a little in the wind, too, eye-catching and gossamery. Sasuke wonders if it’s still soft like silk. He had accidentally felt it several times, on various missions when they were younger.

They reach her building, and she noiselessly opens the glass door for him. Sasuke steps aside so she can pass after she shuts it behind them. Then he’s following her up the stairway, something like anticipation unfurling in him, much like the greenery he noticed on the way here.

Sakura unlocks her door, glancing back at him for a moment with her hand lingering on the doorknob. Then she turns to push it open, and he trails behind her carefully.

He follows her into a small enclosed area - a dedicated entryway - with a threshold straight ahead leading into the rest of the space. It is dim until Sakura flips on the light of a compact but surprisingly luminous lamp to their right, and he sees that the entryway area itself is painted the color of pale cream. The floor beneath them is aged wood, light in color, that appears to extend into the rest of the dwelling. A single wall-mounted shelf floats to the left that holds several multifarious storage containers: one woven, one white, one that looks like an antiquated rice basket. Out of the top of the last one peeks the well-worn handle of a spade; it must be gardening supplies. Beneath the shelf are hooks studded to the wall; Sakura is stepping towards them to shrug off her bag and hang it from one of them, next to a green jacket and a red and pink coat with fur trim.

There is a console table made of aged wood that near matches the shelf - white oak, he thinks, because it’s not as richly colored as normal oak - to the right. It might be an antique; it is close in color and stain to the flooring, though not an exact match. Her fiction book from the other day sits atop it, a bookmark protruding from around halfway through its pages; he assumes she must keep any non-work-related library books there, when she’s not reading them. Beneath the table is a patterned rug in neutral tones, on which rest a small collection of sandals that are not entirely lined up straight, as well as a pair of green rainboots. It is the only part of the entryway that does not appear overly organized.

Sasuke begins to toe off his sandals as Sakura does, too. She crosses over to the table and opens up one of the drawers, placing her lanyard of keys inside. “You can set your gifts here, if you’d like,” she offers helpfully, gesturing to the table and sounding almost shy, so he does. He turns to grab his sandals and sets them neatly on the rug beneath the table.

She reaches beyond the enclosing wall to the other side, flipping what must be a lightswitch; the rest of the overhead lights in the next area of space flood on. She angles her head back towards him, shifting her weight to the side a little. “I’m afraid it won’t be as long of a tour as Naruto’s.”

It’s small, but cozy. They step into an open space with a wall trailing to the right and openness extending to the left, which houses her living room. The ceilings are high for an apartment this size; it makes it feel bigger. Two towering bookshelves line the west and south walls, and a small dining table sits in front of the window on the north end, over which hangs a simple but worn pendant light, sap green in color; it is reminiscent of the kinds one usually sees at indoor markets. Between the two spaces lies a comfortable-looking sage green couch, classic but also well-worn, placed in front of a small entertainment center. He notices that the furniture pieces are all of slightly different construction, not a matching set, though the colors of everything are very similar to the flooring. On top of the surfaces are various decorative knick knacks: little glass jars in varied colors with dried flowers, another lamp, a candle. The entire open area is painted a pale, pale desaturated viridian; Sasuke likes the color. From what he can see of the room past the expanse of wall to their right, it is painted a different color - linen white.

“Sai and Ino helped me with the paint colors when I moved in.” She pauses. “Well, Sai helped. Ino mostly just helped narrow down color selection. It needed painting anyways; my landlady said I could do pretty much anything as long as it wasn’t black or something.” She walks over to the lamp on the end table by the sofa, and switches it on. Then she wanders over to switch the pendant light over the table on, too.

Sasuke nods, still absorbing. There is an expanse of framed photos to his right, on the space leading up to what must be the kitchen. There are many, leading all the way down the wall, arranged in more of a collage fashion than straight across. He scans them quickly, and is surprised to see that their original Team Seven photo isn't among them. He knows it must be elsewhere in her apartment; she is too sentimental to not have it displayed somewhere. It makes him consider where he’s going to put the one Kakashi has given him.

“The layout is kind of unique,” Sakura continues, walking back towards him through the living room area. “There’s not really room for a dining table in the kitchen, so that table over there-” She motions towards where she just was, in front of the north window, “-is used for that. It’s kind of nice, that way; you can look out the window when you eat.” Sasuke notes upon further inspection that there are a few small plants sitting in the window there, similar coloring to the ones on her doorstep. A thriving jasmine plant is hung higher up, against the glass, fronds twisting downwards. He finds he can picture Sakura eating there easily.

Sakura crosses over into what he assumes is the kitchen; he follows, and notes as he does so that there is a faint aroma of tea, though it is a challenge to place the flavor. It’s simple, but with nice floor to ceiling white cabinetry, aside from a single area in the corner where there is open shelving of the same wood finish, as well as a window on the east wall, over the sink. This one appears to be lined with a small herb garden, more mismatched terracotta pots perched in the windowsill. The countertops here are also wood, in a similar colorway as the rest of the wood he’s seen so far. Most of what’s stored on the open shelving appears to be general dry goods, flour and sugar and oatmeal in clear containers. There is also a fern-colored teapot, decorated with a white floral design, sitting on the end of the shelf for easiest access; she must make tea often. There is a knife set on the counter, as well as a few ceramic containers holding various utensils such as whisks and wooden spoons. Nothing appears out of place, and there are no dishes in the sink; she must keep it pretty tidy. In the only empty corner, there is what he assumes is a pantry door, as well as a small wooden stool. He realizes then that she must not be tall enough to reach the top of the cupboards.

“Sai said keeping it a lighter color would make it look bigger. I think it helps. It’s pretty nice, otherwise.” She glances at him, then away, slightly flushed as if she’s nervous. He realizes, reciprocally, that he is kind of nervous, too, being in her space with her alone.

“Not much left but the hallway,” she adds after a moment, leading him out of the kitchen and further, to a hallway leading east. There are three doors towards the end of it; one to the left, one in the middle, and one to the right. Two of the three are sitting open; the small room straight ahead holds a stacked washer and dryer, as well as cabinets that match the ones in the kitchen. Once he follows her a few more steps, he sees a hamper, as well. The walls appear to be painted a lilac color in the laundry room, slightly darker in hue than the rest of her space thus far. The flooring is different, too, in the laundry room; a white tile, inlaid with a touch of black sparingly in a symmetrical pattern. The style of it is very in tune with the age of the building, reminiscent of an older time.

“Left door is the bedroom.” She gestures towards the closed door, then points to the next one. “Middle is the laundry room; that’s also where I keep any cleaning stuff, like the broom or mop.” She nods then towards the bathroom, so he steps closer to peer inside; it is painted a light sand color, with the same white tile accented with black, only here it also goes halfway up the wall. “And that’s the bathroom.” The same white cabinets appear here, too. It has a tub/shower combination, and a plain white shower curtain. It appears spotlessly clean. A window lies above the sink on the east wall, with another hanging plant dangling in front of it, towards the corner so it’s not in full light all of the time; it looks like a satin pothos. There is also a small wicker stool, on which are folded powder-white towels, and a small glass tabletop lamp, an interesting statement in a bathroom.

He remembers that there are three lamps she’s turned on already. She must not like hard lighting. He tries to resist the urge to smile, because neither does he.

“It’s nice,” he compliments as they make their way back to the living room area. It’s more than nice; he really likes it. Everything about it is as her as he expected it to be, more of a home than an apartment, eclectic combinations painting a picture very indicative of the life she lives here. Sasuke muses that it is especially characteristic of her that she would like different colors throughout the rooms, and that the colors fit their respective spaces well. He finds himself wondering what color she selected for her room, what color she deemed the most calming, though obviously he would never ask.

A deep blush inks it way onto her skin, and she smiles, seeming very pleased. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” Her gaze flits away, then back again. “Would you want to maybe watch something? I could make some tea, decaf, if you’d like.”

He nods.

“Okay; I can show you what I have.”

They go back into the kitchen. She opens one of the cabinets, the one nearest the teapot; the entire bottom shelf is filled with packaged tea, labeled jars of loose leaf, sugar, and a container of honey. The shelf above it contains teacups that match the teapot, and more jars of loose leaf, though these ones are labeled caffeine free. There are a few small boxes of packaged tea there, too; she must sort them separately based on caffeine content. The third shelf contains a few miscellaneous mugs and glasses. It’s quite a collection; he understands the mixed aromatics of different tea flavors he noticed earlier. It’s unique, enjoyable without being overwhelming, small hints of sweet spice and citrus drifting into the kitchen space more now that the cabinet door is ajar.

“Most of my packaged teas have more specific flavors, desserts and things like that,” Sakura mentions. “For loose leaf, I’ve got quite a few; caffeine-free ones are oolong, chamomile, lemon ginger, jasmine…” She shifts some of the jars to the side of the middle cabinet to reveal the ones behind it. “Silver needle, white coconut creme, Earl Grey, caramelized pear…”

“...Earl Grey sounds good,” Sasuke murmurs, moving slightly out of the way. She tips her head in acknowledgment before pulling that jar down, then reaching for the teapot.

“I’ll make some; I like Earl Grey at night. Do you want any cream or lemon or anything like that in yours? I have some in the fridge.” She moves to start the water boiling, removing the strainer from the teapot before she fills it. After it’s on the stove, she begins sifting loose leaf from the jar into the strainer so it’s ready.

“...Lemon would be good.” He likes adding lemon to Earl Grey; it makes it more tart. He feels like he should help, so he adds, “I’ll get it. Do you want cream in yours?”

Jade eyes flick to his, and her cheeks color a little. “...Yes. It’s on the top shelf of the door. There’s…” She pauses, as if embarrassed. “There’s normal creamer there too, but I have a coconut milk sweet cream that I like with mine. Just a little bit. It’s… meant for coffee, but…” When he smiles knowingly back, she looks away, back towards the teapot.

He opens the fridge; it’s extremely well-stocked. He doesn’t hover too long before he reaches to grab a lemon and the creamer she mentioned from the door’s upper shelf, but he notes there is a large container of strawberry topping on the top shelf towards the front, as well as a clear container with what may be banana nut muffins. She really does have a sweet tooth, he thinks, amused.

He shuts the door, and she procures a small cutting board from another cupboard and a knife to slice the lemon into wedges. She’s also grabbed two teacups, the ones that match the teapot.

“Thank you.” She’s smiling as he sets down the lemon and the creamer. “I can finish making this, if you want to maybe pick what we watch?”

“...What would you like to watch?”

Sakura blinks. “I’m honestly fine with anything. I’ve got some movies in the cabinet of the entertainment center… Otherwise I have cable to flip through, too.”

She must not go to bed too early, since she mentioned movies. He decides to ask. “...When do you usually go to bed?”

Something in her eyes softens. “Usually ten or eleven. It’s my weekend now, though, so I can stay up late, if you pick something longer.”

He nods, and she turns to slice the lemon halves into quarters, so he pads back to her living room. When he opens the cabinet below the television, he finds it nearly filled to the brim with movies. He settles down to siphon through them, skimming through various synopses. He comes across five or six shoved to the corner of one side haphazardly; those must be the ‘bad’ movies she watches with Ino. The rest of them that he finds sound fairly interesting. He ultimately picks one called A Tale of Archery; the summary makes it sound like a period drama with a twist. As he sits there, he tries to remember the last time he watched a movie; it was probably after he returned to Konoha but before he left for his journey, a rather stupid one with Naruto in his old apartment.

This one should be better. He hopes, brows furrowed, that it’s one she likes; he assumes she must like most of them, given that she owns them.

Sasuke stands with it as Sakura comes out with the tea, cups placed on small plates with dainty teaspoons. “Oh, that’s a good one,” she mentions. His heart flutters, and he feels a little less nervous. He puts it into the player on the next shelf before standing as she sets her plate and cup on her coffee table.

“Thank you,” he says softly when she hands him his, two slices of lemon perched on the side.

She smiles at him, dimple appearing, before grabbing the remote and flicking on the television so it starts setting up. “Do you mind if I shut off the overhead lights? I’m... not much one for hard lighting.”

“Not at all.” The space will be well-lit without it, with the lamps.

He takes a seat on the sofa while she walks over near the entryway. Sasuke realizes now that the couch isn’t terribly big; probably just enough for one person to lie down on, if they wanted to. It’s comfortable, as he’d anticipated. He sets his plate and cup on her coffee table so he can squeeze the lemon wedge into it, grabbing the spoon to stir as the overhead lights go out.

With the lights off, it is very cozy.

Sakura takes a seat next to him, not too close, but not the furthest away she could be, either. She fast forwards through the opening portion of advertisements as he stirs.

By the time he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, the opening credits are playing. She sets down the remote and stirs her own cup once more, before also taking a sip.

It’s good; flavorful but not too intense, with a hint of bergamot orange rind and maltiness. The lemon gives it a slightly more acidic twist. He’s not much one for creamer, unless he’s in a rare mood on a cold fall or winter day, but he can see how the coconut milk sweet cream would compliment the taste, if one liked sweet things.

“It’s good,” he murmurs, meeting her eyes for a moment.

She glows at the compliment; he can make out a blush in the dim lighting. He feels his own neck heat up.

The movie is pretty good. It tells the story of a bygone feudal era a long time ago, peasants and samurai and daimyos with estates sprawling across countrysides lined with rice paddies. An archer passes away, and his son follows in his footsteps and becomes respected competitively. The twist is that the father actually went into hiding, and returns at the end of the movie.

It’s close to eleven when it’s over. Their teacups sit on her coffee table, long emptied.

Sasuke feels very content, and a little loath to leave, if he’s being honest. She seems slightly tired when she meets his eyes, though, so he slowly stands and reaches for his plate and cup. She does the same, and he trails after her to the kitchen, following her lead; she empties the lemon rinds into the garbage, so he does too. She then rinses her cup clean in the sink, extending her hand for his after.

“...What time should I come over tomorrow?” He asks in a hushed tone, when she turns to him. He’s not sure if the walls are thin or not, and they’re in the kitchen, so it’s not against her neighbors’ unit or anything, but he still somehow feels he should speak quietly; it’s somewhat dark, dimly lit only by cast light from the lamp in the other room.

Her countenance changes to one of consideration. “I was thinking maybe around eleven? I should have lunch ready around then.” Her eyes flicker to his, and her lips curve upwards; he tries not to look at them too long. “If that’s okay.”

He nods. “I’ll be here, then.”

Her lips curve upwards more. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she offers softly. He turns, and she follows.

“Do you like avocado?” She asks him as they shuffle into her entryway, where he stoops to retrieve his shoes. “I was… thinking about making avocado grilled cheese, to go with the soup.”

He glances upwards. “...I do.” He’s never had a grilled cheese sandwich with avocado before, but it sounds like it would taste good. He wonders again what kind of soup she’ll make; she knows his food preferences well, and she hasn’t asked, so it must be something she knows he’ll like. It makes his heart flip behind his ribcage a little.

“Oh, good. I’ll make that, then.” Her eyes drop down to her feet for a second as he rises back to his full height, sandals situated; it’s hard to tell in the lack of light, just the one lamp turned on in here, but he’s pretty sure she’s blushing again.

Her next words are near a whisper. “Thank you for… hanging out.” Multi-faceted jade seeps into him again, seafoam ebbing around dark pupils. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it, after yearning for it for so long. “I had a nice time.”

He takes a quiet step closer to her, heart suddenly twisting in his chest as he tries to swallow his nerves, because she looks so happy, and it’s making his breath get stuck inside his lungs.

“...Me, too,” he whispers, barely audible before his lips brush hers gently.

It feels different, kissing her in the privacy of her apartment rather than on her doorstep. It’s like they can finally take their time, no real chance of interruption. His mind comes up with the word intimate, and his neck warms. Her mouth is all plush affection, bergamot and lemon and a subtle sweetness, stirred, that isn’t too much, accented by berry. It makes him want to try all of the varieties she has in her cabinet, even the sweet ones, just to see what they taste like on her lips in the hours that follow.

Delicate hands brush his shoulders, fingertips skimming the lower part of his neck, subtle beckoning but also gentle, respectful of boundaries, so he decides to corrode, give in and do something that he has wanted to do for a very long time. He cups her cheek with his hand, careful and barely there, gingerly sweeping a thumb over flushed skin, gliding atop a freckle that rests further back on her cheekbone. He’s had it memorized since they were kids.

The strands of pink he inadvertently touches are as soft as he remembers.

Her face is ablaze when they draw back from each other, tender smile and viridescent eyes laced with ardency just for him. Warmth pools in his belly as he studies her, decay long soothed and forgotten as he carefully strokes her cheek once more before he pulls away.

“...Good night, Sakura.”

The dimple makes one last appearance for the evening. “Good night, Sasuke-kun.”

XXX

Sasuke opens the first aid kit upon his return to his apartment, having been curious about what was in it all evening. Vines grasp his heartstrings as he discovers what’s inside.

There are two jars of loose leaf sencha tea that he’s sure came from the tea place they’d visited together a few days ago; one is labeled caffeinated, the other decaffeinated. Along with it is a basic tea infuser, new in its package. There are also three blue packages of cough drops, mentho-lyptus flavor, so they won’t be sweet.

Jade irises, he thinks, are also mollifying, for when the corrosion is done, an aether easily risen into, floating to the top.

Sasuke brews a mug of the jar labeled decaffeinated to enjoy before he goes to bed, a helpful succedaneum with which to conclude an evening well spent. It's not exactly the same shade of green, he thinks, before taking it to his living room so he can look out his window as he savors it, but it's close.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #longest chapter to date lmao #tw: self harm #tw: implied/referenced self-harm

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costellos · 3 years

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a/n: the Crusaders have a very special place in my heart during the holidays. I finished Part 3 around this time last year, and things were a lil rough then. as a result, I wanted to focus on happier things for this year! so without further ado, here are ya fav globe-trotting boys and their fav holiday traditions.

tw: mentions of death and alcohol in Polnareff’s section.

❥ ┋ ❝ stardust crusaders & their favorite holiday traditions to do with you!

joseph joestar.

Joseph’s favorite holiday tradition is putting up Christmas lights.

the eldest Joestar is really obnoxious when it comes to holiday traditions. while he loves them all, he has a particular affinity for decking out his house in elaborate light displays. it brings him a lot of good memories from when Holly and Jotaro were still young.

that said, he has to get you involved in helping him. he pulls out the biggest boxes from storage and drops them at your feet. despite his being a literal millionaire, it feels very... suburban. not that you mind. you knew exactly what you were getting into when it came to Joseph. that childish zeal for everything keeps you on your toes, and while putting up lights may not be the most fun activity in the world, his boisterous laugh makes you think otherwise.

Joseph’s smiling ear-to-ear as you help him, especially when you set up an LED wire reindeer without his help. but nothing will top that toothy grin when you’re standing side-by-side, right in front of the house, and he plugs in the displays.

the house erupts into a flurry of colors ― blues, reds, whites, greens ― too many for you to count. that LED wire reindeer comes to life, with its head slowly rising and falling. and the trees, all laced with bulbs that mimic stars more than tacky lights from Home Depot, twinkle and dance to the displays around them. it’s beautiful. (and like him, a little obnoxious.)

you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, pulling you to Joseph’s enormous figure. though his smile is unwavering, his gaze isn’t on the house in front of you. no, it’s on you yourself. for all the sweat and effort you both put into this, his attention still falls back to you. ↳ “haha! there you have it. you have a real knack for this, kiddo. couldn’t’ve done it without you. ...now let’s go back inside, I can’t feel my damn fingers...!”

muhammad avdol.

Avdol’s favorite holiday tradition is drinking hot chocolate.

though he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, Avdol enjoys the traditions that come with it for you. his personal favorite is drinking something hot after a long day. Cairo may be in the desert, but it still gets quite chilly at night!

he usually opts for tea in the evening (masala chai being his favorite), but he’s starting to warm up to hot chocolate. while American hot chocolate is far too sweet for him, a pinch of cayenne pepper and a little cinnamon makes it more tolerable.

it’s become something of a challenge to get him to drink hot chocolate. it’s not his first choice. sure, he’ll still drink it if you offer, but you’re quick to notice that small grimace as he takes his first sip. you’ve taken it as a sign to make something delicious for him. so you go back to the basics: cayenne and cinnamon. considering Avdol’s distaste for overly sweet foods, you opt to make the beverage out of semi-sweet chocolate. mix it all together with some warm milk, add a cinnamon stick and some nutmeg at the top, and you’ve got the key to Avdol’s heart.

you place it proudly in front of him. this has to be it. you know him well enough to recognize his tastes. yet when he rests his mug against his lips, taking that first sip... you can’t read him. his features are still.

truth be told, it’s exactly the kind of drink he’d love. damn. you nailed his tastes a little too well. but he's not going to admit defeat. seeing you try so hard to impress him in a desperate attempt to share your culture with him... it’s heartwarming. he doesn’t want it to end. so he sends you a click of his tongue, a sly grin, and the shake of his head. ↳ “it tastes much better, but I think something is missing... why don’t we try to find it together?”

jotaro kujo.

Jotaro’s favorite holiday tradition is eating Christmas cake.

Christmas cake is just a strawberry shortcake. it’s a simple dessert, something that most Japanese families eat around the holidays. Holly’s become a master at baking it. and while Jotaro doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, he loves Christmas cake.

the only thing he loves more than Christmas cake is his family, though he’d never admit it outwardly. he has a lot of fond memories of eating Christmas cake right after dinner. sometimes if he behaved well enough Holly would sneak him a slice before then. even now he gets a warm feeling seeing all his favorite people together, sharing the fruits of Holly’s kitchen labors.

and because he’s dating you, you’re one of those people, too. the invite is casual; he makes it sound like you can come if you have nothing better to do. so of course you come. you show up at his house, smile in tow, eager to celebrate with him and his own family. (but let’s be real, Holly has adopted you as one of her own ― his family is as much as yours now.)

that same warm feeling creeps up on him as he watches you and Holly bake the cake. you look so happy here, so natural, as if you were always meant to be a part of this household. he won’t smile back at you. no, if you catch him staring, he’ll just dip his head and turn away. you know by now that he’s happy too, however.

when it comes time to eat, Jotaro won’t say anything. he’ll let his mom, Joseph, and Suzie Q do their little pre-feast speech, rambling some bullshit about tradition and midnight Mass. but when he looks back at you, standing there at his side, that warm feeling bubbles in his stomach once more. you belong here. this is where you’re meant to be: right here, with him, placed so perfectly within his own family. ↳ “hey. you know you can come back whenever. being surrounded by all this noise is actually tolerable when you’re here.”

noriaki kakyoin.

Kakyoin’s favorite holiday tradition is exchanging presents.

though his family isn’t Christian, Kakyoin fondly remembers his parents exchanging presents every year. small things, tiny trinkets and letters to express their love for one another. as such, he’s always wanted to celebrate it with someone special. he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t romanticized the holiday.

as such, he’s beyond excited to celebrate it with you. he tries to keep his cool about the whole affair, but his eyes are bright and he refuses to let go of your hand as he pulls you through the streets of Tokyo.

the city is decked out in all sorts of light displays, from hanging icicles to flashy LEDs. mascots line the streets delivering candy canes with advertisements for local restaurants. the smell of chocolate is evident throughout every street you turn on.

but the city is only part of it. a big part of the date, yes, but Kakyoin has the finale all planned out. he brings you to a shrine outside of the hustle and bustle. it’s a bit of a hike and it’s dimly lit, though you figure that’s why no one else is up here. he sits you down on a short bench, short enough for you to be sitting shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the city below. that’s when he gives it to you:

it’s a small gold box wrapped with a red ribbon. fancy, you think to yourself. with his teasing you to just open it, though, you get to work pulling apart the red ribbon. you’re not sure what to expect. Kakyoin’s not one for brands, nor does he like anything flashy himself. had he gotten you something like that...? yet when you open the box, what stares back is a cassette tape. of course. he’s far more thoughtful than you gave him credit for. ↳ “clichéd, I know. but every time I hear any of these songs, all I can think of is you. I can, ah... I can play it for you when we get back.”

jean pierre polnareff.

Polnareff’s favorite holiday tradition is shopping for presents.

shopping for presents is a melancholy activity. it was a tradition he had with Sherry, to go about the nearest market and pick out the best gifts for their family and friends. she’s been gone for a while now. even still, it hurts all the same.

he’s beyond thankful that he has you. you don’t try to get him to forget about her, but you also don’t let him to wallow in self-pity. you honor her memory, letting him reminisce about better times. likewise, you’re more than happy to accompany him on his shopping trip.

Polnareff is quiet for most of the trip. it’s uncharacteristic of him, and if you’re being honest, a little uncomfortable. though you know he’s doing his best to focus. you can tell from the way his gloved fingers stay laced with yours, his grip tightening just the slightest to remind you that he’s still present.

you try to cheer him up by getting a spiced wine and offering to share with him. and. jesus christ. his eyes just light up. it’s that cute, couple-y shit that he loves and you did it for him like it was nothing. from then on, Polnareff is a little less mopey. more lighthearted. the Polnareff you know and so deeply love, back at it with his high-spirited self.

he stops you when it’s time to return home. shopping bags rest in his grip, with the faintest tint of red on his upper lip from all the wine. you’re pretty exhausted ― both from shopping and trying to keep him happy ― and he knows this, yet he stops you nonetheless. it’s a quick affair, where he puts a simple, glass heart ornament in your palm, the date written in silvery letters. oh? he must have gotten it when you weren’t looking. ↳ “you’ve helped me a lot today. you know that, vérité? I just... want to remember this day forever.”

#stardust crusaders #jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jotaro kujo #Noriaki Kakyoin #Joseph Joestar #Jean Pierre Polnareff #Muhammad Avdol #part 3 #part 3!joseph #part 3!jotaro #alcohol /#death /#a holiday hooha with toya #toya whisks u away #headcanons #stardust crusaders (group)#long post #i'll put a read more on this after 24 hrs as always!

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sweetalnazar · 3 years

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After an eternity, I updated!

CHAPTER 2: A HOUSE, A SHOP AND A HOME

Summary: After the defeat of the Devil, Aisha and Salim catch up on all they’ve missed, including the fate of the home once shared with Asra

4.3k words. Family Fluff/Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Tw for discussions of trauma and abandonment

Lowkey Mine/Asra/Muriel.

Other Notes:

- Mine uses she/they, but only ‘they’ in this setting. Asra alternates between ‘he’ and ‘they’

- 'Foreign' words are generally not italicized, to reflect the multilingual nature of the characters

––––

Chapter 1 || Read on AO3 || Tip Jar 🌟

Their home was no more.

In Aisha’s memory, on her street by the heart of Center City, was the little two-storey house squished between a bathhouse and an apothecary, the place she called home.

The kebab stall down the street, the scent of smoked lamb drifting through the air as she passed it by on the way to the palace. The neighbour opposite her, who grew a rich garden on her balcony with her wife, and gave Aisha a flower each time they met. The sound of the neighbourhood children kicking balls in the streets and chasing each other in the evenings.

The creak of the door hinges that never agreed with Salim’s oils, no matter what formula he used. The colorful tapestries from their families, a parting gift, that decorated the walls, as well as the numerous paintings, from Salim’s hand, from Aisha’s, and of course, Asra’s. The music echoing through their house in the evenings, the strumming of her qanun and Asra’s little hand beating on the riq, Salim’s beautiful voice accompanying.

All of it, every single bit of the house that held all these memories, had been reduced to rubble and broken brick, just like the rest of their neighbourhood.

There was a year of powerful lightning storms in Vesuvia that had led to fire, and the crowded buildings smooshed together, unprepared for such a hazard, was like kindling in a fireplace. Flames engulfed everything in their path, and when they couldn’t, the burning buildings and structures collapsed on their neighbours, leading to almost their entire neighbourhood being destroyed.

According to Asra, he and Muriel––one of his partners––had run away to the east docks during the blaze, closer to water where it was safer. When they returned, there was barely anything left of the neighbourhood, much less the house.

Salim gulped his tea down, to the point he started coughing. Aisha thumped him, once, before switching to alternating between patting and rubbing his back.

“T-that’s something, Asra,” he said, the shock still clear on his face.

“Haha, yeah…” Asra stared awkwardly at his own teacup.

“Revani anyone?” Mine interrupted, holding a plate of brown squares, topped with crushed walnuts and pistachios. “I got a really good recipe from Selasi, so me, Asra and Muriel tried making some.”

Grateful for the interruption, all three at the table took a piece each.

It had been a month or so since the defeat of the Devil, the triumphant return of Asra and Mine, and at long last, Aisha and Salim were catching up on what they had missed since their disappearance almost two decades ago.

The two of them had asked Asra to see their old home, the very first house they had moved in as young newly-weds ready to start their new life.

Instead, he had brought them to the magic shop.

He had gestured for them to sit in a corner of the shop, where a couch and armchairs surrounded a rickety table opposite the counter. While Salim and Aisha took the couch, he had taken an armchair, the one closer to his mother’s side.

With Mine perching on the armrest by his side, and Muriel––quiet as always––sitting by the counter, Asra began regaling the tale of the house’s fate; from the landlord kicking him out, to new tenants, to its demise.

While the palace had remained constant, almost assuring in how little it had changed, much of the city had transformed.

The Coliseum cast shadows across Goldgrave, obstructing the view of the arts district and its colorful antics. Red Street, once the pride of the Heart District and the Count, had been abandoned. Meanwhile, the bustling Shopping District had turned sullen and gloomy, the overflowing waterways mirroring its new name of the Flooded District.

Then there was the little island far off-shore that loomed on the edge of the city, a reminder of darker times. Even the land itself had not stayed the same, the ebony, almost black sands of Ash Beach now bleached gray by the remains of the deceased.

Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but change.

Old stores and restaurants Aisha and Salim had frequented were long gone, the shops now on their fourth or fifth newest venture.There was almost no trace of the Vesuvia Aisha had come to love, the city she had stepped into for her first big project away from home; when she and Salim had been young, newly married and determined to prove their skill away from their families.

Or at least away from Aisha’s family, the renowned Alnazar name.

“Basbousa,” Salim spoke, breaking her train of thought.

She stared down at the cake in hand. Below the brown crust was a familiar buttery yellow.

“I thought I recognized the smell!” Salim went on, holding his piece up enthusiastically.

“It’s a little burnt, sorry,” Mine apologized. “We weren’t sure how hot the oven needed to be, since well, none of us usually bake.”

As Salim and Mine continued making small talk, Aisha took a bite, and her eyes widened.

“Orange blossom syrup,” she said, surprised.

“Just like you made it,” Asra said. He gestured to the cup of orange blossom syrup to the side. “Pour half the syrup while it’s hot––”

“And leave the rest for serving,” she finished. Her chest tightened, a little, and she smiled down at the small square cake.

“I––I didn’t actually remember the name,” Asra confessed. “People in Vesuvia call it ‘revani’, but I always called it the orange blossom cake. Or the cake with semolina butter.”

Aisha laughed. “I remember! You were always trying to eat the entire butter slab while we were baking.”

“What do you mean ‘trying’? They were halfway through their second slab when we caught them that one time,” Salim pointed out.

“Asra!” Mine exclaimed, staring at them with wide eyes. “You didn’t .”

“It tasted nice when I was little,” Asra shrugged. “I liked how the texture felt when I gnashed the butter between my teeth.”

From the counter, there was a snort, and Aisha could have sworn Muriel mumbled, “...typical” under his breath.

Meanwhile, Mine rose to their feet, taking a couple of cakes on their plate, and went over to the counter, squeezing Asra’s hand before they left.

Salim took a few more pieces, munching happily, and Aisha did the same, placing another square on her plate.

“Back to our original topic,” Aisha said, “what happened to the house after that?”

“Oh.” Asra stopped, putting down his plate and taking a quick gulp of tea. “Well, it was kind of abandoned for a long time. Until Melaka––that’s Mine’s aunt––came along.”

“Then…”

Asra nodded. “That’s right. She built the shop right over where the house was.” He leaned back in his chair, and pulled the shimmery curtains behind him away to reveal the view from the large open window.

At the back of the shop, hidden by the tall storefront and the surrounding walls, was a courtyard. Garments flapped gently in the breeze from the clotheslines in the center, the clothing all different sizes. To one side, there was a collection of beakers and jars, as well as larger rectangular containers. They were all filled with dirt, plants of various sizes and types sprouting from them.

“Is that––” Salim squinted, “––another building back there?”

“That’s the kitchen,” Mine said.

“Our main kitchen,” Asra clarified. “It’s where we put the ice box and the big stove and everything. There’s a sitting room too, to eat together.”

Aisha blinked, playing over Asra’s last sentence in her mind.

Had that been an invitation?

“Oh, that’s where Lucia and Hayrünnisa used to live,” Salim said. “Nisa would always give you seeds when she saw you, Asra.”

“Seeds?” Aisha said. “Didn’t she usually give them those little flower crowns and rings?”

Asra’s eyes darted down, looking sheepish.

“Oops, sorry, Asra. It was supposed to be a secret.”

“What was?” Mine said, leaning over the counter, their elbows almost at the edge. Muriel pulled them back, but they stayed standing, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“I think we’ve heard enough about my childhood,” Asra said, red dusting his cheeks.

“No, we haven’t!” Mine said. “Right, Muriel?”

Muriel nodded. If Aisha hadn’t known any better, she would have said his smile was almost teasing.

“It’s not as embarrassing as you think it was, Asra,” Salim said. “It was very sweet in fact.”

Asra pursed his lips, looking conflicted.

Aisha reached out, slowly taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. Asra snapped his head to look at her, startled.

“Habibi, we don’t have to talk about it if you truly don’t want to,” she told him gently. “But I must admit...I would very much love to hear this little secret of yours.”

Asra chuckled, squeezing her hand back before she released him. “OK, mom. I guess...it has been long enough.”

“Tell us!” Mine said, bouncing faster now, the pink-tipped dark curls resting on their shoulders bouncing higher.

“..calm down,” Muriel muttered, almost fondly, as he placed a hand on their rotund hip and attempted to get them to sit.

“Now for the story,” Asra clapped his hands, his face still a little red as he began. “I saw er, Nisa––”

“Aunty Nisa,” Salim corrected.

“Yeah, Aunty Nisa was always giving you flowers, mom, and I, I wanted to do that too. A whole bouquet of flowers that I grew on my own.”

“You wanted to make a big balcony garden just like hers.” Salim shook his head. “It took a while to talk you down too.”

“It’s true,” Asra laughed. “Dad convinced me to start small. He would let me borrow the beakers and jars from your lab. We’d get some dirt and I’d put them on the ledge under my window where you couldn’t see.”

“So that’s where all our equipment went!” Aisha said, smiling at her husband. She placed an arm around his shoulder, pressing herself closer. “And here I was, half-convinced you were melting them down for some explosive new experiment.”

“Aisha, I would never.”

She gave him a knowing look.

“...without telling you first, that is.”

“That is true. I do dislike not being privy to the workings of your beautiful mind, ya qalbi.”

“Of course, ya a’youni. How could I ever do anything without my eyes to guide me so?”

For a while, there was silence, as Aisha and Salim gazed lovingly at each other, lost in the other’s eyes.

Up until Muriel cleared his throat, mumbling, “...Getting mushy must run in the family.”

“Shh, Muriel,” Mine whispered loudly, elbowing him. “It’s romantic . Let them be!”

“Anyway,” Asra said, “So that’s my little secret, mom. I hope you, er, liked it?”

“I loved it, habibi. Thank you, it was very sweet.”

“We should try that again.” Mine bounded up to the chair, settling on the armrest again. “Growing a flower garden. We could get a few more beakers––oh, a proper plant bed maybe? Portia has a great garden, we could ask her for tips and stuff!”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Um, I mean, if you’d like, mom and dad.”

Aisha blinked, confused for a moment, until the meaning clicked. “You want us to garden...together?”

“Only if you want to,” Asra quickly clarified. “It’s fine if you don’t, it really is.”

“Not at all, Asra,” Salim said. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

Aisha nodded firmly.

Asra smiled, then faltered, looking down. Before either Salim or Aisha could ask him what was the matter, he had pulled Mine close, whispering into their ear.

They bobbed their head, before their attention turned to Aisha and Salim. “We were also wondering if the two of you wouldn’t mind joining us for dinner sometime. Yknow, once in a while, we could sit down around the table and um, just enjoy a family meal.”

“A little get-together sort of thing,” Asra added. “Nothing special.”

“Oh, but habibi, that is something special,” Aisha said. “We, we haven’t really had anything like that in a long time.”

“Y-you don’t have to––”

“We want to,” Aisha and Salim said simultaneously.

“Asra,” Aisha began, “We have missed so much, too much, of your life. Every moment we can share with you, even in the littlest ways, they are precious.”

“We can’t make up all that lost time,” Salim said. “But we are going to try and make the most of our present. We can only spend so long lamenting our losses. We want to move forward...with you, Asra, if possible.”

Asra’s eyes glistened in the soft sunlight filtering through the curtain, and Mine put an arm around him, a reassurance.

“There’s no rush, of course,” Aisha said. “We can go at your pace, as you like.”

“N-no, it’s not, it’s not that.”

He cleared his throat, wiping at the corner of his eye with his thumb. Mine undid one of the clothknots from their fingers and offered it, which Asra accepted and dabbed at his eyes.

“Muri, come over here,” Asra waved. “I want you to be closer for this.”

“...fine.”

Muriel shuffled over, chair in hand, before placing it down next to Asra and taking a seat. There was another empty armchair, across from Asra, but it seemed both his partners wanted to stay close to him right now.

Asra took a deep breath, his thumb running over Mine’s knuckles, before he started speaking.

“Mom, dad, I, I spent a long time alone. It was...it wasn’t easy. I had Muri, but we barely got by, especially when we were younger.”

Aisha swallowed, one hand gripping the edges of her hijab as she braced her heart. Neither she nor Salim were not technically at fault, but nonetheless, how could she not feel pain or guilt or grief over what her child, her precious little one, had been forced to go through in the absence of his parents?

How could she not feel responsible for the pain Asra had gone through?

“We had good times, Muri and I, but––but there were a lot of days that hurt. There were a lot of days that were painful and scary.” Another inhale, Mine squeezing his hand. “...But what hurt most of all was wondering if, if you had left me alone on purpose.”

“Asra,” Salim breathed, the shock in his tone mirroring Aisha’s own. “We would never.”

“I know. I know that now. But when I was little and afraid, I had no idea. You just suddenly never came home, and sometimes––sometimes I wondered if it was me. That I had done something wrong, or if there was something wrong with me that made you want to leave.”

Salim opened his mouth to speak, but Aisha raised a hand, wordlessly gesturing for him to wait. Asra still had more to say.

“For the longest time, I believed no one would stay for me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, dropping into his lap like little pearls, and his lips quivered as he said, “Because you two didn’t stay.”

Asra closed his eyes, exhaling, while more tears dripped down. Muriel passed a handkerchief to Mine, who promptly wiped at Asra’s cheeks.

“T-thanks, Mine, Muri,” he mumbled.

After wiping away most of his tears, Asra raised his head, meeting Aisha and Salim’s gazes.

“Mom, dad, it’s not your fault, but it took me a long time to let people in again. To actually let people love all of me, instead of keeping a part of myself out of their reach so I wouldn’t get hurt. I––I’m actually still afraid, of letting people in. What if they get tired of me? What if they don’t want me anymore? What then?”

Asra had every right to be angry, to be upset, but to Aisha’s astonishment, a smile spread across his face, his expression growing brighter with each word.

“But I don’t want to be held back by my fears anymore. Even if I am afraid, I––I still want to try. Mom, dad, I want to try at us being a family again. I know it won’t be easy, and I know there will be a lot of times where things don’t go the way we planned. Despite that...would you still want to try with me?”

“Of course,” Aisha and Salim answered immediately.

“Asra...you’ve been through so much,” Salim said. “I am so, so sorry for what we put you through. I know the situation was out of our control, but not a day goes by that we don’t regret leaving you alone. You were so young, we should have been there to protect you, to help you.”

“But we weren’t,” Aisha said, unballing her fist and letting her hijab fall back into place. “Habibi, your scars run deep, and neither our apologies or efforts are enough to heal each and every past hurt. You can be angry or bitter towards us, we both understand. Regardless, we will always love you.”

Salim nodded. “No matter what. We might disagree with each other, or argue until our voices go hoarse, or even hate each other for a time, but no matter what happens, our love will never change.”

“To put it simply,” Aisha said, “nothing would make us happier than to try together with you, Asra, to be a family again.”

Asra’s hands flew to his face and he doubled over in the chair, white curls touching his knees.

“Asra?!” Mine and Muriel exclaimed, Muriel jumping to his feet to come closer.

Then, Asra lifted his head, and Aisha understood his reaction.

His cheeks were completely damp, tears flowing freely, along with snot running from his nose. His body quivered with soft sobs he was barely holding in, both his partners hugging him on either side.

He had been such a messy crier as a child, and some things didn’t change.

“I––I’m sorry, I’m just...I’m f––feeling a lot of things right now,” he managed to choke out, attempting a wobbly smile.

“There, there,” Mine said, rubbing his back, while Muriel poured water into his teacup.

Once he had calmed down, though his eyes were still watery, he continued.

“Thanks, mom, dad. Thank you….for everything. I, I never thought I would hear you say that and I just…”

Mine patted his shoulder. “There, there, sayang. We get it. Go at your own pace.”

He rested his head on their chest. “Thank you, dearheart. And you, Muri, love.”

Muriel grunted. He had gone back to sit down, but his chair had been moved closer, in case Asra needed quick comforting once more.

Aisha smiled. “Seems to me like you’ve certainly found many who love you dearly.”

“And I’m lucky for each and every one.”

“As we’re lucky to have you, Asra,” Salim said. “Thank you, habibi, for being the sweetest, kindest and loveliest child there ever was.”

He laughed weakly. “Dad, stop.”

“It is true though,” Aisha said. “Take my word for it, I’m never wrong.”

Asra chuckled and shook his head, affection clear in the gesture. “Mom, dad...I love you. So much.”

Aisha blinked, her vision becoming watery now. She leaned over, grasping Asra’s hand.

Together, she and Salim said, “We love you too.”

The hours seemed to fly by as the conversation carried on, the edges of the blue sky starting to bleed orange soon enough. When Aisha pointed it out, Asra stammered out an invitation to stay for dinner tonight, and Mine jumped to their feet in excitement, suggesting all of them could even cook together.

Naturally, Aisha and Salim happily accepted.

When Asra asked what they would like to eat, Aisha took one look at her husband, and in unison, they answered, “Lamb fatteh!”

In Zadithi tradition, fatteh was a celebratory dish of rice and toasted pita bread, piles of mutton crowning the top and accompanied by savory sauces. Around many parts of the country, it was the Mahrajan dish, for the Mahrajan Qurban, or the Mahrajan Saum.

Aisha had many a happy memory of breaking her fast to a plate piled high with falafel and fatteh and roasted eggplant, family and friends and loved ones all around her, and she could not help but wish her child could also have such wonderful memories too, even if it was a little late.

By sunset, the shop’s kitchen was a mess of splatters and ingredients strewn about, rice sticking to Aisha's hijab while the dark curls of Salim's fringe had stains of tomato paste. Yet at the same time, there was laughter and chatter resounding throughout the whole building, never quiet for a single moment.

And despite the mess, the fatteh turned out beautifully, looking gorgeous as Salim and Muriel brought it out on its large dish, almost dominating the entire coffee table.

Asra closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Quietly, he said, “I haven’t smelled this in years. It’s just as wonderful as I remember.” He opened his eyes, turning to his parents. “I could never find the recipe to make it just like yours.”

“It’s the eggplant,” Salim said, brushing the last of the rice off her hijab. “Your mother loves them.”

Aisha laughed. “It’s the best part. My abi would make it like that.”

“My...grandfather?"

She nodded, her gaze becoming wistful. “It’s been such a while since we’ve seen my family. Your family, Asra. We are planning to reconnect soon...if you would want to.”

Asra bit his lip.

“You don’t have to, habibi,” Salim quickly said. “They are your family regardless, but you don’t have to force yourself into anything.”

“I’ll think about it….but maybe, I would like to meet them. Someday.”

Beside Asra, Mine bumped his shoulder, done with tying Muriel's hair back into a ponytail. “Baby steps, love. Take your time,” they said.

On Asra's other side, Muriel nodded in agreement. With his bangs out of his face, Aisha could see the softness beneath his gruff exterior, the love reflected in the green of his irises as he gazed at his partners. Truly, her child was surrounded by such wonderful people.

“Mine’s right,” Aisha spoke. “You can take your time, Asra. Whether it’s finding your roots in Zadithi, or connecting with us here in Vesuvia, your family isn’t going anywhere.”

Asra’s smile was soft and small, but radiant. “Thanks, mom.”

“Speaking of, can we start digging in yet?” Mine piped up. “I’m starving, and this fatteh smells wayyy too good for just staring at it.”

The rest of the table guffawed, even Muriel chuckling under his breath.

“Dig in, everyone!” Salim said

After reciting a tasmiya, they all began their meal, scooping up piles of rice and bread and lamb and eggplant, drizzling their dishes with ladles of tomato sauce and garlic sauce.

As Aisha was halfway through her plate, Muriel told Asra, “You never did finish the story about the house.”

Asra put down his fork, surprise clear on his face. “Huh? What did I leave out?”

“Why it took so long for this place to be built.”

Asra’s cheeks flushed at this, in a way Aisha was starting to recognize.

“Asra Alnazar,” she said, “what did you do this time?”

“ Nothing ,” he said, though his expression was sheepish. “Things just...took a while. No one wanted this palace until Melaka came along. Once she did, she bought this lot and the one behind, and well, she rebuilt.”

“Despite Asra’s best efforts,” Mine whispered to Muriel, grinning.

“What do you mean?” Aisha asked, ears sharp as ever, before turning to Asra. “Habibi, what do they mean?

The blush grew deeper, his cheeks aflame, and he looked away.

“Go on, Asra,” Muriel said, a little quiet, but a small, teasing smile tugging on his usually downturned mouth. “Tell them all about the hauntings.”

“The what ?” Salim exclaimed.

Asra covered the lower half of his face with his hands, his cheeks aflame now.

Mine cackled. “Go on, Asra. I’m sure your parents will love this.”

With a sigh, he relented. “So, dad, mom, after the landlord kicked me out, I may have been, well, scaring all the new tenants away.”

“With an actual ghost?” Salim said.

“N–no, that was just me, doing some magic. Playing some pranks.”

“Scaring every single resident half to death,” Mine said.

“And sending them scurrying out in the middle of the night,” Muriel added.

“Yes, that.” Asra cleared his throat, continuing in a quieter voice, “And I may have also...committed property damage after Melaka first moved in.”

“ What?! ” Aisha said, her voice going shrill, trying to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “Asra!”

“Don’t forget breaking and entering,” Muriel chimed in.

“Trespassing too~” Mine sang. “I’m surprised auntie didn’t curse you into a toad or something.”

Asra glanced from one partner to the other. “Tonight is just about dredging up my entire embarrassing history, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mine and Muriel replied.

“And we’re enjoying every bit of it,” Mine said, Muriel bobbing his head as well.

“So what happened next?” Aisha interjected. “Were you caught by Miss Melaka?”

“Yep,” Muriel said.

“I was,” Asra admitted. “And then…”

The night passed with stories of past memories, both the ones Aisha and Salim knew, and those they didn’t. And while a part of Aisha’s heart still panged at how much she had missed, she couldn’t help the joy and delight blossoming in her chest.

Perhaps they could not take back the past.

But to be allowed to be a part of Asra’s present, to be able to learn about the sort of person her child used to be and the person he was now, it was a gift beyond measure.

And to know that they were still a family, that he still had a place in his life for them after all these years?

It was beyond her wildest dreams.

––––

Notes Disclaimer: I'm not Middle Eastern or Arab, and much of this is pulled from the internet as well as some of my own basic knowledge as a Malaysian Muslim. Please feel free to correct anything.

Qanun: A type of stringed instrument found across the Middle East, Asia, Africa and southeastern Europe. Riq: A type of tambourine and a traditional instrument in Arab music. It's the national musical instrument of Pakistan Revani/Basbousa: A type of sweet cake popular in the Middle East, and has many names Fatteh: A type of dish that is served differently depending on region. In Egypt, it is a type of feast meal

Abi (ابي): Arabic, from abu (أب)/father, meaning 'my father' Habibi (حبيبي): Arabic, from huub (حب)/love, meaning 'my love' Ya Qalbi (قلبي): Arabic, from qalb (قلب)/heart, meaning 'my heart' Ya A'youni (عيونى): Arabic, from a'in (عين)/eye, meaning 'my eyes', an affectionate petname. *Ya is a word often placed before names/nouns, ie 'Ya Aisha' or 'Ya Habibi'. The closest translation I understand is akin to saying "O Aisha", but not quite accurate

Mahrajan (مهرجان) : Arabic, meaning festival. Eid, the biggest celebrations of the Muslim world, can also translate to festival and in this story, Mahrajan is essentially fantasy!Eid. Mahrajan Qurban refers to Eid ul Adha, while Mahrajan Saum refers to Eid ul Fitri Tasmiya (تَسْمِيَّة): Arabic, a fantasy equivalent to the Basmala. In Muslim tradition, it is common to utter a Basmala before carrying out a task such as before eating

Clothknots: Mine has ADHD and to help with their forgetfulness, they often tie clothknots around their fingers to serve as reminders Sayang: Malay, meaning 'love'. Here, it's used as a petname

#the arcana game #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fan apprentice #asra alnazar #muriel (the arcana)#aisha alnazar #salim alnazar #trauma discussion tw #i absolutely adored writing this #it was such a palette cleanser!#i hope yall like this too #mimi's originals #writing by the mims

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mrs-hilmarson · 3 years

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Run To Me (Part 4)

Pairing: Diane Sherman x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

TW: Brief mention of vomiting. I don’t want anyone getting triggered, so I would rather be overly cautious!

A/N: If you would like to be on a tag list for this fic, please add a comment below or shoot me a message! Excited about the next chapter, things are coming. Again thank you for the love. I am having so much fun writing this and it means even more when you have people who enjoy reading it!

Even though it had been four whole days since the accident, you were not feeling better. Diane had said that the day after was supposed to be the worst, but it seemed like you felt weaker each day. Diane was keeping a close eye on you though, making sure you weren't running a fever and that the road rash and cuts weren't getting worse. She said if you got any weaker, she would bring you to the local urgent care to make sure something serious wasn't going on.

Though you weren't feeling well, you enjoyed the days spent with Diane in the quiet little house, just the two of you. You had learned a lot about each other in the past few days, developing a routine with one another that always ended the day with a cup of that nasty ass tea, but deep and sweet conversation.

You hadn't gone into too much detail about your past quite yet, about your mother or father or what it was like in the foster home. You shared mainly surface level things and funny memories that were light hearted. You knew the heavier stuff would be discussed eventually. Although you were choosing to keep the painful memories of your past to yourself for the time being, Diane had opened to you almost immediately.

You found out she didn't have parents either, her mother dying when she was a child and she was married when she was very young, to an abusive husband that left her for another woman only a year and a half into the marriage. Soon after she found out she was pregnant and she decided to not reach out to her ex-husband and to just raise the baby on her own. Unfortunately she developed high blood pressure and delivered the baby too soon, and she died in Diane's arms before she even had time to discuss options. Her name was Chloe and Diane chose to live a quiet life after that. She moved to Washington only a few years ago and put herself into teaching, science, and her garden. She always wanted a child, but she was just never able have one again.

When she told you that, your heart broke for her. Of course she was so willing to take you home with her. She was lonely! She had promised to take care of you, but you knew as soon as you were back on your feet, you were going to try and care for her too. In whatever way she would let you. You weren't Chloe, and you could never be Chloe, but you could love her with all your heart.

It had been another rough day, as you had suddenly developed a bad headache and had felt queasy for most of it. You didn't really eat much of your dinner, pushing it around your plate. You didn't want to tell Diane you had vomited up breakfast. If she knew you were barely keeping things down, she may get worried.

Diane cleared the plates from the table and brought them to the sink. She noticed you didn't eat more than a few bites. She didn't say anything but turned to you and smiled.

"How about you go ahead and sit on the couch? I'll be there in just a minute," she said quietly. Her voice had seemed to grow more gentle towards you each day.

You smiled wearily and went to the living room, lazily sitting down on the couch. It could have only been a few minutes, but you somehow managed to fall asleep. You were constantly tired and wanting to nap. Diane said it was a good sign because it meant your body was trying to heal itself.

You were woken up by the couch dipping under Diane's weight. You opened your eyes and saw her smiling at you, holding a bowl of something brown. It smelled sweet and you looked at her suspiciously.

"What's that? No tea tonight?" you asked, hopeful.

Diane chuckled and pulled out two spoons, sticking it into the bowl.

"No, no tea tonight. I don't want you to get too much of those herbs and vitamins. And this, it's brownie batter. Me and my friends as teenagers would make a bowl of it and eat it as we talked about boys and school and our dreams," she said, picking up a spoon and licking off the chocolate from it.

You couldn't help but smile as you took a spoon and licked at it cautiously. You had never had the stuff and it was intoxicating. You shoved the whole spoon in your mouth, ready to inhale the entire bowl.

Diane laughed and pulled the bowl towards her.

"Alright, alright speedy... don't eat it too fast. You'll get sick."

You forced yourself to go slower, but the moment Diane turned around you would be sure to put as much of it in your mouth that would fit. This was worth getting sick over. Diane stared at you, drinking up the image of you enjoying the treat she had brought.

"You know," Diane hummed, "I always thought I'd do this one day with my daughter. Make it a tradition and she'd tell me her secrets and we would be best friends."

You're heart ached in your chest. You knew she meant Chloe and you knew she would rather her be on the couch than you. Suddenly the batter didn't taste as sweet. You put the spoon into the bowl and left it there. You looked up at Diane and saw she was almost beaming at you though.

"I'm glad I get to do it with you," she said, picking up the spoon with her other hand and letting you eat off it.

You felt really confused, but happy at the same time. You knew you weren't her daughter, but sometimes the way she said things or looked at you, it was like she wanted you to be. As if that's how she saw you. You weren't sure if you saw her as a mother though, you didn't really know what that felt like. It was complex for you.

"So, Y/n, tell me. What did you do with your friends? Did you have any special traditions with the girls?" Diane asked, eating another spoon of the batter, it dripping onto her lips.

It broke you from your anxious thoughts and had you now thinking about your past. It wasn't that much better but at least it would keep you talking.

"Well, I really wasn't in one place long enough to make any traditions with my friends. But me and my foster sister, the one who lives in town, we would go and sneak out of our group home and head to the woods behind it. The woods had fireflies in them and we would go see the 'light shows' and talk about a bunch of different things. What our families could have been like, what we were going to do when we aged out, the issues we had at the home."

You remembered those nights fondly, some of the few good memories you had growing up. You wondered if there were any woods in the area and if they had fireflies. Maybe you could go and see a 'light show' for old times sake. You would ask your sister when you saw her. But you needed to call her first.

"Uh Diane, could I possibly use your phone?"

Diane suddenly stiffened, the spoon thudding back into the batter. Her face seemed to harden just for a moment before quickly returning to the warm look she often gave you. It took her a moment to respond, making the air between you thick for some reason.

"Sure. Are you okay?" she said, her voice sounding concerned.

She seemed like she was worried and you wondered if she thought she had upset you.

"Oh yeah! I'm fine. I just actually wanted to call my sister and let her know I made it here and that I'm safe and see when she wanted to meet up," you said in a confident tone, hoping to ease her mind.

Her face seemed to twitch and she swallowed hard, clearing her throat. She smiled at you though and you just shrugged off her strange reaction. She pointed to the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall. Diane had phones with chords still in her house, which you found charming, but also a little inconvenient that you couldn't step outside.

"You're welcome to call your foster sister," she said, saying the word 'foster' strangely, "I'm going to go upstairs and get ready for bed to give you some privacy."

She smiled at you and brushed your hair behind your ear before getting up and heading to her room. You waited until you could no longer hear her footsteps before leaning over the brownie bowl and quickly stuffing your mouth with as much batter as you could. As soon as you swallowed it all, you realized you may have made a mistake, but you could regret it later.

You walked over to the phone and pressed the buttons to the number you had memorized by heart. You felt nervous suddenly even though nothing had changed and you had just talked to her a week ago. Your heart race increased with each ringer, anxious to hear her voice.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice on the other side of the phone croaked.

"Mandy? Mandy, its Y/n."

There was some rustling on the other side of the line and you were pretty sure you had woken Mandy up, but you knew she wouldn't mind.

"Hey! I was wondering when I would hear from you. I was a little worried. You were supposed to call me like two days ago," she yawned.

"Yeah I'm sorry. I had a little set back. But I'm here in town and I'm staying with a woman I met-"

Mandy cut you off with a very obnoxious "Ooooohhhhhh!"

"Shut up. It's not like that. She's just a really good friend that I was lucky enough to meet. Now before you say anything else stupid, when and where do you want to meet?"

Mandy chuckled on the other end. She knew you hated being picked on and anytime she sensed even the possibility of making you uncomfortable, she had to crack a joke.

"Well, I have class tomorrow, but I am free after lunch. There is a nice little coffee shop book store on Howard. You can meet me there at like 2PM. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. I can't wait. I've missed you so much Mandy," you said, tears prickling at your eyes.

"I've missed you too lighting bug. So tell me, who is this lady you are-"

Suddenly Mandy's voice cut off. You pulled the phone away from your ear, not even hearing a dial tone. You messed with the phone for a moment before realizing the line was dead.

"Diane?" you called out, sticking your head around the corner.

Diane was right there, breathing heavy as if she had been running. She startled you and you stared at her, mindlessly passing the phone to her.

"Your phone line went dead," you mumbled.

Diane put the phone to her ear and pressed a few buttons before hanging up.

"I'll call the phone company in the morning. Sometimes someone hits a line and the whole thing goes dead. Were you able to call your friend though?" she asked, leaning against the wall.

You noticed she said friend this time, but you brushed it off. She didn't know the bond you and Mandy shared.

"Yes! I did. I'm going to meet her tomorrow for lunch."

Diane didn't hid her discomfort this time.

"Y/n, I don't think that's a good idea. You're still very weak. You didn't even eat dinner. I don't think you should go out by yourself. Maybe I should go with-"

"No. It's okay. I'll be fine for a couple of hours. I won't be running a marathon, just having a coffee with my sister."

You wanted to spend time with Mandy by yourself and while you appreciated the thought of Diane going with you, you were still an adult no matter how young you looked. It didn't help that at the moment the brownie batter was now fighting against you and you were hunched over slightly.

"Well maybe consider letting me drive you to town? I need to run some errands anyway so I can drive you and that way if you feel like you need to lay down or rest I wouldn't be far."

You would need a ride to town, but you just weren't sure.

"Let me sleep on it. I hate to think I would be using you just for a ride. And-" before you could finish, you start having a coughing fit. Coughing was nothing new to you thanks to the asthma, but this wasn't that. This was the batter.

You tried to keep it down, but it was too late. You threw up, all over yourself, all over the floor, and even on Diane's slippers. You expelled everything you had eaten that day and more and it took a moment before you stopped gagging, laying in a ball on the floor.

Suddenly fear over took you as you saw yourself and the floor covered in vomit. You know your mom would be so mad when she saw it and you would get punished. You didn't want to be punished. You began to cry and you scooted away until your body hit the wall.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to," you cried. You forgot where you were and suddenly you were back at home. You didn't like going back.

Diane quickly ran over to you, not phased by the vomit and held you in her arms. You fought her off at first but she shooshed you and smoothed your hair, holding you close to her. She knew a flashback when she saw one. She held you and whispered in your ear. It took a moment but eventually you came back to present day. You still felt sick, you now smelled awful, your head hurt, and you were embarrassed. For the first time since you had met Diane, you felt tears prickle you eyes and instead of hiding them, you let them flow.

You cried in Diane's arms as she rocked you back in forth, and you apologized over and over again. You weren't sure if you were saying sorry because you had thrown up on her or if it was because she lost her daughter or because you were the mess of a person she felt fate brought her. She kissed your head and took your face in her hands. She wiped your tears with the pads of her thumb and looked at you with tears in her eyes too.

"Hey. It's okay. Stop apologizing. You're safe now Y/n."

She pulled you back to her chest again and wrapped her arms around you tight as if she would never let you go.

"I've got you," she whispered, over and over.

"I've got you, and I'm not letting go."

#sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson fic #sarah paulson #diane sherman #diane sherman x reader #run film

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danny-chase · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batgirl (Comics), Batman and the Outsiders (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain & the Batfam Characters: Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson (briefly), Barbara Gordon (briefly), Tim Drake (briefly), Bruce Wayne (Mentioned), Jefferson Pierce (mentioned) Additional Tags: Batfamily (DCU) Feels, The timeline is a mess, feelings of discomfort, Feelings of Not Belonging, Crocs, POV Cassandra Cain, late night bathroom girl talks, no beta we die like Cass, dreams of alternate timeline, timeline converging, Confusion, Eventual Fluff, Nightmares Summary:

The one where Cass know something is wrong with her Crocs, and it spirals into more being wrong with her world.

Cassandra never thought much about what she wore, it’s not like it mattered much in the grand scheme of things. What was ‘right’ to wear, ‘wrong’ to wear, she didn’t really know, she just picked what she liked, and that was that. Barbara helped keep her closet in three neat sections: clothes for fancy things – charities or dances, clothes for blending in outside, and clothes for training. It was simple, easy, efficient. She didn’t have to think about it.

But here she was, pacing back and forth in front of her closet. It wasn’t the clothes she was confused about, but a pair of shoes. Light blue, with holes. Duke called them crocs. Crocs. She turned the word over, again and again in her mind. She remembered picking them out, but the memory was blurry, she had this eerie feeling they were wrong somehow.

She’d had this feeling before – that something was wrong with the world, with her. Her costume sometimes felt wrong, like it didn’t quite belong. She shifted, irritated, from side to side. Sometimes, she talked wrong too, thought wrong. Everything, some days, just felt wrong.

And here she was, standing on her hands, glaring at her crocs. Her crocs that were wrong, but they couldn’t be wrong because she’d gotten them with Duke. She remembered – she was sure she remembered.

It had been a cloudy day, her arm stuck in a sling. Bruce had said she was training too hard, she should take it easy, and she had disagreed. But then he brought up Duke. Duke, who had been injured by Karma. Who was so angry and hurt, but she never knew what to say to fix things. And Bruce hadn’t known either. But all the same, they had to try something.

He gave her money and instructions. Take Duke to get food at the mall. It had been easy, fun. He was upset, but took the time to make her laugh, thanked her for spending time with him. They’d spun through racks of clothes, posing with sunglasses, and trying on random things, then swapping. They bought him a short shirt that showed off his belly button. A… crop top, he’d said. And she, skipping through the aisles had stopped in front of the blue crocs.

She’d felt strange then, like the world was wrong, and somehow, she felt drawn to them. Duke had looked at her as though she was crazy when she tried them on but shrugged and told her she had great tastes in fashion (lie). He’d been getting tired, the more they walked, but he smiled all the same, told her she looked great in them (not a lie). And she bought them, now here she was, feeling the same feeling of wrongness.

Sometimes, she felt like a different person.

Sometimes, she felt like Duke shouldn’t be there.

Sometimes, she missed people she met once.

And sometimes, she stared at the blue crocs, with an inkling she’d seen them before she’d ever stepped foot in that store.

She’d been feeling well this week. Things were going well with her team, things were going well for her. She had almost finished her latest book, when she was struck by the feeling of wrongness once again. She gripped her hair, squeezing her eyes shut, burying her head in the side of her chair.

She was Cassandra Cain. She was herself. She wasn’t wrong. This was her, wasn’t it? This was her life.

But even her name sounded wrong in her head. Cassandra felt right, Cain felt wrong. But if not a Cain, who was she?

She was powerful. Strong. That was right. She’d taken down ten men last week in hardly any time, and it felt so right!

But sitting in a chair reading felt wrong.

It was so confusing. She didn’t understand, why this but not that?

Throwing the offending book across the room, she stamped to her closet. Flinging open the door, she glared at the shoes. The crocs glared back, there little holes mocking her.

The holes.

The holes were wrong.

The color was right.

She was getting somewhere. The holes were wrong, the color was right. But again, why this and not that? Clenching her fists in frustration, she threw her head back, wanting to scream but holding it in. Instead, she grabbed her costume and headed out.

Cass had dreams, dreams of being in a city she didn’t recognize. Spending time with people she didn’t know. And the people she did know were different. Tim was smaller in her dreams, and Dick was older. Bruce was… he felt more familiar. And Barbara – she didn’t know why, but Barbara was always in a wheelchair. But she hadn’t been there for that, had she?

Every time she saw the bats, they felt wrong. Different. Maybe different was the right word. Was she the only one feeling like this? She couldn’t tell. She told Duke once, and he shrugged saying something about déjà vu. But the word didn’t feel right.

Barbara was worried. “You can talk to me, Cass, what’s wrong?” But how could she explain what was going on? Bruce whispered to Jeff about how she was quieter… withdrawn. He’d said withdrawn. But she wasn’t trying to change, wasn’t trying to… withdraw. The world was just confusing, she couldn’t keep focused with this immense feeling of dread shrouding her.

In the dreams, sometimes a girl gave her tea. In a little shop. In the city she’d never been to. And she woke up screaming because it always faded away into a wasteland.

And for some reason, she kept calling Stephanie Brown when it happened.

Tonight, she’d called again.

“Cass, bad dream? Are you okay?” She felt like she’d known Steph for years.

“Everything’s wrong.” She confessed. Steph hummed. The line was quiet. She should hang up, she usually did. Usually just said yes and hung up. But, Stephanie’s voice was comforting, it was good to know she was safe.

“Wrong like, things are going wrong right now? Or like, things feel… off.” Cass sucked in a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, someone else understood.

“Off.” She replied.

“Like… things aren’t quite, right?” Exactly.

“Like… people are… different?” She explained.

“Like they didn’t use to be there.” Steph agreed.

“Or were there longer.” Cass breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t wrong. Something was wrong, or well… off. But, whatever it was, it wasn’t in her head. The world was wrong. Not her.

“Do you ever dream about things that never happened, but it feels so real you’re certain it did?” Cass nodded, then realized she was using a phone.

“Yes.” She sat in silence for a moment. “Can I… come over?” Steph felt right, an beacon in the midst of the chaos of the wrong world.

“Please.” Steph sounded just as eager to stick together.

“Coming.” She hung up the phone, and snatched up a bag, flinging open the door of her closet, and grabbing some clothes for tomorrow. The blue crocs leered at her, so she shoved her feet into them. Maybe Steph would know why they were wrong.

Steph sat on the edge of the toilet, and she sat on the rim of the tub.

“This feels right.” Cass decided. Steph nodded.

“I don’t know why but you’re right.” She plopped her head in her hands, tired and agitated, but excited. “I feel like I know you, but like we only met a few months ago.” She made a thinking face.

Cass thought too. She took in Stephanie’s face, and closed her eyes. The burning town came to mind.

“Were you in…” She trailed off; it was a dumb question. Steph would have died with the girl who gave her tea if she were there.

“Go on.” It was stupid. “I’m not going to judge, throw anything out there, no wrong answers.”

“In my dreams, there’s a city.” She opened her eyes, staring into Steph’s face. “It burns, and I’m there, with you.” Steph tilted her head.

“In my dreams, sometimes I die.” Cass winced.

“Me too.”

“Could it have happened in the city? I don’t know, maybe we had like past lives there or something?” She suggested.

“I’m me when I die.” Cass asserted. She always died fighting, nowhere near the city.

“Me too.” Steph sighed. “It’s so frustrating. I don’t get it.” Cass nodded.

“I feel wrong.” She added.

“Literally, same.” Steph shook her head in frustration and made to leave the bathroom. “Okay, good night’s sleep, we’ll work on it again tomorrow.”

Cass wanted to scream. She wanted to know, to know right now. Wanted to get this figured out.

“Whatever.” Was all she got out, Steph shrugged indifferently.

“Sleep will help your brain work better. It’s a scientific fact.” Cass followed her out into her bedroom.

There were purple crocs inside her closet.

She stepped closer.

“Cass, what are you-” Steph kept talking, but Cass couldn’t hear her anymore.

The holes on the crocs were filled.

Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled out of Steph’s room, her mind whisking her away into a memory she’d somehow forgotten, a memory that didn’t feel wrong - a memory that felt right a memory that-

The purple crocs were in her hands, she was in a small store, a crocodile painted on the wall behind her. Stephanie was laughing at Tim. He was wearing green crocs. Barbara was in the corner, chatting with Dick from her wheelchair. They were smiling fondly at each other. Love painted across everyone’s faces.

And she, was so happy. She was standing still, basking in the afternoon glow of the sun, and the warmth of those around her.

“Thanks for holding those for me, you want a pair too?” Steph bounced in front of her and plucked the crocs out of her hands, giving her a friendly wink.

“I think you should get bright blue ones.” Dick suggested. Barbara snorted. They both were looking at her fondly.

“If she gets blue ones, you have to get yellow.” She pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s only fair.” Tim agreed. “As long as no one gets the same color we should be good.”

A pair of blue crocs were dropped in her hands. Her heart was expanding in her chest.

“Okay, everyone, she needs charms too, move it people!” Steph cried happily. Everyone dug in the bins surrounding them. Little icons, little… charms. The word sounded right. The blue crocs were right.

The memory faded out, and she found herself quickly falling asleep.

She woke up before Steph. Silently, she tiptoed downstairs. Her crocs were full of charms.

#Cassandra Cain #Cassandra Wayne #Stephanie Brown #batfam #my writing #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Tim Drake #Duke Thomas #Cass and Steph are best bros even though they don't know it yet #Late night bathroom talks are the shit #Like you haven't lived until it's 1am and you're talking about shit with your homies sitting on the edge of a tub #I miss Cass being a bigger part of the family

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animatedarchives · 4 years

Text

SWEETER THAN HONEY

— 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈

author’s note: i wanted to write some fluff since i haven’t yet so please enjoy suga being an aBSoLuTE gENtLEmAN i love him so much

genre: soft and fluffy, lots of uwus

warnings: none

word count: 1.2k words

Soft rays of light trickled through your blinds, caressing your skin and giving you an ethereal glow. Mother Nature greeted you warmly as you started to stir; trees slow-danced with the gentle breeze as birds serenaded you with their sweetest melodies. Your peaceful form began to unravel as you stretched your limbs across the soft linen sheets.

What time is it?

Your brain responded slowly, having just awoken from its slumber.

Oh right, it’s Sunday.

Your muscles relaxed once more as you tried to find a comfortable position.

Maybe just a little while more.

You nestled your cheek back into your pillow, pulling your blanket above your shoulders. Your breathing slowed again, keeping a steady beat.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In-

Wait. Your brows furrowed.

Inhale.

What was that... delectable scent?

You breathed it in again; it was undeniably familiar. The aroma tickled a memory buried deep in your mind but as you reached out to grasp it, it slipped through your fingers. Until…

Your eyes fluttered open. Pancakes.

“Awww…” someone whined.

You rubbed your eyes sleepily as you turned to face the owner of the voice.

“You don’t sound too happy that I’m awake,” you chuckled, voice scratchy from lack of use.

“Only because I wanted to be the one to wake you,” Suga pouted.

“I mean, technically, you did wake me up,” you yawned, nodding to the tray in his hands.

“Not like that, silly,” he laughed, placing the tray on the side table. He made his way over to the bed, wanting to show you exactly what he meant. Reaching down, he took your hand in his strong yet gentle one.

He brought it up to his soft plush lips, unblinking as he looked deep into your eyes with absolute adoration. He seemed to put you under a spell as you watched him trail tender kisses up your arm. Even the sun seemed to blush, enveloping him in an angelic glow as he continued to worship your body.

Finally, he reached your face, your noses barely grazing each other. Only centimeters apart, you waited agonisingly for him to close the distance. Just when you were about to do it yourself, he leaned in and kissed you with such intent that your mind went completely blank. All you knew in that moment was just the taste of his honey sweet lips moving fervently against yours.

It ended all too soon and your lips ached for his as he leaned back to admire you. Your hair was messy and unkempt, sticking out in all directions. Your skin was imperfect; bumps, scars and pimples clearly visible on your bare face. Your eyes were tired, slightly red and jaded from feeling the weight of the world. Yet despite all of your flaws, Suga looked at you like you were the most magnificent creature he had ever laid eyes on. His endearing gaze made you feel like an absolute queen.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he beamed. Well, that was definitely one way to wake you up.

“Good morning, Koshi,” you responded, eyes crinkling up into half-moon shapes. Your radiant smile just made you look so beautiful.

It took all his strength to tear his eyes away from you as he got up and walked to the side table, leaving you feeling a little less warm without his presence.

“I know you’ve been feeling a little down lately, so I wanted to surprise you today,” he explained while retrieving the tray. You sat up in bed as he placed it on your lap.

“Souffle pancakes with peaches and cream - your favourite. I also added extra peaches because I know how much you love them,” he said proudly. “Oh! And one cup of tea, the one you have every morning in your favourite mug,” he added.

“With milk and two sugars?” you asked.

“Just how you like it,” he grinned.

You were completely speechless. You weren’t expecting this at all. The expression on your face made Suga feel extremely accomplished. He only ever wanted to give you the best.

“Babe, you really didn’t have to…” you said, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt for causing him so much trouble. You didn’t want to be a burden.

“Well yeah, I didn’t have to. But I wanted to,” he assured you. “I wanted to remind you how much I love you and that I will always be here for you, through the good days and the bad.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his unwavering affection for you. How did you get so lucky? Slowly, your eyes drifted down to the pancakes and you admired his handiwork fondly.

“This is what we had on our first date, isn’t it? At the pancake house you brought me to?”

You remembered it as if it were yesterday. You donned your favourite summer dress, the yellow fabric perfectly complementing your complexion. You played with your skirt nervously as you waited outside the pancake shop where you agreed to meet. He showed up in his best clothes, looking as handsome as ever. When he noticed you, his jaw slackened as he took in the sight before him.

“Wow. You look stunning, Y/N,” he exhaled. You literally took his breath away.

You blushed at the compliment. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you giggled. The sound was music to his ears. “Shall we go in?” you asked.

He walked to the door and opened it for you. “After you,” he grinned.

Suga’s light laughter brought you back to the present as he realised you had figured it out. “I remember how much you loved their pancakes so I went and asked for the recipe to make them for you myself,” he confessed, looking away shyly. “They may not taste exactly the same but… I just really wanted to treat you today.”

You dispelled his doubts by placing a reassuring kiss on his lips. “Thank you. This is more than I could have ever asked for.”

You could hardly believe you were able to attain such a loving boyfriend. The way he remembered even the tiniest details about you — your favourite fruit, your favourite mug, what you ate on your first date, and even the way you liked your tea in the morning. You don’t know what good you could have possibly done in your past life to deserve such a blessing, but you were certain it had to be beyond outstanding.

“Let me take care of you today,” he said gently, rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb.

You smiled contentedly, knowing he wouldn’t relent until you agreed. “Okay,” you replied, giving in to his request.

Suga’s eyes sparkled with joy as you accepted his expression of love. He excitedly climbed onto his side of the bed, settling in comfortably next to you. You fed each other the homemade pancakes — which were delicious to say the least — and basked in each others’ company.

“Is it too bland? Do you want it sweeter? I can get some honey if you like,” he suggested, insistent on making everything perfect for you.

You laughed and shook your head.

“No honey could ever be as sweet as you.”

You kissed his cheek and lay your head on his shoulder, your arms and fingers intertwined. You closed your eyes and breathed in his floral scent; it always reminded you of the comfort of Spring. It was moments like this that you wished you could live in forever.

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himarifuruya · 3 years

Text

Diamond Light [ That's the Tea ]

Preface: Diamond Light is a non-linear series of stories based around my OC Himari Furuya and her relationship with Tamaki Amajiki or Suneater.

TW: Chapters may contain Rated M [18+] content, such as graphic sexual content, canon typical violence and gore, body horror and explicit language.

Chapter Summary: Tamaki catches up with his friends and gains some unexpected insight.

Tamaki was in burnout.

Over these past weeks, he had been so exhausted. Ever since his work study had begun, he wanted to do nothing but go home and sleep. If he wasn’t on patrols, training, or studying for his classes, he was a living vegetable. His tired, aching body didn’t want to do anything besides lay in bed and waste the hours away.

It hadn’t been an unpleasant time though, working in Fat Gum’s agency had been a highlight in many ways. Though his mentor could be a tad overwhelming for his taste, he couldn’t have asked for a better one. He especially didn’t mind the partnership he formed with the ghostly hero, Wraith - who had despite her eccentric nature, provided valuable support during their missions.

Still, he could use a break.

On one of his free days, he agreed to go out with his friends. Nejire opted that the three of them should go to her favorite tea shop, saying that they have some of the best and most flavorful blends. He couldn’t deny that it sounded refreshing, especially after such a demanding week.

Lately, their schedules hadn’t been matching up, which had made hanging out difficult. Even at school, it seemed like they were always on the go. For Tamaki, it had been a little lonely, but he was happy to know that his friends felt the same. When the opportunity rose for them to get together, they immediately took advantage of it, like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Once seated at the booth with their drinks, they began to play catch up.

He listened quietly as his friends chatted animatedly about their progress in their work study. Despite the hard work they endured, they both sounded happy with their respective agencies. Mirio spoke proudly of his mentor that he called “Sir,” with high enthusiasm, while Nejire couldn’t keep herself from gushing about the dragon hero Ryukyu. It made him smile fondly, knowing that they were having such a good time.

“How about you, Tamaki? How’s your work study going?” Mirio asked suddenly, nudging him with his elbow, causing the chimera hero to gulp on his drink loudly,

“It’s been okay…I guess…” He wanted to stop there, but he could feel his friends’ prying eyes on him, expecting further exposition.

Letting out a reluctant sigh, he continued. “Fat Gum is great and has been really helpful over these past few weeks. He’s always giving advice and loads of encouragement...perhaps a little too much praise from my perspective, but I─ really shouldn’t be complaining. We’ve been learning quite a bit.”

“We?” Mirio questioned.

A wave of warmth rose to his cheeks. “Uh…yeah, th-there’s a-a really nice girl there too she’s uh…um…o-oh no…” He face-planted into the wall beside him miserably. “…I’m such an idiot that I-I never got her real name.”

Mirio and Nejire exchanged sly looks.

"Is she cute?" they blurted in unison, catching the young Amajiki offguard.

“Don’t ask me that…” He grumbled. “All I know is that her hero name is Wraith…”

“Oh, you mean Himari Furuya?”

Tamaki’s head lifted. “Wait… You know her?”

“Yep! She was at the Sports Festival, don’t you remember?” Nejire asked

“E-eh - I g-guess I should, but I - well - I was kind of busy having a panic attack,” he mumbled.

“Oh yeah…” Nejire hummed softly with a tilt of the head, her laissez faire tone and relaxed expression easing the discomfort of admitting such a thing.

“Isn’t she also the daughter of Monochrome?” Mirio inquired.

“Monochrome…?” Tamaki was vaguely familiar with that name from some tabloids. If he recalled correctly, Monochrome was one of the more elusive heroes that stayed out of the public eye for the most part. Very few have ever met him in person.

Nejire bobbed her head. “Yeah, crazy right? They look nothing alike too, like night and day.”

“There’s a lot of rumors about that guy too...like really morbid ones.” Mirio remarked, scratching his chin. “I don’t know how true they are, but even some heroes are leery of him.”

“Why’s that?” Tamaki asked.

Mirio’s brows drew together, trying to find the right words to explain. “His quirk…he can absorb negative energies and use that to manipulate the things around him.”

Tamaki leaned in, growing more curious. “That’s quite the ability.”

“But how is that a bad thing? If he’s removing negativity, isn’t that beneficial? Wouldn’t that make any bad occurrence into a good one?” Nejire wondered aloud with her teacup held between her hands methodically.

“It does sound like a positive thing, doesn’t it? But, sadly, it isn’t that simple.” Mirio’s smile weakened as he went on. “Unfortunately, he can only store so much of that energy, so if he isn’t using it consistently, there can be some severe consequences if it leaks out. To put it simply, he isn’t exactly a lucky charm.”

Tamaki frowned deeply. “That’s pretty awful… I don’t even want to imagine the burden that could bring…”

Mirio hummed in accordance. “As long as he keeps it in check, there isn’t much to worry about, but that liability is always there.”

“I guess that makes sense, there’s pros and const to every quirk.” Nejire said, lowering her cup from her lips. “One way or another, we all have to figure out how to use the cards we are delt.”

"Oh!" Mirio suddenly blurted. "He can levitate, too."

"O-oh," Tamaki uttered in response. He glanced away for a moment, before a thought came to mind. He turned back to the blonde, uttering, "how do you know all this?"

"I heard about it at Nighteye's agency," Mirio replied brightly.

"I see," Tamaki replied softly, looking down at his tea again. It seemed that Nejire had refilled it while he wasn't looking.

"Does..." Tamaki began, trailing off as he mentally debated if he wanted to utter such a thought aloud. Furuya was a peer, someone he admired in her heroism, but who he barely knew. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder-

"...that mean he's often away, o-on missions?" Tamaki finished softly, glancing between his friends.

Nejire hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose so..."

Mirio added on more firmly, "I've heard he works a lot."

Tamaki looked back down, his lips pulled tight. So, then, did that mean Furuya was alone a lot...?

As if reading his mind, Mirio raised his cup and continued. “But, there’s a lot of unknowns, so we should be careful not to jump to conclusions.” There was a liveliness beaming in his blue irises, he looked at Tamaki, saying pointedly. “It’s better to get the information straight for the source.”

The color in the hero’s face drained. “L-Like – ask her d-directly? I-I don’t think I have the courage to do that…”

“I think he’s implying that it would be good to befriend her,” Nejire suggested kindly. Her expression lit up with a jovial smile. “Seems like it could be fun.”

Mirio nodded, following her statement with, “she’s in the other class, so it might not be as easy to meet up, but I’m sure we could work around it. What do you think, Tamaki?”

“I-I don’t know, I do like working with her…but – but I don’t want to m-make her feel uncomfortable - or think w-we only doing it out of p-pity.” While he appreciated their eagerness, he didn’t want to take Mirio’s warning lightly.

“Hm, that’s true too…” Nejire mused aloud, she leaned back into the cushion of the booth, twirling a periwinkle curl around her finger. “But, it doesn’t have to be forced either.”

“Exactly, it can happen organically – I mean, you want to be closer to her, right?” Mirio drawled.

The suggestiveness in his tone sent a blistering heat to Tamaki’s face. “E-Eh …? W-Well…y-yes, but w-why do y-you have to make it weird, Mirio!”

The blond chuckled, “sorry, but you left yourself open, dude.”

“Anyway…,” Nejire began, bringing them back on topic, “I’ve been wanting to get to know more people from class B, so this will be a great way to do that!”

“For sure, they are our future comrades after all,” Mirio agreed. “So, don’t think too hard about it, buddy.”

Tamaki’s shoulders slumped, pressing his lips together into a wobbly line. “Urk…w-when you point it out like that, i-it only makes it harder not to… - b-but, I’ll try.”

The trio polished off a few more pots of tea before going their separate ways. On his jaunt home, Tamaki could feel the brew sloshing in his belly, but he had to admit, he came out of their meeting feeling rejuvenated. If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn his friends had a superpower for restoring energy on top of their established quirks.

Although he was still pretty worn out, he was more prepared to face the new week ahead.

In the back of his mind, he was still thinking about their discussion about the ghostly hero, Wraith. He wondered about the rumors that circulated around her family. Mirio hadn’t gone into detail about them, which left plenty of room for mystery, but maybe that was for the best.

For now, he was fine with not knowing – he was in no rush and there was no need to tarnish a clean slate.

#tamaki amajiki x oc #suneater x oc #oc x canon #bnha oc #mha oc

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ghostking-wenning · 4 years

Text

Radishes, Chapter 5

It took me way longer to edit and finish this than I thought! But I think I’m finally happy with it. Let me know what you think!

2600 words, rated G, NingXian, modern au, rom-com, zoo date!, etc.

⭑⭑⭑

Qionglin woke bright and early Saturday morning. He liked to sleep in a little on days off, but the moment his eyes opened today, he was buzzing with excitement. The only thing on his mind was his date with Wuxian. They weren’t set to meet for several more hours, however, so Qionglin busied himself making breakfast. The ritual of cooking was relaxing. Washing vegetables, whisking eggs, slicing bread -- it was like meditation. With a serene expression, he sat at the table and dug in. It was a simple meal, but it was fresh and delicious. There was something special about making food with ingredients he’d grown himself.

He washed up, slowly and thoroughly, and put everything away. He puttered around his small house, an in-law style apartment a little ways away from the main farmhouse. Several of these little houses dotted the property; his grandfather had built them for his children, and this one had been left to Qing and Qionglin when their parents passed. It had stood empty for a long time, until Qionglin was grown. Qing stayed here when she visited for the holidays, but she would probably never return to the farm permanently, so effectively, Qionglin had the whole place to himself. It was small, quiet, and cozy. It was home.

Eventually, though the hours had dragged by, it was time to go. Qionglin changed his clothes multiple times before deciding on a pair of trendy-looking joggers he’d never actually worn -- they were too nice to do farm work in -- and a t-shirt with a little ghost on it. Both were gifts from Qing. I should get her to take me shopping soon… He topped the outfit off with a plain green jacket and checked himself out in the mirror. This’ll do.

He texted Wuxian as he walked to the car. “On my way! :)”

An hour or so later, he arrived at the cafe where Wuxian asked to meet. He perched on a garden wall and tried to calm his fluttering heart, but his efforts were in vain. Wuxian strolled up, hands in his pockets, smiling brightly. Today he wore dark grey trousers, and a crisp white v-neck under his usual leather jacket -- far simpler than the outfit he’d worn on stage the night before, but he still looked amazing. Qionglin hopped to his feet, already grinning wide.

“Hey!” He said cheerfully, vaguely pleased with himself for not stuttering.

“Hey, yourself,” Wuxian replied, slinging an arm around Qionglin’s shoulders. Qionglin still wasn’t used to being touched so casually and so much; a faint blush crept up his cheeks. “I like your shirt,” he went on, tapping the ghost printed on Qionglin’s chest. His fingernails were painted a deep red that caught the sunlight and glittered.

“Oh, thanks… I wish I could pull off nail polish like that. It looks really n-nice on you.” He wasn’t used to praise, either, but he’d been raised to always return a compliment.

“Why couldn’t you?” Wuxian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, well, I don’t think it would suit me that well… plus I’d just mess them up right away doing farm work.” Qionglin reasoned.

“I guess that makes sense,” Wuxian said, shrugging one shoulder. “Shall we?”

He steered them into the cafe. The interior was sleek and modern-looking, all polished steel and gleaming white countertops. Qionglin was distantly reminded of a high-end electronics shop, or perhaps an art gallery.

Wuxian leaned down and whispered conspiratorially. “This place is pretentious as hell, but their coffee is out of this world.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Qionglin murmured back. “I’ve never really tried coffee, so I wouldn’t know the difference, heh.”

“Never? Like really never?” Wuxian asked, dumbfounded.

“Nah, my family is all tea-drinkers. We never had it around, and I’ve never really bothered.” He shrugged. “... Is that weird?”

“Nah, not really. I kinda live off coffee, though. There’s probably more caffeine than blood in my veins.” Wuxian quipped. “I think I’m the weird one in this case.”

Qionglin snickered a little. He was a little weird, but it was part of why Qionglin liked him. “S-so what should I get?” He asked, looking at the menu hanging above the counter. “I don’t know what any of these words mean…” He’d heard of things like lattes and mochas, but what the hell was a macchiato? Or a ristretto? I didn’t realize I’d need a vocabulary lesson for a coffee date, he thought wryly.

“Hmm,” Wuxian tapped the side of his nose. “Do you trust me?” He asked, repeating his question from last night.

Qionglin paused then nodded. “... mn.” He blushed again, remembering their conversation, remembering his misunderstanding. But I understand now. It’s okay now. He reminded himself to stay present. “I- I’ll get us a table.”

There was an empty table in the window, with a vase of little pink and white flowers. Qionglin plunked down and waited patiently for Wuxian. He waltzed over a few minutes later, placing a glass mug in front of Qionglin.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, kind of pointlessly. Steam curled off the surface of the coffee.

“You don’t say,” Qionglin teased, earning a surprised snort from Wuxian.

“Fair enough,” he admitted. “So how have you been in the … 13 hours since we last met?”

“Honestly? Nervous.” Qionglin said, fiddling with a wooden stirring stick.

“Yeah? Me, too.” Wuxian agreed.

Qionglin looked up sharply at him. “Y-you? Really? Why?”

“Well, you see, I have a date with a really cute guy today.” He smirked, eyes twinkling.

Qionglin’s heart did a backflip in his chest. “I- I… um…” He floundered for a moment before falling quiet, staring into his cup. There was a layer of fluffy milk foam on top, with a dusting of cinnamon. It smelled nice; toasty, rich and a little citrusy. He took a careful sip. It was slightly sweet, slightly bitter, and really quite tasty.

“What do you think?” Wuxian asked. He’d been watching intently.

“It’s good!” Qionglin began. “I didn’t really know what to expect, but I like it. It’s sweet, but not too sweet, it’s a little bitter, kind of citrusy and chocolaty. The cinnamon is a nice touch, too. It really brings it together.��

“Wow,” he said, looking mildly impressed. “That’s a much more thought-out answer than I expected. You sound like a professional food critic or something. You must really know your stuff, huh?”

“Ah, n-not really… I just watch a lot of cooking shows.” Qionglin demurred.

Wuxian raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the matter. “Wanna try mine?” He slid his cup across the table. His was dark and clear and it smelled strong and heady.

Qionglin tasted it and made a face, his eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched up. It was so harsh! Without any milk or sugar, the coffee was sour and bitter, and so strong it made Qionglin cough a little. He pushed the cup back across the table.

Wuxian tried not to laugh at his expression. “Oh, well,” he said, barely suppressing a giggle. “More for me.” He took a long drink and set his cup down with a clack and a satisfied sigh.

Qionglin sipped his own drink, grateful for the sweetness washing away the acidic tang in his mouth. They made idle chatter over their drinks, and when they were done, headed to Qionglin’s car.

“It’s nothing fancy, but it gets me around,” he said, somewhat apologetically.

Wuxian plopped into the passenger’s seat and said “No worries, I don’t even have a car.”

The drive to the zoo was short, Wuxian navigating and singing along to the radio. He reached over and casually rested his hand on Qionglin’s thigh, just above the knee. It took all his concentration not to swerve into the wrong lane. When he collected himself, he placed a hand on top of Wuxian’s and steered with the other. He felt his cheeks burning and his head felt like it was full of cotton.

They arrived soon after, bought their tickets and stood before a map, debating where to begin. They started with the African Safari section. Wuxian was a pace or two ahead of Qionglin. Qionglin took a breath and reached for Wuxian’s hand. Wuxian looked back and smiled wide. He tugged Qionglin a little closer, their shoulders bumping occasionally as they walked.

In a wide, grassy field, zebras, gazelles, and a couple of giraffes wandered about, grazing and playing.

“Did you know that a group of zebras is called a dazzle?” Qionglin asked.

“Really?” Wuxian asked, watching a baby zebra drink from a pool of water. “That’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah!” Qionglin agreed. “When they all stand together, their stripes make an optical illusion that confuses predators- thus, a dazzle.”

“Neat!” Wuxian chimed, still watching the zebra. Qionglin wasn’t sure he was listening, but he was used to that. They continued through the exhibit, snapping photos of the animals and chatting. Finally they reached the lions’ enclosure. A few lionesses were stretched lazily out on the large rocks, sunning and grooming each other. In the middle of them all lay a huge male lion with a thick mane, dozing peacefully.

“That guy knows what’s up,” Wuxian said, gesturing to the king lion.

“No kidding,” Qionglin nodded. “He just gets to loaf around surrounded by his girlfriends all day.”

“Do you know any cool stuff about lions?” Wuxian asked, looking sideways at Qionglin.

Qionglin blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Like, a group of lions is called a pride, right?” Wuxian prompted.

Oh… he was listening? Qionglin brightened. “Yeah! Um, let me think…” He pondered for a moment. “Oh! D-did you know that big cats can’t purr like house cats?”

“Really? That’s a bummer, I bet it would sound pretty cool.”

“Mm. The trade off is that little cats can’t roar. Can you imagine?” Qionglin grinned, imagining one of his farm cats roaring a tiny roar.

Wuxian squeezed his hand lightly, smiling fondly. “Well, did you know…” he leaned in to speak softly into Qionglin’s ear. “... that your smile is really cute?”

Eloquent as ever, Qionglin made a faint squeaking noise. He panicked and said, “... Did you know that the roaring sound effect used for lions in movies is actually a recording of a tiger? Lions don’t sound like that.” Shut up, dork!

But Wuxian just kept smiling at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he led the way to the next exhibit. They walked in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while, until they came upon a life-size bronze statue of a tiger. Wuxian trotted over to it and climbed onto its back.

“Take a picture!” He called out, striking a pose. Qionglin grabbed his phone and took a few shots. “Your turn now!” Wuxian insisted, waving Qionglin over as he climbed off the tiger.

Qionglin froze. “Wha-- me? But-- um…” He cleared his throat. “I... don’t really know what to do in pictures, I always look weird.” He recalled the time his grandmother had gotten angry with him for “ruining” their family new year’s photo when he was younger. When he looked at the picture himself, he couldn’t really tell what he’d done wrong; he thought he looked the same as ever. That couldn’t have been the problem… could it?

Wuxian placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back into the present. “Well, you’re in luck,” he declared. “I happen to be an excellent photographer. I can help you with that, no problem.” Gently he steered Qionglin to the tiger.

With a resigned sigh, Qionglin swung a leg over the statue and sat, awaiting further instruction. Wuxian nudged and shifted and repositioned him, turning his shoulders this way and that, adjusting his posture until he was satisfied. He lifted Qionglin’s chin, his fingers lingering on his jawline for a breathtaking moment.

He let go and stepped back, raising his phone. “Okay, smile,” he instructed.

It was hard not to smile, looking at Wuxian. Qionglin offered a sheepish grin and an awkward wave. Wuxian snapped a few pictures, moving around the tiger, crouching and leaning to get different angles. He looked through the shots as he walked back to the tiger, a small smile curling his lips.

“Here,” he said, showing Qionglin the screen. “You look great, see?”

On the screen, Qionglin was surprised to see that he actually looked happy. Maybe even a little nice.

“Oh… wow.” He said softly. “You are good at that.”

Wuxian chided him. “Give yourself some credit! Can’t take a good picture of a bad model, after all.”

He switched to the front camera and leaned against the tiger to take some pictures together. Feeling a little bold, Qionglin wrapped an arm around Wuxian’s waist, pulling him closer and smiling wider. Wuxian laughed, delighted and pressed against him, their cheeks brushing together. He winked into the camera and snapped about a dozen photos. They pulled a few funny faces, held up peace signs and finger hearts.

“Okay, one more,” Wuxian said. They posed, smiling, both a little flushed from laughter and proximity. Wuxian counted down, and at the last second, he turned his face and planted a kiss on Qionglin’s cheek. He perfectly captured Qionglin’s stunned expression, eyes wide, lips parted in a gasp.

Qionglin turned to stare at him owlishly. No words came, no thoughts formed beyond “!!!” Wuxian had a mischievous, self-satisfied look in his eye, smiling coyly.

A tiny voice in the back of Qionglin’s mind whispered actions speak louder than words. On impulse, Qionglin closed his eyes, leaned in and kissed Wuxian right on the lips. It was clumsy and awkward, their noses bumping together. But Wuxian leaned into it and took the lead, cupping Qionglin’s cheek in one hand, the other bracing against the tiger statue. His lips were soft and warm, they tasted faintly of cherry lip balm. Qionglin could smell his cologne, subtle and spicy.

They parted finally and Wuxian pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve been thinking about doing that all day,” he admitted with a quiet chuckle, his voice soft and low, his breath tickling Qionglin’s face.

Qionglin swallowed heavily. “M-me too…” he whispered, only just realizing it himself. Wuxian pecked him on the nose and pulled away, sliding a hand down Qionglin’s arm and grasping his hand. Qionglin slid off the back of the statue and sidled up closer to Wuxian as they continued on. He felt tipsy now, his face hot, his heart skipping, butterflies in his stomach-- but he was walking on air. Is that what I’ve been missing out on all this time? He sighed contentedly and laced his fingers through Wuxian’s.

A while later, Wuxian asked, “So, obviously you’re an animal lover, but what’s your favorite?”

“Hmm,” Qionglin considered for a moment. “I like almost every animal, actually. B-but if I had to pick, it’d probably be cats. I’ve always liked them, and they’ve always liked me. I dunno why, though… Anyway, what about you?”

Wuxian didn’t even have to think about it. “Rabbits, hands down,” he said. “They’re just too cute. And so soft! I wish I could have one, but I don’t think there’s enough room in my apartment.” He pouted a little.

“We have rabbits on the farm!” Qionglin said, a little too loudly. He cleared his throat and adjusted his volume. “M-my cousin raises them for wool, and as pets. Maybe… you’d like to come see them sometime?” He ventured.

Wuxian’s eyes lit up. “Can I really?” He asked, excitement plain on his face.

“S-sure! I could show you around too, and you could see what farm life is like. You could meet the rabbits, and the chickens, and we could h-harvest something and I could make dinner. Food tastes better when you pick it yourself. If-- if you want, that is.” Qionglin fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket, and looked hopefully up at Wuxian.

“Yeah,” he said, his expression soft and affectionate now. “I’d love to.”

#my writing #my art #ningxian #wei wuxian #wen ning #modern au #farmer's market au #first date #first kiss #mdzs fic #mai luobo!

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beyond-the-mirror · 4 years

Text

Drunk uncle Dante explains: How babies are made

The sequel nobody asked for! Drunk uncle Dante is back with another disastrous story for poor innocent baby Nero.

Written purely for laughs and giggles, so it’s not meant to be taken seriously at all. Also, this is merely a parody of a series of videos called ‘Drunk uncle explains’, you can check the original video right here if you want to (It’s in spanish however, but subtitles are available).

Warning: Slight NSFW? I mean this is Dante we are talking about, do you seriously expect him to behave properly and watch his mouth? Obviously not!

……….

Dante was currently sitting on his old worn out leather couch, a warm cup of tea resting between his hands. He gently blew on it to help cool it down before taking a sip, the bitter taste overwhelming his tastebuds and making him contort his face in disgust. He didn’t understand why his brother Vergil insisted so much on him to start drinking more tea instead of beer and whiskey, still he didn’t have the heart to reject the warm cup Vergil had prepared for him previously.

Of course, one shouldn’t expect Dante to behave for once. Eyeing the whiskey bottle on the table next to him, he reached for the bottle and poured a generous amount of alcohol into his tea.

Taking another sip, he smiled in content. ‘Much better’ he muttered to himself, leaning back to enjoy some relaxing time.

That is until a light set of footsteps hurriedly approached him. “Uncle Dante! Uncle Dante!” Little Nero skipped excitedly before sitting on the floor right in front of his uncle.

“What do you want now kid?” Dante asked before taking a sip from his beverage.

“How are babies made?”

Spitting out tea out of sheer shock and surprise, Dante looked at his baby nephew with a bewildered look on his face. Whelp, he definitely wasn’t expecting that one at all.

“Ewww! That was gross uncle Dante!” Nero giggled while looking at the disaster his uncle made on the carpet.

“Whoa kid wait a minute now, why did you come up with that question?”

“Please uncle Dante, I’m curious to know!” Oh no, not the puppy eyes again...

“Alright, alright then kid. Let’s see.” He cleared his throat “How babies are made.”

“Yayyy! Thank you uncle Dante!”

“No need to thank me buddy, after all, I know for sure that you have a reeeally irresponsible father. But luckily you have me, a smart and educated uncle, a man of the world-”

“Silence you sovereign buffoon!” Vergil’s angry voice interrupted from inside a nearby room. “Or should I remind you about the time you failed preschool?”

“C’mon Verge! I’m saying that I’m a guy who reads a lot, books and all that stuff-”

“Porn magazines don’t count as books you scum!”

“I already explained a thousand times, those are artistic nudes goddammit!”

Letting out a frustrated growl at his brother, Dante calmed down before turning once again to Nero who was looking at him expectantly.

“Now, let’s see how babies are made. Once upon a time, there was a little bee. A very handsome and well-endowed bee who had the biggest stinger in the entire world.” Dante smirked to himself, the man obviously picturing himself.

“Oh really?” Vergil called out once again. “When you were born, our father mistook you for a baby girl!”

“Well if you saw me now, the joke would totally be on you...” Dante muttered under his breath before clearing his throat and continuing with the story. “Anyways. This bee was seeking a pretty flower to hang out with, but because he didn’t have enough cash to get into a strip club, the bee ended up getting into a bar.”

“Wait uncle Dante, what is a strip club?”

“Well let’s say it’s kinda liiike... a luxury flower shop.”

“Really? Can you take me there to get a flower? Pretty please?”

“Ehhh no because emm...” Dante now struggled to find a good excuse to stop Nero from wanting to go to a ‘strip club’, that is until the light bulb in his head finally went on. “The flowers are actually fake! They may look pretty but really they’re made of plastic. But if you insist, once you turn 18 I promise to take you to one. You’re paying tho.”

“Yayy! Thank you uncle Dante!” Little Nero beamed, blissfully ignorant to the truth.

“So! The little bee walked into the bar where he found his flower, and man what a flower she was! Beautiful, gorgeous, with enormous bouncy petals and-” he described as both his hands made grabby gestures above his chest.

“COULD YOU STOP TALKING TO MY SON AS IF HE WERE ONE OF YOUR ACQUAINTANCES?!”

“Whatever, sheesh...” Dante rolled his eyes. Seriously, his brother was no fun at all.

“And then did the little bee give the pretty flower his pollen?”

“Oh not yet, little buddy! First he invited her a few drinks to get to know each other a little better, like a nice glass of honey on... the rocks. And then, the little bee took her to the bathroom.”

Nero’s eyes filled with confusion “The bathroom? Why?”

“Because the flower ehhh...” this story was getting harder to explain for a drunken Dante, the last time his brain had to work like this was Christmas last year. “She needed some water! Yeah, that... except the flower may have misunderstood the intentions of the little bee.” With his head down, he quietly muttered his next words “Damn, I can still feel the slap she gave me.”

“I once dressed as a flower for a school play.” Nero added proudly and Dante couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable image in his mind. How fondly he remembered that day, to this day he still kept the pictures he took.

“The little bee tried his best to flirt with the other flowers but with no success, that is until a special flower walked into the bar. She was quite the pretty thing, with bright eyes and a personality like no other... truly a beautiful lady.”

“Wait, Lady? The woman who you now owe lots of money and because of that she took your car?”

“No that ain’t true! She only borrowed the car temporarily!”

“And now here you are!” Vergil’s voice rang throughout the room, ready to complain about Dante again with no doubt. “Living in my house like a pathetic parasite!”

“You are still making me pay rent, though?!”

“You owe FOUR months already!”

Dante sighed in defeat. What a rotten luck he had in life.

“Okay, let’s continue with our story. The little bee had no luck finding a flower, but surprisingly, his uglier and way smaller twin brother-” he voiced rather loudly so Vergil could perfectly hear “-actually did get one. He took the flower to his hive where he gave her some pollen; however, the ugly bee couldn’t pull out his teeny tiny stinger on time. And nine months later, a new baby bee was born from the flower: a beautiful white-haired bumblebee named Nero.”

The devil hunter smiled warmly at the boy sitting in front of him, whose arrival to their lives was truly a blessing to the rather odd family they had going on.

The boy giggled cutely, a faint blush on his round cheeks. “Thank you for the story uncle Dante.” The man smiled in return before taking a sip from his spiked tea. For a moment he believed that the little one would now get up and leave as he would normally do after one of his stories. Oh how wrong he was.

“But there’s something I still don’t understand.” Nero questioned “In which part of the story do the sperm, the penis and the vagina come in?”

Dante did another spit take, the carpet once again completely soaked in tea and alcohol. “Wait WHAT?!”

“Contrary to you, my dear brother,” Vergil entered the scene, picking up little Nero and carrying him in his arms. “I do actually make sure to always give my son the best and most complete education possible. Now if you excuse us, it’s time for Nero to go visit his friend Kyrie like I promised him the other day. Say goodbye to your uncle, Nero.” At the mention of his friend’s name, the boy beamed and tightly hugged his dad, thanking him over and over.

“See you later, uncle Dante!” And with those words, the stoic devil hunter turned around and made his way to the door with his son in arms, leaving Dante with a rather flabbergasted expression on his face.

#devil may cry #slight NSFW?#Dante Sparda #Vergil Sparda #Nero Sparda #drunk uncle dante #little nero #dadgil #papa vergil #crackfic #fanfiction

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

Note

🍰☕🍼 :3c

Thank you so much for the ask Allen! I may have spent multiple hours writing all of this, but they were a very very happy few hours and I’m just happy you enabled that.

🍰- strawberry or vanilla?

Oooohhhhh this question. This. Question. Everyone always asks vanilla or chocolate and that’s so easy for me because I easily prefer vanilla more! But vanilla versus strawberry? That’s such a difficult debate!

On one hand, vanilla is the plainer of the two. That’s easy to dock it for, but it’s so classic! You can’t get vanilla flavoring wrong unless you really try to. I can go anywhere and ask for a vanilla milkshake, and I can be sure that sucker’s gonna taste like good ol’ vanilla.

But then, thinking about strawberry, it’s so much more flavorful! It’s distinct and fruity and sweet and even when toned down by being included in something such as ice cream or cake it’s still a lovely flavor. But then again, when you bake with strawberries they can make things really funky and not be all that great. The fault of that in store bought items is mostly them being artificial so the strawberry flavor can’t be properly replicated... but sometimes it’s super good!

If I were to make a definite decision, I’d have to go with strawberry and blame it solely on the fact that I’m thinking of some really tasty strawberry ice cream that this one place around us has. It’s got little frozen strawberries in it which provide an exquisite texture and pop of flavor in the duller flavor of the ice cream itself. It’s a lovely experience, especially paired with a scoop of cookies and cream (cookies and cream is the best ice cream flavor and you can’t fight me on that because I’m feeling too soft to threaten people right now)

☕- coffee or tea?

Ahaa, so sorry to report that I’ve gotta go with neither. The smell of coffee repulses me, and tea has never really struck my fancy.

Since I couldn’t provide a very good answer for that, I will instead that I’ve been listening to This Is Home by Cavetown and TrusT by half·alive repeating while answering these asks and am just now switching to Stranded Lullaby by Miracle Musical. If you need calming tunes, they’re all certified Chill~~ songs as dictated by the playlist I put them in.

🍼- what is your favorite memory?

buckle up. you opened the floodgates of I’m Really Feeling About This so soft puddle boa ahead, I’ve melted all over the floor and it may be slippery. crossing my fingers that i haven’t already mentioned this on here and forgotten about it because this is just one of my favorite memories ever and I’m going to get lost in it and gush about it.

OKAY. SO. LISTEN UP. I got very VERY happy about this coming segment. By that, I mean there nearly 3000 words ahead. So. Fair warning, It’s all super fun positive stuff and if you need a pick me up I hope I can do it for you but I’m gonna try and use a read more cut here. Really hoping Tumblr works with me on that.

This is a memory from last summer, just over a year ago now. A whole group of my extended family and us got together and we all took a vacation to Southeastern USA. One of the days down there we spent in Savannah, Georgia. First of all, it’s a beautiful city. Temperatures there are Very High, especially in the middle of summer, but it’s so scenic and I loved the whole aesthetic of the parts we walked around in as well as the history we learned about it.

During the day we took a walking food and drink tour (’drink’ for those of the proper age, not for me lol) and then spent a little while wandering on our own. We found through a newspaper that there was this cool little donut shop that had just opened its doors a few days prior and went to check it out. And it was the coolest little place! They’re called 8-Bit Donuts so look that up and scroll a little in google images if you wanna get a visual of their store, but it’s this cute, geeky little donut place! It was a fun discovery and we sat in there to have a few donuts before heading off to meet up with the rest of the family for what we’d scheduled for that evening.

We headed over to the Savannah Theater which, if I’m not mistaken, is one of the oldest still operating theaters in the country. It looked pretty unassuming from the outside, and even still when we stepped in. It had those nice old theater vibes but I still wasn’t completely informed on what we were doing there. My parents said something about a ‘variety show’ and this being something my great aunt was really looking forward to doing, so I was chill with it.

When we stepped in to the theater space itself, that’s when I was starting to go ‘oh, oh yeah okay i can vibe with this.’ It had so many cool old timey vibes and I just felt like I’d stepped into a different time period than my own. We had seats all across the back rows because I think it was more of a last minute decision and we wanted to sit our large group as close together as possible. So I got an aisle seat (aisle seat best seat and I stand by that) and chilled there for a bit while we waited for the show.

I feel inclined to preface this with, yes, I was in the height of my theatre phase that summer. And I was excited to see some live performance because I had been living on bootlegs for months. As I think about this I really want to talk about something else that I greatly admire and have lovely memories of, but I can’t get very in detail because unfortunately this is something closer to where I live. I’ll see if I can expand on it once i finish this explanation because I thought about it and I’m remembering some lovely things I’d forgotten,,,

Alrighty! did all that for an hour so now I am Back to talk about this. So, right, sitting in an aisle seat. So the show started and immediately I was entranced. They made an announcement beforehand encouraging audience participation and excitement. So I was like oh, this isn’t gonna be a very traditional theatre performance huh. And it wasn’t! Variety show basically meant they performed songs from a ‘variety’ of different shows and time periods, and some more from pop culture through the years too!

I think this was really mostly aimed at older folks, but oh my gosh let me tell you; I had the Time Of My LIFE that night.

I was so into everything they did, even when I didn’t know the songs because the theater was buzzing with their energy and enthusiasm and I just can’t describe to you the feeling of euphoria I got from watching that show. I never would have chosen it, yet here I was completely over the moon and throwing my hands in the air to the tune of Shout by The Isley Brothers (oh my gosh even now I just turned on and aaah if you need to ever lift your spirits please turn this on i’m dancing around in my chair i forgot how much i loooove this song aaaaaaah!!!!!!). Listen I know it sounds really stupid but I promise I was just having so much fun not worrying about what I was doing or how I was coming off but just being so joyously immersed in the show.

And right during that song, the performers had actually come off the stage and into the aisles. Walking down them, singing, dancing, all that. And one of them came down our aisle too. So let me back up and say that they all looked super Fancy and Cool and I was over here like starry eyed because dancing around with a three piece suit on is life goals okay I just think formalwear is awesome! That’s not an important detail but you needed it for the Imagery that you probably won’t get any more of because I’ve been typing this for literally three hours and I’m becoming incoherent. Not that that’s a bad thing because I am having Genuine, Unadulterated Fun.

Yes. So. Guy comes down our aisle, the slow part of the song comes on, and he extends his hand. Towards The Me. And I’m here like 👀??? Looking around and pointing to myself like “me??” and he nods and I’m like !!!!!!! because listen crowd participation is just the coolest shit. Whenever people are picked out of an audience for something during things like this I’m over here like “oooooh i wanna do that thing!” So!! For him to probably have recognized me in the back row just having a whole time and a half with their show and gone back like ‘okay, I recognize your enthusiasm and I think that’s great and invite you to join me in having fun’

I was just !!!!!! So I took his hand and keep in mind that I Cannot Dance. He led and Knew What He Was Doing which was good because I’m a fool but it was cool!!! I nearly fell over when I twirled!! I laughed and smiled and I could not care less about looking dumb and I really aspire to be that version of myself more often. I think those seconds are some of the Purest Glee I’ve ever felt and I’m so grateful to all those actors, but especially that man, for making my night something I’ll remember fondly for years to come!

The rest of the show was great after that little adrenaline rush and we came out after it and I was still just a little bundle of Excitement. The rest of my family around us commented on it and my parents had apparently managed to get their phones out quickly enough to catch footage and pictures of that hilarity that I still have saved on my own phone. But yeah there was another half of my family that had ended up on the far side of the theater from us. And it was then, after everything, that I learned they had also! seen me dancing! And I was like oh wait, hold up, you what??

So yeah, I had not realized at the time that there was a bit of a spotlight on us and the Whole Entire Theater had seen us dance. There was a little embarrassment mixed in there, but honestly I was far too happy to care at that point.

After that we went out to get some ice cream and it was just a really nice cooldown after what I can easily say was one of the best days of my life.

OKay okay dammit I’m writing it now and putting it at the end of the ask. Hello, future reader, this is directly continued off of the paragraph where I talked vaguely about something else I was thinking of. So, detailed explanation undetailed, there’s this beautiful, scenic place near me. There’s this old mansion that I’ve toured and aaaaaaahhh it’s really a beautifully preserved place. Old architecture like that is. Ohhh I could stare at it for days on end.

And there’s a lovely, what, ‘reserve’ I guess of nature around it? I’d describe it as walking through an enchanted forest. It’s just natural and sometimes if you’re close enough to the mansion you can catch glimpses of it through the treetops, and it’s genuinely one the most peaceful places I’ve ever been. I. Just. AAAAAH and that’s not even my whole point!!

Because right in the middle of this incredible greenery there’s a stage. And no, not the kind of stage you’re imagining. It’s like a little set of its own, a wooden ground stage and there’s a climbable second level with doors and all that. An all purpose sort of structure where they put on Shakespeare plays. They put on Shakespeare plays on that beautiful stage in the middle of the enchanted woods and I just want to cRY THINKING ABOUT IT I CAN’T GET TO MY POINT HERE.

So. SO. In order to tell this story. I. Need to go on Another side tangent and dearest Lord if you’re still with me I commend you, and I love you because this has been so stupidly self indulgent and rambly up until this point. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to make a cut work. Hm. This is off topic. It’s off the off topic from the off topic and was there even a topic to all this in the first place? I swear I’m completely sober and have never been Not Sober I’m just. Like This I guess.

Right. Other side tangent. So, this happened the summer after my freshman year of high school specifically. Why is that important? In my English class, we had done a class reading of Romeo and Juliet. And by class reading, I mean Class Impromptu Performance. I looked forward to that class So So Much because. Every day we would read through a scene or so of the story, and we had assigned roles that rotated every act. The combination of people in the class made for one of my favorite class dynamics I’ve ever had. Along with my teacher, everyone in there was so fun and silly but also knew when and how to stop so we could get work done. Far and away one of my favorite overall high school experiences. but yeah!

In the first act of Romeo and Juliet, I was assigned to be Mercutio. And, well, I was looking ahead a bit on our second day of reading because I hadn’t popped up yet. And, ah, if you know anything about Mercutio’s role in act one, you’ll know he’s got a Long Ass Monologue. And as I flipped ahead in our English book I found that and. My first thought was. “Oh woah, that’s a big ol block of text I wonder who reads th-” and my second thought, after reading the character name, was “oh shit.”

Sooooo I went over and asked my teacher like, “Hey, uh, Mrs. L. Am I. Am I reading that?” and she was like “yeah.” and I’m sitting there like “ah, alright, coooool.” and on the inside I really couldn’t figure out if I was excited to try my hand at it or Very Very Terrified. But I think my teacher that year knew me far better than I knew myself, because when it came to that Thursday and we’d made it to act 4, I fell in love with Mercutio’s character. He’s so overdramatic and expressive while also tossing a little snark in there, and he’s not afraid to be seen as a little insane. I had fun reading off the monologue, especially after reading it a few times beforehand to myself so I’d at least know what it said.

I think it was a few days later when I was talking to my teacher about that, and she said that every year she picks the roles very specifically according to her students. And with the Mercutio one, especially the first act, she said she just kinda Knows the students that role would resonate with. And, well, it resonated alright.

And. And ohhhhhh yeah you know where this is going. I read ahead at home on no fear Shakespeare because without the help to understand everything that we got in class it would have been very difficult for me to read that and get all the jokes and plot points myself. So yeah, when I got to act three I was suitably Very Upset to find out that Mercutio died. Since I had that English class for the last period of our day, I may or may not have stayed after the day after I read his death scene at home and grieved with my teacher over it. It was a fun conversation but yes I may or may not have been Quite Distraught that my favorite character died in the middle of the play. I could continue that answer, but yes that’s what you need to know. Mercutio was my favorite character by a long shot.

SOOOO fast forward to that summer where this Outdoor Shakespeare thing I was rambling about announced that the tragedy they put on that summer would be none other than Romeo and Juliet. And immediately I was super excited, because I knew the plot to that! I’d just experienced it in English class and it was absolutely too perfect to pass up.

So one summer evening, we took the trip out there to see this theater company’s production. It was such a lovely night. We brought takeout dinner and a picnic blanket to eat out on the grass before the show, then got in our seats to wait for it. And so something I hadn’t known about this before is that they do something called a ‘Green Show.’ It’s a crowd-pleaser sort of thing, an appetizer before the main show for the evening, and a warm up for the actors as well.

I don’t have clear memories of exactly what they did, but everyone was in this very simple folk-clothing if you catch my drift and it was very casual, like I was in some old town and watching some group of people sit on a corner and just have fun making music together. It was energizing and just made me feel so warm inside. It was familiar and homely, even though I’d never experienced it before. But during that show, I picked out this one guy apart from the rest who seemed especially enthusiastic. His energy was enthralling and he had a really beautiful voice. And I was just wondering, ah, I wonder what character he’s playing.

Yes, I know you can see where this is going. Let me have my fun with the dramatic reveal that past Boa got to experience.

Through the beginning of the show, I hadn’t seen that guy yet. Or I didn’t think I had, I’ve known to be very unperceptive. But finally at that fourth scene where he appears, I saw the Romeo and Benvolio actors walking up through our little aisle of chairs and behind them was Mercutio. And I was already excited because aaH! the monologue! the monologue i did in class but now i got to see it performed live! by a professional!! And then I got a good look at him and i was like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S THE COOL GUY FROM THE GREEN SHOW!!! aND I was just. Aaaaaahh!!!! I was so excited and it probably sounds really dumb but I. Just. Yeahhhhh that was awesome.

And what do you know, he was incredible in the role! From monologue to death scene, I thoroughly enjoyed his performance as Mercutio and the rest of my family probably knew that all too well from how excited I was at intermission. I just!!! I saw Mercutio and I Latched right on to his character so seeing him come to life in just the way I imagined and right before my eyes I. It was freaking incredible I don’t know man that actor just. Worked magic.

And after the show, all the actors kinda lined up by the exit and said farewell as we headed out. And I really wanted to say a word or two to the Mercutio actor but I nearly didn’t ask my parents to stop because I was kinda scared about it. Either I worked up the courage to ask my parents, or one of them asked if I wanted to go up and say hi, but yeah I did. I don’t remember my words exactly, but I was just stammering and nervous but got my point across of “hey i read the play this year and love your character and you played him super well and i just think that’s super cool and i’m lowkey idolizing you right now!’

So I went home with those warm butterflies in my heart that night. And it was such a wonderful experience that I just dug back out of my brain tonight so I’m really really happy I got to remember and record all that,,,

#you guys i am #So Fuckin Sappy On Main right now #sappy on main #To The Max #I didn't know I was this soft #what even #just all the best memories of my entire life are crawling out of the woodwork #and you know what #sometimes you really need to focus on those good things #so #i #yeah #i really did focus #Three hours of focus #i swear i'm actually insane #but i'm repeating myself and rambling but i'm so damn lost in my thoughts and happy about just existing at the moment #this is wild and kinda weird to be honest #why did i write more about my Big Rambly Feels than I have for a full chapter in months #what is life?#who is she?#never met her #i think quarantine is just making me sappy and remembering things i really enjoyed when i had socializing rights #i'm gonna stop rambling #this isn't even worthwhile rambling this time #if you're here #you must be a maniac like me #i'm so sorry for the brain damage my entire fucking essay above has brought you

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years

Text

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story - Chapter Three

For anyone reading on Tumblr and not on Ao3, here’s Chapter Three. Thank you so much to everyone who commented on Ao3 - you made my entire life with this. My venomous tentacular is fed and watered, and my creative patronus charm is nourished.

Chapter One here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Two here: Tumblr | Ao3

“Right you are,” Hagrid beamed, shuffling a little bit on the spot. As he looked down at her, she realised that he was wearing the same, achingly worried expression he had when they’d all shown up that night with Ron hurling slugs and Hermione in tears. Somehow remembering that almost made her smile. “You, uh, want somethin’ to drink? Pumpkin juice? Tea maybe?”

Automatically, she shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you, Hagrid.” You’re not being a bother, and he asked you, she scowled silently. You’re allowed to ask for things you’d like. “No, actually, a cup of tea would be lovely, if you’ve got the kettle on.”

“You know me, Hermione,” Hagrid chuckled, obviously glad for something practical to do. “Kettle’s always on ’ere.”

Hermione smiled and watched the enormous man bumble back inside his modest, stone hut, and inhaled deeply. The air was cool and damp here on the edge of the forest, sheltered from the prevailing winds, and it carried with it the eerie, haunting croon of thestrals and the other creatures that lived in the forest, accompanied all the while by the soft susurrations of the breeze through the pine trees. If she strained her imagination hard enough, she could pretend to hear the swish of Buckbeak’s wings, or the hoarse croaks of young baby Norbert. A faint waft of cold smoke coiled up from the empty ashes in the fire pit, and the green scent of earth filled her mind for a long moment, stilling it for the first time in weeks. If anywhere felt like home now, it was probably here.

Alone for a little while, except for Fang, Hermione sank down onto a log and then, just because she felt like it, she lay down along its length and crossed her ankles. The wood formed a cool pressure right along her body, grounding her, and she sighed, hair splayed out beneath her head in a wild riot of curls.

Fang immediately plonked himself down on the ground beside her, the old dog leaning against the log as if it needed him to buttress it up, and she hooked her arm affectionately around his thick neck. “You’re like a giant teddy bear,” she chuckled as he tipped his head in her direction and tried to lick her face. Mercifully, he was just out of range. “An incredibly slobbery giant teddy bear, I’ll grant you, but still.” She was glad that, despite everything, Fang had made it through the war. He felt as much a part of this place as Hagrid did.

“So how’s things?” Hagrid asked as he emerged once again, the strong, milky contents of two giant mugs slopping slightly over the edge as he jostled with the door. He put one down on the log next to her to cool a little, and then eased himself down onto a log opposite her.

It groaned ominously, but held.

“Busy,” she said honestly and he chortled a big, rumbling laugh, belly shaking.

“Yer always busy, Hermione!” he said, still chuckling fondly. “I’d be worried if yeh weren’t. But how’s things without Ron and Harry? Yer not lonely, are yeh? And how are they getting on?”

She sucked the insides of her cheeks suddenly to keep from crying, emotions swelling inside her again as if under an engorgio charm. “I suppose they’re busy as well,” she said carefully, but her voice still trembled.

Fang nosed at her hand and licked her fingers gently.

“You ‘suppose’?” Hagrid asked, the quiet promise of thunder in his gentle voice.

With a heavy sigh she draped her free arm back over her head, enjoying the languorous stretch and feeling a bit like Crookshanks in his favourite sunny spot back at The Burrow. “I thought… I thought it would be alright without them,” she began. “And it is, for the most part, honestly. But… you know they’re both doing grown-up things like Auror training and earning a living already - Ron’s working in George’s shop in Diagon Alley - and meanwhile I’m… well, I’m still at school, Hagrid. It’s no wonder they haven’t bothered to write to me. They’re probably both too busy being important.”

“Oh Hermione,” he crooned gently, that thunderously protective edge still lurking in his voice, “Don’t talk like that. Yer bloody brilliant, you are. Yer gonna get the best marks anyone has ever seen at Hogwarts - better ‘an Dumbledore and McGonagall put together - and then yer gonna go on to do wonderful things when you leave here. It ain’t a rush and it ain’t a competition.”

Despite the fact that she laughed at his earnest, honest words, tears suddenly spilled from the corners of her eyes and disappeared into her wild hair as she lay there on her back. Fang shuffled himself around and tried to lick them off, but she really did draw the line at that and gently pushed his muzzle away before he could smear his hot tongue and vile slobber over her face.

“Thanks, Fang,” she said gently, knowing that the dog was emotionally intelligent, if maybe not quite so intellectually. “I’m just… I just… I feel so alone, Hagrid. I’ve got Ginny, of course, and Neville and a few others, but no one else has been through everything that we did - not the way that Harry and Ron and I did - and I feel like no one else… understands that. Ginny does, to an extent, but she was still sheltered for some of it.”

Always running; setting up the wards and constantly jumping at every last noise; foul, out of the way places to call ‘home’ for a few nights; exhaustion; fear bordering on mania; bickering; tempers fraying; desperation; isolation; helplessness; pain; the agony of loss again and again…

She stroked Fang’s smoke-soft coat for a bit, fingers skimming the silvery fur, and eventually began to feel a bit better for the contact. Hagrid didn’t speak and she loved him for his quiet patience.

After a while, she added, “Don’t get me wrong, Hagrid, I’m glad no one else had to go through it all, but… Sometimes I feel like the only person here at Hogwarts who has been through as much is… well… is Draco Malfoy, so you can imagine my sentiments about that.” But… what were her sentiments about that, exactly? She found that she didn’t like to dwell on it, actually, since examining it only seemed to muddy the waters.

Hagrid was quiet for a just moment longer before he said quietly, “He came to see me on the first day of term, you know?”

At that world-tilting revelation, she looked over at him sharply. “What?” she barked.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his beard and taking a huge gulp of tea. “Can’t say I was too happy to see him, o’course, but… before I could set Fang on him, he just apologised. Stood there with his hands in his pockets and said he was sorry for… for Buckbeak, and for my house getting burned, and everything. Said he knew he couldn’t make it right, but he wanted to clear the air a bit.”

“What did you tell him?” she asked faintly.

“I told him that if he really meant it, then… well… I’m no acromantula; I won’t hold a grudge forever. But if he’s really sorry for everything - an’ I mean everything - then he’ll start to do some good with that name of his, instead of bad.”

She snorted and looked back up at the sky. A patch of blue in the shape of a Welsh Green dragon had opened up above her and was drifting lazily overhead towards the Forbidden Forest. She watched it as she said, “Can’t imagine he took that very well.”

“Actually, he just nodded and said ‘yeah’ before walking back off to the castle on his own. I had to have a whole mug full of firewhisky just to settle myself down afterwards,” he snorted. She didn’t blame him. She’d felt like she needed a whole bottle of the stuff after Malfoy had apologised to her in Potions, and that had been over something fairly inconsequential. “He looks awful. Like someone took all the starch out of him, Hermione. Like he’s got nothing left no more.”

She sighed and found herself nodding in agreement. “It’s like I keep seeing two Malfoys, Hagrid. There’s the snotty little pureblood boy from first year who was just awful and defensive and volatile, always seeking approval and validation… and then there’s this haunted young man with all the weight of grief and guilt on his shoulders, and… I don’t know how to reconcile the two. Or if I even need to. Or if I should!” She cringed, realising how shrill her voice had grown, and Fang whined softly. “Sometimes I really think he’s changed and he’ll surprise me - like today, when he made a flippant comment and it took me completely off guard. Then he apologised afterwards and I nearly passed out. I couldn't believe that Draco Malfoy was apologising to me - especially for something so petty!”

“Imagine how I felt,” Hagrid said wryly.

Another sigh rolled out of her but before she had time to say any more about Malfoy’s cruelly snapped comments and acrid personality, footsteps on the gravel path leading down to the pumpkin patch drew their attention. Fang didn’t budge from her side, but he gave a low, warm ‘woof’ of greeting, as Neville came intro sight.

“Hello Hagrid, Fang,” he beamed. “Hermione!” he added when he spotted her.

“Hi Neville,” she replied, sitting up again and dusting off her skirt. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Likewise. Thought you’d be in the library!”

She tried not to let the innocent comment sting and Neville carried on while she drained half of her mug of tea in one go. It was strong enough to tan leather, but the taste of it fortified her somehow.

“Come to collected those chizpurfles for the venomous tentacula’s weekly feed, Hagrid, if you don’t mind. And some more doxy venom if you have it. Professor Slughorn asked me to pick some up next time I stopped by.”

“Right you are,” Hagrid grunted as he got up off the log and stumped off into his hut.

Hermione looked up at Neville over the rim of her mug and realised just how much he’d grown up too. He was almost handsome now. He met her eye and flashed her a curious frown, and she laughed softly and set the mug down. Fang began to lap at the remnants and she abandoned it happily enough to him. “I was just talking to Hagrid about how much we’ve all grown up since first year. How’s life as Professor Sprout’s teaching assistant?”

Some of the few ‘eighth years’ had been adopted by various members of staff as teaching assistants, and she’d been approached by no fewer than three. Muggle Studies was plenty enough for her though.

“Oh it’s going great,” Neville beamed. “Professor Sprout’s letting me grow the squill on my own and they’re doing really well so far. Slughorn needs them for his Felix Felicis class later this term.”

“That’s great,” she said, and she really meant it. He deserved to be happy after everything. Rumour had it that he and Hannah Abbott were getting closer and closer too.

“What about you? You seem busier than ever…” he said.

With a long inhale and a knowing look, she nodded. “Yes. Speaking of, I should stop talking Hagrid’s ear off and get back up to the castle. I’ve got three essays to finish today and Charms at sixth period.”

Hagrid emerged a moment later with a small crate of assorted things for Neville and he chuckled fondly. “That’s our Hermione, eh Neville? Never sitting still for more ‘an five minutes at a time!” He paused before handing the crate to Neville and added, “Yer welcome here any time - all of you lot, you know that. You need a cup of tea, or a cuddle with Fang, yer more ‘an welcome to it.”

Her throat closed up a little and she promised herself she wasn’t going to cry. “Thanks, Hagrid. And you, Fang,” she smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and earning a thwack around the calves from his tail for the effort.

“You going back up to the castle, Neville?” she asked and he nodded.

“Well, greenhouses,” he amended.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“See you Hagrid!” they both chimed and she headed back with her chest feeling considerably lighter. Something did lurk in the background though, like a grindylow in the weeds, but she tried not to give it any attention. Malfoy. It was all their talk about Malfoy. And she didn’t want to think about him just then. Neville, it seemed, had no such concerns about bringing up the Slytherins.

As they neared the greenhouses, footsteps crunching on the compacted gravel pathway, he asked, “How are your prefect patrols with Nott going?”

“You heard about that, huh?” she grinned.

“Ginny mentioned something about prefects being paired with different houses. Is he alright? I never really knew him ‘before’.”

Before. That word carried such weight. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear only for it to spring loose again immediately. “It’s not bad, actually. I was wary at first, but I’ve got to know him a bit in some of my classes too, and he’s honestly not awful. He’s a cocky little shit, don’t get me wrong, but… he’s also kind of nice.”

“For a Slytherin…” Neville snorted playfully.

“No, for anyone,” she said evenly. “He’s extremely smart, and surprisingly considerate, and he’s even rather witty. I don’t mind being on a rota with him at all.”

Neville shot her a long look but eventually shrugged. “What do Harry and Ron have to say about it?”

Her chest twisted painfully and she looked away. “They’re not my keepers, Neville,” she snapped under her breath.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he said patiently. “I just… I just meant… never mind. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she insisted. “I’ve been in a funny mood all day. I’m sure Luna would tell me it’s wrackspurts or something.”

Neville smiled and they parted ways at the greenhouses with a promise to catch up at lunch.

All in all, Hermione wasn’t sure that her trip to Hagrid’s had done much other than fill her up with mightily strong tea, but the walk had probably done her good and put some colour in her cheeks, as her mother used to say. God, she missed her parents. Kingsley Shacklebolt had promised to send agents to check in on them from time to time, but he’d sent no word lately of how they were doing. No news, she assumed, meant good news at least.

The remainder of her day passed relatively uneventfully, and she got the homework done in good time, just as she’d planned.

It still felt oddly as if she were drifting about the place, more of a ghost than any of the genuine spirits who haunted the halls of Hogwarts, but she half hoped she could get the chance to talk to Malfoy again in Charms that afternoon. The tentative truce they’d shared in the first few weeks of term - polite nods and tersely academic conversation - seemed in danger of fracturing and shattering. If it went now, she wasn’t sure they’d get another chance to repair the damage done by their shared history.

Malfoy, however, sat beside Nott and didn’t look up at all from his textbook, except to perform an impressively nonchalant flick of his wand to transform some vinegar into a rather inviting-looking glass of champagne at Flitwick’s invitation. He even transfigured the glass in the same sweep to turn it from a squat, ugly tumbler into an elegant flute.

“Very nice, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Flitwick chirruped. “Now, Miss. Granger, can you tell us why such a charm is taught here in this classroom, and not in Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall? Extra transfigurations notwithstanding,” he added with a flash of his eyes at Malfoy.

Because taking classes with obnoxiously stubborn Slytherins drives one to drink… “Well, simply put: oxidation of the ethanol in the wine forms ethanoic acid which produces vinegar. All this charm does is force that oxidation reaction to run the other way, and return the vinegar to its original, reduced state. You can repeat the charm as many times as you like, oscillating between vinegar and wine, but that’s all you could do. It’s why you couldn’t use this charm to convert orange juice into champagne. You’d need to transfigure that, as Malfoy did rather neatly with the glass,” she added in his direction.

Malfoy’s silver eyes darted from the page in front of him where he’d been doodling - small drawings of owls and serpents, she thought, though it was hard to tell from that angle - and found her face. She offered him a tiny smile, and to her surprise, he returned it, though the gesture was barely more than a twitch of one corner of his full lips.

“Very good,” Professor Flitwick said, returning to the front of the small classroom. “Now, for our next charm, I have something a little less… frivolous in mind. Miss Granger, if you’d be so kind as to come down to be my demonstration partner?”

She shunted her chair back and stood, smoothing out her skirt automatically before coming down to the front of the room. It felt odd to have everyone’s eyes on her, and she almost had to close her own for a moment to remind herself that she was not back at the Ministry, and Malfoy was no longer on trial. Her eyes flickered up to his shot of silver hair in the back row, but he was doodling again. She was at Hogwarts, and she was supposed to be listening to Flitwick so that she knew which bloody charm he wanted to demonstrate with her.

“…is a protective charm that will create a barrier around the caster and keep them from the view of people on the other side,” Flitwick said.

Oh heck, did she know this one. And she’d probably cast it accidentally in her sleep a hundred times since returning from their life on the run.

“Hermione?” Flitwick asked, “Are you alright? You’ve gone a shade… green.”

“I’m fine, Professor,” she smiled, tamping everything down inside her again. “You want me to cast it now?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Bringing her hand up, she flicked her wand and muttered, “Cave inimicum.”

The shuddering wall of magic descended around her, muffling and distorting the voices of the class. From the safety of her invisible bubble, she could stare openly at Malfoy and she discovered, to her surprise, that he’d been wearing an oddly intense expression as he’d watched her cast. Nott, sitting beside him, looked as casual as ever at first glance, but now that she took the time to look a little longer, she saw an intense light in his dark blue eyes that had only kindled when Malfoy had leaned forwards on the desk, long fingers folded in front of him, his icy grey eyes alive and roiling with emotions she couldn't read.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Flitwick’s voice echoed dully through the barrier to her ears. “Presuming you’re still there, of course.” He chortled amusedly at his own joke. “Now, if I stick my hand through the barrier, it will disrupt it, but if I step inside entirely —” he did so, and she smiled as the tiny wizard looked up at her and the charm fractured but held tenuously, “— you will see how easily the illusion is shattered. Of course, you can still hear through one of these barriers, so the caster will have to use other enchantments to reduce noises.”

Someone made a predictably crass comment about having a quickie behind the broomstick sheds with this one, and half the class snorted. Those students among them who had already discovered such charms either kept extremely still in their seats, or flushed slightly. Hermione managed to do neither, but she thought she detected a slight warming of Theodore’s freckled cheeks. Interesting. She’d not known him to have shown any romantic interests, but then again, she’d had slightly more important things on her mind than who was sleeping with whom in sixth year. Except for Ron. She’d known exactly who he was sleeping with, and it had made her nearly mad with jealousy. That she’d been so petty over the business with Lavender - rest her soul - was something that still gnawed away at her. In the end, Hermione and Ron had been better off as friends anyway. She often wondered if Lavender would have been good for Ron in the long run. She’d never know now.

Mechanically, she took down the enchantment at Professor Flitwick's request, and returned to her seat.

“Used that one before have you, Granger?” a blond seventh year Slytherin seated on the second row leered. He reminded her so viscerally of Cormac McLaggen that her gut twisted unpleasantly.

With her expression stony, she paused just behind him and replied in a voice just loud enough to carry, “Came in handy once or twice last year for evading snatchers, yes,” she said tartly before sitting down and glaring at her textbook. Malfoy said nothing nor looked at her.

She snuck a sidelong look at him a minute or two later as Flitwick wrapped up the class, and saw that he was gripping his wand in his left hand so hard his knuckles had faded a few shades lighter than the rest of his skin, and a muscle in his jaw was pulsing. Theodore shuffled beside him and a moment later, the tension eased in Malfoy. He let out a long, slow breath through his nose and then Draco looked at her. The pain in his eyes - the open, unshielded, raw pain - stole her breath. Unthinkingly, she almost reached for his shoulder, but she caught herself in time and instead offered him a smile. ‘I forgave you’ she tried to convey with just her eyes.

Malfoy’s face hardened again and he looked away.

As the bell tolled for the end of class, he stood up and left without a word, shoving past Nott and leaving the room in a swirl of black robes.

Hermione pulled a face and found that Nott was offering her a matching grimace. The rest of the class streamed out, but the two of them remained in the lecture room.

“We knew it wouldn’t be easy,” Hermione said, eyes on the doorway where Malfoy had vanished. “After everything… There are bound to be things that come up in class now — potions, spells…” she paused and said pointedly, “Even curses… which, you know, we’ve all used to get by in one way or another. Tell him…” Tell him what? “Never mind. Just — “ she let out another little frustrated huff and shook her head, curls bouncing wildly. Her last hair-tie had spontaneously snapped in the library and she now felt like a real Gryffindor lioness, wandering around with a wild, curly mane haloing her head. There were smoothing charms, but she didn’t fancy messing about with magic in the girls’ bathrooms. She’d done that before, with mixed success. “I’ll see you for patrols tonight,” she said, defeated.

Nott nodded and stepped aside to let her pass out of the row first.

___

Part Four

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #draco x theo #draco x hermione #draco malfoy x theodore nott #draco x theo x hermione #draco x hermione x theo #hermione x draco #hermione x draco x theo #theo x draco #harry potter fanfic

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

self-same mettle

Summary: "I love my sister more than anything in this life; I will choose her happiness over mine every time."

A/N: BIG WARNING; August Reid, who you may remember from the main story, child groom tw, though nothing comes of it he's still creepy and predatory. Okay so I just wanted to write a little something from Oscar's perspective in the High School AU. Let me know what you think!!

{AYDTD}

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Oscar's always been a romantic at heart, always wanted to be the star of his own Mills and Boone novel ever since he was sixteen and found his mother's stash while hunting for Christmas presents. It had been painfully straight, right when he'd been discovering the delightful world of loving men, but he was invested enough in the romance that he didn't care.

In 2017, at the tender age of 19, he discovers the author Chuck Tingle, and despite the fact that he's technically now a literature student, this ridiculous, gay erotica makes his heart happy in ways he can't quite articulate.

The point is, he knows August Reid, because he's his dad's drinking buddy and fellow professor, but Oscar doesn't think of him much until he takes the man's class. Ash, who's fifteen and who spends weekends at the local art gallery down the road, has always been far more artistically minded, Oscar's always been more drawn to words, but he takes August's Art History class on a whim.

There's a certain draw to the whole teacher/student fantasy, and August looks kind of like an older Richard Madden, still angular and defined, but greying at the temples, the prelude to an extraordinary silver fox. So Oscar let's himself daydream, and take the follow up class, and look forward to the weekends where his dad's friends would come over to smoke cigars and play cards. August Reid was nothing if not polite, always smiling and kind and happy to see Oscar, answer his questions. Oscar knew he was married, thinks he probably has a kid, and so he was happy to keep his daydreams to himself. He thinks there's something romantic about quietly unrequited love.

However, it takes a year, once Ash has matured more, not a lot, but enough to catch August's interest, for the rose-coloured glasses to be ripped off. August takes an interest in her; when he and the rest of their father's colleagues came over, he would make a point to stop and check in with Ash, encourage her interest in Art, both physical and theoretical, and even suggest research for her, or upcoming exhibits he thought she might like. It's harmless, at first.

Talk of art turns to compliments, her taste in things, her outfits, how she wears her hair, the colour of her eyes. Ash seems to start looking forward to his visits, and something about it doesn't sit right with Oscar.

"He's just, Oz he's so cool," she was smiling, blushing a little; she had a crush, it was plain as the nose on her face, "and he said he could get us tickets to the Renaissance exhibit in Glasgow next month, how awesome is that?"

August starts calling her Miss Ashley, a joke that started since she still had a habit of calling him Mr Reid - because she's a fucking highschooler, it's how she's been taught to address teachers - Ash delights in it, straightens her posture a little when he says it. August makes a habit of petting her head fondly when she does. It makes Oscar's stomach turn just a little. August shouldn't be looking at his little sister like that, she's just a child.

Their father seems blind to it, tells Oscar 'don't be ridiculous, he's just being kind' and when he goes to mum, she just brushes him off, insisting that August is lovely, that he's so in love with his wife, and that Ash is just excited to have someone who understood her.

"A little schoolgirl crush is harmless, Oscar, dear; weren't you singing his praises not too long ago?" It's meant with a wink and a nudge, like perhaps Oscar's jealous, but his mother can be so dense; it's not the same at all. He's an adult, and Ash is a child, and yet he's not the one August is giving leering looks to when he thinks no-one's looking.

It's not that their parents don't love them, it's just that they don't particularly care. They're trapped in a loveless marriage, too self absorbed to care about those that can take care of themselves.

So Oscar takes it upon himself.

Oscar's never understood art like he's understood literature, never been able to make it make sense in the same way, but that doesn't matter. The point is, on Sundays, when his father's colleagues come over for tea and cigars and cards, Oscar's started taking Ash to art galleries across the country.

"But August is-"

"It's the impressionists, Ash," Oscar takes her hand with a grin, practically begging her, "come on they have the Water Lilies," he enthuses, and Ash's expression softens.

"I do love the Water Lilies."

Because he can't tell her what he's really doing, because she's sixteen and thinks she knows everything and the idea of telling her that August has any sort of feelings towards her, even if he explains why that's creepy and wrong, is probably the worst thing he can do to discourage her. So he distracts her, and is careful to never mention him if he can help it, or steer the conversation away if she brings him up.

She's his best friend. She's always been his best friend, but in an abstract, sibling sort of way, but it doesn't take long for the two of them to become legitimate best friends. He listens to all the drama of her highschool career, and her ideas for sculptures, and anything else she wants to talk about, and in turn he tells her about whatever he's reading that week, whatever poetry ideas he's been riffing with lately, and complains about pretty straight boys in his lectures.

Oscar may be a poet, but neither he nor Ash could hold a tune to save their lives, and so of course they sing along to Ash's Spotify playlists at the top of their lungs whenever they're driving. There's three weeks where she plays the Hamilton cast recording on repeat, and Oscar finds himself muttering it under his breath in class.

He works nights, and Saturdays, to afford all these day trips, and his family think he's so diligent, studying and working so hard, and on his day off he spends it with Ash. He keeps local for a few weeks, a few months actually, and surprises her with a trip to the West End for Christmas.

She talks about August less and less as time goes on. Though she does ask about it, in a roundabout way.

"Why're you spending so much time with me?"

They're having lunch in the park across from a gallery somewhere in Ireland. Oscar packed jam sandwiches.

"I don't understand this art shit like you do, but it's good to find inspiration from all mediums, you know?" Oscar smiles, takes a big bite of his sandwich, and watches Ash wrinkle her nose.

"You sound so pretentious," she snorted, shaking her head, "but whatever, I'm not gonna complain, you're the one paying."

"And I like spending time with you, biscuit." His voice turned overly sappy, as did his grin, "I love you." Oscar reached out and ruffled her hair, and Ash squawked, batting his hand away.

"I love you too, ya muppet, but if you wanna hang out we can just do something lowkey, or like, close to home."

She takes him at his word, which is good because he's being honest, but she seems content with their routine. Sometimes they go bowling, or to the library, sometimes they go op shopping, or to the movies, but they never miss a week.

She's his cheerleader at poetry readings, his tour guide at art galleries, and his favourite person at all times. His father's a literature professor who stopped truly engaging with her about her love of art once he stopped understanding her, and his mother was a Type A accountant who was just disappointed she wasn't interested in something employable. So Oscar was her cheerleader at art competitors, her enthusiastic student at art galleries, and ends up being her best friend and quietly, her favourite family member.

August asks about her, according to their father, but Ash's brief infatuation with him seems to have died down.

"Do you have a problem with me, Oscar?" August asks almost a month after Oscar's started spending Sundays with Ash, and maybe their father's told August what's happening, maybe he's noticed Oscar glaring at him whenever he saw the professor, but either way, he's so painfully kind when he asks that it's a dead giveaway; August knows something's wrong.

"Stay the fuck away from my sister," Oscar, kind-faced, bright eyed Oscar, snarls. He's 6'3" and never more thankful for his height as he towers over August.

"I'm simply showing an interest in her, she's an art enthusiast, I'm an art professor, don't worry-"

"I don't give a shit; look like the innocent flower but be the fucking serpent under it, right?"

"I don't understand what you mean? Does your father know you feel this way? Does Ash?" And it doesn't sound like a threat, it sounds like a very genuine question, but Oscar wants nothing more than to punch him in his stupid, angular nose.

"Does your wife know you spend weekends ogling underage girls?" Oscar fires back, and August's expression sours considerably, his mouth closed in a tight, humourless line. "Yeah, dad knows, not that he gives a shit," Oscar sneered, "but if you go near my sixteen year old sister again, you smarmy creepy -" his voice dropped very low, expression dark, his hands balling into fists by his side.

"If your father's not bothered by it I don't see why you should be, I haven't done anything wrong, but you're throwing around some serious implications here," August gives a blithe smile, "Ash is an incredible young woman I'm simply encouraging her passion."

"August Reid, I need you to know that I'm not threatening you," Oscar said calmly, "I'm promising you; I'll fucking kill you."

And maybe he doesn't believe Oscar would legitimately harm him, but he sees it's not a fight he's going to win. August leaves Ash well enough alone after that.

At the start of their Summer break, before Ash is due to start her second last year of high school, their father gets a job in England, their mother gets an excuse to leave her loveless marriage, and Ash and Oscar get a choice. Oscar knows without even having to ask that Ash will stick with him. He also knows that in two years, if she's still here, she'll end up studying under August and his father's other creepily complicit friends. Oscar's playing the long game to keep his sister safe when he announces he'll be going to England with their dad.

He lies, says he doesn't mind transferring courses and maybe retaking some classes at this new university, makes sure he's nothing but positive when he talks about the move, and Ash, add expected, joins him. It hurts to leave the life he's building himself, but he knows it's what's best for Ash.

Adjusting to a new life is difficult, and some weeks they don't end up spending Sunday together. Oscar let's himself relax, takes time for himself, and starts to build new relationships, new connections in this new situation he's found himself in.

Here, he didn't have to worry about Ash so much. She was still his best friend, but now she could just be a teenager without a creepy professor leering at her and grooming her. Though quietly, Oscar was just glad she still wanted to spend time with him; she still goes to his poetry readings, still wants to go on day trips with him, and she's starting to get to know his new friends little by little.

Meeting Freddie is like getting hit by a freight train; they're both taking a Creative Industries subject as an elective, and they get partnered together. Freddie is intense and warm in equal measure, a lover of cats judging by the pins on his bag, he's always drawing or doodling something on his notebook, and he writes songs. Oscar adores him from the moment he meets him. He's always busy, always on the move or at band practice, but he seems to like Oscar well enough, so the two of them start having lunch together a few times a week.

Freddie thinks Oscar's selfless when he learns about everything that had happened back in Scotland.

"Picking up and moving your whole life just to make sure she's safe," Freddie shakes his head, "you're a Saint, you know that?"

"She's my sister, I couldn't not do it," Oscar laughs a little self consciously, but Freddie just seemed endeared.

They're messaging almost every day. Freddie sends draft song lyrics and selfies with his cats and Oscar will send bits of poems and shitty angled selfies or photos taken by Ash. They both live busy lives, but they keep up with each other without even trying.

[I've got a cat named Oscar, you know?]

[I didn't actually. You really like me well enough to name a cat after me 😂😜]

[har har I've known the cat longer. sorry to disappoint. 😘]

He's so caught up in his new life and his new friends, and Ash seems so happy with her new school, especially their art program, that it takes Oscar a while to realise how painfully lonely Ash was. She's always been introverted, always focused more on her projects than on the people around her, but when Oscar realises that person she talks most about is her physics tutor, it hits him that she doesn't actually have any friends her own age here. She likes his friends well enough, one even got her a fake ID if she might ever need it, but she had none of her own.

"How was school?" They've been here for about three months, and finally things have maybe started to look up.

"Fine; we're starting sculpture making in art," Ash said offhandedly, rolling her eyes; she already spent time outside of school making sculptures, the idea of being graded on it now seemed trivial, "this one dumbass spent like twenty minutes negotiating with a teacher about whether he can also make a second sculpture for fun." Ash's voice was flat, unimpressed.

"Sounds like someone you'd get along with-"

"He wants to make a dick."

Dick Sculpture Guy turns to Fucking Roger, and Oscar starts to hear more about him, because Roger's always seemingly causing a scene and Ash is endlessly annoyed with him, though she once let it slip that she thinks he's rather hot, and Oscar, though he's never brought it up, will never forget it.

Until he gets a call on Friday afternoon, from Ash, in tears, asking him to come to the school.

She's surrounded by the pieces of her broken major work when he arrives, and there's a tall, dark haired guy checking up on her. This is Brian, the tutor he's heard so much about. He's thankful, but comforting Ash is his first priority.

Brian leaves, and together the siblings piece together her work. The school gets locked at five, and they're there until the very last minutes. Once the bust is sitting up on one of the desks at the edge of the room, Ash sniffles only a little bit.

"I'll paint the cracks gold."

"Kintsugi," Oscar adds, nodding sagely and Ash actually beams at him, "see, I listen to you, biscuit."

He suggests they go to Freddie's gig to take her mind off of it, though it's also because she's been asking to meet Freddie for a while now, but he's always been busy. However, things don't go as planned when not only is Ash's tutor part of the band, but Fucking Roger is too. Fucking Roger who's sculpture exploding made Ash cry.

Ash is adamant she's going to kill him. Oscar doesn't stop her. She disappears around the end of the bar after Roger, while the rest of the band - Freddie, Brian, and some kid called John - hang back.

Ash decidedly doesn't kill Roger, and actually ends up enjoying her night, which Oscar's glad for. That being said, he's a little bit distracted; he's quickly discovering that Brian might be the loveliest person he'd ever met. Brian's an astrophysics student, a guitarist, a tutor, and he took the time to check up on Ash; Oscar hasn't been seriously romantically interested in anyone since high school, and he's only met Brian today, but damn if there wasn't definitely a crush forming.

They play good music, and Ash seems to have a good time, and he tells himself that that's all that matters.

Days go by, weeks go by, the siblings keep going to Queen's gig's, and Fucking Roger turns to just Roger. Oscar messages Brian and Freddie that Ash might have a crush and Freddie sends back a wheezed voice message saying that Roger probably does too, but that he's stubborn as hell and would never be the first to admit it. Something warms in Oscar's heart at that. Slowly but surely, between Roger and John, Ash is finally making friends her own age.

Ash deserves a normal-ish crush on a normal-ish boy, and Oscar will do anything to encourage that crush. So they go to gigs, and Oscar wiggles his eyebrows at her when Roger's got an arm around her between sets, and Ash turns as red as her hair. But Brian's got a hand on his thigh where they're sitting near the door, and it feels weirdly normal, and kind of the best.

To see Ash smiling and happy, everything was worth it. It's all worked out, though he knows he'll never stop worrying about her, not that he'd want to.

#borhap #roger taylor #roger taylor x oc #brian may #brian may x oc #queen #aydtd #the angry lizard writes #child grooming tw

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